The bark splits open and green smells invade my nose. I stare in disbelief as a forehead pushes its way out of the tree: a woman’s face with chiselled cheekbones and a sharp, pointed chin. Moss and dirt tumble from her eyelids as she blinks into life.

Her head snaps towards me with a sickening crack. Unable to move, I watch as a gnarled knot opens into a perfect hole, revealing a pale worm curled inside. Her voice sounds like wind through the dead leaves of a tree. ‘Time is running out, Marta.’

13

Stig is throwing a log on the stove when I stagger in through the door. He looks up in surprise as I lurch towards him. My legs tremble so much, I can barely walk.

‘Helvete! What happened to you?’

My breath is quick and shallow. ‘Mormor,’ I croak. ‘Get Mormor.’ And then I remember. I feel so sad and tired I could dissolve into a puddle of my own tears. I slump onto the sofa and close my eyes.

Stig stands over me. ‘What was it? Did you see the wolf?’

I shake my head. ‘No. There was a woman – in the tree. She said –’

‘You’re in shock, Martha. You need to get warm.’ Stig shakes my shoulders, his voice insistent. ‘Come on. You need to get out of those wet things.’

Groaning, I fumble for the zip of my coat but my fingers are numb and useless. I open my eyes and see him leaning over me. His face is different, or maybe I’m seeing him properly for the first time. He has stubble on his chin, and the crease in his bottom lip seems even deeper, more kissable. My eyes close as I imagine his mouth pressing against mine.

‘Wake up, Martha!’

Stig tugs at my coat, yanking me out of my fantasy. I twist my head to the sofa, feeling ashamed. Of course Stig doesn’t want to kiss me. No boy wants to kiss me. Stig pulls my arm from the sleeve of my coat and tries to haul me up. He’s so close I can feel the heat from his body. Any closer and his jumper will touch me. I can’t bear to know what he thinks of me right now.

‘I can do it. No, don’t,’ I wail. ‘Just let me do it. You can’t let your clothes touch me!’

Stig holds up his hands, a confused look on his face. ‘OK, OK.’

I clumsily shrug out of my coat, and it slides to the floor with a heavy, wet slap. My neck and chest are oddly clammy, as if there’s something worse than wet fabric clinging to me. The woman in the tree – Mormor said the ability always lies dormant until the Norns wake you to your fate. But I haven’t …