Contents

Cover

About the Book

Title Page

Dedication

Character Profiles

Map

How to Read Spook’s Symbols

Epigraph

Chapter 1: Time to Rebuild

Chapter 2: Sacred Objects

Chapter 3: Lots of Blood!

Chapter 4: She Whom You Most Love

Chapter 5: Another Use for the Girl

Chapter 6: Half A Tale

Chapter 7: Crossing it is Dangerous

Chapter 8: A Study of the Moroii

Chapter 9: Seventh Sons

Chapter 10: Cowardly Panic

Chapter 11: The Curse of the Pendle Witches

Chapter 12: Worse than Death

Chapter 13: I Won’t See Dawn

Chapter 14: They’ll Expand Westwards

Chapter 15: The Vampire God

Chapter 16: The Offal Pit

Chapter 17: The Pact

Chapter 18: The Most Dangerous Place

Chapter 19: The Terms of the Contract

Chapter 20: Just Like Old Times

Chapter 21: Empty Eye-Sockets

Chapter 22: Let them Come to Us!

Chapter 23: Midnight Until Dawn

Chapter 24: Coward

Chapter 25: The Midnight Hour

Chapter 26: The Spook’s Blood

About the Author

The Wardstone Chronicles

Copyright

About the Book

‘I am Siscoi, the Lord of Blood, the Drinker of Souls! Obey me now or you will suffer as few have suffered.’

Time is running out for Thomas Ward. His final battle with the Fiend is drawing near, and the Spook’s apprentice has never felt more alone in his task.

The Fiend is set to send the greatest of his servants against him – Siscoi, a vampire god more ferocious than anything he has yet faced. Isolated and afraid, Tom must risk his life to prevent the evil beast from entering this world, even as he learns that the final destruction of the Fiend may involve a sacrifice more terrible than he can imagine  . . . 

The tension mounts in this, the tenth instalment of the chilling Wardstone Chronicles.

for Marie

CHARACTER PROFILES

Tom

Thomas Ward is both the seventh son of a seventh son and the child of a powerful lamia witch. He has abilities beyond those of a regular spook: as well as being able see and hear the dead, he can also slow down time to aid him in battle. For more than three years he has trained as an apprentice to the local Spook, and now as the wielder of the Destiny Blade he may be the world’s only hope of defeating the Fiend.

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 chain. For over sixty years he has protected the County from things that go bump in the night, but his long battles have left him weary. Tom fears that the days when he can continue to rely on his mentor may be numbered.

Alice

Tom can’t decide if Alice is good or evil. She is related to two of the most evil witch clans (the Malkins and the Deanes) and was trained as a witch against her will. While she counts herself as an ally of the light, she has increasingly been forced to rely on dark magic to save her friends. Tom fears that each time she does it will draw her closer and closer to the dark.

Mam

Tom’s mam always knew he would become the Spook’s apprentice. She called him her ‘gift to the County’. There always were quite a few mysterious things about Mam, but even Tom never suspected the truth: that she was a lamia witch, and that she had planned for Tom to battle the Fiend since before he was even born. Tom’s mam fell in the battle against the Ordeen, but he hopes that she might still be watching over him somehow…

Grimalkin

Grimalkin is the current assassin of the Malkin witch clan. Very fast and strong, she has a code of honour and never resorts to trickery. Although honourable. Grimalkin also has a dark side and is reputed to use torture. Recently she has forged an unlikely alliance with Tom Ward against their common enemy, the Fiend. But can a true servant of the dark ever really be trusted?

The Fiend

The Fiend is the dark made flesh, the most powerful of all its denizens and the very oldest of the old Gods. He has many other names, including the Devil, Satan, Lucifer and the Father of Lies. Together, Tom Ward and his allies managed to sever the Fiend’s head in battle, but their fight to destroy him once and for all has only just begun …

THE HIGHEST POINT IN THE COUNTY
IS MARKED BY MYSTERY.
IT IS SAID THAT A MAN DIED THERE IN A
GREAT STORM, WHILE BINDING AN EVIL
THAT THREATENED THE WHOLE WORLD.
THEN THE ICE CAME AGAIN, AND WHEN IT
RETREATED, EVEN THE SHAPES OF THE
HILLS AND THE NAMES OF THE TOWNS
IN THE VALLEYS CHANGED.
NOW, AT THAT HIGHEST POINT ON
THE FELLS, NO TRACE REMAINS OF WHAT
WAS DONE SO LONG AGO,
BUT ITS NAME HAS ENDURED.
THEY CALL IT –

THE WARDSTONE.

THE SPOOK WAS perched on a log in his garden at Chipenden, the sun singing through the trees and the air bright with birdsong. It was a warm spring morning in late May – as good as it got in the County. Things seemed to be changing for the better. I was sitting on the grass wolfing down my breakfast and he was smiling to himself and looking quite contented for a change as he gazed back towards the house.

From it came the sound of sawing; I could smell the sawdust. My master’s house was being repaired, starting with the roof. It had been burned out by enemy soldiers, but now the war in the County was over, and it was time to rebuild and get on with our lives as a Spook and his apprentice dealing with all manner of things from the dark – boggarts, ghosts, ghasts and witches.

‘I can’t understand why Alice would leave like that without saying anything,’ I complained to the Spook. ‘It’s not like her at all. Especially as she knows we’ll soon be setting off east and will be away for at least a couple of days.’

My friend Alice had disappeared three nights earlier. I had been talking to her in the garden and had left briefly to tell the Spook something, saying I’d be back in a few moments. On my return she had gone. At first I hadn’t been too worried, but then she’d missed supper and hadn’t reappeared since.

The Spook sighed. ‘Don’t take this too hard, lad, but maybe she’s gone for good. After all, you’ve been bound together for quite some time by the need to use that blood jar. Now she’s free to do as she pleases. And she’s a different person after being dragged off to the dark and held there for so long.’

My master’s words were harsh. Despite the fact that she had been helping us for years, he still didn’t trust Alice. She’d been born in Pendle and had spent two years being trained as a witch; John Gregory would be glad to see the back of her. When we were in Greece, Alice had created a blood jar to keep the Fiend at bay; otherwise we would both have been snatched away into the dark. Now it was no longer needed. We had bound the Fiend and cut off his head – which was now in the possession of Grimalkin, the witch assassin. She was on the run from his servants. Were the two halves of his body ever reunited, he would be free again and his vengeance would certainly be terrible. The consequences would be dire, not only for the County, but for the whole world beyond it; a new age of darkness would begin. But we had bought a little time in order to seek a way to destroy him permanently.

My master’s final words hurt me most of all. The Fiend had taken Alice off into the dark; on her return she’d changed dramatically. Her hair had turned white: that was merely physical, but I feared that her soul had been damaged – that she’d moved closer to the dark. Alice had expressed that same concern. Maybe she would never return? Maybe she could no longer be close to a spook’s apprentice? After four years of facing dangers together, we had become close friends and it saddened me that we were now drifting apart. I remembered something my dad had told me when I was younger. Although just an ordinary farmer, he’d been wise, and as I was growing up he’d taught me lots of truths about life.

‘Listen, Tom,’ he’d once said. ‘You have to accept that in this world things are constantly changing. Nothing stays the same for ever. We have to learn to live with that.’

He was right: I’d been happy living at home with my family. Now Mam and Dad were both dead and I could never go back to that life. I just hoped that my friendship with Alice wasn’t coming to an end too.

‘What sort of place is Todmorden?’ I asked, changing the subject. There was no point in arguing with my master about Alice.

‘Well, lad, my duties have never taken me to that town but I do know a bit about it. Todmorden straddles the eastern County border, which is marked by the river Calder. So half the town is in the County and half is beyond it. No doubt the folk across the river will have different customs and attitudes. We’ve travelled a bit in the past two years – firstly to Greece, next to the Isle of Mona, and finally to Ireland. Each of those lands presented us with new problems and difficulties to overcome. The fact that our destination isn’t far from home doesn’t change the fact that we need to be on our toes.’

The Spook’s library had been destroyed in the fire – the legacy of generations of spooks, filled with knowledge of how to fight the dark. Now we had heard of a collection of books about the dark in Todmorden. After ringing the bell at the withy trees crossroads late one night a week earlier, a mysterious visitor had left a note for us. It had been short but to the point:

Only one book from my master’s original library remained – the Bestiary that he had written and illustrated himself. It was more than just a book. It was a living, working document annotated by his other apprentices – including me. It was a record of his life’s work and what he had discovered with the help of others. Now he hoped to start restocking his library. However, he refused to take any books from the small collection in the watermill north of Caster that had been occupied by Bill Arkwright, one of his ex-apprentices. He had hopes that one day the mill would become a spook’s house once more; if that happened, the new incumbent would need those books. John Gregory anticipated that the visit to Todmorden would be the first step to replacing his own library.

My master had originally intended to set off right away but, as interested as he was in acquiring books, the rebuilding of his house came first, and he had spent hours going over plans and schedules with the builder. He had a list of priorities, and the completion of a new library to house books was one of them. I’d encouraged him in that because I wanted to delay our departure to give Alice time to return.

‘What’s the point of getting new books if we haven’t a library ready to put them in?’ I’d argued.

He’d agreed, and it had bought me more time, but at last we were off to meet Mistress Fresque.

In the afternoon, about an hour or so before we were to set off on our journey, I wrote a note of my own. This one was for the absent Alice:

But no sooner had I pinned it to the new back door than I suddenly sensed a coldness – the warning I sometimes get that something from the dark is nearby. Then I heard someone coming up behind me. My staff was leaning against the wall, so I snatched it up and spun round to face the danger, holding it in the defensive diagonal position.

To my surprise, Alice was standing before me. She was smiling but looked tired and dishevelled, as if she’d been on a long wearisome journey. The coldness quickly faded. She wasn’t an enemy, but that brief warning worried me. To what extent had she been contaminated by the dark? I wondered.

‘Alice! I’ve been really worried about you. Why did you leave like that without saying anything?’

She stepped forward and, without answering, gave me a hug. After a few moments I held her at arm’s length.

‘You look like you’ve had a hard time of it, but it’s really good to see you,’ I told her. ‘Your hair’s returning to its usual colour. It’ll be back to normal soon.’

Alice nodded, but the smile slipped from her face and she looked very serious. ‘I’ve something really important to tell you, Tom,’ she said. ‘It’s best if Old Gregory hears it too!’

I’d have liked a little more time to talk to Alice alone, but she insisted that we see my master immediately. I went to fetch him, and as it was a sunny afternoon, he led the way to the bench in the western garden.

The Spook and I sat down but Alice remained standing. I had to stop myself from laughing because it reminded me of the occasions when the Spook would stand there giving me a lesson while I took notes. Now my master and I were like two apprentices!

But what Alice had to say soon wiped the smile off my face.

‘While she was on the run with the Fiend’s head, Grimalkin took refuge in Malkin Tower,’ she told us. ‘It’s a long story, and no doubt she’ll eventually tell you the details of what happened herself—’

‘Is the Fiend’s head still safe in her possession?’ interrupted the Spook.

‘It’s been hard, but Grimalkin’s kept it safe so far. Ain’t going to get any easier, though. There’s some bad news. Agnes Sowerbutts was killed by the Fiend’s supporters.’

‘Poor Agnes,’ I said, shaking my head sadly. ‘I’m really sorry.’ She was Alice’s aunt and had helped both of us in the past.

‘One of the two lamia sisters was killed as well, and now only one – Slake – is left defending the tower. She’s under siege and can’t hold out indefinitely. From what Grimalkin said, it’s important that you go there as soon as possible, Tom. The lamias studied your mam’s books and found out that she was the one who hobbled the Fiend. Slake thinks that by looking more closely at the hobbling process you might be able to work out how to finish him off for good.’

The hobble had limited the Fiend’s power in certain ways. If he was able to kill me himself, he’d reign on in our world for a hundred years before being forced to return to the dark. Of course, for an immortal being, that wasn’t long enough. But if he got one of his children to do the deed, the son or daughter of a witch, then the Fiend could rule the world indefinitely. There was also a third way to achieve this end: he could simply convert me to the dark.

‘I always thought it was likely that Mam did the hobbling,’ I said. After all, I was her seventh son born to Dad, another seventh son, and thus her chosen weapon against the Fiend. The hobble concerned me, and which other of his enemies could have been powerful enough to do it?

The Spook nodded in agreement but didn’t look at all happy. Any use of magic made him very uneasy. At present an alliance with the dark was necessary but he didn’t like it.

‘I thought the same,’ said Alice. ‘But there’s one more thing, Tom. Whatever’s needed, whatever it takes, you have to do it at Halloween. There’s a seventeen-year cycle, and it’s got to be next Halloween – the thirty-fourth anniversary of the hobble carried out by your mam. That leaves little over five months  . . . ’

‘Well, lad,’ said the Spook, ‘you’d better get yourself to Malkin Tower as soon as possible. That’s more important than books for my new library. Our visit to Todmorden can wait until you get back.’

‘Aren’t you coming?’ I asked.

My master shook his head. ‘Nay, lad, not this time. At my age the County damp starts to rot your joints, and my old knees are playing up worse than I can remember. I’d only slow you down. With the girl to guide you, you’ll be able reach the tower without being seen. Besides, you’ve got years of training behind you now; it’s time you started to think and behave like the spook you’ll soon become. I have confidence in you, lad. I wouldn’t send you off like this if I didn’t think you could take care of yourself.’

AFTER THAT, I spent an hour with the dogs. Claw and her fully grown pups, Blood and Bone, were wolfhounds trained to hunt water witches. They’d belonged to Bill Arkwright, a spook who had died fighting the dark with us in Greece. Now I considered them to be my dogs – although my master had still not agreed to give them a permanent home. While we were away he had promised to look after them, but I knew he was busy planning repairs to the house; moreover, his knees were playing up, so the dogs would no doubt spend most of their time chained up. I took them for a long walk, letting them run free.

Within an hour of my return we were setting off on our journey. We walked fast. Carrying my staff and bag, I followed Alice east towards Pendle. Our aim was to arrive just before sunset, enter under cover of dark and then head directly for Malkin Tower.

Under my gown, in the scabbard crafted for me by Grimalkin, I was carrying the Destiny Blade, a weapon given to me by one of Ireland’s greatest heroes, Cuchulain. The witch assassin had trained me in its use and it would prove a valuable additional weapon.

We crossed the river Ribble with hours to spare and, heading north, kept to the west of that huge, ominous hill, feeling the chill of its brooding presence. Pendle was a place that was particularly conducive to the use of dark magic. This was why so many witches lived here.

However, we were on the safer side of Pendle; the villages of the three main witch clans lay to the southeast, beyond the hill. We knew that the clans were divided amongst themselves; there were those who supported the Fiend and those who opposed him. The situation was complicated but one thing was certain – a spook’s apprentice would not be welcome anywhere in the district.

We skirted Downham, then rounded the northern edge of the hill, before heading south once more. Now, with every stride, we were moving closer to danger, so we settled down in a small copse to wait for nightfall.

Alice turned to face me, her face pale in the gloom. ‘I’ve more to tell you, Tom,’ she said. ‘I think this is as good a time as any.’

‘You’re being very mysterious. Is it something bad?’ I asked her.

‘The first part ain’t – though the second might upset you, so I’ll start with the easy bit. When your mam hobbled the Fiend, she used two sacred objects. One of ’em is in the trunk in Malkin Tower. The other could be anywhere, so we need to track it down.’

‘So we have one – that’s a start. What is it?’

‘Grimalkin doesn’t know. Slake wouldn’t let her see it.’

‘Why not? Why should the lamia decide that? She’s the guardian of the trunk, not the owner.’

‘It wasn’t Slake’s idea – it was your mam’s. She said nobody but you could know what it was or see it.’

‘This was in Mam’s writings that Slake found in the trunk?’

‘No, Tom,’ Alice said, shaking her head sadly. ‘Your mam appeared to Slake and told her that directly.’

I looked at Alice in astonishment. Since Mam died I’d had contact with her once, on the ship on the way home from Greece – but I hadn’t seen her; it had just been a feeling of warmth. At the time, I’d been certain that she’d come to say goodbye to her son. But as time had passed I’d become less and less sure that it had really happened. Now it seemed more like dreaming than waking. But could she really have been talking to Slake?

‘Why would she tell Slake that? Why not tell me directly? I need to know – I’m her son!’ Suddenly I felt angry. I tried to suppress the feeling but I felt tears prickling behind my eyes. I missed Mam terribly. Why hadn’t she contacted me?

‘I knew you’d be upset, Tom, but please try not to let it bother you. It might be easier for her to talk to Slake. After all, they are both lamias. There’s something else I should tell you. Grimalkin said the lamia sisters talked about her as if she were still alive. And they worship her. They call her Zenobia.’

I took a deep breath to calm myself. It made sense. Mam had been the very first lamia, a powerful and evil servant of the dark. But she had changed: after marrying Dad she’d finally turned her back on her former life and become an enemy of the Fiend.

‘Perhaps she’ll talk to me when I get to the tower?’ I suggested.

‘Ain’t good to build up your hopes too much, Tom. But yes, she might. Now, there’s something else I’d like to ask. It’s important to me, but if you say no I’ll understand.’

‘If it’s important to you, Alice, I won’t say no. You should know me better than that.’

‘It’s just that, on our way to the tower, we’ll be passing by Witch Dell. Grimalkin said that part of it was burned by the Fiend’s supporters as they pursued her, but that Agnes Sowerbutts might have survived. She was my friend as well as my aunt, Tom. She helped me a lot. If she’s still in there, I’d like to talk to her one last time.’

‘I thought it was best to stay away from dead witches: the longer they stay in the dell, the more they change, forgetting their past life, their family and friends.’

‘That’s mostly true, Tom – their personalities change for the worse, which means that living and dead witches don’t mingle much. But Agnes ain’t been dead for long and I feel sure she’ll still remember me.’

‘If she did survive, how will you find her? We can’t just wander through the dell with all those dead witches around. Some are really strong and dangerous.’

‘Grimalkin told me that there’s probably only one strong one around at the moment. But there’s a call I sometimes used to contact Agnes. She taught it to me herself. It’s the cry of the corpsefowl. That’ll bring her out.’

The sun went down and the copse grew darker. It was a clear moonless night – the moon wouldn’t rise for several hours – but the sky was sprinkled with stars. Keeping to the shelter of hedgerows, we began a meandering journey south towards the tower, finally skirting the eastern edge of Witch Dell. We could see the devastation caused by the fire – a wide swath of burned trees cut it in half. It must have destroyed a lot of dead witches, many of them with allegiance to the Fiend. I realized that his supporters would do anything to retrieve his head.

We stopped about fifty yards from the dell’s southern tip. There were signs of the terrible battle between Grimalkin and her witch opponents. She was formidable, but I wondered at the size of the forces that were hunting her down – and about Alice’s part in all this.

Alice cupped her hands around her mouth and sent an eerie call out into the darkness. The corpsefowl – or nightjar – flies by night, and the cry sent shivers down my spine. The powerful water witch, Morwena, had used a corpsefowl as her familiar, and I had some scary memories of being hunted by her. I remembered the time she had surged up out of the marsh, hooked me with a talon and tried to drag me down to drain my blood.

I couldn’t tell the difference between Alice’s cry and the real thing, but she told me she modulated it slightly so that Agnes would know it was her and not just a bird.

Every five minutes, Alice repeated that cry. Each time, that eldritch call, echoing amongst the trees of the dell, made me shudder. Each time it went out into the darkness, my heart beat harder: the bad memories came flooding back. Claw had bitten off the witch’s finger and saved me. Otherwise I’d have been dragged down into the marsh, my blood drained before I’d even had time to drown. I pushed these thoughts to the back of my mind and tried to stay calm, slowing my breathing as my master had taught me.

Alice was about to give up when, after the eighth attempt, I suddenly felt cold. It was the warning that something from the dark was approaching. Everything became unnaturally still and silent. Then there was a rustle of grass, followed by low squelching noises. Something was approaching across the soggy ground. Soon I could hear snuffling and grunting.

Within moments, we spotted a dead witch crawling towards us. It could have been any dead witch out hunting for blood, thinking we were likely prey, so I tightened my grip on my staff.

Alice quickly sniffed twice, checking for danger. ‘It’s Agnes,’ she whispered.

I could hear the witch sniffing the ground, finding her way towards us. Then I saw her: she was a sorry creature indeed, and the sight brought a lump to my throat. She had always been such a clean, houseproud woman; now she wore a tatty dress that was caked in dirt and her hair was greasy and wriggling with maggots. She smelled very strongly of leaf mould. I needn’t have been concerned that she might have forgotten us: as soon as she came close she began to sob, the tears running down her cheeks to drip onto the grass. Then she sat up and put her head in her hands.

‘Sorry to be so maudlin, Alice,’ she cried, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. ‘I thought it was bad when my husband died – I missed him terribly for many a long year – but this is far worse. I just can’t get used to being like this. I wish the fire had taken me. I can never go back to my cottage and live my old comfortable life. I’ll never be happy again. If only I’d been a strong dead witch. At least then I’d have been able to travel by night and hunt far from this miserable dell. But I’m not strong enough to catch anything big. Beetles, voles and mice are the best I can hope for!’

Alice didn’t speak for quite a while. I couldn’t think of anything to say, either. What comfort could I give to poor Agnes? No wonder most living witches kept away from their dead relatives. It was painful to see someone you liked in such a terrible state. There was nothing to be said that would make her feel better.

‘Listen, Tom, I’d like to have a few words alone with Agnes. Is that all right?’ Alice asked me eventually.

‘Of course it is,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘I’ll wait over there.’

I walked well out of earshot to allow Alice a bit of privacy with her aunt. In truth I was more than happy to get away. Being close to Agnes made me feel sad and uneasy.

After about five minutes Alice came towards me, her eyes glittering in the starlight. ‘What if Agnes was a really strong witch, Tom  . . .  Just think what that would mean. Not only would she have a much better existence, which she deserves, she’d be a really useful ally.’

‘What are you saying, Alice?’ I asked nervously, knowing she wasn’t much given to idle speculation.

‘Suppose I make her strong  . . . ?’

‘Using dark magic?’

‘Yes. I can do it  . . . Whether I should is another matter. What do you think?’

‘I THOUGHT THAT all the magic drained out of a dead witch, leaving only a need for blood? So how can your magic help?’ I asked Alice.

‘It’s true that a dead witch no longer has her own magic in her bones. But I can use mine and just make her stronger for a while,’ she replied. ‘Her new strength will lessen with time, but her existence in the dell could be better for years to come. By the time she weakens, her mind will have started to disintegrate anyway, so she will no longer pine for her old life. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.’

‘But what about her victims? What about those she’ll kill because she needs their blood? At least she’s feeding on insects and small animals now – not people!’

‘She’ll only take the blood of the Fiend’s servants – there are plenty to keep her satisfied for a long time! And each one she kills will lessen the danger to us and make it more likely that we’ll succeed in destroying him for all time.’

‘Can you be sure she’ll limit herself to them?’

‘I know Agnes. She’ll keep any promise she makes – I’ll get that commitment before I do anything.’

‘But what about you, Alice? What about you?’ I protested, raising my voice a little. ‘Each time you use your magical power it brings you closer to the dark.’

My argument was exactly the one my master would have used. I was Alice’s friend and was worried about her, but it had to be said.

‘I use it so we can survive, so that we can win. I saved you from the witch, Scarab, and the goat mages back in Ireland, didn’t I? I used it to stop the witches getting away with the Fiend’s head; and I gave Grimalkin some of my power so she could kill our enemies. If I hadn’t done so, she would be dead, I’d be dead and the Fiend’s head would have been reunited with his body. It had to be done, Tom. I did what was necessary. This could be just as important.’

‘Just as important? Are you sure you’re not helping Agnes because you feel sorry for her?’

‘And what if it was only because of that?’ Alice retorted angrily, her eyes glittering. ‘Why shouldn’t I help my friends just as I helped you, Tom? But I promise you it’s more than that, much more. Something’s going to happen, I feel sure of it. I can sense something moving towards us from the future – something dark and terrible. Agnes might be able to help. We’ll need a strong Agnes just to survive. Trust me, Tom, it’s for the best!’

I fell silent, filled with a terrible unease. Alice was using dark magic more freely than ever. She’d given Grimalkin power, and now she wanted to make a dead witch stronger. Where would it end? I knew that whatever I said, she’d go ahead and do it anyway. Our relationship was changing for the worse. She no longer valued my advice.

We glared at each other, but after a few seconds Alice spun on her heel and went back to Agnes. She crouched down, placed her left hand on the head of the dead witch and spoke to her softly. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but Agnes’s reply was clear as a bell. She spoke just three words: ‘Yes, I promise.’

Alice began to speak in a sing-song voice. It was a dark spell. Louder and louder, faster and faster she began to chant – until I looked around uneasily, sure that every dead witch in the dell would hear her and come towards us. We were now deep in witch territory; the three villages set in the Devil’s Triangle lay just a few miles to the south. There could be spies around and the noise would alert them to our presence.

Agnes suddenly let out a blood-curdling scream and jerked backwards, away from Alice. She lay in the grass, moaning and whimpering, limbs thrashing and body spasming. Alarmed, I went over to Alice. Had the spell gone terribly wrong? I wondered.

‘Be all right in a few minutes, she will,’ Alice said reassuringly. ‘Hurts a lot because it’s such powerful magic, but she knew that before I started. Accepted that, she did. Agnes is very brave. Always was.’

After a few moments Agnes stopped writhing about and got to her hands and knees. She coughed and choked for a few moments, then lurched to her feet and smiled at us in turn. There was something of the old Agnes in her expression. Despite her filthy face and tattered, blood-stained clothes, she now seemed calm and confident. But in her eyes I saw a hunger that had never been present in the living Agnes.

‘I’m thirsty!’ she said, looking about her with an intensity that was really scary. ‘I need blood! I need lots and lots of blood!’

We headed south, with Alice in the lead and Agnes close on her heels; I brought up the rear. I kept glancing about me and turning my head to look behind. I expected to be attacked at any time. Our enemies – the witches who served the Fiend – might well be following us or lying in wait ahead. Despite his predicament, the Fiend could still communicate with them. He would take every opportunity to have us hunted down. And Pendle was a dangerous place at the best of times.

We were making good progress, and Agnes, who had been able to crawl only with difficulty, was now matching Alice stride for stride. The moon would rise soon – it was vital that we reached the tunnel beneath the tower before its light made us visible to all in the vicinity.

I wondered about Slake, the surviving lamia. How far had she progressed towards the winged form? She might well have lost the power of speech – which meant that I would be unable to question her properly. I needed to know as much about the sacred objects as possible. I also hoped to be able to communicate with Mam in some way.

Soon the three of us were walking along beside Crow Wood; the way into the tower was now close: the dense tangled copse that had grown over an old abandoned graveyard. The entrance to the tunnel was to be found roughly at its centre. You reached it by entering a sepulchre, built for the dead of a wealthy family. Although most of the bones had been removed when the graveyard was deconsecrated, theirs remained in place.

Alice suddenly came to a halt and raised her hand in warning. I could see nothing but a few tombstones amongst the brambles, but I heard her sniff quickly three times, checking for danger.

‘There are witches ahead, lying in wait. It’s an ambush. They must have scryed our approach.’

‘How many?’ I asked, readying my staff.

‘There are three, Tom. But they’ll soon sniff out our presence and then signal to the others.’

‘Then it’s best that they die quickly!’ Agnes said. ‘They’re mine!’

Before Alice or I had time to react, Agnes was surging forward, bursting through the thicket into the small clearing that surrounded the sepulchre. Witches have varying levels of skill when long-sniffing approaching danger; while Alice was very good at it, some are relatively weak. Moreover, an attack that is improvised and instantaneous rather than premeditated can take the enemy completely by surprise.

The screams that came from the clearing were shrill and earsplitting, filled with terror and pain. When we caught up with Agnes, two witches were already dead and she was feeding from the third: the woman’s limbs thrashed as Alice’s aunt sucked the blood from her neck in great greedy gulps.

I was appalled by the speed with which Agnes had changed; she no longer bore any resemblance to the kindly woman who had helped us so many times in the past. I stared down at her in horror, but Alice just shrugged at my look of disgust. ‘She’s hungry, Tom. Who are we to judge her? We’d be no different in her situation.’

After a few moments Agnes looked up at us and grinned, her lips stained with blood. ‘I’ll stay here and finish this,’ she said. ‘You get yourselves to safety in the tunnel.’

‘More enemies will be here soon, Agnes,’ Alice told her. ‘Don’t linger too long.’

‘Don’t you fear, child, I’ll soon catch you up. And if more come after these, so much the better!’

We could do no more to persuade Agnes, so, very reluctantly, we left her feeding and headed for the sepulchre. The building was almost exactly as I remembered it from my last visit – getting on for two years ago – but the sycamore sapling growing through its roof was taller and broader, the leafy canopy that shrouded this house of the dead even thicker, increasing the gloom within.

Alice pulled the stub of a candle out of her skirt pocket, and as we walked into the darkness of the sepulchre, it flickered into life, showing the cobwebbed horizontal tombstones and the dark earthen hole that gave access to the tunnel. Alice took the lead and we crawled through. After a while it widened and we were able to stand and make better progress.

Twice we paused while Alice sniffed for danger, but soon we’d passed the small lake once guarded by the killer wight – the eyeless body of a drowned sailor who’d been enchanted by dark magic. This one had been destroyed by one of the lamias and now no trace was visible, his dismembered body parts long since lost in the mud at the bottom. Only a faint unpleasant odour was testimony to the fact that this had once been a very dangerous place.

Before long we reached the underground gate to the ancient tower and were walking past the dark, dank dungeons, some still occupied by the skeletons of those tortured by the Malkin clan. No spirits lingered here now: on a previous visit to this place, my master had worked hard to send them all to the light.

We soon found ourselves in the vast cylindrical underground hall – and saw the pillar hung with chains; there were thirteen chains in all, and to each was attached a small dead animal: rats, rabbits, a cat, a dog and two badgers. I remembered their blood dripping down into a rusty bucket, but now it was empty and the dead creatures were desiccated and shrunken.

‘Grimalkin said that the lamias created the gibbet as an act of worship,’ Alice said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. ‘It was an offering to your mam.’

I