“What’s this?” Nina asked, emerging from the shed. Claire peered at what her little niece was holding. “A lucky horseshoe. People would hang them on walls so that good things would happen.” “It doesn’t look very lucky,” Nina said, running her fingers over the dents and rusty patches. “Careful! if you hold it upside down, the luck will fall out,” Claire warned. Nina pondered this for a moment, then upended the horseshoe.

She stumbled into the kitchen. As predicted, it had been impossible to get the girls to go to sleep. Sleepovers! Never again. The kitchen table was still strewn with the cardboard off-cuts, tubes of glue and sparkly odds and sods they’d used to create a fairy house last night. Some glitter caught her eye. It was a pearlescent violet and lying in a delicate snail’s trail, leading from the edge of the table to their creation. Odd. Usually, it ended up scattered everywhere…

She found the beach towel wedged at the back of the airing cupboard. It had been washed so often that its original deep purple had faded to a mirky lilac, most of its fluff had worn away and its hems were ancient history. If she held it up to the window, she was sure she’d see daylight shining through it. But it was The Beach Towel. It had come on childhood adventures, served as an emergency blanket in a freezing hostel in Norway and -carefully folded -cushioned pressures souvenirs on many a homeward journey. So, into the suitcase it went.

“Is this it?” the apprentice asked. It was a pretty enough spot. The water poured out of a crack in the rockface, skipping and sparkling down the slope. “It is,” the sorceress replied. “I can’t… sense anything,” the boy said, holding out his hands and straining his senses for any hint of power. The sorceress chuckled and pulled out a pewter flask etched with runes. “Nothing to sense. This water’s just like any other.”

Tiger was snoozing on top of the magazine she’d left on the arm of the sofa. As she watched, he paddled his ginger paws, hunting dream mice. Unfortunately, this seemed to unbalance the magazine and it began to slide, taking Tiger with it. She leapt forward. Too late. The cat hit the carpet with a soft thwump, bounced up, let out a squawk and flicked his ears. A second later, he sauntered away, his tail at a jaunty angle. As he reached the lounge door, he glanced back at her with an expression that said, ‘I meant to do that’.

He panned the spyglass over the valley, watching the play of shadow. The heather seemed to turn a deeper purple every time he looked. Something glinted. The muscles in his back twitched and his hand went to his belt. He took a slow breath and very carefully swivelled the spyglass back a little way. Nothing. He inched back from his vantage point. He knew this valley. Knew the gleam of light on water, the flash of lightning, the blazing green spot that sometimes appeared just at sunset. That metallic glint had been none of those things. Someone was out there.

The windows threw dazzling reflections onto the stone floors. Angular bits of red, yellow, blue and green, like geometric butterflies. She wanted to dance around in them, to try to catch them in her hands. But the hush of the place kept her still. She could feel the immense space…

He slid the first photograph out of the envelope. It showed him as a child. He stood in the middle of a lawn, beaming at the camera and proudly gesturing to a tricycle shaped like a rocket. He peered closer. In his memory, the rocket was bright red, like strawberry jelly. But here, it was blue and silver. He closed his eyes, trying to fit his mind around that. He checked the photo. Definitely blue. He stuffed it back into the envelope. The colour of a rocket was one thing but what other certainties weren’t as certain as they seemed?

Her nose is cold. Drowsily, she fumbles with the duvet, intending to yank it over her head. Her fingers freeze on the hem. A faint sound is catching at the edge of her awareness. A sort of crackle, so quiet she thinks it might be some trick of her ears. …