“Now we could sit here all night and blackmail each other, but I rather think we’ve reached a stalemate, don’t you? Besides, I’m old, Mina. Old and widowed, with no family. I’ve lived in this town my whole life and I’ve helped a lot of young girls who’ve strayed off the path.”
He leans closer, smelling like incense and metal, like the thuribles they use in my father’s church, speaking in a low, rough whisper. “I’ll be a long time dead before this town turns on me, Mina Ellis. Now give me the photographs before I do something you’ll regret.”
I spit. I do it the way Vicky Matherson had, through a V shape in my fingers, hitting Bert on the temple. A spew of white foam slides down toward the outer corner of his eye and his face darkens with what I first mistake as anger. It is only as he drives the pricker into my arm that I recognize it for what it is—loathing. Then, the pain. I see stars, blinding-white flashes. It feels as though the whole of my lower arm has been dipped in molten lead from wrist to elbow. I hiss through clenched teeth, eyes streaming as Bert pulls the pricker free and a fat droplet of blood blooms on my skin. Already I can feel the wound throbbing.
“They used to strip the witches naked but I don’t think we’ll go that far, Mina,” Bert says, tugging at the knot on my dress. “Ithink once we find the right spot you’ll remember where you put those photographs very quickly.”
My skin crawls as I feel the cold press of his fingertips on my ribs. I try to pull away but Bert is wiry and strong and, with the stones around my neck and the hot throb of my shattered ankle, I can barely move an inch. He shushes me, feeling along the long lines of my ribs, hooking his fingers into my damp armpit.
I gasp as the cold metal tip pierces the skin there. It is a bright, exquisite pain that forms a collar of white heat around my shoulder. Bert shows me his teeth, his nostrils flared as his hand jerks and I curl up, winded. His eyes are hard and glazed like hagstones in the rain.
“Bert?”
It’s a small female voice, coming from the doorway. Bert’s head snaps up. His eyes seem to clear and focus. His hand loosens his grip on my arm and slowly, slowly he draws the pricker out from my armpit, leaving behind a hot, metallic sting. Blood is already oozing down my rib cage, the side of my breast. I clamp my hand there and look up to see Alice standing in the doorway. She stares from me to Bert, wide-eyed.
“What’s happening?” She steps into the kitchen. “I thought you were bringing the dress to our house?”
“Change of plan, Alice,” Bert says sharply, using the breakfast bar to straighten up. The pricker hangs from his loose fist, a fat droplet of blood swelling at the very tip. “I found the witch.”
“What do you mean?” Alice asks. She is staring at me. “Why is Mina wearing the Riddance dress?”
“The witch isinMina,” Bert says, pointing the pricker at me. “It must have crawled inside her while she slept.”
“Mina?” Alice’s timid, cautious voice filters through the muffled waves of pain. “You all right?”
I look up at her, peeling my lips back into something approximating a smile. It doesn’t reach my eyes, but that’s okay, it’s okay. I just need to get through to her.
“Alice, you have to go and get help. Find Sam. Tell him—”
“Did you hear what I said?” Bert lifts his voice, smoothing back his hair with his free hand. “The witch has found a way in. It’s been using Mina all along.”
My head switches around, sees Alice’s mouth drop open into surprise.
“Don’t listen to him!” I hiss, blood blooming on the side of the dress.
Bert talks over me, voice strident. “It’s trying to trick you, Alice. It’s what it does. It’s what they all do.”
My skin feels tight and hot and agitated, and I struggle to get to my feet, pressed back down into the earth by the heavy stone necklaces. My voice is high and hectic, striated with fear.
“Alice, go and get Sam, please! Bert’s lying.”
“Come on over here and see for yourself,” Bert says, and I realize with horror he is holding out the witch pricker to Alice. “Don’t be afraid. We’ve got it now. It’s trapped.”
His eyes rest on me, bright and hungry.
“Alice, for God’s sake—”
“She’s bleeding,” Alice says, pointing at my arm. A thread of blood winds about my wrist from the puncture wound just below my elbow.
“That’s because it is clever, and it is trying to trick you. But sooner or later we find the spot, don’t we?”
I have a moment then, remembering the conversation with Sam in the café light-years ago, in a time when there was no curfew or witches or pyres on the Green. Sam, telling me that Alice had developed a ‘pinprick rash.’ How she’d complained of painsin her sides like needles being pressed there. How long had he been trying to convince Alice that she, too, felt no pain from the witch pricker? How long for her to start to believe it? I twist around, struggling to stand, but Bert puts a hand on my shoulder, pressing down hard enough to make the joint in my neck crack. The blood on my wrist is tracing a line down toward the tips of my fingers.
“Alice, whatever he’s telling you, whatever he’s done to you, he lies. He killed Mary, Alice. He’s dangerous and you have to get help. Please!”
“Can you smell that, Alice? It’s the witch, rotting Mina from the inside out. It’s all over her. Can’t you smell it?”
Alice’s nose wrinkles. “I guess,” she says slowly.