I turn over with a huff, wondering how the conversation has managed to change so quickly. One minute we were talking about demons and the next he’s admitting to spying on me at work. Undeterred by my cold shoulder, he continues. ‘I never understood why you clammed up when I asked about your home life. It makes sense now, but I still don’t see why you never came out with us. If anyone dared to invite you, you’d get this look on your face: the brick wall.’

‘Well, thanks for the fascinating insight into my character. It’s been educational, but I’m going to sleep now.’

He laughs. ‘I know you want to argue with me, but you don’t in case you reveal too much about yourself. That’s why you always walk off when you’re angry, isn’t it?’

I thump my pillow. ‘No, I just don’t engage in mental combat with the unarmed.’

He scoffs and starts to say something else, but I cut him off. ‘Look, I’m tired. Why don’t you save the witty comeback for the morning? It will give you time to come up with something really clever.’

The room goes blissfully quiet for several long minutes and then he whispers, ‘Did you hear that?’

I sit up in bed, my heart pounding. ‘No. What?’

‘A scraping noise … oh, wait, it was just you putting up another row of bricks.’

I throw myself back down with a sigh. ‘Go to sleep, Tom.’

‘Goodnight, Breeze Block.’

Pulling up the covers, I turn over and curl into a ball. The sound of waves fills the room and a few minutes later there’s a different noise: gentle snoring. I listen to Tom for a while and then my own breathing slows and becomes heavy. Sleep comes swiftly after that, closing around me like a cocoon, and I’m held in blackness for a long time. And then I’m somewhere else – taken to a place shrouded in mist.

The vapour pulls apart to reveal a gleaming tower: the lighthouse. I push open the door and climb the stone steps. At the top is a familiar room, its floor littered with black feathers. Nine long grey chrysalides lie on the ground in a circle, the bottom of each touching at the centre. I kneel before the one closed chrysalis and touch its thick papery casing, its surface obscuring a network of glowing arteries. Hidden inside is the face of a woman.

Chanting fills the room, at first just a whisper.

Eko eko azarak. Eko eko zomelak. Eko eko azarak.

I stare around but I can’t see where the noise is coming from. It builds louder and louder, until I have to cover my ears with my hands. I look at the woman’s sleeping face and somehow I know I have to set her free.