Wickedness
Two flame-haired girls, both fourteen years old and living in London, but four hundred years apart. A powerful and charismatic man. An Egyptian mummy and 20 spells written in hieroglyphics on parchment. An emerald casket, a gold ring and a rope walker. All are united by blood and by a devastating prophesy.
Excerpts from Wickedness . . .
“His fingers undoing the ribbon at the neck of my nightgown, brushed against my collarbone. His hand, slipping around my waist, found the hollow of my back and pressed me in close…And I thought: this is what it must be like to die a little death and then to come back to life again and fly out in a thousand tiny pieces. The shape of his hands, the curve of his mouth, the way his skin felt like silk and his hair fell and curled against his shoulder. All those things drew me in, but it was his mind that held me. The naked power of it. And all the while I told myself I would not be utterly lost to him. That I would keep some part of myself safe and hidden from him. But it was like a drug. An addiction. There was always the need for more.”
( Margrat, manuscript 8)
“The Doctor jumped out, then reached up to help me down. I felt his hands circle my waist inside my cloak. I felt his diamond ring pricking my side, and his thumbs pressing hard into my ribs as he lifted me out. My face came level with his. He drew in his breath and must have drawn mine in with it, for I had none left. And the world lost all its colour, and I was falling down.”
(Margrat, manuscript 2)
". . . the box didn’t magically open. Nothing happened at all. Except…She turned her head sharply. Caught the whisper of a scent; musty, acrid, sweet, seductive. And thought she could hear someone calling out her name. So convincing and compelling that she called out, “Yes? What is it?” her heart leaping up into her mouth as she waited for the reply.
But there were no footsteps, there was no rustle of clothing, no answering voice. Only the soft tick, tick, tick of the bedside clock. And the distant sounds of life out on the street. A car. The nasal drone of a milk float. A dog barking. Familiar. Soothing.
Stupid, she thought. You are so stupid. What did she think was going to happen? It was just a box and an old ring. That was all.”
(Claire, Chapter 3)
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