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Alma looked at the ash on her fingertips – then she looked at Jacob. Her fingers were white as snow. She didn’t have to explain what that meant. He’d cleansed himself of a curse before. Back then, the ash on Alma’s fingers had been black.
The Djinn’s blood had done nothing.
He buttoned up his shirt again. You’re a dead man, Jacob.
Had the Red Fairy been watching him all these months, as he’d found hope after hope dashed? Was she watching him right now? The Fairies had many ways to see what they wanted to see. She’d probably been waiting for his death ever since she whispered her sister’s name to him. No, Jacob. Ever since you left her.
‘How much longer?’ he asked.
The pity in Alma’s eyes was worse than her anger. ‘Two, three months, maybe less. How did she curse you?’
‘She got me to say her dark sister’s name.’
Alma’s cat was brushing against his legs as though she were trying to console him. One never would have guessed that she could become quite vicious to visitors she didn’t like.
‘I thought you knew more about Fairies than I. Did you forget how big a secret they make of their names?’ Alma went to her apothecary cabinet. Its drawers were filled with every remedy the Mirrorworld had to offer.
‘I said the Red One’s name countless times.’
‘And? Many things are different with the Dark One.’ Alma picked a root from one of the drawers. It looked like a pale spider with its legs drawn under its body. ‘She’s more powerful than the others, but, unlike them, she doesn’t live under the protective spell of their island. That makes her vulnerable. She cannot allow anyone to know her name. She probably hasn’t even told it to her lover.’ She ground up the root in a pestle and poured the powder into a pouch. ‘How long have you been carrying that moth on your chest?’
o;Pull it out!’
Jacob screamed with pain as the spirit tightened his grip. The huge fingers lifted Jacob higher, until he was close enough to push his hand into the massive nostril.
‘If you drop it,’ the spirit whispered, ‘I’ll still have enough time to break all your bones.’
Maybe. But the Djinn was going to kill him even if he handed over the bottle. Nothing to lose. Jacob’s fingers found the neck of the bottle. They gripped the cold glass.
‘Pull . . . it . . . ooouuut!’ The spirit’s bloodthirsty voice enveloped him.
Jacob was in no rush. After all, these might be the final moments of his life. Up on the hill he saw the tower rising into the dark sky, and beneath it a marten was nibbling on the fresh buds of a tree. Spring was coming. Life or death, Jacob. Once again.
He pulled out the bottle and threw it as hard as he could against the remnants of the chapel’s gabled roof.
The Djinn’s enraged howl caused the marten to freeze. The grey fingers closed around Jacob’s body so hard, he thought he could hear every one of his bones break. But his pain was penetrated by the sound of shattering glass. The huge fingers let go – and Jacob fell.
He fell far.
The impact winded him completely, but above him he could see the spirit’s body erupt as though someone had stuffed him with explosives. The Djinn’s grey flesh tore into a thousand shreds, which rained down on Jacob like grimy snow. He lay on the ground, licking the black blood from his lips. It tasted sweet and burnt his tongue.
He had got what he wanted.
And he was still alive.
CHAPTER FIVE
ALMA
Schwanstein’s gaslit streets had not seen a practising Witch for years. Witches were part of the past, and the people of Schwanstein believed in the future. Instead of relying on magic and bitter herbs, they preferred the doctors who had moved there from Vena. It was only when modern medicine failed them that they found their way to the village on the eastern side of the castle hill.
Alma Spitzweg’s house stood right next to the cemetery, even though her craft usually kept her patients out of it before it was their time. Officially, she ran a normal medical practice. Alma could splint a broken limb like any doctor from the big city. At times she even prescribed the same pills, but Alma also tended to cows and Heinzel with the same diligence she applied to her human patients; her clothes changed colour with the weather; and her pupils were as slender as the pupils in her cat’s eyes.
Alma’s practice was still closed when Jacob knocked on the back door. It was a while before she opened it. She’d obviously had an exhausting night, yet her face brightened immediately at the sight of him. On that early morning, she looked exactly as Jacob would have imagined a Witch would look like when he was a child, but he’d seen Alma with many different faces and in many different bodies.
‘I could have done with your help last night,’ she said. Her cat was purring a welcome at Jacob’s feet. ‘The Stilt from up by the ruins tried to steal a child. Can’t you get rid of him?’
The Stilt. The first creature he’d encountered behind the mirror. Jacob hands still bore the scars from its yellow teeth. He’d tried to catch it more than a dozen times, but Stilts were cunning, and masters at playing hide-and-seek.
