At the back of the house large windows overlooked a decked garden. A few plants in urns provided glimmers of green, but mostly the space was decorated with stone sculptures and mirrored water features.

I turned my back on the centrepiece of a jagged, rippling mirror and regarded the house.

The windows were all shut fast. The double doors that opened on to the decking were locked and a security alarm blinked above them.

“There’s an alarm.”

The suit shrugged. “Can you do this, or not?”

I glared at him and removed the glove from my stained hand. “Thanks to you I don’t have a choice.”

I looked closely at the lock. It was a pretty standard deadbolt. Nothing I couldn’t handle with a tension wrench.

Which was at home. I’d come straight from school. I opened my bag with a sigh and pulled out my History homework amidst yet another small sandstorm. The papers were connected with a metal paperclip and it was the work of a moment to create a makeshift pick.

I tapped my teeth with it and fixed my eyes on the alarm. It was a home security system from Everest. I sucked air in through my teeth, knowing perfectly well that Everest used pre-entry detection.

“I can’t get in while that alarm’s on.”

I was glaring at the blue logo when the light on the box blinked.

“She’s switched it off.” I frowned. “Why?”

The dead guy shrugged. “Maybe she’s letting the cat out.”

“Jeez.” I threw myself behind the water feature as a dumpy figure appeared in the darkness and cracked the door. A soft yowl told me a cat had just joined me in the garden. Briefly I considered rushing the killer. Then I shook my head. She might get back inside before I could reach her, then I’d lose my chance to transfer the Mark. I had to stay hidden.

After a slow count of one hundred I peered around the side of the mirror. The rear of the house remained dark and the figure had vanished.

I ran across the decking on my toes and stood outside the French doors. In the growing darkness my reflection appeared in the window. It was as if my own ghost had come to warn me to stay out. I put my nose closer to the glass and peered past my pale face to the room beyond. Before my breath fogged the window I saw a sitting room; uninhabited, cold and dark.

I flexed my fingers, shook my head and inserted the paperclip into the lock. Quick as I could I turned it, then I found my little metal nail file, slid the tool into the key hole and began.

Sweat made my grip uncertain and the roaring blood in my ears almost stopped me from hearing the pins fall into the housing. The hair on my arms rose and my back prickled. I was certain I was being watched.

Despite my mother’s rule to appear as if I belonged, I had to look over my shoulder. Movement caught my eye and my breath caught. Frantically I pulled my tools free, and tried to look like as much like an ordinary visitor as possible.

I heard no challenge. When my heart stopped hammering I realised that I’d reacted to my own movement reflected in the mirrored sculpture. The only audience I had was the cat who was peeing loudly in the gravel. Nice.

I rolled my shoulders, inhaled and pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead; then I started again.

The final pin clicked into position. I took a deep breath and turned the file. The plug rotated, the lock snicked open and I pulled my tools free.

My hand shook on the handle. I added enough weight to push it downwards. The patio door swung open on thankfully silent hinges and I stepped into the house.

My shoes squeaked on the tiled floor and I froze. I pulled the door closed behind me, tucked my tools away and rubbed my arms. The house was cold. Very little light followed me in from the garden and the room was grey with shadow and shade. A piano stood in one corner and two large, overstuffed sofas faced a well-stocked drinks cabinet. A crystal decanter distilled the dim light and turned it into a tiny constellation.

Carefully I tiptoed to the doorway and peered around. There was an alcove opposite me displaying an empty vase almost as tall as I was and to my left was a carpeted dining room. It too was quiet. I sped past the large rectangular table and ornate chairs and cracked the door open.

Voices made me hold my breath. Then I recognised a familiar theme tune. She was watching EastEnders.

I poked my head around the door and faced a long hallway. Doors flanked black and white tiles that led all the way to the front entrance. Light came from beneath only one, the farthest away from me.

I retreated back into the alcove and glowered at dead guy. “I’m going to wait here. Tell me when she falls asleep and I’ll Mark her.”

“You’re not going to confront her? I need her to know who’s doing this to her. That bitch ruined my life.”

I ground my teeth. “She ended your life. I’m here to get justice, not to let you go on a rant. If you want a medium, go find one.”

The suit opened his mouth.

“Just forget it. I’m not risking myself so you can go on a power trip. You’ll get your revenge. So go. Get the alarm code so I can get out of here later, and don’t come back till she’s asleep.”

The stairs were carpeted and the carpet was thick; my shoes only whispered on the pile and the stairs supported my weight uncomplainingly. At the top I swung around the nearest wall and leaned against it. All the doors up here were closed, as if the house had been shut up for a holiday.

The suit was standing outside the only one that was slightly ajar.

“She’s in there?” I mouthed.

He nodded resentfully.

“You’re sure she’s asleep?”

He nodded again.

I slipped into the room and found the middle-aged woman passed out on the bed. She was snoring and her eye-mask had slipped so that only one eye was covered. A bottle of pills lay on the nightstand next to her. I edged closer. By the look of what she’d taken I could start playing the trumpet and she’d sleep on.

One arm lay on top of the covers, fingers twitching in sleep. She snuffled as if she could sense me, but did not move.

A twinge of sympathy wormed in my chest as I held my hand above hers. She hadn’t gained much from her dark deed. But I’d been Marked and it was her or me. I pressed my hand to her palm as if we were holding hands. She mumbled again, pulled away and rolled over. Her eye-mask slipped all the way off and her blackened hand flopped over her face in its place.

“Sorry.” I couldn’t prevent the apology from slipping out.

The suit opened his mouth but I ignored him and slipped out of the room. He’d have his revenge and if she was as reclusive as he said, no one would even know.

Dad had fallen asleep at his desk again. The Tale of Oh-Fa lay open beside his microscope. If I took it I could get it back in place by the morning. I ached at the thought of actually reading the words that my mother had once spoken. Automatically I picked it up and opened it to the front page. The familiar sentences danced in front of me, drawing me in.

The journal of Oh-Fa, translated from the Chinese by his daughter, Oh Yehao

Entry the first

I have consulted the I-Ching. That is how I know my son will be born on this date. The fact that I will not see him until he is near walking is a source of great pain. But my heart’s ache is unimportant; our family needs this salary.

Today we begin working on a new grid so maybe we will find the sign the Professor seeks and this interminable misery will end.

I sit on my tiny camp bed to write. The overseer I call Sunbird, because of his bright red hair, permitted me to use these old requisitions once he witnessed my industriousness. Not all of the company work so hard. Even now, despite the brutality of the sun burning through the tent, I see the lankiest of them still fast asleep, one arm slung over his face, knees off the end of his too-small bed. The others have gone for breakfast. The last of them stumbled and cursed into the glare only moments ago. Only he and I remain, one too lazy and the other too excited to eat.