Always Another Chapter: The Guest

Unexpected Guest

Hilary paused. There was a presence in the room. She felt for a sense of what it could be, but there was nothing obvious and nothing malevolent. She returned to peeling her carrot. “They say you should just scrub carrots, but these are old and robust and I think I’ll take the time to peel them,” she said and felt that presence take notice.

There was a lull with the hiss of the peeler over the fresh, vivid carrot mingling with the quiet chuckle of the wood stove. Hilary finished peeling the handful of carrots. “The farm shop had some good veggies today,” she said. There was no response from the presence. “But I wondered how many were genuinely home-grown and how many were brought in and put in rustic baskets to look right.” She kept her knives sharp and the carrot sliced easily. “But these are lovely and fresh. They feel like they came out of the ground this morning.” She took her time, trying to get a sense of what was present and where it was hiding, but it was distressingly vague. “So I guess the carrots might be local.” She slid the chopped carrots into a bowl, popping one last chunk into her mouth for the sweet crunch before reaching for the sweet potato. “But they must have flown this in. They don’t grow sweet potatoes in Yorkshire.” Hilary reached for the peeler. “I don’t usually bother with sweet potatoes, but this looked so fresh.”

There was a rattle of rain on the window. “It’s a wonderful vegetable for soup,” Hilary said, dropping the parings into the scraps bucket. “It’s sweet, but not too sweet, with a full flavor that will absorb the other flavors and amplify them, and it has just the right amount of starch.” The sweet potato crunched as she diced it up. “I don’t have to cut it up fancy,” she added. “It’s just for soup so I need it small rather than neat.” She could feel the presence edging closer. “I’d share a taste, but you can’t eat it raw.” She added the softer orange chunks to the brightness of the carrot. “Now for the parsnips.”

The wind moaned through the chimney and Hilary could feel the presence slowly getting closer as she worked. “I’ve got the soda bread I made at lunchtime on the counter. That will be perfect with a nice bowl of soup. Practically anything can go into soup.” She made short work of peeling the parsnips. “But not everything should go into a soup. At least, not all piled in together. You have to balance the ingredients for a good soup.” The parsnips were thick and sturdy and crisp under the knife. “These must be local and I think they’ve had the frost on them. That makes parsnips sweeter. They used to make them into cakes during the war.” Hilary added the diced parsnips to the bowl.

The presence was definitely intrigued and as its interest grew, the presence was stronger and behind Hilary and to the left, near the cellar door. Hilary pulled over two large onions. “These are country onions if ever I saw them,” she said. “The carrots, sweet potato and parsnips are all sweet. You need to balance that. I don’t think onions are sour or bitter, but they’re sort of anti-sweet.” She could feel the amusement from the presence. “They have a flavor all of their own.” She wrinkled her nose as she started peeling them. “I shall be crying by the end of it, I can tell. These are massive.”

The presence was drawing nearer, still invisible, but stronger than ever as it watched Hilary struggle with the onions. “I should have worn goggles,” she said, wiping her watering eyes with the back of her hand. “Or held a bit of bread in my mouth.” She tipped the first chopped onion into the bowl with the other vegetables. “I’m going to be a wreck by the time I finish this. But the stronger they are, the better the flavor. I’m not going for a delicate soup here. I want something to stick to my ribs.” Blinking through the tears, Hilary roughly chopped the second onion and added the final vegetable to the bowl. “Right, that’s the veggies done.”

She stood gracefully and filled a kettle at the deep, porcelain sink, carefully not turning around towards the presence. “If I was any sort of cook, I’d have home-made stock, but I’m not so it’s stock cubes and hot water.” She placed the kettle on the stove and set a large pan next to it. “People say you can make great stock from peelings, but what with storing and straining and messing around, I’d rather buy something from the supermarket.” She felt the question coming from beside her. “I’ll let the kettle boil and add the stock cubes later. Let’s get the vegetables cooking first.”

A generous splash of canola oil was added to the pan. “People think that a soup can be made with dumping ingredients in water, but you get a better result if you take a few moments to soften the veggies first.” Hilary eyed the oil and, as it was flowing freely, tipped the bowl of chopped vegetables into the pan. The hissing sizzle made the presence jump back for a moment and then lean forward. “Besides, a decent oil will make the flavorings stick.” Hilary grabbed a wooden spoon and gave the pan a quick stir. “You need a little oil to bring the taste out.” She carefully didn’t look at the presence. “How do you feel about garlic?”

“I likes it,” a small soft voice said. “I likes it plenty.”

Hilary reached for the garlic powder. “Then I’ll add plenty. It’ll add a nice contrast to the parsnips and sweet potato.” She stirred the pan again and added generous shakes of garlic powder. “I like chopped or crushed garlic for a stir fry or a stew, but garlic powder sticks better and flavors more in a soup or a dressing.” She stirred the garlic through, enjoying the scented steam from the pan as the vegetables and garlic mingled. “And spices. Do you like spices?”

“That’s rich and rare, mistress,” the voice said softly.

Hilary risked a quick glance. Standing next to her at the stove was a small human-like creature, about the size of an eight year old child, with lumpy features smeared with dirt and a torn, sack like dress. Her hair was tangled and her feet were bare but she peered, intrigued, at the pan. “What should I call you?” Hilary asked.

“I is Bracken, in general,” she said. “Are you going to use pepper?”

“I’m going to add pepper, of course,” Hilary said. “And there’s salt in the stock cubes. But it needs a little more. Parsnips always drink up the warmer spices so I’m adding cumin and turmeric, and plenty of them.” She pulled the jars from spice rack. “The farm shop didn’t sell these, and they’re not from Yorkshire.” She strewed the spices thickly over the vegetables and stirred again before putting the spices back. “And a dash of chili powder.” Hilary added the spice sparingly. “I’m not so keen on chili, but it adds a little spark.” The heat of the pan and the juices of the vegetables released the fragrance of the spices and the aroma drifted around the room. Hilary breathed in deeply, enjoying the exotic scents now filling her plain Yorkshire kitchen before adding a final grind of warm black pepper. She glanced quickly at Bracken before looking back at the pan. “You don’t see many brownies around.”

Bracken shifted nervously. “I isn’t happy in my position,” she said primly. “I seeking a different place.”

“I don’t know if I could pay you enough,” Hilary said. She crossed the kitchen to the row of cupboards. “Or I’d be happy to take you in.”

“You has a pleasant establishment,” Bracken said. “I is not looking for top wages as I is learning to cook.”

Hilary pulled out the jar of lentils. “Well, there’s no rush for you to leave,” she said, dumping a large scoop of red lentils into the pan and stirring vigorously. “Most people say that you should add the lentils after the stock, but I think it helps get the flavors into the lentils if you stir them in the oil. It helps the spices and garlic powder to stick.”

“My wages is a safe place to sleep, my foods and drink and a glass of milk every day,” Bracken said. She took a deep breath at her own daring. “And a coin at Christmas.”

“Hmmm.” Hilary kept stirring, turning the lentils through the softening vegetables and spice filled oil. “I could pay that,” she said. “And clothes for your back, just to be decent, and time off on Sunday.”

“That is a big wage and hard to earn,” Bracken said nervously.

“I’ll want you to keep the cottage clean,” Hilary said. “And some help with the baking.”

“I does learn to cook well, mistress,” Bracken said earnestly.

“Now it’s time for the water and stock cubes,” Hilary said. The kettle on the top of the stove was steaming and hissed and spat wildly as Hilary added it to the pan followed by two stock cubes. “And some herbs.” She smiled at Bracken. “These are from Yorkshire and I know that because I grew them myself.” She added a good sprinkling of dried parsley, oregano and coriander. “Spices go in with oil but dried herbs go in with water.” She gave a final stir, scraping across the bottom of the pan to dislodge the stuck lentils and then slid a lid on top. “Now it needs to simmer for a while.” She pulled the pan to the edge of the hotplate. “Would you like a cup of tea? Or would you prefer milk?” she asked.

Before Bracken could answer, there was a loud banging, a heavy fist thumping hard into the door. Bracken started. “That may be my former position,” she whispered.

Hilary looked down at the creature. Unlovely as she was, there was a sweetness about her and it seemed wrong that she should be flinching. “Stay there, Bracken,” she said and unlocked the door. “Who’s there?”

“You have something of mine!” an imperious voice rang out.

Hilary opened the door. Standing outside, tousled by the evening breeze, was something that looked like a man. He was tall and lean, looming over her, and his shoulder length dark hair was blowing around his thin face. Bright blue eyes bored into her. “You have something of mine,” he snapped.

“I have a guest,” Hilary said, “With all that entails.”

“You are new to this cottage and this domain,” the stranger said. “You don’t understand the ways of this place. Return my property or face consequences.”

“I is seeking a new situation,” Bracken squeaked from behind Hilary. “There is cooking in this place.”

“That’s enough!” He strode forward and there was a flash as he hit something invisible but entirely solid and collapsed.

“This is Rowan Cottage and it’s always been a witch’s cottage,” Hilary said, leaning forward. “Do you think anyone else could live here? And I do not tolerate any of the Fair Folk striding in without invitation.” She turned to Bracken. “What should I call him.”

“He is called Lord Peregrine by the Shadow Folk,” Bracken said nervously. “That is how I addresses him.”

Lord Peregrine staggered shakily to his feet. “You are a hag?”

“That’s rather a personal question,” Hilary said absently as she concentrated. A glowing light slid around the door frame and encircled Lord Peregrine. “I prefer the term Wise Woman. And Bracken stays with me now.” She could feel the tension leave Bracken but didn’t look around as she held the enchantment.

Lord Peregrine glowered. “You compel me,” he snarled.

“Just a little,” Hilary said. “I want to be clear. You do not come after me, not now in my own place or at any other time.”

“But you have something of mine,” Lord Peregrine grumbled.

“I has taken a new situation,” Bracken said, her voice trembling a little at her audacity in speaking. “As there is cooking here.”

Lord Peregrine looked over to the stove. “I can tell,” he said. “I still want compensation.”

“Compensation for a choice that wasn’t yours to make?” Hilary asked, raising an eyebrow. “Enter this night and be welcome this night.” The light around the door faded. “Come in and we can discuss terms.”

Lord Peregrine stepped warily into the shabby kitchen. “This has changed since I was last here.”

Hilary carefully grabbed the kettle with a potholder and refilled it. “When was that?” she asked. She set the kettle back on the center of the stove and then lifted the lid on the soup. The warm aroma that was already filling the room intensified. “You have to keep stirring this,” Hilary told Bracken. “Or the lentils stick to the bottom. Would you please help?”

“Yes, mistress,” Bracken said shyly and took the wooden spoon. It was a stretch for her until Hilary brought over a stool for Bracken to stand on. “Thank you, mistress.” She shot a scared, defiant look at Lord Peregrine. “I is cooking.”

“Those spices from distant lands and roots from the local fields make an unexpected blend,” Lord Peregrine murmured.

“Please take a seat,” Hilary said, waving a hand towards the long kitchen table. “You know that you cannot ask much. Bracken has her own mind.”

Lord Peregrine sank into a kitchen chair, his eyes fixed on the pan of soup. “If I can eat a bowl of soup, fresh and hot at this table, then I will be satisfied,” he said.

Hilary thought for a moment. “That’s agreeable,” she said. “Please keep stirring the soup, Bracken, and I’ll set the table.” She pulled bowls and plates from the cupboards. “I didn’t realize that there were the Fair Ones so local,” she said. She rinsed the earthenware teapot with hot water at the sink and set it on the counter next to the stove. “I knew that there were strong currents of power here, but it’s unexpected to have two guests, especially so soon after I moved here.”

“There are not many of us,” Lord Peregrine said, licking his lips as he kept his gaze on the soup. “And we struggle on with so many mortals.”

Hilary placed the bread on the table with the bread knife and pulled the butter from the fridge. She glanced at Lord Peregrine. Underneath his haughty bravado there was a weariness in him. She had felt the twisting of the currents when she first moved in, and now she could see that there was more work than she had expected. “I’m blessed by your presence,” she said.

Lord Peregrine’s thin lips twisted briefly in amusement. “These spices are costly. I have never scented such richness.”

“They’re not so expensive now,” Hilary said, pouring water from the boiling kettle over the black tea in the teapot. Are the vegetables soft, Bracken?”

“Yes, mistress,” Bracken said eagerly.

“Good, that means that it’s ready to eat.” Hilary smiled at the small creature. “Please sit at the table while I finish the meal.”

It took a few minutes to blend the soup and ladle generous helpings into the bowls, sprinkling with a little fresh parsley. The inexpensive, quick meal that Hilary had planned was obviously a feast for her guests and it felt humbling. She cut half a dozen slices from the loaf and sat down with her own bowl of soup. “Please eat,” she said. “There are more helpings in the pan if you’re hungry enough.” She poured tea into the mugs. “Help yourself to sugar.”

The guests fell hungrily on the food, and all was quiet apart from the scrap of spoons, the murmur of the wood stove and the howl of the rising wind outside the cottage. Hilary found herself relaxing as the warmth from the spices filled her with each savory mouthful. The kitchen filled with contentment.

Lord Peregrine sighed, pushing away the faint remnants of his third bowl of soup and thickly buttering another slice of bread. “You are indeed a Wise Woman,” he said. “And I could use your aid with the currents of power that are so tangled at the moment.” He took a large bite of bread and butter. “But first I must ask you, now that you have Bracken here. Do you have room for a paying lodger?”

Hilary thought for a moment. It would be madness to invite one of the Fair Folk to live with her, especially as there was so much work to be done, and that was on top of her mundane work that paid the bills. But as the contentment in the kitchen wrapped around her with the scent of the soup, she sighed. The cottage was filled with empty rooms and the loneliness since she moved here was starting to bite. She watched Lord Peregrine carefully wiping the bread around his bowl to pick up the last traces of the soup. And it was such a pleasure to cook for appreciative appetites. “I will happily accept you as a paying lodger for now,” she said. “We can work out the details in the morning.” She stood and started collecting the bowls. “Tonight we have apple cake and cream for desert.” And the warmth of the kitchen seemed almost overflowing.

Settling In

*I couldn't find any image that could represent the madness of calculating the cost of a spoonful of flour so I created my own*

“This is too much” Bracken wailed. “This is too many for the work I do.” She grabbed a cloth and started polishing the already immaculate sink.

Hilary shook her head. “The clothes aren’t even new,” she said. “It’s just the basics. You need to keep yourself warm.”

“And I has a bed!” Bracken added, moving on to the taps. “With blankets! I am used to sleeping at the hearth.”

“Those were the terms,” Hilary said helplessly. “A safe place to eat, your food and drink, a glass of milk…”

“And you pour it fresh every morning for me!” Bracken interrupted. She rinsed out the cloth and started wiping down the gleaming doors of the under sink cupboard.

“A coin at Christmas and I insisted on clothes for your back and time off on Sunday,” Hilary continued.

“It is a very rich wage.” Bracken wrung out the cloth and rinsed it again. “There is much to do to earn it.”

“Brownies feel that they must give value for money, or the deal is unequal.” Lord Peregrine appeared at Hilary’s side. She jumped.

“Bracken, we need to understand the value we each bring,” Hilary said, ignoring Lord Peregrine. “Having you here as company is a…” she searched for the right words. “It’s a comfort to me. It makes me feel better. And I’m enjoying teaching you to cook, so it’s no hardship.”

A sliver of tension eased from Bracken. “That is a kind reassurance,” she murmured, pausing. “But the clothes are so fine.”

“Your work has value,” Hilary said.

“I must work so hard and I has no rest for these clothes.” Bracken was almost sobbing. She looked around frantically. “I can clean out the cupboards.”

Hilary scrabbled for ideas. “Before you start that, why don’t we sit down and talk about it.” She lowered herself into a kitchen chair. “You ask for food, don’t you?” she said. “And I worry that you’re not eating enough.”

“The food is splendid, more than I is used to,” Bracken wiped a stray tear from her eye and shuffled into a chair across from Hilary.

Hilary frowned and turned to Lord Peregrine. “Exactly how much did you pay this poor thing and how are her expectations so low?”

Lord Peregrine shrugged. “She owed duty as part of the court.” He looked away from Hilary’s dark expression. “And I haven’t interacted with brownies for centuries, so we worked from books.”

Hilary closed her eyes for a moment. “If you were mortal, and part of the human world, I would need to pay you the minimum legal wage,” she told Bracken. “That’s £12.21 per hour right now. I looked it up. I don’t know how many hours you’ve done already, but I’m sure that I owe you money if we stick to that.”

Bracken looked appalled. “I can’t work for money,” she said. “Nots like that! I is a proper brownie and I know my station.”

“I heard rumours of a family of brownies who ran a cleaning company,” Hilary said. “I’m not sure of the details but they cleaned only the most expensive places and they were raking in money. They were worth a fortune.”

Bracken hunched over. “But I is all alone,” she said. “And I wish to learn the cooking.”

“She will go mad if she doesn’t have work,” Lord Peregrine slid gracefully into the chair next to Hilary. “That’s what drove her to leave. She wanted to learn more than I could teach.”

Bracken looked at Hilary beseechingly. “Please, do not pay those wages,” she begged. “I work for food and drink and a place to sleep.”

Hilary tried to work the angles. “If people think that you’re not being paid, I could be in trouble with the police.” She watched Bracken’s eyes widen in horror. “In fact, I could go to prison.”

“Really?” Lord Peregrine asked.

Hilary nodded. “There are all sorts of subtleties,” she said. “And I’ll be honest, no-one is likely to investigate unless a report is made to the police.” She paused dramatically. “But what if someone sees you in bad clothes and looking hungry. They may ask the police to talk to me, even though we are both doing are best.”

“We mustn’t do that!” Bracken cried.

“So you need to have proper clothes and decent food,” Hilary said. “And I have to be able to show that you have a bed.”

“But that is such a rich wage,” Bracken whispered.

Lord Peregrine held up a hand. “Please allow me to conduct this negotiation,” he said. “I’m sure that I can work something out.”

“Will it be fair?” Hilary asked. “I’ve heard all about fae bargains.”

Lord Peregrine looked hurt. “This is a member of my court,” he huffed. “Of course it will be fair on her.” He shifted. “And it will be fair to you as well,” he added begrudgingly. “You are too useful at the moment for me to risk annoying.”

“I’m relieved,” Hilary said.

Lord Peregrine turned his considerable attention to Bracken. “How many hours does it take to keep this cottage clean?”

Bracken waved an airy hand. “I is skilled as a brownie,” she said confidently. “I is competent and I is organised. This stays tiptop clean with perhaps one hour each day.”

“Only an hour?” Hilary said sceptically.

“It took me a few hours to bring up to my decent standard,” Bracken admitted. “Of course, you don’t know the brownie way and your towels were folded all incorrectly.”

“So you should get at least as much food and drink, with clothes, that come to £12.21,” Lord Peregrine said. “That’s every day.”

Bracken looked alarmed. “But I also is getting teaching,” she said. “And kindness. There is a cost and more than £12.21.”

“Miss Hilary has already stated her enjoyment of teaching,” Lord Peregrine said. He turned to Hilary. “May I have as many receipts for your grocery shopping as you have, plus the receipt for the clothes.”

Hilary dug in her pockets and rummaged in her purse and bag and produced a handful of paper slips. “These are the receipts that I have. The tags are still on the clothes. They’re only from the charity shop.”

“They is good clothes with nothing wrong with them,” Bracken said indignantly. “They do not even need a mending.”

“But their cost is known,” Lord Peregrine said.

*****

The debate was on. Hilary eased out of the chair and filled the kettle at the shining sink, guiltily wiping up any water splashes before sliding the kettle onto the wood stove. She really needed a cup of tea right now.

“But that is a proportionate,” Bracken said. “I did not eat the whole pan of the stew.”

Hilary rinsed the teapot with hot water from the tap and dropped in two Yorkshire Tea teabags. This discussion looked like it could go on for some time. She pulled out three mugs from the cupboard and the pen and pad of paper she used for shopping lists.

“Thank you,” Lord Peregrine said, taking the pen and paper. “Okay, looking on the internet…”

“This is complicated and right,” Bracken said.

“This jar of paprika has 50 grams.” Lord Peregrine frowned. “What are grams?”

Hilary pulled the biscuit tin from the shelf. “There are about twenty five grams to each ounce, if you are converting a recipe,” she said. “It’s close enough.”

Lord Peregrine’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm. Well, we shall see.”

Hilary pulled out the milk from the fridge. Bracken usually had a strong cup of tea with a glass of milk on the side. She glanced at the two fae creatures bent over her kitchen table. It sounded more complicated than an international trade agreement.

“And according to this on the internet, there are four tablespoons of paprika per ounce,” Lord Peregrine said.

Hilary shook her head and piled gingersnaps onto a side plate which she slid between the negotiators, next to the paper. The kettle was starting to bubble and she dropped a single Earl Grey teabag into one of the mugs.

“But it was no tablespoons!” Bracken insisted. “I made most careful notes. It was one teaspoon for the pan with the other rich spices.”

“It sounds delicious,” Lord Peregrine said with a trace of envy in his voice. He glanced up at Hilary as she placed the sugar bowl in front of him. “Will there be any spare for dinner tonight?”

“Of course,” Hilary said, adding the milk jug and a glass of milk in front of Bracken. Using a milk jug instead of just pouring straight from the supermarket container only added to washing up as far as she was concerned, but it kept Bracken happy.

“Does it count as continuing in the cooking if the stew is just on the cooking stove without any stirring or additions?” Bracken said as she frowned down at the sprawling calculations on the pad.

“And how many teaspoons to a tablespoon?” Lord Peregrine tapped the pen on the table. “Thank you,” he sighed as Hilary placed the steaming mug of Earl Grey in front of him. “And you have provided biscuits.”

“I also worked on those,” Bracken said anxiously. “I is learning all different cooking.”

Lord Peregrine bit into a gingersnap with a satisfying crunch. “This is delicious!” Bracken beamed with pride.

“You are going to drive yourselves mad if you try and work out the costs of herbs and spices,” Hilary said. “And it’s three teaspoons per tablespoon, so 24 teaspoons in one of those small jars which sounds pretty implausible to me. Why not assume 50p for herbs, spices, oil, salt and that sort of thing.” She placed the teapot and mugs for her and Bracken on the table. “It’s a fae trap, if you ask me. You can chase down tiny amounts to smaller and smaller quantities, but all that will do is fill paper with calculations.” She poured a generous splash of milk into her own mug. “I think that it’s reasonable to assign a cost per day for food. Sometimes the actual cost of the food will be more and sometimes it will be less, but it will work out around the same amount over time.”

Lord Peregrine looked thoughtful. “You are correct. I could feel myself being consumed by the question.”

“What is a fae trap?” Bracken asked.

Lord Peregrine sagged a little. “Fae can get caught up in smaller and smaller details, arguing about tinier and tinier fragments, like the cost of a teaspoon of paprika, when it’s not important.” He smiled wryly at Hilary. “That’s when a pet human is useful and can pull us out of a spiral.”

“I’m not anyone’s pet human,” Hilary said tartly. “And between the food and clothes, I’m sure that I’m still underpaying Bracken.”

“If she was human, you would be right,” Lord Peregrine said. He looked thoughtfully at Bracken. “But this is an unusual situation.” He added several heaped spoons of sugar to the mug in front of him. “As your lord, I declare that the deal is fair,” he said firmly. “You will work for Miss Hilary for at least one hour per day and in return receive food, lodging, clothing deemed appropriate by Miss Hilary, a coin at Christmas and instruction in cookery. If there are any changes then I shall investigate before approving them.”

“And the glass of milk?” Bracken asked nervously.

“Included in the clause concerning food,” Lord Peregrine said loftily.

“I’m glad that it’s sorted out,” Hilary said. She walked over to the freezer. “We spent yesterday stocking the freezer with all sorts of meals. Would you like to try one? I feel like the chicken and mushroom casserole.”

Bracken nodded with enthusiasm. “That is wonderfully peppery, and much flavour.”

“I would be thrilled to join,” Lord Peregrine said. “And you must take out extra for your lodger.”

Hilary looked at Lord Peregrine with suspicion. “I already said that you could stay for dinner,” she said. “And the meals are frozen in portions. I can just take out three packages.” Her heart sank as she saw the mischief dancing in Lord Peregrine’s eyes. “What have I missed?”

“I asked you to take a lodger,” Lord Peregrine said. “But I never said it was me. You had better take out five portions of the delicious chicken and mushroom casserole. Tom has a large appetite.”

“Who is Tom?” Hilary asked, bewildered.

“Tom is your new lodger.” Lord Peregrine took another biscuit and leaned back in his chair. “And he will be here any minute now.”

Tom

Hilary glared at Lord Peregrine. “You said that you wanted to be a lodger,” she said.

Lord Peregrine looked smug. “I didn’t say that precisely,” he said. “I asked if you wanted a lodger. And he’ll pay in proper money as well.”

Hilary’s eyes narrowed. “You may not have lied in the strict definition, but you mislead me.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Lord Peregrine smiled happily. “After all, you’ve stolen Bracken from me.”

Hilary sagged in her seat at the kitchen table. “I need another cup of tea.”

“I is getting it,” Bracken said, patting Hilary’s shoulder and turning to glare at Lord Peregrine. “Mistress is mortal. And I wished for a new situation with cookery before we was introduced.”

“And make another cup of Earl Grey tea for me,” Lord Peregrine said.

“Mistress Hilary asks nicely,” Bracken sniffed. “But I remember politeness.” She bustled around, filling the kettle and setting it on the stove.

“I suppose you still want to eat here,” Hilary said, glaring at Lord Peregrine.

“Well, of course,” Lord Peregrine said. “I shall eat here every evening, when I remember.” He smiled sweetly at Bracken as she slammed more biscuits onto the plate on the table and knocking crumbs everywhere. “Thank you.”

Bracken relaxed a little. “Tea will be soon,” she announced.

“What does ‘every evening when I remember’ mean?” Hilary asked. “Does that mean that you’ll be here every night or does it mean that you’ll turn up when you remember?”

“Don’t you need to prepare the casserole?” Lord Peregrine asked innocently.

Bracken placed a steaming cup of tea in front of Hilary. “I shall fetch the portions,” she said. “And this is as friend, not as a brownie.” She shot a dark look at Lord Peregrine and stalked into the roomy pantry.

“And this person could be here at any minute?” Hilary asked. Lord Peregrine spread his hands innocently and Hilary nearly growled.

“The casserole is here,” Bracken said, returning. “But the microwave is too small for all portions.”

Hilary shook her head. “Dinner will be a little later,” she said, taking a mouthful of the too hot tea and wincing. “You can wait!” she said, pointing at Lord Peregrine. “And so can this lodger.”

“His name is Tom,” Lord Peregrine said. “That’s Thomas Lowgill. He works in an office for buildings in Leeds and is a werewolf.”

For a moment, Hilary just stood, frozen and stunned. Lord Peregrine had invited a werewolf into her home? What was she going to do? How was she going to protect Bracken? And the meat part of the grocery bill was about to get a lot bigger. She swallowed as a chill ran through her. Could she safely refuse this? Lord Peregrine had been pleasant enough so far, and while he wasn’t happy about Bracken moving in, it could have been worse, but fae were unpredictable and he could make things very difficult for her if he chose. Breaking an agreement with the fae came with deeply unpleasant consequences. But this lodger was a werewolf! “Is it a good job?” Hilary found herself asking. “I mean, it must be a commute into Leeds from here.”

“It’s something that pays mortal money.” Lord Peregrine waved a dismissive hand and took another biscuit. “Your cooking is extremely pleasant.”

Hilary pursed her lips. “If you please,” she started with obvious sarcasm, “Wait here while I prepare dinner for you and this lodger.”

“And us!” Bracken added.

Hilary nodded. “Let’s get some potatoes in the oven to bake and then I’ll talk to you about gently reheating casseroles and stews without a microwave.

*****

Tom squared his shoulders before knocking on the battered kitchen door, as instructed. This place was a dump. He’d heard that the old witch had died and it had taken a while to find a successor, but he hadn’t realised things had become quite so bad. The door may be clean, but it was in desperate need of a coat of paint and the garden was a mess. He held up a hand against the door, willing himself to knock. As long as the roof was sound and he could sleep undisturbed, he could manage. It was more than he deserved, after all. He dragged together his courage and then knocked firmly. How bad could it be? Where else was a lone werewolf likely to get lodgings? Tom swallowed, the cold lump of nerves in his throat almost choking him. Lord Peregrine had got the lodgings, so they had to be at least as good as a doghouse – right? He heard footsteps approaching and forced a smile onto his face. He had to look non-threatening, after all.

The woman who opened the door wasn’t what he was expecting. He’d never met a witch but only heard about them and he didn’t expect to see one wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with a cat logo on it. She looked around his age, in the early forties, though the brown hair tied up in a ponytail didn’t have any grey in it. He held out a hand. “Hi, I’m Tom Lowgill. I believe you’re expecting me.”

“I’m Hilary Marshaw,” she said, shaking his hand. “Come in.”

Tom stepped past her into the kitchen and blinked in the light, bright after the dim evening light outside. “Lord Peregrine,” he said with a small bow, then he frowned. “Bracken? What are you doing here?”

“I has found a new situation which suits me more better,” Bracken said. “I is cooking.”

“And my house is a lot cleaner for it,” Hilary said. “You can hang your coat up in the hall through there.” She stepped carefully between Tom and Bracken. “Would you like a cup of tea? Dinner is almost ready.”

“Sweat Equity!” Lord Peregrine exclaimed suddenly.

“What?” Tom asked confused. “Let me hang the coat up.” He looked at Hilary who seemed just as confused. “I would love a cuppa,” he said.

“It’s about the lodgings,” Lord Peregrine said when Tom returned. “I discussed the price with Hilary, but it seemed a little low.” He took another biscuit. “After all, if I am involved in the deal, it has to be fair.”

Tom raised a sceptical eyebrow. “I agree that the rent is cheap, especially if it includes evening meals,” he said. “But you know my situation. I can’t afford much.”

“But you work in buildings, don’t you?” Lord Peregrine said. “And this building has been neglected. I’m sure that you can help out with… things.” He waved a hand vaguely. “You know, with paint and nails and digging.”

Hilary looked carefully at Tom, then back to Lord Peregrine. “If you keep eating biscuits, you’ll spoil you’re appetite for dinner,” she said, refusing to commit to any home improvements.

“I shall make tea for Mr Tom,” Bracken said. “I remember how it is he likes it. I am very good at such things, and my cookery is much better.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Tom said. He watched Bracken carefully set his drink in front of him. “Are you another lodger?”

Bracken shook her head. “This is my new situation,” she said. “And I is most pleased with it.”

“Miss Hilary stole Bracken,” Lord Peregrine said, shooting her a dark look.

“Don’t be silly,” Hilary said. “Tom, why don’t you get your luggage and I’ll show you your room.

*****

Hilary paused in the hall outside the kitchen and allowed herself to sag for a brief moment. She’d managed to put a quick ward around Bracken’s room, and her own room was already well guarded, but she had a werewolf as a lodger and she didn’t know where to start. And even if he wasn’t a werewolf, he was tall, muscled and moved like he was extremely active. His piercing brown eyes seem to miss nothing and his cropped dark hair told her that she wasn’t dealing with the sort of easily distracted mutt that she’d faced in the past. She straightened and brushed off her jeans. She had to show a confident face in front of Bracken and she was damned if she was going to let Lord Peregrine see her rattled.

“Those potatoes are baking perfectly fine and well,” Bracken was saying as Hilary stepped into the kitchen. “Rubbed with oil and salt.” Bracken leaned in towards Lord Peregrine. "And fresh pepper, all spicy,” she added in a whisper.

“That sounds nice,” Tom said from behind Hilary, making her jump.

“Don’t worry,” Hilary said. “There’s plenty of chicken casserole to go with them.”

Tom slipped past her and looked around. “How can I help?”

“The garden is a disgrace,” Lord Peregrine said. “And I think that every door needs painting. I also think that the door to the main parlour sticks.”

“I work in estate management,” Tom said. “I don’t do the painting and weeding myself.”

Lord Peregrine waved that off. “You do things with buildings,” he said. “And Miss Hilary is teaching Bracken to cook and the food is simply wonderful. I shall be eating here every night when I remember.”

And that was Hilary’s other headache. She ignored Lord Peregrine but smiled professionally at Tom. “Why don’t you take a seat and Bracken can lay the table.”

Dinner went smoothly and Hilary was relieved when the main meal had been cleared away and an apple cake was placed on the table with a jug of thick cream. “It’s not fancy food,” she said. “But it will keep you going.” She cut into the cake. “You’ll have to give me an idea of what you like to eat.”

“I’m very easy going,” Tom said. “And not picky at all.”

“No werewolf is picky,” Bracken sniffed. “They eats like they are racing a wildfire.”

Tom winced. “Not all of us have bad manners,” he said. “But the food tonight was so good that it was all I could do not to lick the plate.”

Bracken frowned. “It is not the good manners to lick plates in this establishment,” she said seriously.

Tom fought back his smile. “Then I’ll be careful not to,” he said. “Even with food as good as that.”

Hilary felt a small glow at the praise. “You must tell me the favourite foods of your pack,” she said. “I want you to feel at home.” She felt a chill pass through the room and looked between Tom’s suddenly set expression and Lord Peregrine’s blank stare. “What? What did I say?”

“I don’t have a pack,” Tom said. He stood slowly. “Please excuse me, but I’ve had a long day. I think that I should head to bed.”

It was barely six o’clock at night, but Hilary said nothing as Tom quietly left the kitchen. For a moment she sat motionless then turned on Lord Peregrine. “You brought a Lone Wolf into my home?” she snarled. “You brought in a Lone Wolf?! What were you thinking?”

“You’re strong enough to contain him,” Lord Peregrine said, taking a sip of his Earl Grey. “Bracken, cut me a piece of cake.” He darted a quick look at Hilary’s furious expression. "Please.”

Bracken shifted nervously from foot to foot. “Should you like some cake also?” she asked Hilary.

Hilary stood slowly, grasping the back of her chair so hard that her knuckles turned white. “I can protect myself from an attack that I see coming,” she said. “I’m no warrior, though, and I’m no expert on werewolves. You have left Bracken and I extremely vulnerable.”

“Not all Lone Wolves go mad and attack everyone around them.” Lord Peregrine added a generous amount of cream to the cake that Bracken placed in front of him. He glanced quickly at Hilary then smiled at Bracken. “Thank you.”

“If anything happens to Bracken and I then the blood will be on your hands,” Hilary warned.

“Don’t be silly,” Lord Peregrine said. “Tom is a good wolf and you are perfectly safe. I won’t let anything happen to either of you. Your cooking is a revelation and I won’t risk losing it.” He took a forkful of the cake with cream and sighed with pleasure. “This cake is truly splendid.”

Hilary hoped that it choked him.

Shopping

The farm shop was almost empty as Hilary bustled in. “Good morning!” she called.

Jed looked up from the papers spread over the counter next to the till. “Good morning, Hilary,” he said. “You’re early.”

“Well, she has to stock up for her new lodger and Lord Peregrine,” Marlene said, from where she was dusting a shelf of tinned beans. “How are you managing, dear?”

Hilary blinked. “You heard, then?”

“Everyone knows,” Marlene said. “It’s on the village group chat. I think it’s lovely that you took in Tom. He’s such a sweetie and he didn’t deserve what happened.”

“Why? What happened?” Hilary asked. It was worth calling into the farm shop just for the gossip, picking up some bread or milk as an excuse to hear what was going on. “Is everything alright?”

“We don’t like to talk about it,” Jed said firmly, shooting a quick look at Marlene. “But if you’re talking about feeding Tom, he’s not very picky.”

“The thing about feeding werewolves is that you need to concentrate on quantity,” Marlene said. “They’re not fussy creatures, and they’re happy with something warm at the end of the day.”

Hilary was still getting used to talking openly about werewolves and brownies, but the mortals at Praydon Farm Shop had been farming this area since before the Romans, according to the locals, so it wasn’t too surprising that they knew about the small community here. “I want to send him in with lunch as well,” she said. “He’s a paying guest, and I don’t like the idea of him stuck in the centre of Leeds eating those expensive lunches.”

“That will be a help to him, not having to pay city prices for lunch,” Marlene agreed. “And he’ll be glad to save money after…” She broke off and glanced guiltily at her husband. “Lord Peregrine is a different kettle of fish, of course,” she said, quickly changing the subject. “I can’t imagine what he’ll be like.”

“He’ll be a nuisance, like all the Fair Folk,” Jed said. “But if you’re feeding Tom, I’ve just put together some nice, juicy burgers fresh this morning.” He waved his hand at the butchery counter. “They’re not like the frozen rubbish that you get in supermarkets, but they’re the good stuff.”

“They do look nice,” Hilary said. “How is your son doing? Is he still dating Suzanne?”

“Daniel’s supposed to be picking up half a dozen sheep for the small pasture,” Marlene said. “He should have been back over an hour ago but Suzanne will be there and you know how youngsters are…”

A visit to the farm shop was never quick. Hilary’s haul for the week included more meat than she normally cooked in a month, a very fine cabbage picked from the fields at the back, an absolute bargain haul of lentils and a full briefing on all the local area’s gossip. “This is great," Hilary said. “I’ll probably be back in a day or two for more.”

“I’m sorry that we don’t carry everything you wanted,” Marlene said. “There’s not really enough call for it.”

“It’s not worth our while,” Jed added. “It would sell, but what with the farm and the butchery, plus all plants that we’ve started selling, we don’t have a minute. You’ll have to go to one of those supermarkets.”

“Maybe someone will open a general store,” Marlene said. “The Lesken sisters are closing down the tea rooms. Someone could take over that.”

“I didn’t know the tea rooms were closing,” Hilary said. “I went there last week.”

“Then you’ll know why they’re closing,” Marlene said.

“It’s easy to be harsh,” Jed said with a look at Marlene. “But the sisters have been running that tea shop for years. They deserve a break.”

“They must be eighty if they’re a day,” Marlene said. “My grandmother used to go there when it first opened, when she was a girl.” She moved over to the shelf with the farm jams. “And through all that time it’s been Rington’s tea, coffee out of a jar, jam tarts and scones. They haven’t even tried selling sandwiches.”

“None of us are getting any younger,” Jed said placidly. “And they’re brownies, so they live a little longer. But if you ask me, they look like they’re at the time of life when they should take things a little easier.”

“If you’re doing all the cooking at your house, perhaps the tea room would suit you,” Marlene said, grinning at Hilary. “You could give it a revamp.”

“Absolutely not!” Hilary said quickly. “I’ve got a job, thank you very much, and I’m not messing around with a tea room. It looks like it would be endless washing up.”

Jed chuckled. “You’re already running a guest house with Bracken and Tom staying with you,” he said. “And I know how big that house is. When I was a lad, I helped carry the carpets in to redo the whole thing and I remember how many rooms there were. You should list yourself as a B&B.”

“As I said, I already have a job,” Hilary said, shaking her head. “Besides, Bracken is technically an employee and Tom is a werewolf. I’m not sure I want to risk taking anyone else in as goodness only knows who else I’d end up with.”

Sam Scorton wandered in. “You won’t believe who I just saw talking to the Lesken sisters,” he said.

Jed looked blank. “Everybody talks to the Lesken sisters. They’re they only tea room for miles.”

“I mean, talking,” Sam said. “I’d just finished sorting out that slip on the hill…”

“The one that happened the same night as, you know…” Marlene asked.

“Yeah, the night it all went wrong with the Lowgills. I didn’t even notice the damage for a couple of days after all that drama.”

“Tom’s staying with Hilary at Rowan Cottage,” Marlene said, nodding at her.

Sam nodded. “That’s good news. Tom deserves some luck after what happened,” he said. “And none of it his fault. No, I saw Lord Peregrine talking with the Lesken sisters about the tea rooms. I wonder if it’s him that’s going to buy it.”

“That would be a turn up,” Marlene said. “I can’t imagine Lord Peregrine wearing a frilly apron and serving up scones like the old sisters did.”

“Let’s not be disrespectful,” Jed said mildly. “And I’m sure it could have been about anything.”

Hilary grinned. “I love that image of Lord Peregrine in a pink frilly apron with a plate of scones, but he’d never take any orders, not even for a cup of tea.”

Jed laughed. “That I can believe,” he said.

“He’d be telling people how to take their tea and whether they should have jam or cream on the scone,” Sam chuckled. “No, he was talking, like outside the tea shop and pointing up at the rooms above.”

“There’s not an inch of space in that place,” Marlene said. “I went to help out once when Ivy had the flu, and I stayed on a few days when Olive caught it next. I saw the whole place while I was there and there’s hardly room to swing a cat.” She caught sight of Jed’s expression. “I wasn’t going to miss the chance to look around, was I? The tea room is big enough, but the rooms upstairs are full of stock and cooking things. I know that the sisters had a room, but being brownies, that didn’t take much space and it was just as well.”

“Anyone who takes that over will have some work to do,” Sam said, leaning on a freezer full of turkey legs. “I don’t think that it’s been painted since they took over.”

“But it will be clean,” Marlene said. “It’s always been very clean.”

Hilary wished she could stay and hear all the speculation, but time was ticking on and she had a dinner or two to prepare. “Could you help me carry my bags to the car, please, Jed?” she asked. “I’m not used to shopping for more than one.”

“Of course, lass,” Jed said, stepping around the counter. “And when you shop for a werewolf, you have to shop in bulk.”

The wind hissed coldly over the car park as Hilary hurried across the concrete and over to her elderly Ford. “Thanks, Jed,” she said. “Next time I’ll be more organised.”

“It’s not a problem, Hilary,” Jed said, lowering the bags as she unlocked her Ford Focus. “Hang on!”

Hilary jumped at the unexpected shout and then stared in horror as a sudden gust of the chill November wind rattled the ash leaning over the farm gate. With horrifying slowness, a huge tree limb cracked, slowly drooping with an unnerving groan and tearing through lower branches towards the road, just as a small, open backed truck approached. “Stay back!” she yelled, dropping her bag and racing towards the lane. “Stop!” She waved her arms frantically, hoping that she’d be seen.

The truck slammed on the brakes, just in time. The branch crashed heavily down, thrashing through the tree and landing a hand’s breadth in front of the truck. For a moment, everyone froze, waiting for a crash, before breathing out as the truck rocked violently at the sudden halt and its tailgate flew open.

“Oh bloody hell!” Jed said, “Pardon my language,” he added automatically as he raced over. “Daniel, are you okay?”

His son was still gripping the steering wheel, white knuckled and frozen at the shock of the near miss. He took a deep, shuddering breath and forced himself to look up at Jed. “Dad!” Then he slowly turned as half a dozen sheep bleated their glee as they bounced out of the truck and headed wildly back down the lane. “Oh heck.”

Hilary reached the tangled mess of branches in front of the car. Thanks to Daniel’s quick reflexes, there wasn’t a scratch on the truck but it was incredibly close. Hilary reached out to pull the branch back, but the bark was slick and it was too heavy for her to try and move. It was certainly heavy enough to do damage to the truck, and Daniel with it, if he had gone a metre further forward.

“Come on, lass,” Jed said from behind him. “We won’t get this moved any time soon. Sam will give you a lift home in the tractor, taking you over the back fields, and you can come back for your car later.” He tugged at one of the side branches of the huge tree limb blocking the road. “This will take some shifting, and you need to get your meat home before it gets too warm.”

Hilary shivered as the icy wind whistled around her and thought the meat would be as cold out here as in a fridge, but a lift was better than waiting around. “Thanks, that would be kind,” she said. She gathered up her bags, then looked back to the blocked road. She had touched the branch and felt the magic curling around it. It hadn’t fallen by accident and she wondered what that meant.

Stone in the Woods

Tom jogged easily along the road, picking his way through the drifts of fallen leaves along the pavement. Rain was forecast and he could feel the damp in the air as he turned off the main road and along the path to the woods. Despite everything that had happened, he could feel the tension in him easing as he started pushing his pace, sprinting up the slope to the wood proper and then slowing to follow the narrow, leaf-covered tracks between the trees. It was his favourite run, looping around several landmarks in the woodland and then back to the road. He grinned to himself. Except now he could cut past the holly and the stand of rowan trees to Rowan Cottage and be home.

He pounded along the track, around the half-fallen ash tree and down the slope to jump over the leaf-clogged stream. The spicy scent of the woods and the hush of the trees washed off more of the tension as he headed uphill to the old oak, skidding slightly on the muddy ground before catching his balance and turning along to the stones. He was looking forward to being home, and Rowan Cottage was quickly becoming more of a home than his brother’s house had ever been. There was a warmth there that had nothing to do with the temperamental central heating or the kitchen stove. Instead it was wrapped around good food and the quiet friendship growing between Hilary and Bracken and their calm acceptance of him.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit!”

Tom speeded up towards the stones. That was Hilary’s voice and she sounded completely fed up. “Is everything alright?” he called.

“Dammit!” Hilary grumbled. “I’m fine.”

Tom reached the clearing and grinned at the sight of her sprawled on the woodland floor. “The leaves are slippery this time of year,” he said, holding out a hand.

Hilary, flat on her back and smeared with mud and leaves, glared at him. “Really?” she said sarcastically. She sighed as she took his hand and he helped her back to her feet. “Ow.” She rubbed at her knee. “I wasn’t paying attention and this stone was hidden by wet leaves.” She knelt down and brushed the leaves from the small stone. “I tripped, skidded and the rest you know. I slid halfway across the clearing and landed on my dignity.”

Tom chuckled. “It was well hidden,” he said. “And if you hadn’t been lucky enough to find the stone, it would probably have been me sprawled out there. It was an accident waiting to happen.”

Hilary tilted her head and bent back to the stone. “I was lucky to find it,” she said. “I’ve been looking for these points. This stone is one of many across this area. It’s pinned into the local magic, and there’s something going wrong.”

Tom paused. “I’ve heard a few people talk about magic being wrong,” he said. “But I’ve never really understood it. Us werewolves aren’t affected by magic.”

“That’s because you are magic,” Hilary said. “And I know a few things that will stop a werewolf for a moment, so don’t get too cocky.” She ran her fingers slowly over the stone, tracing its irregularities and the hints of carving. “This should be prime witch real estate,” she said. “The Committee set up all sorts of trusts because of the strength of the magic here, so whoever owns this has to be a witch. They have to have a way of reaching the magic.” Her fingers stroked over the stone, pushing back leaves and caressing the moss in its crevices. “But the magic here is all tangled and knotted.” She pushed herself to her feet. “In most places, the magic flows in ribbons across the landscape. It’s better when it can run freely so you’re more likely to find good magical flows in the countryside rather than in built up areas. You can find them on shorelines as well, depending on how much is built up around harbours and tourism.”

Tom looked around. “So it should be fine out here but it isn’t?”

Hilary nodded. “That’s why I got the cottage so cheap. No-one wanted to deal with the mess and the Committee have been getting a lot more active lately. They’re poking their noses into all sorts of places. Whoever took over this place was expected to sort it out.”

Tom raised his eyebrows. “That sounds like a big project,” he said, glancing warily at Hilary. “You must be pretty powerful.”

“Hah! I wish,” Hilary said. “I came late to the craft so while I have a few tricks up my sleeve and I’m not entirely clueless, my biggest talent is being able to trace the lines of magical flow.” Her shoulders sagged. “I didn’t realise how hard things would be. But where there should be a smooth flow, it’s all snarled and spikey and difficult to use.”

“I think I only met your predecessor once,” Tom said. “Annie kept herself to herself.”

“That’s the tradition of a long line of witches here,” Hilary said. “But it’s not really how things should be.” She started off towards the cottage. “The woods are technically part of the cottage grounds,” she said. “I’m going to come back and have a tidy up when I get a chance.” She smiled at Tom and then winced. “Ow! I think that I’ve wrenched my knee and it’s sore now.” She limped down the path. “I want to pick up any sticks and twigs for kindling when it’s not so damp, and perhaps cut back some of these brambles. I’ll look forward to their berries next year, but I don’t want them taking over.”

“Let me take over some of that,” Tom suggested as he followed her down the path. “I like to be useful and Lord Peregrine was keen that I should help out.” He hesitated. “I was in a bad spot, and I didn’t think anyone would take me in.” He tried not to smile as he took in the muddy streaks over her jeans and the leaves still stuck in her hair. She may be mostly unhurt but she showed all the signs of a spectacular fall. He could feel Hilary’s curiosity as she slowed down, picking her way across a series of tree roots, but she was too polite to ask. “I’d be happy to repay your kindness.”

“You’re a very welcome paying guest who is no trouble at all,” Hilary said. Don’t worry about having to do labour in the house or garden.” She skirted past the fading patch of ferns. “Why didn’t you stay with Lord Peregrine at his court?” she asked. “That’s what I’ve seen in other parts of the world.”

Tom thought for a moment. “This court isn’t very big, perhaps because of the problem with the magic,” he said. “The one in Leeds is massive, and whenever I’ve visited a new city, I’ve had to present myself and they’re also usually quite big, but our court is tiny.”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” Hilary said. “I know that there’s you and Bracken.”

“The local pack is quite small,” Tom said. “My uncle runs it and it’s really just his wife and kids these days, with a family who moved up from Chesterfield and joined us. There’s the Lesken sisters who run the tea shop, and I think that there’s a vampire over towards Sam’s farm, but I’ve never met them. Lord Peregrine’s court is basically a big room with a fireplace.”

“No wonder Bracken was complaining that there wasn’t any cooking,” Hilary said, following the path around a stand of silver birches and out into the cottage’s garden. She stepped onto the gravel path, thick with weeds, looked around the dismal garden and sighed. “And all this needs sorting out as well,” she said.

“Perhaps Bracken has some relatives that can help out,” Tom said. “Even if you have to pay them to do the first clearance, it would be worth it.”

“I’ll ask later,” Hilary said. “We’re going to be busy tonight. Lord Peregrine is definitely coming over so Bracken and I will be busy cooking for the rest of the afternoon.” She looked down at her muddy clothes. “After I get a shower.”

“Then you take the first shower,” Tom said. “I don’t want to delay that feast for anything!”

Dinner and a Surprise

Hilary sighed with pleasure. They were still eating in the kitchen, as it was the warmest room in the house by far, but it was far from casual. A crisp, white cloth covered the kitchen table and Bracken had laid out four places with mathematical precision. “That looks beautiful,” she told the brownie. “You’ve done a lovely job.”

Bracken’s smile lit up her small face as she basked in the compliment. “Thank you, Mistress Hilary,” she said formerly. “And I is taking notes for improvement.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Hilary said. Bracken had started stashing a notebook and pen in the pocket of her apron and was recording everything. Hilary hoped that she could keep up. “This time next year, we’ll have home made pickles on the table, with arrangements of flowers from our own garden that we dried ourselves.” She couldn’t stop herself smiling at the thought. “We’ll have fresh flowers as long as we can manage, and dried for the winter,” she said.

“And lots of pickles?” Bracken said. “I is adoring pickles.”

Hilary nodded. “You’ll have to help me,” she said. “It will mean extra work, but it’s always worth it.”

“I is always ready to work,” Bracken said firmly. “And it will be learning.”

Tom came in, his dark hair wet from the shower. “Something smells good,” he said.

“Chicken tagine with apricots,” Hilary said. “It doesn’t take too long, it tastes amazing and it looks spectacular.”

“There is spices,” Bracken whispered, her voice full of awe. “Costly spices that do not grow in Yorkshire.”

“I thought that Lord Peregrine would appreciate a fancy meal,” Hilary said. “He’s insisting on paying a sum per month, so I thought I’d start out with this.”

Bracken nodded. “So many spices.”

Tom looked quickly around, trying to hide his grin. “Can I help with anything?”

“Could you get the butter and milk from the fridge, please,” Hilary asked. “I think I’ve got everything else ready.”

Tom looked over at the kettle hot and steamy at the side of the stove next to a prepared teapot and a mug with a solitary Earl Grey teabag. Homemade bread was on a wooden platter in the centre of the table and the sugar bowl was refilled and ready. He looked around at a beep. “A rice cooker?”

“It keeps rice warm and safe,” Bracken said. “For when we wait for Lord Peregrine.”

“It helps with the timing,” Hilary said. “And I’ll admit that I struggle to cook rice well. Mine always turns out soggy."

“I’m sure that you make it better than me,” Tom grinned. “When I eat rice, it comes in microwaveable packets.” He sniffed at the pan gently simmering on the stove. “That stew smells amazing.”

“It is tagine!” Bracken said, outraged. “It is not stew. And it will be delicious.”

Tom grabbed the butter dish from the fridge and placed it correctly next to the bread before pulling out the milk jug. “Sorry, Bracken, and I’m sure that it will be extra delicious.” Tom said. “I hope that there’s plenty. I worked up an appetite on my run.” He took a seat furthest away from the stove. “How’s the knee?” he asked Hilary.

“Still sore,” she said. “But it was worth it to find the stones. I’ll have to go back there when I have more time.” She looked ruefully down at her clean clothes. “And when the weather is better. They have to have at least part of the answer to the problem of the magic around here."

"You is very busy, Mistress Hilary," Bracken said, looking anxious. “You have a job with work and computers as well as the cookery and magic.”

“Don’t worry,” Hilary said. “I’ll have plenty of time to teach you. Now, take a seat and we’ll wait for Lord Peregrine. I have a feeling that he’ll be here any minute.”

“Second sight?” Tom asked, impressed.

Hilary chuckled. “He sent me a text a few minutes ago to say that he was on his way from the tea rooms.”

“Auntie Olive and Auntie Ivy have decided to stay with Lord Peregrine,” Bracken said. “Just to have a little bit of a situation to keep his hall clean.”

“I hope he knows what he’s doing,” Tom said. “They’ll insist on everything being just so. He’ll have to behave.”

“You can’t make a fae lord behave,” Hilary said, gently stirring the tagine. “It’s not possible. They always find a way to get you back.”

Bracken shook her head, her eyes wide. “Auntie Olive and Auntie Ivy is very stern,” she said.

The kitchen door flew open and Lord Peregrine strode in, his dark hair tousled and his face pink from the cold wind. “I have arrived,” he announced.

“So I see,” Hilary said dryly, moving behind him to shut the door. “You can hang up your coat in the hall and wash your hands in the cloakroom.”

“Are you instructing me?” Lord Peregrine asked with a gleam in his sapphire-coloured eyes.

“I am merely stating what is possible,” Hilary said. “And once you have sat at the table, I will serve dinner.”

“So I don’t have to hang up my coat and wash my hands?” Lord Peregrine asked. “I could just take a seat and food would be served?”

“That is a course of action that you could take,” Hilary said, meeting his gaze without flinching.

“Hmm,” Lord Peregrine said. “But my movement will be easier if I remove my thick coat and I will overheat if I leave it on in this warm room.” He frowned. “And washing hands before a meal is a sign of healthy practices and good manners.”

Hilary raised a single eyebrow.

“The food smells exquisite,” Lord Peregrine said, heading into the hall as he shrugged himself out of his coat.

Hilary shook her head as she pushed the kettle to the centre of the stove to get it boiling before pouring the hot water into the teapot and mug. “I’m looking forward to this,” she said as she placed the teapot on its stand on the table next to the milk jug and the mug of fragrant Earl Grey at the place opposite Tom. “It’s a favourite of mine, and the recipe is something that I think would be known in medieval times. It might bring back good memories for Lord Peregrine.”

“But there are spices.” Bracken whispered.

Hilary nodded. “There were spices in Medieval England,” she said. “But it was only for the wealthy. That’s why I thought it would be suitable for Lord Peregrine.”

Lord Peregrine returned and dropped into the chair opposite Tom. “A commendable sentiment,” he said.

The food was a success. Tom devoured at least twice as much as Hilary and wiped his plate with a slice of bread to get the last of the sauce. Lord Peregrine barely spoke, concentrating on the meal and savouring each mouthful. Even Bracken ate a healthy portion. Hilary relaxed. “I didn’t make a fancy dessert,” she said. “But Bracken and I made an apple and ginger cake that will be nice with custard.”

Lord Peregrine held up a hand. “I think I will require a break before I eat any more,” he said, patting his lean stomach.

Tom nodded. “Even I’ll need a break.” He stood and started collecting the plates. “I think that it’s my turn to wash the dishes after such a splendid meal.”

“The dishes belong to my situation,” Bracken said, jumping to her feet. “I insist!” She glared up at the werewolf who was almost twice her height and three times her weight. “You will not take my situation.”

“I’m sorry,” Tom said quickly, holding up his hands.

“Entrepreneurial!” Lord Peregrine shouted. Tom dropped the plates.

“Look what you made Tom do!” Hilary scolded as she stood to get the dustpan and brush. “Bracken, fetch some old cloths from under the sink.

“I was trying to remember the word all afternoon,” Lord Peregrine said without a shred of remorse. “And I remembered. Entrepreneurial!”

“You were doing a crossword?” Tom asked, stepping carefully away from the shattered china. “I’m really sorry about the plates.”

“It’s not a problem,” Hilary said, shooting a dark glance at Lord Peregrine, who ignored it.

“I’ve been thinking of ideas,” Lord Peregrine said, oblivious to the cleaning going on. “And I have purchased the tea rooms from the Lesken sisters.”

“I’m not cooking for it!” Hilary said quickly, tipping the broken china into the kitchen wastebin.

“Well, not exactly,” Lord Peregrine said.

“No, not at all!” Hilary said. “I’ve not got that much time!”

“You need more lodgers,” Lord Peregrine said. “That would cover more expenses, as would selling cakes at the new stores. Then you could give up that job of yours.”

“I am not giving up my job,” Hilary snarled.

“Why not?” Lord Peregrine asked, baffled. “Tom will as well.”

“What?” Tom said, surprised at the turn of the conversation.

“Tom, you shall give up your job and manage the new stores,” Lord Peregrine said. “You’ve never enjoyed your work in the city, and you hate the commuting. You will miss that and instead manage my new stores.” He leaned in closer. “The commuting is particularly hard, I know, and there was a traffic jam down by the bridge earlier. The traffic lights had failed and there were cars queueing for yards.”

“No, absolutely not!” Tom said.

“You no longer have to contribute money to the pack,” Lord Peregrine said. “And I will be paying a wage that is considered reasonable.”

“Who considers it reasonable?” Tom asked before he could stop himself. “No! I’m not doing it. What do I even know about tea rooms?”

“But they won’t be a tea room,” Lord Peregrine said. “I spoke to Jed and I am opening a general store. I thought I would call it New Stores and I would sell things in general.”

“No more tea rooms?” Bracken whispered. “Auntie Olive and Auntie Ivy are going to be furious.”

“I decided to make a small nook, with a few tables and chairs,” Lord Peregrine said with an airy wave of his hand. “There could be decent tea and proper coffee with cakes that Hilary makes with the free time she has after quitting her job.”

“I’m not leaving my job!” Hilary snapped.

Lord Peregrine smiled happily. “Then it’s all settled. I’ll give you a call tomorrow, Tom, to hand over keys and papers and things.” He leaned back in his chair. “And why don’t we have a slice of that cake now, Hilary? We can test it out for the new stores.”

“I am not giving up my job,” Hilary growled.

Lord Peregrine just smiled.

A Small Flood

Tom stared in disbelief at the mounting emails. “What’s going on?”

Across the open plan office, his boss was shaking her head. “I don’t believe this.”

“But they were supposed to be a reliable firm,” Kieran said across from him.

Tom’s head dropped. “You went and hired the Smiths, didn’t you? Even after I warned you.”

“They did great work for us over in Garforth,” Kieran said.

Tom could feel his fists clenching and made a conscious effort to relax his posture. “But that was before the old man retired. The father was brilliant, with reasonable rates, realistic time scales and absolutely no drama. His sons are the biggest pile of…”

“Remember, we’ve got a no swearing policy in the office,” Stella said.

“I’ll give them a ring,” Tom said.

“And don’t forget your contribution to the coffee fund,” Stella added.

Tom stared at her. “We have got fourteen units being flooded out because of shoddy plumbing that we should never have passed,” he said flatly. “That’s fourteen families who are getting their lives turned upside down and their possessions ruined because we got it wrong. Right now, I need to call around to get someone decent in to fix the pipes, arrange industrial dehumidifiers and I need to arrange on site visits to assess whether we have a legal duty to rehouse those families, some of them with young kids, while repairs are made. And you’re worried about the coffee fund?” Tom couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “It’s not even due till Friday.”

“I felt it important to remind you so that it didn’t get lost in the shuffle,” Stella said primly. “After all, you’re no longer doing the sandwich run since you’re bringing lunch in and I’m concerned that we’re losing you as a team player.”

“Seriously?” Tom said. “You’re upset because no-one else can be bothered to go to the sandwich shop fifty metres down the road?” He bit back his impulse to swear with an effort. “If it’s that much of a problem, I’ll fetch the stuff at lunchtime anyway. I’ll be glad of the walk as I’ll be spending my lunchbreak at my desk trying to sort out this mess.”

“Asking you fetch sandwiches for everyone else even though you bring your own lunch could be seen as creating a hostile environment.” Stella folded her hands on her desk. “I’m not prepared to start trouble with HR.”

“You should go back to buying sandwiches,” Kieran said. “It’s not fair that you get the good stuff. You even got home made soup in a flask.”

“It’s not appropriate to comment on another worker’s lunch,” Stella said. “It could be discriminatory.”

“How could him getting soup be discriminatory?” Kieran asked.

Tom ignored them and instead grabbed a notepad and started jotting down notes. “I’ll skip lunch in the office this once. I need to get out there anyway,” he said. “I can’t make sense of all the conflicting reports. I think some of the tenants are exaggerating, some don’t know what they should report and there’s a couple that I don’t think have noticed and they worry me as well.”

“That’s not acceptable,” Stella said. “We haven’t finished discussing the lunch issue.”

Tom stood and shoved the notepad into his pocket. “People’s homes are being affected, Stella. I am happy to abide by whatever you decide about lunch. Just make a decision and let me know.”

“I can’t impose my cultural values on you!” Stella called after him as he grabbed his coat and raced out of the office.

*****

The drive back to the village seemed to stretch out for hours. Tom could feel the tension in his shoulders setting in like an iron brace. First of all there had been an accident on the inner ring road which meant that most of the city centre had been gridlocked. Then he’d got stuck behind a bus on a stretch of narrow road so limped behind at barely walking pace as the bus halted at every stop, always far enough away from the curb to make overtaking unsafe. After he finally got away from the bus and he got closer to home, he found that someone had let out a pen full of sheep. His usual route had been jammed with livestock, sheepdogs and hapless farm hands. And it had all given him too much time to think.

Work was harder than it should be. He’d taken the job because his brother owed a favour to the firm and they wanted someone who could lift heavy things. That had been over a decade ago and Tom had since been promoted against his will into the office. His brother had insisted that he take the promotion because it was good for the family and the pack for him to have a responsible job with a pension. This had left Tom stuck in a job he loathed and with co-workers that irritated him. Today had been a case in point.

The problem with the plumbing had been easy enough to sort out. Half of the reports were exaggerated and the rest were easily dealt with. He’d had to physically throw the young Smith lads out before they could do more damage, but that had been a chance to work off some of his annoyance and they weren’t likely to come back. Not unless they were willing to hand over the money their mistakes cost. Tom tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, deep in thought. He could hear Lord Peregrine’s voice echoing in his mind. Would it be so bad to take up the job offer? He had no idea what was going to happen to the shop, and he was willing to bet real money that Lord Peregrine didn’t either, but at least he wouldn’t have the commute. He inched along slowly as the sheep were herded out of the way. And he wouldn’t have to put up with Stella who was so terrified of HR that you could never get anything done, at least, not at any speed. And Kieran had started acting like a spoiled brat once Hilary had started providing him lunch.

Tom sped up a little as the sheep were cleared out of the way. If things went wrong with whatever Lord Peregrine set up, he should still be able to manage. Hilary was charging a ridiculously low rent, and he’d always stashed money away to one side where his brother couldn’t get it. He’d have enough for a breathing space no matter what happened and, besides, he had enough contacts in the building and estates management field to pick up a new job. The thought of handing in his notice grew more tempting by the moment.

He drove over the old stone bridge and started on the road that led up the hill to Rowan Cottage. It already felt more like home than anywhere he’d lived since his parents died. It may just be a rented room with a flustered witch and an opinionated brownie, but it was safe. There were no crazed arguments, no slamming of doors or throwing of china. There was just Hilary, doing her bewildered best and Bracken who was slowly learning about life outside the confines of the brownies’ duty.

Of course, he would have to learn how to run a shop, but that couldn’t be too hard after everything else. Tom slowed down and then stopped, pulling over to the side of the road. His neighbour was standing on her front lawn, looking almost in tears as she clutched her yonng son to her. “Yvette, is everything alright?” he called out of the window.

Yvette turned around, her face pale. “Tom! It’s so good to see you. I’ve got a bit of a problem.”

Tom slid out of the car and jogged around to join Yvette on her front lawn. “What’s happened?” he asked. He ducked his head to try and meet the two year old’s eyes. “Hi there, Darius, how’s it going buddy?”

“The stream at the back has flooded,” Yvette said. “I didn’t think it was possible.” She looked at the soggy pile of towels dumped next to the front door and the precarious stack of electronics shoved inside the open boot of her car. “We’ve been here ten years and I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Can I have a look?” Tom asked. “It may just be a stray branch blocking the water. It’s funny how things can build up.”

“Could you?” Yvette said. “I’m trying to keep Darius away from the water. At first he wanted to play in it but now he’s just ready for his nap.” She shifted the lad in her arms as he drooped against her. “Gideon went into Leeds this afternoon to pick up some stuff and visit his mother and I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

Tom nodded. Yvette’s husband, Gideon, was a good man, but he got carried away when he got talking to his family and lost all sense of time. He might not get home until midnight. “Hang on, I may have some stuff in my car that will help. I’ll just see what the problem is.”

Around the back of the Victorian villa, the problem was obvious. The spring from the back of Rowan Cottage ran down the hill behind the houses and a fallen branch had got wedged across the narrow stream. It was now clogged with fallen leaves and general debris. Water was backing up and spilling over, already an inch deep past the stand of silver birches, through the painted fence and over the immaculate garden before seeping into their kitchen.

“It’s not really into the house yet,” Yvette said. “But it’s only a matter of time, and I’m not sure what to do. Do I turn the electric off at the mains?”

Tom eyed the thin layer of moisture on the kitchen floor. “What’s the cellar like?”

“We haven’t got a cellar,” Yvette said. “Gideon thought that we were too close to the water table.”

Tom frowned as he watched the water creeping slowly wider over the lawn and shook his head. “It should be fine for a few moments.”

One good thing about his job, Tom thought, was that he kept a lot of kit in his car. The wellington boots were perfect for wading over garden and through the small gate to the stream’s blockage, but it didn’t look good. Tom tried a few experimental tugs on the closest branches, but shook his head. “This isn’t going to move easily,” he said. He looked upstream and tried to estimate the flow. “Why don’t you take Darius around the front,” he said. “I’m going to have to change to get in there and use my full strength and I’m sure that you don’t want to encourage Darius to want to play in the stream.”

Yvette shuddered. “He’s into everything as it is,” she said, holding her squirming son close. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s go play in the front. And I’ll get out some biscuits,” she added in a desperate attempt at bribery.

Tom waited until they were out of sight at the front of the house and quickly stripped off his clothes. He shivered briefly in the damp November air but the heat of the change soon dispelled the chill. As his body twisted and reshaped, warmth flowed through and around him until he was in his wolf form, his tail high and waving gently and his ears erect. Shaking his fur out, he splashed back through the water to investigate.

With his wolf eyes, he could see a little clearer and his huge paws made short work of digging away the debris building up at the edge of the bank. It wasn’t helpful. The branch was jammed between rocks on either side of the stream, wedged firmly and resisting any movement. Leaves and smaller branches were now tangled up with it and barely any water was moving through. Tom braced himself and then bounced on branch, slamming down all the weight of his massive wolf. He bounced a few times, splashing wildly, but gave up as the branch remained solid. Tom didn’t know if it was the water or the extra debris cushioning his impact, but it wasn’t moving.

He leaned in closer and sneezed as the spicy, prickly scent of magic tickled his nose. He took a step or two back, wary. The scent wasn’t strong, and the trace was fading, so there wasn’t magic keeping it there. He tried sniffing closer and accidentally inhaled spring water. He spluttered and snuffled but it confirmed his guess. Magic put that branch in place. It was a while ago and it had taken time for the block to build up, but there was still that lingering faint scent. At least nothing was holding the branch now. He shook himself, took a deep breath and dived in with a satisfying splash. This branch needed werewolf strength to dislodge it.

*****

Hilary opened the kitchen door as soon as she heard a scratch. “Yvette rang me,” she said, then froze. She had seen a few werewolves in their wolf form but Tom was huge. He was easily up to her waste, with thick, dark fur and a gently waving tail. She took a deep breath. “And she was right. You are absolutely covered in mud!” She flinched back as Tom shook himself wildly. Mud spattered all over the porch and the narrow strip of kitchen floor behind Hilary. “Oh look at this mess!” she exclaimed. “What are we going to do with you?”

Tom’s tongue hung out as he panted, his front legs down and his back legs straight in the classic bowing position of a canine wanting to play.

“Don’t you start!” Hilary said. “You need to get cleaned up double quick. It’s sausages and mash tonight and Bracken is making a special onion gravy. You can’t sit down to eat looking like that.”

Tom pranced a little, bouncing around, his tail wagging.

“I’ve a good mind to set the hose on you,” Hilary said. “The last thing that I need is all that mud clogging my drains. You are filthy!”

Tom trotted away towards the hose.

“Are you seriously okay with getting hosed down?” Hilary asked. “The water is going to be freezing.”

Tom bowed again and then dashed off to come back with the nozzle of the hose in his mouth.

“Okay, if you insist,” Hilary said. “But don’t blame me when you catch cold.” She leaned back toward the kitchen. “Bracken, could you fetch a bundle of towels, please.” She turned back to Tom. “Just because you’re sparing me your muddy paw prints doesn’t mean that you get to drip water all over my house until you get to the shower,” she said. “I’ll towel you down first. There’s going to be enough mess as it is.”

Tom barked and dashed over to nudge the outside tap on.

Hilary turned the hose on and aimed it at Tom who was happily bouncing around in the spray. “And to think that I was worried about being bored here,” she muttered.

Reports and Decisions

“I sent you the email last week with the report attached,” Hilary said. Away from the camera on her work laptop, a soothing scented candle was burning in her tiny home office. It wasn’t working. “I sent it last Thursday at 10.17am.”

Her boss still hadn’t got the hang of online meetings and there was far too much nose in the picture as he replied. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am perfectly sure, Gordon,” Hilary said, controlling her voice with an effort. “And I copied Alison in.”

Her boss looked at the other square in the zoom call. “Did you get it?” he asked Alison.

Unlike Hilary, Alison’s background was immaculately plain white and her hair and make up were sophisticatedly professional. “Yes, I got the report, read it and replied,” Alison said. “And I copied you into that reply on Monday at 11.23am.” She paused for effect. “And my ‘read receipt’ tells me that you opened it.”

Gordon winced as he lost his chance at denying that he’d ever seen the information. “Oh, now I see it!” he said. “I’m surprised that you didn’t remind me, Hilary. You know, with it being so time sensitive.”

Hilary fought to keep a neutral expression. “You’re usually on top of these things,” she lied. “I knew that you could handle it and I’ve been busy with the Darlington papers.”

Gordon winced again. Hilary and Alison both knew that Gordon had been instructed by higher management to deal with the papers himself as they included some sensitive content. He couldn’t blame Hilary for failing to get the report to him on time unless he wanted to risk her explaining her workload to his boss. He turned to Alison. “Didn’t you think that something was wrong?” he asked. “Weren’t you worried when I didn’t raise any questions?”

“I’ve been on leave until today,” Alison said. “I had to travel for a funeral.”

Hilary knew that Alison had actually been away interviewing for another job and she didn’t blame her colleague, not in the slightest. She had also guessed that Gordon would slip up on this and prepared. She didn’t have a lot of time to waste on covering for Gordon so she had been efficient. “If you look at the original email, I also attached the framework of a cover document and an analysis. I know how busy you are and I thought if I could put something together that you could correct the obvious errors and adapt it for your own use.” Hilary managed a bland smile. “It could be a basic starting point, right?”

“I’ll have to put some work into it,” Gordon said. “You’re still learning the ropes and unfortunately your lack of experience shows through.” He sighed deeply. “But thank you for thinking of me.” He checked his watch, ignoring the clock on the screen. “I had better get started. I’ll catch up with you two tomorrow.” He narrowed his eyes. “But before I forget, you’ll have the Darlington papers ready by then, won’t you?”

Hilary faked a grimace. “I’ll put the hours in,” she said. “It should be finished by tomorrow morning.”

“That’s good, I suppose,” Gordon said. “Alison, have you managed to break down the numbers for Dixon?”

Alison didn’t twitch as Gordon brought up yet another file that she and Hilary weren’t supposed to access. “I’ll get on it straight away,” she said.

“Good, good,” Gordon muttered. “Er, sorry to hear of your loss,” he said, belatedly remembering his manners. “Were you close?”

“It was a blessed release,” Alison said. “It was just their time to go, and they’re in a better place.”

“Glad to hear it, glad to hear it,” Gordon muttered. “Right, I’m off.”

Hilary waited a few moments, then grinned at Alison. “Does that mean that you got the job?”

Alison nodded, her smile lighting up her face. “I thought I’d have to wait for the news,” she said. “But they rang up this morning. I’m thrilled. I can’t wait to get away. I’m putting in my notice this afternoon.” She grinned. “I’d already sorted out the Dixon report, and he can have that as a parting gift. But I’m not doing a damned thing that’s not in my job description when I’m working my notice. I’ll let him sink.”

“Good for you!” Hilary said. “I’m looking forward to seeing him panic.”

Alison held up her hands. “You’re probably going to get a load of extra stuff dumped on you,” she said. “I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” Hilary said. “I’m sort of thinking of handing in my notice as well.”

“Really?” Alison said.

“It’s not as clear cut as your position,” Hilary said. “I’ve not got another job to go to. But I’ve got a big house now and I’ve taken in one lodger already. I guess I could take in a couple more.”

“I remember you sending me the pictures,” Alison said. “It’s gorgeous, but it took up most of your divorce settlement.”

Hilary shrugged. “It’s been absolutely worth it,” she said. “I got it at such a good price.” She leaned back in her chair. “But I’m not expensive to keep. I like my life simple, especially after all the trouble I had with my ex-husband. I wouldn’t need much to keep myself going.”

“Gordon is going to panic when I leave,” Alison said. “He’ll probably have a breakdown if you hand in your notice as well.” She grinned happily. “Send me screenshots.” She checked the time. “I have to go. I’ve got a meeting with their HR in five minutes.”

“Good luck!” Hilary said, and exited the meeting.

She stared at her laptop. Then, ignoring her work, she brought up the spreadsheets that she’d been working on. One tab was all the expenses, with allowances for inflation, costs, possible repairs and their costs, the potential cost of replacing her elderly car. All numbers were solid, either based on current costs or realistic projections. The other tab was a little less concrete. She didn’t know how long Tom would stay, and if Bracken moved on then keeping the house immaculate would be hard work. But she had a healthy cushion of savings, a few freelance gigs, and enjoyed a very frugal lifestyle. Now that her son had left home for a new job away in Birmingham, she didn’t need to worry too much about supporting him. Of course, if he needed her, she’d be happy to send money, but he would normally turn to his father first for money. Even if she didn’t have lodgers, her freelance work was expanding nicely.

She looked around her office. It had probably been a linen cupboard, once upon a time. It was small and lined with shelves with a single small window looking out over the fading garden. When she first came to Rowan Cottage and started updating the basics, she’d got the electrician that checked her wiring to add a couple of power outlets and replace the basic lamp with inset LED lights that could be bright or dimmed, depending on her mood. She’d hung protective charms at the window and on the door frame and added soft, deep blue curtains. And she’d brought in so many books.

These weren’t the romance books that were her guilty pleasure, nor the increasing stack of cookbooks that Bracken seemed to need. Instead it was all business. There were a couple of big files for her main job and a few more for her freelancing. There was another big file of personal papers and the legal nonsense from her divorce, securely locked away in a neat, two drawer filing cabinet. Hilary knew that she’d need a secure space if she had lodgers, and it fitted snugly under the deep shelf at the end of the room that she had claimed for a desk. The rest of the shelves were stuffed with her craft. Notebooks were crammed on the shelves, sometimes two deep, filled with records of her work. A few grimoires, painstakingly copied from originals under supervision, were in pride of place behind her laptop. Glass jars filled with rare herbs were carefully positioned out of the light. So were the stock of work candles suitable for the craft together with the tools that she needed. Wooden boxes were in careful order so that the crystals inside harmonised.

This was her sanctuary. If she had this space, she could do anything. And it wasn’t just this space. Tom would be home soon, filling the kitchen with his reassuring presence. Bracken was busy in the kitchen, practising with the meal that she had learned last week. Hilary could smell the scent of onions and garlic and all the ingredients of a sustaining bowl of chilli. Intermingled was the aroma of the fresh bread that Hilary had baked earlier and a hint of woodsmoke from bonfires burning garden rubbish two doors down. And over all was the soothing presence of the lavender candle, lit to keep Hilary calm during a tough work call. For a long moment, Hilary stared at the soft flame, mesmerised, with her mind stilled, allowing her deepest thoughts to rise to the surface.

Hilary nodded to herself, knowing that she had made the decision when Lord Peregrine first suggested it. She would hand in her notice, ramp up her freelance work and dig out recipes for cakes and biscuits for Lord Peregrine’s new stores. She could also pin a room-to-let notice on the board in the Farm Shop. The locals could spread the word from there, and there was no better advertising.

But there was no way that Hilary would be helping out at the new stores. She absolutely refused to do that.

Cooking and Books

“I’m not that good at cooking,” Hilary said. “I can do the basics, but I’m not brilliant.” She looked around the kitchen. “Besides, I’m not set up to make food to sell. You need certificates and stainless steel counters.” She sat at the kitchen table opposite Lord Peregrine and tapped its scrubbed surface. “It’s all just normal stuff here.”

Lord Peregrine leaned forward, charming persuasion in every inch of him. “But the food you make is so delicious!” He picked up another lemon and cardamom shortbread biscuit and took a healthy bite.

“I crushed the spice for the shortbread,” Bracken said proudly as she brought over a mug of Earl Grey tea and set it in front of Lord Peregrine.

“You are to be commended,” Lord Peregrine said, finishing his shortbread and taking another.

Hilary stared at the few remaining biscuits left on the plate. “You really like those?”

“Hmm,” Lord Peregrine managed through a mouthful of crumbs. He swallowed and took a mouthful of tea. “Indeed, they are extremely pleasant.” He smiled at her, his charm spilling out and filling the kitchen. “Perhaps we could come to some arrangements.”

“Stop that!” Hilary said. “You leave your charms outside my land, my lord!”

Lord Peregrine held up an unapologetic hand. “I have to try,” he said, eyeing the remaining shortbread.

“You can take the rest of the shortbread with you,” Hilary sighed. “But I’m not making cakes. I can’t. This kitchen would never be passed by food inspectors.”

“But it is truly clean,” Bracken added, bringing over a paper bag for the shortbread. “I cleaned it myself to proper brownie standards. And I also chopped bacon.” She placed the bag next to the plate.

“Bacon biscuits?” Lord Peregrine asked.

“We made tomato and bacon muffins,” Hilary said. “They’re great for Tom’s lunches.”

“And they would be perfect for the new stores,” Lord Peregrine said. “And you could cook there.”

“What?” Hilary said, before catching on. “No! I don’t care what the kitchen is like. I’m still not cooking for the new stores.”

“I wish I could cook for the new stores,” Bracken said wistfully.

“So do I,” Lord Peregrine said. “I know how diligent you would be.” He looked meaningfully at Hilary.

Hilary’s shoulders slumped. “I’m never going to get a moment’s peace until I give in, am I?” she grumbled. She glared at Lord Peregrine. “I should ward against you, just to make a point.”

“But how could I ensure that Tom and Bracken are being well treated if I can’t attend on your kitchen?” Lord Peregrine asked, looking like the picture of reason as he took another shortbread from the plate. “And I need another tea.” He glanced at Bracken. “Please.”

Bracken regarded him narrowly, then sniffed and refilled the kettle. “I is happy to oblige,” she said.

“I’m still not a brilliant cook,” Hilary said.

“You is amazing cook!” Bracken exclaimed. “And Tom thinks that as well as he greatly enjoys his lunches and dinners.”

“And I always enjoy dinner here,” Lord Peregrine said sweetly. “And the company is delightful.”

“What did I say about charms!” Hilary said. She took a deep breath. “I’m not thrilled to say this, but let’s make a deal.”

Making a deal with the fae was not for the fainthearted and Lord Peregrine took exception to Hilary writing everything down. “I can remember everything perfectly,” he said.

“That’s not the point,” Hilary said, noting down that Lord Peregrine would provide ingredients that would be considered of an acceptable quality by over 75% of the village. “Really we need good quality ingredients, but they aren’t always easily available so I’m putting in the bare minimum.”

Bracken nodded. “Ingredients matter,” she said. “I has been studying. The finest butter was in them shortbreads and it shows.”

Lord Peregrine looked thoughtful. “So if I want to have a good reputation for the food, I should supply excellent ingredients.”

“Most of the time you don’t need to worry too much about sugar,” Hilary said. “And we should get as much as possible from the Farm Shop. But yes, good ingredients help.”

“Why then are you not asking for excellent ingredients in your notes?” Lord Peregrine asked.

“You won’t always be able to get hold of the best of everything,” Hilary said. “The Farm Shop may not have it, the supermarkets may have run out and there may be no choice but to use a substitute.”

Bracken nodded. “We had to use an inferior vanilla last week,” she said “As there was no other in the Farm Shop and the supermarket had run out.”

“So what happens when a fae can’t live up to their side of an agreement?” Hilary asked.

“It isn’t good,” Lord Peregrine said quietly.

“As I am showing kindness in this clause,” Hilary said, taking a much needed mouthful of her own tea. “I expect you to be kind as we work through this.”

“Your kindness is transactional?” Lord Peregrine asked.

Hilary ignored him. “I need to see the kitchen,” she said.

“Auntie Olive and Auntie Ivy had everything of the finest,” Bracken said.

“I know that they made me replace the vacuum cleaner,” Lord Peregrine grumbled.

*****

Hilary lit the fire in the library. “I know that I could bring in a heater,” she said. “But somehow a fire in the grate feels warmer.”

Bracken shifted uneasily. “I has not yet properly cleaned this room,” she said. “It has not been used.”

“I know,” Hilary said. “It’s a shame.” She looked around. “If it wasn’t for worrying about a separate fire, this would be a much better place to sit than the kitchen.”

“You has a sitting room, a sewing room and a parlour,” Bracken said sternly. “And we still spend the evening in the kitchen.”

“We should come in here,” Hilary said. “I feel like curling up on that sofa already.”

“The room needs a proper airing,” Bracken said. “And a good going over before that happens. I is insisting on that.” She pursed her lips. “And I shall dust every book.”

“Every book?” Hilary stared at Bracken. “There must be hundreds of them in here.”

“And they all need dusting,” Bracken said.

“That can wait,” Hilary said. “Please will you fetch the cookbooks from the kitchen and my notepad and pen. I’ll start looking for cookbooks in here. We need to start planning what we’re going to cook.”

“Some of these books are old.” Bracken said. “They will make old cakes.”

“It’s worth looking,” Hilary said. “You never know, we might find something that becomes a speciality because no-one makes it anymore.”

“Like the scones with Auntie Olive and Auntie Ivy,” Bracken said. “That is an idea.” She scurried out of the room.

Hilary started methodically working her way along the shelves. Long, tall, bookcases lined two opposing walls, with a wide window at one side and a fireplace at the other. Comfortable armchairs were grouped around the fireplace while two wide sofas were nestled with their backs against the windows. Best of all, however, was a wide table in the centre of the room covered with a heavy tapestry throw. It was perfect. Hilary sneezed. Bracken had at least done a superficial clean of the room, which was probably a lot more thorough than the brief sweep and dust that Hilary had managed when she first moved in, but the books were definitely dusty. Hilary sneezed again. The bookcases were crammed, overflowing with ancient novels, bound collections of magazines, gardening books, history books, obscure biographies, and travel books. There were even collections of sermons which was an oddity in a witch’s cottage, but Hilary wasn’t going to question them. There were also dozens of cookbooks, from the local collections sold at church halls and WI sales to raise money, to the speciality books given out by marketing boards for oats or dairy or even potatoes, to the battle-scarred veterans of the cookbook world whose spattered pages told of countless family meals.

“I brought the books,” Bracken said, balancing them in a stack with Hilary’s notebook. “But you took the recipe for the shortbread from the internet.”

“I suppose I’ll have to start a special recipe book,” Hilary said. “Where I can keep all the recipes in one place.”

“That would be a special book indeed,” Bracken said with hushed reverence, carefully placing the books on the table.

Hilary put her own finds next to them. “These books need a good sort out,” she said. “They’re all jumbled up.” She caught the gleam in Bracken’s eye. “Not today!” she added quickly. “It’s just the cooking today.”

“There are so many decisions,” Bracken said, her face creased with worry. “And so many choices.”

“And Lord Peregrine was no help at all,” Hilary said. She pulled her notepad towards her. “How much did your Aunties sell?”

“I cannot believe that this person is considering rubbing a stain with milk,” Bracken grumbled as she dipped into an elderly book of household hints. “That has no sense at all. You then have two get stains out. First the ink and then the mark made by the milk and you need a good laundry powder for that.”

Hilary squinted at the ragged book. “That’s probably advice before laundry powder and probably back to the days when people would make their own ink.” She stretched. “I promised Tom that I’d make sausage and mashed potato for dinner. The potatoes are already peeled, but I need to get the rest finished.”

Bracken put her bookmark neatly in place before jumping to her feet. “And roasting carrots with cumin,” she said. “That is most flavoursome with spices.” She looked back with longing at the rows of books.

“Do you like to read?” Hilary asked. “You can read any book in here as long as you put it back.”

Bracken looked up, her eyes wide. “I can read any book in here?” she asked. “Even books that aren’t real?” She reached out to brush a tentative finger over a battered paperback on a shelf near the door.

“You mean, fiction?” Hilary asked. “Like stories?”

“Things that aren’t real,” Bracken confirmed. “The cookbooks are about things that are real. This is about things that aren’t real.”

Hilary looked closer at the cover. An over muscled, shirtless man sat astride a motorcycle, staring out from the cover while an underfed and underclad woman clung desperately to his arm. “It’s probably not real,” she said cautiously. “But you can read it if you like.”

“Thank you!” Bracken said. She took a deep breath and turned to survey the book-stuffed room. “I’m going to read everything!”

Hilary really hoped that she wouldn’t have too much explaining to do.

Safe Footing

Tom sucked his burnt fingers and swore. The heat gun was vicious, but the linoleum at the café had been glued down with malice and spite. He switched off the heat gun and set it back on its stand. He needed a break.

“Need a hand?”

Tom looked up. “I wouldn’t say I needed a hand, Uncle Magnus, but I could do with one,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “This flooring is stubborn and the old glue isn’t shifting.”

Magnus knelt down next to Tom and tugged at a loose corner. “You’re not kidding. This stuff is murder. And how old is it?”

“Probably older than both of us put together,” Tom grumbled as he stood up. “The heat gun is running a bit hot.” He caught the expression on his uncle’s face. “You know what I mean. The last thing I need is an overheating heat gun. Let’s give it a rest. Do you want a drink?”

Magnus stood next to him. “I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea,” he said. He looked around the dusty room. “It’s strange seeing the place like this, with all the tables and chairs missing and dust everywhere. The place has needed updating for years, but it was always clean.”

Tom stretched. “There’s less dust than I expected,” he said. “And it’s got good bones.”

“You have to get to them first,” Magnus said. He kicked at the rough edges. “You’ve got, say, a quarter of this done. It could be worse.”

“No, it couldn’t,” Tom grumbled. “I’ve been working on it for half the morning.”

“You’re not thinking right,” Magnus said. “Perhaps you should flood the place with boiling water.”

Tom looked at his uncle. “If you want to wade through boiling water, be my guest,” he said. “It’s not my first choice.”

“You know, my uncle, your Great Uncle Finlay, well, he had a job like this and got himself a brazier full of coals and set it right on the lino. He said it cleared it a treat.”

Tom stared at him. “Are you seriously suggesting that we light a fire in a bucket and move it around the floor?” he said, dumbfounded.

“Well you can’t keep scraping it off in tiny scraps,” Magnus said. “You’ll be here all day.”

“Hang on,” Tom said. “Was that the house over by Scorton Farm? I remember hearing about that.”

“Yep, that’s the one,” Magnus said. “Finlay said that the lino didn’t stand a chance.”

“That’s because he ended up burning the place down,” Tom said. “The pack had to pay out for it and Finlay nearly ended up in jail.”

“That’s Uncle Finlay for you,” Magnus said with a sigh, scuffing at the flooring. “He looked at the world in a different way.”

“He was dropped on his head too many times when he was a pup,” Tom grumbled. “Do you want some biscuits? Hilary’s been experimenting and she sent down a load of them.”

“I don’t mind if I do,” Magnus said, bending down and tugging at a ragged edge. “She won’t be as good as Annie, though, the old witch that had Rowan Cottage before her.”

“No?” Tom asked. “I don’t remember tasting her cooking.”

“Well, there was a bit of a problem between Annie and us werewolves,” Magnus said. “You see, she was always a good cook and she kept the house nice, and that’s an attractive trait in a woman around these parts.”

“I suppose so,” Tom said.

“Of course, she had a temper like a badger with toothache, but the woman could cook,” Magnus sighed. “I was only young, but I remember her flapjacks like it was yesterday.”

Tom glanced sceptically at Magnus. “You’re not that old,” he said.

“And it’s not that long ago,” Magnus said. “But it was before your time. Anyway, the trouble came about because Annie could cook and clean and your Great Uncle Finlay decided that he would try courting her, you know, asking her for a date with a view to marriage.”

“Did he break her heart?” Tom asked. “I’m surprised. I didn’t think that he was one for the ladies.”

“He never had a full tail of fur,” Magnus said. “But his heart was in the right place and he wanted to do things properly.”

“I’m not sure that I want to know,” Tom said.

“Well, a properly well brought up wolf will leave a brace of freshly caught rabbits on his beloved’s front step. It’s to prove that he’s a good hunter, a provider and that his intentions were serious.”

“He didn’t!” Tom winced.

“He did,” Magnus said. “And he was very keen on making it serious after tasting Annie’s steak and kidney pie at a harvest supper so he got a bit enthusiastic.” He shook his head sadly. The trouble was, no-one had told Annie about that tradition, so while your Great Uncle Finlay was trying to show that he wanted to get to know her better with a view to making things official, she found half a dozen dead things on her doorstep, all of them missing their heads, and she didn’t take it in the spirit that Great Uncle Finlay meant.”

“I can imagine that,” Tom said. “Didn’t he say anything?”

“Well, he told me that he was standing there in his best trousers, waiting until she got the message,” Magnus said. “And he was quite surprised when she wasn’t happy. He attempted to explain it to her, but she was trying to cave his skull in with a poker so he ran away.”

“I’m never sure that you’re telling the truth with these Uncle Finlay stories,” Tom said. “They can’t possibly be true.”

“There’s one in every pack,” Magnus said. “Hang on.”

“What is it?” Tom asked.

“These floorboards don’t feel right,” Magnus said. “They seem brittle.”

“It was probably the old glue holding them together,” Tom said glumly. “Great, I’ll have to sort out a new floor.”

“I think it’s just as well you found out now before it became a problem,” Magnus said. “I wouldn’t want to walk on this.” He leaned his weight on his arm, pushing down on the exposed planks. “Woah!”

There was an ominous creak, a crack, then Magnus lurched down as the boards gave way underneath him. Tom grabbed hold of Magnus’ leg, his werewolf reflexes lightning fast as slid forward. Then, with a violent heave, Tom dragged Magnus back to safety. There was a light pattering as fragments of floor fell down, then silence.

“Thank you,” Magnus said. “That was close.” He stood up warily, testing the floor as he stepped back towards the new hole. “Well, at least you have a new short cut to your cellar.”

“We don’t have a cellar,” Tom said. “At least, there’s no cellar on the plans and the Lesken sisters never mentioned it.”

Magnus tilted his head as he looked down into the gloom. “Now that you mention it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone mention a cellar here,” he said. “I wonder what happened.”

“I should give Lord Peregrine a call,” Tom said. “He’ll need to know that we need a new floor.”

Magnus grinned at Tom. “You don’t want to do that,” he said. “We need to have a look around and see what’s there.” He spread his hands with an air of innocence. “How else are we supposed to tell him what’s going on?”

“Alright,” Tom said, equally intrigued. “If you get the ladder from the kitchen, I’ll get the lights from my car.”

“I don’t like the look of this,” Tom said as he shone his flashlight around the space. “This cellar looks massive. I bet that it stretches underneath the yard at the back.”

“I think you’re right,” Magnus said. “Why was it shut up?”

“I can’t see anything obvious,” Tom said, taking a cautious step forward.

“Can’t you smell it?” Magnus said.

“Smell what?” Tom said. “Nothing has moved in this place for years, not even a beetle."

"Over here,” Magnus said. “I think it’s tried to hide its scent, but I’m too old for that. Look!”

Tom swallowed. “It looks like the Lesken sisters had a lodger.”

A long sack filled with straw had been pushed against a wall, with a battered cushion at one end and a thin blanket neatly folded on top. A battered shopping bag was placed at the foot of the makeshift bed next to a scratched tray holding a mug and plate and a small glass bottle containing a little water and a bright arrangement of winter pansies. Tom swung the flashlight around. “That’s where they got in,” he said.

Magnus nodded. “They did a nice job,” he said. “They knocked out the old coal chute cover and dragged a sheet of cardboard to cover it from the inside. I’m willing to bet that there’s some sort of plant or bush outside to make it harder to see.”

Tom looked down at the pansies. “This looks a little desperate,” he said.

“Don’t get fooled,” Magnus said. “If you can get past the glamour that’s covering the scent, this place stinks of pooka. And that means trouble.”

There was an echoing rumble outside, followed by a crash. A scream echoed. “Come on!” Tom yelled, racing up the ladder with Magnus close behind. “It’s the embankment!”

The road outside sloped for a few hundred metres down to the bridge over the stream, cutting between two embankments. The oak at the top of them had fallen, crashing down with the weight of its branches and sturdy trunk, together with half the soil of the embankment and it had toppled directly onto a car. “Come on!” Magnus yelled, pulling his sweater over his head and kicking off his boots. “Call Jed then join me.”

Tom forced himself to pull out the phone and call the nearest help. Jed was further up the hill, but he was guaranteed to be in the Farm Shop and able to get here quick enough. Magnus, now in wolf form, was bounding towards the car, his ears flat and his tail straight behind him. It wasn’t looking good as Tom snapped out the situation to Jed and hung up, kicking off his boots and shrugging off his jacket. This was a situation that needed strength.

The werewolves circled the car, trying to get an assessment. Magnus turned to Tom. You know this stuff better than I. he said into Tom’s mind.

Jed will bring a chainsaw. Tom replied. The tree missed the car. It’s the earth that’s the problem.

There’s a woman and two children in that car. Fear echoed through Magnus’ thoughts.

There are branches blocking the passenger side. Tom trotted closer and peered at the car. The earth hasn’t crushed the doors and the main trunk is holding back the worst of the slip. We need to dig.

It wasn’t hard going as the earth was loose from the slip, but there was a lot of it. Tom and Magnus worked together, their huge paws shifting the soil, flinging it far from the car and keeping a wary eye on what was left of the embankment.

Is it stable? Magnus asked Tom, his thoughts laced with worry.

The roots of the tree are holding a lot of it back. Tom didn’t try and hide his concern. They’ll need to get someone from the Highways division out to get it checked.

It stinks of pooka. Magnus added.

We have a problem. Tom growled as he hit a compacted clump of dirt. But that’s a problem for later.

The wolves toiled on, digging frantically at the earth, all senses alert for a further slip. We’re almost there. Magnus snarled at a tricky tree root that rebounded and sent dirt up his nose. But I don’t think that the woman is local.

She’s scared of us. Tom could feel the waves of fear rolling off her as she pulled her young children out of their car seats and clasped them to her.

I can hear Jed. Magnus looked back at Tom. Go and warn him. We’re almost finished here.

Magnus was right. With a superhuman effort, the werewolves had cleared most of the dirt away from the front driver’s side of the car. Tom could feel the burn in his paws. I’ll go and tell Jed. Tom carefully backed away. Stay safe and keep an eye out for more falls.

I’ll keep an eye out for that pooka. Magnus scrabbled up the slope, his paws slipping, and growled.

The Long Way Around

“I can’t help it!” Jed exclaimed. “I’m not a supermarket and I don’t carry chicken nuggets.”

“What am I supposed to tell my boys?” Christine said. “You know what they’re like.”

Hilary looked around the unusually busy Farm Shop and could see that most of the customers shared Jed’s opinion. Christine from the new houses off Old Lane was a pain in the neck and her boys, three oversized teenagers, were spoiled beyond belief.

“Why don’t you make them a nice chicken casserole,” Marlene suggested through gritted teeth. “We even have packs with all the spices and flavourings in.”

“But they want chicken nuggets!” Christine snarled.

“We don’t sell chicken nuggets.” Jed snarled back. “And we never will. So either buy something or clear out and take your car the long way around to the supermarket. Next!”

Hilary placed her basket down on the counter. “It’s just the usual,” she said. “I’ve got everything I wanted.”

“That’s because you can bloody cook!” Jed yelled, glaring at Christine.

“I can cook,” Christine said. “I can cook better than that newcomer.” She pointed a vicious finger at Hilary. “It’s just that my boys are sensitive.”

“We have some frozen cod in batter,” Marlene managed brightly, sidling up to Jed and giving him a nudge.

“Fish is no good,” Christine said. “My boys like chicken.”

“And I like being served, but until you get a shift on, we’ll all have to suffer,” came a voice from the back.

Hilary turned around to Sam scowling at Christine. “I won’t be two minutes.”

“You’re not the problem,” Sam grumbled, loud enough to reach Christine. “And you’re less of a newcomer than that…”

Hilary turned quickly back to Jed. “This looks lovely and fresh,” she said as she handed over her money. “I know it will be delicious.” She started shoving things quickly into the bag.

“How can it be fresh when they can’t get to the wholesalers to get chicken nuggets?” Christine sneered. Hilary winced as she felt the fury building in Jed.

“I can get to the wholesalers just fine,” Jed roared. “And no matter how often I go, I still won’t get any more bloody chicken nuggets! And if you want to fresh, I’ll tell you fresh!” He loomed over Marlene. “That cabbage was picked from the field in the back this morning. That’s fresher than you’ll ever get from your wholesalers or supermarkets but you can’t cook worth a damn and you’ll never learn. Now get out before I throw you out!”

A scarlet flush ran over Christine’s face before she turned abruptly and stormed out.

“Next,” Marlene said brightly.

The car park was filled with knots of people. Yvette beckoned Hilary over to join her and her husband. “Have you heard anything more?”

“About what?” Hilary said. “I’ve had my hands full.”

“Everything!” Yvette said. “First of all there’s that poor woman who got trapped.”

Gideon nodded. “She’s still getting the hang of the whole werewolf thing,” he said. “But as it turns out, she was looking to move, so she’s taking the cottage the other side of you. You know, since Pearl moved out.”

“I don’t think that I ever met Pearl,” Hilary said. “But it will be nice to have a neighbour.”

“Well, she’s been in a bit of a state,” Yvette said. “But her boys are sweethearts. They’re not much older than Darius and I’ve seen them playing in the park.”

“But the road is still closed where the oak fell,” Gideon said. “And I thought Tom might have an idea how that was going on, as he’s done that sort of work.”

“He may be able to talk to people, you know, and get a hint of when the road will reopen.” Yvette said. “Because getting in and out of the village is tricky if you have to go the long way around.”

“Sam has been giving people lifts to the nearest bus stop,” Hilary said. “He’s been taking them in the trailer over his fields.”

“A lot of the old paths have seen some extra use,” Yvette said. “I know that the Red Lion’s car park is packed. People are leaving their cars there and hiking short cuts across the fields and around the woods.”

“Sam and Jed have been pretty tolerant,” Gideon answered. “At least they haven’t got standing crops in the fields and everyone’s trying to be considerate, but it’s going to be a problem if it carries on.” He looked expectantly at Hilary.

“I’ve no idea,” Hilary said. “I’ve got my hands full with work and cooking.”

“Lord Peregrine said that you’d be cooking for the new stores,” Yvette said.

Hilary shook her head. “Only until Bracken gets better,” she said. “I do not want a job where I’ll spend most of my time washing dishes.”

Yvette chuckled. “That’s what you think. Lord Peregrine never lets go when he sets his mind to something. You’re going to be cooking there for years.”

“And that’s the other bit of news and you must be able to tell us about this,” Gideon said. “What’s happening with these new stores? What are they going to be selling? Will there still be a place to drink tea or coffee? And how’s Jed taking the news?”

“And will it be able to open if the road stays closed?” Yvette added.

“Anything I say will instantly be added to the village group chat, won’t it,” Hilary said.

“Of course!” Yvette said, laughing.

“I can’t commit to anything,” Hilary said. “Tom hasn’t said anything about the road at all, but I think it’s serious.” She looked down the lane at the machinery huddled together as workmen swarmed over the ruined embankment. “And I know that deliveries are getting through. It takes a van an hour or two longer to reach the new stores, but it won’t put back the opening more than a day or two.”

“That’s something,” Gideon said. He looked over to where Christine was stood next to her car, shouting into her phone. “Will he be stocking chicken nuggets?”

Hilary snickered. “I don’t think so, not after today.”

Yvette looked thoughtful. “What’s a pooka?”

Hilary flinched. “Why do you ask that?”

“I heard Lord Peregrine talking with Magnus Lowgill. Magnus said that there was a pooka around, and Lord Peregrine agreed, but I didn’t hear anything more and I don’t know what a pooka is.”

Hilary looked up to the clouded sky for inspiration, then back at Yvette. She deserved to know the truth. “There was a chance that a pooka was involved with the collapse of the embankment,” she said. “Pooka are…” she struggled with words. “They are supernaturals, like Lord Peregrine and Bracken, but not quite the same as either. They aren’t exactly a fae, but nearer to a brownie.”

“So a pooka is like Bracken?” Gideon asked.

“Not quite.” Hilary lowered her bags to the ground and took a deep breath. “They can be helpful, like brownies. They’re diligent if they want to be and are fantastic craft workers.”

“You mean like shoemakers?” Yvette asked.

Hilary shook her head. “They can make and mend clothes, according to what I’ve heard, and they do beautiful embroidery, but they’re touchy and proud. They’re incredible when they help with harvest, but they’re just as likely to make a mess as clean things up.” She thought for a moment. “Like the brownies’ bad cousin. You know,” she said, looking at their blank expressions. “The cousin that’s always getting into trouble and the family are never quite sure what to do with them because there’s good in there somewhere even if they have just got drunk and fought the police up and down the street.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Yvette said.

Hilary shrugged. “Lord Peregrine may not have a big court, but he rules the court he has with a rod of iron. He won’t let trouble get out of hand.”

*****

Hilary puffed a little as she walked up the path by the hedgerow. Bracken had her tasting cakes and biscuits all day and it was taking a toll on her waistline. She shifted the bags in her hands. At least carrying the groceries like this was something of a workout. Since she couldn’t drive to the Farm Shop, she’d started going daily for groceries. If it had just been her, that wouldn’t have been a problem but Tom had a werewolf’s appetite and he needed substantial food. She turned at the way-stone, heading up into the woods.

Hilary frowned and stopped, lowering her bags onto the carpet of dead leaves. She knew of the great stone circles on the surrounding hills that pinned the flow of magic to smooth, steady flows, and she was grateful for them. But this was different. She brushed her hand over the small square stone. It wasn’t exactly new, but it was a lot more recent than the stones and it felt wrong. Hilary looked closer. The runes and arcane symbols were weathered, but the edges were clear enough. It was like the stone further up in the woods, the one she’d fallen over when she met Tom jogging up to the cottage. This stone was pinning the magic, but it was snarled and spiky, like a bramble, or even worse, like barbed wire that was artificial and uncaring. She looked around. How many of these stones were out here, distorting the flow of magic? She stood, frowning, then looked around again, trying to fix the place in her memory. There was far too much raw power coiled around it to risk moving it without taking precautions, and now wasn’t the perfect time. Hilary picked up her bags and marched into the woods. She may not be able to act right now, but at least she had a starting place.

A Meeting

Hilary looked around the library. “I suppose that we’re as ready as we’re going to get,” she said.

“I is confident,” Bracken said smugly. “The room is clean.”

“It’s not just clean,” Hilary said. “It’s welcoming and so relaxing. You did a good job.”

Bracken stood an inch taller, proud of her work. “I did not arrange the books,” she said. “I had insufficient time but I has taken permission to borrow and read some of the books that aren’t real.” She pulled the cute pink cardigan a little closer around her. “They is most interesting.”

“I’m sure they are,” Hilary said, thinking of the lurid bodice-rippers that had been left on the shelves. “I’m glad you made time to read after all the work that you did in here.” She ran a hand over the mantlepiece. Bracken had polished it and the fireplace until it gleamed with a burnished glow. The soft light from the lamps around the room brought out its beauty, along with the deep mahogany of bookcases that also shone richly after Bracken’s relentless care. The upholstery of the chairs arranged around the fire had been freshened and newly washed throws were scattered along with cushions and pillows. Vases filled with dried leaves and grasses brought a hint of elegance to the corners of the room and an arrangement of chrysanthemums and asters was set in the centre of the library table.

Bracken followed Hilary’s gaze to the table. “Do you think that we’ll have enough refreshments,” she asked. “I is becoming skilful with baking and I could make some more lemon shortbread. And there are sausage rolls and pasties in the freezer that I could bake up for the guests.”

Hilary thought for a moment. The library table was hidden under a damask tablecloth and covered with food. Plates of shortbread and gingersnaps jostled with a substantial fruit cake flanked by two lemon loaf cakes. Three different types of chocolate muffins were heaped on platters separated by dishes of tiny frittata. “I don’t know,” she said. “The charcuterie boards look like they should feed an army just by themselves.”

“It was of great interest to see what is on the internet and how complicated things can be,” Bracken said. “And the trip to the supermarket was also important.”

Hilary nodded. The table in front of her looked nothing like the Pinterest-worthy spreads that her ex-husband had insisted on, but it looked far tastier and a great deal more substantial. “I think that this should be enough for now,” she said. “But we have two werewolves coming and you know what Lord Peregrine is like.” She looked at Bracken. You have been amazing. You’ve done so much and I’m grateful.”

“I is extremely satisfied with my situation,” Bracken sighed happily.

“Lord Peregrine has asked that I stay for the meeting,” Hilary said. “So you are going to be responsible for serving tea and coffee and for making sure that there’s always plenty on the table.”

“That is a large responsibility,” Bracken said, squaring her shoulders.

“You are more than ready for it,” Hilary said. “In fact, I think that you could do better than anything I could manage.”

Bracken looked horrified at the thought, but before she could complain, Tom strolled in. “I’m looking forward to digging into that food,” he said. “But I think you’ve done too much.”

“Better too much than too little,” Hilary said tartly. She cocked her head at the unfamiliar sound of knocking on the front door. “I’ll go and answer that,” she said. She pointed a stern finger at Tom. “And don’t try snacking on anything until everyone’s here! Bracken, could you make the tea, please.”

Hilary rushed to the door. “Good evening,” she said. “Please come in.” She winced at the rattle of rain driving against the porch. “I’ve got everything set up in the library.”

Lord Peregrine strolled in followed by a tall, lean man with thick, shoulder length red hair and piercing blue eyes. Miss Hilary, this is Cabus. Cabus, this is Miss Hilary Marshaw, the new witch.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Cabus said, shaking Hilary’s hand.

Unnerved by the coldness of his hand, Hilary scurried ahead of them. “This way, please,” she said. “I’m surprised that you didn’t come through the kitchen,” she added to Lord Peregrine.

“And miss the chance to see Bracken’s splendid work in the house?” Lord Peregrine asked. “I haven’t been this far inside for some time.”

Hilary ushered them into the library. “Would you like some tea?” she asked, aware Bracken was poised and ready to dash to the kettle.

“I would like a cup of Earl Grey tea,” Lord Peregrine said. “Please,” he added. “And what splendid food."

Hilary turned to Cabus. “Would you like tea?” she asked.

“He’ll have Yorkshire tea,” Lord Peregrine interrupted. “Milk and no sugar.”

“I will?” Cabus smiled slowly. He turned to Bracken. “Tea with milk and no sugar would be wonderful.” He sat next to Tom, sinking into a comfortable armchair and immediately relaxed. “It’s a pleasure to be here,” he said in his deep, soothing voice. “It has been a while since I ventured down from the fells.”

Hilary noticed tension in Tom but was distracted as there was a sharp rap on the kitchen door, calling her away. It was Magnus, clutching a soggy bag. “Come in out of the weather,” Hilary said. “It’s dreadful, isn’t it.”

“That’s November for you,” Magnus said, handing her the bag. “I couldn’t come to a dinner party empty handed, so I brought wine.”

“It’s not exactly a dinner party,” Hilary said. “It’s more of a meeting with refreshments.”

“And it’s not exactly fancy wine in the bag.” Magnus looked around the kitchen. “I’ve brought something better than tea,” he said, catching sight of Bracken refilling the kettle. “But if it’s important work that we’re discussing, it had best be with clear heads.” He grinned wickedly at Hilary and gestured to the bag. “I’ve brought a couple of bottles of my own parsnip wine," he said. "It's Great Uncle Finlay’s special recipe and it’s just what you need at this time of year. It’ll warm you right through.”

“You’re the last to arrive,” Hilary said. “Lord Peregrine and Cabus are already in the library with Tom.”

“So Cabus has turned up, has he?” Magnus said. “I haven’t seen that old bloodsucker in years.”

Hilary pulled three bottles out of the bag. They were dusty, with smudged labels and looked unnervingly like reused vodka bottles. “Parsnip wine,” she read. “These are from last year?”

“Yep, I brought the good vintage,” Magnus said.

“Come through,” Hilary said. “Bracken will bring the tea.”

Lord Peregrine waited until everyone was settled around the crackling fire and had a plate of food and a drink next to them. “This is very convivial,” he said. “But we can talk while we eat. The food is delicious, but this is about serious things.”

“You mean like the embankment slipping onto the car,” Magnus asked. “I could swear that there was magic twisted in the roots of the fallen oak.”

Hilary frowned. “There was a fallen branch at the entrance to the car park at the Farm Shop,” she said. “It just missed Daniel who was driving a truck full of sheep. I thought that I felt magic there.”

“I’m fairly sure that it wasn’t a normal electrical fault that caused the traffic lights to fail a few weeks ago,” Lord Peregrine said. “It was hard to tell through the stench of burnt wiring, but something wasn’t entirely mortal about it.”

Tom leaned forward. “The stream flooded at the back of Yvette and Gideon’s house,” he said. “It wasn’t normal. Branches and debris will always get caught up in the flow, we’ve all seen it, especially at this time of year. This was different, thought. The debris and leaves backed up around a stick that I would swear was wedged in deliberately. Someone wanted that stream to flood.” He picked up a gingersnap from his plate and stared at it. “It was hard to tell with all the running water, but I wouldn’t say that there wasn’t magic in it. And then there’s the bed underneath the new stores.”

“The Lesken sisters had no idea that there was a cellar under there,” Lord Peregrine said. “In fact, they were outraged that they had lived in a building with a space they hadn’t cleaned.”

Bracken nodded as she refilled Tom’s mug. “It is a great shame for a brownie,” she said. “And they is feeling it very hard, even though there was nothing that they could do.”

“Are you sure that it smelled like a pooka?” Cabus asked, joining the discussion for the first time. “Because I haven’t seen Samgan in some time.”

Hilary looked at Lord Peregrine. “Is there a local pooka?” she asked. “The Committee didn’t mention anything about that.”

Lord Peregrine avoided Hilary’s curious gaze and instead stood and wandered over to the table. “Is it good manners to cut myself a piece of that glorious fruit cake or should I politely ask Bracken to serve me a slice?”

“I is happy to provide a good sized slice,” Bracken said, hurrying to the table. “This is an expensive cake with much spices. I believe that you will find it pleasant.”

“Lord Peregrine, did you know about the pooka?” Hilary asked.

“What Lord Peregrine is trying to avoid saying, is that he has been dormant for some time,” Cabus said. “This little corner of the world has been quite neglected by the supernaturals.” He picked up a dry cracker from his plate and regarded it solemnly. “I keep to myself, and the werewolves have been too busy infighting to take much notice of what’s happening outside of their pack. The fae hall shrunk and eventually even the brownies left, leaving Bracken as a sort of payment in Lord Peregrine’s empty hall. Everything just faded.”

“And this pooka was left to his own devices?” Hilary asked. “Didn’t the local witch do anything?”

“You are the first witch in a considerable time that has been willing to talk civilly with us supernaturals,” Cabus said, placing the cracker back on his plate. “I don’t know that anyone thought to ask.”

“According to Great Uncle Finlay, there hasn’t been a good tempered witch here for over a century,” Magnus said. He grimaced and bit into a white chocolate and cranberry muffin. “Great Uncle Finlay had something of a thing about witches, especially those who could cook,” he said, a little thickly through the muffin crumbs. “And I remember him talking about witches going back to what his father remembered.” He shrugged apologetically. “He said that they were all bad tempered old biddies but there was usually good food.” He took another bite of the muffin and chewed hastily as he saw Hilary’s raised eyebrow. “Present company excepted, of course. That’s why I brought my parsnip wine.”

“You brought your homemade wine?” Cabus asked, chuckling. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or a declaration of war.”

“Back to the point,” Hilary said. “Are we sure that it’s a pooka? If it is a pooka, are we sure that they’re this Samgan that you know? And if it is Samgan or even another pooka, what are we going to do?”

“You bring wonderful clarity to the discussion.” Lord Peregrine took the plate with the slice of fruitcake from Bracken and added a hunk of crumbly white cheese. “I believe that there’s a pooka involved somewhere.” He rejoined the group by the fire. “I believe that it’s probably Samgan. As for what we can do…” He trailed off as he took a mouthful of the cake with the cheese.

“Can we watch the cellar and see if he comes back?” Hilary asked.

Tom shook his head. “If it’s a pooka, we can’t catch them that easy. Besides, his belongings have already gone.”

“Pooka is better than brownies at being unnoticed,” Bracken added. “And they can get anywhere. Locks don’t stop them nor bolts nor anything.”

“How about wards?” Hilary asked. “You know, the old-fashioned shields of protection. Would they work against pooka?”

Lord Peregrine looked over to Cabus who shrugged. “They’d probably work,” Cabus said. “But where would you put them? You can’t cover everything. If you ward one tree, Samgan could knock the one next to it over.”

“And you don’t want to encourage him to get creative,” Lord Peregrine said. “If it is Samgan, he could be a monster if he got annoyed.”

“He’s not exactly happy right now,” Cabus said. “And I can tell that because we still have heavy machinery working to fix the embankment.”

“I’ll see if I can pick up his trail,” Lord Peregrine said. “I have a few techniques that may work, especially if Samgan is sloppy after a long time away.”

“Where do you think he’s been?” Tom asked. “Because he may go back there. If we know where he’s been staying, we could at least look for some sort of clue.”

“That makes sense,” Magnus said, standing and heading purposefully towards the charcuterie.

“Not if he’s been trapped,” Cabus said. “Samgan liked to keep himself busy about the place. He wouldn’t willingly leave. And he wouldn’t go back to where he was trapped.” He turned to Hilary. “Witches usually keep an account of sorts in their cottages,” he said. Perhaps you could look through them and see if you can work out what’s happened.”

“Of course,” Hilary said. “Though was there a reason that witches wouldn’t help before?”

“I told you, Great Uncle Finlay said that the witches around here had temperaments like a rabid rat with toothache,” Magnus said, loading up his plate with salami and gruyere. “We would never have got past the gate at the bottom of the drive.”

Hilary frowned and turned to Lord Peregrine. “Is that why you wanted us to meet here?” she asked. “Because you were curious about the cottage?”

“Absolutely not!” Lord Peregrine was outraged. “I wanted it held here because I knew that the food would be spectacular!” And he took another satisfying bite of fruitcake with cheese.

A Secret in the Library

“I’d love to stay and help,” Tom lied. “But I have to get down to the new stores. I’ve got a lot of deliveries coming today.” He sat down at the table with his triple portion of instant oats and a large mug of coffee.

Hilary wasn’t fooled. “And unloading twenty trays of cat food is a lot easier than going through all the books in the library,” she said. She slid the stack of sandwiches into a bag and slotted into his lunchbox.

“I wish it was something as straightforward as cat food,” Tom said. “It’s all the paster and paint we’ll need to cover up the mess the electricians are making.”

“I’ll tell them that you said that,” Hilary said, sliding in a couple of tomato and bacon muffins.

“I’ve already told them that myself,” Tom said. “They’re a good lot, and there won’t be too much damage, but you know what it’s like.”

Hilary had no idea of what a building site was like, but she nodded and added an apple and a banana. “Is there much left to do?” she asked.

Tom added a generous helping of honey to his instant oats. “The electricians have pretty much finished,” he said. “After that it’s tidying up before we start to set up.” He took a mouthful of oats. “Ow! Hot!”

“You have no patience,” Hilary said, rinsing out the flask with hot water from the kettle. “You’re not running late, are you?” She tipped the water into the sink.

Bracken wandered into the kitchen. “Good morning,” she said. “All the main rooms are dusted and swept except for the library, and I’ve cleaned the bathrooms and mopped the porch.” She stretched lazily. “May I have breakfast?”

Hilary gestured to the table. “It’s all ready for you. I put it out when I heard you put away the duster.” The microwave beeped and Hilary pulled out the jug of homemade soup. “I’m looking forward to going through the books,” she said. “I’ve no idea what we’ll find there.”

“Aren’t they your books?” Tom asked.

Hilary shook her head. “My personal books are in the bookcase in my bedroom,” she said. “Just as my personal diaries are stacked in my office.” She poured the soup into the warmed flask. “The books in the library belong to the cottage.”

“Doesn’t the cottage belong to you?” Tom asked and risked another mouthful of oats.

“Yes and no,” Hilary said, slipping the flask and the lunchbox next to Tom and pulling out a bowl. “I sort of own it but under conditions.”

Tom thought as he devoured his breakfast. “Like covenants?” he asked. He caught Bracken’s confused gaze. “Legal conditions that restricts what can happen to a house.”

“Sort of,” Hilary said. “It’s something like…” She tried to frame her thoughts as she poured a generous portion of cereal into her bowl. “Only a witch can own this house,” she said. “And I have a duty of care. I could throw out every stick of furniture but it came with the house and when I die, the house will be sold on to another witch and it would be…” Hilary poured milk over the cereal as she struggled for the right words. “It would be bad manners to leave the house with nothing. I can change things around and make alterations. Annie had the place rewired, for example and I think it was her predecessor that installed indoor plumbing, but I couldn’t demolish it or sell it to someone who wasn’t a witch.” She took a seat as Tom scraped up the last of the instant oats.

“What would happen if you tried?” Bracken asked.

“I’m not exactly sure,” Hilary said, sitting next to Bracken. “I suppose the Committee would get involved.”

Bracken looked up from her toast. “I has heard of the Committee of the Witches,” she said. “But I has never heard of what they do.”

“They do as little as possible,” Hilary said tartly. “Do you want a bacon muffin? There’s plenty left over and it looks like we’re going to have a long day.”

Tom drained his mug and put it and his bowl in the sink. “I’d better get down there,” he said. “I’m trying to work out where to put all the shelving and every time I think I’ve got the perfect layout, I spot a problem. I want to use the time before the electricians get there.” He grabbed his lunch. “Good luck with the books,” he called on the way out of the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Hilary replied. “I think we’ll need it.”

*****

Hilary stood at the end of the library and looked at the rows of books. “There’s hundreds of them,” she said.

Bracken touched a tentative finger against the nearest polished bookcase. “There may be thousands,” she said. “Some of the books are very small and some are stacked two deep.”

Hilary nodded. “And there’s all the bookcases in the rest of the house,” she said. “There’s a bookcase in the parlour, but I think that’s just fiction.”

Bracken shuffled a little in embarrassment. “I has already read those, Mistress Hilary,” she said. She avoided meeting Hilary’s eyes. “They are not witch’s notebooks.” She thought for a moment. “At least, they are nothing to do with real witches and Mr Tom would never behave like that.”

Hilary decided that it wasn’t worth asking questions. “Let’s start at the window,” she said. “We can organise the books as we go along.” She smiled at Bracken. “But I think we need to keep a place separate for where we put the books we want to read next.”

Bracken pulled out a well-read book. “And we can read them privately,” she said.

Hilary looked at the cover. A man without a shirt was looking fierce while holding a sword while an extremely underweight woman who was almost wearing a dress was draped at his feet. “Yes, I think we should absolutely read them in private,” she said.

It was surprisingly hard work. A small, slim volume of poetry wasn’t hard to dust off, quickly check for enclosed papers or notes in the margins and place to one side, but there were some weighty reference books and encyclopaedias which took a lot longer to check. Hilary sagged, sitting cross legged on the floor as she finally emptied the lower shelf of one of the bookcases. “I’m already exhausted.” She checked the clock on the mantelpiece. “We’ve been working for a couple of hours already. Perhaps we should take a break.”

Bracken dropped down next to her. “We have done a quarter of the work,” she sighed. “And a brownie’s way is not to take a break. At least, not on a straightforward job like this.”

“It’s not exactly a straightforward job,” Hilary said. “I’m worried that I’m going to miss something. There should be hundreds of notebooks around somewhere. I’ve nearly filled one already since I moved here, and Annie was here for decades. And there should be records of witches before her.”

“Annie was a very angry lady,” Bracken said primly. “She was angry all the time. She could have done anything to notebooks that annoyed her.”

“That’s not a comforting thought,” Hilary said. “Why don’t we take a break, for my sake,” she added hurriedly. “We can have a drink and a snack and I can come back here with more energy.”

“That is a reasonable idea,” Bracken said, pushing herself onto her feet.

Hilary rolled her neck and then paused. “Did you put that there?” she asked, pointing at a hefty wedge that was firmly stuck under the bookcase.”

Bracken looked embarrassed. “I is sorry, Mistress Hilary, but I did not. I just polished it.” She wrung her hands. “I is aware of the situation that I’m and the agreements, but I haven’t had time to dust behind the bookcases, no matter what.” She hung her head. “Though if I had worked more in the mornings…”

“Stop that!” Hilary said. “I think that you work harder than you need to for the wages already. And you’re studying how to cook. Besides, nobody bothers to dust behind bookcases.”

Bracken pulled herself up to her full height. “Brownies dust and polish everything.” she said.

Hilary frowned and then tapped the wedge. “But why put it here?” She looked around. “None of the other bookcases have wedges.”

Bracken shrugged. “The house is old and old houses are usually uneven,” she said. “The wedge may stop the bookcase from falling forward.”

Hilary rolled to her knees and crawled forward, tapping at the back of the bookcase. “It sounds hollow,” she said. “I wonder if there’s an old fireplace behind here.” She frowned. “I’d like to get it checked if there is. The chimneys were badly neglected when I moved in. They were all clogged with old soot and birds’ nests. The last thing I need is something trapped behind here.” She wiggled the wedge. “I can get the wedge out without any trouble,” she said. “But can you hold the bookcase up, please, just in case the wedge is stopping it from wobbling.”

“I would have to clean a fireplace, even if there’s a bookcase in front of it,” Bracken said. She braced herself against the bookcase. “I is ready.”

The wedge pulled out easily and Hilary stood and put the wedge on the table. She whirled around as she heard a creak behind her, but the bookcase wasn’t falling. Instead the entire bookcase had pivoted on a well-oiled hinge and then opened out. The gap behind it was almost completely dark, framed by a cobwebbed doorframe and oozing chill air. The light from the library managed to illuminate a small square of grey tiles and the hint of a stair but nothing more. “It’s a secret door,” Hilary said. She swallowed. “I wonder if the notebooks that we’re looking for are down there.”

Bracken wrinkled her nose. “It feels dry enough, but it smells of too much dust. I’ll fetch a duster and the vacuum cleaner.”

“And a flashlight,” Hilary said.

“Perhaps you should have a cup of tea and some biscuits first,” Bracken said, looking concerned. “We don’t need flashlights.” She reached into the dark and flicked a light switch. A strong LED light hung in at the top of a flight of stone stairs. “You must be tired if you didn’t see that.”

“Does every house in this village have a secret cellar?” Hilary said, looking at Bracken. “First there’s one at the new stores, and now this.”

“They is not the same,” Bracken said soberly. “I think Annie knew about this and went up and down.” She looked thoughtfully at Hilary. “But you have been here for a few months and Samgan hasn’t had a place to stay for a while. It would have been an undisturbed bolt hole.”

Hilary shook her head. “There are wards all over the house and I’ve been renewing them every full moon…” She paused. “I’ve been warding the places that I know about,” she said slowly.

“I will go and put the kettle on the stove and fetch some of the chocolate shortbread,” she said. “Then I will call Lord Peregrine. I think that he will be very interested.”

“No,” Hilary said. “There may be stuff down there that’s private to witches.”

Bracken looked serious. “There may be witch stuff and there may be more than witch stuff,” she said. “If there is only witch stuff at the bottom of the stairs, then we is lucky.”

Unexpected Discoveries

Lord Peregrine was impressed. “This is a splendid hidden stair,” he said. “I can’t believe that I’ve got the chance to see it.”

“It’s not my first choice,” Hilary grumbled.

“Bracken needs to stay upstairs,” Lord Peregrine continued, magnificently ignoring Hilary’s comment.

Bracken looked relieved. “I will watch the time, keep the kettle warm and have food ready for your return,” she said.

“We’re only going into a cellar,” Hilary said. She glanced over at the doorway. It may be brightly lit, but cold radiated from the stairs down. It didn’t look like she would find a small room at the base. It looked like it could take her anywhere. “We probably won’t be more than a few minutes.”

“I couldn’t comment,” Lord Peregrine said. “There are a lot of wards down there. I couldn’t tell you anything.”

“The Committee are going to be furious,” Hilary muttered. She checked her phone and grabbed the flashlight that she had insisted on getting out. “I know that there’s lights on the stairs, but I don’t know what to expect once we’re down there.” She squared her shoulders. “This was absolutely not on record when I bought the cottage.”

Lord Peregrine shrugged. “Lead on, Miss Hilary.”

Hilary took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway.

At the back of her mind, Hilary knew that she was overreacting. It was just a staircase that no doubt led to an old coal cellar with nothing more alarming than a few desiccated spiders. But with the issue of the missing notebooks, and a complete lack of evidence that Annie had ever been a witch, it was hard to rule out finding something a little more interesting. And the thought of finding a pooka, a being with a natural knack for magic, that had had a chance to study a witch’s notebooks and pick up a few new skills, made her feel sick. She started down the stone steps. “It’s so cold,” she said.

“The stairs aren’t that scary,” Lord Peregrine said. “They’ve even got a handrail.”

“Great, we have a safety-conscious monster waiting for us at the bottom,” Hilary said, but without much conviction. The second lamp at the foot of the stairs shone brightly enough to show that it opened out into a large space that had plenty of light, at least near the foot of the stairs.

“You must have an idea of what to expect,” Lord Peregrine said. “After all, you’re a witch yourself.”

“Not all witches are alike,” Hilary said, reaching the bottom of the stairs and stepping away to allow Lord Peregrine to join her. “And I would never dream of doing this.”

Lord Peregrine flicked the light switch next to her and stared. “It seems a little…”

“It’s claustrophobic, that’s what it is,” Hilary said. “We’re in a cellar and someone made it their home from home.”

The low ceiling forced Lord Peregrine to stoop, but otherwise the room looked like any other windowless living room out there. Most of one wall was covered with deep shelving stacked high with notebooks. Across from there was a desk, with a stack of unused notebooks, a tub of pens and a series of candles that were gathering dust. There was even a cosy armchair next to an electric heater.

Well aware of her breath hanging like steam in the cold, Hilary strode over and switched on the heater. “We might as well be comfortable,” she said. “Annie obviously was.”

“Agreed,” Lord Peregrine said. “She enjoyed her creature comforts.” He wandered over to the far corner. “She had a sink fitted in here,” he said. “Look.”

“She’s not exactly got a full kitchen down here,” Hilary said. “But it’s not bad.” A tiny sink unit sat next to a table with jars of teabags and sugar next to a china cup. Hilary eyed the mini fridge under the sink with distrust. “I’ll work up to seeing what’s in there,” she said. “I’m not in a rush to find out what milk looks like if it’s left for six months.”

“It’s very dry down here,” Lord Peregrine said. “It’s even more noticeable now that things are warming up.” He glanced over at Hilary. “Putting on the heater was true inspiration.”

“It’ll take a while to warm up properly,” Hilary said. She opened a door next to her. “I can’t believe this.” She pulled on the cord at the door and the room lit up.

Lord Peregrine leaned over her shoulder. “Whoever put this together was thorough,” he said. “Putting a bathroom in a cellar isn’t necessarily easy.”

“It’s not a big bathroom,” Hilary said. She shook her head. “What am I saying. Having a toilet, a sink and a shower down here is amazing.”

“And I cannot imagine a workman being thrilled to lug a bath down those steep steps,” Lord Peregrine said. He eased past Hilary and tried the taps. “It’s a little stiff, but they work,” he said, fascinated by the unexpected swirl of water running through the taps and into some unsuspected drain. “There’s even a fan up there in the corner.” He looked around and flicked a switch. The fan started, drawing warmer air from the main room into the tiny space.

Hilary reached past him and turned the tap off. “Let’s not waste water,” she said, turning and going back into the main room.

Lord Peregrine looked again at the fan, then turned it off and followed Hilary, closing the door behind him. “Two more doors,” he said. “Do you think that one of them is a bedroom.”

“I can’t imagine why anyone would want a bedroom down here,” Hilary said as she wandered back towards the notebooks. “Not when there are so many good bedrooms upstairs.”

“A bedroom down here would be useful if someone was hiding,” Lord Peregrine said.

Hilary wasn’t paying attention. “Some of these notebooks are really old,” she said, picking a thick notebook with a faded blue cover. “I wonder how long this has been a witch’s cottage.”

“Do you think that Samgan is hiding behind one of these doors?” Lord Peregrine said. “If he is, he’ll probably be getting desperate as we’re between him and the exit.”

Hilary put the notebook down sharply. “I thought pookas were able to get in and out of places unseen.” Lord Peregrine shrugged and opened the nearest door.

“This is amazing!” Hilary edged into the room and looked around. “I’ve only ever imagined something like this.”

“Hmm?” Lord Peregrine said. He stopped at the door and picked up a jar of bismuth crystals from the shelf next to him, enjoying the play of colours on the iridescent mineral.

“Look around,” Hilary said. “Some of this stuff must have cost a fortune!”

Lord Peregrine glanced around and then looked again. Shelf units were stacked with candles of all different hues and sizes. Jars filled with incense of all types were ranged neatly next to them. The shelf next to him had a wide array of crystals, including small jars of what looked like unpolished sapphire and amethyst. And in among the mystical supplies were the pragmatic matches, candlesticks, cleaning supplies, and utensils. Above all there were herbs. “No wonder it’s so dry down here,” Lord Peregrine said. “It’s almost like a business.”

“It is a business,” Hilary said, pointing at the small box of mailers and blank labels. “And it looks like it was doing well.”

Lord Peregrine nodded. “I don’t know how many of these you recognise,” he said. “But some of these herbs, naturally dried, are expensive.”

“I’m recognising yarrow, agrimony, woodruff, lady’s mantle, hyssop, willow herb…” Hilary’s eyes were wide as she took in the bundles of plants hanging from cords strung across the room. “It’s a really wide selection.” She stepped over to what looked like a drying rack. “There’s red clover, cleavers, and I think that’s raspberry leaf,” she said.

“It will be interesting to see what grows in the garden next spring,” Lord Peregrine said.

Hilary left and paused in front of the third door. “I wonder if this is a bedroom,” she said. “I can imagine that there was a lot of work with the herbs and being able to take a quick nap without breaking off too much must have been tempting.”

“It’s only one flight of steps,” Lord Peregrine said. He grinned at her with mischief. “It could still be the hideout of Samgan.”

Hilary pushed the door open, flicked the light switch and stepped in. “Of course, she said. “It’s the work room.” She shivered. “And it’s even colder in here.”

“I feel chilled and I don’t feel the cold,” Lord Peregrine said. “But I can understand why.”

The room was almost as big as the original, with cupboards lining one side of the room and thick, black velvet curtains covering the walls. In the centre of the room was a large, ornate, and meticulously engraved pentagram. The glare from the overhead light was pitiless and exposed every detail. Candlesticks with part-burned candles were placed at their appropriate places around the circle. The altar in the centre was wide and laid out as if ready for the next ritual. Unconsciously, Hilary drew closer to Lord Peregrine. “Not all of this looks like witchy stuff,” she said. “The circle, it doesn’t look right for anything that I’d do.”

Lord Peregrine shrugged. “Like you said, not all witches are the same,” he said. “But I agree. I don’t recognise the circle, but I do feel uneasy. There’s something very wrong.”

Hilary tried to work out what was going on. “This is full of that spiky magic,” she said suddenly. “You know, the stuff that’s causing problems around here. I wonder if there’s some sort of crystal amplifying it in here.”

Lord Peregrine’s teeth began to chatter. “I don’t think that it’s a good idea for me to stay here much longer,” he said. “This is not a safe place for my kind.”

Hilary took a look at his pale face and grabbed his arm. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Lord Peregrine swayed and brushed against one of the velvet hangings. As it swayed back to reveal a sigil-painted wall, Lord Peregrine froze. A demonic roar echoed around the room and the temperature plummeted. Darkness started to swirl in the corner.

“Oh no you don’t!” Hilary snapped. She dragged Lord Peregrine, rigid and icy, out and propped him at the foot of the stairs before diving back to the store room. Mentally thanking whoever kept this room so organised, Hilary grabbed the large jar of salt next to the incense and rushed back to the work room. “Get out!” she yelled, twitching the hanging back in place and then flinging a large handful of salt at the shadow in the corner. There was a hiss, a growl, and then silence.

Hilary wasted no time. Shutting the door on the workroom, she half helped, half carried Lord Peregrine up the steps and back into the welcome warmth and daylight of the library. Bracken screamed.

“Bring in tea, with plenty of sugar,” Hilary ordered. “And then call Tom.”

Lord Peregrine slowly shook his head as he allowed Hilary to guide him to a sofa near the window. “That was a fierce attack.”

“It really wasn’t,” Hilary said. “That was a hint of one because the sigils were half uncovered without any extra magic involved.” She eased Lord Peregrine down onto the cushions. “That was a tiny fragment of what would hit you if we pulled down those hangings and there was active magic in the area. And it’s not something that a witch should be involved in. It’s all wrong!”

Bracken scuttled back in with a large mug of Earl Grey tea and a plate of macaroons. “What happened?” she asked. “What are you going to do?”

Hilary looked over to the ominous staircase. “I think I’ll start by calling the Committee,” she said.

Playing Safe

“You forgot your lunch.”

Tom turned around, nearly falling over the trailing wires covering the front of new stores. “Hello, Hilary. I didn’t realise.” He grinned as he took the lunchbox and flask from her. “I’ve a lot on my mind.”

Hilary looked around the dust-strewn chaos of paint buckets and drop sheets mixed in with drills and piles of unbuilt shelving. “I can see that,” she said.

“I would have come back to get it,” Tom said, taking the lunch through to the kitchen. “Come through here. It’s almost finished.”

“And this is where I’ll be working until I can persuade Bracken to take over?” Hilary said. “I hope that she’s not going to have a fit about being paid.” She looked around the kitchen with interest. The stainless steel counters gleamed, as did the huge fridge freezers and expanse of sink. “The cooker looks complicated.” She set her bag down on the counter and ran a finger over the controls. “It looks like it’s better at maths than I am.”

Tom chuckled. “It’s a straightforward piece of kit,” he said. “It’s just bigger.”

“I don’t have a ‘proving oven’ at home,” Hilary said. “When I make bread, I shove it on the shelf over the hot water tank.” She frowned at him. “And I’m not baking bread here. That would be too much. I’d have to be up before the crack of dawn, I’d have to spend my life cooking.” She stared helplessly at Tom. “I’m not that good at cooking.”

Tom chuckled. “I’ve put on a few pounds since I moved in,” he said. “Between the good stuff you make when Lord Peregrine turns up and Bracken’s practice sessions, I’ve never eaten so good.”

Hilary ran her eyes over him. “You don’t look like you’ve put on an ounce,” she said. “In fact, I’d say those jeans are looser on you.”

“Are you checking me out?” Tom grinned. He turned around. “I’ve gone from sitting at a desk to working fourteen hour days of physical labour getting this up and running.” He flexed a bicep through his well-washed t-shirt. “I’ve put on a load of muscle. And my point stands – I’m getting good food which is keeping me going.” He grabbed hold of the lunchbox. “What have I got today?”

“Lots of Bracken’s experiments,” Hilary said. “You’ve got two sausage rolls, a ham sandwich…”

“With the pickle?” Tom interrupted.

“Yes, with the home-made pickle,” Hilary said. “A cheese and bacon muffin, a slice of chocolate cake, an apple and a pear.” She smiled back at him. “And a nice, old-fashioned chicken soup in the flask.” She eyed his flat stomach. “I don’t know where you put it all.”

“That’s werewolves for you,” Tom said. “I’m about to take a break anyway and I’ve got some coffee on the go. Would you like some?”

“Yes, please!” Hilary said. She pulled another box out from her bag. “And I’ve got just the thing to go with it.”

Tom’s eyes lit up. “You made brown butter cookies?” he said.

Hilary nodded. “Bracken was looking stressed at breakfast so I sent her off to vacuum the mattresses and I took the chance to get ahead with baking.” She shook her head. “To get ahead with baking for the cottage, I mean. I’m ahead with stuff for the new stores.”

“Does that mean that when I get home, I can raid the snacks without worrying?” Tom asked.

“Don’t tell me, werewolf metabolism,” Hilary said. “Yes, you can eat as much as you like.”

Tom poured them both coffee as Hilary pulled out a couple of small plates and added the biscuits. Then they wandered into the tiny room that the Lesken sisters had used for storage but was now optimistically called the ‘Staff Break Room.’ Tom had set up a rickety camping table and found half a dozen elderly dining chairs from somewhere, but it was almost dust free and there was a view through the window to the overgrown garden at the back. “I’m going to get that garden sorted after I’ve dealt with yours,” Tom said, pointing at the tumbling mass of brambles and nettles. “I know that it’s not really worth the effort, with the Farm Shop being so good, but being able to have food available made with veggies and herbs from the garden at the back would be a great draw with the tourists in the summer.”

“Salads picked fresh from the garden at the back,” Hilary said. “It sounds great.”

“We don’t need to go too fancy,” Tom said. “I’m playing it safe with the stock, especially at first, and I’m happy to do the same with the garden. I thought if I could grow some bits of lettuce, nothing special, and perhaps a bit of parsley and basil, then it would save some time and trouble.”

“And you’d get the excuse to get out into the sun and nature even though you’re running the shop,” Hilary said. “But don’t worry too much about the garden up at Rowan Cottage. I know that you’ll be busy.”

“It’s the least that I can do,” Tom said. He patted his flat stomach. “I get the benefit from keeping you and Bracken happy. Is she still asking for a large vegetable patch.”

“She’s been going online and seeing the gardening shows on there,” Hilary said. “You’ll have your work cut out to keep up with her expectations.”

“That’s brownies all over,” Tom said.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Rain dashed against the window and the wind whipped through the dead weeds outside, but inside was warm and cosy, with good coffee and good food. Finally, Tom stood. “I need to get back to work.” He stretched. “I’m getting the first delivery of stock this afternoon and I need to get the shelves in place.”

“Would you like a hand?” Hilary asked. “Since I left work, I’m finding myself at something of a loose end.” She grimaced. “Okay, I have a stack of work that I need to do back at the cottage. I’ve got some freelance stuff that may not be urgent but it still needs doing, and I’ve got a lot of research to do. Plus Lord Peregrine is talking about extra lodgers so I need to try making listings.” She swallowed the last mouthful of coffee. “But I’m uncomfortable at home.” She looked helplessly at Tom. “I’ve placed wards everywhere, I’ve locked the library so you can’t get down to the cellar and, besides, there was nothing to get out.” She shuddered. “At least I saw to that. But it felt evil down there, really evil, and completely beyond my ability to survive.”

Tom put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I think you underestimate yourself,” he said. “You got yourself and Lord Peregrine out of there quickly enough. And, as you say, you’ve taken precautions. Did the Committee of Witchcraft get back to you?”

Hilary shook her head. “They said that they weren’t a police force and that they expected witches who were lucky enough to be allowed to buy a property under their trust to have the competence to deal with what comes with that cottage.” She picked up her cup and plate. “But I would never have risked coming here if I’d known about that cellar,” she said. “I don’t have the skills.”

“You’ll find a way,” Tom said, following her into the kitchen. “And next time it will be me going down there with you.”

“You don’t know what it was like,” Hilary whispered. “It wasn’t nature spirits or forces. It was all wrong.”

“You talked about there being a stack of books down there,” Tom said. “We need to get those out. That will be the best place to start looking. You’ll find answers in there, I’m sure.”

Hilary started running hot water into the sink. “You can’t come down there with me,” she said. “Whatever’s down there almost destroyed Lord Peregrine, and he’s not exactly a weakling.” She added washing up liquid. “I’m not sure, but I suspect that the stuff down there is lethal to supernaturals like you and Lord Peregrine. And it’s why Bracken can’t be allowed anywhere near there. Not that I could stop her, but at least she’s listened.”

Tom handed over his cup and plate. “You’ve locked the door and warded everything,” he said. “Bracken can’t even get near it.”

Hilary rinsed her plain blue plate. “Brownies can get anywhere,” she said. “Seriously, they can get into sealed tombs and hidden vaults. Most of the time they won’t bother, the rest of the time, they’re more interested in dusting than looting, but they’re a menace if they think that they haven’t cleaned somewhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if I went into the locked, warded library and found the cellar untouched but every bookcase dusted, front and back, and all the books arranged in some sort of order that made sense to brownies.” She set the plate onto the draining board and ran the dishcloth over her cup. “Thank goodness brownies have a strong sense of what is right and what isn’t. Otherwise nowhere would be safe. Pooka are the nearest thing to brownies that don’t have that moral compass. Sometimes they’re fine, but sometimes…” She rinsed the mug and set it next to the plate on the draining rack. “They can be dangerous.” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Lord Peregrine told me that he was absolutely definitely coming to dinner tonight, so there’s a good chance that he’ll be there. Afterwards, perhaps we can make a plan.”

Tom held up his hand. “Your phone is ringing,” he said.

“Of course, I left it in my bag. Excuse me.” Hilary wiped her hands quickly and rushed towards the shop.

Tom frowned. He had an uneasy feeling that Hilary was right and that a supernatural would struggle down in the cellar. That didn’t mean that he felt happy about it. It went against his nature to have someone else walk into a dangerous situation while he stayed safely behind. He picked up a plate to dry.

“Tom! We need to go!” Hilary called.

Startled, Tom dropped the plate and rushed into the shop. “Is it Bracken? Has something happened at Rowan Cottage?”

“We’re needed up at Sam Storton’s farm!” Hilary was checking for her keys. “All the milk in the milking shed has turned and the cattle are acting wild.” She rushed out of the shop and waited impatiently for Tom to lock the door behind them. “It sounds pretty bad. Lord Peregrine said that there was over a hundred litres of milk spoiled and the cows had knocked down some fences. He needs my craft to get the charms off the milk and put some basic wards up and he needs your muscles to help Sam out.”

“We can take my car,” Tom said. “I’ve got some extra kit in there.”

Hilary slid into the passenger side as soon as the car unlocked. “It sounds like the work of a pooka,” she said. “And one that’s very angry indeed.”

“As if we didn’t have enough to do,” Tom grumbled.

Making Plans

Hilary patted Bracken’s arm. “It’s okay to sit down now,” she said. “All our guests have food and drink and the dining room has never been so comfortable.”

Bracken wrung her hands and looked around the dining room. Hilary was right, the room had never looked so good. Lamps glowed in the corners, their soft light gleaming on the polished wooden mantelpiece and the immaculate pictures. The table was covered with a pristine white tablecloth, an old-fashioned one with a damask pattern of ivy leaves, and the centre of the table held platters overflowing with snacks. The polished sideboard held thermos jugs of tea and coffee together with pitchers of iced water and some bottles of wine. “It is a responsibility!” she said.

“Please come and sit down,” Lord Peregrine said. “We need to start the discussion.” He glanced at Hilary who gave him a pointed look. “One of the main reasons I asked for this meeting to be at Rowan Cottage was the excellence of the food,” he added. “And you have surpassed all expectations.”

Bracken’s eyes widened. “I surpassed!” she whispered to herself as she took a seat next to Hilary.

“Of course, it would have been more comfortable in the library,” Lord Peregrine continued. “But that is obviously not available and I am happy that Miss Hilary felt able to give hospitality.”

“I went into the library this morning,” Hilary said. “It feels fine in there. We would probably have been okay.” She looked around the table. Lord Peregrine was poised but relaxed, almost hiding the wary light in his eyes. Magnus lounged in his hard dining chair, toying with his pen. Cabus was upright with a solitary shortbread finger on a plate in front of him next to his glass of water. Tom was leaning forward, a frown on his face as he turned a gingersnap over in his fingers. Even Bracken, sitting primly on a chair with an extra cushion to give her height, her hands folded neatly in front of her, was stiff with tension. “Whatever is in the cellar is… difficult,” Hilary said. “But we should be safe up here.”

“The cottage is so stacked with wards that it’s almost vibrating,” Lord Peregrine said. “I cannot imagine a safe place. However whatever is down there must be dealt with.”

“I’m not sure whether it’s a creature, a spirit or just some wards with a lot of side effects,” Hilary said.

“Some sort of malignant spirit or ward would be my guess,” Lord Peregrine said. “I’m not easily affected.”

Hilary thought back to some of their earlier tussles. Lord Peregrine was a powerful fae and yet he had been helpless in the cellar. “That’s one of the things that worries me,” she said. “It wasn’t exactly pleasant for me, but at least I could get out.” She looked around the table. “And whatever it was only reacted when we exposed the inscriptions on the wall. Potentially we could go down into the cellar and there would be no trace of anything more dangerous than a miffed cellar spider.” Hilary shrugged. “Or not. It’s like living on top of a landmine. Anything could be down there and I’m not sure that I could deal with it.”

“At least it isn’t Samgan down there,” Cabus pointed out. “Anything that affected Lord Peregrine would also affect him. He would have triggered something already as no pooka could resist twitching curtains. The script would have already been exposed.”

“That is very truthful,” Bracken said solemnly.

“We can’t ignore him,” Magnus said. “I mean, we can’t ignore Samgan. He’s causing havoc. We need to find him and, I don’t know, tell him to stop.”

Hilary looked at him blankly. “Since when has telling a supernatural to stop ever worked?” she asked. “In my experience, telling something like a fae or pooka not to do something is more like an incitement to riot.” She looked at Lord Peregrine who smiled smugly. “They get creative.”

“Sam Scorton lost a day’s money,” Magnus said. “And the smell of the sour milk is still hanging around. Something has to be done.”

“If we can track him down, we may be able to talk with him,” Cabus said. “I’m not saying that pookas are all creatures of reason and logic, but it feels like Samgan is angry about something and, if we can mitigate that, then we may be able to soothe his feelings and get some peace back.”

“We still can’t ignore what happened in the cellar,” Tom said. “Because if Samgan does get in and decide to poke around, anything could happen.” He looked at Lord Peregrine. “No disrespect, but if Hilary hadn’t been able to cover the wall and drag you out, what do you think would have happened?”

“Something was definitely manifesting,” Hilary said. “But I have no idea what. It’s nothing like I’ve ever seen.”

“Perhaps I could accompany you down there?” Cabus said. “I’m not fae.”

Hilary tried to find the correct words. “I don’t know…” she said. “Do you know, I think I’d like a glass of wine.”

“You’re a creature of darkness,” Lord Peregrine told Cabus bluntly. “You could be possessed.”

“I doubt it,” Cabus said coolly. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“I bet you do,” Magnus murmured. He turned to Hilary. “I wouldn’t say no to a glass of wine myself.”

“I’ll get it,” Tom said, jumping to his feet. “At least I’ll be doing something useful. I feel completely helpless here.”

“You were far from useless when we had to sort out Sam’s dairy,” Hilary said. “You got the cows back in the barn and pulled down that awful poppet that had been stuck in the corner.”

“That was odd,” Lord Peregrine said. “There was something distorted about it, something that I don’t think Samgan could or would do. I don’t doubt that he was responsible for the milk turning despite all the precautions in the machinery, but that poppet was wrong.” He pulled out his phone and opened it. “I took a picture.”

Cabus looked at it thoughtfully, ignoring Magnus hanging over his shoulder. “That looks like a perfectly innocent, protective dolly that you can find on any of a dozen farms but…”

Lord Peregrine nodded. “Something twisted this before Samgan got there.”

“Annie was supposed to be sorting out that milking shed,” Magnus said, shuddering and backing away from the picture. “Sam Scorton has had no luck in there at all. Machinery is always breaking, cows are not giving as much or drying up early. The vet has had to come round a few more times than you would expect.” He gestured at the picture on Lord Peregrine’s phone. “I suppose we know why now.”

“The milking shed is adjacent to one of the worst affected magical streams,” Cabus said. “The energy in that flow is twisted and difficult to predict. Annie may have placed the poppet in good faith and the local flow caused it to degrade.” He carefully turned his shortbread on his plate. “And that would have helped Samgan. He may even had subconsciously drawing our attention to the matter. Pookas are sensitive to magical flow.”

“We need the notebooks,” Hilary said. “This all started because we were looking for the notebooks for the cottage, because we are all concerned about the flow of magic being disrupted.” She smiled her thanks to Tom as he poured red wine into her glass. “There should be records of the poppet, and records of what she did to the walls.”

“The notebooks looked quite old,” Lord Peregrine said. “A little white wine, Tom.” He caught Bracken’s eye. “If you please.”

“Some looked old,” Hilary said. “And I may spend some time scanning and re-copying. The Council is always chasing old notebooks. But some of those notebooks were newer and there were some blank ones stacked to one side. I’d bet that Annie was taking notes.” She took a small sip of wine. “What was she like, anyway?” She looked around the table. “I heard that she was a little sharp tempered.”

There was an awkward silence before Lord Peregrine cleared his throat. “She had the temperament of a badger with toothache, the dulcet tones of a donkey with tonsilitis and the generosity of a butcher’s dog.” He spread his hands helplessly. “She was not particularly popular, but she did her duty. In places where magical flows are so active, you need to have a strong personality, which she did…”

“She really did,” muttered Magnus.

Lord Peregrine raised an eyebrow before continuing. “But Annie could be relied on to provide minor charms for anyone that had the courage to approach her.”

“Like the poppet at Sam’s farm,” Magnus said. “And she helped a few of the cubs out when they were going through their first shifts. It’s always a tricky time for them, but Annie helped out.”

“And was guaranteed to pick an argument with the mother, or cause problems between siblings, or knock over something breakable,” Tom added. “I remember when the only thing she did was compare our grandmother’s cooking to pig slop and we were all relieved.” He stopped suddenly for a moment and caught Magnus’ eye.

“We’ll speak later,” Magnus said gruffly. “But coming back to the point. We need to find Samgan and we need to work out what is going on in the cellar.”

“You say that the library feels fine?” Cabus asked Hilary. She nodded. Cabus carefully realigned his shortbread before continuing. “The cellar is not important in itself. Right now, the important thing is the retrieval of those notebooks. I suggest that I attend late tomorrow evening, after I’ve fortified myself.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Tom asked.

Lord Peregrine shook his head. “Whatever was manifesting was pure evil,” he said. “And extremely powerful. I do not wish you to be possessed.”

“It is purely a matter of planning,” Cabus said. He picked up his wine glass and caught Tom’s eye. “I would be grateful if you could pour me a little wine – white, if you have it.” He watched Tom pour and took a small sip. “Hilary, you saw how many notebooks were stacked. Would it fill up more than one bag?”

Hilary exchanged a glance with Lord Peregrine. “I’ve got some big supermarket reusable bags," she said. “I think that there were at least three bags full, if not more.”

“And those were the ones that we could see,” Lord Peregrine added. “It would be profitable to get as many out as possible. There may be more in the workroom.”

“I shall stand at the top of the stairs,” Cabus said. “I shall remain alert and venture down if it seems necessary.” He took a deep breath. “Hilary will go down the stairs carrying the bags and a rope. I’ll have the other end of the rope.”

“So you can pull Hilary out, just in case?” Tom asked.

Cabus shook his head. “My initial thought was that Hilary would fill the bags as quickly as she could. We would only retrieve the notebooks on the shelves on this trip, without searching for further information.”

“I’d be very surprised if there weren’t records in that workroom,” Hilary said.

“They can wait,” Cabus said. “As soon as a bag is filled, the handles can be tied to the rope, and I can pull the bags up – carefully!” The smallest hint of a smile flickered across his face. “I know how valuable and potentially fragile these notebooks are. I will untie the bag as soon as I pull it up to the top of the stairs, then I’ll throw the rope down for the next bag. That seems an efficient way to approach it.”

“I suppose it does,” Hilary said unhappily.

“You shouldn’t trouble yourself too much about keeping the notebooks in order,” Cabus said. “Just pack them carefully but tightly, empty the shelves and get back up as soon as possible. You say that you were unaffected in the living room?”

Hilary nodded. “But something may have leaked into it since then,” she said.

“Then the quicker you retrieve the notebooks, the better,” Cabus said. He turned to Bracken. “I would ask you and Tom to stay in the library, a little way back,” he said to the brownie. “You are the best chance of us quickly finding extra bags and baskets if they are needed.” He looked at Tom. “And I would appreciate someone with good reflexes and strength if things go wrong.”

“And because werewolves don’t easily fall under the control of vampires,” Tom said.

Cabus nodded. “That is true. I doubt that I could easily control anyone sitting around this table.” He smiled thinly. “That is a refreshing change.” He took another small sip of wine.

“And what about Samgan?” Magnus asked.

Cabus looked at Lord Peregrine. “You are the lord here,” he said. “I’m reluctant to make suggestions.”

“Please, suggest as much as you like,” Lord Peregrine said. “You seem to have plenty of ideas.”

“I suggest that our efforts are split,” Cabus said. “Hilary has mundane work to do, but outside of those efforts, she should concentrate on the notebooks and the issues with the cellar. I am happy to volunteer my aid.”

Hilary thought about the overflowing shelves. “Please, I’ll take as much help as you can spare,” she said. “And if you’ve lived in these parts for a while, the local knowledge will be so useful.”

Cabus nodded. “While we focus on the notebooks, Lord Peregrine and Magnus should pursue Samgan, perhaps starting by investigating the room under the new stores. I’m confident that you will know how to continue.”

“What about me?” Tom asked.

“And I is helpful,” Bracken added.

“I do not doubt either of you,” Cabus said. “Tom, you are busy with the opening of the new stores which can’t be abandoned. However, please keep your phone charged. I know how useful you are when things are unexpectedly dark.”

Tom shrugged and poured himself a cup of tea. “I’ll keep my phone on me.”

Cabus turned to Bracken. “Miss Hilary will be busy with work and the study of these old records, many of which will no doubt be obscure. She will need you to keep the house clean and to provide food.”

Bracken lifted her chin proudly. “I can be of use,” she said firmly. “And there will be plenty of food.”

“Which is just as well,” Lord Peregrine said. “The new lodger will be turning up tomorrow, probably in the evening.”

“What new lodger?” Hilary asked, her eyes narrowing. “What have you got me into? You’re not my lord, you know.” She leaned forward. “Keep pushing and I won’t make you any more brown butter biscuits.”

Lord Peregrine shrugged. “I thought that it was time that you had a new guest,” he said.

A New Guest

Hilary jumped at the sound of a knock at her kitchen door. “He’s early,” she said.

Bracken shrugged. “That is unimportant. The bed is aired and made up, the room has been polished and swept, the casserole has been prepared and ready for I to reheat it. I has already prepared the fresh garlic bread to be placed in oven.” She gave Hilary a pointed look. “The only thing left is to answer the door.”

Hilary managed a half-hearted glare at the brownie before hurrying to the door. Faint shadows fell against the window in the thin light of the December afternoon and the door handle felt icy as she opened the door. “Hi!” she managed to force out.

The man waiting on the other side took her by surprise. Lord Peregrine had described him as a man coming to work in the new stores. Hilary had imagined someone a little younger than her, perhaps a little skinny and unsure. Instead she was facing a tall, well-built man with a few threads of silver in his dark auburn hair. His cool, grey eyes met hers with calm assurance and there was a faint smile on his chiselled lips.

“Paul Tarnbrook,” he said, holding out his hand.

Hilary took his hand and shook it. “I’m Hilary Marshaw. Won’t you come in?” She looked at the small bag at his feet. “Do you want a hand bringing in the rest of your bags?”

“If you show me where my room is, I’ll get the rest in,” Paul said. “I don’t want to be a bother.” Before Hilary could answer, he strode past her into the kitchen and looked around. “This is cosy,” he said.

“And clean,” Bracken said. “It is cosy and clean. I is Bracken and this is my situation.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Paul said. He held out a hand for the brownie to shake. “I’m Paul, as you no doubt heard, and I’m honoured to be sharing a roof with a brownie.” He looked around appreciatively. “This room is a credit to you.”

Bracken flushed scarlet. “Mistress Hilary has done much and shown me much and I has learned cookery,” she blurted out. She shot a panicked glance at Hilary.

“First things first,” Hilary said. “Would you like a tea or a coffee? Bracken can make it while I take you to your room.”

“I’d love a coffee,” Paul said. “I take it black, no sugar, and I’m not very fussy as long as it’s hot and full of caffeine.”

Bracken’s eyes grew big. “Then I shall use the new coffee maker,” she whispered. “For coffee, with no milk and no sugar.”

“This way,” Hilary said. She led Paul into the hall and up the stairs. “The house isn’t logical,” she said. “It’s old and obviously been added onto over the years. I have a room downstairs, as does Bracken, but you and Tom have rooms upstairs. I’m afraid that you’ll have to share a bathroom.”

“I’m sure that we’ll manage,” Paul said. “Who’s Tom?”

“Tom Lowgill is another lodger,” Hilary said. “He’s the manager of the new stores, so I suppose it will be hard to get away from your job, with you both working there.”

“I doubt that it’ll be a problem,” Paul said. “But we can only wait and see.” He followed Hilary into the bedroom. “This is nice.”

Hilary looked around the room. The walls were mostly panelled with wood with an accent light blue next to the door and the curtains at the small window matching the darker blue at the quilt on the bed. The wardrobe and drawers were old-fashioned and dark, but there was plenty of space and the desk by the window was spacious and looked out over the garden. “I’ve only been here a few months,” she said. “The garden is one of the next things that I need to tackle. I hope you don’t mind. You can still sit outside and walk around, if you like, and the woods are part of the property."

“Thank you,” Paul said. “I’m sure that I’ll be very comfortable here.” He carefully set his small bag next to the iron framed bed. “I’ll get my bags from the car now before I settle down with my coffee. It’s been a long day and I think that once I get settled inside, I won’t want to go out again."

Hilary glanced back through the window. Clouds were rolling in from the west and the light was fading fast with a promise of cold rain. “That sounds like a good idea,” she said. “And dinner will be early tonight, as soon as Tom gets home.” She hesitated. “I have a private guest coming later, so the kitchen and downstairs parlour will be empty. I’ll show you where the snacks are kept and you’ll have all the space you need to unpack and get yourself settled.”

“If you have a brownie in the house, I’m sure that there will be plenty of snacks,” Paul said. “And Lord Peregrine told me that you were practising with Bracken to provide food for the new stores.” He patted his lean stomach. “I shall have to keep on top of my exercise.” He looked around the room once again. “I’m grateful for a quiet night so I can get my things put away.

*****

After a substantial dinner, Paul was happy to retreat to his room. Hilary and Bracken between them were excellent cooks and a definite threat to his waistline. They had even insisted that he take a small container of biscuits into his room, just in case he got struck by emergency hunger in the middle of the night. It was a welcoming place.

He unpacked with practiced ease. His small collection of clothes quickly went into the ample storage and his folder of personal documents slid easily into the desk drawer. It took him a little longer to set up and check his PC, laptop, tablets, headset, three monitors, speakers, both keyboards and his game console. The lighting was pretty good in the room, and Paul decided that he would wait and see if he needed to get an extra lamp. After all these years, he had become an expert at buying kit that was good enough to last until his next move and then easily disposable.

That was the problem with working in tech. He’d written code in almost every region in the UK. It was an unfortunate truth that the best way for a software engineer like him to get a better salary was to move jobs. With no family tying him to one place, he’d moved from lodging to lodging, packing the minimum as he left Sheffield for Bristol or left Maidstone for Lancaster. He was getting too old for this. His last job had been a turning point. He’d spent too many days working sixteen hours at a stretch trying to prop up a system that was never going to stabilise because the top bosses cheaped out on the company servers. It had to stop.

Paul reached the final stage of his unpacking. He checked through his largest case. His notebooks were there, and his herbs and crystals were undamaged. He’d helped out one of the local fae with a tricky magical flow and while it had been necessary, it may have been a mistake. Suddenly there was a fae who felt that they owed Paul a favour, and fae do not like owing favours. Paul pulled out his current notebook and set it on the bedside table. It had taken Lord Falcon three days and a few ‘friendly’ drinking sessions to tease out the frustration that Paul was feeling. It took another week and a lot more alcohol before Lord Falcon had extracted fears and worries that Paul hadn’t realised were simmering under the surface of his mind. That had worried him. As a witch, he needed to have a clear idea of what was going on in his head as any confusion could lead to unfortunate consequences.

Paul pulled back the quilt and started stacking up the stuff that needed charging. He’d had to take a long look at himself after the talks with Lord Falcon, and he hadn’t been able to hide from the truth. He was burned out with tech, exhausted, getting older, lonely and wanting roots. Lord Falcon had called in a favour, and while Paul wasn’t sure that getting a room in a lodging house while working in a shop was the new start that he wanted, perhaps it wasn’t a bad first step. As he looked around the warm comfort of his room and remembered the meal downstairs, he thought it wasn’t a bad place to start at all.

Dark in the Cellar

“I’m out of my depth,” Hilary said.

Cabus waved an arm around the library. “Look around you,” he said. “Everything is clean and in its place. There’s a warm fire in the hearth and there’s tea and your favourite cinnamon muffins on the table. It’s safe up here. And based on what you said, it may well be safe down in the cellar as long as you don’t displace the curtains that hide the walls.” He put a gentle hand on Hilary’s shoulder. “I can’t feel anything out of the ordinary up here. This room feels as safe as it could be to my vampiric senses.”

“We haven’t opened the door yet,” Hilary said. “The bookcase is still in its place.”

“If there was dreadful evil rampaging in the cellar, I’m confident that a bookcase wouldn’t hold it back, no matter how worthy the books on its shelves,” Cabus said dryly. “I can also sense your wards. You can always retreat to here. It’s as safe as anything in the area.”

“And we will be here waiting,” Bracken said bravely, almost rigid with fear but determined. “I has the number of Lord Peregrine here and I will be waiting.” She glanced around. “There are also plenty of bags.”

Hilary managed a smile at that. She had an armful of large, sturdy bags and at least a dozen more were neatly lined up next to the bookcase that hid the door. “Well, the sooner I start, the sooner I can finish,” she said, squaring her shoulders and leaning down to pull out the wedge that kept the bookcase in place. “Do you have the rope?”

Cabus nodded. “I do. It’s strong nylon rope that’s almost impossible to break. It shouldn’t let you down.”

“That’s good,” Hilary said.

“I actually have two lengths,” Cabus said. “One to tie to bags and one to keep tied to yourself. I felt uneasy at the thought of you being perhaps vulnerable when the bags were being lifted to the top.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Hilary said. “But, yes, that’s a good call.”

“And if things get completely out of hand, we can always call on the witch upstairs,” Cabus said.

“What witch?” Hilary said as she swung the book case back, once again admiring how it pivoted out.

“Your new guest,” Cabus said. “Paul Tarnbrook is a witch. I can understand that you wouldn’t like to confide in him on his first evening here, but I am confident that neither Lord Falcon nor Lord Peregrine would send someone untrustworthy to stay under your roof.”

“What?” Hilary said.

“Didn’t you know?” Cabus asked.

“I absolutely did not!” Hilary snapped. “Are you going to hold the rope or should it be anchored to something?”

“I suggest attaching the rope to the main table,” Cabus said. “It’s solid oak and has some weight to it. It’s also too big to be easily dragged down the stairs and would jam at the doorway. This would buy time to aid you in an emergency.”

Hilary looked first at the large library table and then at the shadowy doorway. Her imagination could easily visualize the table hurtling across the room and smashing into splinters against the doorframe before the rope slithered down the stone steps. She could feel a chill running through her at the thought of what sort of strength would be needed to do that and how strong it felt in the cellar. Another thought intruded. “Wait a minute! Who is Lord Falcon and why does he know about Paul coming here?”

“Lord Falcon is the ruler of the fae in Cornwall and Devon,” Cabus said, shaking out two coils of rope. “He owed a favour to Paul, and Lord Peregrine owed a favour to Lord Falcon and so it was decided that Lord Peregrine would offer employment to Paul.” He ran the first rope around the nearest column under the table and tied and expert knot. “It seems self-explanatory.”

Hilary took the other end of the rope and tied a quick clove hitch around the handles of the nearest bag. “I’d never heard of Lord Falcon,” she said. “I’ve never been anywhere near Cornwall.” She watched Cabus tie the second rope around the other sturdy column holding up the table. “I didn’t even know that Paul is a witch.” She took the end of the rope and slipped the end through the belt loop of her jeans before attaching with an easily released donkey hitch. “Hang on, are you sure that Paul is a witch?”

“Vampires know these things,” Cabus said. He nodded at the doorway. I will wait at the top of the steps.”

Hilary stomped to the steps. “Damn!” she said. “It’s not as cold.”

Cabus looked at her. “That’s normally considered a good thing,” he said.

“I left the electric fire on,” Hilary said. “My bill is going to get sky high.”

“So that is part of the mission,” Cabus said. “You will go down the steps, turn off the fire, turn to the shelves and start loading up the bags with the notebooks. When one bag is full, you tug on the rope and I will pull up the bag while you continue to load up the notebooks. It’s very straightforward.”

Hilary swallowed. “These four bags should be enough,” she said. “But Bracken can send down further bags if I need them.”

“You don’t check the store room or the work room,” Cabus said. “We start on the notebooks on the shelves. The older ones are likely to have the information we need about the magic flows and may give some insight into the problems in the work room. We need those notebooks.”

Hilary took a deep breath and nodded. “Right.” She took a tentative step past Cabus to the top of the steps. “Did Lord Peregrine really know that Paul is a witch and didn’t tell me?”

“Lord Peregrine has his own little ways,” Cabus said. “Remember, switch off the fire, load up the notebooks.”

“Right,” Hilary said, marching down the steps and across to the small electric heater which she switched off without hesitation. The room was almost too warm and cosy and the lights were still bright. “Can you make sure that there’s a flashlight handy,” Hilary called up the stairs. “Just in case.” She looked quickly over the notebooks. She couldn’t waste time on finding some sort of order. And what was Lord Peregrine thinking? He must have known that witches didn’t usually share space. She scooped up the first stack of notebooks and slid them carefully into the bag.

“Bracken has gone to fetch a flashlight,” Cabus said. “Though the lights seem in perfect order.”

Hilary slotted the next stack of notebooks next to the first. “And lights are never the first to go in a magical attack,” she called up the stairr with extra sarcasm. “Does Paul know that I’m a witch?”

“I am unaware of what Paul Tarnbrook thinks,” Cabus said, his deep voice echoing down the steps.

Hilary filled the first bag quickly, her mind racing. It wasn’t that witches didn’t get on as such. It’s just that they all had their own way of doing things and accommodating someone else wasn’t always easy. It was bad enough having another witch in the next street, but two witches under the same roof? She carried the filled bag to the bottom of the steps. “Pull it up!”

Cabus pulled the bag easily up the steps, the robust bag sliding easily over the stone stairs. Hilary didn’t wait until the bag was at the top, though, but carried on stacking the notebooks into the bags. Some of the books were fragile and they were not all a standard size so she had to pay a little attention, no matter how quickly she needed to move.

“I’ve thrown the rope back down,” Cabus called.

Hilary nodded to herself. “Great. Hang on a sec.” She hauled the full bag over the ropes and threw a quick knot around both handles. “Pull it up!” she paused. “And the witch is male? That never happens.” She raced back to the shelving. “I’m going to need two more bags, I think,” she called.

“Don’t be bigoted,” Cabus called down. “Witches may be mainly female, but it’s not a given. And who knows how many men may have become witches if it hadn’t been for stereotypes and prejudice? There may be men out there who don’t realise that they’re witches.”

“Sorry, yes,” Hilary called up, shivering a little. “This cellar is getting colder.”

“You switched off the heater,” Cabus reminded her.

“No, it’s starting to have a chill,” Hilary said, scooping up an armful of the notebooks and dumping them into a bag. “It should get that cold this quick.” She added another armful on top, careless about packing. “Hurry up with the rope.”

“It’s on its way down with the bags,” Cabus called.

Hilary rushed to the bottom of the steps and caught the bags tied to the rope. “I’ll need the flashlight next,” she called as she switched over the empty bags for the full one. “And perhaps another two bags. I can’t take time to pack carefully.”

“I understand,” Cabus called, hauling up the bag.

Hilary tumbled the notebooks into the bags, regardless of how old or how battered they looked. “The light is definitely dimming,” she said. “I’m going to have to be quick.” She shook the bag to settle the load and then quickly scooped up another armful into a second bag.

“Concentrate on the notebooks, Hilary,” Cabus said. “Do not look around you. Shadows can play tricks on the mind and you don’t need that now. Concentrate on the notebooks and don’t worry about anything else. The flashlight is coming down.”

Hilary thrust another armful of books into the second bag and dragged them over to the foot of the steps. “There’s two bags here.” She caught the flashlight and switched it on, wedging it into the corner of the lowest step as she swiftly tied the bags together. “Pull them up!” It took all of her trained willpower not to look at the work room door. “It’s definitely getting darker.”

“Don’t take risks,” Cabus said. “We have many of the notebooks already.”

“Throw the extra bags down,” Hilary called, striding back to the shelves. “There aren’t too many notebooks left. I want to get as many as I can.” She quickly piled the last of the top shelf into a bag, followed by the ends of the second shelf. Without thinking, she glanced around the room and shuddered. A dark shadow was gathering at the top of the door, like smoke contained in a narrow strip. “Quickly!”

“Hilary, you are not to take risks,” Cabus shouted. “I’m sending Bracken to fetch Paul.

“I should be okay,” Hilary said, tipping the last of the second shelf’s notebooks into a bag and opening a second. “I’ve almost got them all.”

“Don’t look around!” Cabus ordered. “Give me permission to order you to stay safe. I can use my influence.”

Hilary never thought that she would be happy to allow a vampire to use their vampiric mesmerising on her. “Go for it! Order me to stay safe.” The second bag was full with a jumbled mass of paper and she dragged the bags across the floor to the steps. “Who would have thought that notebooks would be so heavy?” She attached the filled bags with a firm knot and, leaving the flashlight bright against the dimming light and wedged firmly at the base of her escape route, grabbed the last two bags.

“Listen to me!” Cabus called. “You will listen and heed my words. You will act with caution and consider your safety.”

Hilary darted back to the shelves and started pulling out the last few notebooks. “I am listening to you,” she said, consciously welcoming his presence into her mind. “I am listening." She filled the last bag, scooping up the few stray sheets of paper and turning back to the stairs. Her steps faltered and the sensation of fighting against an invisible but tangible barrier grew, like trying to wade through deep water. Panic ran through her. “Call me, Cabus,” Hilary cried. “Call me to you!”

“Listen to me!” Cabus thundered, his voice stern with authority. “You will come to me. You will follow my voice. You will ascend these stairs.”

The bags weighed heavily in Hilary’s hands, but she refused to drop them as she forced herself through the resistant air. She clung onto the orders in Cabus’ voice, the control he was pushing into her mind as she managed another step, then another across a room that suddenly seemed wider than a great hall. “I hear you,” she called back. “I wish to obey.” The sensation of control in her mind jumped, the intensity climbing as the next step was easier. “I hear you, Cabus.”

“What the hell is going on?”

Hilary could hear Paul’s voice at the top of the stairs but it didn’t disturb Cabus’ concentration and she held onto his voice as a lifeline. “Keep calling me, Cabus,” she cried, forcing herself to take another step. Please, keep calling.”

“I order you to obey me.” Cabus’ voice echoed inside her head in ways that had nothing to do with sound. “You will obey me. You will ascend the stairs and return to the library. I demand it!”

Hilary felt a sudden burst of energy as she managed two quick steps to reach the bottom of the stairs, then an icy shiver ran through her. “Call me, Cabus,” Hilary yelled. “I wish to obey my master!”

“I’m pushing wards,” Paul called. “Keep going!”

Hilary stared up the steps. Rationally, she knew that they were brightly lit and barely a dozen of them. Rationally, she knew that it would take less than a minute for her to carry the bags up those last few stairs. As she looked up, however, all she could see was an endless procession of chilly stones into an ominous dark tunnel. She swallowed and shifted both bags into her left hand. Their weight seemed to be increasing with every second but she ignored the strain and picked up the flashlight with her right hand. “I obey,” she yelled into the apparent darkness. “I obey,” she repeated.

“Keep going, lass,” Paul yelled. “We’re waiting here. Keep going.”

“Don’t go onto the steps,” Cabus said. “Keep coming towards me, Hilary. Listen to me!”

Hilary let the mesmeric control of the vampire flood her mind as she put her foot on the first step, then, heaving the bags, managed the second step. “I obey.”

“Don’t interfere,” Paul snapped, ahead somewhere in the darkness. “Let me work.”

A faint sensation of strange magic washed over Hilary, flooding from the top of the stairs downwards. She could make out faint shapes of Cabus and Paul at the top and the next two steps were a lot easier. “I’m getting there.”

“Keep going,” Paul called. “I’m pushing wards past you, so don’t fight them, okay? Just keep climbing the steps. There’s only six more.”

Hilary wanted to say that she didn’t have the strength to fight a cobweb, but even as another wave of cool magic ran through her, she still struggled. Exhaustion was weighing her down now as much as the magical attack, but the next three steps were the easiest yet and the light was breaking through.

“I’ve got the bags,” Paul said. “Just a couple more steps now and you’ll be safe.”

Hilary sighed with relief as the weight from the bags disappeared and she saw the outline of Paul just ahead of her on the top step. “Thank you,” she gasped. Then a strong arm was around her shoulders, taking her weight and easing her back into the library. She was safe.

“I don’t know what’s going on here,” Paul said. “And I don’t know why that manifestation can’t get anywhere past that doorway. But I hope that these old notebooks are worth it.”

Hilary looked around the library and sighed. The fire was still crackling cheerfully. The lamps still threw reflections over the polished bookcases in the room. There was even steam rising gently from her cup of tea on the table. Apart from the jumbled bags of notebooks, the library was warm, welcoming, and as pristine as ever. “It was worth it,” she said. “It was absolutely worth it.”

Dead Flowers

“Tom has been going frantic,” Magnus said. He leaned against the cellar wall and gestured upwards. The sound of Tom swearing on the shop floor above filtered down. “It was already chaos before we found the cellar and the extra building work needed to make a proper entrance.”

“I have left it completely in his hands,” Lord Peregrine said. “And I am convinced that he’s doing a good job.” He wandered over to the makeshift bed now gathering dust on the cellar floor. “I doubt we can learn much more from these fragments left behind,” he said. “We may as well permit Tom to clear the cellar.”

“You know he’ll do a good job,” Magnus said. “He’s thorough, honest and hardworking.”

“He has also threatened to rip the head off more than one contractor,” Lord Peregrine said happily. “Due to his experience on building sites, he is proving extremely competent at getting the new stores ready to open.”

Magnus picked up the straw pallet and gave it a brisk shake. Dust flew and hung in the cold, still air of the cellar, illuminated by the bright work light that Tom had brought down. “I notice that you have a man who knows construction as a store manager,” he said. “And you have an IT specialist as his assistant. Why do you think that two men with no experience whatsoever can run what is effectively a grocery store with a small café attached?”

“And hardware,” Lord Peregrine said. “And such gardening implements and supplies as they think fit. And perhaps some kitchenware.”

“And all of that stuff,” Magnus said. “Neither of them has ever sold a thing.”

“I consulted Jed at the Farm Shop,” Lord Peregrine said smugly. “I thought deeply about what would happen if the new stores sold in competition to the Farm Shop and what would happen if the new stores sold in partnership. It makes far more sense for me to work with Jed. I’ve already agreed that all the ingredients for the food in the café should come from his Farm Shop as much as possible.”

Magnus looked at him thoughtfully. “And how about the rest of it?”

“There are many things that Jed does not wish to sell, but that his customers request,” Lord Peregrine said. “He would prefer if Tom handled the plants and gardening side.”

“But Jed grows those plants,” Magnus said.

Lord Peregrine shrugged. “But he would rather that Tom dealt with the sales. He told me that his customers often request items like screws, nails, glue, envelopes and suchlike. Apparently people always request string.”

Magnus eyed his lord suspiciously. “What deal did you make?” he asked.

Lord Peregrine shrugged. “I agreed to encourage his crops for the next ten years in return for him allowing us to sell all the cake making and cookery items,” he said. “Which makes sense as Hilary will be baking here. Tom can order a large quantity of such things as flour and any surplus can go onto the shelves.” He grinned smugly. “I’m considering where my bargaining should like for extending more protection over the livestock on the farm. There is less livestock, but Jed has little interest in stocking cleaning supplies. He will be indifferent if we also stock such things as sprays and cloths. And I refuse to have frozen products here in case we are forced to stock chicken nuggets.”

“There’s nothing wrong with chicken nuggets,” Magnus said. “And you’ll have ice cream.”

“That’s different,” Lord Peregrine said with an airy wave of his hand. “But we should concentrate on what we can learn here of our pooka.”

Magnus frowned as he looked at the basic straw mattress. “Let me run through this,” he said. “It’s pretty certain that there’s a pooka on the loose, right?”

Lord Peregrine nodded. “The mischief that has been cause seems to be exactly the sort of thing an angry pooka would do, especially the problems with the milk.”

“And you and Cabus remember a pooka called Samgan that went missing?” Magnus continued.

“That is correct,” Lord Peregrine said. He looked away from Magnus. “I was dormant for a while and some things were… neglected. Cabus has never spent much time with the rest of the supernaturals, at least, not unless I insist, so he can’t give any details.”

“And could Samgan moved or died of old age?” Magnus said.

“He was barely a sprite when I withdrew,” Lord Peregrine said. “And pookas can live for a long time. By the standards of pookas, he is still young. And I believe it is unlikely that he would have moved away. I always had the feeling that he was tied to this land in a similar way to me.”

“Bracken’s family moved away,” Magnus said.

Lord Peregrine shook his head. “Brownies and pookas are alike, but not the same. I believe that brownies do get attached, but Bracken’s family didn’t feel that there was enough for them to do. Brownies have a deep need to be useful, and if they couldn’t find it here then they would have to find it elsewhere. It’s about the only thing that would get them to move.”

Magnus poked around the bag and moved the small glass bottle, now filled with dried and dead flowers, to check underneath the tray. “So Samgan was likely to stay here unless things were desperate, right?” he said. “And pookas don’t need to be useful the same way as brownies.”

“They don’t need to be useful, but they can be a wonderful blessing,” Lord Peregrine said. “Samgan was especially valuable at harvest time.”

“But he’s been missing,” Magnus said. “He had to have gone somewhere.”

“He could have been trapped somewhere,” Lord Peregrine said cautiously. “I hadn’t thought about it, but if he had been trapped, then that would explain how angry he was and why he was causing so much trouble.”

“And if he had lived in the area for a long time, he would know about the cellar and that it was blocked off.” Magnus set down the tray. “I’m trying to fit things together but if it’s a puzzle then I’m missing most of the pieces. Samgan, who was a reasonable being, was trapped somewhere for quite a long time. This made him angry.”

“That fits with the facts that I know,” Lord Peregrine said.

“He somehow escaped recently,” Magnus continued. “Something changed and he got away from whatever was holding him.”

“I wonder if it was the landslip that followed your battle with your brother,” Lord Peregrine said. “His unexpected ally caused considerable damage.”

“I put it all to rights afterwards,” Magnus said curtly.

Lord Peregrine shook his head. “I believed one of the stones of power that appeared while I was sleeping was dislodged. If Samgan’s prison, if it was a prison, relied on those stones of power, then that movement may have been enough to allow Samgan to escape.”

“What stones of power?” Magnus said. “The stone circles on the hills weren’t affected.”

Lord Peregrine shook his head impatiently. “I mean the other stones, the new ones.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Samgan gets out and he’s angry. He may not be quite sane if he was trapped for some time.” He looked down at the crumpled blanket. It had fallen from the pallet, but still showed the form of having been neatly folded. He picked it up. “But there is hope. This blanket may be old and worn, but it is clean and there was a hole that has been mended. There was an attempt at comfort, and even a desire for beauty.” Lord Peregrine dropped the blanket and reached out a finger to run over the glass bottle. “These flowers were once so beautiful before the water dried up and they fell into their container. They were arranged by a being who cared, and that gives us hope. If we can find Samgan and give him assurances and right any wrongs, perhaps he can once again be the good being that he once was.”

Magnus picked up the blanket, shook it out and folded it. “Who would have captured him?” he asked eventually.

Lord Peregrine shrugged. “Samgan could be a nuisance, but he rarely caused enough trouble to warrant being trapped. He may have found himself accidentally caught up in greater magic.” He frowned. “It may be caught up in those new power stones.”

“You’ll have to explain that to me,” Magnus said. “Nobody builds stone circles these days.”

“Magic still flows in streams, just as it has since the land was born,” Lord Peregrine said. “And there are still those who try and control that flow. I’m aware of attempts to dam and divert magic through various means over the last few hundred years, but few succeed. These stones that are placed all over our valley are successful but twisted. It would explain a lot about the magic flow in our lands.”

“We need to get rid of those stones!” Magnus said. “I’ll call up the family.”

“We need to find Samgan,” Lord Peregrine said. “And we have to be careful removing the stones. There could be a severe backlash and it could cause a lot of damage. We need to think about it carefully.”

“Who would have put those stones there?” Magnus asked.

“The answer will probably be in the notebooks,” Lord Peregrine said. “That is, if the witches took proper notes. That will have to wait.”

Magnus looked around the cellar. “Samgan came here because he knew it would be dry, out of the way and not too cold,” he said. “He knew that he could stay hidden.”

“Indeed,” Lord Peregrine said. “It was an intelligent choice.”

“We need to search places like this,” Magnus said. “That’s how we’ll find Samgan. Something uninhabited, I think, because he’s angry, but that can give him shelter.”

“People have lived in these hills and valleys for thousands of years,” Lord Peregrine said. “And many made hideaways and shelters that have been forgotten. There are a lot of places to search.”

“What about that old chapel up on the hill?” Magnus asked. “No-one goes near there because it’s so out of the way, and there’s still enough of it standing to give shelter, and he could perhaps even light a fire.”

“If we could give him shelter, even in my hall, it would perhaps make him listen to us,” Lord Peregrine said. “Pookas, like brownies, can make themselves comfortable, but if it is Samgan after a long captivity, he will find it hard going. Winter is setting in and he left his blanket behind.” He nodded decisively. “We can head up to the old chapel now. If you allow us to take one of those wonderful quad contraptions, we can get there in perhaps less than an hour.”

“I hope that he’ll listen to us,” Magnus said. “If I was trapped for decades and then left out in the cold, I wouldn’t want to listen to reason.”

“My hall is open to all my subjects,” Lord Peregrine said. “And it is clean and furnished with cushions and throws now that the Lesken sisters are there.” He grinned wickedly. “But if we need to strike a harder bargain, there are still empty rooms at Rowan Cottage. Hilary would enjoy having him as a guest.”

Magnus stared at him. “You couldn’t ask Hilary to take him in,” he said. “Not on top of her taking in another witch and a werewolf without warning.” Lord Peregrine’s grin grew wider. Magnus shook his head. “She’ll stop feeding you if you’re not careful,” he said.

“I have confidence in my persuasive powers,” Lord Peregrine said. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Magnus sighed deeply. “I haven’t got enough time to tell you,” he said.

Breakfast

Hilary stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and yawning. “Good morning.”

Bracken frowned. “You is far too exhausted,” she said. “I will make breakfast. And it shall be more than porridge.”

“Hmm?” Hilary slumped down in her chair at the kitchen table. “Just some toast will be fine.”

Bracken placed a large mug of hot tea in front of Hilary. “You will have a proper breakfast with meat,” she said firmly. “And a glass of orange juice.”

Hilary sagged a little. “I can’t argue with that,” she said. “Last night wore me out. I’ve got plenty of room for a large breakfast.”

Bracken shot her a worried glance. “You continue to be uninjured?” she asked.

Hilary rubbed her eyes. “I didn’t sleep very well, which is to be expected. But I’m fine. I’ve got a bit of work to finish of for one of my online clients and then I think I’m free until Christmas. I can get to work on those notebooks.” She took a cautious sip of the tea and sighed with pleasure. “I haven’t even stacked the notebooks properly.”

“They’re still in the library,” Bracken said. “But I have not taken the liberty of touching them.” She shuddered, remembering the darkness in the cellar. “Though I a have read other books that aren’t real.”

“That’s okay,” Hilary said. “And while I know that you prefer to keep up to everything, I think you should stay out of the library for a little while.” She thought for a moment. “Though if you want to go in quickly to pick up one of the romance books, or even one of the old cookery books, that’s fine. I just worry about you being in there for any longer than you need to, at least until this is sorted out.”

Bracken sniffed as she checked the warming oven. “You worry about me,” she said quietly, her eyes bright with a hint of tears.

“Of course I do!” Hilary said. She racked her tired brain to find the right words to explain her growing fondness for the young brownie. “You are very dear to me. You are a wonderful worker, you keep the house splendidly, your cooking is becoming better than mine and I think of you as a friend. I like spending time with you. I’m always going to worry about you.”

Bracken swallowed. “Last night, when it was very dark, I feared for you,” she said. “And I consider being a friend as an honour.”

There was a clatter outside and Paul flung open the kitchen door, letting in an icy blast of air. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at Hilary. “How are you feeling?”

“I could be worse,” Hilary said.

“In other words, you’re exhausted after a night full of nightmares,” Paul said.

“I am making a breakfast with meat,” Bracken said. “Leave the shoes at the door and the breakfast will be ready after your shower.”

Paul grinned at the brownie. “Are you giving me orders?”

“Orders are important,” Bracken said firmly. “I shall put the bacon in at any moment.”

“I’ll be quick!” Paul said, sliding his running shoes off in the corner next to the door and jogging past to his room.

“Well done!” Hannah said. “You have to take charge in the kitchen sometimes.”

Bracken blushed. “It is important to set standards,” she said. “And he will want a breakfast like a werewolf.”

“Thank goodness that you know how to cook like a genius,” Hilary said. Bracken waved an embarrassed spatula at her and started adding sausages to a large frying pan.

Paul jogged back into the kitchen just as Bracken was dishing up a full English breakfast. “This looks amazing!” he said. “And I’m glad of it after last night.”

“I don’t know if I thanked you properly,” Hilary said. “I was almost finished by the time I got up to the library.”

“I just felt the edges of whatever it was, and it rattled me.” Paul dropped into a chair opposite Hilary. “And it wasn’t what I was expecting when I moved here. I didn’t realise the magical currents would be so strong.” He glanced away from Hilary. “And I didn’t realise that I’d be sharing a roof with another witch.”

“I had no idea who you were,” Hilary said. “Lord Peregrine told me that you were coming the day before you turned up. Not that it’s the first time he pulled that sort of stunt. I didn’t know that Tom was going to be a lodger until just before he arrived and I didn’t expect a werewolf.”

“That explains the portion sizes, if you’re used to feeding werewolves,” Paul said. He sighed gratefully as Bracken slid a coffee in front of him. “Thank you, Bracken. It’s just what I need.”

“And there will be a large breakfast with meat,” Bracken said, turning back to the large frying pan and laying out strips of bacon.

“What’s going on?” Paul asked quietly. “I can tell that the magical flow is corrupted, and that there’s some sort of upheaval around the werewolves, but there’s more to that, isn’t there? I’ll be working in the heart of the village, so what do I need to be worried about.”

It took time for them to work through the breakfasts that Bracken put in front of them and Hilary spent a lot of it briefing Paul. “It comes down to the notebooks,” she said, spearing the last chunk of sausage on her fork. “And Samgan, though the two may be linked.”

“I’ve dealt with some pookas in my time,” Paul said. “I can imagine that the twisted magical flow would be affecting him.”

“So that’s where we stand,” Hilary said.

“Are you okay working with me?” Paul asked. “I know that we’ve barely met, but our magic seemed to mesh last night.”

Hilary thought for a moment. “Do you know, I didn’t think about that,” she said. “I’ve never managed to let another witch pass wards through me, not even a witch that I’ve known and trusted for years. But last night it worked.”

Paul nodded. “I’ve never known magic blend so easily,” he said. He tapped the rim of his coffee cup. “We should be fine working together. And in those circumstances, I’m happy to help with the notebooks.”

“I’ll be glad of the help,” Hilary said. “There’s so many of them!”

“I’m fascinated by the magical flow,” Paul said. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it, and I’ve worked in most parts of the country.”

“I’m not sure that I’m fascinated,” Hilary said. “I’m more terrified by whatever’s in that cellar.”

Paul grimaced. “That’s reasonable,” he said. He hesitated. “You know that the notebooks about whatever’s down there are probably in the workroom, don’t you?”

“Possibly,” Hilary said. “But the shelves were set up quite separately and the desk that Annie seemed to work on had new notebooks waiting. We could be lucky.”

“Did you swipe the notebooks left on the desk?” Paul asked.

Hilary shook her head. “But at least I got all of those on the shelves,” she said. “And the twist in the magical flow feels a little older. Like it predates Annie, but I couldn’t tell you why I feel that way.”

Paul nodded. “There are a lot of unknowns and a lot of data, at least until we work through those notebooks.” He stood reluctantly. “I need to get down to the new stores. Lord Peregrine told me that there are a lot of deliveries arriving today and I should be on hand to help Tom out.”

“Mr Tom already took his lunchbox with him,” Bracken said. “I have prepared an extra one for you, in a bag as there wasn’t a box.”

Paul took the offered bag and peered inside. Bracken had done her best and wedged a small cardboard box at the bottom of the shopping bag. Neatly packed, a small bag with two sausage rolls nestled against a large, wide-mouthed flask and a large sandwich wrapped in greaseproof paper. An apple and an orange were tucked next to a small plastic box filled with half a dozen cookies and a separate, slightly smaller box held a cheese muffin. “You are an excellent cook,” Paul said. He looked thoughtful. “You may end up working two jobs, that is, two situations. You want to stay here and work, but I think that you’ll also enjoy working at the new stores. You’ll get good wages.”

Bracken lifted her chin proudly. “I get excellent wages here,” she said. “I asked for a place to sleep, my food, a glass of milk and a coin at Christmas and I get much more.”

“Bracken is worth her weight in gold,” Hilary said. She turned to the brownie. “Paul’s right. I think that you could run the kitchen at the new stores, and you would deserve a wage. People will pay to eat food that you’ve cooked.”

Bracken darted an anxious glance at Hilary. “But I has wages already.”

“It’s okay,” Hilary said. “We can work it out later. After all, we need to treat you fairly. And I won’t see anyone take advantage of you.”

“She stood against Lord Peregrine for me,” Bracken whispered to Paul. “She is very fierce.”

“Good,” Paul said. “Someone has to be.” He put a gentle hand on Hilary’s shoulder. “I know that I’ve got a busy day, but I’ll be happy to help this evening when I get back.”

“I’ll be glad of the extra eyes,” Hilary said. “There’s so many of them. It will probably take me until this evening to get them all date order.” She watched Paul grab his coat, pick up his lunch and stride confidently out of the kitchen. She still had bags full of notebooks to sort through and all sorts of problems in her cellar, but for a brief moment, things didn’t seem quite as overwhelming.

At the Old Chapel

The sky had cleared and the thin December sun was bright and cold as Magnus and Lord Peregrine left the quad bikes at the gate and trudged up the overgrown track towards the old chapel. Magnus paused and turned around for a moment. “This isn’t a bad place to start,” he said, gazing over the view. Green fields and rolling moor spread out for miles in the sharp, clear air and even the chill of winter couldn’t dim the beauty of the landscape. He took in a deep breath of pure, icy air before turning back up the track.

“It’s a logical place to start,” Lord Peregrine said. “It’s isolated, especially as Sam has moved all the sheep that he’s overwintering down to the lower fields. There is enough of the chapel left to provide shelter.” He glanced around the bare surroundings. “And it’s quiet. If he has been trapped, then perhaps the space here and the quiet are soothing to him.”

Magnus strode up the steep track with even strides. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “He was in a cellar under a shop being remodelled, on a busy road, in a valley. He may be looking for a safe space.”

Lord Peregrine matched Magnus’ stride as they approached the chapel. “There is no point in trying a subtle approach,” he said. “If there is a pooka in here, they’ll have known that we were approaching before we passed the gate.” He frowned. “Do you have a key to this place?”

Magnus looked at him blankly. “Why would I have a key to the old chapel?” he asked. “And when I think about it, who does have the key? Nobody’s used the place for decades.”

The neglect showed as they drew nearer. There were ominous spots where rooftiles were missing and the dead stalks of weeds lined the guttering. Grass and brambles lapped at the walls and the path to the majestic front door was almost covered with growth. Dust and dirt clung to the windows and as Magnus strode up to the main door, the red paint was faded and flaking. “It’s a sad place,” Magnus said. “I wonder who owns it. Whoever it is shouldn’t neglect it so much.”

Lord Peregrine winced. “It actually belongs to me,” he said. “I didn’t realise that the chapel was here. Well, I realised, but it had slipped my mind and I suppose I didn’t care enough.” He placed an apologetic hand on the door. “It used to be a place of faith and while some of my people were happy to embrace the churches, it never called to me, so…”

Magnus was curious. “Why did you buy the chapel?”

“It seemed like an investment,” Lord Peregrine said. “I thought that I was buying these fields around here, and I didn’t realise that the chapel came with them.. The small church organisation that once owned it needed the money and no-one had bothered with it for a long while. I hardly came here, as I rented the fields out to Scorton’s Farm.”

Magnus thought for a moment. “Did you bring the key?”

“I never bring keys,” Lord Peregrine said. “Keys are usually iron and while I can manage, it’s not pleasant carrying iron around.”

“You could have got a copy made of brass,” Magnus said before he caught himself. “There’s no point in arguing about it. Perhaps we can break a window or something.”

“You can’t just go around breaking windows,” Lord Peregrine said. “That’s criminal damage.”

“Not if you own the windows that get broken,” Magnus said. He ran a hand over the smooth iron ring of the door handle. “Do churches bother you?”

Lord Peregrine didn’t reply immediately, then shrugged. “The blessing was taken from this place a long time ago, and it was never very strong. There is no church protection here.”

Magnus thought for a moment. “How are we going to get in?” He stroked the heavy iron door handle and twisted it. The latch lifted and the door swung open. “It wasn’t locked.”

“That is something of a worry,” Lord Peregrine admitted. He peered at the door. “I’m sure I had a key, but there doesn’t seem to be a lock.”

“You are getting paid properly for the fields, aren’t you?” Magnus said.

Lord Peregrine waved a dismissive hand. “I have an accountant,” he said. He gestured at the doorway. “After you.”

Magnus pulled a flashlight from his pocket and stepped inside the old chapel. Light shone dimly through the wide, dirty windows, illuminating the space. “Someone’s been here,” he said quietly as Lord Peregrine slipped through the door behind him. “And it’s someone who likes order.”

The chapel was a relic of a Victorian revival over a century and a half ago. The people who had worshipped here would have faith and plenty of Bible-thumping sermons, but not much money. As far as Magnus could tell, it looked like an old stone barn had been converted, with windows added and a pulpit opposite the door, but the stone-flagged floor was still uncompromisingly flat and the thick glass windows were plain and without colour. Dust settled on the window ledges and the smell of damp neglect hung heavy in the air, but it wasn’t the fading ruin that Magnus had expected. Someone had carefully pulled the pews to one side where at least one of them was halfway through being dismantled for firewood. The thick dust that had gathered over the decades had been roughly swept into a corner, a rough and battered broom propped next to the pile. Even the old prayer books had been stacked carefully by the door.

“It makes me feel a little sad and perhaps a tiny bit guilty when I see this,” Lord Peregrine said. “I don’t think that there was every much joy here, but it could have been kept a little nicer. Perhaps I should have included it when I rented out the fields.”

“Farmers don’t have time to mess around with chapels,” Magnus said. “But someone’s been here, and that someone tried to tidy the place.” He placed a hand on Lord Peregrine’s shoulder and nodded at the door behind the pulpit. “I think I can hear someone through there,” he murmured.

The shadow of the pulpit hid most of the door, but there was a hint that the plain door was slightly ajar and a flicker of light shone through the small gap. Lord Peregrine nodded. “I believe that you’re right,” he whispered back.

Magnus tensed, poised to stalk quietly across the floor to the pulpit, as silently as a hunting wolf, then stared in disbelief as Lord Peregrine strode over confidently and threw open the door. “You’ll scare him off!” He hurried after the fae and into the small room.

This was almost sadder than the relics outside in the main chapel. Dust had been painstakingly wiped away and the rusted stove that had heated the preacher’s study had once again been lit and the dying coals were still warming the room. A battered camping lantern sat on the old desk next to a dish of wrinkled rowan berries and a dented soda can holding a few stalks of cotton grass and some fronds of dried sedge. The batteries in the lantern were failing, though, and the window here was small, so most of the room was in shadow. Magnus could see that someone had tried to make this a homely space. Faded and moth-eaten tray-cloths had been arranged on top of the bookcase and the old wooden candlesticks had been carefully arranged on top of the cupboard.

Lord Peregrine shook his head. “We must have missed him,” he said.

Magnus shook his head and held up his hand. “Ssh!” He prowled forward, then stopped.

Next to the stove and behind a small screen, a small figure lay curled up and shivering under some sacks. An empty tin plate and a half-drunk mug of water sat on the floor next to the bundle of rags that was supposed to be a bed. Magnus rushed over. “Are you okay?” He eased back the sacking and looked down at the small, flushed form of a pooka. He placed the back of his hand against the pooka’s forehead and turned back to Lord Peregrine. “He’s got a fever, and it’s bad. We need to get him some help. Who knows about nursing pookas?”

“Don’t take me back,” the pooka whimpered. “Not back into the hole.”

Lord Peregrine leant over Magnus’ shoulder. “Samgan? What’s happened to you?”

“Please, not the hole!” Samgan muttered.

“Who can help?” Magnus repeated urgently.

Lord Peregrine thought quickly. “We’ll take him to Rowan Cottage. Hilary will know how to nurse him if anyone does. She’s a sensible witch, and Bracken will be there as well.”

“No! Not the witch!” Samgan begged, his unfocused eyes wild. “Not back in the hole!”

Magnus shrugged off his coat. “We can’t waste time,” he said, lifting Samgan and wrapping the coat around him.

“I’ll call ahead,” Lord Peregrine said as he checked the fire was dying and turned off the lantern. “Hilary can have a bed waiting. She has plenty of room in that cottage of hers.”

Magnus strode out of the room and across the chapel floor. “Get a move on,” he said. “I’ll ride on the back of your quadbike. It’ll be quicker.”

Lord Peregrine followed him, jogging in the werewolf’s wake as he pulled out his phone. “Hello, Miss Hilary? I’m glad that I find you at home. I have another guest for you.”

Stocking Up

Paul looked around the new stores. “This is looking impressive.”

Tom stood next to him and nodded. “It’s a real improvement,” he said.

“What was it like before?” Paul asked. “Did you come here?”

Tom nodded. “I grew up around here,” he said. “And it was…” He ducked his head closer to Paul. “I don’t want to say too much as the sisters that ran this place as a tea-room for around seventy years are still around, but there was a lot that needed doing.”

Paul looked around the shop. “There’s a lot of space here. Was it often full?”

“I’m not sure that it was ever full,” Tom said. “Tourists would sometimes stop in summer, but I don’t think it was truly overflowing. We should be fine with the small coffee bar in the corner.”

Paul nodded. “I can see it being mainly for locals, and perhaps some people taking away sandwiches or cakes.”

Tom grinned. “Lord Peregrine is determined that Hilary is going to be baking non-stop for the coffee bar. Hilary is equally set that she won’t spend all that time here. I’m waiting to see how that plays out.” A shadow crossed his face. “Did you see Hilary this morning? How is she?”

“She was looking tired,” Paul said. “But I think that she’s fine. She’s more worried about the number of notebooks she brought up. I don’t blame her. There were at least half a dozen big bags that were overflowing.”

“It’s getting bad,” Tom said. “I don’t have much of a grasp of the way that magic flows, but everyone that I’ve talked to says that it’s bad.”

“I can feel it,” Paul said. “It’s like a sour stream, or a brook filled with vinegar.” He held up a hand. “I’m sorry, that sounds dramatic, but it’s not good.”

“The witch before Hilary had left a poppet in the cow shed up on Sam’s farm,” Tom said. “It was meant to be protective, but apparently it got twisted.” He looked at Paul. “I saw it and while I couldn’t put my finger on it, there was something wrong about it. No wonder Sam was having so much trouble.”

“Was the witch before Hilary a little awkward to deal with?” Paul asked with careful tact.

“Annie?” Tom said. “She was foul-tempered, difficult and cherished her grudges the way that some people cherish kittens. But she took being a witch seriously. If you could get the courage up to speak to her, and get through the initial unpleasantness, she’d look after you. Besides, she hated people but she was a softy for animals. She wouldn’t have put anything there that could have brought harm to the cows.”

“That’s something,” Paul said. “Apart from the pooka, are there any other things that I should know about?”

Tom drummed his fingers on the empty shelf next to him. “Let’s get these boxes unpacked,” he said. “We can work while we talk.”

“Sure,” Paul said, easily picking up a large box. “What are they?”

“Lord Peregrine wanted us to stock a few last minute gifts.” Tom picked up another box and strode towards the window. “And nobody got him off the computer in time. He got onto an internet auction site and went a little crazy. He wouldn’t tell me what he’d ordered and, to be honest, I think he couldn’t remember what he’d got in the heat of the moment. He just said they were gifts and we should put them in the window.”

“That sounds like a fae,” Paul said. “And everything looks set to open before Christmas.”

“As long as we get the last of the inventory in and Hilary stocks up the kitchen,” Tom said. He grinned. “Though I think Bracken will probably do more of that, and I think that she’ll enjoy it.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Paul said. “I’ve had two meals and already I know that I’m going to have to take exercise very seriously indeed.”

Tom laughed. “I’ve just put on muscle, but I’ve been busy here,” he said. “I’m going to have to find a serious exercise plan as soon as it calms down.” He pulled open the first box. “Great! It’s perfume.” He grimaced as he pulled the first bottle out of the packaging. “I can’t wait to stink the store out.”

“It’s the perfect last minute gift,” Paul said. “Stereotypes say that it’s the men that leave things to the last minute, so there’ll probably be lots of scented stuff.” He picked up one of the bottles. “You know, bubble bath, bath salts, weird lotions, and all of that stuff. He took a sniff of the bottle. “Woah! You don’t need a werewolf’s nose to tell what that is.” He frowned as he looked closer. “Hang on, can I check that I’m not imagining this.” Paul held the bottle out to Tom. “It’s got a picture of a lily on the front of the bottle, right?”

Tom nodded. “Yep, that’s a lily.”

“And the big writing on the label says ‘LILY,’ right?”

Tom squinted at the label. “They’ve even spelled it right,” he said.

“So why does the scent smell like roses?” Paul asked.

Tom took the bottle from Paul and took a careful sniff. “You’re right! It’s roses. No wonder Lord Peregrine got them cheap.”

“We’re going to have to label them,” Paul said. “But that can go with the pricing, unless…” He picked up another bottle and sniffed. “You have got to be kidding me.” He held the bottle out to Tom. “It says ‘LILY’ on the bottle, and there’s the same picture on the label, but it doesn’t smell like roses.”

Tom took a cautious sniff and growled. “Well at least we only have to make one sign that says scent may not match label,” he said. “That smells like bluebells.”

“Where do you want them?” Paul asked.

Tom thought for a moment. “Put one of each label in the window,” he said. “They can go in that corner. If someone’s desperate and looking for a last minute Christmas present, they’ll look in all the corners. We can put the rest on the shelf over there, away from the heating.”

Paul hefted the box. “You were saying that we could talk while we worked,” he said.

Tom pursed his lips. “If you sort out the perfume, I’ll see what else is in this stack,” he said, waving a hand at a small stack of boxes. “And it was a couple of months ago.”

“Okay,” Paul said, pulling bottles out of the box.

Tom opened the nearest box. “This isn’t too bad,” he said. “It’s scarves and gloves. And they’re in boxes so I can just stack them on a shelf.” He squared his shoulders. “My uncle runs the local werewolf pack. There aren’t many of us,” he said. “It’s just a couple of families. And families don’t always get on.” He glanced over at Paul who kept his eyes on the perfume bottles. Tom pulled out the first layer of scarves. “My dad was older than Uncle Magnus and had a weird idea that he should be running the show.” He stacked the scarves on a shelf near the cash register. “He worried at it like a dog with a good bone, you know, the ones from old bulls.”

Paul was impassive as he sorted through the jumble of bottles. “That must have been hard.”

“Uncle Magnus kept an eye on him, but never pushed it,” Tom said. “Perhaps he should have. I don’t know if it would have made a difference, but…” He stacked some woollen hats next to the scarves. “Dad got kind of obsessed. Mum just followed anything that Dad told her. I don’t know if she was always so timid, but she never challenged anyone or anything.” Tom paused for a moment. “But she was a sweetheart, you know. Everyone thinks that their mum is special, but she was such a sunny soul. She always made me feel better about everything.”

Paul nodded. “That sounds like a special woman.”

“I wasn’t behind Dad challenging Uncle Magnus,” Tom said. “Werewolves know when someone is an Alpha, and Dad just wasn’t. He was a good man, and he worked hard for his family, but he wasn’t the sort of wolf you turned to for help or advice.”

“Some people are better suited to lead than others,” Paul said. “And not just in werewolf packs.”

“Right,” Tom said. “And that’s okay.” He stacked up the last of the hats and broke down the cardboard box. “And I wouldn’t want to be in Uncle Magnus’ shoes. He gets called out for all sorts of stuff, not to mention that Lord Peregrine has him running around at all hours. It’d drive me mad.”

Paul started stacking the bottles onto the shelf. “Everyone has different strengths and weaknesses.”

“You sound like some sort of shrink,” Tom said. “Dad made me get a job away from the pack. He said it would do me good to see the world and get some experience so that I’d be ready to take over from him.” He threw the flattened box over towards the counter to join the rest of the cardboard pile. “He kept my brother and his wife home with him.”

“I’m sorry if I sound like I’m taking notes,” Paul said. “It just sounds like it’s a difficult subject for you. You don’t need to keep going if you don’t want to.”

Tom pulled open the next box. “I could do with talking about it, I suppose,” he said. “It’s not like I can talk to many people about it.” He looked into the box and sighed. “More scarves. Let’s hope that they sell. Anyway, Uncle Magnus has his faults, but he’s not a bad Alpha, and working in construction and getting a bit of travel to different sites, I’ve seen a few. Dad didn’t see it though, but he could never quite get strong enough for a good challenge.” He pulled out a handful of the hat-and-glove sets and stacked them next to the scarves. “One week, at the end of August, I was away with work at a conference in Swansea.” He looked over at Paul. “It was a couple of weeks before Hilary got here and I don’t think that she knows about this. I suppose I should tell her. Anyway, while I was away, Dad tried to do some sort of ritual to increase his power. He waited until I was out of the area because he knew that I’d never stand for it. You don’t just challenge your Alpha like that, not with magic.”

Paul carefully put down the bottles and turned to look at Tom. “That is insanely dangerous. When you go asking magic for power, all sorts of things come running.”

“They really do,” Tom said soberly. “I never found out the full details, and I’m not sure of what I’ve heard, but something turned up, something that Dad wasn’t expecting. By the time I got back here, Mum and Dad and everyone was dead.” Tom swallowed. “A lot of damage got done to our farm, with half the Low Acre Field fallen down into the stream and all the barley stubble burned up. It was a mess.”

“You had a farm?” Paul asked.

“Yeah, well, Dad had the farm,” Tom said. “Magnus bought it from me at a discount price. I wouldn’t let him pay market rate when he and his kids had to deal with the mess and Melissa, my cousin, got quite badly hurt. I mean, it was werewolf hurt and it took her a week or two before she was properly well again.”

“And now you’re in charge of the new stores,” Paul said. “You’ve had a lot of upheaval.”

Tom looked around the chaos in the shop. “It could be worse.”

Paul felt the vibration in his pocket and pulled out his phone. “It’s Lord Peregrine. I’d better take it.” He wandered into the kitchen, shutting the door for privacy.

Tom finished stacking the sets and then broke down the box. He wasn’t sure that he felt better for talking to Paul. If he was honest, he wasn’t sure that he felt anything. As ever, he felt the nagging guilt. If he had been at home, perhaps he could have done something, perhaps he could have made a difference.

Paul ran out of the kitchen. “They’ve found Samgan,” he said. “And we’re both needed up at Rowan Cottage. It’s all going wrong.”

Dangerously Ill

“Do you think Jed takes advantage of Lord Peregrine at the Farm Shop?” Bracken asked as she deftly peeled apples in the warm, welcoming kitchen.

Hilary watched her for a moment, thoughtful. The little brownie was showing an unexpected aptitude for cookery of all sorts. “I think that it’s complicated,” she said. “I think Lord Peregrine will take extra apples from Jed and allow him to charge the full price, but I also think that Jed hands over the sort of gifts that appeal to the fae, like honey and marzipan, and makes room for supernaturals. You know, like allowing the local pack to hunt on his land and not cutting the last stand of wheat or barley.”

Bracken nodded. “It’s the sort of complicated that makes my head hurt,” she said.

“You’re picking up cooking quickly,” Hilary said. “I think it’s part of your magic.”

Bracken shot her an offended look. “I is not magical. I is a brownie, with nothing confusing.”

“You may not do magic,” Hilary said. “But you have skills in getting into places and being extra quick at cleaning.”

“That is the spirit of being a brownie,” Bracken said. “It is nothing magical.”

Hilary kept her doubts to herself. “Well, whatever it is, I think that cooking is part of it,” she said. “Do you want me to start the pastry?”

“You use the machine to make pastry,” Bracken sniffed. “Now that I know about pastry, I can make it by my hands.”

“Whichever method you use, it’s still better than mine,” Hilary said. “If you finish up the apple pies ready for the freezer, I’ll get started on the cheese scones.”

“We are almost ready for the new stores to open,” Bracken said, slicing the apples into neat chunks. “Do you think that there will be enough made?”

“If there isn’t enough, we can always make more,” Hilary said, fumbling at the phone ringing in her pocket. “Hang on a moment.”

“Miss Hilary? It’s Lord Peregrine. I need your help.”

Hilary felt a shiver slid down her spine. “Of course. What is it?”

“I’ve found Samgan but he is extremely ill,” Lord Peregrine said. “I’m bringing him to you. He needs medical help and I have nowhere else to take him.”

“Bring him here,” Hilary said. “How long before you get here?”

“We’ll be perhaps twenty minutes,” Lord Peregrine said.

“And what’s wrong with him?” Hilary asked. “Is he injured?”

“We didn’t see any signs of injury,” Lord Peregrine said. “He’s running a fever and delirious.”

“And he’s a pooka?” Hilary started pacing.

“He’s quite definitely a pooka,” Lord Peregrine said.

“I’ve nursed similar before,” Hilary said. “I’ll get ready.”

“I’ll pay whatever is required,” Lord Peregrine said. “When I was dormant, I didn’t protect him. And now he is very ill indeed.”

“This is not the time to worry about debts,” Hilary said. “I’ll be waiting.” She rang off and shoved the phone in her pocket.

“What has happened?” Bracken asked.

“They’ve found Samgan and he’s sick,” Hilary said. “They’re bringing him here. I don’t want you too near him in case it’s contagious, but you’ll have to help me. First of all, clear up the kitchen. The apple can go in lemon water and everything else back in the cupboards. Then I’ll need you to get out the ice packs from the freezer and two hot water bottles – you can find them in the cupboard next to the ironing board. I’ll also need a large flask of peppermint tea with lots of honey. Can you do that?”

Bracken nodded, already packing away the baking with inhuman efficiency. “Yes, and I’ll see if there are any fresh mint alive in the garden.”

“Be careful what you pick,” Hilary said, then hurried out of the kitchen, her mind racing.

The green bedroom was the obvious choice. It was on the ground floor with an ensuite bathroom and had large windows that Hilary immediately flung wide open. When Lord Peregrine started bringing up the idea of lodgers, she had quickly gone through the bedrooms and brought them up to date. She was glad of it now as she stripped the bed down to the plain sheet and pillows and checked that the mattress protector was firmly in place. Nursing any of the goblin kin was no job for the faint-hearted and it was better to be prepared. Just as quickly, she cleared everything from the bedside tables and threw a spare pillowcase over the mirror on the wall. She checked the time on her phone. They would be here any minute. She raced into her tiny office and pulled out a few bottles of essential oils from their box and hunted through her notebooks. What made sense for mortals didn’t always make sense for supernaturals and she didn’t want to get anything wrong.

She stopped for a moment and swallowed. She had to get things right. There wasn’t any other choice. To her knowledge, there wasn’t a doctor or nurse that had experience with this sort of patient within two hundred miles. Samgan was relying on her because there was no-one else. She gathered what smooth magical flow there was into her for a moment, holding onto her worries and then letting them go. She rushed into the kitchen. “Bracken, I want you to stay in the kitchen as much as possible, or in your own room, at least until we know more.” She managed a faint smile. “You can perhaps get some of the not real books from the library to read while we work things out.”

“Brownies are meant to be busy,” Bracken said firmly. “The ice packs are over there, wrapped in towels and I have put more water into the freezer to make ice.”

Hilary looked around the immaculate kitchen. “You’ve done great work.” She looked up as a roar of quadbikes rattled through the windows. “They’re here. Remember, Bracken, stay away from Samgan until we know more.”

Bracken nodded. “I shall,” she said, her hands twisting helplessly. “The kettles have almost boiled for the hot water bottles.”

Hilary ran to the door and flung it open. “I’ll need a bowl of hot water for the room,” she said. “Bring it through and then leave straight away. And wash your hands afterwards,” she called over her shoulder to Bracken as she hurried out towards Magnus as he strode towards the cottage. “How is he?”

“He’s bad,” Magnus said tersely.

“Follow me,” Hilary said, taking Magnus and the frail figure in his arms through the kitchen and across the hall. “In here and lay him on the bed.”

“Paul and Tom are on their way,” Lord Peregrine said as he followed them into the green bedroom.

“Lay him down,” Hilary instructed Magnus. “Careful!”

Magnus laid Samgan down on the bed as Hilary rushed into the bathroom. “You’re safe here,” he said uncertainly to the pooka now tightly curled up on the bed. “The witch will heal you.”

“Do not send me to the hole!” Samgan sobbed. “Not the hole.”

Hilary rushed back in with a bowl of warm water that she placed on the bedside table. “You are not going into the hole,” she said with calm authority, pulling a chair over to the bed and sitting next to the pooka. “I’m going to make you better." She eased the coat from him. “Magnus, would you be kind enough to close the windows. When Bracken comes in, you are to place the bowl of hot water on the table near the window. Do you understand?”

“Yes, of course,” Magnus said.

“Is your name Samgan?” Hilary asked.

Samgan nodded as he sobbed. “Please, it all hurts.”

“I’m sure it does,” Hilary said. “Okay, Samgan, I want you to hold still while I try and make you a little more comfortable.”

Magnus flinched as the glass in the picture frame shattered. “Should I get a brush?”

Hilary didn’t look away from Samgan as she wrung a cloth out in the warm water. “Wait until Bracken gets here and ask her to bring a brush and dustpan to the door.” She wiped the cloth gently over Samgan’s face. “It’s going to be okay, Samgan. You’re going to feel better soon.”

There was a tap at the door and Magnus hurried over. “I need a dustpan and brush,” he whispered as Bracken handed over the steaming bowl of water, shutting the door as she hurried away. He looked back on the bed. Hilary was carefully washing Samgan, going back again and again to wipe fresh water over his forehead and wrists. “Those are some nasty scars,” he said quietly.

Hilary nodded but didn’t stop. “Put the bowl on the table and close the windows,” she reminded him.

Magnus hurried to follow her instructions. The windows were stiff but the room was almost immediately warmer when they shut. He looked back at the pooka. “He looks like he’s half starved to death,” he said.

“So cold,” sobbed Samgan. “So cold.”

“You are running a fever,” Hilary said calmly. “That will make you feel poorly. But I’ll get some medicine and make you feel better.” She turned to Magnus. “Pull the curtains closed and add some of the peppermint essential oil to the hot water, please,” she said.

Magnus flinched as the mirror dropped to the floor with a sharp crack. “Should I get rid of the pictures?” he asked.

“No hole!” Samgan sobbed. “No witch.”

Hilary pressed her lips tightly together and took a deep breath. “Please close the curtains and add peppermint oil to the water. We don't want to risk flying glass if the windows go and the oil will make Samgan feel better. Once the broken glass is cleaned up then it may be a good idea to remove breakables.”

Magnus shot a horrified glance at the wide windows and hurriedly pulled the curtains over. “Okay, peppermint oil.”

“It’s on the dresser,” Hilary said, never taking her eyes from Samgan.

“So dark,” Samgan cried. “And I hunger!”

“I’ll get you more comfortable and then you can have soup,” Hilary said, wringing the cloth out once again. “I have some nice chicken soup that you can have.”

Samgan tossed and turned, pushing away the coat. “So hot! So hot!”

There was another tap at the door and Magnus rushed to answer it. “I has tea in the flask with lots of peppermint and honey and the brush,” Bracken murmured, glancing nervously past Magnus.

“Please start heating up a pan of chicken soup,” Hilary said. “And you should put a casserole in the oven for the men when they arrive.” She whisked the coat away. “You are safe here,” she told Samgan with implacable assurance.

“Too hot!” Samgan cried. Sparks shot across the room, hissing as they landed in the bowls of water and leaving scorched pin-pricks all over the curtains and wallpaper. “I has hot!” he repeated.

“Put plenty of oil in the water and then bring the flask over,” Hilary instructed. “Samgan, can you hear me?”

“So hot,” Samgan moaned.

“I am going to get fresh water to clean you,” Hilary said. “You must lie still and calm.” She looked over to Magnus. “Stay away from the bed.”

Magnus backed away carefully before added a liberal dose of peppermint oil to the hot water. The fragrance flooded the room and a little tension left Samgan. Magnus started sweeping up the broken glass from the picture.

Samgan groaned. “There is fire.”

Magnus looked over and dropped the dustpan as Samgan rose slowly off the bed. “Hilary!”

Hilary slipped back into the room, placing the fresh water on the bedside table. “Samgan, get back on the bed,” she said firmly. “I can’t make you feel better if you’re not in bed.”

“But it’s hot,” whimpered Samgan as he lowered slowly back onto the bed. A scraping noise came from the dresser and Magnus spun around to see smoke seeping out of the top drawer.

Hilary ignored Magnus pulling the smouldering drawer out and throwing it into the hall and instead concentrated on pouring peppermint tea from the thermos flask into a small, clear mug. “Samgan, are you listening to me?”

Samgan curled up and shivered. “I hear you, I hear you,” he muttered. “It’s so cold.”

“I’m going to give you something to drink,” she said. “It will make you feel better.”

“So cold,” Samgan whimpered, huddling into himself.

Magnus stared at the brittle shards in the dustpan and then up at the pictures around the wall. “There’s ice on the glass.”

“Very likely,” Hilary said without turning around. “Come on, Samgan. You need to take a mouthful of this. It will make you feel much better.”

“So cold,” Samgan sobbed, but he allowed Hilary to help him to sit up a little and sip at the tea. “Oh, that is nice!”

“That’s it,” Hilary encouraged. “It will make you feel better.”

Samgan looked up at her with unseeing eyes. “Please, mistress, please, don’t put me in the hole!”

“I won’t put you in the hole,” Hilary said. “Take another mouthful of tea.”

“I can hear Tom and Paul in the drive,” Magnus said. “They can help me clear the room.”

“Don’t let them take me!” Samgan shrieked, clutching at Hilary’s wrist with emaciated fingers.

“I won’t let them take you away,” Hilary assured him. “Come on, take a little more tea.” She looked over her shoulder at Magnus. “Go and get Paul – quickly! I can’t be on my own for too long.” She glanced down at the huddled pooka sipping carefully at the peppermint tea. “I’m going to need all the help that I can get.”

Long Night

The kitchen was warm and cosy. The lamps in the corners were the only dim light and the fire in the kitchen stove rumbled companionably. Tom and Magnus sat at the scrubbed kitchen table, hunched over steaming cups of coffee. Bracken sat on a small nursing chair next to the fire, carefully knitting a scarf.

“It’s getting quieter in the bedroom,” Tom said.

Magnus nodded. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said. “I don’t think there’s a single picture in the room left with glass. They’ve all been smashed.”

“At least the windows are still intact,” Tom said, then winced. “I shouldn’t tempt fate. At least the windows haven’t broken yet.”

Bracken laboriously finished a row then slowly stood. “Would you like food?” she asked.

“Bracken, you should go to bed,” Tom said. “You’ve been rushing around all night. Magnus and I can take over for a little while.” He searched for the best way to persuade the little brownie to rest. “We aren’t as good as you, but we’ll need to be looked after later, and you won’t be able to take care of us properly if you haven’t rested.”

“I is a brownie,” Bracken said proudly. “And I keep the home.”

“And you’re good at it,” Tom said. “But it’s been a tough couple of days and we’re all feeling it. We need to be rested if want to keep going.”

Magnus nodded. “We don’t know what’s in those notebooks,” he said. “We’ll need all our strength to face what’s coming.”

Bracken sagged a little and then nodded. “I shall nap like a cat,” she announced. “Just a little sleep until dawn.”

Tom watched her carefully stoke up the fire and then shuffle slowly out of the room. “I remember when she was still in Lord Peregrine’s hall,” he said. “She was a tiny twig of a thing, quieter than a mouse and always on edge.” He shook his head. “Now she’s speaking up and answering back and keeping us all in order.”

“It’s not surprising that she was like that,” Magnus said. “She’s older than she looks, though she’s young for a brownie. Great Uncle Finlay told me about her.”

Tom looked at him narrowly. “Is this about real things or Great Uncle Finlay things?” he asked.

Magnus pushed his coffee away from him. “I daren’t have another coffee,” he said. “I wouldn’t say that I suffer from being anxious, but I think I’m one small coffee away from a panic attack.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Samgan set the curtains on fire,” he said. “I couldn’t believe it!”

“I remember,” Tom said. “I came in with a jug of water, even though I didn’t believe there could be a fire, but there were flames down one side.”

Magnus started looking through the well-ordered kitchen cupboards. “Do you fancy a cup of herbal tea?” he asked. “I could do with something to warm my bones, but nothing with caffeine.”

“Try the third cupboard from the end,” Tom said. He stooped and added another log to the stove. “We need to keep the fire going. They could need anything in that sickroom.”

“I’ve found a supermarket version of lemon and ginger,” Magnus said. “Do you want a mug?”

“Why not?” Tom said. “And I may as well refill all the kettles while I’m here.”

The two men pottered gently around the kitchen before sitting back down with two fragrant mugs and a large plate of lemon shortbread biscuits set between them. “You were saying about Bracken,” Tom said. “And that Great Uncle Finlay had a story.”

“It wasn’t one of his usual ones, so I’m pretty sure that it’s the truth,” Magnus said. He took a bite of lemon shortbread and chewed thoughtfully as he considered where to start. “It went something like this. Years ago, there were a lot more people in the village and around here.”

Tom nodded. “Dad used to complain about getting help on the farm and said it was easier back in the day.”

Magnus nodded. “Once upon a time, people left the village to see a bit of the world and maybe make a bit of money, but they came back. But they don’t come back anymore.” He sighed. “There were a lot more supernaturals as well. The pack was much bigger. There must have been at least thirty of us, back in your great-grandfather’s day, and there were four vampires, with a couple living right in the centre of the village. But people started leaving and the supernaturals went with them. I mean, old Mr Ginly, the vampire who used to live next to the new stores, he held out as long as he could. Great Uncle Finlay said that he made do with the pig farm that used to be over near Pateley Bridge, but in the end it didn’t really work for him and I think he ended up moving down to Sheffield.”

“I didn’t realise that there had been that many,” Tom said. “We hardly even see Cabus these days.” He pushed the simmering kettles to the edge of the stove to keep the heat in.

“Once Lord Peregrine had been dormant for a while, it got worse,” Magnus said. “According to Great Uncle Finlay, it was barely worth staying. The hall was falling into disrepair and people were drifting apart.”

“I’ve never heard Lord Peregrine talk about that time,” Tom said.

“I’m not surprised,” Magnus said. “I daresay he feels guilty, and some bad stuff happened, but fae have to go with the rhythms of their earth and his nature said to sleep, so sleep he did.” He took a sip of his heavily sweetened lemon and ginger tea. “Bracken would be one of the things that upsets him. You see, according to Great Uncle Finlay, one of her ancestors took an oath that there would always be a member of their family to serve Lord Peregrine as long as their line lasted.” Magnus paused and for a few moments the silence was only broken by the ticking of the clock and the hiss and crackle of the fire in the stove. “That’s a hell of an oath, and I can’t imagine the circumstances that led to it. Great Uncle Finlay thought it must have been around the time of the Black Death or something dramatic like that, but bad things happen at all times and who knows.” He paused and stared into the fire. “When things got really quiet and there were hardly any of us supernaturals around, the brownies felt that they had to leave. Well, you know how brownies have to keep busy, and there wasn’t much to do in Lord Peregrine’s hall except watch it fall to pieces.” He sighed softly. “So the family left. I mean, not all of them. The Lesken sisters were part of the family. I think that they were sisters to Bracken’s grandmother. But they had already started the tea rooms and weren’t around much.” Magnus thought for a moment. “Uncle Finlay said that they could cook, once, so they may have done meals, but I don’t know. What he did say was that Bracken’s parents and her four sisters and three brothers went to go to live in Leeds and left her to serve Lord Peregrine whenever he got back.” Magnus looked sombre. “From what Great Uncle Finlay said, and from what I’ve seen, she was only a kid, barely able to look after herself, let alone the hall. Ivy and Olive called in and fed her a bit and taught her how to clean, but they were busy and she was pretty much abandoned.”

“Poor kid,” Tom said. “No wonder she’s blossoming here.”

“I’m wondering if that’s why the Lesken sisters retired and went to work in the hall,” Magnus said. “I know that they were getting old, and the building needed an urgent upgrade, but they’d been staggering on for a while. If they’re at the hall, though, then the oath is being fulfilled.” He stood and poked the fire, watching new flames lick up the bars of the grate. “And if Bracken’s cooking for the shop then it’s sort of serving him,” he said. “The oath would still stand.”

“Do you know if she hears from her family?” Tom asked quietly.

Magnus shook his head. “They could all be dead as far as I know,” he said. “After all, they headed into Leeds and strange things happen there. She doesn’t seem to miss them, though, and she’s got Hilary on her side, which helps,” Magnus said. “The woman is a warrior.”

Both men stiffened as a crack rang out from the bedroom. They sat, frozen, for a few moments, then relaxed as there was no further noise.

“I did my best, you know,” Magnus said quietly. “I knew what your dad was like. He was always a nasty piece of work, and age didn’t improve him.”

Tom shrugged. “I don’t think that there was much you could do,” he said. “It’s not like he beat us.”

Magnus shook his head. “It was worse, really,” he said. “I’m glad you weren’t physically hurt, but when he had those rages, it was terrifying. Your mum didn’t seem to be bothered and your brother was just as bad as your father, but I always felt that you deserved better.”

“Do you know, at one point, we only had plastic plates because he broke every china plate that we owned,” Tom said. He put a hand on his uncle’s arm. “I know that you did your best, and I always loved getting out and about with you. It’s okay.”

“I was the one that insisted that you got a job away from us,” Magnus said. “I sold it to your father as you getting influence and experience that would do you well later, and I thought that if you came back then having someone on the farm who knew how to patch up a building would be an advantage.”

“It was a lifeline,” Tom said. He glanced at Magnus then back at the fire. “You stopped my dad from taking my money, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t realise at first, or, at least, I didn’t realise what was going on,” Magnus said. “Back when I was a pup, everyone handed over a few quid to their parents out of their first wage packets. It’s just what you did. Half the time the parents put it to one side and it paid for the kid’s wedding or a deposit on a house or car for them. Sometimes the wages of the older kids paid for the younger kids to have food on the table. But you weren’t supposed to take the whole wage. How was a kid supposed to save up?”

“I think that was the point,” Tom said wryly. “Dad couldn’t have me getting a bit of money put by and having a chance to get away.” He stood and stretched. “Maybe we should take our own advice and get some rest. I’ll stay here and you could get a couple of hours sleep on my bed. We could switch over after that.” He paced slowly around the room, stopping by the fire to warm his hands.

“I’m staying here for a bit whether I’m asleep or awake,” Magnus said. “There’s some cold rain coming in and I’d be drenched before I got home.” He took another sip of his lemon and ginger tea. “Though if I was going to have a nap, I’d rather have it in a chair in here. That fire is lovely and warm and I’ll bet that there’s noting so cosy in your room.”

Tom shook his head. “There are fireplaces in the rooms, but none of us bother,” he said. “But I know that they lit a fire in Samgan’s room and Hilary put about a dozen wards over it to keep it safe.”

“I’m not surprised with everything flying about,” Magnus said.

Something crashed in the green bedroom. The two werewolves exchanged anxious glances as a howl went up, followed by some creative swearing.

“You have to respect Paul’s use of language,” Tom said. He padded out of the kitchen and down the hall, cautiously easing the door open. “Can I help?”

The room was a wreck. Scorch marks trailed across the wallpaper and the curtains hung in tatters while the fire in the grate burned an unsettling shade of green. Hilary and Paul sat either side of the bed, their shoulders slump and a nasty burn mark down Paul’s forearm. In the centre of the bed, Samgan was shivering uncontrollably. Hilary nodded. “Could you refresh the hot water bottles, please, and could you refill the bowl with hot water.”

Tom nodded. “Can I fetch you anything to eat or drink?” he asked.

Paul looked up. “We can’t have anything just yet,” he said wearily. “But another flask of peppermint tea for Samgan would help.”

“And I don’t know if Bracken got some chicken soup out,” Hilary added. She ran a tired hand over her face. “Could you check what’s happening with that.”

“I’ll check,” Tom said. “And hot water bottles, bowl of hot water, and peppermint tea.” He looked at the pitiful figure huddled in the centre of the bed. “Is he going to be okay?”

“We’ll know in the next hour or so,” Hilary said. She looked at Paul, who shrugged. “I think so, if he can get through until morning, he should be fine.” She managed a wan smile. “And get some rest between you and Magnus,” she added. “We’ll need help tomorrow, even though it’s not likely to be quite so nerve wracking, and it’s been a long night.”

“It really has,” Tom said.

The New Stores

Lord Peregrine stood in the centre of the shop and surveyed the chaos with approval. “I need to call the new stores something,” he said.

Tom frowned as he strode past, a large box of tinned tuna balanced easily in his arms. “You mean you only just thought of it now?” He set the box down easily on the floor next to the shelves.

“He had to leave it to the last moment to extract the maximum drama,” Paul said.

Lord Peregrine’s eyes narrowed at the accuracy of the statement. “I had other matters on my mind,” he said loftily. “Such as all the permits required for the new stores.”

“I dealt with those,” Tom said, rapidly stacking the tuna.

“And all the purchases for the stock,” Lord Peregrine said.

“I got most of those as well,” Tom said. “How about calling it The New Stores? It’s already being called that.”

Lord Peregrine frowned. “But there weren’t old stores,” he pointed out. “This means that these can’t be the new stores.”

“They could be the new stores because they’re new to this location,” Paul said. “They’re not replacing something, but they’re the first of their kind here, so they’re the new stores.”

Lord Peregrine frowned. “There was a small inn here once, before the bridge was built, and they also carried merchandise for the local farms. They could have been considered a store.”

“When was the bridge built?” Tom asked. Lord Peregrine shrugged.

“Do you remember which king was on the throne?” Paul asked. “Or where the permit for the bridge came from? It could make a difference if it came from York or Wakefield.”

Lord Peregrine looked shifty. “If the bridge did not have a permit, and the village bridge could have a permit somewhere but the paperwork has been lost, how long ago should it have been built so that it didn’t matter?”

“It must have been some time ago,” Tom said. “So this could be the new stores as the old stores were here before the bridge was built.”

“There are some bridges in Yorkshire that were built by the Romans,” Lord Peregrine said. “And they may not have had a permit if they were conquering the country.”

Tom looked at Paul who was trying not to laugh. “If it was more than twenty years ago, it doesn’t need a permit,” he said. “Besides, who’s going to complain.”

Lord Peregrine frowned. “Christine complains about everything,” he said with perfect truth.

“She’s not going to complain about a bridge that she relies on,” Tom said. “She’s only just calmed down after the roadworks finished.”

“Are you sure that it’s twenty years?” Lord Peregrine asked.

“Yes!” Tom lied. “Try and forget about the bridge and think of a name for the new stores.”

“Because many monks built bridges after William the Bastard laid waste to the Dales,” Lord Peregrine said. “And those permits are probably still in the Vatican. It could take months to get a copy.”

“Why did you mention permits?” Tom asked Paul despairingly. “Don’t worry about the bridge,” he told Lord Peregrine. “I’ll look into it for you. Instead, worry about the name of the new stores.”

Lord Peregrine thought for a moment. “Are there any snacks left by Hilary or Bracken in the kitchen?” he asked. “I can’t think on an empty stomach.”

Tom watched him head into the kitchen as he slotted in the last cans of tuna, then he turned to Paul. “Are you doing an internet search?”

Paul looked up from his phone. “How old do you think the bridge is?” he asked.

Tom shrugged. “I’d guess Victorian, but there is no way that there’d be a problem about a permit now. The local council is too busy creatively causing problems for stuff being built now.”

“That’s a cynical view,” Paul said.

“That’s the view of someone who has spent too many hours on the phone to local councils trying to get a straight answer to an easy question.” Tom stood and stretched. “We should be fine to open on Friday.”

Paul was concentrating on his phone. “There probably won’t be too much traffic at this time of year,” he said. “Though I think the locals will be happy to call in rather than face the crush in the bigger towns if they just want something small.” He tapped his screen. “I think the permit would have been needed if it was built after 1965, and the bridge is definitely older than that.”

“That’s good to hear,” Lord Peregrine came out, a sausage roll in his hand. “I can concentrate on the name of the new stores now.” He paused. “You are sure that I do not need to worry about the permit which could possibly exist but have been mislaid?”

“Yes!” Paul and Tom said in unison.

“Then I wish the new stores to be called The Lord’s Store,” Lord Peregrine said grandly.

“That sounds like it’s selling Bibles,” Paul said. “And stuff for churches.”

Lord Peregrine looked around. “Someone from a church could buy tuna here if they wished,” he said.

“The problem of the bridge is weighing on your mind,” Tom said. “Why don’t you take a moment to plan the garden at the back. If we have a good vegetable garden there, we can impress the summer tourists with our fresh food.”

“And I can consult with Jed about which vegetables we should grow,” Lord Peregrine said. “For example, they grow cabbage but not carrots.”

“And we stock all the seeds,” Tom said.

“That is a thought,” Lord Peregrine said.

Tom relaxed a little. “We should get the plates and cups for the café unpacked and run them through the dishwasher,” he said. “That way they’re ready on Friday morning.”

“How about The Peregrine’s Nest?” Lord Peregrine asked.

“It sounds like a pub,” Tom said. “And our license is very clear. We can sell alcohol to take away but we can’t serve it in the café. We’d get into trouble.”

“There is far too much paperwork,” Lord Peregrine complained. He frowned. “How about The Mart Shop?”

Paul looked up from his phone. “What?”

“What have you been watching on television?” Tom asked.

“I’ve watched little television over the last few weeks,” Lord Peregrine said. “It’s been so busy, with the new witch at Rowan Cottage, then all the happenings with Samgan and the cellar, I haven’t remembered to turn the television on.” He wandered over to the perfumes. “Why don’t the pictures match the scent?”

“I have no idea,” Tom said. “And I don’t have time to switch the labels. I’ve put up a warning notice here.”

“Nobody reads notices in shops,” Lord Peregrine said. He picked up a bottle marked Honeysuckle. “This has the most delightful bluebell scent,” he said. “It’s excellent quality.”

“You obviously bought them from a good brand,” Tom said. “Why don’t you call it The New Stores? It’s a new store, and no-one would be confused.”

“How about Prices Slashed?” Lord Peregrine picked up a nearby bath bomb. “This is bright orange, it has an orange ribbon and an orange label calling it St Clements but it smells like apples.”

“It’s probably marketing,” Paul said. “If you called the new stores Prices Slashed, people may not realise that this shop has good quality merchandise. Most people think that cheap stuff can’t be good quality.”

“We could call it Quality Prices,” Lord Peregrine said. He wandered over to the pet food. “I always thought that you didn’t need to feed cats much. I thought that they usually make their own arrangements.”

“I think it depends on the cat,” Tom said. “We need a name that would appeal to the tourists in summer.” He looked at Paul. “The locals are likely to come here anyway, because it’s convenient. We need something that will appeal to passing traffic.”

“We require postcards,” Lord Peregrine said. He prowled back to the perfumes. “These are remarkable perfumes. This one with the daffodil on the front and labelled Jonquil has a delicious rose scent. I shall have to buy these.”

Tom realised that he was clenching his fists. “First of all, we have ordered postcards but there’s a problem with the supplier. And you can’t buy the perfumes because we need the stock for when we open. You could go back to the site you got them from and order some more.”

“That is an excellent suggestion,” Lord Peregrine said. “And they also had candles.” He prowled back around to the food colouring. “Doesn’t anyone dye their food with spinach juice anymore? We could call the new stores The Summer Tourist Mart,” he said.

“Are you doing this deliberately,” Tom said. He wandered over to the café area and collapsed into one of the chairs. “No-one goes to a shop that looks like it’s for tourists. It’ll make the locals think that you don’t want them shopping here and any passing traffic will think that it’s just full of cheap junk that the locals don’t want.”

“We could try The Mart with Good Things,” Lord Peregrine said.

“We shouldn’t use mart because it’s an American term,” Paul said. “You’ll find a few places around using it, but it’s not really something that sounds like the English countryside.”

“I suppose we could try The Store with Good Things,” Tom said. “But it would be a long sign. Do you have a signwriter in mind? They may not be able to do something at short notice, with it coming up to the holidays.”

“I have a woman who owes me a favour and who has training in such things,” Lord Peregrine said. “I made sure that she had a good supply of materials at hand before I warned her to be ready.”

The door behind them opened and Hilary stepped in from the street carrying a large, lidded box. “It’s freezing out there,” she said.

“What do you think that the new stores should be called?” Lord Peregrine asked.

“Why aren’t you calling it The New Stores?” Hilary asked, bustling past them to the kitchen.

Tom shook his head and held up his hands. “Don’t ask,” he said. “So far suggestions have included Prices Slashed and The Summer Tourist Mart. We’re out of ideas.”

“Why don’t you call it The Village Store?” Hilary placed the box carefully on the counter and looked around as the men followed her in. There was a long silence.

“It’s perfect,” Lord Peregrine said. “I shall speak to the signwriter at the earliest opportunity.” He paused for a moment. “How is Samgan?”

Hilary thought for a moment. “He’s been asleep for most of the day,” she said. “And that’s not a bad thing. He was seriously ill.” She looked at Paul, who nodded.

“If you want to ask him questions, he could probably answer them,” Paul said. “But he wouldn’t be able to answer them well and I don’t think he’d answer them fully, even if he wanted to. When you’ve been that ill, your brain doesn’t work so well. You need to give him time.”

“What have you brought down?” Lord Peregrine asked, peering over her shoulder.

“Here are one dozen individual shepherd’s pies, already frozen and ready to go into your freezer which Paul promised me was working.”

“It is!” Paul said.

“I’ve put the instructions for reheating on a printed label on each separate shepherd’s pie and they should be fine,” Hilary said. “The packaging was sold as microwave safe, but I’d test it out if I were you first.”

“I’m quite hungry after our debate,” Lord Peregrine said carefully.

“It is almost lunch time,” Paul said, licking his lips.

“And we should test a few samples, just in case,” Tom added.

Hilary pulled out three cartons and then thrust the big box at Paul. “I’ll heat up these for you if you put the rest away in the freezer.” She looked over at Tom. “And I would expect at least a cup of tea for my efforts.”

“Coming right up,” Tom said.

“This is going to be a wonderful success,” Lord Peregrine said happily.

Making Order

Hilary looked up wearily as Paul slipped into the library. “How’s Samgan?”

“Still fragile,” Paul said. He sank into the chair across the library table from her and slid a stack of notebooks to one side. “But Bracken hustled him into the kitchen, wrapped him in blankets and she’s coaxing soup into him.” He smiled. “She’s being an excellent big sister, even if they haven’t met before now.”

“And he’s showing no signs of wanting to turn all the milk in the house sour?” Hilary asked.

Paul shook his head. “He says that he owes us a debt,” he said. “You took on most of the nursing when he was really bad, so he feels that he owes you most of all, but he’s grateful to all of us.” He fought back a grin. “Lord Peregrine thinks that you have a new lodger.”

Hilary groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “But he’s a pooka!”

Paul shrugged. “I know that he won’t be able to pay rent…”

Hilary interrupted him. “That’s not the thing,” she said. “I’m not going to be a millionaire, but I can cover the bills. I’ve got online work, cooking for Lord Peregrine, and perhaps some paying guests in the summer.” She straightened up a little. “And I’m going to be reducing your rent. You’re helping out so much that it feels wrong to take money from you.”

Paul chuckled. “You have no idea,” he said. “The rates for these rooms are ludicrously low. Did you check any of the local listings? Rooms around here are expensive because people come to the Dales to hike and see the sights. I’m already getting an insane deal. Let me and Tom help you out.” He angled the bright reading lamp a little closer to where they were sitting. “We’re willing and able.”

“Lord Peregrine was negotiating the rates,” Hilary said. “I wasn’t planning on taking any lodgers at all. The Committee wanted someone to investigate the magical flows around here and I have a knack for that sort of stuff. I wanted to spend time on that.” She smiled. “Then Bracken turned up, followed by Lord Peregrine who wanted to complain, followed by Tom, which was a shock as I was worried about sharing with a werewolf, and now you’re here and I’m damned grateful.”

“Thanks,” Paul said. He looked around the library and then back to Hilary. “I’m glad I’m here too.” He tapped the nearest stack of books. “I get to play with all these. There’s bound to be some good stuff in here.”

“I don’t know,” Hilary said. “I’ve been skimming through them as I looked for dates, and there’s a lot of trivial stuff.” She grimaced. “Perhaps not trivial, and it may mean more when we go through them properly, but some of them are grimly repetitive.” She sighed. “Mind you, I don’t think that my notebooks are much better.”

“We can try scanning them,” Paul said. “I’ve got a halfway decent scanner upstairs. Then I can write an algorithm to track down some key phrases.”

Hilary leaned back in her chair. “It’s tempting, but I don’t know if that’s the answer,” she said. “You know that when it comes to magic, things are never entirely straightforward.” She thought for a moment. “When we’ve had at least one run through, I think that we should scan them, if only to send a copy to the Committee. You know how keen they are on collecting old notes.”

“It may take some time,” Paul said, looking at the heaps of books.

“It will be worth it, especially if we can enlarge it on a screen once it’s scanned,” Hilary said. “Some of this writing is tiny.” She sighed. “And some of it isn’t more than a series of loops.”

“How far have you got?” Paul asked.

“I’m starting with getting the stuff into date order,” Hilary said. She pushed over a pad of sticky notes. “It’s probably against everything a proper researcher would do, but I’ve been labelling each notebook with the dates that I can find and putting them in order.”

“That’s not a bad system,” Paul said. “Have you found any of Annie’s notebooks?”

Hilary shook her head. “Not yet,” she said. “But I’ll be putting those separately to look at first. She should at least have an idea about what happened to Samgan.”

“I’m not exactly sure about that,” Paul said. “Samgan has been missing a long time, and he only turned up at the end of August or beginning of September. Annie died in March.”

“That’s right,” Hilary said. “It took the Committee a while to find a buyer for the cottage, and I couldn’t move straight in as there was a lot that needed doing.” She smiled faintly. “I swear I spent half the time sleeping in my car. All the chimneys were blocked, Annie’s wards were degrading and unstable and everything needed decorating.” She reached for the next notebook. “Let’s be honest, I haven’t really finished. I don’t want to redo the library. That room is perfect as it is, and so is the kitchen.”

“Isn’t there anything that you would change about the kitchen?” Paul asked.

“It will horrify Bracken, but I’d love an electric cooker,” Hilary said. “Don’t get me wrong, I love that woodburning stove, but I don’t fancy using it when it gets hot in summer.”

Paul thought for a moment. “That makes sense,” he said.

“And Annie had all the plumbing redone,” Hilary said. “Probably when she added the bathroom to the cellar. I don’t need to do much more than update stuff like towels and mats.”

“But there’s still a lot more?” Paul prompted.

“Have you seen the state of the garden?” Hilary asked. “It’s an overgrown mess. I’m not an expert, but I know that some of the herbs we saw drying in the store room downstairs can’t be easily bought. The garden’s probably full of rare and magical herbs and I’m going to have to dig for them under the nettles and brambles.”

“Ouch!” Paul said. He instinctively glanced over at the window, but it was dark out. He could still easily visualise the wreck of the garden.

“There’s a parlour we don’t use and a sewing room!” Hilary said. “I don’t sew. I’ve never sewn. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“It might make a better work room than the cellar,” Paul said. “Or if you get enough lodgers over the summer, people who aren’t aware of what we do, then perhaps it can be a separate lounge for them."

"It will still need decorating,” Hilary said. “Lord Peregrine wants me to ask Tom to do things, but Tom’s got enough to do with the new stores.”

“The Village Stores,” Paul corrected. “And that should quieten down a little over Christmas.”

“It’s still a lot to ask from a paying guest,” Hilary said. She managed a wan smile and gestured to Paul. “Like it’s a lot to ask you to rescue me from malignant cellars and help me with impossible research projects.”

Paul shook his head. “I can’t wait to get stuck into these notebooks,” he said. “And I’m hoping that you’ll let me scan them so that I can have my own copy of what’s here.” He waved his hand over the pile. “There’s all sorts of wisdom in here. Who knows what we’ll learn.”

“There was a great recipe for hand cream in one of the older notebooks,” Hilary said. “I found it when I was trying to find the dates. It’s basically goose fat and rose water.”

“It’s probably on some influencer’s blog as we speak,” Paul said. “And it’s being marketed as the latest miracle product.”

Hilary chuckled. “You’re almost certainly right,” she said. She worked her neck. “I’m not sure that this is a perfect system, but it’s what I’ve come up with so far.” She shrugged. “I don’t mind if you come up with a better way of doing things, but this is what I’m going with. Each notebook has a sticky note, which is held on with an elastic band as well as any sticky stuff. We all know that notes can get shaken loose.”

“Or lost,” Paul said. “When we, or you, or whoever, gets this properly catalogued and sets up the full system, we can put something more permanent on them.”

Hilary nodded. “That makes sense. I didn’t want to write anything on them, just in case." She pulled over a large, new notebook with an ornate silver moon inlaid on the black cover. “It was a Christmas gift,” she said, looking a little uncomfortable. “I thought that I may as well get some use out of it.” She opened the notebook. “I’ve saved the first few pages in case we need to do stuff like index it, though I’ve no idea how we’d start.” She turned over a few pages. “This is where the records start. I put a number on the sticky note, together with the date. I put that number in here with the date and a note of anything I’ve picked up as I’ve flicked through and the name of the witch, if I can find it.”

“Are any of them called a Book of Shadows?” Paul asked.

“I wish,” Hilary sighed. “I’ve had them called diaries, journals, recipe books and even a pattern book. Not all of them have names and some of them are hit and miss with dates.”

“They aren’t dated?” Paul asked.

“If I find one more entry marked up as something like the Friday after the brown cow had its calf, I think I’ll lose what’s left of my mind,” Hilary grumbled. “I’ve also been taking notes on this loose leaf pad as well.” She pushed the pad over to Paul. “It makes less sense than the notebooks, but I’m trying to make sense of any patterns that I spot.”

“Do you have anything so far?” Paul asked.

Hilary grimaced. “I haven’t seen anyone complaining about the magical flow in the older notebooks,” she said. “But I haven’t been looking that hard. I’m just looking to put them in some sort of date order right now. But once we start getting nearer our time, there are quite a few issues. I haven’t followed them up, but I’ve highlighted the note when I’ve found a reference.” She tapped the moon notebook.

Paul looked thoughtfully at the notebook in his hand. “I’ll keep an eye out when I’m skimming through,” he said. “If I’m going to build an algorithm, I need to know what it’s looking for and I’m willing to bet real money that they don’t all use the same words for the problem with the magical flow.”

“You’d win your bet,” Hilary said. She took the next book from the stack in front of her. “We have half an hour before Lord Peregrine promised he would be here for dinner. Let’s see how much we can get done.”

Feast

“I gathered these for you, Mistress Hilary,” Samgan said as he stepped into the warm kitchen. “If it was a different season, perhaps it would be greater, but I hope that you can accept my poor offering.” He held out a small bunch of wild flowers tied with twine.

Hilary felt a lump in her throat. “Thank you so much,” she said. She rushed over to a cupboard to get a vase. “Take a seat. Dinner will be on the table soon. We’re just waiting for Lord Peregrine.”

“Thank you for including me,” Samgan said. He looked nervously at the long table, set with six places. “Is there any particular seat allocated?”

Paul sat at the furthest point from the head of the table and on the side nearest the door. “Sit opposite me,” he said. “That is, if you like?”

“Thank you,” Samgan murmured.

Hilary frowned as she watched him slip into his chair. The extra small jeans that she had found in a charity shop were held up by string around his thin waist, and the flannel shirt that was barely big enough for the frame of his wide shoulders and deep chest still hung cruelly loose over his frame. “The flowers are perfect for the table,” she said. “It’s just a plain meal, and you can eat as much or as little as you like.”

Tom strode into the kitchen and sat next to Paul. “What’s for dinner tonight?” he asked.

“It’s just shepherd’s pie,” Hilary said. “But it should warm you up.”

“It’s never ‘just’ anything,” Tom said, turning to Bracken. “What did you make?”

“The mistress made it all tonight,” Bracken said. “I was cleaning, remember, at the stores.”

“Of course,” Tom said.

“I made a big dish of shepherd’s pie,” Hilary said. “What we don’t eat can get put away to be reheated later, perhaps for lunch tomorrow, if there’s any left. And I did extra gravy, broccoli, and roast carrots and parsnips on the side.” She glanced at Samgan. “It’s plain stuff, but it will keep us going.”

“Did you do dessert?” Tom asked.

“She did and I did not see her make it,” Bracken grumbled as she put the large teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl on the table. “It is a large steamed pudding, with apple.” She looked thoughtful. “I can make the custard.”

“There’s no need,” Hilary said. “I don’t mind making it, but you can if you like.” She placed the vase of wild flowers on the table at the end.

“I changed situation to learn cooking,” Bracken said quietly to Samgan as she sat next to him and opposite Tom. “I had been in place with Lord Peregrine, but it didn’t suit me.”

“I think you found a good situation,” Samgan said. He looked slowly around the room. “There is much kindness here.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Hilary said. “But we do our best.” She frowned. “I won’t have kind words for Lord Peregrine if he doesn’t get here soon.”

Tom looked up, his eyes bright. “I can hear him.”

It was a few moments before Lord Peregrine strolled in through the door with a blast of icy air, and already the plates were on the table, a cup of Earl Grey was placed at Lord Peregrine’s place and dishes of vegetables were already on the table. “This looks splendid!” Lord Peregrine said. “I’ll hang up my coat, wash my hands, and be straight back.”

Paul chuckled. “It sounds like you had to negotiate that,” he said.

“This is my place, not his,” Hilary said firmly. She pulled a huge dish from the oven. “Samgan, take as much as you need, but in small mouthfuls. And there is plenty of food in the cupboards for later, if you need it.”

“There is,” Tom said. “Hilary believes in keeping her cupboards stocked.”

“Well you remember how it was when the embankment collapsed and we couldn’t get to the shops the usual way,” Hilary said, carefully placing the shepherd’s pie on a mat on the table and placing a serving spoon next to it. “I was glad of my full cupboards then.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Samgan said. “I was in a time of madness.”

Lord Peregrine bustled in and sat down. “We understand.” He frowned. “But don’t do something like that again. No-one got hurt by your actions, but it was close, and it caused some trouble.”

“I acted in accordance with my nature,” Samgan said, his voice even and his eyes sad. “I had been trapped for many years, and only freed when some sort of magical battle caused the hill with my cell to collapse.”

Tom looked up suddenly. “You mean the landslide after my father and uncle fought? You’d been kept in the hill?”

Samgan nodded. “In a tight space, where I did not hunger or thirst but where I struggled to move and the darkness closed endlessly onto me.” He shivered and dropped his eyes to his plate. “I was relieved to leave it.”

Lord Peregrine helped himself to a large portion of shepherd’s pie and passed the dish over to Hilary who had sat next to Bracken. “I hope that you won’t be trapped like that again. You can tell me more about it after dinner.”

“It would be a sad thing to mar the cheer of the dinner table with dark tales,” Samgan said.

“Indeed, and I have better things to talk about,” Lord Peregrine said. “I want you to work for Hilary.”

“What?” Hilary stared at Lord Peregrine. “No!”

“I should very much like to serve you, mistress,” Samgan said quietly. “I am so deeply indebted to you."

“I can’t afford to pay you!” Hilary said. “I’m not making that much money, and I’m not likely to get short term guests until summer.”

“What do you pay Bracken?” Samgan asked.

“I has big wages,” Bracken said, her eyes wide. “And I work hard to earn them. I have a place to sleep, which is a room all to myself; food to eat, which is in the kitchen with everyone; a glass of milk, which I get every morning; clothes for my back,” Bracken took a deep breath. “And I have a coin at Christmas.”

“And I insist that you take time off,” Hilary said. “And you work too hard as it is.”

“Hilary worries about mortal laws,” Lord Peregrine said. “And I think that those are fair terms. Bracken is expected to work around an hour every day, and she gets paid separately for any work that she does at the Village Stores.”

“Those seem fair terms, Mistress Hilary,” Samgan said. “And even generous. I wouldn’t work in the house.” A faint smile passed across his face. “I couldn’t reach Bracken’s expertise. But your garden needs some work, and I would find it congenial employment.”

“Mistress Hilary has already given clothes for you and food,” Bracken said. She put a tentative hand on Samgan’s arm. “It is not hard work, and there is not much shouting.”

“It’s not exactly safe, either,” Hilary said. “Don’t forget, we have a problem in the cellar.”

“I have no answer to the witch’s snares,” Samgan said. “But I would be very happy to work for you, on the same terms as Bracken enjoys.”

Hilary added some carrots to her plate. “I need to ask. What happens if I can’t get milk? If there’s a shortage and I can’t get to the shops and there’s none in the farm? Or I can’t find good clothes for you? Or I’m just not able to meet your terms.”

“If it is not of malice, I will merely leave,” Samgan said. “You are wise to ask. If you try and deceive me, I will take action.” He paused as Paul set the dish of shepherd’s pie in front of him and took a deep breath. “But if you should speak with me, and explain, and perhaps offer other compensation.” His hands were trembling as he took a small portion and put it carefully on the plate in front of him. “Then I would be agreeable to revisit our arrangement."

Some of the tension in Hilary’s shoulders eased. “Thank you,” she said.

Samgan found himself relaxing gently as the meal went on. The food was good, warming him in more ways than basic nutrition. Again and again he went back for a small spoonful of the shepherd’s pie, a fragment of broccoli and the smallest chunk of carrot or parsnip, taking care with his system as it recovered. At the same time he watched as Tom ate enough for three of him, and Paul, and even Bracken, ate heartily. There was a peace in the kitchen that hadn’t been there any time in his memory, and he was basking in it. As the conversation turned to the opening of the Village Store, Sam let his mind wander to the garden. There were many rare herbs in the garden, some of them tricky to grow and it would need careful coaxing to bring it back to its former state. He could hardly wait to get started. He glanced at the vase with his thin bouquet sat proudly on the table. He had to repay Hilary’s kindness.

“This dinner is excellent,” Lord Peregrine said.

“We has already made individual shepherd’s pies for the Village Store,” Bracken said. “They will sell well.”

“And you have steamed apple pudding with custard for dessert?” Lord Peregrine looked over at the stove.

“That’s right,” Hilary said.

“We shall have my court’s Winter Solstice celebration here,” Lord Peregrine said.

“What?” Hilary said.

“Obviously I’ll make sure that you have supplies, and I’ll pay generously,” Lord Peregrine said. “And I’ll provide all the drink.”

“What?” Hilary shook her head. “No.”

“It will be splendid,” Lord Peregrine said.

“No!” Hilary said. “I can’t host a big function like that. I’m just a plain cook.”

“This was a feast,” Lord Peregrine said. “I can’t wait to see what you do with all the fine foods for Yule.”

“No!” Hilary snapped. “Besides, the solstice is only a couple of weeks away and it takes time to prepare for that sort of meal.”

“Of course you’ll manage,” Lord Peregrine said. “Most of my court is here anyway.”

“That is true,” Tom said thoughtfully. He grimaced. “Lord Peregrine’s court is small and perhaps doesn’t have so many creature comforts. And, apart from us, there is Cabus, who won’t eat much, Magnus and his family who will eat like wolves, and the Lesken sisters.”

“Auntie Olive and Auntie Ivy will be happy to help prepare,” Bracken added quickly. “Though perhaps they shouldn’t be allowed near the food. They can wash up.”

“They can help decorate,” Lord Peregrine said. “And I will, of course, provide greenery for wreaths and swags.”

“I don’t have time for wreaths and swags!” Hilary said. “I can’t possibly do this.”

“I’ll come up tomorrow to sort out the details,” Lord Peregrine said. “Now, what about that steamed apple pudding?”

Taking a Risk

*Image from WikiCommons, in the Public Domain*

“If you’ve used a till like this before, you’ve probably got more idea of what it does than I do,” Tom said.

Alison Keasden managed a pale smile. “I’ve worked in a few shops, and this looks pretty standard.” She ran a hand over the till that had been plugged in for testing in the back room. “I don’t think that I’ll have any problems.”

“We open next week,” Tom said. “And there’s still a lot to do. All the fixtures are in place, and it’s kept clean, but I want to get everything stocked up and set out.” He sighed. “Lord Peregrine is determined to open a fortnight before Christmas and it’s going to be bedlam.”

“Most people shop online, don’t they?” Alison said. “Especially on the run up to Christmas.”

“There is always a rush for last minute presents,” Tom said. “Besides, we’re stocking a load of wrapping paper, cards, decorations and some Christmas food trimmings.”

“Do you think that we’ll sell them?” Alison asked.

“I’ll be surprised if we don’t run out of wrapping paper and tape,” Tom said. “That stuff always runs out. But it can last till next year if we’re careful how we store it. It’s the food side that worries me.”

Alison moved over to a stack of flats of cranberry sauce. “There’s a lot here.”

“And we’re only a small village,” Tom said. “The use by date is long enough that we can still sell it next Christmas, if we store it right, and we’ll have a bit of a sale in January…”

“Lord Peregrine got carried away again, didn’t he?” Alison said, relaxing a little. “Has he ever owned a shop?”

“Nope, and he’s not known for his caution either,” Tom said. “But the shop is likely to stay open for a few years, even if it doesn’t make much of a profit. It’s about him owning the gossip hub of the area.”

“I thought that was Farm Shop, up the hill,” Alison said.

“Lord Peregrine’s setting himself up as a rival for the gossip,” Tom said. “To be fair, he’s working with Jed and Marlene so that the shops don’t compete, or at least don’t compete too much, and he may be on to something.” Tom straightened up a pack of kitchen towels. “We’ve got a few months to find out what we can do, to find where we can be strongest. I suspect it will be food that brings people in, but we’ll have to find some sort of niche.”

“This village is miles away from anywhere,” Alison said. “That’s why I came here.”

Tom wandered through the store kitchen and out of the back door. “It’s all farmland out here,” he said. “And above that, you get the moors. There’s the houses on the road up to your cottage, and there are farms around, but it feels empty.” He looked morosely over the weed tangled patch at the back of the shop. “But we’re only an hour’s journey from Leeds, one of the biggest English cities. Lots of people drive out through the countryside. It can get busy.”

“They’d have to know we’re here,” Alison said. “We’re still off the main roads.”

“And Hilary has a background in marketing,” Tom said. He sighed softly. “I have a feeling that Lord Peregrine will make this work. He wants to bring his people back to the village.”

“You mean, like you?” Alison asked. She took an unconscious half step away from Tom. “Are there a lot of, you know…”

“There’s hardly any of us,” Tom said. “There used to be more, but it sort of faded over the years. Of course, Cabus remembers more. He’s been here centuries. As a vampire, he’s not as long lived as a fae like Lord Peregrine, but he’s more willing to talk. Hang on!” He darted forward as the colour drained from Alison’s face, taking her arm and guiding her into a chair. “Sit down and I’ll get you a drink of water.”

“That’s why I came to the countryside,” Alison said quietly. Her eyes were wide and her hands trembled as she took the glass from Tom. “I ran away from being hunted.”

Tom knelt in front of her and looked at her directly. “You won’t be hunted here,” he said. “That I promise.”

***

Samgan prowled around the library. He was feeling stronger every day and now he was starting to feel restless. Even more, he was feeling his debt to Hilary bite. It wasn’t just the healing. He knew how close to death he had been and she had pulled him back. He knew Paul had been there, and Paul was also owed a debut, but it was different with Hilary. She kept caring. She treated him with grace, more than anyone else ever had. Even before he started work, she was abiding by their agreement. He had a glass of milk set next to his plate at breakfast every morning. Hilary had come home with a large bag of clothes which she had washed, pressed, and insisted that he took. She had apologised that they weren’t knew, but that she thought he would need new ones soon as she fed him enough to gain weight. Samgan thought back to the patched rags that he’d often been left with. The jeans and shirts in the drawers in his room were far finer, without rips, tears, or stains. She had even insisted on getting him new boots.

Lord Peregrine had suggested that he took over the garden, as a way of earning his place in Rowan Cottage. That wouldn’t be work, it would be pleasure. The soil was good and the garden was well laid out. Samgan inspected a shelf near the window. There were a lot of gardening books in here, many of them old. It was a witch’s cottage and rare herbs had always been grown here. If he could get decent seed then he could make the garden flourish. There was plenty of space to feed the cottage with vegetables. He took an old herbal from the shelf and flicked through a few pages, stopping at an illustration of agrimony. He could grow that easily enough.

It would grow even easier if he could sort out the twist in the magical flow. There was a risk that food grown here could be tainted, and Hilary couldn’t use herbs grown near dark magic in healing. Something needed to be done about it. He’d heard Hilary and Paul talk about it, about moving the stones, but they were cautious. They hadn’t found all the details from the notebooks yet.

Samgan stepped closer to the bookcase that hid the stair down to the possessed cellar. There would be more information down there, he was sure. He’d felt the flow of energy down there, and the malevolence. He smiled thinly. He wasn’t exactly a dandelion seed himself. He owed Hilary so much. Clearing the flow of magic would go towards payment of that debt, even if it didn’t clear it completely.

He ran a hand over the bookcase, then paused as he heard Tom come in. Hilary would be out of her office and starting dinner soon. He wouldn’t discuss anything with her, as she would only worry. He stalked over and put the herbal back in its place on the shelf. Hilary and Paul were going to Leeds the day after tomorrow. They would almost certainly be gone most of the day, and Bracken would be busy down at the Village Stores with Tom. He could make his move then. He could start easing his soul and repaying his debt then.

More Notebooks

Samgan was halfway down the stairs to the cellar before he felt it. It was a spiky magic, prickling over his skin, and he didn’t like it. It couldn’t own him like it could own Hilary or Paul, but it tugged at him like a sharp, twisting breeze. He kept going. He owed so much to Hilary, he owed her his life. What was harder, she gave without demands. He paused for a moment, gathering his strength. Hilary was paying wages far more than he had ever expected as a pooka, and she was paying them freely. The glass of milk every morning was in a large, clean glass and the milk was fresh and cool. The food that was provided at regular intervals was ample and wholesome, more than he expected. He could feel the goodness soaking into his bones. He ran a tentative hand over his shirt sleeve. Hilary had admitted that the clothes weren’t new, but they weren’t rags. They were clean and without tears or stains and were obviously chosen with thought and care. Samgan thought back to the sackcloth he had worn in that dark prison.

It was the room, however, that caught his loyalty the most. Hilary refused to give him the room that he’d destroyed when he was ill, as she had said that it needed to be redecorated before it could be used again. Instead he had been shown upstairs to a room of his own, not too big, with furniture and a soft, warm bed piled with blankets. It was filled with light, facing south and the wide window opened up over the garden. It felt like a sanctuary, a safe place, even if it was under someone else’s roof. He could no more stop Bracken from cleaning the room than he could have stopped the sun setting in the West, but otherwise he was undisturbed. He had never known anything so good.

Samgan forced his attention back to the present. The cellar was just a few steps below him and darkness pooled around the foot of the stairs. That didn’t bother him. He knew that there was a light switch, just as he had a sack over his shoulder with portable lights and bags for any notebooks he could find. The magic worried him, though. It shouldn’t affect him the way it had Hilary, but he could feel the unpleasant sensation of malevolent energy flowing over him, and he didn’t like it.

He found the light switch without too much trouble. The light was dimmer than he expected, but that was magic, not faulty wiring. Otherwise, he was unsurprised. Hilary had talked about the cellar, and nothing had changed since her visit. All the notebooks had gone from the shelves, of course, but everything else was undisturbed. He marvelled at the tiny bathroom as he checked through the door, and paused at the entrance to the storeroom. With his sight, it was a wonderland.

Some shelves were bare of magic, some had it overflowing from the jars and boxes. Energy sparkled and danced around the room, glancing off mirrors and pooling in dishes and cartons. He went closer. He had to leave plenty of room between him and some of the stones and charms near the door, but there were racks and racks of herbs, and he knew herbs.

He trailed a light finger over the jars. Yarrow, rue and comfrey were all grown by witches, as was hyssop and valerian. Then there were huge jars of parsley, thyme and rosemary, suitable for the kitchen. He was familiar with all of these. He was unfamiliar with lemon verbena and American willowherb, but he could feel their energies. He could grow them here.

Samgan moved over to the non-magical shelves full of envelopes and labels, then a small stack of notebooks. He hesitated, then slid them into a bag. They may not be what Hilary wanted, but he was willing to risk it. He took a final look around before slipping out. Now he had to brave the workroom.

Samgan had expected the evil, but he’d not expected how it clung to him. He could feel the prickles of it in his hair and on the soles of his feet as he entered. The room was exactly as Hilary had described it. There was a circle in the middle of the floor, hangings on the wall, and a small desk at the far corner. Samgan nodded to himself. That had to be where any notebooks would be found. He took a deep breath. The air felt thick, like in a heavy rainstorm just before the first peal of thunder, and strange thoughts were swirling in him. He remembered the embankment. It had been easy to undermine the earth there. He’d needed to move a root or two, allow water to channel in a different way, and then a very small disturbance of the soil near the bottom at the right time sent tons of debris down, flowing around the car. It had felt exhilarating, like a wild wind in autumn, and he had been proud.

He clenched his fists. Alison had been in that car. She had been pleasant to Hilary when she had called in to see Tom, and her young sons were exactly the right combination of good manners and mischief to make any mother proud. He could have hurt them. Samgan felt shame flush through him. This barbed energy was no good. He had felt such deep satisfaction, watching the werewolves panicking as they dug to free the car, but what had it got him? It had left him drained, isolated, and any good that had happened since had been in spite of that malice. Too many of Lord Peregrine’s court were still wary of him, and with good reason.

Lord Peregrine had faded, Hilary had been transfixed, and now he was being corrupted. He couldn’t hang around. Samgan strode over to the desk, skirting the circle, then started to fill the bag with the notebooks. He could feel a stirring behind him, a cold prickle down his neck, and, snarling, swept the notebooks and papers from the desk into the bag, settling them securely into the bag before turning.

The shape in the corner was still unformed. When the hangings had been moved, a hint of energy had come through. It was less of a threat than it could be, and it was far from fully manifested, but Samgan could feel the darkness seeping into him. He didn’t want it! Samgan found himself panting. He thought of Hilary, who had saved his life, of Bracken, who was becoming like a little sister, of Tom and Paul and their calm strength. Grasping the bag in both hands, Samgan marched back to the door, his back straight. He felt his mind clouding over, and he fought for control.

The door seemed clouded and far away. Samgan staggered, knocking into a shelf, before grasping the doorframe and hauling himself through it. The clatter behind him felt muffled and distant as he placed his first foot on the stairs. Waves of fog washed through him, his eyesight blurry and dim. Samgan gritted his teeth. He didn’t need light. He held on to the handrail like a rope from a lifeboat and pulled himself up a step.

The feelings were still rushing through him, burning at the back of his eyes. He had been trapped in the dark, unjust and unfair, the prickles of the energy tormenting him, leeching into his bones and leaving him fevered. He pushed his hands further up the handrail and hauled himself up another step. Energy lapped around his feet, like fording a malevolent stream, cold and gnawing. He managed another two steps, pulling himself out of the rising tide, but he could feel it following him. He could sense the wards at the top of the steps, and if he could just make it that far…” For a moment, Samgan lost all focus and only his iron grip on the handrail stopped his fall back down the stairs. Fear iced through him, he couldn’t leave Hilary. He hadn’t paid his debt!

The thought pushed through the fog and Samgan held harder onto the rail, clutching frantically as he struggled to haul himself higher. The energy lapping once again around his ankles felt sticky, like tar, and pulling his foot up to the next step grew harder every heartbeat. There had been so few steps going down, he thought vaguely. And now there were so many going up. He dragged himself up the next step, his whole frame trembling with the effort. He wasn’t giving up, though. He had a debt to pay. He had to make it.

Samgan stumbled up the last two steps, his ears ringing with the effort, then fell out, through the secret door and onto the library carpet, curling his knees towards his chest to pull his feet through the ward and away from the dark magic swirling below. For a moment he lay motionless, aware only of the thudding of his heart and the soft, tufted, pile of the carpet under him. He took a moment to stroke over the carpet, feeling the wonderful ordinariness in its texture, before rolling slowly onto his feet, using the chairs and table to steady himself.

He looked back at the secret door and winced. His pride had taken him down there, and he wasn’t sure how he’d made it back. Now he needed to sit in the kitchen by the fire and feel the warmth of Hilary and her care of the home. He looked at the bag next to him, fallen haphazardly on the carpet. It had been a risk, but now he had more notebooks.

Getting Help

Photo by Nilendrajyoti Halder on Unsplash

Hilary didn’t know where to start. The kitchen was crammed with people as Paul, Bracken and Lord Peregrine pored over a pile of new notebooks on the table, and Samgan, well, he looked like he was running a fever. “Oh, Samgan,” she sighed. She pushed a mug of peppermint tea closer to him. “I have no authority over you, I can’t rule you, and I don’t want to rule you. We have not known each other long.” She tried to frame her feelings. “That you brought these up from the cellar, it makes you a hero. I can’t help but admire your courage and strength.” She pushed herself up from the chair and started pacing. “The notebooks are invaluable. They’ll make all the difference with the stones and the cellar.” She paused, standing across the table from Samgan, wringing her hands as she noticed the unhealthy flush creeping over his face. “But I care about you. I’m so grateful for the result, but I’m so worried about you!” She went back to pacing. “I can’t bear to think about what might have gone wrong, that you could have been hurt, and in ways that can’t be fixed by peppermint tea.”

“You must not diminish his achievement,” Lord Peregrine said sternly. “I felt the weight of that presence there. Samgan was a hero.”

“Of course he was!” Hilary threw up her hands. “And it makes things so much better for us. It’s given us the keys to solving this. But he’s not well, and he could have been hurt!”

“You would care for me?” Samgan said, his voice rusty.

“Yes!” Hilary cried. “Why wouldn’t I?” She shook her head for a moment. “I don’t have the right to insist on things, as I am not your ruler, but I would strongly request that you rest for at least the next week.”

“But I need to serve you!” Samgan said.

“You have just done an amazing, wonderful, fantastic, heroic…” Hilary turned to Bracken. “Explain it to him.”

Bracken looked blank. “I has no explanation,” she said.

“You gave me milk this morning,” Samgan said. “And food. Those are my wages.”

“I should be throwing a parade of thanks!” Hilary said. “And then, if I had any authority, I’d insist that you rested and healed up for the next week at the very minimum. You’re running a fever again, and if you keep getting these attacks, it could damage you permanently.”

“You are being praised,” Bracken said. “But I understand about the wages.”

“Don’t start!” Hilary said. She sat back in her chair and her mouth crumpled. “What if it had gone wrong? What if we’d lost you?” She scrubbed a tear away.

Paul gently patted her hand before turning to Samgan. “I think the better way to explain is to look at how things could work in the past.” He looked over at Hilary before turning back to the feverish pooka. “How it feels, I suppose, is that you and Bracken are members of Hilary’s household. You work for her and the household, but you’re more than workers. You get your food, and milk, and clothes and such, but that’s part of being a member of the household. As part of the household, you work when you can, but you’re looked after when you’re sick.”

Hilary nodded, still wiping at tears. “You, and Bracken as well, have an importance. I feel…” Her voice broke.

“All good lords have a responsibility to those of their household,” Lord Peregrine said quietly. “There is duty on both sides.”

“I’m no lord,” Hilary said briskly, brushing away the last of her tears. “But it’s as good a way as any to explain what’s going on here.” She looked at Paul. “And I have no idea where you and Tom fit in.”

Paul chuckled. “I guess we’re paying guests, but I think we’re part of the household as well, aren’t we? I’ve seen how you fuss over Tom.”

“He needs someone around who can look after him, especially after all the problems with his family,” Hilary said.

“That is why I found it imperative to act,” Samgan said softly. “You care without reserve, even to such as I.”

“No! You are worth care!” Hilary said. “But back to the point in hand. I’m going to…” she hesitated. “I don’t want to order you around. I think that’s happened far too much to you. But I would like to strongly ask that you drink up your peppermint tea, get a good meal inside you, then go back to bed and get some rest. You’re still weak from that dreadful imprisonment.”

Samgan slowly smiled. “I will do as you ask, without any feeling of coercion,” he said. “But soon I will be strong again, and I will ensure that the garden will flourish.”

***

After lunch, Hilary, Paul, and Lord Peregrine headed to the library to sort through the new notebooks. “I’m worried that it could have killed him,” Hilary said. “But you have to admit, these notebooks are what we need.”

Paul nodded. “The oldest ones contain the rituals that set up the newer stones and some of the defences in the cellar. I’ve just skimmed the surface, but the original defences weren’t anything special.”

“I’ve been looking at the newer notebooks,” Hilary said. “Annie took advantage of the extra power and added in some layers of defence in the cellar. It’s like she fitted it out for a last stand.”

Lord Peregrine thought for a moment. “I hadn’t thought about it,” he said. “But there’s a comfortable place to sit, water, air, and even a bathroom. She could easily stock it with food, that is, if she felt that she was likely to be attacked.”

“I think that she spent too long down there,” Hilary said. “Whatever’s in those defences, it's not good.” She looked anxiously between the two men. “It may not have started as something sentient, but I think it’s getting there.”

“What do you mean?” Lord Peregrine asked.

“I don’t like to use the word demon,” Hilary whispered. “But I think that it’s gone beyond any type of nature spirit.” She looked at Lord Peregrine. “A nature spirit wouldn’t affect you, not like that thing in the cellar, and I’m sure that I felt purpose in the second visit. When we moved the hanging, I think that we woke something up.”

“That is not a comforting thought,” Lord Peregrine said after a moment.

“It could be worse,” Paul said. “I’m not sure that we can take whatever’s in the cellar on without half of the Council at our backs. That doesn’t mean that we have to give in. I think if we pull power away by moving the stones, then we’ve got as good a chance as anyone of getting rid of whatever it is.”

“There is a great deal of power moving through those stones,” Lord Peregrine said. “If we alter the placement and get it wrong, then the disruption could be dangerous.” He looked between Hilary and Paul. “I mean, it could be fatal to those near to the disruption and bring out ghosts, waken old and unpredictable nature spirits, and even attract lesser demons.” He tapped the notebooks in front of him. “We have to be cautious.”

“Annie made some notes,” Hilary said. “I think that she was trying to raise the power further. It didn’t help. I think it may have affected her more than she realised.” She opened one of the notebooks. “The problem is, she was using ritual magic.”

Paul nodded. “That’s how the original stones were added,” he added. “It was one of the older witches that had the cottage, Elspeth Botton, that took up ritual magic as well the natural stuff that most witches use.”

Hilary nodded. “Elspeth was here for nearly forty years. She took the cottage on early, and she just kept going until the 1950s. I think that she moved the stones in the early 1940s.”

“I was sleeping then, as was Cabus,” Lord Peregrine said. “It was troubled times.”

“It was during WWII,” Paul said. “Most of the men were away, no-one was paying attention to a cottage on a hill, and all Elspeth had to do was shift a few things around in the right order.” He pulled over one of the notebooks. “She didn’t put in all the details, just the general outline to remind herself.” He sighed. “It’s beyond me.”

***

It was quiet in the library. Hilary had left to catch up with her work and Lord Peregrine had decided to check on the Village Stores until it was a good time to contact Cabus, so Paul was left alone with the notebooks. He shook his head. It was such a mess, and it couldn’t come at a worse time. He wasn’t as attuned as Hilary, but Paul could feel the ebb and flow of the magical seasons, and the waters, the power, was running higher in the run up to the Winter Solstice. Once that had passed, the tides would ebb until they started building up to Imbolc, the old Candlemas at the beginning of February.

For a moment his shoulders slumped, then he picked up a pen, dragged a pad of paper towards him and started to sort through the notebooks. Getting them in date order would at least be a start. He picked up the first notebook and squinted at the handwriting. It probably said January, but with the way that the ink had faded, all he could manage was an educated guess.

The electric heater that Hilary had brought in hummed gently in the background as Paul worked his way steadily along the books. Then he paused and turned towards the door, his head tilted as he listened for sounds of Hilary. The sounds of a conference call whispered through the still of the house and Paul relaxed a little and stood up. Without hesitating, he strode over to the hidden door, swung the bookcase aside and, without hesitation, marched down the steps to the cellar. He didn’t pause but walked over to the ritual room, opened the door and switched on the light.

The room was unchanged from Samgan’s visit. There were no notebooks left on the shelf, but pens and pencils had been knocked onto the floor and lay scattered under the shelves. The drapes still hung a little loose, covering the text but there was a hint of power still leaking from behind them. The shadows in the far corner were still a little darker than you would expect, and there was a hint of movement in them. And the small bottle of salt that Samgan had knocked over in his flight from the room was still spilled across the circle etched on the floor.

Paul nodded to himself, then searched along the shelves before picking up a large tub of fine-grained kitchen salt. He grimaced and set the tub carefully down on the shelf before striding over to the workbench and picking up gloves. He looked around as he slid the gloves on and picked up a large wooden scoop. He almost snarled as he opened the tub, and nearly dropped it as he dug out a large scoop. Almost wincing, he scattered the salt over the circle, concentrating on an arc near the door. Again and again he scooped salt over that segment of the circle, his face wrinkled in distaste, before finally sliding the salt back in place and dropping the gloves and scoop on the floor with an air of relief. Then he marched out of the room and up the steps, meticulously closing the door before sinking back into his chair. His head sagged down.

After a moment, Paul shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face. He pushed himself up from the table and wandered over to the library door. Hilary was finishing a conference call in her small office and Paul paused and knocked as he heard her sign off. “I hope I’m not disturbing,” he said.

Hilary shook her head. “I’ve finally got off the call with that idiot,” she grumbled. “It takes the first ten minutes to sort out the camera and volume before we can start anything else – and that’s every time. I swear I’m going to lose my mind with him.” She grinned up at Paul. “But he pays very well.” She frowned. “Are you alright?”

Paul shook his head. “I don’t know if Samgan brought in some sort of sniffle or something, but I just nodded off when I was working in the library.” He smiled apologetically. “I think that I’ll skip dinner and head to bed. I think an early night will do me some good.”

Hilary stood and put a hand on his forehead. “Sorry, don’t mind me,” she said. “You don’t feel like you’re running a temperature, but you don’t look yourself.”

Paul held up a hand. “You are not to start fussing over me,” he said. “I know what you’re like, but you’ve had enough on your plate with Samgan, and I just need a bit of rest. I just didn’t want you to waste a meal if I was skipping dinner.”

Hilary looked at him narrowly. “I’d rather do a little bit of fussing now and head off a fever than neglect you and then have my hands full later if you get ill.”

“I’m a grown man!” Paul said. “I’m used to looking after myself.”

“Not under this roof,” Hilary said. “You go and get into bed. I’ll bring up a tray with a flask of tea, a flask of soup, and a hot water bottle. Don’t argue!”

Paul smiled. “I wouldn’t dare. Are you sure?”

“I’m quite sure,” Hilary said. “Now hurry up and get to bed – you’re looking very pale.” She scurried past him to the kitchen.

For a moment Paul sagged against the doorframe as a wave of weariness ran over him, then he slowly trudged up the stairs to his bed.

After Opening

Photo by Brenna Huff on Unsplash

Lord Peregrine looked around the Village Stores. The floor was covered in mud, the shelves were a mess and full of gaps, the café area was overflowing with dirty crockery and empty food trays, and the till was surrounded with loose paper bags and discarded receipts. “The opening day has been a success,” he announced. “We deserve pizza!”

Tom sagged against the counter. “We’ve taken a fortune,” he said. “I mean, a real fortune. And as half of the customers haven’t heard of debit cards, we have a serious bank deposit to make.”

Paul dropped into a café chair. “I thought it would all be small purchases, you know, people would call in and see what it was like and then maybe pick up a small tin of beans or something. Instead, they were buying bags full of stuff, like, enough for a week.”

“Jed called in and said that he’d had more customers than usual,” Tom said wearily. “He said that he didn’t expect it, but people were buying all the meat and chilled stuff up as they had called in here and didn’t need to bother with the supermarket if they got their fresh stuff at the Farm Shop.”

Alison came in from the kitchen and started loading up another trayful of dirty cups. “It’s been a little…” She shook her head. “We’ve loaded up the dishwasher again and Bracken is doing the rest of the crockery by hand, Hilary has more or less got the kitchen in order and she’s making lists of the cooking that she’s going to have to take on with Bracken.” She looked around. “Once I’ve got the tables cleared, do you want me to start bringing out stock?”

Paul’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t want to do anything,” he said. “I want to go home and have a hot shower.” He looked around the devastated stores. “But I don’t want to come into this in the morning.” He pushed himself to his feet and looked over to Tom. “I’ll start straightening the shelves. Why don’t you ring in a new bread order and then bring out the new stock.” He looked pensively at the shelves. “I didn’t realise that we’d sell so many pickles.”

“The shelves with the cleaning supplies are almost empty,” Tom said. “I’ll start there, after I’ve rung in a new bread order.” He looked at the space that had been filled with bread. “Do you think Hilary or Bracken could put some bread together for tomorrow first thing, because the van only gets here mid-morning and people will almost certainly be calling in early.”

“It surely won’t be this busy?” Alison said. “Because if it is, you may need me full time.”

Tom puffed out his cheeks. “It can’t keep on this busy,” he said. “We’re a bit of a novelty, and it always gets crazy in the run up to Christmas. I mean, we’re new and people want the gossip, and it’s horrible shopping in the supermarkets at this time of year.” A thought struck him. “Unless this isn’t natural.” He turned to Lord Peregrine. “Did you cast any sort of spell to get people here?”

“I didn’t think of that,” Lord Peregrine said thoughtfully. “Do you think that I should?”

“Don’t you dare!” Hilary snapped, coming out of the kitchen with a list. “We’re out of everything except the oregano scones, and we all know that they were a failure.”

“But you baked a multitude of biscuits and cakes,” Lord Peregrine said.

“And there was enough demand that Tom sold some over the counter by the half-dozen,” Hilary said. “I’m going to need to get some ingredients from your stores.”

“You thought that I was over-buying, didn’t you?” Lord Peregrine said. “But even the gloves are selling.”

“I’ll need to go to the wholesaler for this,” Tom said, glancing down the list. “We’re running low on a lot of it.”

Paul put his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Ring in the bread order, ask Hilary nicely about making bread, put in the order for the wholesaler delivery, then have a cup of tea before sorting out the shelves.”

“Before you do any of that, order that pizza,” Hilary said. “Bracken and I already have a long evening ahead of us, getting ahead of these orders, and now you want to add bread to it! You could at least send out for food that we haven’t made.”

Lord Peregrine frowned. “That is an excellent idea,” he said. “I shall send for Samgan, we shall have pizza, and we shall plan the solstice feast.” He smiled happily at Hilary. “Then we shall proceed with preparing the Village Stores for tomorrow.”

“I can’t stay,” Alison said. “I’ve got to get back to my kids.”

Hilary took in Alison’s pale face, her drooping shoulders and the tense lines around her eyes. “You’re dead on your feet. Put the tray down, get your coat and bag and go.” She glared at Lord Peregrine. “Alison should have left here nearly an hour ago.”

Lord Peregrine looked confused. “But there is so much to do.”

Hilary shook her head. “I forgot that I was dealing with the fae,” she grumbled. “Alison is getting paid for a certain amount of time, not for a certain amount of work. She has done more than that time, and not only is she exhausted but she has young children that are waiting for her and it’s Yvette looking after them, being paid for time, and now that’s out of joint.”

Lord Peregrine winced. “I am in your debt,” he said.

“Don’t discuss it now!” Hilary told Alison. “You don’t want to be bothering with Fae and favours.” She took the tray from Alison’s hands. “Go!”

Hilary and Bracken cleared the café as Alison left, then Hilary turned to Lord Peregrine. “I can’t possibly manage a solstice feast for you, not with all the baking that Bracken and I have done today.”

“Of course you can,” Lord Peregrine said breezily. “And it shouldn’t be too bad tomorrow. This was everyone coming to see what the Village Stores was like. I’m sure that the place will be practically empty tomorrow.”

“I don’t know,” Tom said. “I know a few people were coming here for bread tomorrow, and after we sold out of biscuits, well, I took some orders.” He pulled a scrap of paper and handed it warily to Hilary, who growled.

Bracken stared at Hilary, then took the list. “Oh! I see why Miss Hilary growled.” She glared at Tom. “If I was able to growl, I would also do that. This is a hard task.”

“Did you take deposits for the orders?” Hilary asked, then growled again as Tom nodded. “I’m never going to sleep!”

“I’ll get the pizza ordered, then we can work out what we need to do next,” Tom said. He held up placating hands. “I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.”

Paul sank back down into his chair and a flicker passed over his face. “What’s this about the solstice feast?” he asked.

Lord Peregrine smiled happily. “The solstice feast is being held at Mistress Hilary’s home. It will be glorious.” He tilted his head. “Don’t you remember the discussion?”

“Tell me more,” Paul said.

“My home is not under your rule!” Hilary said. “I want this nipped in the bud right now.”

“But everyone in your household is invited to the feast,” Lord Peregrine argued. “And the alternative is going to Lord Magnus, who has a smaller home, Cabus, who has a much smaller lair, or my hall which is cold, damp and has bad cooking.”

“I shall tell Auntie Olive and Auntie Ivy that you said that,” Bracken said.

Lord Peregrine waved it away. “I will be generous financially,” he said.

“I’m going to be making a fortune as it is if I’m cooking for the shop,” Hilary said. “I’ll be making fourteen dozen biscuits just for the orders, plus trying to stock the café.”

“The kitchen here is very nice for baking in quantity,” Lord Peregrine said. “Tom is putting in orders as we speak…”

“I’m putting in the pizza order,” Tom said.

Lord Peregrine ignored the interjection. “And, besides, I know that your son is visiting over Christmas, but the solstice feast will be early so your dear child need not be involved.”

“You mean that I’ll have less time to prepare?” Hilary snapped.

“My plan is to remove the stones before the Solstice,” Lord Peregrine said. “I want to get them moved before the tides of the power reach their full height. If there is anything nefarious planned by whatever is in that cellar, I don’t want them to be able to power it during the surge of the longest night.” There was a long pause, broken by a knock on the door before Samgan let himself into the shop. Lord Peregrine waved him over. “Please, Samgan, take a seat.

“I am very glad to be here,” Samgan said, quietly taking a seat. “I can tell that today has been a successful day.”

“Either that or it was raided by Vikings,” Tom said. He caught Bracken’s eye. “I’m making a joke. It was a very successful day and the till is absolutely crammed. I’m going to have to make a trip to the bank to deposit the cash.”

“I shall take it to my chamber,” Lord Peregrine said.

“You’ll still have to pay tax on it,” Tom said.

Lord Peregrine ignored him. “Samgan, you are in time for pizza,” he said. “And we need to discuss the solstice feast.”

Samgan smiled at Hilary. “I believe that you must yield to the inevitable. Lord Peregrine will not consider an alternative. But you should charge fairly, and Lord Peregrine should be responsible for logs for the fire and candles.”

“That seems extremely reasonable,” Lord Peregrine said. “I’ve seen your dining room and I’m sure that you can fit everyone in.”

Hilary started counting on her fingers. “How many will be coming?”

Paul’s face flickered again. “What do you mean, moving the stones?”

“Cabus will be studying the notebooks, with some help from Paul and Mistress Hilary,” Lord Peregrine said. “Now that we know that they’re the problem, we need to get them out of the ground. I want that done before the peak at the Solstice. It will need to be done carefully, and it will be tricky work, but it must be possible.”

“It’s not possible,” Paul said flatly.

“Of course it is,” Lord Peregrine said. “I propose that we start at first light, then work methodically. I’ll summon my entire court, and I hope that I can count on you and Hilary. Then, after it is all finished, we can celebrate with the feast.”

Hilary sighed and sat down next to Paul. “I’ll make the feast, and I daresay that I’ll end up making it next year as well, but I’m not making feasts for all the festivals,” she added, waving a finger at Lord Peregrine. “I’m not a member of your court.” Lord Peregrine said nothing but looked smug.

Paul’s head sagged. “I’m sorry, I think that I zoned out there for a moment,” he said. “We were getting pizza.”

“The pizza should be here imminently,” Samgan said. He peered at Paul. “You look tired. Perhaps I should cover your work tonight.”

“Not at all!” Paul said. “You’re supposed to be resting after being a hero and going into the cellar.” He accepted a mug of tea from Bracken with a smile of thanks. “But I admit to feeling a little drained. I think that I’ll put some extra wards around the room, just to keep my energy in.”

“That is no doubt a wise precaution,” Samgan said. “And the pizza arrives!”

***

The clock was striking midnight when Alison’s eyes snapped open. She sat up and threw the covers back before slipping silently out of bed and quickly dressing. She walked past her sons’ rooms without pausing, down the stairs and, catching up an oversized hoodie, she stepped outside, closing the door carefully behind her.

With the hood pulled up and down over her face, and the zip pulled high over her chin, it was almost impossible to see Alison’s face, but she was still cautious as she picked her way down her drive, along the road and carefully into the woods down the hill from Rowan Cottage. It was away from any street lights, and there was no moon, but Alison didn’t hesitate despite the darkness. She headed unerringly to a stone set a little way back from the rest, a pivot point for the energy. She glanced around quickly, then started gathering the dried grasses and sticks around the clearing, carefully heaping the debris around the stone until it was completely covered. It took time, and she was wet and muddy by the time she stepped back, but she seemed indifferent as she walked back to her home with the same purposeful and unemotional pace. The clock was chiming two when she locked the door, walking without hesitation past her sons’ rooms and then mechanically got ready for bed. Sliding in, she was tense for a moment, then her eyes closed and she curled onto her side as her breathing evened out and she slept.

Missing Moments

Hilary hurried into the Village Stores. “Is Lord Peregrine here?” she asked. “I’m trying to get final numbers for the Solstice Feast and I need to get hold of Cabus. And I was hoping that I can borrow some of the big trays and pans from the kitchen here.” She trailed off. “Alison, are you alright?”

Alison forced a wan smile as she cleared a café table. “My kids are off with my ex-husband’s parents for a few days,” she said. “It’s part of the deal to keep them away from my ex. They’ll be back on the 27^th.”

Hilary took the tray from her hands. “I know that you’ll miss them,” she said. “But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

Alison burst into tears.

Hilary guided her gently into the kitchen, away from the interested stares of the customers, and sat her down on a chair. “I’ll make you a nice cup of tea,” Hilary said. “And you can tell me all about it.”

Paul stuck his head into the kitchen. “Is everything alright?”

Alison shook her head. “I’m glad that the boys are off with their grandparents,” she said. “I’ve been so worried.” She looked up at Hilary. “They may have to stay with them.”

“What are you talking about?” Hilary asked. “You dote on those kids.”

Alison shook her head. “I think that I’ve been sleepwalking,” she whispered. “I go to bed and everything’s normal, but when I wake up, I’m still exhausted and there are muddy clothes everywhere.”

“You mean the kids’ clothes?” Hilary shook her head. “Kids are always getting muddy and somehow their clothes multiply.”

“No, it’s not their clothes, but mine,” Alison said. “I wake up and the clothes that were clean and in my wardrobe are now covered in dirt and on the floor.” She clutched Hilary’s hand. “I must have been outside in them – and my boys were alone in the house. What if there was a fire? What if something happened to me while I was wandering around out there and they were left alone?” She swallowed convulsively. “I even checked the garden and there’s no sign that I’ve been digging around there, so that means that I went further, right? What about my kids?”

“Oh Alison!” Hilary patted her hand. “Try not to worry. I’ll help you sort it out. I know that you’d never willingly risk your children.”

A flicker ran over Paul’s face. “You should come and stay with us,” he said. “There’s plenty of room, and we can keep an eye on the doors to the outside.” He patted her shoulder. “I’m sure that it’s nothing, but staying with Hilary can reassure you.”

“I couldn’t,” Alison said.

Hilary squeezed her hands. “I think that it’s a great idea,” she said. “It’s going to be a little crazy for the next few days, but then you can relax in the quiet without worrying.” She looked back at Paul. “That’s an excellent idea. Alison could do with a little care, not to mention some decent food.”

“I’m fine,” Alison said. “Well, apart from sleepwalking and exhaustion.” Her strained smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m eating properly.”

“No you’re not,” Hilary contradicted. “All your energy is going on those sons of yours and you make do with a sandwich when you have a moment. A few square meals will do you the world of good.”

“We’d be happy to have you,” Paul added. “And you’ll know whether or not something is going on. You’ll be in a place to make connections.”

Hilary nodded. “Alison, get your coat and go and pack up some things. I know that you’ll only be next door, but I want you to be able to save your energy so pack up plenty of clothes.” She patted her shoulder. “Then go straight to Rowan Cottage. I’ll make sure that Tom and Lord Peregrine don’t argue, and I’ll be ready at the cottage with a nice cup of tea and we can get you settled.” She looked hard into Alison’s eyes. “If you’re not thinking of yourself, think of your boys. You need to be in a state to look after them when they get home.”

Alison’s shoulders sagged. “They’ll be off kilter with the disruption,” she said. “I mean, his parents are okay, but…”

“Then you’ll need to be rested and ready for them,” Hilary said. “Go!”

The cottage was warm and welcoming when Tom and Paul finally got back to the cottage and the kitchen felt overflowing. Alison already had a little more colour in her cheeks and was sat at the kitchen table, peeling potatoes. Hilary was fussing around Cabus who was sipping black tea and reading through one of the notebooks, taking copious notes. Samgan was sitting quietly in a corner watching Bracken as she fussed over a tray of shortbread fresh from the oven.

“I see that they’ve put you to work, Alison,” Paul joked. “Are you staying for dinner?”

Hilary looked at him, baffled. “Of course she is. She’s staying here for at least a week. I’m not going to chase her out at mealtimes.”

“When was that decided?” Paul asked. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see you, but I thought that you’d be looking after your lads. Are they going to be here too?”

Hilary stood, focused and still. “Paul, it was your suggestion. Don’t you remember that?”

Paul was taking off his jacket, but he paused. “I don’t remember,” he said softly. “And it’s worrying. There have been a few gaps in my memory over the last few days, and that seems to be one of them.” He swallowed. “I think that I may have been sleepwalking, but perhaps less obviously, as I was waking up still tired.” He looked at Alison. “I felt drained and exhausted, even though I’d apparently had a full night’s sleep.”

Alison nodded. “That’s how I feel,” she said.

“My exhaustion disappeared when I added extra wards to my room,” Paul said. “But I was still getting gaps in my memory, especially while I was at work.”

A chill ran through the room. “I’ve not been affected,” Hilary said. “But I automatically warded my room when I moved in here, and I’ve done all of my work rooms. I just think it’s good practice for a witch.” She looked at Tom. “Before I knew you, I was a little nervous, so your room got extra wards as well. I needed to know that you’d be safe in all sorts of ways.”

“I has had no ill effects, and no gaps,” Bracken said. “But it may be that brownies are not charmed.”

“Our nature is not susceptible to charms or any types of possession,” Samgan said. “I wish that I could use possession as an excuse for my former egregious behaviour, but it was the imprisonment and twisted magical flow that affected me. I cannot exculpate myself further.”

“I don’t want to be alarmist,” Cabus said. “If things were different then I’d suggest getting a carbon monoxide alarm or perhaps a visit to a doctor. However, we have a malevolent spirit in the cellar.”

“We have carbon monoxide detectors all over the cottage,” Hilary said. “I did a full fire risk assessment as part of the regulations for opening this as a B&B. The carbon monoxide detectors were part of that.” She pulled a face. “Though they obviously missed the cellar in their assessment. And you all seem in good health to me, although some need to be taking more rest.” She looked pointedly at Samgan and Alison. “I don’t know about the spirit.” She shuddered. “It felt so… evil but there were protective symbols on the floor. Even though it stirred when I first went down there, whatever it is should have been trapped there.”

Samgan looked down at the floor. “I may have inadvertently contributed to this problem,” he said softly. “I found myself affected in the room.” His head hung lower. “I stumbled around as I fled from the bookshelves. I may have affected any wards by walking where I shouldn’t or knocking things over. All I could hold in my mind at the time was escape. Looking back…” He swallowed and hunched his shoulders. “I seem to remember knocking into shelves.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself,” Hilary said firmly. “You are a hero for bringing those notebooks up, especially as you were weakened.”

“And there can’t be too much damage to the wards down there or there would be more than just a few missing moments,” Cabus said. “However, I have to agree with Hilary. It’s not impossible that there are mundane explanations, but we must take precautions. I’ll contact Lord Peregrine. Action must be taken, and it should start tonight.”

Under Siege

“Thank goodness you’re here,” Hilary said, handing Alison a large stack of towels. “I’m glad of the help. Could you stack these in the linen cupboard? It’s the third door on the right on the upstairs landing. I need everything in its place while we still have a moment.”

Alison took the soft armful. “What’s going to happen?” she asked.

“I’m afraid that I don’t have any idea,” Hilary said. “I’ve never been in this position, and I don’t think that I’ve ever heard of anything like it either. Witches in this cottage are usually involved in small scale things.” She caught hold of Tom’s arm. “It’s late night opening at the Farm shop. Could you drive over there to pick up some extra firewood. We’ve got plenty in the woodshed, but I want some dry stuff that’s ready to go at a moment’s notice.”

“Of course,” Tom said. “How much should I get?”

Hilary looked at Bracken. “We’ll have to keep the kitchen fire well stoked at least, and probably the library as well.”

“I has already set the fire in the dining room, as many will be eating in there,” Bracken said. "And it has the large, long table for papers if you do not wish to use the library.”

“And if the power goes and people are hurt…” Hilary wrung her hands. “It’s a cold time of year, so we’ll need to keep a few fires going.”

“I’ll bring back plenty,” Tom said. He frowned as he looked around. “Uncle Magnus is on his way, and he’s bringing my cousins. They’ll be a help.”

“And bring plenty of milk,” Hilary said. “You know how people run on tea when it’s stressful.” She gave Alison a gentle push. “When you come back, could you help me sort out the beds?”

“Is not need at all,” Bracken said. “Lord Peregrine is bringing help.” She hesitated, then gently patted Alison’s hand. “I am taking the towels. Miss Alison should stay with others and in the light.”

Alison flinched. “How did I get caught up in this?” she asked.

“It’s just fate,” Tom said. “And it’s not your fault.” He smiled down at her. “At least you’re with friends.”

“What do you mean, Lord Peregrine is bringing help?” Hilary asked.

Bracken firmly took the towels from Alison. “He is bringing Auntie Olive and Auntie Ivy,” she said. “They is excellent at cleaning, and I shall be cooking and providing the drinks. Samgan will guard the hearths.”

“I believe that I should do be able to protect the basic elements of the home,” Samgan said. “I am not able to face spirits in the manner in which you, Paul and Cabus are planning, but I can guard against collateral issues.” He looked around. “Where is Mister Paul? It is not only Alison that should stay in the light and in company. After all, while Mister Paul is currently taking precautions, he has been vulnerable in the past.”

Bracken frowned. “I shall search for Mister Paul,” she said. “After I have placed the towels.”

Hilary took a deep breath. “Okay, until Lord Peregrine gets here, I’m going to ask Alison and Samgan to stay in the kitchen.” She looked at Samgan. “I think that it’s going to be your main post, to keep things going here. Bracken, Auntie Olive and Auntie Ivy should also stay here as much as possible.” She caught Alison’s hand. “The kitchen is the oldest and most heavily protected part of the cottage. You’ll be safest there, but you won’t have anything to do.” Hilary managed a faint smile. “The brownies will be taking care of all the domestic stuff, and it would be cruel to stop them. I saw that you brought your knitting. Perhaps you should settle in a corner, keep going with the knitting and try and relax.”

Alison blinked for a moment. “I’m so used to being busy with my sons.” She looked around the large kitchen. “I’ll go and get my knitting.”

“I shall accompany you,” Samgan said. “And once you are safely back, I shall search for Mister Paul.” He frowned. “I am somewhat concerned. He does not like being idle while other’s work and I would have thought that he would have been active here.”

“I’ll look with you,” Tom said.

Hilary shook her head. “No, the farm shop will shut soon, and while Jed will open up for you, I don’t want to put him to that inconvenience. And don’t forget the milk.”

Tom looked helplessly over at Alison. “I don’t like leaving you when it’s this crazy.”

“The sooner you go, the sooner that you’ll get back,” Hilary said. “Lord Peregrine will be here any moment, and didn’t you say that your uncle and cousins will be here as well? We’ll be fine.”

There was a bustle, then Hilary was alone in the kitchen. She stood for a moment and then turned around slowly. The kitchen was clean and everything was in its place. There was a good stock of food, towels and first aid supplies and another ample stock of magical supplies in her workroom. Bracken had made lists and they were safe if they lost electricity, with plenty of torches, candles and oil lamps at the ready. She couldn’t think of anything else that needed to be prepared. And even if she could, the brownies and Samgan would be able to deal with almost domestic demand. Every instinct that she had was telling her that the kitchen was not her place, but there was nothing yet for her to do. Still, she could check the wards and the flow of magic through the cottage while she had a moment – once she had found Paul.

Without thinking, she pulled out her phone and called Paul. It rang out, but Hilary could hear it faintly in the house. Why hadn’t she thought of this earlier? Of course, you never think to if you’re looking for someone in the same house, but this cottage, that had started as two rooms and been added to and extended for at least two hundred years, had too many nooks and crannies to make searching easy. She followed the ringing out into the hall, when the call went to voicemail. She rang again, waiting for a moment until the call connected and Paul’s phone started ringing again. She crept down the hall, tuning out the noises of Bracken grumbling in the linen cupboard and Samgan and Alison returning to the kitchen. The phone went to voicemail and she redialled again, ignoring Samgan and Alison behind her. She waited for the call to get through and listened for Paul’s phone. His ringtone sounded out and she hurried forward. Paul was in the library, of course. She should have known that he would be working with Cabus. She reached for the door handle, and recoiled at the sensation of twisted power as she made contact.

It took Hilary all of her courage to push open the door and force herself into the library. “Paul!”

Cabus stood with his back to the bookcase that covered the hidden door, his arms spread wide and his fangs showing. “Leave that man!”

It was Paul’s voice, but the words sounded nothing like Paul as he advanced on Cabus. “You are the wrong type to challenge me, Nosferatu. I have dominion here.”

“You have no right to that man, no claim on him,” Cabus insisted, desperation lacing his voice and his talons growing.

“I take my dominion,” the creature inside Paul replied. “I was disturbed by trespassers, and my old tormentor isn’t here.” There was a low, throaty chuckle. “I am awake, I am freeing myself, and I do not see anyone here to challenge me.”

Hilary slapped Paul hard on the back of his head.

Paul jerked wildly at the sudden shock and dropped to his knees and howled. Cabus took advantage of the loss of concentration and leapt forward, placing his hands either side of Paul’s head. “Ex umbris, in lucem. Relinque hunc virum,” Cabus ordered, the Latin words rolling smoothly off his tongue.

Paul’s face twisted. “Get out of me,” he ground out before putting his hands over Cabus’ hands and snarling with effort. “Get out!”

Hilary put her hands on Paul’s shoulders, feeding power into the efforts of Paul and Cabus. “Leave!”

There was an awful, desperate moment when everything was poised, control of Paul teetering between the two forces, then there was a stench of sulphur and Paul sagged down, almost prone on the floor. Hilary kept her hands on Paul’s shoulders, trying to reassure him as the light flicked overhead.

“Let me check,” Cabus ordered into the silence, and placed his hand over Paul’s forehead. Hilary watched anxiously. She could sense that the presence had left, but how far had it gone? And were there any tiny fragments left behind, traces of possession that could be a weakness to further attacks?

“Let us regroup in the kitchen,” Cabus said grimly. “We have much to discuss.”

The Guest

Unexpected Guest

Settling In

Tom

Shopping

Stone in the Woods

Dinner and a Surprise

A Small Flood

Reports and Decisions

Cooking and Books

Safe Footing

The Long Way Around

A Meeting

A Secret in the Library

Unexpected Discoveries

Playing Safe

Making Plans

A New Guest

Dark in the Cellar

Dead Flowers

Breakfast

At the Old Chapel

Stocking Up

Dangerously Ill

Long Night

The New Stores

Making Order

Feast

Taking a Risk

More Notebooks

Getting Help

After Opening

Missing Moments

Under Siege

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