Suddenly I saw the house through the trees, and whatever had been accompanying me was suddenly gone, as if it had vanished into thin air.
The windows were dark, but I could just make out the outline of the building. I stepped round the tree and walked up to the front door. To my surprise it was wide open, hanging from one hinge. Beyond it I could see nothing. The darkness within was absolute. I rested my staff against the wall, then reached into my breeches pocket and pulled out a candle stub, using my little tinderbox to light it. Holding it up in my right hand, and my staff in my left, I stepped into the hallway.
Immediately I knew that something was badly wrong. There was a strong stench of rot and decay, and I noted a thick coating of dust along the top of the wainscot. It certainly hadn’t been there earlier in the day. Not only that, there was paint flaking from the door frame. Previously, everything inside the house had been clean, polished and well-maintained. It didn’t make sense.
I went up to the oval door at the end of the passage. I tried the handle, but it was locked. That was no problem because I had in my pocket a special key made by Andrew, the Spook’s locksmith brother, which would open most doors. I inserted the key, and within seconds the lock yielded. Returning the key to my pocket, I eased open the door and lifted the candle high to illuminate the lower floor of the library.
But what I saw in front of me was incredible . . . impossible: the shelves were empty of books and many of the bookcases had collapsed. Spiders’ webs covered those few that remained intact. I looked down and saw my footprints in a thick coating of dust. It looked as if nobody had entered this room for many long years. Of the table that had held the books we’d selected earlier there was now no sign at all.
How could that be, I wondered, when I had been here with my master this very morning?
I looked up at the other floors of the library. The light from my candle could reach no further than the one directly above, but it appeared to be in the same state of disrepair and neglect.
Suddenly a chill ran the length of my spine – the warning that a seventh son of a seventh son often receives when something from the dark is approaching – and, out of nowhere, a strong wind blew up. The candle flame flickered and went out, plunging me into darkness.
FOR A MOMENT the darkness seemed absolute. The moon could not penetrate the trees that shrouded the house, and no light was coming in through either door or window.
My heart thudded and quickened. I took a deep breath to calm myself and realized that I was mistaken – there was a faint source of light in the room, coming from one of the dilapidated bookcases beside the oval door. On it a single book was glowing with a lurid red light.
I took a step closer. The book was propped up against the back of the shelf, its title clearly visible. It was the Doomdryte, the dangerous grimoire that my master had wanted to destroy.
I heard a deep growl to my right and spun round. What I saw made me take an involuntary step backwards. Terrifying, malevolent eyes stared at me out of a bestial face. The creature’s head was completely bald and its ears were large and pointed and covered in long fine hair. Long curved fangs curled down over its bottom lip. Orange light radiated from the whole body, which was human in shape and stood about six feet tall. It wore heavy boots and filthy ragged clothes that were caked in mud. Its hands were twice the size of mine, each digit ending in a long sharp talon.
It growled again and took a step towards me. I retreated, holding my staff across me defensively. I couldn’t remember seeing anything like this before. Had I ever glimpsed an image of this creature in the Spook’s Bestiary? A sketch he’d made from someone else’s description? I vaguely remembered something. What was it . . . ?
With a click I released my staff’s retractable blade – made of a silver alloy and effective against most creatures of the dark. I was ready to repel any attack, but this did me no good at all. The creature was incredibly fast. One minute it was glaring at me with its menacing eyes; the next it had surged past me in a blur, snatching the staff out of my hands. I lost my balance, fell to my knees and saw it standing on the other side of the room, examining my staff. Suddenly it snapped it in two and threw the pieces down.
‘The weapon was puny and no threat to me at all,’ it growled. ‘You are young. You will taste better than your master!’
At those words I shuddered. Taste? Had the creature killed and eaten the Spook? Was that what it meant? Was I too late? I felt a moment of anguish, then pushed my feelings aside and forced myself to concentrate as my master had taught me.
I suddenly wondered about Mistress Fresque. The house and library looked very different now. Was the girl in her true form? Was she a shape-shifter? I wondered. Or was this something else?
The creature slowly took a step towards me; it might attack at any moment.
So I moved first, reaching inside my gown with my left hand.
I drew the Destiny Blade.
Immediately there was a third source of light in the room to add to that of the Doomdryte and the fanged creature that threatened me. It came from the sword.
I glanced down at it. The ruby eyes of the skelt were glowing, and from them beads of blood were dripping onto the floor. The blade was hungry.
I readied the sword as the bestial creature stared at me, eyes glowing. Suddenly a blur of orange light streaked towards me. I slashed at it horizontally, striking more by instinct than skill. Maybe I got lucky – but whatever happened, I felt an impact and the sword was almost torn from my hands. Somehow I held onto it and gripped it tighter. Blood was still dripping from the ruby eyes, but now there was also a fresh stain on the blade.
The creature reappeared in front of me, its back to the dilapidated shelving. It was crouching, head bowed forward, holding its shoulder, from where blood was spreading in a large stain. I’d cut it, but had I hurt it badly enough to give me an advantage?
‘Where is my master?’ I demanded.
Its reply was a low growl. The time for words was past. One of us was going to die here.
I took a cautious step towards it, and then another. It might still be able to move faster than I could react; it could rip out my throat before I moved to defend myself.
So I called upon one of my gifts – the special ability that I’d inherited from my mother. I could slow time . . . make it stop. It was very difficult, but I’d been trained to use the blade by Grimalkin, the witch assassin, and she’d made me practise this skill under combat conditions.