You can read the story so far from the beginning here

Tom watched Paul as he rang up a large order of candles, perfume, scarves, and pickled jalapenos.

“My mother invited four more people to Christmas,” Yvette grumbled. “And it’s not just them. I’m going to have to send gifts back for the rest of their families or I’ll be in trouble. Thank goodness for your gift shelves.”

“Lord Peregrine went a little…” Tom couldn’t think of a good way to describe Lord Peregrine’s attitude to stocking the shop. “We’ve got plenty of wrapping paper and sticky tape.”

“That’s a relief,” Yvette said. “You know that we can’t get deliveries here, not like they do in towns.”

We’ve got another delivery coming here this afternoon,” Tom said. “But it’s trade, so it’s a little different. Lord Peregrine…” There was no polite way to describe Lord Peregrine’s purchases. “You may like to pop back tomorrow, when we should have the new stock on the shelves. There’s plenty of stocking stuffers and little bits that might help you out.”

“He went crackers online when you weren’t looking, didn’t he?” Yvette grinned. “What did he get? And where are you going to put it.”

Tom forced his attention away from Paul and looked around the shops. “I think that we’ll manage,” he said. “We’re getting low on the perfume and fancy candles, which I didn’t expect, and we could do with another wholesale order for the groceries.”

“The perfume is gorgeous,” Yvette said. “I’ve already bought a load for myself.” She chuckled. “I know that Lord Peregrine was involved in that somewhere, but it smells absolutely glorious and it’s a bargain.”

“We won’t be able to get it again,” Tom said. “But I’m sure that his lordship will manage something.”

Yvette shook her head. “I can see me coming down to the Village Stores for bread, milk, and whatever wonder Lord Peregrine has picked up.” She looked around the shop. “What’s Alison doing?”

Tom pressed the total button on the till and glanced over. Alison was methodically moving clean glasses onto the trays for the dishwasher, her eyes blank. He looked back at Paul. He had the same absent expression as he carefully moved the tins of tomato soup from the grocery shelf to a gap between the snow globes and the sparkly Santa ornaments. “It’s been an odd few weeks,” he said with breathtaking understatement.

Yvette followed his eyes to watch Paul as she handed over her card. “Take the payment, then I’ll bag these up. You sort Paul and Alison out.” She looked back at Tom. “It’s going to be sorted out, isn’t it?”

Tom swiped the card. “It’ll be finished by Christmas, one way or another.” He briefly closed his eyes. “But until then, it might be a good idea to keep your kids inside and stay in at night. When is your mother coming to stay?”

“Mum and the tribe that she’s bringing are arriving Christmas Eve.” Yvette said. “Gideon calls it ‘the hordes descending’ and I can’t argue with that description.”

Tom grinned, despite himself. “Your husband always has a good way with words,” he said. He thought for a moment. “I know that you’re running around getting everything ready, but stay inside when it’s dark, keep an eye on that adventurous lad of yours, and don’t answer the door to anyone that you don’t know.” He glanced over to Paul. “Or anyone that you don’t know but who’s acting odd.”

“If you’re including Lord Peregrine, Bracken, or your uncle, I guess that means odd for them,” Yvette said.

“If you have any questions, you know that you can always call me,” Tom said. “But perhaps the best person to call would be Hilary. She’s holding things together at Rowan Cottage, and it would already be a lot worse without her.” He watched Alison pick up a loaded tray. “In fact, I think that I’ll give her a call now.”

“That’s a great idea,” Yvette started filling her bag. “And give me a call if you need a little extra help in the shop. I know that you’re doing your best.” She slid the last perfume into her bag. “And you’re all dear to me. Besides, Gideon is off work and while it may be bedlam here, it’s easier than dealing with a sugar filled toddler this close to Christmas.”

“Thanks,” Tom said gratefully. He watched her leave before pulling out his phone. Things were getting serious.

“There had better be soup!” Lord Peregrine announced as he stumbled into the Village Stores. “I need to be warmed!”

“You are walking on the floor!” Bracken cried, hurrying forward.

“I refuse to walk on the ceiling,” Lord Peregrine said. He looked past the agitated brownie to Hilary. “I need comfort.”

Hilary looked around the crowded shop, then back at Lord Peregrine. He was soaked, muddy and looking pale with cold. Behind him, Samgan, Magnus, Cabus and Tom were equally damp and dirty. “Everyone into the kitchen at the back,” Hilary said. “Bracken, take a few moments to find towels, soup and rolls. I’ll cover in here.”

“And then I shall attend to the floor,” Bracken grumbled.

Hilary watched her usher the men into the kitchen, then turned back to her customer. “Is that everything, Christine?”

“You don’t have a very good selection of gifts for youngsters, do you?” Christine sneered.

“No, we don’t,” Hilary said. She started scanning Christine’s items.

Christine waited for a moment, anticipating the excuses, her lips tightening as the silence stretched on. “Aren’t you going to say anything about it?” she snapped.

“No,” Hilary said. “Would you like a bag? Our sustainable, locally made bags are £1.”

“Don’t you think that there should be a better choice for kids?” Christine demanded.

“No,” Hilary said. “That’s £47.22 without a bag. Are you paying with cash or card?”

“I could get you fired,” Christine said, flushing as she pulled out a shopping bag.

“Don’t be silly,” Hilary said. “Is that all you want, Marlene?”

“This perfume is gorgeous!” Marlene said. “Of course, you have to check the label, but it’s worth it.”

“It’s false advertising,” Christine said, glaring at Hilary. “I should report you.”

Hilary gave her a bland smile. “You should absolutely report us if you think that there’s anything wrong,” she said.

Marlene narrowed her eyes. “Give it up, Christine,” she snarled. “There’s plenty of signs saying that the label and the fragrance may not match, and everyone knows that they’re seconds. Just because you can’t find anything for your precious son, you have to be spiteful.”

Christine opened and shut her mouth, then spun around and stormed out of the shop.

“Thanks,” Hilary said, applying the staff discount to Marlean’s order. “I swear that she’s getting worse.”

“She thinks that her husband has another woman,” Marlene said. She smiled sadly. “But he’s just hanging around the allotment and gym, because he’s avoiding her.” She nodded to the back room. “Go and sort them out.” She glanced around the shop. “I reckon you’ve got five minutes, and I’ll give you a shout if anything happens.”

Hilary hurried into the kitchen. “Is everyone alright?” she asked.

Cabus looked up from his cup of tea. “We are cold, wet and covered in mud, but we mapped all the stones,” he said. “Some had definitely been hidden, but we tracked them all.”

Samgan passed a bowl of soup over to Lord Peregrine. “We may be chilled and begrimed, but it was worth it. All of the stones are identified.”

Cabus took another sip of his tea. “Some will be easily moved, but others are embedded. We’ll have to plan carefully.” He nodded over to Magnus who was devouring a bowl of soup. “Magnus took plenty of photographs and measurements, along with ample notes. We can make informed plans.”

“That’s good news,” Hilary said. She checked the time. “We’ll be closing in fifteen minutes. Get that soup eaten, and I’ll give you all a lift up to Rowan Cottage.” She grinned. “I may have to do it in a couple of journeys, but it will be better than walking in the cold and wet.”

“I don’t mind waiting!” Magnus said, putting his spoon aside and drinking enthusiastically from the bowl. “I’m just starting to warm up.”

“How are Paul and Alison?” Tom asked.

“They were fine once they were settled in the cottage,” Hilary said. “They’re staying in the kitchen, where the wards are strongest. And that’s where we can plan our next step forward.”

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

“Thank goodness you’re here,” Hilary said, handing Alison a large stack of towels. “I’m glad of the help. Could you stack these in the linen cupboard? It’s the third door on the right on the upstairs landing. I need everything in its place while we still have a moment.”

Alison took the soft armful. “What’s going to happen?” she asked.

“I’m afraid that I don’t have any idea,” Hilary said. “I’ve never been in this position, and I don’t think that I’ve ever heard of anything like it either. Witches in this cottage are usually involved in small scale things.” She caught hold of Tom’s arm. “It’s late night opening at the Farm shop. Could you drive over there to pick up some extra firewood. We’ve got plenty in the woodshed, but I want some dry stuff that’s ready to go at a moment’s notice.”

“Of course,” Tom said. “How much should I get?”

Hilary looked at Bracken. “We’ll have to keep the kitchen fire well stoked at least, and probably the library as well.”

“I has already set the fire in the dining room, as many will be eating in there,” Bracken said. “And it has the large, long table for papers if you do not wish to use the library.”

“And if the power goes and people are hurt…” Hilary wrung her hands. “It’s a cold time of year, so we’ll need to keep a few fires going.”

“I’ll bring back plenty,” Tom said. He frowned as he looked around. “Uncle Magnus is on his way, and he’s bringing my cousins. They’ll be a help.”

“And bring plenty of milk,” Hilary said. “You know how people run on tea when it’s stressful.” She gave Alison a gentle push. “When you come back, could you help me sort out the beds?”

“Is not need at all,” Bracken said. “Lord Peregrine is bringing help.” She hesitated, then gently patted Alison’s hand. “I am taking the towels. Miss Alison should stay with others and in the light.”

Alison flinched. “How did I get caught up in this?” she asked.

“It’s just fate,” Tom said. “And it’s not your fault.” He smiled down at her. “At least you’re with friends.”

“What do you mean, Lord Peregrine is bringing help?” Hilary asked.

Bracken firmly took the towels from Alison. “He is bringing Auntie Olive and Auntie Ivy,” she said. “They is excellent at cleaning, and I shall be cooking and providing the drinks. Samgan will guard the hearths.”

“I believe that I should do be able to protect the basic elements of the home,” Samgan said. “I am not able to face spirits in the manner in which you, Paul and Cabus are planning, but I can guard against collateral issues.” He looked around. “Where is Mister Paul? It is not only Alison that should stay in the light and in company. After all, while Mister Paul is currently taking precautions, he has been vulnerable in the past.”

Bracken frowned. “I shall search for Mister Paul,” she said. “After I have placed the towels.”

Hilary took a deep breath. “Okay, until Lord Peregrine gets here, I’m going to ask Alison and Samgan to stay in the kitchen.” She looked at Samgan. “I think that it’s going to be your main post, to keep things going here. Bracken, Auntie Olive and Auntie Ivy should also stay here as much as possible.” She caught Alison’s hand. “The kitchen is the oldest and most heavily protected part of the cottage. You’ll be safest there, but you won’t have anything to do.” Hilary managed a faint smile. “The brownies will be taking care of all the domestic stuff, and it would be cruel to stop them. I saw that you brought your knitting. Perhaps you should settle in a corner, keep going with the knitting and try and relax.”

Alison blinked for a moment. “I’m so used to being busy with my sons.” She looked around the large kitchen. “I’ll go and get my knitting.”

“I shall accompany you,” Samgan said. “And once you are safely back, I shall search for Mister Paul.” He frowned. “I am somewhat concerned. He does not like being idle while other’s work and I would have thought that he would have been active here.”

“I’ll look with you,” Tom said.

Hilary shook her head. “No, the farm shop will shut soon, and while Jed will open up for you, I don’t want to put him to that inconvenience. And don’t forget the milk.”

Tom looked helplessly over at Alison. “I don’t like leaving you when it’s this crazy.”

“The sooner you go, the sooner that you’ll get back,” Hilary said. “Lord Peregrine will be here any moment, and didn’t you say that your uncle and cousins will be here as well? We’ll be fine.”

There was a bustle, then Hilary was alone in the kitchen. She stood for a moment and then turned around slowly. The kitchen was clean and everything was in its place. There was a good stock of food, towels and first aid supplies and another ample stock of magical supplies in her workroom. Bracken had made lists and they were safe if they lost electricity, with plenty of torches, candles and oil lamps at the ready. She couldn’t think of anything else that needed to be prepared. And even if she could, the brownies and Samgan would be able to deal with almost domestic demand. Every instinct that she had was telling her that the kitchen was not her place, but there was nothing yet for her to do. Still, she could check the wards and the flow of magic through the cottage while she had a moment – once she had found Paul.

Without thinking, she pulled out her phone and called Paul. It rang out, but Hilary could hear it faintly in the house. Why hadn’t she thought of this earlier? Of course, you never think to if you’re looking for someone in the same house, but this cottage, that had started as two rooms and been added to and extended for at least two hundred years, had too many nooks and crannies to make searching easy. She followed the ringing out into the hall, when the call went to voicemail. She rang again, waiting for a moment until the call connected and Paul’s phone started ringing again. She crept down the hall, tuning out the noises of Bracken grumbling in the linen cupboard and Samgan and Alison returning to the kitchen. The phone went to voicemail and she redialled again, ignoring Samgan and Alison behind her. She waited for the call to get through and listened for Paul’s phone. His ringtone sounded out and she hurried forward. Paul was in the library, of course. She should have known that he would be working with Cabus. She reached for the door handle, and recoiled at the sensation of twisted power as she made contact.

It took Hilary all of her courage to push open the door and force herself into the library. “Paul!”

Cabus stood with his back to the bookcase that covered the hidden door, his arms spread wide and his fangs showing. “Leave that man!”

It was Paul’s voice, but the words sounded nothing like Paul as he advanced on Cabus. “You are the wrong type to challenge me, Nosferatu. I have dominion here.”

“You have no right to that man, no claim on him,” Cabus insisted, desperation lacing his voice and his talons growing.

“I take my dominion,” the creature inside Paul replied. “I was disturbed by trespassers, and my old tormentor isn’t here.” There was a low, throaty chuckle. “I am awake, I am freeing myself, and I do not see anyone here to challenge me.”

Hilary slapped Paul hard on the back of his head.

Paul jerked wildly at the sudden shock and dropped to his knees and howled. Cabus took advantage of the loss of concentration and leapt forward, placing his hands either side of Paul’s head. “Ex umbris, in lucem. Relinque hunc virum,” Cabus ordered, the Latin words rolling smoothly off his tongue.

Paul’s face twisted. “Get out of me,” he ground out before putting his hands over Cabus’ hands and snarling with effort. “Get out!”

Hilary put her hands on Paul’s shoulders, feeding power into the efforts of Paul and Cabus. “Leave!”

There was an awful, desperate moment when everything was poised, control of Paul teetering between the two forces, then there was a stench of sulphur and Paul sagged down, almost prone on the floor. Hilary kept her hands on Paul’s shoulders, trying to reassure him as the light flicked overhead.

“Let me check,” Cabus ordered into the silence, and placed his hand over Paul’s forehead. Hilary watched anxiously. She could sense that the presence had left, but how far had it gone? And were there any tiny fragments left behind, traces of possession that could be a weakness to further attacks?

“Let us regroup in the kitchen,” Cabus said grimly. “We have much to discuss.”

Photo by Brenna Huff on Unsplash

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

Lord Peregrine looked around the Village Stores. The floor was covered in mud, the shelves were a mess and full of gaps, the café area was overflowing with dirty crockery and empty food trays, and the till was surrounded with loose paper bags and discarded receipts. “The opening day has been a success,” he announced. “We deserve pizza!”

Tom sagged against the counter. “We’ve taken a fortune,” he said. “I mean, a real fortune. And as half of the customers haven’t heard of debit cards, we have a serious bank deposit to make.”

Paul dropped into a café chair. “I thought it would all be small purchases, you know, people would call in and see what it was like and then maybe pick up a small tin of beans or something. Instead, they were buying bags full of stuff, like, enough for a week.”

“Jed called in and said that he’d had more customers than usual,” Tom said wearily. “He said that he didn’t expect it, but people were buying all the meat and chilled stuff up as they had called in here and didn’t need to bother with the supermarket if they got their fresh stuff at the Farm Shop.”

Alison came in from the kitchen and started loading up another trayful of dirty cups. “It’s been a little…” She shook her head. “We’ve loaded up the dishwasher again and Bracken is doing the rest of the crockery by hand, Hilary has more or less got the kitchen in order and she’s making lists of the cooking that she’s going to have to take on with Bracken.” She looked around. “Once I’ve got the tables cleared, do you want me to start bringing out stock?”

Paul’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t want to do anything,” he said. “I want to go home and have a hot shower.” He looked around the devastated stores. “But I don’t want to come into this in the morning.” He pushed himself to his feet and looked over to Tom. “I’ll start straightening the shelves. Why don’t you ring in a new bread order and then bring out the new stock.” He looked pensively at the shelves. “I didn’t realise that we’d sell so many pickles.”

“The shelves with the cleaning supplies are almost empty,” Tom said. “I’ll start there, after I’ve rung in a new bread order.” He looked at the space that had been filled with bread. “Do you think Hilary or Bracken could put some bread together for tomorrow first thing, because the van only gets here mid-morning and people will almost certainly be calling in early.”

“It surely won’t be this busy?” Alison said. “Because if it is, you may need me full time.”

Tom puffed out his cheeks. “It can’t keep on this busy,” he said. “We’re a bit of a novelty, and it always gets crazy in the run up to Christmas. I mean, we’re new and people want the gossip, and it’s horrible shopping in the supermarkets at this time of year.” A thought struck him. “Unless this isn’t natural.” He turned to Lord Peregrine. “Did you cast any sort of spell to get people here?”

“I didn’t think of that,” Lord Peregrine said thoughtfully. “Do you think that I should?”

“Don’t you dare!” Hilary snapped, coming out of the kitchen with a list. “We’re out of everything except the oregano scones, and we all know that they were a failure.”

“But you baked a multitude of biscuits and cakes,” Lord Peregrine said.

“And there was enough demand that Tom sold some over the counter by the half-dozen,” Hilary said. “I’m going to need to get some ingredients from your stores.”

“You thought that I was over-buying, didn’t you?” Lord Peregrine said. “But even the gloves are selling.”

“I’ll need to go to the wholesaler for this,” Tom said, glancing down the list. “We’re running low on a lot of it.”

Paul put his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Ring in the bread order, ask Hilary nicely about making bread, put in the order for the wholesaler delivery, then have a cup of tea before sorting out the shelves.”

“Before you do any of that, order that pizza,” Hilary said. “Bracken and I already have a long evening ahead of us, getting ahead of these orders, and now you want to add bread to it! You could at least send out for food that we haven’t made.”

Lord Peregrine frowned. “That is an excellent idea,” he said. “I shall send for Samgan, we shall have pizza, and we shall plan the solstice feast.” He smiled happily at Hilary. “Then we shall proceed with preparing the Village Stores for tomorrow.”

“I can’t stay,” Alison said. “I’ve got to get back to my kids.”

Hilary took in Alison’s pale face, her drooping shoulders and the tense lines around her eyes. “You’re dead on your feet. Put the tray down, get your coat and bag and go.” She glared at Lord Peregrine. “Alison should have left here nearly an hour ago.”

Lord Peregrine looked confused. “But there is so much to do.”

Hilary shook her head. “I forgot that I was dealing with the fae,” she grumbled. “Alison is getting paid for a certain amount of time, not for a certain amount of work. She has done more than that time, and not only is she exhausted but she has young children that are waiting for her and it’s Yvette looking after them, being paid for time, and now that’s out of joint.”

Lord Peregrine winced. “I am in your debt,” he said.

“Don’t discuss it now!” Hilary told Alison. “You don’t want to be bothering with Fae and favours.” She took the tray from Alison’s hands. “Go!”

 

Hilary and Bracken cleared the café as Alison left, then Hilary turned to Lord Peregrine. “I can’t possibly manage a solstice feast for you, not with all the baking that Bracken and I have done today.”

“Of course you can,” Lord Peregrine said breezily. “And it shouldn’t be too bad tomorrow. This was everyone coming to see what the Village Stores was like. I’m sure that the place will be practically empty tomorrow.”

“I don’t know,” Tom said. “I know a few people were coming here for bread tomorrow, and after we sold out of biscuits, well, I took some orders.” He pulled a scrap of paper and handed it warily to Hilary, who growled.

Bracken stared at Hilary, then took the list. “Oh! I see why Miss Hilary growled.” She glared at Tom. “If I was able to growl, I would also do that. This is a hard task.”

“Did you take deposits for the orders?” Hilary asked, then growled again as Tom nodded. “I’m never going to sleep!”

“I’ll get the pizza ordered, then we can work out what we need to do next,” Tom said. He held up placating hands. “I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.”

Paul sank back down into his chair and a flicker passed over his face. “What’s this about the solstice feast?” he asked.

Lord Peregrine smiled happily. “The solstice feast is being held at Mistress Hilary’s home. It will be glorious.” He tilted his head. “Don’t you remember the discussion?”

“Tell me more,” Paul said.

“My home is not under your rule!” Hilary said. “I want this nipped in the bud right now.”

“But everyone in your household is invited to the feast,” Lord Peregrine argued. “And the alternative is going to Lord Magnus, who has a smaller home, Cabus, who has a much smaller lair, or my hall which is cold, damp and has bad cooking.”

“I shall tell Auntie Olive and Auntie Ivy that you said that,” Bracken said.

Lord Peregrine waved it away. “I will be generous financially,” he said.

“I’m going to be making a fortune as it is if I’m cooking for the shop,” Hilary said. “I’ll be making fourteen dozen biscuits just for the orders, plus trying to stock the café.”

“The kitchen here is very nice for baking in quantity,” Lord Peregrine said. “Tom is putting in orders as we speak…”

“I’m putting in the pizza order,” Tom said.

Lord Peregrine ignored the interjection. “And, besides, I know that your son is visiting over Christmas, but the solstice feast will be early so your dear child need not be involved.”

“You mean that I’ll have less time to prepare?” Hilary snapped.

“My plan is to remove the stones before the Solstice,” Lord Peregrine said. “I want to get them moved before the tides of the power reach their full height. If there is anything nefarious planned by whatever is in that cellar, I don’t want them to be able to power it during the surge of the longest night.” There was a long pause, broken by a knock on the door before Samgan let himself into the shop. Lord Peregrine waved him over. “Please, Samgan, take a seat.

“I am very glad to be here,” Samgan said, quietly taking a seat. “I can tell that today has been a successful day.”

“Either that or it was raided by Vikings,” Tom said. He caught Bracken’s eye. “I’m making a joke. It was a very successful day and the till is absolutely crammed. I’m going to have to make a trip to the bank to deposit the cash.”

“I shall take it to my chamber,” Lord Peregrine said.

“You’ll still have to pay tax on it,” Tom said.

Lord Peregrine ignored him. “Samgan, you are in time for pizza,” he said. “And we need to discuss the solstice feast.”

Samgan smiled at Hilary. “I believe that you must yield to the inevitable. Lord Peregrine will not consider an alternative. But you should charge fairly, and Lord Peregrine should be responsible for logs for the fire and candles.”

“That seems extremely reasonable,” Lord Peregrine said. “I’ve seen your dining room and I’m sure that you can fit everyone in.”

Hilary started counting on her fingers. “How many will be coming?”

Paul’s face flickered again. “What do you mean, moving the stones?”

“Cabus will be studying the notebooks, with some help from Paul and Mistress Hilary,” Lord Peregrine said. “Now that we know that they’re the problem, we need to get them out of the ground. I want that done before the peak at the Solstice. It will need to be done carefully, and it will be tricky work, but it must be possible.”

“It’s not possible,” Paul said flatly.

“Of course it is,” Lord Peregrine said. “I propose that we start at first light, then work methodically. I’ll summon my entire court, and I hope that I can count on you and Hilary. Then, after it is all finished, we can celebrate with the feast.”

Hilary sighed and sat down next to Paul. “I’ll make the feast, and I daresay that I’ll end up making it next year as well, but I’m not making feasts for all the festivals,” she added, waving a finger at Lord Peregrine. “I’m not a member of your court.” Lord Peregrine said nothing but looked smug.

Paul’s head sagged. “I’m sorry, I think that I zoned out there for a moment,” he said. “We were getting pizza.”

“The pizza should be here imminently,” Samgan said. He peered at Paul. “You look tired. Perhaps I should cover your work tonight.”

“Not at all!” Paul said. “You’re supposed to be resting after being a hero and going into the cellar.” He accepted a mug of tea from Bracken with a smile of thanks. “But I admit to feeling a little drained. I think that I’ll put some extra wards around the room, just to keep my energy in.”

“That is no doubt a wise precaution,” Samgan said. “And the pizza arrives!”

 

***

 

The clock was striking midnight when Alison’s eyes snapped open. She sat up and threw the covers back before slipping silently out of bed and quickly dressing. She walked past her sons’ rooms without pausing, down the stairs and, catching up an oversized hoodie, she stepped outside, closing the door carefully behind her.

With the hood pulled up and down over her face, and the zip pulled high over her chin, it was almost impossible to see Alison’s face, but she was still cautious as she picked her way down her drive, along the road and carefully into the woods down the hill from Rowan Cottage. It was away from any street lights, and there was no moon, but Alison didn’t hesitate despite the darkness. She headed unerringly to a stone set a little way back from the rest, a pivot point for the energy. She glanced around quickly, then started gathering the dried grasses and sticks around the clearing, carefully heaping the debris around the stone until it was completely covered. It took time, and she was wet and muddy by the time she stepped back, but she seemed indifferent as she walked back to her home with the same purposeful and unemotional pace. The clock was chiming two when she locked the door, walking without hesitation past her sons’ rooms and then mechanically got ready for bed. Sliding in, she was tense for a moment, then her eyes closed and she curled onto her side as her breathing evened out and she slept.

 

 

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

 Hilary didn’t know where to start. The kitchen was crammed with people as Paul, Bracken and Lord Peregrine pored over a pile of new notebooks on the table, and Samgan, well, he looked like he was running a fever. “Oh, Samgan,” she sighed. She pushed a mug of peppermint tea closer to him. “I have no authority over you, I can’t rule you, and I don’t want to rule you. We have not known each other long.” She tried to frame her feelings. “That you brought these up from the cellar, it makes you a hero. I can’t help but admire your courage and strength.” She pushed herself up from the chair and started pacing. “The notebooks are invaluable. They’ll make all the difference with the stones and the cellar.” She paused, standing across the table from Samgan, wringing her hands as she noticed the unhealthy flush creeping over his face. “But I care about you. I’m so grateful for the result, but I’m so worried about you!” She went back to pacing. “I can’t bear to think about what might have gone wrong, that you could have been hurt, and in ways that can’t be fixed by peppermint tea.”

“You must not diminish his achievement,” Lord Peregrine said sternly. “I felt the weight of that presence there. Samgan was a hero.”

“Of course he was!” Hilary threw up her hands. “And it makes things so much better for us. It’s given us the keys to solving this. But he’s not well, and he could have been hurt!”

“You would care for me?” Samgan said, his voice rusty.

“Yes!” Hilary cried. “Why wouldn’t I?” She shook her head for a moment. “I don’t have the right to insist on things, as I am not your ruler, but I would strongly request that you rest for at least the next week.”

“But I need to serve you!” Samgan said.

“You have just done an amazing, wonderful, fantastic, heroic…” Hilary turned to Bracken. “Explain it to him.”

Bracken looked blank. “I has no explanation,” she said.

“You gave me milk this morning,” Samgan said. “And food. Those are my wages.”

“I should be throwing a parade of thanks!” Hilary said. “And then, if I had any authority, I’d insist that you rested and healed up for the next week at the very minimum. You’re running a fever again, and if you keep getting these attacks, it could damage you permanently.”

“You are being praised,” Bracken said. “But I understand about the wages.”

“Don’t start!” Hilary said. She sat back in her chair and her mouth crumpled. “What if it had gone wrong? What if we’d lost you?” She scrubbed a tear away.

Paul gently patted her hand before turning to Samgan. “I think the better way to explain is to look at how things could work in the past.” He looked over at Hilary before turning back to the feverish pooka. “How it feels, I suppose, is that you and Bracken are members of Hilary’s household. You work for her and the household, but you’re more than workers. You get your food, and milk, and clothes and such, but that’s part of being a member of the household. As part of the household, you work when you can, but you’re looked after when you’re sick.”

Hilary nodded, still wiping at tears. “You, and Bracken as well, have an importance. I feel…” Her voice broke.

“All good lords have a responsibility to those of their household,” Lord Peregrine said quietly. “There is duty on both sides.”

“I’m no lord,” Hilary said briskly, brushing away the last of her tears. “But it’s as good a way as any to explain what’s going on here.” She looked at Paul. “And I have no idea where you and Tom fit in.”

Paul chuckled. “I guess we’re paying guests, but I think we’re part of the household as well, aren’t we? I’ve seen how you fuss over Tom.”

“He needs someone around who can look after him, especially after all the problems with his family,” Hilary said.

“That is why I found it imperative to act,” Samgan said softly. “You care without reserve, even to such as I.”

“No! You are worth care!” Hilary said. “But back to the point in hand. I’m going to…” she hesitated. “I don’t want to order you around. I think that’s happened far too much to you. But I would like to strongly ask that you drink up your peppermint tea, get a good meal inside you, then go back to bed and get some rest. You’re still weak from that dreadful imprisonment.”

Samgan slowly smiled. “I will do as you ask, without any feeling of coercion,” he said. “But soon I will be strong again, and I will ensure that the garden will flourish.”

***

After lunch, Hilary, Paul, and Lord Peregrine headed to the library to sort through the new notebooks. “I’m worried that it could have killed him,” Hilary said. “But you have to admit, these notebooks are what we need.”

Paul nodded. “The oldest ones contain the rituals that set up the newer stones and some of the defences in the cellar. I’ve just skimmed the surface, but the original defences weren’t anything special.”

“I’ve been looking at the newer notebooks,” Hilary said. “Annie took advantage of the extra power and added in some layers of defence in the cellar. It’s like she fitted it out for a last stand.”

Lord Peregrine thought for a moment. “I hadn’t thought about it,” he said. “But there’s a comfortable place to sit, water, air, and even a bathroom. She could easily stock it with food, that is, if she felt that she was likely to be attacked.”

“I think that she spent too long down there,” Hilary said. “Whatever’s in those defences, it’s not good.” She looked anxiously between the two men. “It may not have started as something sentient, but I think it’s getting there.”

“What do you mean?” Lord Peregrine asked.

“I don’t like to use the word demon,” Hilary whispered. “But I think that it’s gone beyond any type of nature spirit.” She looked at Lord Peregrine. “A nature spirit wouldn’t affect you, not like that thing in the cellar, and I’m sure that I felt purpose in the second visit. When we moved the hanging, I think that we woke something up.”

“That is not a comforting thought,” Lord Peregrine said after a moment.

“It could be worse,” Paul said. “I’m not sure that we can take whatever’s in the cellar on without half of the Council at our backs. That doesn’t mean that we have to give in. I think if we pull power away by moving the stones, then we’ve got as good a chance as anyone of getting rid of whatever it is.”

“There is a great deal of power moving through those stones,” Lord Peregrine said. “If we alter the placement and get it wrong, then the disruption could be dangerous.” He looked between Hilary and Paul. “I mean, it could be fatal to those near to the disruption and bring out ghosts, waken old and unpredictable nature spirits, and even attract lesser demons.” He tapped the notebooks in front of him. “We have to be cautious.”

“Annie made some notes,” Hilary said. “I think that she was trying to raise the power further. It didn’t help. I think it may have affected her more than she realised.” She opened one of the notebooks. “The problem is, she was using ritual magic.”

Paul nodded. “That’s how the original stones were added,” he added. “It was one of the older witches that had the cottage, Elspeth Botton, that took up ritual magic as well the natural stuff that most witches use.”

Hilary nodded. “Elspeth was here for nearly forty years. She took the cottage on early, and she just kept going until the 1950s. I think that she moved the stones in the early 1940s.”

“I was sleeping then, as was Cabus,” Lord Peregrine said. “It was troubled times.”

“It was during WWII,” Paul said. “Most of the men were away, no-one was paying attention to a cottage on a hill, and all Elspeth had to do was shift a few things around in the right order.” He pulled over one of the notebooks. “She didn’t put in all the details, just the general outline to remind herself.” He sighed. “It’s beyond me.”

***

It was quiet in the library. Hilary had left to catch up with her work and Lord Peregrine had decided to check on the Village Stores until it was a good time to contact Cabus, so Paul was left alone with the notebooks. He shook his head. It was such a mess, and it couldn’t come at a worse time. He wasn’t as attuned as Hilary, but Paul could feel the ebb and flow of the magical seasons, and the waters, the power, was running higher in the run up to the Winter Solstice. Once that had passed, the tides would ebb until they started building up to Imbolc, the old Candlemas at the beginning of February.

For a moment his shoulders slumped, then he picked up a pen, dragged a pad of paper towards him and started to sort through the notebooks. Getting them in date order would at least be a start. He picked up the first notebook and squinted at the handwriting. It probably said January, but with the way that the ink had faded, all he could manage was an educated guess.

The electric heater that Hilary had brought in hummed gently in the background as Paul worked his way steadily along the books. Then he paused and turned towards the door, his head tilted as he listened for sounds of Hilary. The sounds of a conference call whispered through the still of the house and Paul relaxed a little and stood up. Without hesitating, he strode over to the hidden door, swung the bookcase aside and, without hesitation, marched down the steps to the cellar. He didn’t pause but walked over to the ritual room, opened the door and switched on the light.

The room was unchanged from Samgan’s visit. There were no notebooks left on the shelf, but pens and pencils had been knocked onto the floor and lay scattered under the shelves. The drapes still hung a little loose, covering the text but there was a hint of power still leaking from behind them. The shadows in the far corner were still a little darker than you would expect, and there was a hint of movement in them. And the small bottle of salt that Samgan had knocked over in his flight from the room was still spilled across the circle etched on the floor.

Paul nodded to himself, then searched along the shelves before picking up a large tub of fine-grained kitchen salt. He grimaced and set the tub carefully down on the shelf before striding over to the workbench and picking up gloves. He looked around as he slid the gloves on and picked up a large wooden scoop. He almost snarled as he opened the tub, and nearly dropped it as he dug out a large scoop. Almost wincing, he scattered the salt over the circle, concentrating on an arc near the door. Again and again he scooped salt over that segment of the circle, his face wrinkled in distaste, before finally sliding the salt back in place and dropping the gloves and scoop on the floor with an air of relief. Then he marched out of the room and up the steps, meticulously closing the door before sinking back into his chair. His head sagged down.

After a moment, Paul shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face. He pushed himself up from the table and wandered over to the library door. Hilary was finishing a conference call in her small office and Paul paused and knocked as he heard her sign off. “I hope I’m not disturbing,” he said.

Hilary shook her head. “I’ve finally got off the call with that idiot,” she grumbled. “It takes the first ten minutes to sort out the camera and volume before we can start anything else – and that’s every time. I swear I’m going to lose my mind with him.” She grinned up at Paul. “But he pays very well.” She frowned. “Are you alright?”

Paul shook his head. “I don’t know if Samgan brought in some sort of sniffle or something, but I just nodded off when I was working in the library.” He smiled apologetically. “I think that I’ll skip dinner and head to bed. I think an early night will do me some good.”

Hilary stood and put a hand on his forehead. “Sorry, don’t mind me,” she said. “You don’t feel like you’re running a temperature, but you don’t look yourself.”

Paul held up a hand. “You are not to start fussing over me,” he said. “I know what you’re like, but you’ve had enough on your plate with Samgan, and I just need a bit of rest. I just didn’t want you to waste a meal if I was skipping dinner.”

Hilary looked at him narrowly. “I’d rather do a little bit of fussing now and head off a fever than neglect you and then have my hands full later if you get ill.”

“I’m a grown man!” Paul said. “I’m used to looking after myself.”

“Not under this roof,” Hilary said. “You go and get into bed. I’ll bring up a tray with a flask of tea, a flask of soup, and a hot water bottle. Don’t argue!”

Paul smiled. “I wouldn’t dare. Are you sure?”

“I’m quite sure,” Hilary said. “Now hurry up and get to bed – you’re looking very pale.” She scurried past him to the kitchen.

For a moment Paul sagged against the doorframe as a wave of weariness ran over him, then he slowly trudged up the stairs to his bed.

Samgan was halfway down the stairs to the cellar before he felt it. It was a spiky magic, prickling over his skin, and he didn’t like it. It couldn’t own him like it could own Hilary or Paul, but it tugged at him like a sharp, twisting breeze. He kept going. He owed so much to Hilary, he owed her his life. What was harder, she gave without demands. He paused for a moment, gathering his strength. Hilary was paying wages far more than he had ever expected as a pooka, and she was paying them freely. The glass of milk every morning was in a large, clean glass and the milk was fresh and cool. The food that was provided at regular intervals was ample and wholesome, more than he expected. He could feel the goodness soaking into his bones. He ran a tentative hand over his shirt sleeve. Hilary had admitted that the clothes weren’t new, but they weren’t rags. They were clean and without tears or stains and were obviously chosen with thought and care. Samgan thought back to the sackcloth he had worn in that dark prison.

It was the room, however, that caught his loyalty the most. Hilary refused to give him the room that he’d destroyed when he was ill, as she had said that it needed to be redecorated before it could be used again. Instead he had been shown upstairs to a room of his own, not too big, with furniture and a soft, warm bed piled with blankets. It was filled with light, facing south and the wide window opened up over the garden. It felt like a sanctuary, a safe place, even if it was under someone else’s roof. He could no more stop Bracken from cleaning the room than he could have stopped the sun setting in the West, but otherwise he was undisturbed. He had never known anything so good.

Samgan forced his attention back to the present. The cellar was just a few steps below him and darkness pooled around the foot of the stairs. That didn’t bother him. He knew that there was a light switch, just as he had a sack over his shoulder with portable lights and bags for any notebooks he could find. The magic worried him, though. It shouldn’t affect him the way it had Hilary, but he could feel the unpleasant sensation of malevolent energy flowing over him, and he didn’t like it.

He found the light switch without too much trouble. The light was dimmer than he expected, but that was magic, not faulty wiring. Otherwise, he was unsurprised. Hilary had talked about the cellar, and nothing had changed since her visit. All the notebooks had gone from the shelves, of course, but everything else was undisturbed. He marvelled at the tiny bathroom as he checked through the door, and paused at the entrance to the storeroom. With his sight, it was a wonderland.

Some shelves were bare of magic, some had it overflowing from the jars and boxes. Energy sparkled and danced around the room, glancing off mirrors and pooling in dishes and cartons. He went closer. He had to leave plenty of room between him and some of the stones and charms near the door, but there were racks and racks of herbs, and he knew herbs.

He trailed a light finger over the jars. Yarrow, rue and comfrey were all grown by witches, as was hyssop and valerian. Then there were huge jars of parsley, thyme and rosemary, suitable for the kitchen. He was familiar with all of these. He was unfamiliar with lemon verbena and American willowherb, but he could feel their energies. He could grow them here.

Samgan moved over to the non-magical shelves full of envelopes and labels, then a small stack of notebooks. He hesitated, then slid them into a bag. They may not be what Hilary wanted, but he was willing to risk it. He took a final look around before slipping out. Now he had to brave the workroom.

Samgan had expected the evil, but he’d not expected how it clung to him. He could feel the prickles of it in his hair and on the soles of his feet as he entered. The room was exactly as Hilary had described it. There was a circle in the middle of the floor, hangings on the wall, and a small desk at the far corner. Samgan nodded to himself. That had to be where any notebooks would be found. He took a deep breath. The air felt thick, like in a heavy rainstorm just before the first peal of thunder, and strange thoughts were swirling in him. He remembered the embankment. It had been easy to undermine the earth there. He’d needed to move a root or two, allow water to channel in a different way, and then a very small disturbance of the soil near the bottom at the right time sent tons of debris down, flowing around the car. It had felt exhilarating, like a wild wind in autumn, and he had been proud.

He clenched his fists. Alison had been in that car. She had been pleasant to Hilary when she had called in to see Tom, and her young sons were exactly the right combination of good manners and mischief to make any mother proud. He could have hurt them. Samgan felt shame flush through him. This barbed energy was no good. He had felt such deep satisfaction, watching the werewolves panicking as they dug to free the car, but what had it got him? It had left him drained, isolated, and any good that had happened since had been in spite of that malice. Too many of Lord Peregrine’s court were still wary of him, and with good reason.

Lord Peregrine had faded, Hilary had been transfixed, and now he was being corrupted. He couldn’t hang around. Samgan strode over to the desk, skirting the circle, then started to fill the bag with the notebooks. He could feel a stirring behind him, a cold prickle down his neck, and, snarling, swept the notebooks and papers from the desk into the bag, settling them securely into the bag before turning.

The shape in the corner was still unformed. When the hangings had been moved, a hint of energy had come through. It was less of a threat than it could be, and it was far from fully manifested, but Samgan could feel the darkness seeping into him. He didn’t want it! Samgan found himself panting. He thought of Hilary, who had saved his life, of Bracken, who was becoming like a little sister, of Tom and Paul and their calm strength. Grasping the bag in both hands, Samgan marched back to the door, his back straight. He felt his mind clouding over, and he fought for control.

The door seemed clouded and far away. Samgan staggered, knocking into a shelf, before grasping the doorframe and hauling himself through it. The clatter behind him felt muffled and distant as he placed his first foot on the stairs. Waves of fog washed through him, his eyesight blurry and dim. Samgan gritted his teeth. He didn’t need light. He held on to the handrail like a rope from a lifeboat and pulled himself up a step.

The feelings were still rushing through him, burning at the back of his eyes. He had been trapped in the dark, unjust and unfair, the prickles of the energy tormenting him, leeching into his bones and leaving him fevered. He pushed his hands further up the handrail and hauled himself up another step. Energy lapped around his feet, like fording a malevolent stream, cold and gnawing. He managed another two steps, pulling himself out of the rising tide, but he could feel it following him. He could sense the wards at the top of the steps, and if he could just make it that far…” For a moment, Samgan lost all focus and only his iron grip on the handrail stopped his fall back down the stairs. Fear iced through him, he couldn’t leave Hilary. He hadn’t paid his debt!

The thought pushed through the fog and Samgan held harder onto the rail, clutching frantically as he struggled to haul himself higher. The energy lapping once again around his ankles felt sticky, like tar, and pulling his foot up to the next step grew harder every heartbeat. There had been so few steps going down, he thought vaguely. And now there were so many going up. He dragged himself up the next step, his whole frame trembling with the effort. He wasn’t giving up, though. He had a debt to pay. He had to make it.

Samgan stumbled up the last two steps, his ears ringing with the effort, then fell out, through the secret door and onto the library carpet, curling his knees towards his chest to pull his feet through the ward and away from the dark magic swirling below. For a moment he lay motionless, aware only of the thudding of his heart and the soft, tufted, pile of the carpet under him. He took a moment to stroke over the carpet, feeling the wonderful ordinariness in its texture, before rolling slowly onto his feet, using the chairs and table to steady himself.

He looked back at the secret door and winced. His pride had taken him down there, and he wasn’t sure how he’d made it back. Now he needed to sit in the kitchen by the fire and feel the warmth of Hilary and her care of the home. He looked at the bag next to him, fallen haphazardly on the carpet. It had been a risk, but now he had more notebooks.

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

“If you’ve used a till like this before, you’ve probably got more idea of what it does than I do,” Tom said.

Alison Keasden managed a pale smile. “I’ve worked in a few shops, and this looks pretty standard.” She ran a hand over the till that had been plugged in for testing in the back room. “I don’t think that I’ll have any problems.”

“We open next week,” Tom said. “And there’s still a lot to do. All the fixtures are in place, and it’s kept clean, but I want to get everything stocked up and set out.” He sighed. “Lord Peregrine is determined to open a fortnight before Christmas and it’s going to be bedlam.”

“Most people shop online, don’t they?” Alison said. “Especially on the run up to Christmas.”

“There is always a rush for last minute presents,” Tom said. “Besides, we’re stocking a load of wrapping paper, cards, decorations and some Christmas food trimmings.”

“Do you think that we’ll sell them?” Alison asked.

“I’ll be surprised if we don’t run out of wrapping paper and tape,” Tom said. “That stuff always runs out. But it can last till next year if we’re careful how we store it. It’s the food side that worries me.”

Alison moved over to a stack of flats of cranberry sauce. “There’s a lot here.”

“And we’re only a small village,” Tom said. “The use by date is long enough that we can still sell it next Christmas, if we store it right, and we’ll have a bit of a sale in January…”

“Lord Peregrine got carried away again, didn’t he?” Alison said, relaxing a little. “Has he ever owned a shop?”

“Nope, and he’s not known for his caution either,” Tom said. “But the shop is likely to stay open for a few years, even if it doesn’t make much of a profit. It’s about him owning the gossip hub of the area.”

“I thought that was Farm Shop, up the hill,” Alison said.

“Lord Peregrine’s setting himself up as a rival for the gossip,” Tom said. “To be fair, he’s working with Jed and Marlene so that the shops don’t compete, or at least don’t compete too much, and he may be on to something.” Tom straightened up a pack of kitchen towels. “We’ve got a few months to find out what we can do, to find where we can be strongest. I suspect it will be food that brings people in, but we’ll have to find some sort of niche.”

“This village is miles away from anywhere,” Alison said. “That’s why I came here.”

Tom wandered through the store kitchen and out of the back door. “It’s all farmland out here,” he said. “And above that, you get the moors. There’s the houses on the road up to your cottage, and there are farms around, but it feels empty.” He looked morosely over the weed tangled patch at the back of the shop. “But we’re only an hour’s journey from Leeds, one of the biggest English cities. Lots of people drive out through the countryside. It can get busy.”

“They’d have to know we’re here,” Alison said. “We’re still off the main roads.”

“And Hilary has a background in marketing,” Tom said. He sighed softly. “I have a feeling that Lord Peregrine will make this work. He wants to bring his people back to the village.”

“You mean, like you?” Alison asked. She took an unconscious half step away from Tom. “Are there a lot of, you know…”

“There’s hardly any of us,” Tom said. “There used to be more, but it sort of faded over the years. Of course, Cabus remembers more. He’s been here centuries. As a vampire, he’s not as long lived as a fae like Lord Peregrine, but he’s more willing to talk. Hang on!” He darted forward as the colour drained from Alison’s face, taking her arm and guiding her into a chair. “Sit down and I’ll get you a drink of water.”

“That’s why I came to the countryside,” Alison said quietly. Her eyes were wide and her hands trembled as she took the glass from Tom. “I ran away from being hunted.”

Tom knelt in front of her and looked at her directly. “You won’t be hunted here,” he said. “That I promise.”

***

Samgan prowled around the library. He was feeling stronger every day and now he was starting to feel restless. Even more, he was feeling his debt to Hilary bite. It wasn’t just the healing. He knew how close to death he had been and she had pulled him back. He knew Paul had been there, and Paul was also owed a debut, but it was different with Hilary. She kept caring. She treated him with grace, more than anyone else ever had. Even before he started work, she was abiding by their agreement. He had a glass of milk set next to his plate at breakfast every morning. Hilary had come home with a large bag of clothes which she had washed, pressed, and insisted that he took. She had apologised that they weren’t knew, but that she thought he would need new ones soon as she fed him enough to gain weight. Samgan thought back to the patched rags that he’d often been left with. The jeans and shirts in the drawers in his room were far finer, without rips, tears, or stains. She had even insisted on getting him new boots.

Lord Peregrine had suggested that he took over the garden, as a way of earning his place in Rowan Cottage. That wouldn’t be work, it would be pleasure. The soil was good and the garden was well laid out. Samgan inspected a shelf near the window. There were a lot of gardening books in here, many of them old. It was a witch’s cottage and rare herbs had always been grown here. If he could get decent seed then he could make the garden flourish. There was plenty of space to feed the cottage with vegetables. He took an old herbal from the shelf and flicked through a few pages, stopping at an illustration of agrimony. He could grow that easily enough.

It would grow even easier if he could sort out the twist in the magical flow. There was a risk that food grown here could be tainted, and Hilary couldn’t use herbs grown near dark magic in healing. Something needed to be done about it. He’d heard Hilary and Paul talk about it, about moving the stones, but they were cautious. They hadn’t found all the details from the notebooks yet.

Samgan stepped closer to the bookcase that hid the stair down to the possessed cellar. There would be more information down there, he was sure. He’d felt the flow of energy down there, and the malevolence. He smiled thinly. He wasn’t exactly a dandelion seed himself. He owed Hilary so much. Clearing the flow of magic would go towards payment of that debt, even if it didn’t clear it completely.

He ran a hand over the bookcase, then paused as he heard Tom come in. Hilary would be out of her office and starting dinner soon. He wouldn’t discuss anything with her, as she would only worry. He stalked over and put the herbal back in its place on the shelf. Hilary and Paul were going to Leeds the day after tomorrow. They would almost certainly be gone most of the day, and Bracken would be busy down at the Village Stores with Tom. He could make his move then. He could start easing his soul and repaying his debt then.

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

“I gathered these for you, Mistress Hilary,” Samgan said as he stepped into the warm kitchen. “If it was a different season, perhaps it would be greater, but I hope that you can accept my poor offering.” He held out a small bunch of wild flowers tied with twine.

Hilary felt a lump in her throat. “Thank you so much,” she said. She rushed over to a cupboard to get a vase. “Take a seat. Dinner will be on the table soon. We’re just waiting for Lord Peregrine.”

“Thank you for including me,” Samgan said. He looked nervously at the long table, set with six places. “Is there any particular seat allocated?”

Paul sat at the furthest point from the head of the table and on the side nearest the door. “Sit opposite me,” he said. “That is, if you like?”

“Thank you,” Samgan murmured.

Hilary frowned as she watched him slip into his chair. The extra small jeans that she had found in a charity shop were held up by string around his thin waist, and the flannel shirt that was barely big enough for the frame of his wide shoulders and deep chest still hung cruelly loose over his frame. “The flowers are perfect for the table,” she said. “It’s just a plain meal, and you can eat as much or as little as you like.”

Tom strode into the kitchen and sat next to Paul. “What’s for dinner tonight?” he asked.

“It’s just shepherd’s pie,” Hilary said. “But it should warm you up.”

“It’s never ‘just’ anything,” Tom said, turning to Bracken. “What did you make?”

“The mistress made it all tonight,” Bracken said. “I was cleaning, remember, at the stores.”

“Of course,” Tom said.

“I made a big dish of shepherd’s pie,” Hilary said. “What we don’t eat can get put away to be reheated later, perhaps for lunch tomorrow, if there’s any left. And I did extra gravy, broccoli, and roast carrots and parsnips on the side.” She glanced at Samgan. “It’s plain stuff, but it will keep us going.”

“Did you do dessert?” Tom asked.

“She did and I did not see her make it,” Bracken grumbled as she put the large teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl on the table. “It is a large steamed pudding, with apple.” She looked thoughtful. “I can make the custard.”

“There’s no need,” Hilary said. “I don’t mind making it, but you can if you like.” She placed the vase of wild flowers on the table at the end.

“I changed situation to learn cooking,” Bracken said quietly to Samgan as she sat next to him and opposite Tom. “I had been in place with Lord Peregrine, but it didn’t suit me.”

“I think you found a good situation,” Samgan said. He looked slowly around the room. “There is much kindness here.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Hilary said. “But we do our best.” She frowned. “I won’t have kind words for Lord Peregrine if he doesn’t get here soon.”

Tom looked up, his eyes bright. “I can hear him.”

It was a few moments before Lord Peregrine strolled in through the door with a blast of icy air, and already the plates were on the table, a cup of Earl Grey was placed at Lord Peregrine’s place and dishes of vegetables were already on the table. “This looks splendid!” Lord Peregrine said. “I’ll hang up my coat, wash my hands, and be straight back.”

Paul chuckled. “It sounds like you had to negotiate that,” he said.

“This is my place, not his,” Hilary said firmly. She pulled a huge dish from the oven. “Samgan, take as much as you need, but in small mouthfuls. And there is plenty of food in the cupboards for later, if you need it.”

“There is,” Tom said. “Hilary believes in keeping her cupboards stocked.”

“Well you remember how it was when the embankment collapsed and we couldn’t get to the shops the usual way,” Hilary said, carefully placing the shepherd’s pie on a mat on the table and placing a serving spoon next to it. “I was glad of my full cupboards then.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Samgan said. “I was in a time of madness.”

Lord Peregrine bustled in and sat down. “We understand.” He frowned. “But don’t do something like that again. No-one got hurt by your actions, but it was close, and it caused some trouble.”

“I acted in accordance with my nature,” Samgan said, his voice even and his eyes sad. “I had been trapped for many years, and only freed when some sort of magical battle caused the hill with my cell to collapse.”

Tom looked up suddenly. “You mean the landslide after my father and uncle fought? You’d been kept in the hill?”

Samgan nodded. “In a tight space, where I did not hunger or thirst but where I struggled to move and the darkness closed endlessly onto me.” He shivered and dropped his eyes to his plate. “I was relieved to leave it.”

Lord Peregrine helped himself to a large portion of shepherd’s pie and passed the dish over to Hilary who had sat next to Bracken. “I hope that you won’t be trapped like that again. You can tell me more about it after dinner.”

“It would be a sad thing to mar the cheer of the dinner table with dark tales,” Samgan said.

“Indeed, and I have better things to talk about,” Lord Peregrine said. “I want you to work for Hilary.”

“What?” Hilary stared at Lord Peregrine. “No!”

“I should very much like to serve you, mistress,” Samgan said quietly. “I am so deeply indebted to you.”

“I can’t afford to pay you!” Hilary said. “I’m not making that much money, and I’m not likely to get short term guests until summer.”

“What do you pay Bracken?” Samgan asked.

“I has big wages,” Bracken said, her eyes wide. “And I work hard to earn them. I have a place to sleep, which is a room all to myself; food to eat, which is in the kitchen with everyone; a glass of milk, which I get every morning; clothes for my back,” Bracken took a deep breath. “And I have a coin at Christmas.”

“And I insist that you take time off,” Hilary said. “And you work too hard as it is.”

“Hilary worries about mortal laws,” Lord Peregrine said. “And I think that those are fair terms. Bracken is expected to work around an hour every day, and she gets paid separately for any work that she does at the Village Stores.”

“Those seem fair terms, Mistress Hilary,” Samgan said. “And even generous. I wouldn’t work in the house.” A faint smile passed across his face. “I couldn’t reach Bracken’s expertise. But your garden needs some work, and I would find it congenial employment.”

“Mistress Hilary has already given clothes for you and food,” Bracken said. She put a tentative hand on Samgan’s arm. “It is not hard work, and there is not much shouting.”

“It’s not exactly safe, either,” Hilary said. “Don’t forget, we have a problem in the cellar.”

“I have no answer to the witch’s snares,” Samgan said. “But I would be very happy to work for you, on the same terms as Bracken enjoys.”

Hilary added some carrots to her plate. “I need to ask. What happens if I can’t get milk? If there’s a shortage and I can’t get to the shops and there’s none in the farm? Or I can’t find good clothes for you? Or I’m just not able to meet your terms.”

“If it is not of malice, I will merely leave,” Samgan said. “You are wise to ask. If you try and deceive me, I will take action.” He paused as Paul set the dish of shepherd’s pie in front of him and took a deep breath. “But if you should speak with me, and explain, and perhaps offer other compensation.” His hands were trembling as he took a small portion and put it carefully on the plate in front of him. “Then I would be agreeable to revisit our arrangement.”

Some of the tension in Hilary’s shoulders eased. “Thank you,” she said.

Samgan found himself relaxing gently as the meal went on. The food was good, warming him in more ways than basic nutrition. Again and again he went back for a small spoonful of the shepherd’s pie, a fragment of broccoli and the smallest chunk of carrot or parsnip, taking care with his system as it recovered. At the same time he watched as Tom ate enough for three of him, and Paul, and even Bracken, ate heartily. There was a peace in the kitchen that hadn’t been there any time in his memory, and he was basking in it. As the conversation turned to the opening of the Village Store, Sam let his mind wander to the garden. There were many rare herbs in the garden, some of them tricky to grow and it would need careful coaxing to bring it back to its former state. He could hardly wait to get started. He glanced at the vase with his thin bouquet sat proudly on the table. He had to repay Hilary’s kindness.

“This dinner is excellent,” Lord Peregrine said.

“We has already made individual shepherd’s pies for the Village Store,” Bracken said. “They will sell well.”

“And you have steamed apple pudding with custard for dessert?” Lord Peregrine looked over at the stove.

“That’s right,” Hilary said.

“We shall have my court’s Winter Solstice celebration here,” Lord Peregrine said.

“What?” Hilary said.

“Obviously I’ll make sure that you have supplies, and I’ll pay generously,” Lord Peregrine said. “And I’ll provide all the drink.”

“What?” Hilary shook her head. “No.”

“It will be splendid,” Lord Peregrine said.

“No!” Hilary said. “I can’t host a big function like that. I’m just a plain cook.”

“This was a feast,” Lord Peregrine said. “I can’t wait to see what you do with all the fine foods for Yule.”

“No!” Hilary snapped. “Besides, the solstice is only a couple of weeks away and it takes time to prepare for that sort of meal.”

“Of course you’ll manage,” Lord Peregrine said. “Most of my court is here anyway.”

“That is true,” Tom said thoughtfully. He grimaced. “Lord Peregrine’s court is small and perhaps doesn’t have so many creature comforts. And, apart from us, there is Cabus, who won’t eat much, Magnus and his family who will eat like wolves, and the Lesken sisters.”

“Auntie Olive and Auntie Ivy will be happy to help prepare,” Bracken added quickly. “Though perhaps they shouldn’t be allowed near the food. They can wash up.”

“They can help decorate,” Lord Peregrine said. “And I will, of course, provide greenery for wreaths and swags.”

“I don’t have time for wreaths and swags!” Hilary said. “I can’t possibly do this.”

“I’ll come up tomorrow to sort out the details,” Lord Peregrine said. “Now, what about that steamed apple pudding?”

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

Hilary looked up wearily as Paul slipped into the library. “How’s Samgan?”

“Still fragile,” Paul said. He sank into the chair across the library table from her and slid a stack of notebooks to one side. “But Bracken hustled him into the kitchen, wrapped him in blankets and she’s coaxing soup into him.” He smiled. “She’s being an excellent big sister, even if they haven’t met before now.”

“And he’s showing no signs of wanting to turn all the milk in the house sour?” Hilary asked.

Paul shook his head. “He says that he owes us a debt,” he said. “You took on most of the nursing when he was really bad, so he feels that he owes you most of all, but he’s grateful to all of us.” He fought back a grin. “Lord Peregrine thinks that you have a new lodger.”

Hilary groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “But he’s a pooka!”

Paul shrugged. “I know that he won’t be able to pay rent…”

Hilary interrupted him. “That’s not the thing,” she said. “I’m not going to be a millionaire, but I can cover the bills. I’ve got online work, cooking for Lord Peregrine, and perhaps some paying guests in the summer.” She straightened up a little. “And I’m going to be reducing your rent. You’re helping out so much that it feels wrong to take money from you.”

Paul chuckled. “You have no idea,” he said. “The rates for these rooms are ludicrously low. Did you check any of the local listings? Rooms around here are expensive because people come to the Dales to hike and see the sights. I’m already getting an insane deal. Let me and Tom help you out.” He angled the bright reading lamp a little closer to where they were sitting. “We’re willing and able.”

“Lord Peregrine was negotiating the rates,” Hilary said. “I wasn’t planning on taking any lodgers at all. The Committee wanted someone to investigate the magical flows around here and I have a knack for that sort of stuff. I wanted to spend time on that.” She smiled. “Then Bracken turned up, followed by Lord Peregrine who wanted to complain, followed by Tom, which was a shock as I was worried about sharing with a werewolf, and now you’re here and I’m damned grateful.”

“Thanks,” Paul said. He looked around the library and then back to Hilary. “I’m glad I’m here too.” He tapped the nearest stack of books. “I get to play with all these. There’s bound to be some good stuff in here.”

“I don’t know,” Hilary said. “I’ve been skimming through them as I looked for dates, and there’s a lot of trivial stuff.” She grimaced. “Perhaps not trivial, and it may mean more when we go through them properly, but some of them are grimly repetitive.” She sighed. “Mind you, I don’t think that my notebooks are much better.”

“We can try scanning them,” Paul said. “I’ve got a halfway decent scanner upstairs. Then I can write an algorithm to track down some key phrases.”

Hilary leaned back in her chair. “It’s tempting, but I don’t know if that’s the answer,” she said. “You know that when it comes to magic, things are never entirely straightforward.” She thought for a moment. “When we’ve had at least one run through, I think that we should scan them, if only to send a copy to the Committee. You know how keen they are on collecting old notes.”

“It may take some time,” Paul said, looking at the heaps of books.

“It will be worth it, especially if we can enlarge it on a screen once it’s scanned,” Hilary said. “Some of this writing is tiny.” She sighed. “And some of it isn’t more than a series of loops.”

“How far have you got?” Paul asked.

“I’m starting with getting the stuff into date order,” Hilary said. She pushed over a pad of sticky notes. “It’s probably against everything a proper researcher would do, but I’ve been labelling each notebook with the dates that I can find and putting them in order.”

“That’s not a bad system,” Paul said. “Have you found any of Annie’s notebooks?”

Hilary shook her head. “Not yet,” she said. “But I’ll be putting those separately to look at first. She should at least have an idea about what happened to Samgan.”

“I’m not exactly sure about that,” Paul said. “Samgan has been missing a long time, and he only turned up at the end of August or beginning of September. Annie died in March.”

“That’s right,” Hilary said. “It took the Committee a while to find a buyer for the cottage, and I couldn’t move straight in as there was a lot that needed doing.” She smiled faintly. “I swear I spent half the time sleeping in my car. All the chimneys were blocked, Annie’s wards were degrading and unstable and everything needed decorating.” She reached for the next notebook. “Let’s be honest, I haven’t really finished. I don’t want to redo the library. That room is perfect as it is, and so is the kitchen.”

“Isn’t there anything that you would change about the kitchen?” Paul asked.

“It will horrify Bracken, but I’d love an electric cooker,” Hilary said. “Don’t get me wrong, I love that woodburning stove, but I don’t fancy using it when it gets hot in summer.”

Paul thought for a moment. “That makes sense,” he said.

“And Annie had all the plumbing redone,” Hilary said. “Probably when she added the bathroom to the cellar. I don’t need to do much more than update stuff like towels and mats.”

“But there’s still a lot more?” Paul prompted.

“Have you seen the state of the garden?” Hilary asked. “It’s an overgrown mess. I’m not an expert, but I know that some of the herbs we saw drying in the store room downstairs can’t be easily bought. The garden’s probably full of rare and magical herbs and I’m going to have to dig for them under the nettles and brambles.”

“Ouch!” Paul said. He instinctively glanced over at the window, but it was dark out. He could still easily visualise the wreck of the garden.

“There’s a parlour we don’t use and a sewing room!” Hilary said. “I don’t sew. I’ve never sewn. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“It might make a better work room than the cellar,” Paul said. “Or if you get enough lodgers over the summer, people who aren’t aware of what we do, then perhaps it can be a separate lounge for them.”

“It will still need decorating,” Hilary said. “Lord Peregrine wants me to ask Tom to do things, but Tom’s got enough to do with the new stores.”

“The Village Stores,” Paul corrected. “And that should quieten down a little over Christmas.”

“It’s still a lot to ask from a paying guest,” Hilary said. She managed a wan smile and gestured to Paul. “Like it’s a lot to ask you to rescue me from malignant cellars and help me with impossible research projects.”

Paul shook his head. “I can’t wait to get stuck into these notebooks,” he said. “And I’m hoping that you’ll let me scan them so that I can have my own copy of what’s here.” He waved his hand over the pile. “There’s all sorts of wisdom in here. Who knows what we’ll learn.”

“There was a great recipe for hand cream in one of the older notebooks,” Hilary said. “I found it when I was trying to find the dates. It’s basically goose fat and rose water.”

“It’s probably on some influencer’s blog as we speak,” Paul said. “And it’s being marketed as the latest miracle product.”

Hilary chuckled. “You’re almost certainly right,” she said. She worked her neck. “I’m not sure that this is a perfect system, but it’s what I’ve come up with so far.” She shrugged. “I don’t mind if you come up with a better way of doing things, but this is what I’m going with. Each notebook has a sticky note, which is held on with an elastic band as well as any sticky stuff. We all know that notes can get shaken loose.”

“Or lost,” Paul said. “When we, or you, or whoever, gets this properly catalogued and sets up the full system, we can put something more permanent on them.”

Hilary nodded. “That makes sense. I didn’t want to write anything on them, just in case.” She pulled over a large, new notebook with an ornate silver moon inlaid on the black cover. “It was a Christmas gift,” she said, looking a little uncomfortable. “I thought that I may as well get some use out of it.” She opened the notebook. “I’ve saved the first few pages in case we need to do stuff like index it, though I’ve no idea how we’d start.” She turned over a few pages. “This is where the records start. I put a number on the sticky note, together with the date. I put that number in here with the date and a note of anything I’ve picked up as I’ve flicked through and the name of the witch, if I can find it.”

“Are any of them called a Book of Shadows?” Paul asked.

“I wish,” Hilary sighed. “I’ve had them called diaries, journals, recipe books and even a pattern book. Not all of them have names and some of them are hit and miss with dates.”

“They aren’t dated?” Paul asked.

“If I find one more entry marked up as something like the Friday after the brown cow had its calf, I think I’ll lose what’s left of my mind,” Hilary grumbled. “I’ve also been taking notes on this loose leaf pad as well.” She pushed the pad over to Paul. “It makes less sense than the notebooks, but I’m trying to make sense of any patterns that I spot.”

“Do you have anything so far?” Paul asked.

Hilary grimaced. “I haven’t seen anyone complaining about the magical flow in the older notebooks,” she said. “But I haven’t been looking that hard. I’m just looking to put them in some sort of date order right now. But once we start getting nearer our time, there are quite a few issues. I haven’t followed them up, but I’ve highlighted the note when I’ve found a reference.” She tapped the moon notebook.

Paul looked thoughtfully at the notebook in his hand. “I’ll keep an eye out when I’m skimming through,” he said. “If I’m going to build an algorithm, I need to know what it’s looking for and I’m willing to bet real money that they don’t all use the same words for the problem with the magical flow.”

“You’d win your bet,” Hilary said. She took the next book from the stack in front of her. “We have half an hour before Lord Peregrine promised he would be here for dinner. Let’s see how much we can get done.”

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.