Prologue: The Anonymous Genie HunterPresent DayWelcome to the YouTube channel of the Anonymous Genie Hunter. That's me. Run by my trusted adult team. Thanks for subscribing. Follow me as I hunt genies . . . Find out all you need to know about evil genies and what to look out for. If you're new here, let me tell you how this channel came about. I was supposed to keep all my genie hunting secret, but then things kinda got public in a big way. And so the Anonymous Genie Hunter channel was born. Here I will keep you up to date on all the things you need to know about genies.
Genies grant wishes! That's all anyone ever cares about. They forget that genies were imprisoned in those lamps for a reason. People never think about the chaos left behind when a wish is granted. People never think of the consequences of messing with the fabric of space and time. People never stop to ponder what a genie has to gain from granting wishes; they never think about the genie's motives. If they did, they would think twice before wishing for anything . . .
Chapter 1: MudlarkingOne Year Earlier
I’m happiest by the river lost in my thoughtsjust me, Grandfather, and the tide.We search the Thames foreshore, hunt for new objectswhispering with the tide.Searching for the treasures that history has left behind.
After school I head to the river. The River Thames is old, ancient in fact, and it’s been the lifeblood of London since tribes first settled on its banks centuries ago, and then Romans and eventually modern Londoners. Grandfather and I hunt out that history every day. We search the same stretch of river looking for pottery and coins, bones and trinkets. We have found loads here. Anything that is real old or valuable we always take to the Museum of London to add to their collection, but anything else we keep, adding to our understanding of the deep history of London. I look down at my feet and spot a coin . . . well, a pirate cob—the rough money that pirates would take from ships carrying (or stealing!) gold from South America. We find lots of these. This cob is brass and on one side I can just make out a number eight. I turn it over in my hand and gasp. Someone has scratched letters into the surface, an
R and an
H. What are the chances?
“Look, Grandfather,” I say, “a pirate cob with my initials on it.”
Grandfather smiles. “No way, Relic! That’s got to be good luck.” Grandfather rinses the coin in a puddle of Thames water and makes it shine.
“Oi, look, Relic’s in the mud again!” I hear them before I see them, up on the road alongside the river pointing and shouting, laughing and staring. It’s Trevor and his fellow trolls—horrible to everyone but especially me. Trevor runs his fingers through his wavy strawberry blond hair like he’s on a catwalk. A lot of people in class fancy him for some reason. Then there’s troll number two, Abigail. She wears her ’fro in a tight bun and is forever staring at her phone, never looking up from it, not even when insulting the littles! Loads of people fancy her too. It’s like no one cares about their personalities. And then there’s troll number three, cool, silent Peter. He’s always with them and rarely joins in . . . oh, but loads of people fancy him too, so I guess there’s that.
“What you doing, Relic . . . searching for dinner?” Abigail starts snapping photos and I hide my face.
“You friends with them?” asks Grandfather.
I shake my head as my cheeks and forehead heat up.
“You got somewhere to be?” Grandfather asks them, with that deep Jamaican-teacher voice he sometimes uses.
I squint, waiting for them to shout back, but they don’t, and I can see why. I look up at Grandfather. I forget how big he is, how, despite his health, he’s still got the body of a strong man. Even with wellies on, you know not to mess with my grandfather. I feel a jolt of pride swell up in me as the trolls cat-walk off down the road. Then Grandfather bends down so his face is level with mine. His locks are neatly tied together and hang in a long, heavy rope down his back, all but one that has worked loose. He pokes this back in with the others and fixes me with that stare adults give when they want you to know that everything will be all right.
“There will always be bullies, Relic, but they bully you because they see everything that you are, and everything you can become, and it scares them, so don’t you ever . . . ever pay them no mind.” I nod, and he pats my shoulder. “Now let’s get back to the shop and I’ll rustle us up something warm.”
But as he stands, he starts coughing and I have to help him up, and that sinking feeling spreads over me again. That feeling of loss and despair.
Copyright © 2026 by Joseph Coelho; Illustrated by Hyun Song We. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
