‘Blood won’t help. You know that the first body you raised killed someone. By doing what you did, you caused the death of an innocent man.’

‘That wasn’t my fault! He shouldn’t have been up here!’

Ignoring Alistair’s desperate attempt to blame his victim, I persisted. ‘His name was Benjamin Alberts. He had his whole life ahead of him and your actions meant he died alone and in pain. It was a brutal way to go. Gareth will tell you that.’

‘I’ve got more control now! That won’t happen again.’

I shook my head. ‘No, Alistair. You have less control now, not more. You’re an inch away from the magic taking you over completely. You’ll destroy yourself in the process. You were talking about blood. What colour is yours?’

Alistair’s eyes were shifting from left to right. I could see from the expression in them that he wasn’t going to believe me. He didn’t want to believe me. ‘Red, of course.’

‘Are you sure?’ I pressed. ‘Because I wasn’t lying when I said that necromancy was dangerous. If your blood has even the faintest tinge of black then it’s already too late. The power you’ve unleashed will destroy half this land. Not just me and Gareth, but your parents. The town of Tomintoul and everyone around it. You’re releasing hell, Alistair. You need to stop.’

What I didn’t mention was that whether his blood was black or not, it was the end of the road for him. I doubted that would go down well.

Alistair spun round with a flounce. The momentary freedom from his gaze was exactly what I needed. With one last jerk, I managed to get not only my thumbs but also my fingers free enough to perform the rune I required. In three heartbeats, my bonds were loose enough for me to escape fully.

I remained cautious, however, and stayed in place so that Alistair wouldn’t get suspicious and attack. He already had necromancy to his name; there was no telling what other magical abilities he could boast of. I was determined not to give him the chance.

When he turned back to face me, he was holding a long-bladed knife. There was a bleat and I realised that a few graves away there was a tied-up sheep: Alistair’s Plan A before Gareth and I had foolishly presented ourselves. He brandished the knife and for one horrified second I thought he was going to plunge it into one of us. Then he lifted it up and sliced the back of his own hand, blood immediately welling up along the cut. He held his hand aloft.

‘See?’ he declared. I peered through the gloom and relief washed through me. Alistair’s blood looked as natural as mine. The necromantic magic hadn’t taken him over just yet. There was still time. ‘This is proof that you’re lying. My blood is as red as yours. But it’s yours that will be spilt this night.’

Not if I had anything to do with it. Unable to waste any more time and regardless of the consequences, I raised my hands and threw out an attack rune. This one was designed to take no prisoners.