SWAGG series, Book 2: School of I.C.E.

By Jill Marshall

"I've never been anywhere liike this before, Jack. There's never been anywhere for people like me. Like us."

Not every dog-headed Egyptian god gets the chance to set up their own School of Inter-Connecting Energies - the School of ICE! But when Jack B-C set out to create it in his own stately home, for unique individuals like SWAGG - Jane Blonde. Stein, Matilda Peppercorn, Gideon Flynn and Jackanubis himself - he discovers that some people, and even some non-people, will stop at nothing to bring them down.

So can SWAGG handle vile infiltrators, HOPE and mysterious new students controlled by crackle power? Can they prevent a prison break-out that frees the world's most evil technocrat? And most of all, can they destroy the mighty Protector of the Shadows, before Gideon Flynn vanishes forever? Because now it's not just their school they're fighting to save. It's something way, way bigger ...

Join the SWAGG team in their second adventure, deep in the dungeons of Doghead's castle - and meet all your favourite characters again. Egyptian god, Jack B-C. Sensational spylet, Jane Blonde. Stein the Uber-Scientist. Legendary Catgirl, Matilda Peppercorn, and shadowy, mysterious leader, Gideon Flynn. Doing you the power of good.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jill Marshall
• Release date: Jul 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781990024962

Jill Marshall

Jill Marshall is the author of the best-selling Jane Blonde series and fiction for children, young adults and adults. Her middle-grade series about sensational girl spy, Jane Blonde,published by Macmillan Children's Books UK, has sold hundreds of thousands of copies around the world, featured as a World Book Day title and reached the UK Times Top 10 for all fiction. Jane Blonde has been optioned for film and TV and is currently undergoing some exciting Wower-ish transformations.Jill has now brought Jane together with her other series in this age group - Doghead, The Legend of Matilda Peppercorn, Stein & Frank - in a fantastic new ensemble series. Meet the SWAGG team, and their first book, SPOOK.As well as books for tweens and teens, Jill writes for young adults and adults, each with a collection of three stand-alone novels. She also writes for younger children, with a Hachette-published picture book for teenies, Kave-Tina Rox.When she's not writing books, Jill is a communications consultant and a proud mum and nana. She divides her time between the UK and New Zealand, and hopes one day to travel between the two by SatiSPI or ESPIdrilles.

Book preview

Chapter 1 - The Museum of Death

Jack Bootle-Cadogan crept through the halls of his stately home, admiring the handiwork of his new leader and mentor, Gideon Flynn. Somehow, with barely an appearance, Gideon had managed to inject a vast sum of money into setting up Lowmount Castle as the SWAGG headquarters – and so much more besides.

Making sure there was nobody about, Jack transformed his top half quickly into that of his alter-ego, Anubis, Egyptian god of deathly things. He stuck his canine head straight through the nearest wall. Spylab – nice. Spy kit was lined up along the walls like the armour that was ranked along the corridor, sparkling and inviting. Backlit by luminescent laser lighting, Jane Blonde and her cat, Trouble, were doing a double act, checking off inventory.

Scenting his presence, Trouble spun around with a warning hiss.

Jack withdrew his head hastily. It wouldn’t do be found peering in on the guests, uninvited. Especially when Trouble was a cat, which meant trouble for Jack.

Suddenly he shook his head. What was that? With a twitch of a black-furred ear, his canine hearing kicked in.

Someone was in his museum.

He’d given it over to the School of Inter-Connecting Energies – or I.C.E. - the moment he knew they were going to be able to fulfil his dream of opening up the castle as a place for people like him. And some non-people like him.

It was still meant to be locked while it was transformed into a centre for learning about Egyptology and Jack’s whole godly, deathly background. Jack himself had the only key, and he hadn’t even taken out of his desk drawer yet - it was far simpler just to stick his head through the plasterwork to take a peek.

Last time he’d done some head-sticking, there’d been very little progress. All his Egyptian artefacts had been carefully set aside as space was cleared for some impressive turntables, library shelves and state-of-the-art imaging technology.

But judging by the clanking coming from the castle’s cellars, it wasn’t empty any longer.

Jack allowed his whole Anubis powers to take over. Crazy energy ripped through him as his teenage boy body merged into his Egyptian god persona, splitting the very atoms of his being so that he could not only walk straight through walls – he could also cross between worlds.

As the ruckus from the museum grew louder, Jack zzzippped through several of the rooms currently reserved for the public, straight through the flag-stoned floor to the tunnel that led from the museum to the crypt.

As silent as the ghosts he met on a nightly basis, he peeked into the back of the museum. Whoever - or whatever – had sneaked in there was about to get a mighty surprise ...

Instead, it was Jack himself who got the surprise. Something he could never have imagined was taking place in the Lowmount museum. Never have imagined at all, in a million lifetimes …

‘Mum!’ he whispered in horror. ‘Put G-Mamma down!’

His own mother, Lady Bootle-Cadogan, had the former SPI:KE and stand-in leader of SWAGG in a headlock. G-Mamma’s face was as purple as her tight-fitting jumpsuit. She spluttered wildly as Jack’s mother whisked her around beneath her armpit, bashing at G-Mamma’s bouncy curls with a large earthenware jar she’d grabbed from one of the shelves.

Jack hissed under his breath. ‘Oh, don’t, that’s a—’

Too late. The jar made contact with G-Mamma’s skull and cracked down the middle. As the spy leader screamed in outrage and pain, the contents of the jar slithered all over her head and beneath her collar.

‘—Egyptian canopic jar full of intestines,’ Jack finished, as G-Mamma’s screams turned to squeaks that probably only he could hear.

Appalled at herself, Jack’s mother quickly dropped her half-a-jar, along with her grip on G-Mamma’s neck. The SPI:KE turned on her in a trice, thrusting her slime-and-dust-covered face into Lady B-C’s as she shoved her backwards across the room.

Jack jumped. If G-Mamma kept shoving, they would spot the live head of a jackal poking through the wall, two to three metres off the ground. G-Mamma – also now known as GM or the Big G - wouldn’t be too bothered, but his own mother knew nothing about the death side of his life and would probably have heart failure. They might not be able to open the school at all. Sucking in a breath, Jack focussed his energy back into being a normal-ish teenage boy – all curly gold hair and long skinny limbs - and hurried into the museum.

‘—so sorry for the muck,’ his mother was saying, backing off in a hurry, flailing wildly as she staggered towards the glass cupboards labelled Ptolemaic Artefacts. ‘I thought it was just a vase, honestly.’

‘Calling it a vase doesn’t make any difference!’ snapped the other woman. ‘It’s still not okay to break it over my head.’

‘But you’re … you’re …’ cried Lady B-C hopelessly. ‘You’re a home invader! In my home!’

Jack glanced around him, noticing for the first time that the canopic jar wasn’t the only thing to have broken. Hundreds of precious artefacts had been swept off the shelves onto the floor, and in the cabinet where the statue of Ozzy had once stood, there was now just a gaping hole and a ring of shattered glass.

‘Quite a clumsy home invader, I might add,’ his mother went on. ‘You’d have woken the dead with the noise you were making.’

Oh no. Why would she say that?

G-Mamma shook with fury.

‘How dare you,’ she spat in a low voice. ‘How dare you insinuate that I couldn’t do a home invasion without you knowing about it.’ She pulled herself up to her full height. ‘I’ll have you know that I’m superb at home invasions. Superb! Because, Mrs Gargoyle the fancy housekeeper, I am a super sp—’

‘Special visitor!’ yelled Jack, bursting into the room before the woman ruined all their chances of setting up the School of ICE.

‘Jack!’ The women shouted his name together, then stared at each other in surprise.

‘You know my son?’ said Lady B-C.

‘Ohhhhhhh. You’re Lady Gargoyle. I mean, Jack’s mother.’ G-Mamma blinked furiously, batting entrails off her feathered eyelashes. Suddenly she wiped intestines off the back of her hand onto a nearby Ancient Egyptian headdress and stuck out her fingers. ‘So pleased to meet you. I’m GM. The Big G. Rosie Biggenham.’

‘GM?’ repeated Jack’s mother. ‘The Big G?’

‘GM for … General Manager,’ said Jack, improvising quickly. ‘Mum, GM is going to be heading up the school when it opens.’

His mother gave G-Mamma a very, very long once-over. ‘So you’re in education?’

‘Oh yes. For many, many years, I’ve been a SPI:KE. That’s a Spy—’ She paused, glancing at Jack. ‘A Special Kid Educator. For Special Kids. And that’s why I belong here.’

Before his mother could ask what on earth could be special about Jack, he burst in again. ‘So sorry, Mum, I meant to introduce you sooner, but it’s been so busy. And GM, I didn’t know you were going to be in here today!’

‘Not planned, but I noticed a disturbance and thought I’d check it out.’

‘So this wasn’t you?’ Jack watched her face turn purple again and corrected himself. ‘Of course it wasn’t you. You were checking. I’d have got you the key if I’d known.’

‘No need,’ said GM, and she held the large brass key up to the light.

‘But that was –’

‘Right where I needed it.’ She smiled brightly. ‘Thank you, Jack.’

His mother cried, ‘I’ll take that, thank you!’ and snatched the key from G-Mamma’s grasp, stuffing into her cardigan pocket. Jack puffed out his cheeks. So that was how it was going to be. Nothing personal any longer. GM had been in his room and through his desk, then along the length of the entire castle and into the museum without a soul even noticing. ‘You really are good at home invasion,’ he murmured.

Then he thought of something. ‘Mum, did you … did you …’

His mother glared at him. ‘No, I did not smash up my own museum, thank you very much.’

‘I was going to ask if you saw anyone,’ he lied, his cheeks burning. ‘As you don’t usually come in here.’

‘Ha. Not that I need to explain myself to you or the Big ... Gee … Ms Biggenham,’ said Lady Bootle-Cadogan, clumsily reassembling the pieces of the canopic jar on a nearby shelf. She toyed with a jagged shard longer than necessary. ‘But if you must know, I was just showing my visitor out the … the back way … and thought I might call in here as I passed.’

‘Visitor?’ Jack hadn’t seen anyone.

His mother blushed, looking a tad guilty. ‘I was showing him the stables and stud. He just happens to have a passion for race-horses.’

‘Who does?’

‘An old friend,’ snapped Lady Bootle-Cadogan, the scarlet flush extending down her neck. ‘And he’s offered to help with this wretched place!’ she continued. ‘Because I have to tell you, Jack, Ms Biggenham. I’m still not entirely sure about this school idea. A great investor is all very well, my friend says, but schools need some kind of governance!’

‘What’s governance?’ said Jack.

His mother shook her head regretfully. ‘You don’t know. That’s exactly the point my friend was making.’

Whoever this friend was, she was obviously drinking in his every word. Alarmed at the threat to his plans, Jack tried a diversionary tactic.

‘Why don’t you come and meet some of the other students? That should put your mind at rest!’

‘Really?’ said the two women in unison. His mother seemed interested, but G-Mamma looked very doubtful indeed.

Jack suddenly realised why. Of course. It wasn’t going to put anyone’s mind at rest to meet Stein, currently dressed in green velvet pantaloons with a flappy white lace collar, looking slightly grey in the skin and last seen chasing mummies around his laboratory with Jack’s friends, Joe and Mindy. Or Matilda Peppercorn with her weird blue hair – weird because it was natural and not died - who could at any point turn into a cat if she’d been kick-boxing for too long and lost concentration, or jump on a broomstick and fly off, or just decide it would be funny to wind him up and watch him squirm by making his mother do something embarrassing with her strange hypnotic voice tricks.

As for their esteemed investor – well, there was no telling where Gideon Flynn was right at that moment, or when his mother would be able to see him. She might never be able to see him in any case. He was, after all, a ghost.

It had taken Jack a long time to figure out that the only reason Gideon always appeared whole and human to him was because he was Anubis. As God of Death Processing etcetera, all ghosts seemed whole and human to Jack. Gideon was unusual as he could be made more solid by Stein’s precious pom juice or some of G-Mamma’s spy gadgets, but he could still turn wispy and thin and, well, vanish-y at any second. Then he’d just disappear back to the shadows where he claimed he belonged, with no saying when he’d materialise again.

Yes. They were a very odd bunch, this SWAGG team. That was what SWAGG stood for, after all. Spy. Witch. Alchemist. God. Ghost. A team of misfits and outsiders. There was nobody normal among them, no way to put his mother’s mind at rest at all … but then he thought of Jane.

Jane Blonde. Superspy. Fantastic spygirl. But sometimes just a normal schoolgirl, Janey Brown. A normal schoolgirl who, at that very moment, was checking off items on a normal clipboard, flicking her normal mousey ponytail out of the way and looking entirely, completely normal and nice. If you overlooked the fact that her cat was counting spy gadgets by slicing notches into his claws, so they now resembled a set of steak knives.

Well, that was okay. Trouble usually scarpered whenever Jack the Doghead was within ten paces of him.

‘This way!’ he cried triumphantly, his canine teeth elongating in the excitement. He lowered his head while he got his mouth back under control and ushered them out of the door.

As walked backwards ahead of them, he pointed out the other quadrants of the school. ‘So, as you know, the section near the museum is going to be for lessons in archaeology, Egyptology, mythology, history of … human history,’ he said quickly. Tilly was insisting they do some bizarre specialist subject called Witchery, but they’d deal with that further down the line. ‘It’s going to be really practical with lots of hands-on skills, even archaeological digs at interesting sites.’

‘How interesting are they really?’ said his mother disdainfully. ‘They always look like the most dreadful drudge to me when you watch it on TV.’

‘Really interesting.’ Jack couldn’t help but grin. ‘Ancient Egypt, for sure. We might expand to Ancient Greece, Ancient Rome and, you know, lots of other Ancients.’

Lady Bootle-Cadogan sniffed again. ‘And is your investor paying for all those trips?’

‘No need!’ said Jack. ‘We can—’

‘We can do it virtually.’ GM shot Jack a warning glance.

Jack felt his cheeks redden. Perhaps he was getting a bit carried away. If he didn’t keep a lid on it, his mother would send them all packing and sign him up for Eton before he could even summon a protest.

Instead of exclaiming that they could all travel around the world by Doghead Zzzippp, or magic and spy gadgets, Jack nodded towards GM. ‘Yes. Virtually. That is what it’s all about, anyway. You can enrol here wherever you are in the world, in person or online or … both,’ he said. ‘It’s the School of Inter-Connecting Energies. ICE.’

‘So that’s what it means,’ said his mother with a frown. ‘I thought you were having a go at me about needing to heat the place. Now, if your investor wants to pay for that …’

‘I’ll talk to him.’ Jack swallowed nervously as a cry of ‘Kaiaiaiaiaiaai’ erupted from Matilda Peppercorn’s quadrant. ‘That’s Tilly. We won’t interrupt her. But that section will include lots of physical stuff – kickboxing, ballet …’ Flying, casting spells, turning into cats. ‘Dad would have liked that bit,’ he said to his mother.

‘I don’t think so. Your father didn’t like anything more energetic than pouring gravy on his roast spuds.’

‘He loves rugby,’ said Jack, far too quickly. He still saw his father’s ghost fairly regularly in the halls leading to the Field of Rushes, but that wasn’t what his mother needed to hear.

‘Loved.’ His mother’s chin wrinkled as tears threatened, but she pulled herself together quickly. ‘He did love rugby. Especially the Varsity Match.’

‘Oh, that’s right, he died, didn’t he?’ cried G-Mamma, sounding almost pleased about it. ‘I remember you telling us, Jack. And your butler died, and also Jack’s dog died too, yes?’

‘My dog,’ snapped Lady B-C. ‘And you could try to be a little sensitive about it. It’s all very raw for us, you know. Are you sure you’re ready to run a school?’

GM grimaced. It had been her turn to get carried away. She arranged her eyebrows into a sympathetic peak. ‘Of course,’ she crooned. ‘So sorry for your loss.’

‘That doesn’t answer my question,’ sniffed Lady BC.

Say something good, G-Mamma, Jack pleaded silently. Say something good!

‘She’s totally ready,’ said a calm voice behind Jack.

He spun around. Still clutching her clipboard, Jane Blonde stood on the threshold to the spy section of the school. Trouble trotted out behind her, took one look at Jack, and shot off like a missile down the corridor.

The girl smiled shyly at his mother. ‘I’m Janey, Lady Bootle-Cadogan. Janey Brown. And G-Mamma – oh, sorry, we call her GM now – has been my educator for many years. She’s the best. The absolute best.’

Janey pushed past Jack and stuck out her hand. She looked tired – exhausted, even – but so refreshingly average in jeans and a tee-shirt that Jack decided she looked perfect. Just perfect. He felt his head tilt on one side as he drank in the sight of her, his insides awash with gratitude.

His mother seemed to think she looked normal too. With a small sigh that sounded very much like relief, she shook the tips of Janey’s fingers. ‘That’s good to hear, Miss Brown. I’m sure you’ll appreciate that I have to be confident of the people to whom I’m handing over Jack’s castle.’

‘Jack’s … Jack’s castle?’ whispered Janey.

‘I did tell you,’ said Jack indignantly.

‘We thought you were joking.’

‘No.’ Jack’s mother smiled sadly. ‘He’s Lord of Lowmount. I’m not in charge.’

‘Of course you are, Mum. I’m not ready or old enough or anything.’

She gazed at him steadily until he started to feel a bit hot around the ears. ‘We’ll see,’ she said eventually. Then she turned back to Janey. ‘And you, dear. Are you from blue blood?’

‘Mother,’ warned Jack.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Janey. ‘Just normal red blood, like everyone else.’

‘Janey’s from a different type of royalty,’ said G-Mamma stoutly.

‘Really?’ Lady BC beamed at Jack with a dangerous glint in her eye. ‘How marvellous.’

He knew that tone. It was her let’s stick with tradition and send you to Eton tone. This was all getting a bit out of hand. His mother seemed to be planning his wedding before he’d ever even been on a date, and if they didn’t get GM out of here soon she’d have let every cat out of every bag they’d ever possessed.

‘Mum, why don’t you show GM round the orangery?’

His mother brightened. The vast greenhouse that ran alongside the kitchen gardens was her pride and joy. ‘Oh, do you like orangeries?’

‘I’ll eat anything,’ said G-Mamma, threading her hand through Lady BC’s arm. ‘Lead on.’

Jack pretend-wiped his brow as he and Janey watched them depart. ‘Phew. She’s a loose cannon, isn’t she?’

‘You’ll get used to it. But yes,’ said Janey with a grin.

They stood awkwardly for a moment, neither sure what to say.

‘So did you come out specifically to rescue us from the Big G or are you bored with counting spy socks?’ said Jack in one big breath. ‘Or whatever you were doing,’ he added, in case she thought he’d been spying on her, which he obviously had in a very small way …

But Janey looked surprised. ‘No, I came out to answer the door with you.’

Jack stared at her.

‘Didn’t you hear the knock? I thought with your canine hearing …’

‘It must have been while Tilly was yelling,’ said Jack.

But this time he definitely heard it. A gentle knock knock knock, followed by a louder hammering and someone saying, ‘Maybe there’s a different entrance.’

‘Who do you think it is?’ whispered Jack, alarmed.

Janey laughed. ‘Well, nobody I know. From what I could see on the spy-cam, it looks like it might be your first guest. Pupil. Student.’

‘Oh! Oh wow. I’m not ready! Jeepers.’

Janey patted his shoulder kindly. ‘Come on. We’ll greet them together.’

Side by side, they ran along the corridor, covering the immense distance in no time with his furtively activated Anubis strides, and the Fleet-Feet that secretly coated the soles of Janey’s trainers.

He couldn’t believe it. Their first entrant to the school. Bursting with pride, he yanked open the huge oak front door.

‘Welcome,’ he said, ‘to the School of ICE.’

Chapter 2 - Old Friends, New Friends

At the back of the huge expanse of stone doorstep was a young woman, poised ready to run. Her eyes flickered uncertainly between the two of them, then over to one of the hydrangea bushes in a nearby flower bed. They followed this pattern several times, before she finally drew in a breath.

‘It is a school, then? Only that’s what I’d heard but I couldn’t be sure.’

Jack nodded firmly. ‘Definitely a school. Or – well, it’s not quite open yet but as soon as we finish a few last things and talk to our investor again, then yes, it’s a school.’

The young woman dipped her heels off the edge of the doorstep, up and down, up and down, as if she was doing stretching exercises after a run. In fact, she looked like she might have just come from a gym class or half-marathon. She was dressed in black leggings that ended just above her ankles, a baggy black sweatshirt with a crescent moon on the front, and a pair of trainers so old that they wouldn’t have looked out of place in Jack’s Museum of Ancient Artefacts. Her head twitched to the side again, towards the flower bed.

‘And did you say it’s made of ice? Only it looks like brick to me. Posh brick, of course, but brick like ordinary schools.’

Pulling the sleeves of her sweatshirt down over her hands, she stuck her thumbs through the holes in the wristbands. She was making him a little nervous, with all her twitching and dipping – and she was definitely too old to still be at school, even if she was dressed like a teenager.

‘It’s not made of ice, it’s the name. An acronym. Inter-Connected Energies.’

The woman frowned. ‘Like … like a church?’

‘No, not a church,’ said Jack carefully. ‘A school. A school for—’

‘Would you like to come in and see, Miss …’ Janey blurted. ‘It will make more sense once you’re inside.’

‘But I –’ I don’t know if I want to let her in, Jack thought. She was weird and twitchy and not really getting it.

The young woman looked equally unsure. ‘Oh, I … I’m not …’ Her eyes slid over again to the nearby bush.

And suddenly Jack understood. ‘You can bring them too, whoever it is.’

‘Can I really?’

Janey put a comforting hand on the woman’s arm. ‘Of course you can. This is going to be a school for all sorts of people. People like me and Jack, who maybe haven’t fitted in at other schools before. That’s Jack, and I’m Janey,’ she finished. ‘We’re … well, sort of prefects.’

Jack nodded. ‘Student counsellors.’

The woman stared at Janey’s hand, tears welling up in her eyes. ‘Okay,’ was all she said. And then she called out to the bush. ‘Come on, Chandi. You’ll be fine.’

The bush shuddered as someone stood up behind it. It was a boy, a bit younger than Jack, judging by his face, but only about half his height. Enormous hazel eyes peered out at them across the hydrangea.

‘It’s okay,’ repeated the young woman.

Reluctantly, Chandi rustled out from behind the flower bed. He wasn’t short at all – he was sitting in a wheelchair, pushing it along with his hands. While one leg appeared normal, the other was withered and thin, the foot rocking sideways on the footrest as the wheelchair bumped unevenly across the gravel.

Chandi wobbled to the huge stone step and stopped short. ‘I can’t …’ he said with a sigh, indicating his wheelchair.

Jack shook himself into action. ‘No, of course you can’t. Sorry. We have wheelchair ramps on the way,’ he lied. They’d meant to get them; this was just a reminder to do it quickly. ‘And most of the classes are mainly on one floor. Apart from my quadrant, which is down in the museum, but we’ll have to put in the—’

‘Wheelchair ramps,’ said Chandi. He gave Jack a small smile, glancing uncertainly at Janey. ‘I can walk a bit, but I—'

‘He gets bullied,’ said the woman. ‘They call him names. Names if he’s in his chair and names if he’s not. He’s refusing to go back to school after the holidays, aren’t you? Then we heard about this place and thought, well maybe …’

‘That’s so horrible.’ Janey sighed, shaking her head. ‘They pick on you because you’re disabled?’

‘Only sometimes,’ said Chandi casually, manoeuvring his wheelchair towards the building. ‘Mostly they pick on me because I’m weird.’

‘Not weird,’ whispered the woman. ‘Just different.’

Jack laughed as he took hold of the wheelchair. ‘We know all about different here, believe me.’

Chandi looked at the two of them carefully, weighing them up. Then finally he smiled bravely. ‘I do believe you.’ He sucked in a deep breath and nodded to the woman. ‘You coming, sis?’

‘Oh! Yes. Sorry.’ The woman – Chandi’s sister, which made way more sense than his mother – let out an embarrassed giggle. ‘Spend so much time worrying about this one that I forget myself sometimes.’

‘You don’t need to worry,’ Janey and Chandi said together.

They both giggled. ‘Jinx,’ said Chandi.

‘Ouch. Too fast for me,’ said Janey.

Chandi smiled again. ‘You’ll get better.’

Then he spun his wheels around and set off along the corridor, the rubber squeaking against the shiny oak floors.

There was something strange about them. Dropping back under the pretext of closing the front door, Jack flicked on his Doghead senses to check them over. Not dead, obviously, because Janey could see them both. Not even sick, despite the shrunken leg; Jack could sense their organs pulsing and pumping with as much vitality as any of them - even GM and Tilly, the most dynamic people he’d ever come across.

What was strange was their … their energy, Jack decided. Which was fitting, in a place where odd energies that usually got cast aside were meant to be able to connect with others. He concentrated on the pair of them, allowing his eyes to de-focus a little - and suddenly he could see the energy. A red-yellow glow zig-zagged between them like the line on his father’s heart-monitoring ECG charts, just a scribble at the end flowing into the boy, and more like a craggy mountain range as it pulsed from Anya to Chandi.

‘What’s that?’ he whispered to himself. It made him uneasy, although there was nothing overtly unpleasant about either of them. Quite the opposite, in fact.

The sister turned quickly. ‘Anya,’ she said.

‘Pardon?’

She scratched her thumbs against each other, the jagged light dipping until it dimmed