You can read the story so far from the beginning here

Hilary looked around the library. “I suppose that we’re as ready as we’re going to get,” she said.

“I is confident,” Bracken said smugly. “The room is clean.”

“It’s not just clean,” Hilary said. “It’s welcoming and so relaxing. You did a good job.”

Bracken stood an inch taller, proud of her work. “I did not arrange the books,” she said. “I had insufficient time but I has taken permission to borrow and read some of the books that aren’t real.” She pulled the cute pink cardigan a little closer around her. “They is most interesting.”

“I’m sure they are,” Hilary said, thinking of the lurid bodice-rippers that had been left on the shelves. “I’m glad you made time to read after all the work that you did in here.” She ran a hand over the mantlepiece. Bracken had polished it and the fireplace until it gleamed with a burnished glow. The soft light from the lamps around the room brought out its beauty, along with the deep mahogany of bookcases that also shone richly after Bracken’s relentless care. The upholstery of the chairs arranged around the fire had been freshened and newly washed throws were scattered along with cushions and pillows. Vases filled with dried leaves and grasses brought a hint of elegance to the corners of the room and an arrangement of chrysanthemums and asters was set in the centre of the library table.

Bracken followed Hilary’s gaze to the table. “Do you think that we’ll have enough refreshments,” she asked. “I is becoming skilful with baking and I could make some more lemon shortbread. And there are sausage rolls and pasties in the freezer that I could bake up for the guests.”

Hilary thought for a moment. The library table was hidden under a damask tablecloth and covered with food. Plates of shortbread and gingersnaps jostled with a substantial fruit cake flanked by two lemon loaf cakes. Three different types of chocolate muffins were heaped on platters separated by dishes of tiny frittata. “I don’t know,” she said. “The charcuterie boards look like they should feed an army just by themselves.”

“It was of great interest to see what is on the internet and how complicated things can be,” Bracken said. “And the trip to the supermarket was also important.”

Hilary nodded. The table in front of her looked nothing like the Pinterest-worthy spreads that her ex-husband had insisted on, but it looked far tastier and a great deal more substantial. “I think that this should be enough for now,” she said. “But we have two werewolves coming and you know what Lord Peregrine is like.” She looked at Bracken. You have been amazing. You’ve done so much and I’m grateful.”

“I is extremely satisfied with my situation,” Bracken sighed happily.

“Lord Peregrine has asked that I stay for the meeting,” Hilary said. “So you are going to be responsible for serving tea and coffee and for making sure that there’s always plenty on the table.”

“That is a large responsibility,” Bracken said, squaring her shoulders.

“You are more than ready for it,” Hilary said. “In fact, I think that you could do better than anything I could manage.”

Bracken looked horrified at the thought, but before she could complain, Tom strolled in. “I’m looking forward to digging into that food,” he said. “But I think you’ve done too much.”

“Better too much than too little,” Hilary said tartly. She cocked her head at the unfamiliar sound of knocking on the front door. “I’ll go and answer that,” she said. She pointed a stern finger at Tom. “And don’t try snacking on anything until everyone’s here! Bracken, could you make the tea, please.”

Hilary rushed to the door. “Good evening,” she said. “Please come in.” She winced at the rattle of rain driving against the porch. “I’ve got everything set up in the library.”

Lord Peregrine strolled in followed by a tall, lean man with thick, shoulder length red hair and piercing blue eyes. Miss Hilary, this is Cabus. Cabus, this is Miss Hilary Marshaw, the new witch.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Cabus said, shaking Hilary’s hand.

Unnerved by the coldness of his hand, Hilary scurried ahead of them. “This way, please,” she said. “I’m surprised that you didn’t come through the kitchen,” she added to Lord Peregrine.

“And miss the chance to see Bracken’s splendid work in the house?” Lord Peregrine asked. “I haven’t been this far inside for some time.”

Hilary ushered them into the library. “Would you like some tea?” she asked, aware Bracken was poised and ready to dash to the kettle.

“I would like a cup of Earl Grey tea,” Lord Peregrine said. “Please,” he added. “And what splendid food.”

Hilary turned to Cabus. “Would you like tea?” she asked.

“He’ll have Yorkshire tea,” Lord Peregrine interrupted. “Milk and no sugar.”

“I will?” Cabus smiled slowly. He turned to Bracken. “Tea with milk and no sugar would be wonderful.” He sat next to Tom, sinking into a comfortable armchair and immediately relaxed. “It’s a pleasure to be here,” he said in his deep, soothing voice. “It has been a while since I ventured down from the fells.”

Hilary noticed tension in Tom but was distracted as there was a sharp rap on the kitchen door, calling her away. It was Magnus, clutching a soggy bag. “Come in out of the weather,” Hilary said. “It’s dreadful, isn’t it.”

“That’s November for you,” Magnus said, handing her the bag. “I couldn’t come to a dinner party empty handed, so I brought wine.”

“It’s not exactly a dinner party,” Hilary said. “It’s more of a meeting with refreshments.”

“And it’s not exactly fancy wine in the bag.” Magnus looked around the kitchen. “I’ve brought something better than tea,” he said, catching sight of Bracken refilling the kettle. “But if it’s important work that we’re discussing, it had best be with clear heads.” He grinned wickedly at Hilary and gestured to the bag. “I’ve brought a couple of bottles of my own parsnip wine,” he said. “It’s Great Uncle Finlay’s special recipe and it’s just what you need at this time of year. It’ll warm you right through.”

“You’re the last to arrive,” Hilary said. “Lord Peregrine and Cabus are already in the library with Tom.”

“So Cabus has turned up, has he?” Magnus said. “I haven’t seen that old bloodsucker in years.”

Hilary pulled three bottles out of the bag. They were dusty, with smudged labels and looked unnervingly like reused vodka bottles. “Parsnip wine,” she read. “These are from last year?”

“Yep, I brought the good vintage,” Magnus said.

“Come through,” Hilary said. “Bracken will bring the tea.”

Lord Peregrine waited until everyone was settled around the crackling fire and had a plate of food and a drink next to them. “This is very convivial,” he said. “But we can talk while we eat. The food is delicious, but this is about serious things.”

“You mean like the embankment slipping onto the car,” Magnus asked. “I could swear that there was magic twisted in the roots of the fallen oak.”

Hilary frowned. “There was a fallen branch at the entrance to the car park at the Farm Shop,” she said. “It just missed Daniel who was driving a truck full of sheep. I thought that I felt magic there.”

“I’m fairly sure that it wasn’t a normal electrical fault that caused the traffic lights to fail a few weeks ago,” Lord Peregrine said. “It was hard to tell through the stench of burnt wiring, but something wasn’t entirely mortal about it.”

Tom leaned forward. “The stream flooded at the back of Yvette and Gideon’s house,” he said. “It wasn’t normal. Branches and debris will always get caught up in the flow, we’ve all seen it, especially at this time of year. This was different, thought. The debris and leaves backed up around a stick that I would swear was wedged in deliberately. Someone wanted that stream to flood.” He picked up a gingersnap from his plate and stared at it. “It was hard to tell with all the running water, but I wouldn’t say that there wasn’t magic in it. And then there’s the bed underneath the new stores.”

“The Lesken sisters had no idea that there was a cellar under there,” Lord Peregrine said. “In fact, they were outraged that they had lived in a building with a space they hadn’t cleaned.”

Bracken nodded as she refilled Tom’s mug. “It is a great shame for a brownie,” she said. “And they is feeling it very hard, even though there was nothing that they could do.”

“Are you sure that it smelled like a pooka?” Cabus asked, joining the discussion for the first time. “Because I haven’t seen Samgan in some time.”

Hilary looked at Lord Peregrine. “Is there a local pooka?” she asked. “The Committee didn’t mention anything about that.”

Lord Peregrine avoided Hilary’s curious gaze and instead stood and wandered over to the table. “Is it good manners to cut myself a piece of that glorious fruit cake or should I politely ask Bracken to serve me a slice?”

“I is happy to provide a good sized slice,” Bracken said, hurrying to the table. “This is an expensive cake with much spices. I believe that you will find it pleasant.”

“Lord Peregrine, did you know about the pooka?” Hilary asked.

“What Lord Peregrine is trying to avoid saying, is that he has been dormant for some time,” Cabus said. “This little corner of the world has been quite neglected by the supernaturals.” He picked up a dry cracker from his plate and regarded it solemnly. “I keep to myself, and the werewolves have been too busy infighting to take much notice of what’s happening outside of their pack. The fae hall shrunk and eventually even the brownies left, leaving Bracken as a sort of payment in Lord Peregrine’s empty hall. Everything just faded.”

“And this pooka was left to his own devices?” Hilary asked. “Didn’t the local witch do anything?”

“You are the first witch in a considerable time that has been willing to talk civilly with us supernaturals,” Cabus said, placing the cracker back on his plate. “I don’t know that anyone thought to ask.”

“According to Great Uncle Finlay, there hasn’t been a good tempered witch here for over a century,” Magnus said. He grimaced and bit into a white chocolate and cranberry muffin. “Great Uncle Finlay had something of a thing about witches, especially those who could cook,” he said, a little thickly through the muffin crumbs. “And I remember him talking about witches going back to what his father remembered.” He shrugged apologetically. “He said that they were all bad tempered old biddies but there was usually good food.” He took another bite of the muffin and chewed hastily as he saw Hilary’s raised eyebrow. “Present company excepted, of course. That’s why I brought my parsnip wine.”

“You brought your homemade wine?” Cabus asked, chuckling. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or a declaration of war.”

“Back to the point,” Hilary said. “Are we sure that it’s a pooka? If it is a pooka, are we sure that they’re this Samgan that you know? And if it is Samgan or even another pooka, what are we going to do?”

“You bring wonderful clarity to the discussion.” Lord Peregrine took the plate with the slice of fruitcake from Bracken and added a hunk of crumbly white cheese. “I believe that there’s a pooka involved somewhere.” He rejoined the group by the fire. “I believe that it’s probably Samgan. As for what we can do…” He trailed off as he took a mouthful of the cake with the cheese.

“Can we watch the cellar and see if he comes back?” Hilary asked.

Tom shook his head. “If it’s a pooka, we can’t catch them that easy. Besides, his belongings have already gone.”

“Pooka is better than brownies at being unnoticed,” Bracken added. “And they can get anywhere. Locks don’t stop them nor bolts nor anything.”

“How about wards?” Hilary asked. “You know, the old-fashioned shields of protection. Would they work against pooka?”

Lord Peregrine looked over to Cabus who shrugged. “They’d probably work,” Cabus said. “But where would you put them? You can’t cover everything. If you ward one tree, Samgan could knock the one next to it over.”

“And you don’t want to encourage him to get creative,” Lord Peregrine said. “If it is Samgan, he could be a monster if he got annoyed.”

“He’s not exactly happy right now,” Cabus said. “And I can tell that because we still have heavy machinery working to fix the embankment.”

“I’ll see if I can pick up his trail,” Lord Peregrine said. “I have a few techniques that may work, especially if Samgan is sloppy after a long time away.”

“Where do you think he’s been?” Tom asked. “Because he may go back there. If we know where he’s been staying, we could at least look for some sort of clue.”

“That makes sense,” Magnus said, standing and heading purposefully towards the charcuterie.

“Not if he’s been trapped,” Cabus said. “Samgan liked to keep himself busy about the place. He wouldn’t willingly leave. And he wouldn’t go back to where he was trapped.” He turned to Hilary. “Witches usually keep an account of sorts in their cottages,” he said. Perhaps you could look through them and see if you can work out what’s happened.”

“Of course,” Hilary said. “Though was there a reason that witches wouldn’t help before?”

“I told you, Great Uncle Finlay said that the witches around here had temperaments like a rabid rat with toothache,” Magnus said, loading up his plate with salami and gruyere. “We would never have got past the gate at the bottom of the drive.”

Hilary frowned and turned to Lord Peregrine. “Is that why you wanted us to meet here?” she asked. “Because you were curious about the cottage?”

“Absolutely not!” Lord Peregrine was outraged. “I wanted it held here because I knew that the food would be spectacular!” And he took another satisfying bite of fruitcake with cheese.

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

“I can’t help it!” Jed exclaimed. “I’m not a supermarket and I don’t carry chicken nuggets.”

“What am I supposed to tell my boys?” Christine said. “You know what they’re like.”

Hilary looked around the unusually busy Farm Shop and could see that most of the customers shared Jed’s opinion. Christine from the new houses off Old Lane was a pain in the neck and her boys, three oversized teenagers, were spoiled beyond belief.

“Why don’t you make them a nice chicken casserole,” Marlene suggested through gritted teeth. “We even have packs with all the spices and flavourings in.”

“But they want chicken nuggets!” Christine snarled.

“We don’t sell chicken nuggets.” Jed snarled back. “And we never will. So either buy something or clear out and take your car the long way around to the supermarket. Next!”

Hilary placed her basket down on the counter. “It’s just the usual,” she said. “I’ve got everything I wanted.”

“That’s because you can bloody cook!” Jed yelled, glaring at Christine.

“I can cook,” Christine said. “I can cook better than that newcomer.” She pointed a vicious finger at Hilary. “It’s just that my boys are sensitive.”

“We have some frozen cod in batter,” Marlene managed brightly, sidling up to Jed and giving him a nudge.

“Fish is no good,” Christine said. “My boys like chicken.”

“And I like being served, but until you get a shift on, we’ll all have to suffer,” came a voice from the back.

Hilary turned around to Sam scowling at Christine. “I won’t be two minutes.”

“You’re not the problem,” Sam grumbled, loud enough to reach Christine. “And you’re less of a newcomer than that…”

Hilary turned quickly back to Jed. “This looks lovely and fresh,” she said as she handed over her money. “I know it will be delicious.” She started shoving things quickly into the bag.

“How can it be fresh when they can’t get to the wholesalers to get chicken nuggets?” Christine sneered. Hilary winced as she felt the fury building in Jed.

“I can get to the wholesalers just fine,” Jed roared. “And no matter how often I go, I still won’t get any more bloody chicken nuggets! And if you want to fresh, I’ll tell you fresh!” He loomed over Marlene. “That cabbage was picked from the field in the back this morning. That’s fresher than you’ll ever get from your wholesalers or supermarkets but you can’t cook worth a damn and you’ll never learn. Now get out before I throw you out!”

A scarlet flush ran over Christine’s face before she turned abruptly and stormed out.

“Next,” Marlene said brightly.

The car park was filled with knots of people. Yvette beckoned Hilary over to join her and her husband. “Have you heard anything more?”

“About what?” Hilary said. “I’ve had my hands full.”

“Everything!” Yvette said. “First of all there’s that poor woman who got trapped.”

Gideon nodded. “She’s still getting the hang of the whole werewolf thing,” he said. “But as it turns out, she was looking to move, so she’s taking the cottage the other side of you. You know, since Pearl moved out.”

“I don’t think that I ever met Pearl,” Hilary said. “But it will be nice to have a neighbour.”

“Well, she’s been in a bit of a state,” Yvette said. “But her boys are sweethearts. They’re not much older than Darius and I’ve seen them playing in the park.”

“But the road is still closed where the oak fell,” Gideon said. “And I thought Tom might have an idea how that was going on, as he’s done that sort of work.”

“He may be able to talk to people, you know, and get a hint of when the road will reopen.” Yvette said. “Because getting in and out of the village is tricky if you have to go the long way around.”

“Sam has been giving people lifts to the nearest bus stop,” Hilary said. “He’s been taking them in the trailer over his fields.”

“A lot of the old paths have seen some extra use,” Yvette said. “I know that the Red Lion’s car park is packed. People are leaving their cars there and hiking short cuts across the fields and around the woods.”

“Sam and Jed have been pretty tolerant,” Gideon answered. “At least they haven’t got standing crops in the fields and everyone’s trying to be considerate, but it’s going to be a problem if it carries on.” He looked expectantly at Hilary.

“I’ve no idea,” Hilary said. “I’ve got my hands full with work and cooking.”

“Lord Peregrine said that you’d be cooking for the new stores,” Yvette said.

Hilary shook her head. “Only until Bracken gets better,” she said. “I do not want a job where I’ll spend most of my time washing dishes.”

Yvette chuckled. “That’s what you think. Lord Peregrine never lets go when he sets his mind to something. You’re going to be cooking there for years.”

“And that’s the other bit of news and you must be able to tell us about this,” Gideon said. “What’s happening with these new stores? What are they going to be selling? Will there still be a place to drink tea or coffee? And how’s Jed taking the news?”

“And will it be able to open if the road stays closed?” Yvette added.

“Anything I say will instantly be added to the village group chat, won’t it,” Hilary said.

“Of course!” Yvette said, laughing.

“I can’t commit to anything,” Hilary said. “Tom hasn’t said anything about the road at all, but I think it’s serious.” She looked down the lane at the machinery huddled together as workmen swarmed over the ruined embankment. “And I know that deliveries are getting through. It takes a van an hour or two longer to reach the new stores, but it won’t put back the opening more than a day or two.”

“That’s something,” Gideon said. He looked over to where Christine was stood next to her car, shouting into her phone. “Will he be stocking chicken nuggets?”

Hilary snickered. “I don’t think so, not after today.”

Yvette looked thoughtful. “What’s a pooka?”

Hilary flinched. “Why do you ask that?”

“I heard Lord Peregrine talking with Magnus Lowgill. Magnus said that there was a pooka around, and Lord Peregrine agreed, but I didn’t hear anything more and I don’t know what a pooka is.”

Hilary looked up to the clouded sky for inspiration, then back at Yvette. She deserved to know the truth. “There was a chance that a pooka was involved with the collapse of the embankment,” she said. “Pooka are…” she struggled with words. “They are supernaturals, like Lord Peregrine and Bracken, but not quite the same as either. They aren’t exactly a fae, but nearer to a brownie.”

“So a pooka is like Bracken?” Gideon asked.

“Not quite.” Hilary lowered her bags to the ground and took a deep breath. “They can be helpful, like brownies. They’re diligent if they want to be and are fantastic craft workers.”

“You mean like shoemakers?” Yvette asked.

Hilary shook her head. “They can make and mend clothes, according to what I’ve heard, and they do beautiful embroidery, but they’re touchy and proud. They’re incredible when they help with harvest, but they’re just as likely to make a mess as clean things up.” She thought for a moment. “Like the brownies’ bad cousin. You know,” she said, looking at their blank expressions. “The cousin that’s always getting into trouble and the family are never quite sure what to do with them because there’s good in there somewhere even if they have just got drunk and fought the police up and down the street.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Yvette said.

Hilary shrugged. “Lord Peregrine may not have a big court, but he rules the court he has with a rod of iron. He won’t let trouble get out of hand.”

*****

Hilary puffed a little as she walked up the path by the hedgerow. Bracken had her tasting cakes and biscuits all day and it was taking a toll on her waistline. She shifted the bags in her hands. At least carrying the groceries like this was something of a workout. Since she couldn’t drive to the Farm Shop, she’d started going daily for groceries. If it had just been her, that wouldn’t have been a problem but Tom had a werewolf’s appetite and he needed substantial food. She turned at the way-stone, heading up into the woods.

Hilary frowned and stopped, lowering her bags onto the carpet of dead leaves. She knew of the great stone circles on the surrounding hills that pinned the flow of magic to smooth, steady flows, and she was grateful for them. But this was different. She brushed her hand over the small square stone. It wasn’t exactly new, but it was a lot more recent than the stones and it felt wrong. Hilary looked closer. The runes and arcane symbols were weathered, but the edges were clear enough. It was like the stone further up in the woods, the one she’d fallen over when she met Tom jogging up to the cottage. This stone was pinning the magic, but it was snarled and spiky, like a bramble, or even worse, like barbed wire that was artificial and uncaring. She looked around. How many of these stones were out here, distorting the flow of magic? She stood, frowning, then looked around again, trying to fix the place in her memory. There was far too much raw power coiled around it to risk moving it without taking precautions, and now wasn’t the perfect time. Hilary picked up her bags and marched into the woods. She may not be able to act right now, but at least she had a starting place.

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

Tom sucked his burnt fingers and swore. The heat gun was vicious, but the linoleum at the café had been glued down with malice and spite. He switched off the heat gun and set it back on its stand. He needed a break.

“Need a hand?”

Tom looked up. “I wouldn’t say I needed a hand, Uncle Magnus, but I could do with one,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “This flooring is stubborn and the old glue isn’t shifting.”

Magnus knelt down next to Tom and tugged at a loose corner. “You’re not kidding. This stuff is murder. And how old is it?”

“Probably older than both of us put together,” Tom grumbled as he stood up. “The heat gun is running a bit hot.” He caught the expression on his uncle’s face. “You know what I mean. The last thing I need is an overheating heat gun. Let’s give it a rest. Do you want a drink?”

Magnus stood next to him. “I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea,” he said. He looked around the dusty room. “It’s strange seeing the place like this, with all the tables and chairs missing and dust everywhere. The place has needed updating for years, but it was always clean.”

Tom stretched. “There’s less dust than I expected,” he said. “And it’s got good bones.”

“You have to get to them first,” Magnus said. He kicked at the rough edges. “You’ve got, say, a quarter of this done. It could be worse.”

“No, it couldn’t,” Tom grumbled. “I’ve been working on it for half the morning.”

“You’re not thinking right,” Magnus said. “Perhaps you should flood the place with boiling water.”

Tom looked at his uncle. “If you want to wade through boiling water, be my guest,” he said. “It’s not my first choice.”

“You know, my uncle, your Great Uncle Finlay, well, he had a job like this and got himself a brazier full of coals and set it right on the lino. He said it cleared it a treat.”

Tom stared at him. “Are you seriously suggesting that we light a fire in a bucket and move it around the floor?” he said, dumbfounded.

“Well you can’t keep scraping it off in tiny scraps,” Magnus said. “You’ll be here all day.”

“Hang on,” Tom said. “Was that the house over by Scorton Farm? I remember hearing about that.”

“Yep, that’s the one,” Magnus said. “Finlay said that the lino didn’t stand a chance.”

“That’s because he ended up burning the place down,” Tom said. “The pack had to pay out for it and Finlay nearly ended up in jail.”

“That’s Uncle Finlay for you,” Magnus said with a sigh, scuffing at the flooring. “He looked at the world in a different way.”

“He was dropped on his head too many times when he was a pup,” Tom grumbled. “Do you want some biscuits? Hilary’s been experimenting and she sent down a load of them.”

“I don’t mind if I do,” Magnus said, bending down and tugging at a ragged edge. “She won’t be as good as Annie, though, the old witch that had Rowan Cottage before her.”

“No?” Tom asked. “I don’t remember tasting her cooking.”

“Well, there was a bit of a problem between Annie and us werewolves,” Magnus said. “You see, she was always a good cook and she kept the house nice, and that’s an attractive trait in a woman around these parts.”

“I suppose so,” Tom said.

“Of course, she had a temper like a badger with toothache, but the woman could cook,” Magnus sighed. “I was only young, but I remember her flapjacks like it was yesterday.”

Tom glanced sceptically at Magnus. “You’re not that old,” he said.

“And it’s not that long ago,” Magnus said. “But it was before your time. Anyway, the trouble came about because Annie could cook and clean and your Great Uncle Finlay decided that he would try courting her, you know, asking her for a date with a view to marriage.”

“Did he break her heart?” Tom asked. “I’m surprised. I didn’t think that he was one for the ladies.”

“He never had a full tail of fur,” Magnus said. “But his heart was in the right place and he wanted to do things properly.”

“I’m not sure that I want to know,” Tom said.

“Well, a properly well brought up wolf will leave a brace of freshly caught rabbits on his beloved’s front step. It’s to prove that he’s a good hunter, a provider and that his intentions were serious.”

“He didn’t!” Tom winced.

“He did,” Magnus said. “And he was very keen on making it serious after tasting Annie’s steak and kidney pie at a harvest supper so he got a bit enthusiastic.” He shook his head sadly. The trouble was, no-one had told Annie about that tradition, so while your Great Uncle Finlay was trying to show that he wanted to get to know her better with a view to making things official, she found half a dozen dead things on her doorstep, all of them missing their heads, and she didn’t take it in the spirit that Great Uncle Finlay meant.”

“I can imagine that,” Tom said. “Didn’t he say anything?”

“Well, he told me that he was standing there in his best trousers, waiting until she got the message,” Magnus said. “And he was quite surprised when she wasn’t happy. He attempted to explain it to her, but she was trying to cave his skull in with a poker so he ran away.”

“I’m never sure that you’re telling the truth with these Uncle Finlay stories,” Tom said. “They can’t possibly be true.”

“There’s one in every pack,” Magnus said. “Hang on.”

“What is it?” Tom asked.

“These floorboards don’t feel right,” Magnus said. “They seem brittle.”

“It was probably the old glue holding them together,” Tom said glumly. “Great, I’ll have to sort out a new floor.”

“I think it’s just as well you found out now before it became a problem,” Magnus said. “I wouldn’t want to walk on this.” He leaned his weight on his arm, pushing down on the exposed planks. “Woah!”

There was an ominous creak, a crack, then Magnus lurched down as the boards gave way underneath him. Tom grabbed hold of Magnus’ leg, his werewolf reflexes lightning fast as slid forward. Then, with a violent heave, Tom dragged Magnus back to safety. There was a light pattering as fragments of floor fell down, then silence.

“Thank you,” Magnus said. “That was close.” He stood up warily, testing the floor as he stepped back towards the new hole. “Well, at least you have a new short cut to your cellar.”

“We don’t have a cellar,” Tom said. “At least, there’s no cellar on the plans and the Lesken sisters never mentioned it.”

Magnus tilted his head as he looked down into the gloom. “Now that you mention it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone mention a cellar here,” he said. “I wonder what happened.”

“I should give Lord Peregrine a call,” Tom said. “He’ll need to know that we need a new floor.”

Magnus grinned at Tom. “You don’t want to do that,” he said. “We need to have a look around and see what’s there.” He spread his hands with an air of innocence. “How else are we supposed to tell him what’s going on?”

“Alright,” Tom said, equally intrigued. “If you get the ladder from the kitchen, I’ll get the lights from my car.”

“I don’t like the look of this,” Tom said as he shone his flashlight around the space. “This cellar looks massive. I bet that it stretches underneath the yard at the back.”

“I think you’re right,” Magnus said. “Why was it shut up?”

“I can’t see anything obvious,” Tom said, taking a cautious step forward.

“Can’t you smell it?” Magnus said.

“Smell what?” Tom said. “Nothing has moved in this place for years, not even a beetle.”

“Over here,” Magnus said. “I think it’s tried to hide its scent, but I’m too old for that. Look!”

Tom swallowed. “It looks like the Lesken sisters had a lodger.”

A long sack filled with straw had been pushed against a wall, with a battered cushion at one end and a thin blanket neatly folded on top. A battered shopping bag was placed at the foot of the makeshift bed next to a scratched tray holding a mug and plate and a small glass bottle containing a little water and a bright arrangement of winter pansies. Tom swung the flashlight around. “That’s where they got in,” he said.

Magnus nodded. “They did a nice job,” he said. “They knocked out the old coal chute cover and dragged a sheet of cardboard to cover it from the inside. I’m willing to bet that there’s some sort of plant or bush outside to make it harder to see.”

Tom looked down at the pansies. “This looks a little desperate,” he said.

“Don’t get fooled,” Magnus said. “If you can get past the glamour that’s covering the scent, this place stinks of pooka. And that means trouble.”

There was an echoing rumble outside, followed by a crash. A scream echoed. “Come on!” Tom yelled, racing up the ladder with Magnus close behind. “It’s the embankment!”

The road outside sloped for a few hundred metres down to the bridge over the stream, cutting between two embankments. The oak at the top of them had fallen, crashing down with the weight of its branches and sturdy trunk, together with half the soil of the embankment and it had toppled directly onto a car. “Come on!” Magnus yelled, pulling his sweater over his head and kicking off his boots. “Call Jed then join me.”

Tom forced himself to pull out the phone and call the nearest help. Jed was further up the hill, but he was guaranteed to be in the Farm Shop and able to get here quick enough. Magnus, now in wolf form, was bounding towards the car, his ears flat and his tail straight behind him. It wasn’t looking good as Tom snapped out the situation to Jed and hung up, kicking off his boots and shrugging off his jacket. This was a situation that needed strength.

The werewolves circled the car, trying to get an assessment. Magnus turned to Tom. You know this stuff better than I. he said into Tom’s mind.

Jed will bring a chainsaw. Tom replied. The tree missed the car. It’s the earth that’s the problem.

There’s a woman and two children in that car. Fear echoed through Magnus’ thoughts.

There are branches blocking the passenger side. Tom trotted closer and peered at the car. The earth hasn’t crushed the doors and the main trunk is holding back the worst of the slip. We need to dig.

It wasn’t hard going as the earth was loose from the slip, but there was a lot of it. Tom and Magnus worked together, their huge paws shifting the soil, flinging it far from the car and keeping a wary eye on what was left of the embankment.

Is it stable? Magnus asked Tom, his thoughts laced with worry.

The roots of the tree are holding a lot of it back. Tom didn’t try and hide his concern. They’ll need to get someone from the Highways division out to get it checked.

It stinks of pooka. Magnus added.

We have a problem. Tom growled as he hit a compacted clump of dirt. But that’s a problem for later.

The wolves toiled on, digging frantically at the earth, all senses alert for a further slip. We’re almost there. Magnus snarled at a tricky tree root that rebounded and sent dirt up his nose. But I don’t think that the woman is local.

She’s scared of us. Tom could feel the waves of fear rolling off her as she pulled her young children out of their car seats and clasped them to her.

I can hear Jed. Magnus looked back at Tom. Go and warn him. We’re almost finished here.

Magnus was right. With a superhuman effort, the werewolves had cleared most of the dirt away from the front driver’s side of the car. Tom could feel the burn in his paws. I’ll go and tell Jed. Tom carefully backed away. Stay safe and keep an eye out for more falls.

I’ll keep an eye out for that pooka. Magnus scrabbled up the slope, his paws slipping, and growled.

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

“I’m not that good at cooking,” Hilary said. “I can do the basics, but I’m not brilliant.” She looked around the kitchen. “Besides, I’m not set up to make food to sell. You need certificates and stainless steel counters.” She sat at the kitchen table opposite Lord Peregrine and tapped its scrubbed surface. “It’s all just normal stuff here.”

Lord Peregrine leaned forward, charming persuasion in every inch of him. “But the food you make is so delicious!” He picked up another lemon and cardamom shortbread biscuit and took a healthy bite.

“I crushed the spice for the shortbread,” Bracken said proudly as she brought over a mug of Earl Grey tea and set it in front of Lord Peregrine.

“You are to be commended,” Lord Peregrine said, finishing his shortbread and taking another.

Hilary stared at the few remaining biscuits left on the plate. “You really like those?”

“Hmm,” Lord Peregrine managed through a mouthful of crumbs. He swallowed and took a mouthful of tea. “Indeed, they are extremely pleasant.” He smiled at her, his charm spilling out and filling the kitchen. “Perhaps we could come to some arrangements.”

“Stop that!” Hilary said. “You leave your charms outside my land, my lord!”

Lord Peregrine held up an unapologetic hand. “I have to try,” he said, eyeing the remaining shortbread.

“You can take the rest of the shortbread with you,” Hilary sighed. “But I’m not making cakes. I can’t. This kitchen would never be passed by food inspectors.”

“But it is truly clean,” Bracken added, bringing over a paper bag for the shortbread. “I cleaned it myself to proper brownie standards. And I also chopped bacon.” She placed the bag next to the plate.

“Bacon biscuits?” Lord Peregrine asked.

“We made tomato and bacon muffins,” Hilary said. “They’re great for Tom’s lunches.”

“And they would be perfect for the new stores,” Lord Peregrine said. “And you could cook there.”

“What?” Hilary said, before catching on. “No! I don’t care what the kitchen is like. I’m still not cooking for the new stores.”

“I wish I could cook for the new stores,” Bracken said wistfully.

“So do I,” Lord Peregrine said. “I know how diligent you would be.” He looked meaningfully at Hilary.

Hilary’s shoulders slumped. “I’m never going to get a moment’s peace until I give in, am I?” she grumbled. She glared at Lord Peregrine. “I should ward against you, just to make a point.”

“But how could I ensure that Tom and Bracken are being well treated if I can’t attend on your kitchen?” Lord Peregrine asked, looking like the picture of reason as he took another shortbread from the plate. “And I need another tea.” He glanced at Bracken. “Please.”

Bracken regarded him narrowly, then sniffed and refilled the kettle. “I is happy to oblige,” she said.

“I’m still not a brilliant cook,” Hilary said.

“You is amazing cook!” Bracken exclaimed. “And Tom thinks that as well as he greatly enjoys his lunches and dinners.”

“And I always enjoy dinner here,” Lord Peregrine said sweetly. “And the company is delightful.”

“What did I say about charms!” Hilary said. She took a deep breath. “I’m not thrilled to say this, but let’s make a deal.”

Making a deal with the fae was not for the fainthearted and Lord Peregrine took exception to Hilary writing everything down. “I can remember everything perfectly,” he said.

“That’s not the point,” Hilary said, noting down that Lord Peregrine would provide ingredients that would be considered of an acceptable quality by over 75% of the village. “Really we need good quality ingredients, but they aren’t always easily available so I’m putting in the bare minimum.”

Bracken nodded. “Ingredients matter,” she said. “I has been studying. The finest butter was in them shortbreads and it shows.”

Lord Peregrine looked thoughtful. “So if I want to have a good reputation for the food, I should supply excellent ingredients.”

“Most of the time you don’t need to worry too much about sugar,” Hilary said. “And we should get as much as possible from the Farm Shop. But yes, good ingredients help.”

“Why then are you not asking for excellent ingredients in your notes?” Lord Peregrine asked.

“You won’t always be able to get hold of the best of everything,” Hilary said. “The Farm Shop may not have it, the supermarkets may have run out and there may be no choice but to use a substitute.”

Bracken nodded. “We had to use an inferior vanilla last week,” she said “As there was no other in the Farm Shop and the supermarket had run out.”

“So what happens when a fae can’t live up to their side of an agreement?” Hilary asked.

“It isn’t good,” Lord Peregrine said quietly.

“As I am showing kindness in this clause,” Hilary said, taking a much needed mouthful of her own tea. “I expect you to be kind as we work through this.”

“Your kindness is transactional?” Lord Peregrine asked.

Hilary ignored him. “I need to see the kitchen,” she said.

“Auntie Olive and Auntie Ivy had everything of the finest,” Bracken said.

“I know that they made me replace the vacuum cleaner,” Lord Peregrine grumbled.

*****

Hilary lit the fire in the library. “I know that I could bring in a heater,” she said. “But somehow a fire in the grate feels warmer.”

Bracken shifted uneasily. “I has not yet properly cleaned this room,” she said. “It has not been used.”

“I know,” Hilary said. “It’s a shame.” She looked around. “If it wasn’t for worrying about a separate fire, this would be a much better place to sit than the kitchen.”

“You has a sitting room, a sewing room and a parlour,” Bracken said sternly. “And we still spend the evening in the kitchen.”

“We should come in here,” Hilary said. “I feel like curling up on that sofa already.”

“The room needs a proper airing,” Bracken said. “And a good going over before that happens. I is insisting on that.” She pursed her lips. “And I shall dust every book.”

“Every book?” Hilary stared at Bracken. “There must be hundreds of them in here.”

“And they all need dusting,” Bracken said.

“That can wait,” Hilary said. “Please will you fetch the cookbooks from the kitchen and my notepad and pen. I’ll start looking for cookbooks in here. We need to start planning what we’re going to cook.”

“Some of these books are old.” Bracken said. “They will make old cakes.”

“It’s worth looking,” Hilary said. “You never know, we might find something that becomes a speciality because no-one makes it anymore.”

“Like the scones with Auntie Olive and Auntie Ivy,” Bracken said. “That is an idea.” She scurried out of the room.

Hilary started methodically working her way along the shelves. Long, tall, bookcases lined two opposing walls, with a wide window at one side and a fireplace at the other. Comfortable armchairs were grouped around the fireplace while two wide sofas were nestled with their backs against the windows. Best of all, however, was a wide table in the centre of the room covered with a heavy tapestry throw. It was perfect. Hilary sneezed. Bracken had at least done a superficial clean of the room, which was probably a lot more thorough than the brief sweep and dust that Hilary had managed when she first moved in, but the books were definitely dusty. Hilary sneezed again. The bookcases were crammed, overflowing with ancient novels, bound collections of magazines, gardening books, history books, obscure biographies, and travel books. There were even collections of sermons which was an oddity in a witch’s cottage, but Hilary wasn’t going to question them. There were also dozens of cookbooks, from the local collections sold at church halls and WI sales to raise money, to the speciality books given out by marketing boards for oats or dairy or even potatoes, to the battle-scarred veterans of the cookbook world whose spattered pages told of countless family meals.

“I brought the books,” Bracken said, balancing them in a stack with Hilary’s notebook. “But you took the recipe for the shortbread from the internet.”

“I suppose I’ll have to start a special recipe book,” Hilary said. “Where I can keep all the recipes in one place.”

“That would be a special book indeed,” Bracken said with hushed reverence, carefully placing the books on the table.

Hilary put her own finds next to them. “These books need a good sort out,” she said. “They’re all jumbled up.” She caught the gleam in Bracken’s eye. “Not today!” she added quickly. “It’s just the cooking today.”

“There are so many decisions,” Bracken said, her face creased with worry. “And so many choices.”

“And Lord Peregrine was no help at all,” Hilary said. She pulled her notepad towards her. “How much did your Aunties sell?”

“I cannot believe that this person is considering rubbing a stain with milk,” Bracken grumbled as she dipped into an elderly book of household hints. “That has no sense at all. You then have two get stains out. First the ink and then the mark made by the milk and you need a good laundry powder for that.”

Hilary squinted at the ragged book. “That’s probably advice before laundry powder and probably back to the days when people would make their own ink.” She stretched. “I promised Tom that I’d make sausage and mashed potato for dinner. The potatoes are already peeled, but I need to get the rest finished.”

Bracken put her bookmark neatly in place before jumping to her feet. “And roasting carrots with cumin,” she said. “That is most flavoursome with spices.” She looked back with longing at the rows of books.

“Do you like to read?” Hilary asked. “You can read any book in here as long as you put it back.”

Bracken looked up, her eyes wide. “I can read any book in here?” she asked. “Even books that aren’t real?” She reached out to brush a tentative finger over a battered paperback on a shelf near the door.

“You mean, fiction?” Hilary asked. “Like stories?”

“Things that aren’t real,” Bracken confirmed. “The cookbooks are about things that are real. This is about things that aren’t real.”

Hilary looked closer at the cover. An over muscled, shirtless man sat astride a motorcycle, staring out from the cover while an underfed and underclad woman clung desperately to his arm. “It’s probably not real,” she said cautiously. “But you can read it if you like.”

“Thank you!” Bracken said. She took a deep breath and turned to survey the book-stuffed room. “I’m going to read everything!”

Hilary really hoped that she wouldn’t have too much explaining to do.