Reverand Hale and his disciples had just left my kitchen as I let out a sigh. Recalling the Ten Commandments had been difficult and had sent burns through my head that were slowly ebbing away. The pot over the stove began to stir itself again as I pulled a hastily-hidden spellbook from under the bowl of fruit – the last place they would look.

They had every reason to suspect me: a woman so disinterested in community life, who sat at the very back of the church hall with her ears discretely plugged. Just to hear the name of Christ was a betrayal to the one I served. It had been seven years since He had approached me in my dreams and I had agreed to etch my name into his Book in my blood. The scar on my finger rang clear. How foolish they were not to have discovered this singular side effect.

The wind blew through an open window behind me and my mind closed it without much attention. Suddenly a shout rang clear in my small kitchen and the weight of that shout weighed heavy as the clamour began.