in time to see the pouch float upwards and sideways, over the silver bowl. It dipped itself into Sarah’s blood, and then floated up again above the map, as if deciding where to go. Suddenly, it dipped, marking a spot with its blood-soaked velvet and rising again at once.
Sarah swallowed, expecting something to happen at any moment, as it had happened with the last scrying spell she had performed.
But nothing happened.
Trying to breathe normally, Sarah allowed herself to lower her eyes to the map, the protection charm still hovering in mid-air, to check the place it had marked. It was a spot very close to her house, right where Edinburgh ended and the moorland began. That very moment the pouch fell, spraying thin drops of blood over the map. The candle flickered and went out. The spell was over, it seemed. Sarah waited another instant before she felt she could exhale at last. Yes, it was over.
She was about to place the bowl on the floor when something grabbed her, pulling her up and away from the floor. Incredulously, she saw her bent legs hovering a few inches from the duvet, as if she were floating on an invisible cloud. She closed her eyes and braced herself, because she knew what was coming. There was nothing she could do, nothing she could hold on to as she was lifted higher and higher, still holding the bowl. Suddenly, she was thrown against the wall with such force that multi-coloured spots exploded in front of her eyes before she landed with a thump and a soft cry, every bit of her body hurting. Lying on her back, she could see the room circling around her – the weapons’wardrobes, the desks, the oak table, the duvet – and something else. A face.
There was a girl kneeling beside her, bending over her, her face close to Sarah’s. Sarah tried to focus, to take in the girl’s features – who was she? – but a wave of nausea took her, and then everything went black.
After some time Sarah came to her senses, her eyes fluttering open. She felt sick, and her head was throbbing. She sat up slowly, holding her head, and felt a stab of pain in her back and in her side. She checked her ribs, her arms and legs, moving them slowly and carefully – nothing was broken.
And then she remembered – the girl. Was someone there, or had it been a vision? She looked around, braced for another attack – but there was nobody. The door was still closed. Sarah dragged herself to her feet – she had to lean on the wall for a second – and limped towards the door. She checked the handle – it was still locked. Nobody could have come in.
Who was that girl?
One thing was sure, she thought, contemplating the hideous mess that the spilled blood had made on her duvet and how she would need to clean the place up: if she could help it, it would be the last time she’d cast that spell.
13
The Watcher
Shining above me
A canopy of stars
And below me
The ancient domes
Soil demons. Sarah shuddered, remembering her friend Angela being dragged underground. A ghastly, lingering death, to be slowly suffocated by soil, never to see the light of day again. Angela’s hands sticking out of the mud, desperately trying to hold on to something – and Sarah grabbing her fingers as they slowly disappeared. It was an image she’d never forget. Soil demons were too frightening for words. And yet, there she was, walking alone towards Sean’s house, knowing that two of those creatures had attacked Sean and Harry’s widow, Elodie.
Sarah looked across the street, over the blonde sandstone houses and further on towards the moorland. The shadows were closing, night was drawing in, and she’d have to walk there, on the soft earth in which the soil demons hid. Every step could be the one where a white, bloodless hand closed around her ankle.
Sarah breathed deeply. I’m not turning back. After all, I haven’t dreamt of soil demons at all, she said to herself.
But I haven’t dreamt of anything at all in weeks.
Sarah frowned. She’d cast the spell. She’d found where Sean was living. And now, to stop him coming to her, she’d go to him.
Sarah pulled her shoulders back to feel the comforting presence of her sgian-dubh slipped into her bra. A useful trick, one that Sean had taught her. Though the idea of carrying a knife in her