Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
How to Read Spook’s Symbols
Character Profiles
Map
Epigraph
Chapter 1: The Maenad Assassin
Chapter 2: The Spook’s Bestiary
Chapter 3: A Changeling?
Chapter 4: Decisions
Chapter 5: Alice Deane
Chapter 6: A Dreadful Prophecy
Chapter 7: The Journey Begins
Chapter 8: The Young Ladies
Chapter 9: What I Am
Chapter 10: A Delegation of Thirteen
Chapter 11: Night Attack
Chapter 12: Lamias
Chapter 13: My Blood
Chapter 14: Portents
Chapter 15: The Approach to the Ord
Chapter 16: Fill the Cup
Chapter 17: Fire Elementals
Chapter 18: A Bargain
Chapter 19: Your Fate
Chapter 20: The Truth of Things
Chapter 21: A Sharp Tooth
Chapter 22: Last Words
Chapter 23: His Fearsome Majesty
Chapter 24: It can’t be True
About the Author
The Wardstone Chronicles
Also by Joseph Delaney
Copyright
WARNING: NOT TO BE READ AFTER DARK
‘Witches, Mam? We’ve made an alliance with witches?’
As the Spook’s apprentice, Tom’s first duty is to protect the County from the dark. But now Mam needs his help in her homeland of Greece to rise up against one of the Old Gods, the Ordeen.
Mam has summoned a powerful group to fight, but among them are the Pendle witches. Can Tom go against all the Spook has taught him and ally himself with the enemy?
What is the secret that Mam is keeping from Tom? And what sacrifices must be made in the battle against the dark?
The sixth chilling tale in the Wardstone Chronicles
Tom
Thomas Ward is the seventh son of a seventh son. This means he was born with certain gifts – gifts that make him perfect for the role of the Spook’s apprentice. He can see and hear the dead and he is a natural enemy of the dark. But that doesn’t stop Tom getting scared, and he is going to need all his courage if he is to succeed where twenty-nine others have failed.
The Spook
The Spook is an unmistakable figure. He’s tall, and rather fierce looking. He wears a long black cloak and hood, and always carries a staff and a silver chain. Like his apprentice, Tom, he is left-handed, and is a seventh son of a seventh son.
For over sixty years he has protected the County from things that go bump in the night.
Alice
Tom can’t decide if Alice is good or evil. She terrifies the local village lads, is related to two of the most evil witch clans (the Malkins and the Deanes) and has been known to use dark magic. But she was trained as a witch against her will and has helped Tom out of some tight spots. She seems to be a loyal friend, but can she be trusted?
Mam
Tom’s mam has always known he would become the Spook’s apprentice. She calls him her ‘gift to the County’. A loving mother and an expert on plants, medicine and childbirth, Mam has always been a little different. Her origins in Greece remain a mystery. In fact, there are quite a few mysterious things about Mam . . .
I AWOKE SUDDENLY with an urgent sense that something was wrong. Lightning flickered against the window, followed almost immediately by a tremendous crash of thunder. I’d slept through County storms before, so it wasn’t that which had woken me. No, I had a feeling that some kind of danger threatened. I jumped out of bed, and suddenly the mirror on my nightstand grew brighter. I had a glimpse of someone reflected in it and then it quickly vanished. But not before I’d recognized the face. It was Alice.
Even though she’d trained for two years as a witch, Alice was my friend. She’d been banished by the Spook and had returned to Pendle. I was missing her but I’d kept my promise to my master and ignored all the attempts she’d been making to contact me. But I couldn’t ignore her this time. She’d written a message for me in the mirror and I couldn’t help but read it before it faded away.
What was a maenad assassin? I’d never heard of such a thing. And how could an assassin of any kind reach me when it had to cross the Spook’s garden – a garden guarded by his powerful boggart? If anyone breached the boundary, that boggart would let out a roar that could be heard for miles, and would then tear the intruder to pieces.
And how could Alice know about the danger anyway? She was miles away in Pendle. Still, I wasn’t about to ignore her warning. My master, John Gregory, had gone off to deal with a troublesome ghost and I was alone in the house. I had nothing with me that I could use in self-defence. My staff and bag were down in the kitchen, so I had to get them.
Don’t panic, I told myself. Take your time and stay calm.
I dressed quickly and pulled on my boots. As thunder boomed overhead once more, I eased open my bedroom door and stepped cautiously out onto the dark landing. There I paused and listened. All was silent. I felt sure that nobody had entered the house yet, so I began to tiptoe down the stairs as quietly as I could. I crept through the hallway and into the kitchen.
I put my silver chain in my breeches pocket and, taking up my staff, opened the back door and stepped out. Where was the boggart? Why wasn’t it defending the house and garden against the intruder? Rain was driving into my face as I waited, carefully searching the lawn and trees beyond for any sign of movement. I allowed my eyes to adjust to the dark but I could see very little. Even so, I headed for the trees in the western garden.
I’d taken no more than a dozen paces when there was a bloodcurdling yell from my left and I heard the pounding of feet. Someone was running across the lawn, directly towards me. I readied my staff, pressing the recess so that, with a click, the retractable blade sprang from the end.
Lightning flashed again and I saw what threatened. It was a tall thin woman brandishing a long, murderous blade in her left hand. Her hair was tied back, her gaunt face twisted in hatred and painted with some dark pigment. She wore a long dress, which was soaked with rain, and rather than shoes, her feet were bound with strips of leather. So this was a maenad, I thought to myself.
I took up a defensive position, holding my staff diagonally the way I’d been taught. My heart was beating fast but I had to stay calm and take the first opportunity to strike.
Her blade suddenly arced downwards, missing my right shoulder by inches, and I whirled away, trying to keep some distance between myself and my opponent. I needed room in order to swing my staff. The grass was saturated with rain, and as the maenad came at me again, I slipped and lost my balance. I almost toppled over backwards but managed to drop down onto one knee. Just in time I brought my staff up to block a thrust that would have penetrated deep into my shoulder. I struck again, hitting the maenad’s wrist hard, and the knife went spinning to the ground. Lightning flashed overhead and I saw the fury in her face as, weaponless, she attacked again. She was shouting at me now, mad with rage – the harsh guttural sounds contained the odd word that I recognized as Greek. This time I stepped to one side, avoided her outstretched hands with their long sharp nails and gave her a tremendous thwack to the side of her head. She went down on her knees and I could have easily driven the point of my blade through her chest.
Instead, I transferred my staff to my right hand, reached into my pocket and coiled the silver chain around my left wrist. A silver chain is useful against any servant of the dark – but would it bind a maenad assassin? I asked myself.
I concentrated hard, and the moment she came to her feet she was illuminated by a particularly vivid flash of lightning. Couldn’t have been better! I had a perfect view of my target and released the chain with a crack! It soared upwards to form a perfect spiral, then dropped around her body, bringing her down on the grass.
I circled her warily. The chain bound her arms and legs and had tightened around her jaw, but she was still able to speak and hurled a torrent of words at me, not one of which I understood. Was it Greek? I thought so – but it was some strange dialect.
It seemed the chain had worked though, so wasting no time, I seized her by her left foot and began to drag her across the wet grass towards the house. The Spook would want to question her – if he could understand what she was saying. My Greek was at least as good as his and she made little sense to me.
Against one side of the house was a wooden lean-to where we kept logs for the fire so I dragged her in there out of the rain. Next I took a lantern down from the shelf in the corner and lit it so that I could get a better look at my captive. As I held it above her head, she spat at me, the pink viscous glob landing on my breeches. I could smell her now – a mixture of stale sweat and wine. And there was something else too. A faint stench of rotting meat. When she opened her mouth again, I could see what looked like pieces of flesh between her teeth.
Her lips were purple, as was her tongue – signs that she’d been drinking red wine. Her face was streaked with an intricate pattern of whorls and spirals. It looked like reddish mud but the rain hadn’t managed to wash it off. She spat at me again so I stepped back and hung the lantern on one of the ceiling hooks.
There was a stool in the corner, which I placed against the wall, sitting well out of spitting range. It was at least another hour until dawn so I leaned back and closed my eyes, listening to the rain drumming on the roof of the lean-to. I was tired and could afford to doze. The silver chain had bound the maenad tightly and she’d no hope of setting herself free.
I couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes when a loud noise woke me. I sat up with a jerk. There was a roaring, rushing, whooshing sound, which was getting nearer by the second. Something was coming towards the lean-to and I suddenly realized what it was.
The boggart! It was rushing to attack!
I hardly had time to get to my feet before the lantern went out and I was blown onto my back, the impact driving the breath from my body. While I gasped for air, I could hear logs being hurled against the wall, but the loudest sound of all was that of the maenad screaming. The noise went on in the darkness, for a long time; then, but for the pattering of heavy rain, there was silence. The boggart had done its work and gone.
I was afraid to light the lantern again. Afraid to look at the maenad. But I did it anyway. She was quite dead and very pale, drained of blood by the boggart. There were lacerations to her throat and shoulders; her dress was in tatters. On her face was a look of terror. There was nothing to be done. What had happened was unprecedented. Once she was my bound captive, the boggart shouldn’t have so much as touched her. And where had it been when it should have been defending the garden?
Shaken by the experience, I left the maenad’s body where it was and went back into the house. I thought about trying to contact Alice with the mirror. I owed her my life and I wanted to thank her. I almost weakened, but I’d made a promise to the Spook. So, after struggling with my conscience for a while, I simply had a wash, changed my clothes and waited for the Spook to return.
He came back just before noon. I explained what had happened and we went out to look at the dead assassin.
‘Well, lad, this raises a fair few questions, doesn’t it?’ my master said, scratching at his beard. He looked seriously worried and I couldn’t blame him. What had happened made me feel very uneasy too.
‘I’ve always felt confident that my house here at Chipenden was safe and secure,’ he continued, ‘but this makes you think. Puts doubts in your mind. I’ll sleep less easily in my bed from now on. Just how did this maenad manage to get across the garden undetected by the boggart? Nothing’s ever got past it before.’
I nodded in agreement.
‘And there’s another worrying thing, lad. Why did it attack and kill her later, when you had her bound with your chain? It knows not to behave like that.’
Again I nodded.
‘There’s something else I need to know – how did you know she’d got into the garden? It was thundering and raining hard. You couldn’t possibly have heard her. By rights, she should have entered the house and killed you in your bed. So what gave you warning?’ asked the Spook, raising his eyebrows.
I’d stopped nodding and was now gazing at my feet, feeling my master’s glare burning into me. So I cleared my throat and explained exactly what had happened.
‘I know I promised you I wouldn’t use the mirror to talk to Alice,’ I finished, ‘but it happened too quickly for me to do anything about it. She’s tried to contact me before but I’ve always obeyed you and looked away – until now. It was a good job I did read her message this time though,’ I said a little angrily, ‘otherwise I’d be dead!’
The Spook stayed very calm. ‘Well, her warning saved your life, yes,’ he admitted. ‘But you know how I feel about you using a mirror and talking to that little witch.’
I bristled at his words. Perhaps he noticed because he let the matter drop. ‘Do you know what a maenad assassin is, lad?’
I shook my head. ‘One thing I do know – when she attacked, she was almost insane with fury!’
The Spook nodded. ‘Maenads rarely venture from their homeland, Greece. They’re a tribe of women who inhabit the wilderness there, living off the land – eating anything from wild berries to animals they find wandering across their path. They worship a bloodthirsty goddess called the Ordeen, and draw their power from a mixture of wine and raw flesh, working themselves up into a killing frenzy until they are ready for fresh victims. Mostly they feed upon the dead but they’re not averse to devouring the living. This one had anointed her face to make her appear more ferocious; probably with a mixture of wine and human fat – and wax to hold the two together. No doubt she’d killed someone recently.
‘It’s a good job you managed to knock her down and bind her, lad. Maenads have exceptional strength. They’ve been known to tear their victims to pieces using just their bare hands! Generations of them have lived like that, and as a result they’ve regressed so that now they’re barely human. They are close to being savage animals but they still have a low cunning.’
‘But why would she sail all the way here to the County?’
‘To kill you, lad – that’s plain enough. But why you should pose a threat to them in Greece I can’t imagine. Your mam’s there fighting the dark though, so no doubt this attack has something to do with her.’
Afterwards the Spook helped me unwrap my silver chain from the body of the maenad and we dragged her into the eastern garden. We dug a narrow pit for her, deeper than its length and breadth, me doing most of the work as usual. Then we eased her into that dark shaft head first. She wasn’t a witch, but the Spook never took any chances with servants of the dark – especially those we didn’t know too much about. One night when the moon was full, dead or not, she might try to scratch her way to the surface. She wouldn’t realize that she was heading in the opposite direction.
That done, the Spook sent me down to the village to find the local stonemason and blacksmith. By late evening they’d fashioned the stones and bars over her grave. It hadn’t taken my master long to deduce the answer to his two other questions. He’d found two small wooden bloodstained troughs right at the edge of the garden. Most likely they’d been full of blood before the boggart had drunk its fill.
‘My guess, lad, is that there was something mixed into the blood. Maybe it made the boggart sleep, or confused it. That’s why it didn’t detect the maenad entering the garden and later killed her when it shouldn’t have. Pity she died. We could have questioned her and found out why she’d come and who’d sent her.’
‘Could the Fiend be behind it?’ I asked. ‘Could he have sent her to kill me?’
The Fiend, also known as the Devil, had been loose in the world since the previous August. He’d been summoned by the three Pendle witch clans – the Malkins, Deanes and Mouldheels. Now the clans were at war with each other – some witches in thrall to the Fiend, others his bitter enemies. I’d encountered him three times since then, but although each encounter had left me shaken to my very bones, I knew it was unlikely the Devil would try to kill me by his own hand because he’d been hobbled.
Just as a horse can be hobbled, having its legs tied together so it can’t wander too far, the Fiend had been hobbled by someone in the past; his power limited. If he chose to kill me himself, he would rule the world for only a hundred years, a span that he would consider far too short. So, according to the rules of the hobble, he had one choice: get one of his own children to kill me, or try to win me to his side. If he could manage to convert me to the dark, he’d rule the world until its very end. That’s what he’d tried to do the last time we met. Of course, if I died by some other hand – that of the maenad, for example – then the Fiend might slowly come to dominate the world anyway. So had he sent her?
The Spook was looking thoughtful. ‘The Fiend? It’s a possibility, lad. We must be on our guard. You were lucky to survive that attack.’
I almost reminded him that it was the intervention of Alice rather than luck but thought better of it. It had been a hard night and nothing would be gained by annoying him.
The following night I found it hard to sleep and after a while I got out of bed, lit my candle and started to re-read Mam’s letter, which I’d received in the spring.
In less than a week it would be midsummer and the Spook and I would be travelling south to visit my brother Jack’s farm and meet Mam. I had missed her and couldn’t wait to see her. But I was also anxious to find out what she wanted from me.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING it was lessons as usual. I was in the third year of my apprenticeship to my master and was studying how to fight the dark: in the first year I’d learned about boggarts, in the second, witches; now my topic was ‘The History of the Dark’.
‘Well, lad, prepare to take notes,’ commanded the Spook, scratching at his beard.
I opened my notebook, dipped my pen into the bottle of ink and waited for him to begin the lesson. I was sitting on the bench in the western garden. It was a sunny summer’s morning and there wasn’t a single cloud in the wide blue sky. Directly in front of us were the fells, dotted with sheep, while all around we heard birdsong and the pleasant drowsy hum of insects.
‘As I’ve already told you, lad, the dark manifests itself in different ways at different times and different places,’ said the Spook, beginning to pace up and down in front of the bench. ‘But, as we know to our cost, the most formidable aspect of the dark in the County and in the wider world beyond is the Fiend.’
My heart lurched and I had a lump in my throat as I remembered our last encounter. The Fiend had revealed a terrible secret to me. He had claimed that Alice was also his daughter – the Devil’s daughter. It was difficult to imagine, but what if it was true? Alice was my closest friend and had saved my life on more than one occasion. If what the Fiend had told me really was true, it would mean that the Spook had been right to banish her: we could never be together again – the thought of it was almost impossible to bear.
‘But although the Fiend is our biggest concern,’ continued the Spook, ‘there are other denizens of the dark who, with assistance from witches, mages or other meddling humans, are also able to pass through portals into our world. Numbered amongst them are the Old Gods such as Golgoth, whom you’ll remember we dealt with on Anglezarke Moor.’
I nodded. That had been a close-run thing and had nearly cost me my life.
‘We must be grateful that he’s sleeping once more,’ said my master, ‘but others are very much awake. Take your mam’s homeland, Greece. As I told you yesterday, a fierce female deity called the Ordeen, who is worshipped by the maenads, has caused bloodshed there on a vast scale since time immemorial. No doubt she’s at the heart of all that your mam’s trying to contend with.
‘There’s not a lot I know about the Ordeen. But apparently she arrives with her followers, who kill everything that moves for miles around. And the maenads, who are usually scattered across Greece, gather in large numbers to await her arrival. They’re like vultures ready to feast upon the flesh of the dead and the dying. For them it’s a harvest, a time of plenty, the reward they receive for their worship of the Ordeen and her followers. No doubt your mam will have lots more to tell us – there are blank pages in my Bestiary that need to be filled.’
The Spook’s Bestiary, one of the biggest and most interesting books in his library, was full of all manner of terrible creatures. But there were gaps where information was scarce and he updated it whenever he could.
‘I do know, however, that unlike the other Old Gods, the Ordeen doesn’t need human assistance to pass through a portal into this world. Even the Fiend needed the help of the Pendle witches. But it seems that she can pass through her portal at will – and also return when she pleases.’
‘The “followers” who arrive with her through the portal – what are they like?’ I asked.
‘They are denizens of the dark: daemons and elementals. The daemons mostly have the appearance of men or women but possess terrible strength and are very cruel. In addition there are the vaengir – flying lamia witches. So many have now joined her that only a few remain elsewhere – they live alone or in pairs like your mam’s sisters. Imagine what it must be like when the Ordeen arrives – a host of those creatures swooping down from the sky to rend and tear the flesh of their victims! It doesn’t bear thinking about, lad!’
It certainly didn’t. Mam’s two sisters were flying lamias. They’d fought on our side during the battle on Pendle hill, wreaking havoc on the three witch clans who opposed us.
‘Aye, it’s a dangerous place, Greece. Your mam has much to contend with … There are also feral lamia witches – the ones who scuttle about on four limbs. They’re very common in Greece, especially in the mountains. After this lesson’s over I suggest you go up to the library, look them up in my Bestiary, revise your knowledge of them and enter a summary of what you find in your notebook.’
‘You mentioned that “elementals” live with the Ordeen as well? What kind are they?’ I asked.
‘Fire elementals – something we don’t have in the County, lad. But I’ll tell you what I know about them on another day. For now we’d better continue your study of the Old Tongue, which is much harder to learn than Latin or Greek.’
The Spook was right. The rest of the lesson was so difficult it made my head hurt. It was very important that I learn the Old Tongue though: it was commonly used by the Old Gods and their disciples; also in grimoires – books of dark magic used by necromancers.
I was relieved when the lesson came to a close and I was able to go up to my master’s library. I really enjoyed my visits there. It was the Spook’s pride and joy and he’d inherited it, along with the house, from his own master, Henry Horrocks. Some of the books had belonged to previous spooks and went back many generations; some had been written by John Gregory himself. They chronicled a lifetime of knowledge acquired practising his trade and fighting the dark.
The Spook always worried that something might happen to his library: when Alice was staying with us, her job had been to make extra copies of the books, writing them out by hand. Mr Gregory believed that one of his main duties was to preserve that library for future spooks, adding to the fund of knowledge whenever possible.
There were racks of shelves containing thousands of books but I headed straight for the Bestiary. It was a list of all sorts of creatures, from boggarts and daemons to elementals and witches, along with personal accounts and sketches where the Spook described how he’d dealt with the dark. I flicked through the pages until I came to ‘Lamia Witches’.
The first Lamia was a powerful enchantress of great beauty. She loved Zeus, the leader of the Old Gods, who was already married to the goddess Hera. Unwisely, Lamia then bore Zeus’ children. On discovering this, in a jealous rage, Hera slew all but one of these unfortunate infants. Driven insane by grief, Lamia began to kill children wherever she found them so that streams and rivers ran red with their blood and the air trembled with the cries of distraught parents. At last the Gods punished her by shifting her shape so that her lower body was sinuous and scaled like that of a serpent.
Thus changed, she now turned her attentions to young men. She would call to them in a forest glade, only her beautiful head and shoulders visible above the lush green grass. Once she had lured him close, she wrapped her lower body around her victim tightly, squeezing the breath from his helpless body as her mouth fastened upon his neck until the very last drop of blood was drained.
Lamia later had a lover called Chaemog, a spider-thing that dwelt in the deepest caverns of the earth. She bore him triplets, all female, and these were the first lamia witches. On their thirteenth birthday they quarrelled with their mother and, after a terrible fight, tore off all her limbs and ripped her body into pieces. They fed every bit of her, including her heart, to a herd of wild boar.
The book then went on to describe the different types of lamia witch – what they looked like, how they behaved – and, most importantly for a spook, how to deal with them. I knew quite a lot about lamia witches already. The Spook had lived for years with a domestic lamia witch called Meg and had kept her feral sister, Marcia, locked in a pit in the cellar of his Anglezarke house. They had both returned to Greece, but during my time at Anglezarke I’d learned a lot about them.
I continued to read, making brief notes as I did so. It was very useful revision. There was a reference to the flying lamias, called vaengir, which the Spook had mentioned earlier. My thoughts turned to Mam. Even as a young child I’d known that she was different. She had a slight accent, which marked her out as someone who’d not been born in the County. She shunned direct sunlight and during the day often had the kitchen curtains closed.
Over time my knowledge of Mam had grown. I’d learned how Dad had come to her rescue in Greece. And then later she’d told me that I was special, a seventh son of a seventh son and her gift to the County, a weapon to be used against the dark. But the final pieces of the puzzle were still missing. What exactly was Mam?
Mam’s sisters were vaengir – flying feral lamias who, as the Spook had just explained, were only rarely found beyond the Ordeen’s portal. They were now in Malkin Tower, guarding her trunks, which contained money, potions and books. It seemed to me that Mam must also be a lamia. Probably vaengir too. That seemed most likely.
It was another mystery I needed to solve – though I couldn’t just ask her outright. It seemed to me that Mam had to tell me herself. And I might find out the answer very soon.
Late in the afternoon, given a few hours off by the Spook, I went for a stroll on the fells: I climbed high onto Parlick Pike, watched the shadows of clouds slowly drifting across the valley below and listened to the lapwings’ distinctive peewit calls.
How I missed Alice! We’d spent many a happy hour strolling up here with the County spread out below. Walking alone just wasn’t the same. I was impatient now for the week to pass so the Spook and I could set off for Jack’s farm. I was really looking forward to seeing Mam and finding out what she wanted from me.
ON THE MORNING we were due to set off, I walked down into Chipenden village to pick up the Spook’s weekly provisions from the baker, the greengrocer and the butcher – after all we would only be away a few days. At the last shop I told the proprietor, a large red-bearded man, that if anyone came on spook’s business and rang the bell at the withy trees, it would have to wait.
As I walked back through the village, my sack was lighter than usual because of the food shortages. To the south of the County the war was still raging and the reports were bad. Our forces were retreating and so much food was being taken to feed the army that the poorest people were close to starvation. I noted that in Chipenden conditions had deteriorated further. There were more hungry faces, and some houses had been abandoned, the families travelling north in the hope of a better life.
The Spook and I set off at a good pace, but even though I was carrying my staff and both our bags as usual, I didn’t mind at all. I just couldn’t wait to see Mam. After a while though, as the morning began to warm up, the Spook slowed down. I kept getting ahead and having to wait for him to catch up. He began to get rather irritated with me.
‘Slow down, lad! Slow down!’ he complained. ‘My old bones are struggling to keep up. We’ve set off a day early – your mam won’t arrive until midsummer’s eve anyway!’
Late in the evening of the second day, even before we reached the summit of Hangman’s Hill, I saw smoke rising into the sky from the direction of the farm. For a moment fear clutched at my heart. I remembered the raid carried out by the Pendle witches last year: they’d burned our barn to the ground before ransacking the house and abducting Ellie, Jack and little Mary.
But as we began our descent through the trees towards the north pasture, what I saw was more a cause for wonder than fear. There were campfires to the south of the farm – a dozen or more – and smells of wood smoke and cooking were in the air. Who were those people camping in Jack’s fields? I knew he wouldn’t welcome strangers on his farm so I wondered if it had something to do with Mam.
But I’d little time to think about that because I sensed at once that she was home already. Faint brown smoke was rising from the chimney into the blue sky and I felt the warmth of her presence. Somehow I just knew that she was back!
‘Mam’s here now – I’m sure of it!’ I told the Spook, my eyes glistening with tears. I’d missed her so much and couldn’t wait to see her again.
‘Aye, lad, maybe you’re right. You go down and say hello. You’ll have a lot to talk about and be wanting some privacy. I’ll wait up here.’
I smiled, nodded and ran down the wooded slope towards the new barn. But before I could reach the farmyard, my brother Jack came round the corner into my path. The last time I’d seen him he’d been seriously ill after being beaten to within an inch of his life by the witches who had raided the farm and stolen Mam’s trunks. Now he was tanned by the sun and looked strong and healthy again, his eyebrows bushier than ever. He gripped me in a bear hug and almost squeezed the breath from my body.
‘Good to see you, Tom!’ he exclaimed, holding me at arm’s length and smiling broadly.
‘It’s great to see you fit and well, Jack,’ I told him.
‘And no little thanks to you. Ellie told me everything. I’d be six feet under now if it wasn’t for you.’
Together with Alice I’d helped to rescue Jack and his family from Malkin Tower.
‘Mam’s back already, isn’t she?’ I asked excitedly.
Jack nodded but the smile slipped from his face. There was a certain uneasiness; a hint of uncertainty and sadness in his expression.
‘Yes, she’s back, Tom, and she’s really looking forward to seeing you again, but I have to warn you that she’s changed—’
‘Changed? What do you mean, changed?’
‘At first I hardly recognized her. She has a wildness about her – especially her eyes. And she looks younger, as if she’s cast off the years. I know that doesn’t seem possible but it’s true …’
Although I didn’t say anything to Jack, I knew only too well that this might well be the case. Human rules of ageing didn’t apply to lamia witches. As the Spook’s Bestiary had explained, there are two forms for a lamia, and they slowly change from one to the other. Mam was possibly slowly shape-shifting her way back to her feral state. It was a disturbing and scary possibility. Not something I wanted to think about too much.
‘Tom – you know all about these things because of your line of work … could she be a changeling?’ Jack asked anxiously, his face suddenly full of fear and doubt. ‘Anything could have happened while she’s been in Greece. Maybe she’s been captured by goblin folk and replaced with one of their own?’
‘No, Jack. Of course not,’ I reassured him. ‘There’s no such thing as goblin folk. It’s just a superstition. So don’t you worry about that. I’m sure it’s just the warm Greek weather agreeing with her. I’ll go and see her and we’ll talk later. Where’s James?’
‘James is busy. He’s making more money with the forge than I am with the farm at the moment. But I’m sure he’ll find time for his youngest brother.’
James was living here now and helping Jack out with the chores, but by trade he was a blacksmith. It sounded like his new business was shaping up to be a real success.
‘Who are all those people camping in the south meadow?’ I asked, remembering the fires I’d seen as we’d descended Hangman’s Hill.
Jack scowled at me and shook his head angrily. ‘You’d better ask Mam that question!’ he retorted. ‘But I tell you – they have no right to be here. No right at all! Witches from Pendle, they are. And to think they’re camping in my field after all that happened last year.’
Witches? If indeed they were, I could hardly blame him for being angry. The Pendle witches had put Jack and his family through hell last year. With that in mind, why would Mam allow them so close to the farm?