The second night the screaming returned and again no one slept.

This carried on every night, so that by the end of the first week the Hunters were arguing and fighting among themselves. One Hunter had stabbed another, and one had deserted. Even Virginia was desperate: she had not slept, and she could see that her elite group was descending into anarchy. On the eighth night, when the screaming started again, she ran to the cellar in a rage and began to strip back the barricade from over the trapdoor. The Hunters gathered around her but they were unsure what to think. They all wanted to go in and end the torture, but seeing their leader, normally the epitome of control, tearing at the trapdoor made them wonder if she had lost her mind.

One Hunter stepped up and dared to remind Virginia that she had ordered that Saba should be shut up for a month, and it had been only one week. Virginia pushed the Hunter back, saying that she was willing to risk her life and theirs to end the torment.

Virginia opened the trapdoor and descended into the cellar with her Hunters crowding behind her.

The cellar was dark. Virginia used her torch to throw light on to the floor and pick her way between crates, boxes, an old chair, bottles of wine, and a sack of potatoes. There was a doorway to another room. The screaming was coming from there. Virginia made her way to the door and the Hunters followed.

The second room appeared to be empty. But in the farthest corner, barely discernible, was a low pile of rags.

Virginia strode up, lifted the rags back and there was the body of Saba. She was half dead, totally mad, and still screaming. She had clawed at her face, which was a mass of scars. She couldn’t speak, as she had bitten off her own tongue. But still she screamed.

Virginia could have killed her there, but she said Saba should be taken to the Council for interrogation. Saba was barely alive, but she was a powerful Black Witch, so Virginia ordered her to be tied up before she was carried out.

It was now the middle of the night, but outside, the light from the moon made it seem almost like day. As the Hunters bore her body out of the house, Saba began to hum and then she began to writhe. Too late, Virginia realized that Saba’s strength was returning now she was outside in the night air. Saba sent flames from her mouth, setting on fire the two Hunters carrying her. She fell to the ground and used her flames to burn through her bonds. Virginia drew her gun and shot Saba in the chest, but Saba had enough life in her to grab hold of Virginia and set fire to her too. They were both in flames when Virginia’s son, Clay, shot Saba in the neck. She fell, silent at last, on the lawn of the house.

Virginia died from her burns, and Clay became the next leader of the Hunters. He’s still their leader today.

Gran rubs her face with her hands and says, “A Hunter told me that story a long time ago. We were at the wake of her partner, another Hunter. She was upset and very drunk. I took her outside and gave her a potion to calm her. We sat on the grass and talked.

“She told me that her partner was the Hunter who had deserted. Clay had tracked her down and had her executed. This girl, the drunk one, had been made to pull the trigger on her partner.”

Debs is shaking her head, “They’re all monsters. The Hunters are as bad as—”

“Deborah! Don’t! Don’t ever say that,” Arran cuts in.

I ask, “Who was Saba?”

Gran takes a breath and says, “She was Marcus’s mother.”

Somehow I’m not surprised. I push myself away from Deborah and go to sit on the back step.

Arran comes and sits next to me. Leaning close he says, “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Saba was my grandmother.”

“None of this means that you are like that.”

I shake my head. “It’s happening to me, Arran. I feel it. I’m a Black Witch.”

“No, you’re not. That’s your body, not you. The real you is nothing to do with being a Black Witch. You have some of Marcus’s genes in you, and some of Saba’s. But that’s physical. And the physical stuff, the genes, your Gift, they are not what makes a Black Witch. You have to believe that. It’s how you think and how you behave that shows who you are. You aren’t evil, Nathan. Nothing about you is evil. You will have a powerful Gift—we can all see that—but it’s how you use it that will show you to be good or bad.”

I almost believe him. I don’t feel evil, but I’m afraid. My body is doing things that I don’t understand, and I don’t know what else it will do. It feels like it has a will of its own and it’s leading me down a path I have to follow. The night tremors are taking me outside, forcing me to move away from my old life. The noises in my head also seem to be driving me away from people.

Whenever Jessica used to say I was half Black, Gran would say, “Half White too.” And I had always thought of my mother’s genes and my father’s mixing in my body, but now it occurs to me that my body is my father’s and my spirit is my mother’s. Perhaps Arran is right, my spirit is not evil, but I have to put up with a body that does weird things.

I leave for Wales that morning, intending to stay away for a day or two. It feels good sleeping outside and living off the land, and after my talk with Arran I’m feeling more positive, more like I know who and what I am. It’s a different way of looking at things, nothing more than that, but it allows me to watch my body and learn what it’s capable of. I observe it in a more detached way, testing its healing capabilities and working out how the night affects me.

I stay in Wales one more day, and then one more, and then one more. I find an unused barn and try sleeping in it, and discover that the moon has an effect on how I feel. A full moon is worst for being indoors at night, and I can’t help but shake and vomit. A new moon and being in the barn is bearable with nothing worse than slight nausea. At the full moon my healing ability is enhanced. I test this by cutting my arm. A cut in the day during a new moon takes twice as long to heal as a similar cut at night under a full moon.

The days go by and I learn a lot, but I know that I can’t share what I’ve learned, not even with Arran. Everything that is Black has to be kept secret, and I know my body is that of a Black Witch.

I spend over a month in Wales. I feel good learning about my body, but I’m also self-conscious. I have this idea that somehow my father is watching me. He sees everything I do. He nods his head wisely at the discoveries I make about my body, smiles approvingly when I catch a rabbit, skin and cook it, but he shakes his head at the bad decisions I make, when I end up cold in a poor shelter or cross a stream in a bad place. Everything I do is with an awareness of him judging me, and every day I think that maybe he will appear.

Of course my father never comes. I sometimes wonder if it’s because I’m half White, not Black enough. But then I tell myself that these aren’t real tests; the true test will be that I can find my way to him, and I’m ready to do that now.

My fifteenth birthday is three weeks away; I don’t want to risk going to another assessment. I am sure that the Council will see what is happening to my body, that I’m changing, and my Designation Code won’t be Not ascertained any more. Nobody has told me what will happen if I am designated as a Black Witch, but as all Black Witches in Britain are captured or killed on sight, I’ve got a good idea.

I have to leave. But first I have to see Arran. It’s his seventeenth birthday in a week’s time, and I want to be with him for his Giving. After that I will go in search of my father.