‘You don’t understand, you have to stop what you’re doing. You mustn’t set her free!’

‘What are you talking about? We’ve been waiting to raise the find for weeks.’

‘But the grave … the body … Molly was right. It was held down for a reason. You’re letting it go, don’t you see?’

‘Get out of the way. We need to get this stone into the trailer.’

Dylan calls down from the lip of the hole. ‘Tilda, come away…’

‘No! I can see her. This is what she wants. She’s angry and she’s wicked and once she’s set free who knows what she’ll try to do!’

Lucas is incredulous. ‘Have you been drinking, or are you just barking mad?’

‘Hey!’ Dylan jumps down into the trench. ‘Don’t talk to her like that.’

Lucas narrows his eyes, looking from Dylan to Tilda and back again. ‘Why don’t you take your girlfriend home,’ he hisses at him. ‘I don’t need hysterical women messing up months of work…’

Dylan scowls at him. ‘Why don’t you stop being such a pain in the arse?’

As the two argue, Tilda notices the witch’s form circling above them, around the three lights, faster and faster, until it is a blur of speed and dark energy. One of the floodlights begins to wobble and threaten to tip forward.

‘For God’s sake, put the stone back where it was!’ Tilda yells, but nobody takes any notice. She knows she must act, must do something. Swallowing panic, she scrambles back out of the trench and stands beneath the nearest light. She stares up into its beams the best she can, forcing herself to keep her eyes open. She breathes deeply, then faster, imagining she is running, imagining she is trying to send all her strength powering through her body, the heat and force of her own energy feeding her mind. Feeding whatever it is inside her that allows her to influence things in the way she believes she can. Her eyes start to water and sting, her mind fills with the beating of her own heart, pain builds in her head until she fears she may start screaming, or look away and give up.

I must not! I will not!

Still, she does not seem able to do what she needs to do. Still, nothing happens, except that the swirling mass of the witch’s ghost grows ever bigger and darker and spins ever faster. Just when she feels sure she will fail, something compels Tilda to take hold of the gold bracelet in her pocket. She grasps it, amazed to find it is not just warm, but actually hot. She holds on to it tightly, willing herself to ignore the pain as it begins to burn her palm.