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not to forget her again. And no speeding!’ She handed Grace a helmet and kissed her on the cheek.
    * * *
    AS ALWAYS, GRACE found the accompaniment soothing. The piano’s gentle undertones; clarinet and oboe striking harmonious, lengthy notes, an exquisite breathing out. But her violin spoke of a lonely journey; the music seemed to reflect the madness of yesterday. She wondered: had the composer seen strange things too?
    The tempo slowed again in the lead-up to the key change and eventual build towards the crescendo.
    She dropped the bow, a wild, sudden heartbeat thumping in her chest. Jesse Tyler was walking past the music room. Horrified, she stared.
    He walked on.
    She had to know if the shadow was real.
    â€˜Grace!’
    â€˜I need the bathroom, miss,’ she choked, and she was running, violin abandoned on her chair.
    Keeping a sensible distance, she followed the boy, climbing over the waist-high chain fence that bordered the school, passing the red brick of the public bathrooms and their musty scent. Ahead, next to a rusty climbing frame, a girl waited. Jesse stopped and began to turn. Heart still pounding, Grace fell back to the safety of the red wall. No footsteps sounded. Breath still held, she peered around the corner.
    Jesse Tyler scowled. ‘Where’s Tom?’
    Grace stared. It was really there. The shadow clung to the boy like scum on a pond’s surface.
    It was real.
    It had eyes – dark hollows that watched her. Then they looked to Jesse and he nodded – like the shadow said something.
    He was possessed.
    The girl lifted her chin. ‘He asked me to come.’ She trembled.
    Could she see that thing on his shoulder?
    â€˜Hmm.’ Jesse stared at the girl. ‘Okay. Gimme the money.’ He thrust out one hand, the other fishing through his pocket, scooping out a small, white bag.
    â€˜You’re twenny short. What’s Tom playin’ at?’ He snatched the money and stared hard at the girl, but she was looking over his shoulder, her face tight, tense. ‘Whatsa matter?’ Scowling, he followed the girl’s stare, his own eyes narrowing angrily.
    â€˜Oi!’ With gritted teeth, he shoved the bag back in his pocket.
    Grace took a backward step.
    The girl tapped Jesse’s shoulder. ‘Hey! The stuff!’
    He shoved her away; she stumbled back, tripping on the metal frame. The boy started coming towards Grace.
    The anger washed over her like fire, needling her skin, growing stronger with each step he took.
    Yet she felt so cold. Shivers ran down her legs. He reached her. She retreated; he quickly closed the gap. ‘What you doin’ here?’
    Then he stopped. ‘Oh, it’s you.’ He grinned, lips parting to show a row of grimy teeth. ‘I saw you yesterday. Grovelling about on the floor. Why the hell did you follow me here?’
    â€˜Who says I followed you?’
    â€˜You’re Grace Callahan. I know you.’ He leaned in close and winked. ‘You’ve been around, haven’t ya?’
    Anger overtook the fear. ‘Shut up, you scum.’
    â€˜You stupid bitch! Calling me scum!’
    He smelled of violence . . . as if there could be such a smell. His face covered in sweat . . . or was it frost? She blinked.
    Her legs felt paralysed.
    â€˜I’m not scared of you!’ Oh, but that thing on his back. She stared past him at the climbing frame and a smear of blood left behind by the girl. For once she wished Joe was here.
    Jesse was so close now, his breath staining the air with cigarettes and curry. She closed her eyes. If she looked too closely at the darkness around him, she’d faint.
    â€˜Not so mouthy now? I can smell the fear off ya.’
    The tremor spread to her ankles. She shouldn’t have followed him. Joe, where are you?
    Her mouth wouldn’t work. Get away from me. She squeezed her eyes shut.
    Get away!
    He winced. ‘Stop it!’
    Grace’s eyes flew open. She