“I think they’ll kill me if I go to the next assessment.”

“Maybe . . . but I think not. There’s a reason they haven’t so far. And it’s not because they’re feeling kind and generous, you can be sure of that.”

“Do you know the reason?”

“I have an idea what it may be.” She wipes her mouth with her sleeve and then pats my arm, saying, “You will have to leave soon.”

The sun was behind the trees now. “Yes. It’s late.”

She grabs my arm in a tight clawlike grip. “No, not leave here. You must leave your home soon. Find Mercury. She will help you. She will give you three gifts.”

“But my father . . .”

“You mustn’t try to find your father. Mercury will help you. She helps many witches who are in trouble. Of course she will expect some payment in return. But she will help you.”

“Who is Mercury?”

“A Black Witch. An old Black Witch. Ha! You think I’m old. She is old. Her Gift is strong, though, very strong. She can control the weather.”

“But how can she give me blood? She’s not my parent or grandparent.”

“No, but she is a very astute businesswoman. Ironically, the Council is the source of Mercury’s success. You see, they decided years ago to keep a bank of blood of all White Witches, so that if a child should be orphaned the Council would be able to step in and arrange the Giving ceremony.”

“And it worked?”

“Yes, perfectly. The spell is modified, I believe, but the blood is of the parent or grandparent and three gifts are given.”

“Let me guess . . . Mercury stole some of the blood.” And so she must have some of my mother’s.

“Well, it isn’t hard to guess that. Any fool could have told the Council that this was bound to happen, and many did. And while they were warning the Council, and the Council was assuring everyone that the blood was secure, Mercury was stealing parts of the store. Never whole bottles, just enough to ensure that if any whet fell into bad books with their parents or the Council they could run to Mercury for help.

“There are many potions requiring witches’ blood. White Witches go to Mercury when they can’t get help within their own community. Black Witches go to her when they need White Witch blood for a potion. Mercury does not help people for free, but she doesn’t get paid in cash; she gets paid in kind. She exchanges the blood for potions, spells, rare ingredients, magical items . . . You get the idea. She has learned how to make potions and cast spells even though that is not her Gift. She has access to strong magic, and she has grown into a very powerful witch.”

“And how do I find her?”

“Oh, I don’t know where she is. Not many people do. But there are a few White Witches who don’t agree with the Council’s methods or for some reason or other have fallen out with them. Mercury uses such people. And one of them I do know.”

“And I can trust this person?”

“Yes, you can trust Bob. He has his own reasons for despising the Council. He’s a good friend.”

We’re silent. I think I can trust Mary, but Mercury doesn’t sound like a good solution to my problems. And I want to see my father.

I say, “But I think my father—”

Mary interrupts, “Yes, let’s talk about your father. Of course, I don’t know him at all well, and your gran knows him better than I do.”

I’m not sure that I heard that right.

“I take it from that look on your face that she’s never mentioned that.”

“No! How does Gran know Marcus?”

“We’ll come to that shortly. First tell me what you know about your father.”

My head is spinning. Gran knows Marcus. That means . . .

Mary prods me on the arm. “Tell me what you know about Marcus. We’ll get back to your gran soon enough.”

I hesitate. Gran said never to talk about Marcus, and she never talked about him. But all the time she’s kept this secret from me. . . .

I say it loud and clear. “Marcus is my father. One of the few Black Witches left in England.”

I was always afraid to talk about him because the Council might be listening, but now it feels like he is listening.

And then I’m angry at him, and angry at Gran, and I say, “He’s powerful and ruthless. He kills White Witches and takes their Gifts. He mainly kills members of the Council, and Hunters too, and their families. His Gift, the one he didn’t steal from other witches, is that he can turn—transform—into animals. This means he can eat the hearts of witches whose Gifts he wants. He becomes a lion, or something like that, eats their beating hearts and steals their Gifts.”

I’m breathing heavily.

“His mother was Saba; she was killed by Clay. Saba killed Clay’s mother, Virginia. Saba struggled with being indoors at night. So do I. And I guess Marcus is the same.

“I’m good at drawing, and Marcus is too. I’m rubbish at reading, and I guess that’s one of the few things Marcus is bad at. I have weird noises in my head, and I bet that runs in the family as well.

“Marcus hates White Witches. I’m not fond of most of them either. But I don’t go around killing them!” I shout that last bit at the treetops.

“He leaves no survivors. He kills women, children, everyone, except he didn’t kill my mother. He would probably have killed Jessica, Deborah, and Arran, but they were with my gran the night he attacked my mother. He killed their father.”

Silence.

I look at Mary and speak quietly now. “He didn’t kill my mother. He didn’t kill Gran either, though you say they’ve met. You say Gran knew him better than you did, so I guess they met more than once . . .”

Mary nods.

“So Marcus knew my mother. And Mother didn’t hate him . . . or fear him, or despise him?”

“I don’t believe so.”

I hesitate. “But they couldn’t be . . . friends . . . or lovers . . . That would be . . .”

“Unacceptable,” Mary says.

“If they were, they would have to keep it secret. . . . Though my Gran found out?”

“Or knew from the start.”

“But either way it wouldn’t make any difference; Gran couldn’t do anything except try to keep it secret too.”

“That was the best way, the only way, in which she could protect your mother. I admit she did well, considering. I believe your mother and father met once a year.”

“So, Marcus and my mother . . . they wanted to see each other . . . they arranged to meet, sent the kids to Gran’s . . . but the husband turned up unexpectedly . . . and Marcus killed him.”

Mary is nodding to each one of my statements.

“But my mother killed herself because of the guilt. . . .” I sense Mary is shaking her head.

“Because she couldn’t be with Marcus?”

Mary is still shaking her head.

I hold my gaze away from her, eventually saying what I have always known. “Because of me?”

Mary’s hand is on my arm and I turn to look at her pale eyes, watery with age. “Not in the way you think.”

“How many ways can there be?”

“I suspect she hoped that you would look like her, like her other children. You didn’t. It was clear once you were born that your father was Marcus.”

So it was because of me.

Mary pushes me on. “What would the Council want your mother to do?”

I remember Jessica’s story and the card she said had been sent to Mother. I say, “Kill me.”

“No. I don’t think the Council has ever wanted that. But your mother was a White Witch; she loved a Black Witch and had his child. And, because of her relationship, her husband—a White Witch, a member of the Council—was killed.”

The truth leaves me hollow. They would want her to kill herself. They made her do it.

The next morning Mary makes porridge. She sucks hers up slowly, making disgusting noises. I haven’t slept, and the slurping sets me on edge.

Between spoonfuls she says, “Your gran has done the best she can with you.”