You can read the story so far from the beginning here

Lord Peregrine stood in the centre of the shop and surveyed the chaos with approval. “I need to call the new stores something,” he said.

Tom frowned as he strode past, a large box of tinned tuna balanced easily in his arms. “You mean you only just thought of it now?” He set the box down easily on the floor next to the shelves.

“He had to leave it to the last moment to extract the maximum drama,” Paul said.

Lord Peregrine’s eyes narrowed at the accuracy of the statement. “I had other matters on my mind,” he said loftily. “Such as all the permits required for the new stores.”

“I dealt with those,” Tom said, rapidly stacking the tuna.

“And all the purchases for the stock,” Lord Peregrine said.

“I got most of those as well,” Tom said. “How about calling it The New Stores? It’s already being called that.”

Lord Peregrine frowned. “But there weren’t old stores,” he pointed out. “This means that these can’t be the new stores.”

“They could be the new stores because they’re new to this location,” Paul said. “They’re not replacing something, but they’re the first of their kind here, so they’re the new stores.”

Lord Peregrine frowned. “There was a small inn here once, before the bridge was built, and they also carried merchandise for the local farms. They could have been considered a store.”

“When was the bridge built?” Tom asked. Lord Peregrine shrugged.

“Do you remember which king was on the throne?” Paul asked. “Or where the permit for the bridge came from? It could make a difference if it came from York or Wakefield.”

Lord Peregrine looked shifty. “If the bridge did not have a permit, and the village bridge could have a permit somewhere but the paperwork has been lost, how long ago should it have been built so that it didn’t matter?”

“It must have been some time ago,” Tom said. “So this could be the new stores as the old stores were here before the bridge was built.”

“There are some bridges in Yorkshire that were built by the Romans,” Lord Peregrine said. “And they may not have had a permit if they were conquering the country.”

Tom looked at Paul who was trying not to laugh. “If it was more than twenty years ago, it doesn’t need a permit,” he said. “Besides, who’s going to complain.”

Lord Peregrine frowned. “Christine complains about everything,” he said with perfect truth.

“She’s not going to complain about a bridge that she relies on,” Tom said. “She’s only just calmed down after the roadworks finished.”

“Are you sure that it’s twenty years?” Lord Peregrine asked.

“Yes!” Tom lied. “Try and forget about the bridge and think of a name for the new stores.”

“Because many monks built bridges after William the Bastard laid waste to the Dales,” Lord Peregrine said. “And those permits are probably still in the Vatican. It could take months to get a copy.”

“Why did you mention permits?” Tom asked Paul despairingly. “Don’t worry about the bridge,” he told Lord Peregrine. “I’ll look into it for you. Instead, worry about the name of the new stores.”

Lord Peregrine thought for a moment. “Are there any snacks left by Hilary or Bracken in the kitchen?” he asked. “I can’t think on an empty stomach.”

Tom watched him head into the kitchen as he slotted in the last cans of tuna, then he turned to Paul. “Are you doing an internet search?”

Paul looked up from his phone. “How old do you think the bridge is?” he asked.

Tom shrugged. “I’d guess Victorian, but there is no way that there’d be a problem about a permit now. The local council is too busy creatively causing problems for stuff being built now.”

“That’s a cynical view,” Paul said.

“That’s the view of someone who has spent too many hours on the phone to local councils trying to get a straight answer to an easy question.” Tom stood and stretched. “We should be fine to open on Friday.”

Paul was concentrating on his phone. “There probably won’t be too much traffic at this time of year,” he said. “Though I think the locals will be happy to call in rather than face the crush in the bigger towns if they just want something small.” He tapped his screen. “I think the permit would have been needed if it was built after 1965, and the bridge is definitely older than that.”

“That’s good to hear,” Lord Peregrine came out, a sausage roll in his hand. “I can concentrate on the name of the new stores now.” He paused. “You are sure that I do not need to worry about the permit which could possibly exist but have been mislaid?”

“Yes!” Paul and Tom said in unison.

“Then I wish the new stores to be called The Lord’s Store,” Lord Peregrine said grandly.

“That sounds like it’s selling Bibles,” Paul said. “And stuff for churches.”

Lord Peregrine looked around. “Someone from a church could buy tuna here if they wished,” he said.

“The problem of the bridge is weighing on your mind,” Tom said. “Why don’t you take a moment to plan the garden at the back. If we have a good vegetable garden there, we can impress the summer tourists with our fresh food.”

“And I can consult with Jed about which vegetables we should grow,” Lord Peregrine said. “For example, they grow cabbage but not carrots.”

“And we stock all the seeds,” Tom said.

“That is a thought,” Lord Peregrine said.

Tom relaxed a little. “We should get the plates and cups for the café unpacked and run them through the dishwasher,” he said. “That way they’re ready on Friday morning.”

“How about The Peregrine’s Nest?” Lord Peregrine asked.

“It sounds like a pub,” Tom said. “And our license is very clear. We can sell alcohol to take away but we can’t serve it in the café. We’d get into trouble.”

“There is far too much paperwork,” Lord Peregrine complained. He frowned. “How about The Mart Shop?”

Paul looked up from his phone. “What?”

“What have you been watching on television?” Tom asked.

“I’ve watched little television over the last few weeks,” Lord Peregrine said. “It’s been so busy, with the new witch at Rowan Cottage, then all the happenings with Samgan and the cellar, I haven’t remembered to turn the television on.” He wandered over to the perfumes. “Why don’t the pictures match the scent?”

“I have no idea,” Tom said. “And I don’t have time to switch the labels. I’ve put up a warning notice here.”

“Nobody reads notices in shops,” Lord Peregrine said. He picked up a bottle marked Honeysuckle. “This has the most delightful bluebell scent,” he said. “It’s excellent quality.”

“You obviously bought them from a good brand,” Tom said. “Why don’t you call it The New Stores? It’s a new store, and no-one would be confused.”

“How about Prices Slashed?” Lord Peregrine picked up a nearby bath bomb. “This is bright orange, it has an orange ribbon and an orange label calling it St Clements but it smells like apples.”

“It’s probably marketing,” Paul said. “If you called the new stores Prices Slashed, people may not realise that this shop has good quality merchandise. Most people think that cheap stuff can’t be good quality.”

“We could call it Quality Prices,” Lord Peregrine said. He wandered over to the pet food. “I always thought that you didn’t need to feed cats much. I thought that they usually make their own arrangements.”

“I think it depends on the cat,” Tom said. “We need a name that would appeal to the tourists in summer.” He looked at Paul. “The locals are likely to come here anyway, because it’s convenient. We need something that will appeal to passing traffic.”

“We require postcards,” Lord Peregrine said. He prowled back to the perfumes. “These are remarkable perfumes. This one with the daffodil on the front and labelled Jonquil has a delicious rose scent. I shall have to buy these.”

Tom realised that he was clenching his fists. “First of all, we have ordered postcards but there’s a problem with the supplier. And you can’t buy the perfumes because we need the stock for when we open. You could go back to the site you got them from and order some more.”

“That is an excellent suggestion,” Lord Peregrine said. “And they also had candles.” He prowled back around to the food colouring. “Doesn’t anyone dye their food with spinach juice anymore? We could call the new stores The Summer Tourist Mart,” he said.

“Are you doing this deliberately,” Tom said. He wandered over to the café area and collapsed into one of the chairs. “No-one goes to a shop that looks like it’s for tourists. It’ll make the locals think that you don’t want them shopping here and any passing traffic will think that it’s just full of cheap junk that the locals don’t want.”

“We could try The Mart with Good Things,” Lord Peregrine said.

“We shouldn’t use mart because it’s an American term,” Paul said. “You’ll find a few places around using it, but it’s not really something that sounds like the English countryside.”

“I suppose we could try The Store with Good Things,” Tom said. “But it would be a long sign. Do you have a signwriter in mind? They may not be able to do something at short notice, with it coming up to the holidays.”

“I have a woman who owes me a favour and who has training in such things,” Lord Peregrine said. “I made sure that she had a good supply of materials at hand before I warned her to be ready.”

The door behind them opened and Hilary stepped in from the street carrying a large, lidded box. “It’s freezing out there,” she said.

“What do you think that the new stores should be called?” Lord Peregrine asked.

“Why aren’t you calling it The New Stores?” Hilary asked, bustling past them to the kitchen.

Tom shook his head and held up his hands. “Don’t ask,” he said. “So far suggestions have included Prices Slashed and The Summer Tourist Mart. We’re out of ideas.”

“Why don’t you call it The Village Store?” Hilary placed the box carefully on the counter and looked around as the men followed her in. There was a long silence.

“It’s perfect,” Lord Peregrine said. “I shall speak to the signwriter at the earliest opportunity.” He paused for a moment. “How is Samgan?”

Hilary thought for a moment. “He’s been asleep for most of the day,” she said. “And that’s not a bad thing. He was seriously ill.” She looked at Paul, who nodded.

“If you want to ask him questions, he could probably answer them,” Paul said. “But he wouldn’t be able to answer them well and I don’t think he’d answer them fully, even if he wanted to. When you’ve been that ill, your brain doesn’t work so well. You need to give him time.”

“What have you brought down?” Lord Peregrine asked, peering over her shoulder.

“Here are one dozen individual shepherd’s pies, already frozen and ready to go into your freezer which Paul promised me was working.”

“It is!” Paul said.

“I’ve put the instructions for reheating on a printed label on each separate shepherd’s pie and they should be fine,” Hilary said. “The packaging was sold as microwave safe, but I’d test it out if I were you first.”

“I’m quite hungry after our debate,” Lord Peregrine said carefully.

“It is almost lunch time,” Paul said, licking his lips.

“And we should test a few samples, just in case,” Tom added.

Hilary pulled out three cartons and then thrust the big box at Paul. “I’ll heat up these for you if you put the rest away in the freezer.” She looked over at Tom. “And I would expect at least a cup of tea for my efforts.”

“Coming right up,” Tom said.

“This is going to be a wonderful success,” Lord Peregrine said happily.

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

The kitchen was warm and cosy. The lamps in the corners were the only dim light and the fire in the kitchen stove rumbled companionably. Tom and Magnus sat at the scrubbed kitchen table, hunched over steaming cups of coffee. Bracken sat on a small nursing chair next to the fire, carefully knitting a scarf.

“It’s getting quieter in the bedroom,” Tom said.

Magnus nodded. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said. “I don’t think there’s a single picture in the room left with glass. They’ve all been smashed.”

“At least the windows are still intact,” Tom said, then winced. “I shouldn’t tempt fate. At least the windows haven’t broken yet.”

Bracken laboriously finished a row then slowly stood. “Would you like food?” she asked.

“Bracken, you should go to bed,” Tom said. “You’ve been rushing around all night. Magnus and I can take over for a little while.” He searched for the best way to persuade the little brownie to rest. “We aren’t as good as you, but we’ll need to be looked after later, and you won’t be able to take care of us properly if you haven’t rested.”

“I is a brownie,” Bracken said proudly. “And I keep the home.”

“And you’re good at it,” Tom said. “But it’s been a tough couple of days and we’re all feeling it. We need to be rested if want to keep going.”

Magnus nodded. “We don’t know what’s in those notebooks,” he said. “We’ll need all our strength to face what’s coming.”

Bracken sagged a little and then nodded. “I shall nap like a cat,” she announced. “Just a little sleep until dawn.”

Tom watched her carefully stoke up the fire and then shuffle slowly out of the room. “I remember when she was still in Lord Peregrine’s hall,” he said. “She was a tiny twig of a thing, quieter than a mouse and always on edge.” He shook his head. “Now she’s speaking up and answering back and keeping us all in order.”

“It’s not surprising that she was like that,” Magnus said. “She’s older than she looks, though she’s young for a brownie. Great Uncle Finlay told me about her.”

Tom looked at him narrowly. “Is this about real things or Great Uncle Finlay things?” he asked.

Magnus pushed his coffee away from him. “I daren’t have another coffee,” he said. “I wouldn’t say that I suffer from being anxious, but I think I’m one small coffee away from a panic attack.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Samgan set the curtains on fire,” he said. “I couldn’t believe it!”

“I remember,” Tom said. “I came in with a jug of water, even though I didn’t believe there could be a fire, but there were flames down one side.”

Magnus started looking through the well-ordered kitchen cupboards. “Do you fancy a cup of herbal tea?” he asked. “I could do with something to warm my bones, but nothing with caffeine.”

“Try the third cupboard from the end,” Tom said. He stooped and added another log to the stove. “We need to keep the fire going. They could need anything in that sickroom.”

“I’ve found a supermarket version of lemon and ginger,” Magnus said. “Do you want a mug?”

“Why not?” Tom said. “And I may as well refill all the kettles while I’m here.”

The two men pottered gently around the kitchen before sitting back down with two fragrant mugs and a large plate of lemon shortbread biscuits set between them. “You were saying about Bracken,” Tom said. “And that Great Uncle Finlay had a story.”

“It wasn’t one of his usual ones, so I’m pretty sure that it’s the truth,” Magnus said. He took a bite of lemon shortbread and chewed thoughtfully as he considered where to start. “It went something like this. Years ago, there were a lot more people in the village and around here.”

Tom nodded. “Dad used to complain about getting help on the farm and said it was easier back in the day.”

Magnus nodded. “Once upon a time, people left the village to see a bit of the world and maybe make a bit of money, but they came back. But they don’t come back anymore.” He sighed. “There were a lot more supernaturals as well. The pack was much bigger. There must have been at least thirty of us, back in your great-grandfather’s day, and there were four vampires, with a couple living right in the centre of the village. But people started leaving and the supernaturals went with them. I mean, old Mr Ginly, the vampire who used to live next to the new stores, he held out as long as he could. Great Uncle Finlay said that he made do with the pig farm that used to be over near Pateley Bridge, but in the end it didn’t really work for him and I think he ended up moving down to Sheffield.”

“I didn’t realise that there had been that many,” Tom said. “We hardly even see Cabus these days.” He pushed the simmering kettles to the edge of the stove to keep the heat in.

“Once Lord Peregrine had been dormant for a while, it got worse,” Magnus said. “According to Great Uncle Finlay, it was barely worth staying. The hall was falling into disrepair and people were drifting apart.”

“I’ve never heard Lord Peregrine talk about that time,” Tom said.

“I’m not surprised,” Magnus said. “I daresay he feels guilty, and some bad stuff happened, but fae have to go with the rhythms of their earth and his nature said to sleep, so sleep he did.” He took a sip of his heavily sweetened lemon and ginger tea. “Bracken would be one of the things that upsets him. You see, according to Great Uncle Finlay, one of her ancestors took an oath that there would always be a member of their family to serve Lord Peregrine as long as their line lasted.” Magnus paused and for a few moments the silence was only broken by the ticking of the clock and the hiss and crackle of the fire in the stove. “That’s a hell of an oath, and I can’t imagine the circumstances that led to it. Great Uncle Finlay thought it must have been around the time of the Black Death or something dramatic like that, but bad things happen at all times and who knows.” He paused and stared into the fire. “When things got really quiet and there were hardly any of us supernaturals around, the brownies felt that they had to leave. Well, you know how brownies have to keep busy, and there wasn’t much to do in Lord Peregrine’s hall except watch it fall to pieces.” He sighed softly. “So the family left. I mean, not all of them. The Lesken sisters were part of the family. I think that they were sisters to Bracken’s grandmother. But they had already started the tea rooms and weren’t around much.” Magnus thought for a moment. “Uncle Finlay said that they could cook, once, so they may have done meals, but I don’t know. What he did say was that Bracken’s parents and her four sisters and three brothers went to go to live in Leeds and left her to serve Lord Peregrine whenever he got back.” Magnus looked sombre. “From what Great Uncle Finlay said, and from what I’ve seen, she was only a kid, barely able to look after herself, let alone the hall. Ivy and Olive called in and fed her a bit and taught her how to clean, but they were busy and she was pretty much abandoned.”

“Poor kid,” Tom said. “No wonder she’s blossoming here.”

“I’m wondering if that’s why the Lesken sisters retired and went to work in the hall,” Magnus said. “I know that they were getting old, and the building needed an urgent upgrade, but they’d been staggering on for a while. If they’re at the hall, though, then the oath is being fulfilled.” He stood and poked the fire, watching new flames lick up the bars of the grate. “And if Bracken’s cooking for the shop then it’s sort of serving him,” he said. “The oath would still stand.”

“Do you know if she hears from her family?” Tom asked quietly.

Magnus shook his head. “They could all be dead as far as I know,” he said. “After all, they headed into Leeds and strange things happen there. She doesn’t seem to miss them, though, and she’s got Hilary on her side, which helps,” Magnus said. “The woman is a warrior.”

Both men stiffened as a crack rang out from the bedroom. They sat, frozen, for a few moments, then relaxed as there was no further noise.

“I did my best, you know,” Magnus said quietly. “I knew what your dad was like. He was always a nasty piece of work, and age didn’t improve him.”

Tom shrugged. “I don’t think that there was much you could do,” he said. “It’s not like he beat us.”

Magnus shook his head. “It was worse, really,” he said. “I’m glad you weren’t physically hurt, but when he had those rages, it was terrifying. Your mum didn’t seem to be bothered and your brother was just as bad as your father, but I always felt that you deserved better.”

“Do you know, at one point, we only had plastic plates because he broke every china plate that we owned,” Tom said. He put a hand on his uncle’s arm. “I know that you did your best, and I always loved getting out and about with you. It’s okay.”

“I was the one that insisted that you got a job away from us,” Magnus said. “I sold it to your father as you getting influence and experience that would do you well later, and I thought that if you came back then having someone on the farm who knew how to patch up a building would be an advantage.”

“It was a lifeline,” Tom said. He glanced at Magnus then back at the fire. “You stopped my dad from taking my money, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t realise at first, or, at least, I didn’t realise what was going on,” Magnus said. “Back when I was a pup, everyone handed over a few quid to their parents out of their first wage packets. It’s just what you did. Half the time the parents put it to one side and it paid for the kid’s wedding or a deposit on a house or car for them. Sometimes the wages of the older kids paid for the younger kids to have food on the table. But you weren’t supposed to take the whole wage. How was a kid supposed to save up?”

“I think that was the point,” Tom said wryly. “Dad couldn’t have me getting a bit of money put by and having a chance to get away.” He stood and stretched. “Maybe we should take our own advice and get some rest. I’ll stay here and you could get a couple of hours sleep on my bed. We could switch over after that.” He paced slowly around the room, stopping by the fire to warm his hands.

“I’m staying here for a bit whether I’m asleep or awake,” Magnus said. “There’s some cold rain coming in and I’d be drenched before I got home.” He took another sip of his lemon and ginger tea. “Though if I was going to have a nap, I’d rather have it in a chair in here. That fire is lovely and warm and I’ll bet that there’s noting so cosy in your room.”

Tom shook his head. “There are fireplaces in the rooms, but none of us bother,” he said. “But I know that they lit a fire in Samgan’s room and Hilary put about a dozen wards over it to keep it safe.”

“I’m not surprised with everything flying about,” Magnus said.

Something crashed in the green bedroom. The two werewolves exchanged anxious glances as a howl went up, followed by some creative swearing.

“You have to respect Paul’s use of language,” Tom said. He padded out of the kitchen and down the hall, cautiously easing the door open. “Can I help?”

The room was a wreck. Scorch marks trailed across the wallpaper and the curtains hung in tatters while the fire in the grate burned an unsettling shade of green. Hilary and Paul sat either side of the bed, their shoulders slump and a nasty burn mark down Paul’s forearm. In the centre of the bed, Samgan was shivering uncontrollably. Hilary nodded. “Could you refresh the hot water bottles, please, and could you refill the bowl with hot water.”

Tom nodded. “Can I fetch you anything to eat or drink?” he asked.

Paul looked up. “We can’t have anything just yet,” he said wearily. “But another flask of peppermint tea for Samgan would help.”

“And I don’t know if Bracken got some chicken soup out,” Hilary added. She ran a tired hand over her face. “Could you check what’s happening with that.”

“I’ll check,” Tom said. “And hot water bottles, bowl of hot water, and peppermint tea.” He looked at the pitiful figure huddled in the centre of the bed. “Is he going to be okay?”

“We’ll know in the next hour or so,” Hilary said. She looked at Paul, who shrugged. “I think so, if he can get through until morning, he should be fine.” She managed a wan smile. “And get some rest between you and Magnus,” she added. “We’ll need help tomorrow, even though it’s not likely to be quite so nerve wracking, and it’s been a long night.”

“It really has,” Tom said.

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

“Do you think Jed takes advantage of Lord Peregrine at the Farm Shop?” Bracken asked as she deftly peeled apples in the warm, welcoming kitchen.

Hilary watched her for a moment, thoughtful. The little brownie was showing an unexpected aptitude for cookery of all sorts. “I think that it’s complicated,” she said. “I think Lord Peregrine will take extra apples from Jed and allow him to charge the full price, but I also think that Jed hands over the sort of gifts that appeal to the fae, like honey and marzipan, and makes room for supernaturals. You know, like allowing the local pack to hunt on his land and not cutting the last stand of wheat or barley.”

Bracken nodded. “It’s the sort of complicated that makes my head hurt,” she said.

“You’re picking up cooking quickly,” Hilary said. “I think it’s part of your magic.”

Bracken shot her an offended look. “I is not magical. I is a brownie, with nothing confusing.”

“You may not do magic,” Hilary said. “But you have skills in getting into places and being extra quick at cleaning.”

“That is the spirit of being a brownie,” Bracken said. “It is nothing magical.”

Hilary kept her doubts to herself. “Well, whatever it is, I think that cooking is part of it,” she said. “Do you want me to start the pastry?”

“You use the machine to make pastry,” Bracken sniffed. “Now that I know about pastry, I can make it by my hands.”

“Whichever method you use, it’s still better than mine,” Hilary said. “If you finish up the apple pies ready for the freezer, I’ll get started on the cheese scones.”

“We are almost ready for the new stores to open,” Bracken said, slicing the apples into neat chunks. “Do you think that there will be enough made?”

“If there isn’t enough, we can always make more,” Hilary said, fumbling at the phone ringing in her pocket. “Hang on a moment.”

“Miss Hilary? It’s Lord Peregrine. I need your help.”

Hilary felt a shiver slid down her spine. “Of course. What is it?”

“I’ve found Samgan but he is extremely ill,” Lord Peregrine said. “I’m bringing him to you. He needs medical help and I have nowhere else to take him.”

“Bring him here,” Hilary said. “How long before you get here?”

“We’ll be perhaps twenty minutes,” Lord Peregrine said.

“And what’s wrong with him?” Hilary asked. “Is he injured?”

“We didn’t see any signs of injury,” Lord Peregrine said. “He’s running a fever and delirious.”

“And he’s a pooka?” Hilary started pacing.

“He’s quite definitely a pooka,” Lord Peregrine said.

“I’ve nursed similar before,” Hilary said. “I’ll get ready.”

“I’ll pay whatever is required,” Lord Peregrine said. “When I was dormant, I didn’t protect him. And now he is very ill indeed.”

“This is not the time to worry about debts,” Hilary said. “I’ll be waiting.” She rang off and shoved the phone in her pocket.

“What has happened?” Bracken asked.

“They’ve found Samgan and he’s sick,” Hilary said. “They’re bringing him here. I don’t want you too near him in case it’s contagious, but you’ll have to help me. First of all, clear up the kitchen. The apple can go in lemon water and everything else back in the cupboards. Then I’ll need you to get out the ice packs from the freezer and two hot water bottles – you can find them in the cupboard next to the ironing board. I’ll also need a large flask of peppermint tea with lots of honey. Can you do that?”

Bracken nodded, already packing away the baking with inhuman efficiency. “Yes, and I’ll see if there are any fresh mint alive in the garden.”

“Be careful what you pick,” Hilary said, then hurried out of the kitchen, her mind racing.

The green bedroom was the obvious choice. It was on the ground floor with an ensuite bathroom and had large windows that Hilary immediately flung wide open. When Lord Peregrine started bringing up the idea of lodgers, she had quickly gone through the bedrooms and brought them up to date. She was glad of it now as she stripped the bed down to the plain sheet and pillows and checked that the mattress protector was firmly in place. Nursing any of the goblin kin was no job for the faint-hearted and it was better to be prepared. Just as quickly, she cleared everything from the bedside tables and threw a spare pillowcase over the mirror on the wall. She checked the time on her phone. They would be here any minute. She raced into her tiny office and pulled out a few bottles of essential oils from their box and hunted through her notebooks. What made sense for mortals didn’t always make sense for supernaturals and she didn’t want to get anything wrong.

She stopped for a moment and swallowed. She had to get things right. There wasn’t any other choice. To her knowledge, there wasn’t a doctor or nurse that had experience with this sort of patient within two hundred miles. Samgan was relying on her because there was no-one else. She gathered what smooth magical flow there was into her for a moment, holding onto her worries and then letting them go. She rushed into the kitchen. “Bracken, I want you to stay in the kitchen as much as possible, or in your own room, at least until we know more.” She managed a faint smile. “You can perhaps get some of the not real books from the library to read while we work things out.”

“Brownies are meant to be busy,” Bracken said firmly. “The ice packs are over there, wrapped in towels and I have put more water into the freezer to make ice.”

Hilary looked around the immaculate kitchen. “You’ve done great work.” She looked up as a roar of quadbikes rattled through the windows. “They’re here. Remember, Bracken, stay away from Samgan until we know more.”

Bracken nodded. “I shall,” she said, her hands twisting helplessly. “The kettles have almost boiled for the hot water bottles.”

Hilary ran to the door and flung it open. “I’ll need a bowl of hot water for the room,” she said. “Bring it through and then leave straight away. And wash your hands afterwards,” she called over her shoulder to Bracken as she hurried out towards Magnus as he strode towards the cottage. “How is he?”

“He’s bad,” Magnus said tersely.

“Follow me,” Hilary said, taking Magnus and the frail figure in his arms through the kitchen and across the hall. “In here and lay him on the bed.”

“Paul and Tom are on their way,” Lord Peregrine said as he followed them into the green bedroom.

“Lay him down,” Hilary instructed Magnus. “Careful!”

Magnus laid Samgan down on the bed as Hilary rushed into the bathroom. “You’re safe here,” he said uncertainly to the pooka now tightly curled up on the bed. “The witch will heal you.”

“Do not send me to the hole!” Samgan sobbed. “Not the hole.”

Hilary rushed back in with a bowl of warm water that she placed on the bedside table. “You are not going into the hole,” she said with calm authority, pulling a chair over to the bed and sitting next to the pooka. “I’m going to make you better.” She eased the coat from him. “Magnus, would you be kind enough to close the windows. When Bracken comes in, you are to place the bowl of hot water on the table near the window. Do you understand?”

“Yes, of course,” Magnus said.

“Is your name Samgan?” Hilary asked.

Samgan nodded as he sobbed. “Please, it all hurts.”

“I’m sure it does,” Hilary said. “Okay, Samgan, I want you to hold still while I try and make you a little more comfortable.”

Magnus flinched as the glass in the picture frame shattered. “Should I get a brush?”

Hilary didn’t look away from Samgan as she wrung a cloth out in the warm water. “Wait until Bracken gets here and ask her to bring a brush and dustpan to the door.” She wiped the cloth gently over Samgan’s face. “It’s going to be okay, Samgan. You’re going to feel better soon.”

There was a tap at the door and Magnus hurried over. “I need a dustpan and brush,” he whispered as Bracken handed over the steaming bowl of water, shutting the door as she hurried away. He looked back on the bed. Hilary was carefully washing Samgan, going back again and again to wipe fresh water over his forehead and wrists. “Those are some nasty scars,” he said quietly.

Hilary nodded but didn’t stop. “Put the bowl on the table and close the windows,” she reminded him.

Magnus hurried to follow her instructions. The windows were stiff but the room was almost immediately warmer when they shut. He looked back at the pooka. “He looks like he’s half starved to death,” he said.

“So cold,” sobbed Samgan. “So cold.”

“You are running a fever,” Hilary said calmly. “That will make you feel poorly. But I’ll get some medicine and make you feel better.” She turned to Magnus. “Pull the curtains closed and add some of the peppermint essential oil to the hot water, please,” she said.

Magnus flinched as the mirror dropped to the floor with a sharp crack. “Should I get rid of the pictures?” he asked.

“No hole!” Samgan sobbed. “No witch.”

Hilary pressed her lips tightly together and took a deep breath. “Please close the curtains and add peppermint oil to the water. We don’t want to risk flying glass if the windows go and the oil will make Samgan feel better. Once the broken glass is cleaned up then it may be a good idea to remove breakables.”

Magnus shot a horrified glance at the wide windows and hurriedly pulled the curtains over. “Okay, peppermint oil.”

“It’s on the dresser,” Hilary said, never taking her eyes from Samgan.

“So dark,” Samgan cried. “And I hunger!”

“I’ll get you more comfortable and then you can have soup,” Hilary said, wringing the cloth out once again. “I have some nice chicken soup that you can have.”

Samgan tossed and turned, pushing away the coat. “So hot! So hot!”

There was another tap at the door and Magnus rushed to answer it. “I has tea in the flask with lots of peppermint and honey and the brush,” Bracken murmured, glancing nervously past Magnus.

“Please start heating up a pan of chicken soup,” Hilary said. “And you should put a casserole in the oven for the men when they arrive.” She whisked the coat away. “You are safe here,” she told Samgan with implacable assurance.

“Too hot!” Samgan cried. Sparks shot across the room, hissing as they landed in the bowls of water and leaving scorched pin-pricks all over the curtains and wallpaper. “I has hot!” he repeated.

“Put plenty of oil in the water and then bring the flask over,” Hilary instructed. “Samgan, can you hear me?”

“So hot,” Samgan moaned.

“I am going to get fresh water to clean you,” Hilary said. “You must lie still and calm.” She looked over to Magnus. “Stay away from the bed.”

Magnus backed away carefully before added a liberal dose of peppermint oil to the hot water. The fragrance flooded the room and a little tension left Samgan. Magnus started sweeping up the broken glass from the picture.

Samgan groaned. “There is fire.”

Magnus looked over and dropped the dustpan as Samgan rose slowly off the bed. “Hilary!”

Hilary slipped back into the room, placing the fresh water on the bedside table. “Samgan, get back on the bed,” she said firmly. “I can’t make you feel better if you’re not in bed.”

“But it’s hot,” whimpered Samgan as he lowered slowly back onto the bed. A scraping noise came from the dresser and Magnus spun around to see smoke seeping out of the top drawer.

Hilary ignored Magnus pulling the smouldering drawer out and throwing it into the hall and instead concentrated on pouring peppermint tea from the thermos flask into a small, clear mug. “Samgan, are you listening to me?”

Samgan curled up and shivered. “I hear you, I hear you,” he muttered. “It’s so cold.”

“I’m going to give you something to drink,” she said. “It will make you feel better.”

“So cold,” Samgan whimpered, huddling into himself.

Magnus stared at the brittle shards in the dustpan and then up at the pictures around the wall. “There’s ice on the glass.”

“Very likely,” Hilary said without turning around. “Come on, Samgan. You need to take a mouthful of this. It will make you feel much better.”

“So cold,” Samgan sobbed, but he allowed Hilary to help him to sit up a little and sip at the tea. “Oh, that is nice!”

“That’s it,” Hilary encouraged. “It will make you feel better.”

Samgan looked up at her with unseeing eyes. “Please, mistress, please, don’t put me in the hole!”

“I won’t put you in the hole,” Hilary said. “Take another mouthful of tea.”

“I can hear Tom and Paul in the drive,” Magnus said. “They can help me clear the room.”

“Don’t let them take me!” Samgan shrieked, clutching at Hilary’s wrist with emaciated fingers.

“I won’t let them take you away,” Hilary assured him. “Come on, take a little more tea.” She looked over her shoulder at Magnus. “Go and get Paul – quickly! I can’t be on my own for too long.” She glanced down at the huddled pooka sipping carefully at the peppermint tea. “I’m going to need all the help that I can get.”

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

Paul looked around the new stores. “This is looking impressive.”

Tom stood next to him and nodded. “It’s a real improvement,” he said.

“What was it like before?” Paul asked. “Did you come here?”

Tom nodded. “I grew up around here,” he said. “And it was…” He ducked his head closer to Paul. “I don’t want to say too much as the sisters that ran this place as a tea-room for around seventy years are still around, but there was a lot that needed doing.”

Paul looked around the shop. “There’s a lot of space here. Was it often full?”

“I’m not sure that it was ever full,” Tom said. “Tourists would sometimes stop in summer, but I don’t think it was truly overflowing. We should be fine with the small coffee bar in the corner.”

Paul nodded. “I can see it being mainly for locals, and perhaps some people taking away sandwiches or cakes.”

Tom grinned. “Lord Peregrine is determined that Hilary is going to be baking non-stop for the coffee bar. Hilary is equally set that she won’t spend all that time here. I’m waiting to see how that plays out.” A shadow crossed his face. “Did you see Hilary this morning? How is she?”

“She was looking tired,” Paul said. “But I think that she’s fine. She’s more worried about the number of notebooks she brought up. I don’t blame her. There were at least half a dozen big bags that were overflowing.”

“It’s getting bad,” Tom said. “I don’t have much of a grasp of the way that magic flows, but everyone that I’ve talked to says that it’s bad.”

“I can feel it,” Paul said. “It’s like a sour stream, or a brook filled with vinegar.” He held up a hand. “I’m sorry, that sounds dramatic, but it’s not good.”

“The witch before Hilary had left a poppet in the cow shed up on Sam’s farm,” Tom said. “It was meant to be protective, but apparently it got twisted.” He looked at Paul. “I saw it and while I couldn’t put my finger on it, there was something wrong about it. No wonder Sam was having so much trouble.”

“Was the witch before Hilary a little awkward to deal with?” Paul asked with careful tact.

“Annie?” Tom said. “She was foul-tempered, difficult and cherished her grudges the way that some people cherish kittens. But she took being a witch seriously. If you could get the courage up to speak to her, and get through the initial unpleasantness, she’d look after you. Besides, she hated people but she was a softy for animals. She wouldn’t have put anything there that could have brought harm to the cows.”

“That’s something,” Paul said. “Apart from the pooka, are there any other things that I should know about?”

Tom drummed his fingers on the empty shelf next to him. “Let’s get these boxes unpacked,” he said. “We can work while we talk.”

“Sure,” Paul said, easily picking up a large box. “What are they?”

“Lord Peregrine wanted us to stock a few last minute gifts.” Tom picked up another box and strode towards the window. “And nobody got him off the computer in time. He got onto an internet auction site and went a little crazy. He wouldn’t tell me what he’d ordered and, to be honest, I think he couldn’t remember what he’d got in the heat of the moment. He just said they were gifts and we should put them in the window.”

“That sounds like a fae,” Paul said. “And everything looks set to open before Christmas.”

“As long as we get the last of the inventory in and Hilary stocks up the kitchen,” Tom said. He grinned. “Though I think Bracken will probably do more of that, and I think that she’ll enjoy it.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Paul said. “I’ve had two meals and already I know that I’m going to have to take exercise very seriously indeed.”

Tom laughed. “I’ve just put on muscle, but I’ve been busy here,” he said. “I’m going to have to find a serious exercise plan as soon as it calms down.” He pulled open the first box. “Great! It’s perfume.” He grimaced as he pulled the first bottle out of the packaging. “I can’t wait to stink the store out.”

“It’s the perfect last minute gift,” Paul said. “Stereotypes say that it’s the men that leave things to the last minute, so there’ll probably be lots of scented stuff.” He picked up one of the bottles. “You know, bubble bath, bath salts, weird lotions, and all of that stuff. He took a sniff of the bottle. “Woah! You don’t need a werewolf’s nose to tell what that is.” He frowned as he looked closer. “Hang on, can I check that I’m not imagining this.” Paul held the bottle out to Tom. “It’s got a picture of a lily on the front of the bottle, right?”

Tom nodded. “Yep, that’s a lily.”

“And the big writing on the label says ‘LILY,’ right?”

Tom squinted at the label. “They’ve even spelled it right,” he said.

“So why does the scent smell like roses?” Paul asked.

Tom took the bottle from Paul and took a careful sniff. “You’re right! It’s roses. No wonder Lord Peregrine got them cheap.”

“We’re going to have to label them,” Paul said. “But that can go with the pricing, unless…” He picked up another bottle and sniffed. “You have got to be kidding me.” He held the bottle out to Tom. “It says ‘LILY’ on the bottle, and there’s the same picture on the label, but it doesn’t smell like roses.”

Tom took a cautious sniff and growled. “Well at least we only have to make one sign that says scent may not match label,” he said. “That smells like bluebells.”

“Where do you want them?” Paul asked.

Tom thought for a moment. “Put one of each label in the window,” he said. “They can go in that corner. If someone’s desperate and looking for a last minute Christmas present, they’ll look in all the corners. We can put the rest on the shelf over there, away from the heating.”

Paul hefted the box. “You were saying that we could talk while we worked,” he said.

Tom pursed his lips. “If you sort out the perfume, I’ll see what else is in this stack,” he said, waving a hand at a small stack of boxes. “And it was a couple of months ago.”

“Okay,” Paul said, pulling bottles out of the box.

Tom opened the nearest box. “This isn’t too bad,” he said. “It’s scarves and gloves. And they’re in boxes so I can just stack them on a shelf.” He squared his shoulders. “My uncle runs the local werewolf pack. There aren’t many of us,” he said. “It’s just a couple of families. And families don’t always get on.” He glanced over at Paul who kept his eyes on the perfume bottles. Tom pulled out the first layer of scarves. “My dad was older than Uncle Magnus and had a weird idea that he should be running the show.” He stacked the scarves on a shelf near the cash register. “He worried at it like a dog with a good bone, you know, the ones from old bulls.”

Paul was impassive as he sorted through the jumble of bottles. “That must have been hard.”

“Uncle Magnus kept an eye on him, but never pushed it,” Tom said. “Perhaps he should have. I don’t know if it would have made a difference, but…” He stacked some woollen hats next to the scarves. “Dad got kind of obsessed. Mum just followed anything that Dad told her. I don’t know if she was always so timid, but she never challenged anyone or anything.” Tom paused for a moment. “But she was a sweetheart, you know. Everyone thinks that their mum is special, but she was such a sunny soul. She always made me feel better about everything.”

Paul nodded. “That sounds like a special woman.”

“I wasn’t behind Dad challenging Uncle Magnus,” Tom said. “Werewolves know when someone is an Alpha, and Dad just wasn’t. He was a good man, and he worked hard for his family, but he wasn’t the sort of wolf you turned to for help or advice.”

“Some people are better suited to lead than others,” Paul said. “And not just in werewolf packs.”

“Right,” Tom said. “And that’s okay.” He stacked up the last of the hats and broke down the cardboard box. “And I wouldn’t want to be in Uncle Magnus’ shoes. He gets called out for all sorts of stuff, not to mention that Lord Peregrine has him running around at all hours. It’d drive me mad.”

Paul started stacking the bottles onto the shelf. “Everyone has different strengths and weaknesses.”

“You sound like some sort of shrink,” Tom said. “Dad made me get a job away from the pack. He said it would do me good to see the world and get some experience so that I’d be ready to take over from him.” He threw the flattened box over towards the counter to join the rest of the cardboard pile. “He kept my brother and his wife home with him.”

“I’m sorry if I sound like I’m taking notes,” Paul said. “It just sounds like it’s a difficult subject for you. You don’t need to keep going if you don’t want to.”

Tom pulled open the next box. “I could do with talking about it, I suppose,” he said. “It’s not like I can talk to many people about it.” He looked into the box and sighed. “More scarves. Let’s hope that they sell. Anyway, Uncle Magnus has his faults, but he’s not a bad Alpha, and working in construction and getting a bit of travel to different sites, I’ve seen a few. Dad didn’t see it though, but he could never quite get strong enough for a good challenge.” He pulled out a handful of the hat-and-glove sets and stacked them next to the scarves. “One week, at the end of August, I was away with work at a conference in Swansea.” He looked over at Paul. “It was a couple of weeks before Hilary got here and I don’t think that she knows about this. I suppose I should tell her. Anyway, while I was away, Dad tried to do some sort of ritual to increase his power. He waited until I was out of the area because he knew that I’d never stand for it. You don’t just challenge your Alpha like that, not with magic.”

Paul carefully put down the bottles and turned to look at Tom. “That is insanely dangerous. When you go asking magic for power, all sorts of things come running.”

“They really do,” Tom said soberly. “I never found out the full details, and I’m not sure of what I’ve heard, but something turned up, something that Dad wasn’t expecting. By the time I got back here, Mum and Dad and everyone was dead.” Tom swallowed. “A lot of damage got done to our farm, with half the Low Acre Field fallen down into the stream and all the barley stubble burned up. It was a mess.”

“You had a farm?” Paul asked.

“Yeah, well, Dad had the farm,” Tom said. “Magnus bought it from me at a discount price. I wouldn’t let him pay market rate when he and his kids had to deal with the mess and Melissa, my cousin, got quite badly hurt. I mean, it was werewolf hurt and it took her a week or two before she was properly well again.”

“And now you’re in charge of the new stores,” Paul said. “You’ve had a lot of upheaval.”

Tom looked around the chaos in the shop. “It could be worse.”

Paul felt the vibration in his pocket and pulled out his phone. “It’s Lord Peregrine. I’d better take it.” He wandered into the kitchen, shutting the door for privacy.

Tom finished stacking the sets and then broke down the box. He wasn’t sure that he felt better for talking to Paul. If he was honest, he wasn’t sure that he felt anything. As ever, he felt the nagging guilt. If he had been at home, perhaps he could have done something, perhaps he could have made a difference.

Paul ran out of the kitchen. “They’ve found Samgan,” he said. “And we’re both needed up at Rowan Cottage. It’s all going wrong.”