Free Fire on the Island by J. K. Hogan

exactly matched
the symbol on the cover of the Bruixi text, except hers had a glyph
shaped like an eye inside the smallest circle.
    He had just
found the Arran Witch, and he had no idea what to do about it.

Chapter
Eight
    Glasgow,
Scotland, UK
    Milton
District
    October 31,
1991
     
    Isla sat in her
favorite chair by the window of the one-bedroom shack she shared with her
mother, and stared out at the rain pelting the dirty window. The old chair had
three and a half legs—the half-leg was propped up with a stack of books—and was
upholstered with dodgy plaid fabric, but it was the most comfortable thing in
the building.
    A mother and
her son hurried past on the street below, huddled under a big umbrella, and
Isla half-heartedly wished she could go with them. Feeling much older than her eight
years, Isla knew she would never have a mother like the one on the street. One
who cared about her child and wanted to see him safe and warm inside. Her
mother did the best she could, the drink having stolen half her mind and all
her beauty, but Isla longed for a normal family. One with a mum and a da and a
nice house without the stink of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and bitterness in the
air.
    Eileen MacAllen
had led a hard life. Her husband had left her when Isla was just two years old.
Eileen blamed it on the psychotic ravings of her now-dead mother, when Isla
felt sure it was probably the booze and the anger that had driven him away. She
would probably never understand why her mother was so angry at the world, so
the best she could do was stay out of her way.
    Isla wished she
could be out guising like the rest of the kids her age would be on Halloween,
but she'd never been allowed to go. And the children certainly didn't come to
their neighborhood to beg for candy. Absently, she reached under her black, curly
hair and rubbed at a sore spot on the back of her neck. Her neck had been
aching lately, probably because of the lumpy bed and flat pillow she slept on,
and today it had kicked up a notch.
    "Something
wrong with your neck, girl?" Eileen barked from the old couch.
    Isla knew
better than to complain in her mother's presence. "No, ma'am. Sure I just
slept on it wrong."
    Eileen rose and
walked over to Isla, batting the girl's hands away, ignoring her protests.
"Let's 'ave a look, then." Surprisingly gently, Eileen lifted Isla's
hair off her neck. With a gasp, she dropped it again and backed away.
    Hearing
Eileen's sharp intake of breath, Isla turned to face her. "What is it,
Mum?"
    Her mother's
eyes grew shuttered, her face strangely expressionless. "Nothing to worry
over, it's just a bit red. We'll put a salve on it before you go to bed."
Eileen said and hurried out of the room. Isla caught the image of Eileen
crossing herself in the wall mirror but thought she must be mistaken. Eileen
had lost her faith years ago.
    Curious about
her mother's reaction to her sore neck, she went to retrieve a hand mirror off
the dingy bathroom sink. Turning away from the mirror above the sink, she
angled the smaller mirror so she could see the back of her head in the
reflection. Lifting her hair up with her other hand, Isla inspected the back of
her neck, expecting to find a rash or a cut. She froze in disbelief, stunned
and confused by what she saw. A mark had appeared on the skin of her neck,
about two inches in diameter, so clearly defined that it could have been a
tattoo—only it wasn't. The edges of it were raised as if it had been scored
into her skin.
    The image that
appeared was three concentric circles, nested inside one another, with three
slashes across them, one at twelve o'clock, one at four, and one at eight, like
they formed the points of an invisible triangle. Inside the smallest circle was
a primitive-looking glyph that resembled an eye. Isla was at a loss to explain
the appearance of the strange brand or why her mother hadn't told her about it.
She knew she was out of time to figure it out when Eileen called her to the
kitchen area