Relief welled up inside me, so pure and strong I laughed out loud. I sank on to the carpet, bared my arm, and tipped the precious vial of amaranth on to the poltergeist’s mark. Warmth flowered underneath the stone-cold skin. The twisted wound cracked open, like old paint. As I circled my finger over it, it washed away, leaving my skin smooth as buttermilk.
