He shouldn’t be here; this shouldn’t be happening to him. If he’d walked back to the farmhouse the first night we arrived, he could have returned to the mainland with the boatman. He only stayed because he was worried about me. I should never have dragged him into this.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, wishing the past two days had never happened and we were back at work. I know I can take him for granted sometimes, but it’s only because I don’t like to admit how much he means to me. Part of the reason I loved my job was because I looked forward to seeing him. It’s not just that he makes me laugh; he brightens my day in a way I can’t explain. He gets me in a way other people don’t. Work wouldn’t have been the same without him. Nothing would be the same without him.

He twists his head, a look of torment on his face, and I make up my mind.

‘Please Morgan, get them out of him.’

Her face fills with tenderness, as if she can tell how much I care for him. ‘I have not used demonic magic in my own workings – and nor would I – so there are limits to my understanding, but I will do my best. You must remember that Merlin is a powerful wizard and the offspring of a demon; his magic will be stronger than most.’

I nod and she presses the back of her hand to Tom’s forehead. The room darkens as if a cloud has passed over the sun and the temperature drops, turning my breath white. The air is so cold, I can feel it biting at my cheeks and slicing into my throat.

Opening her wings, she jumps onto the bed and straddles Tom’s waist. She draws herself up and mutters. ‘Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.’

Tom’s eyes rove beneath his closed eyelids. His head wrenches to the side, his lips parting to reveal a film of spittle at the corner of his mouth. Something about him looks different: his nose is a fraction wider and his jaw squarer. His features are hazy and indistinct and at first I think there’s a shadow hanging over him, but it’s not that. Something is moving inside him. It’s like his face is re-forming, his bones rearranging the contours of his face. Only the movement isn’t smooth. His flesh ripples like it’s full of maggots.

I watch with sickening fascination as a different set of features appears beneath his own, and then another and another, some of them human and others grotesque misshapen creatures, his face constantly morphing while his body writhes in the bed. Morgan pushes down on his chest, her eyes no longer white but two inky pools of black.