‘No. She’s struggling. She’s too logical.’
‘Niall is frustrated too. He’s desperate to be able to become invisible, like Kieran and my uncle, but I don’t think it’s him at all. He didn’t want Mum to perform the Giving ceremony; he said he’d have more chance of getting invisibility from Dad. But I don’t think it would make any difference. Kieran drank Mum’s blood, not Dad’s. I think the Gift relates to the person: it’s in you from birth and the magic of the Giving allows it to come out. Niall’s just too open to have invisibility.’
‘Yes, I think it works like that too. Jessica can disguise herself. She’s always been a natural at lying. Her Gift suits her down to the ground. But she drank Gran’s blood and there’s no one on Gran’s side of the family with that Gift.’
‘I think I’ll have potions.’
‘My Gran has potions. She’s clever but instinctive as well. I think that’s why she’s good with them. You’re like her. She has a strong Gift.’
‘I don’t think my Gift will be very strong. I think I’ll be like my mum.’
Annalise is not often wrong but she’s way off the mark with this. I pick her hand up and kiss it. ‘No, you’ll have a strong Gift.’
Annalise blushes a little. ‘I wonder about you. Sometimes you seem wild and mad and I think you’ll have the same Gift as your father. But then other times you’re so gentle and I’m not so sure … maybe you’ll be like your mother. It won’t be potions, though.’
We continue to meet once a week during the school term through winter, spring and early summer. We are careful to only meet for a short time and we vary the days. We don’t meet in the holidays.
I’m stroking Annalise’s hair, watching how it falls from my fingers. And she studies the palm of my hand and smooths her fingertips across my skin. She says she can tell my fortune by reading the lines.
She says, ‘You will be a powerful witch.’
‘Yeah? How powerful?’
‘Exceptional.’ She smooths my hand again. ‘Yes, it’s quite clear. I can see it in this line here. You will have an unusual Gift. Few have it. You will be able to turn into animals.’
‘Sounds good.’ And I’m holding her hair back and watching it fall.
‘Only insects, though.’
‘Insects?’ I let go of her hair.
‘You will only be able to become insects. You will make an especially good dung beetle.’
I snicker.
She carries on smoothing out my palm. ‘You will fall deeply in love with someone.’
‘Human or dung beetle?’
‘Human. And that person will love you forever, even when you’re a dung beetle.’
‘And what’s this person like?’
‘That I can’t see … there’s a patch of mud on that bit.’
And I stroke her cheek with the back of my fingers. She stays still, letting me touch her. My fingers move over her cheeks and round her mouth, over her chin and down her neck and then back up again to her cheek up to her forehead, slowly down the centre of her nose over the tip and down to her lips, where my finger stays. And she kisses it once. And she kisses it again. And I reach forward and only dare take my finger away when my lips replace it.
And we are pressed together, my lips, my arms, chest, hips, my body desperate to get closer to her.
I can’t bear to take my mouth from her skin.
It feels like just a few minutes but it is getting late, getting dark, when we finally manage to part.
As we say goodbye she takes my hand and kisses the side of my index finger, her lips and tongue and teeth on my skin.
We have arranged to meet in a week’s time. The next day seems to take forever to pass. The day after that is worse. I don’t know what to do with myself; all I can do is wait. I am physically aching to see her. My guts are in turmoil.
Finally, the day of our meeting crawls into the light and then takes a year to drag itself to the afternoon.
I wait on the sandstone slab, lying on my back, looking at the sky and listening for Annalise’s footsteps. I am straining at each sound and when I hear her scrambling up the slope I roll on to my side and sit up. Her blonde head appears over the curve of the hill and I spring down from the outcrop, landing in a crouch with bent legs, the fingertips of my left hand on the ground and my right hand out to the side, showing off a little. I straighten up and step forward.
But something is badly wrong.
Annalise’s face is distorted … terrified.
I hesitate. Do I go to her? Do I run? What?
I look around.
It has to be her brothers, but I can’t see them or hear them. It can’t be the Council … can it?
I step forward. And then the figure of a man appears, standing next to Annalise. He has been there all the time, his hand on Annalise’s shoulder, steering her up the slope and holding her still. But he had been invisible.