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worth a fortune anywhere behind the mirror.
    ‘That was not very respectful!’ he whispered. His face was scarred, and the left ear was torn off. In their cold homeland, Djinns were often used in wars.
    ‘Good. What are my master’s wishes?’ he purred. ‘The usual? Gold? Power? Your enemies laid out at your feet like swatted flies?’
    The bottle was so cold that Jacob’s hands were getting numb. Hold on to it, Jacob!
    ‘Give it to me!’ The Djinn leant down so far that his glass hair brushed against Jacob’s shoulder. ‘Give me the bottle and I will get you whatever you desire. If you try to keep it, I shall wait day and night for my chance to kill you. I have seen nothing but brown glass for a long time, and your screams would help drive out the silence that still numbs my ears.’ The idea brought a smile of pure delight to his sly face. Djinns liked to talk nearly as much as they liked to kill.
    ‘You can have the bottle!’ Jacob called out. The stench of sulphur emanating from the Djinn’s grey skin was so strong that he nearly threw up. ‘For one drop of your blood.’
    The spirit bared his teeth, which were as grey as the rest of his body. ‘My blood?’ His grin was pure malice. ‘What’s killing you? Poison? A disease? Or is it a curse?’
    ‘What is it to you?’ Jacob replied. ‘Do we have a deal or not?’
    The grin turned murderous. His kind of Djinn usually tried to bite off the head of whoever handed him his bottle. Jacob knew of two treasure hunters who’d died that way. Djinns had strong teeth. You’d better be quick, Jacob. Very quick.
    The spirit offered his hand. ‘We have a deal.’ His little finger alone was longer than a human arm.
    Jacob closed his fingers more firmly around the bottle, though the glass was scorching his skin. ‘Oh no. Your blood first.’
    The spirit bared his teeth and leant over Jacob with a sneer. ‘Why don’t you come and get it?’
    Exactly what Jacob had been waiting for.
    He grabbed hold of one of the glass hairs and pulled himself up. The spirit snatched at him, but before the Djinn could reach him, Jacob had already rammed the bottle up his nose. The spirit howled and tried to pull it out with his massive fingers. Now, Jacob! He jumped on to the Djinn’s shoulder and sliced the tattered earlobe with his knife. Black blood spurted out. Jacob rubbed it on his skin while the spirit still tried in vain to pull the bottle from his nostril. His grunts and groans sent ice crystals dancing through the air. Jacob jumped off the Djinn’s shoulder. He nearly broke his legs landing on the icy flagstones. On your feet, Jacob! The chapel’s roof burst under the pressure of the spirit’s barbed back. Jacob slithered towards the door.
    Go, Jacob!
    He ran towards the tall pines behind the chapel, but before he could reach the protection of their branches, he was grabbed by icy fingers and lifted up into the air. Jacob felt one of his ribs break. Dangerous medicine.
    ‘Pull it out!’
    Jacob screamed with pain as the spirit tightened his grip. The huge fingers lifted Jacob higher, until he was close enough to push his hand into the massive nostril.
    ‘If you drop it,’ the spirit whispered, ‘I’ll still have enough time to break all your bones.’
    Maybe. But the Djinn was going to kill him even if he handed over the bottle. Nothing to lose. Jacob’s fingers found the neck of the bottle. They gripped the cold glass.
    ‘Pull . . . it . . . ooouuut!’ The spirit’s bloodthirsty voice enveloped him.
    Jacob was in no rush. After all, these might be the final moments of his life. Up on the hill he saw the tower rising into the dark sky, and beneath it a marten was nibbling on the fresh buds of a tree. Spring was coming. Life or death, Jacob. Once again.
    He pulled out the bottle and threw it as hard as he could against the remnants of the chapel’s gabled roof.
    The Djinn’s enraged howl caused the marten to freeze. The grey fingers closed around Jacob’s