I look at my finger.
‘Witch’s bottles are extremely hard to control. I think they’re working on a sophisticated version. A very sophisticated version. So, instead of putting some of your hair or skin or blood in the bottle, I think they were going to amputate your finger and use that. They would probably cut your finger into the three sections and make three witch’s bottles. They would do something to the tattoo on your finger and you would feel it, suffer the pain, on the larger tattoo on your neck, hand or ankle.’
‘To force me to do things for them?’
‘That’s what I’ve been wondering. Not sure how it would work. They could inflict so much pain you’d want to comply.’
‘Comply or die.’
‘Comply or suffer. Suffering is their speciality.’
‘But they could use it to kill me?’
‘Well, yes.’
I rip the tape off my finger and look at the three tiny tattoos. They all go through to the bone. I take out my penknife and prick the tattoo by my nail, wondering if I will feel anything in my neck.
‘Nothing?’ Trev asks.
I shake my head.
‘It has to be in a bottle, with the correct spell.’
‘How soon would they have amputated?’
‘I would think they would want to check the tattoos were deep and had healed fully. A few days, no more than a week. Then they would test it. And, of course, if it didn’t quite work, you’ve got nine other fingers.’
‘They could still do it? I mean if they caught me, chopped off my finger?’
‘Oh yes. It’s permanent. A permanent problem. You can’t remove them.’
‘I thought they were some sort of brand or a tracking device.’
‘They aren’t for tracking,’ Trev says. ‘But, yes, they are a brand. I think that the tattoo will show whatever you become … I mean if you have the Gift to transform, the brand will still be there.’
‘And there’s definitely no way to remove them?’
‘You could cut off your leg and your hand, your finger, but you’d still be left with the problem of your neck.’
There’s shouting from outside. Fains.
Trev glances to the window and pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and stuffs it in my hand. ‘How to get to Mercury is on there.’
I push the paper deep into my pocket saying, ‘Thank you, Trev. Thank you for everything.’
Trev holds the shopping bag out to me, saying, ‘These are all your skin and bone samples. You must destroy them. Burn them. If the Council gets them they could make a witch’s bottle with them. A crude one … but still.’
I peer into the bag. There are the plastic dishes with bits of blood in them.
He adds, ‘Just so there’s no doubt. Ever. From anyone … that I kept anything of you.’
I think he’s worried about my father.
Glass smashes in the room above.
We drop low and freeze.
Another smash … but further away, from a different house. Shouts.
I peer out of the window.
‘Shit!’ I duck down and tell Trev, ‘Hunters.’
I raise my head again to look. A Hunter is walking down the street and there’s a gang of three fains throwing stones at her. She doesn’t look that bothered. They only work in pairs, though, so there’ll be another in the backstreets somewhere.
I drop down again, saying, ‘We’ve got to go.’
We run to the back of the house. The door is locked and bolted. The bolts won’t budge. I smash the window with my elbow and kick through the glass and we’re climbing out. At the back wall I give Trev a lift over the gate, which is nailed shut, and I scramble after him, looking left and right at the top.
Nothing. No one.
We run.
A few roads away we slow down, though I keep checking behind.
Trev looks like he’s going to be sick. He’s beyond caring what I owe him, so I give him most of my cash and say, ‘Thanks, Trev. If you ever need anything … I mean … you know …’
We shake hands and he leaves in one direction and I go in the other.
I feel for the piece of paper in my pocket. It’s still there.
Then I realize I haven’t got the plastic bag.
I can hardly believe that I have been that stupid, but I have. I’m sure I didn’t drop it. I think I put it down when I was giving Trev a lift over the wall.
hunters
I could leave without the plastic bag, hope that it just looks like rubbish, but … but, but, but. Never underestimate the enemy. If White Witches get that stuff, the bits of me, they won’t need my finger; they’ll be able to make a witch’s bottle with my skin and blood and bone.
I retrace my steps to the house. There’s no plastic bag in the alley, in the backyard of the house or in the house itself. There is no sign of the Hunters either.
Shit!