The creature rarely made itself visible, but when it did so, it took the form of a ginger tomcat that varied in size depending on its mood. The purring faded now, and I sensed it moving away from me. Moments later it appeared on the hearth rug, curling up in front of the embers of the fire. I wondered if perhaps it was some type of boggart that had killed the girls. But almost immediately I dismissed that possibility. For one thing, the murderous creature had worn a long coat, and boggarts definitely didn’t wear clothes of any type. Secondly, none of the places where the girls had been killed were on ley lines—the invisible paths along which boggarts moved from location to location.
After finishing what breakfast I could manage, I went down to the village to pick up the week’s provisions, calling in at the shops in the usual order: the butcher’s, the greengrocer’s, and finally the baker’s.
In recent months, the dark had been relatively quiet. Few had visited the withy trees crossroads outside the house to ring the bell that would summon me. However, I had spent much of my time thinking and trying to puzzle out what had killed the girls . . . so far, without success.
As I walked along the street, I received the usual furtive glances, and villagers would occasionally cross to the other side to avoid passing near me. That was to be expected, but today there was something new. I felt that people were whispering behind my back. It made me feel uncomfortable, but I ignored it and went about my business.
Carrying the full sack over my shoulder, I set off up the hill toward the house. As I neared the top of the lane, I saw someone waiting there.
A girl was sitting on the stile next to the gate. For a moment my heart leaped in my chest with a strange combination of anger and grief. It was Alice! Alice had been trained as a witch but had later become my friend and had stayed at the Chipenden house with us. She had been gone for a long time now, but I still missed her. However, almost immediately I realized that this was not Alice after all. Alice was about my own age—seventeen—while this girl was at least a couple of years younger. She had mousy hair, freckles, and a bright, cheerful face. She was wearing a neat dark blue dress that came down well below her knees, and a pair of sensible walking shoes. At first glance you’d have taken her for a healthy farmer’s daughter, but there was something about her eyes that was very unusual.
The left eye was blue and the right eye was brown.
Not only that—their expression was strange in a way that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Whatever it was, I knew instantly that she was no ordinary girl. I had no sensation of cold, so I knew she wasn’t a witch, but there was something about her I didn’t quite trust.
“Hello,” she said as I approached. “Are you Mr. Ward?”
“That I am,” I replied. “Are you here to ask for help? You should have inquired down in the village what to do. You see, it’s best to visit the withy trees crossroads and ring the bell. I’d have gone there right away, and you wouldn’t have had to wait like this.”
“I don’t need help,” she said, jumping down and coming toward me. “You’re a new spook, aren’t you? So you’ll be looking for an apprentice. I’m applying for the job.”
I put down the sack and smiled at her. “I’m sorry, but I’m not looking for an apprentice. Anyway, this is not a job that you can just apply for. You need certain innate abilities, even before you start—special talents that help you fight the dark. I’m new to the job myself. My own apprenticeship was cut short, and I’ll still be learning for at least a few more years. I’m hardly in a position to train anyone else, am I?”
“That’s not a problem,” she said with a smile. “We should spend all our lives learning, and I know you already have lots to teach me. I can help by doing chores as well. I could have collected your food from the village and saved you the bother. I could make your breakfast, too. My mam says I’m a good cook.”
“I don’t need anyone to make my breakfast,” I said, not bothering to explain that I had a boggart that did that already. “How did you know I’d been down in the village collecting provisions?”
“I watched you going into the shops. Then, when you went into the last one, I ran up here to wait for you.”
“How did you know it was the last one? Have you been spying on me?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t call it spying, but yes, I’ve watched you for a couple of weeks and I know your routine—you go to the butcher’s, the greengrocer’s, and finish at the baker’s shop. I’ve seen enough to make me realize that you are the one who should train me.”
“Listen, I’d better tell you what’s what so that you won’t get your hopes up. To become a spook’s apprentice you have to be a seventh son of a seventh son. That gives you some immunity against witches and enables you to see the dead and talk to them. That’s the basic qualification. I might as well be blunt. You’re a girl, and you just don’t qualify.” I picked up my bag, nodded at her, and started to climb over the stile.
“I’m a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter,” she said. “And I can see the dead. Sometimes they talk to me.”
I turned and looked back at her—a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter with those powers . . . ? I’d never heard of such a thing.
“I’m sure you can,” I replied, “but I just don’t need an apprentice. Have I made myself clear?”
Then I headed for the house, putting her from my mind.
3
Bad Things Happen
I spent the afternoon and evening in the library. The house had been burned to the ground a couple of years ago, and John Gregory’s original library, a vast collection of books—some of them written by generations of previous spooks—had been destroyed.
The house had been rebuilt, but the library was far more difficult to replace.
Now the new shelves were mostly empty. They housed a very small collection of books. These included a few notebooks of my own and my master’s, including his Bestiary, the illustrated dictionary of the entities he’d encountered during his years as a spook defending the County against the dark.
I sat at the desk and began to write up the happenings of the previous day in my notebook. I’m sure John Gregory would have had much to say on the subject, but I was alone now, and it was up to me to find an explanation. The library couldn’t help me. I was getting nowhere and needed a plan.