And I know I can’t stop her. I have to go. I’ve gone too far, my magic’s nothing next to hers – but the scent of chocolate is still so strong, like the scent of a forest after the rain, and suddenly I can see something else, a hazy picture in my mind. I can see a little girl, only a few years younger than me. She’s in some kind of shop, and in front of her there’s a kind of black box, like the coffin-charm on Zozie’s bracelet—

‘Anouk!’

I can tell that’s Maman’s voice. But I can’t see her now. She’s too far away. And Zozie’s dragging me into the dark, and my feet are following in the snow. And the little girl’s going to open the box, and there’s something terrible inside, and if only I knew, I could stop her, perhaps—

We’re opposite the chocolate shop. We’re standing at the corner of Place des Faux-Monnayeurs, looking down the cobbled street. There’s a street-lamp there, and it lights up the snow, and our shadows stretch all the way down to the steps. I can see Maman from the corner of my eye, looking out into the square. She looks a hundred miles away, and yet it can’t be very far. And there’s Roux, and Rosette, and Jean-Loup, and Nico, and their faces are very distant somehow, like something seen through a telescope—

The door opens. Maman steps out.

I can hear Nico’s voice from far away, saying, What the hell’s that?

Behind them, the murmur of voices lost in a terminal blur of static.

The wind is rising. The Hurakan – and there’s no way Maman can fight that wind, although I can see she’s planning to try. She looks very calm. She’s almost smiling. And I wonder how I or anyone else could have thought she looked anything like Zozie—

Zozie gives her cannibal smile. ‘At last, a flash of spirit?’ she says. ‘Too late, Vianne. I’ve won the game.’

‘You haven’t won anything,’ says Maman. ‘Your kind never wins. You may think you do, but the victory’s always an empty one.’

Zozie snarls. ‘How would you know? The child followed me of her own accord.’

Maman ignores her. ‘Anouk. Come here.’

But I’m pinned to the spot in that frozen light. I want to go – but there’s something else, a whispering voice, like an icy fish-hook in my heart, that’s pulling me the other way.

It’s too late. You’ve made your choice. The Hurakan won’t go away—

‘Please, Zozie. I want to go home—’

Home? What home? Killers don’t have a home, Nanou. Killers ride the Hurakan—

‘But I’m not a killer—’

Really? You’re not?

She laughs like chalk on a blackboard.

I scream: ‘Let me go!’