You can read the story so far from the beginning here
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!”
