Martin walked into the White Hart and then stuttered to a halt. Pink tinsel covered the till, the card stands and the wrapping paper. Cerise tinsel hung from the lights and shocking pink tinsel embraced the case with the athames. The palest rose tinsel wound around the café serving area intertwined with strands of deep maroon. He stood for a moment and stared. Then he looked at his wife as she staggered into the shop with a huge wicker basket full of more tinsel. “My dear, what’s happened?”

Lady Freydis sighed in relief, dropped the basket and ran over to him for a desperate hug. “Mrs Tuesday is not here.”

Martin looked around the shop. Underneath the drifts of decorations there were the occult books, the magical supplies, the herbs and the decorative knickknacks that the tourists loved. At least, he thought they were there. It was hard to tell under the sparkle and shimmer. “This isn’t a very safe place for elfen,” he said. “It’s too shiny. Besides, Fiona got all of the decorations sorted with the brownies. What’s going on? Mrs Tuesday will be back this afternoon.”

Lady Freydis clung onto him. “But what if she doesn’t return?” she said. “What if she abandons us? We should be diminished!”

“She’s just gone on a coach tour with Jason,” Martin said. He looked around the shop again. “Perhaps you should ease back on the decorations. She wouldn’t be happy if the customers couldn’t see the goods. You know how particular she is about the herbs.”

Lady Freydis stared at him. “What if she is so upset by the new decorations that she leaves forever with this Jason? What else could go wrong?”

“Mrs Tuesday is not leaving us,” Martin said. “Besides, you know how she feels about Christmas. She doesn’t worry about the decorations, but she hates the thought of anyone being alone.”

Lady Freydis frowned. “And that means that she wouldn’t leave us here alone, right?” She clutched Martin’s arm pleadingly. “We have everyone invited to Christmas dinner in our realm, with everything of the finest, don’t we? I can’t think of anyone else to invite.”

“Ian and Jeanette are having their own meal with their pack,” Martin said, “And Darren is joining them. But the rest of the staff are coming.”

“Is that enough for Mrs Tuesday?” Lady Freydis said.

Martin laughed. “Mrs Tuesday will always come back. This is her home. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she terrifies everyone again and brings home Jason. We can include him in our celebrations and that will keep her happy.”

Lady Freydis looked thoughtful. “He scares a lot of people,” she said.

“Mrs Tuesday thinks of him as a son,” Martin said. “And he paid for this tour as a treat for her. I’ve heard that he adores her.”

Lady Freydis looked at her husband and then around at the store. “I need to get this place cleared up before it opens,” she said. “I don’t want Mrs Tuesday to think that we are slipping without her.” She slid the basket of tinsel towards the back room and started to pull out the strands from around the Tarot decks. “Even if we are.”

You can find more about these characters in Tales of the White Hart and some of the stories that followed are on the blog here. I hope that you enjoyed seeing them again.

Paula carefully opened the door and gestured for Ian to step through. “Come in,” she said, shutting the door and locking it. “Would you like a tea or a coffee?”

“A tea would be nice,” Ian said, following Paula into the kitchen. “Are you okay?”

It was a reasonable question. Paula looking like a deep breath would break her and her elderly face was strained. She forced a smile. “I am a little concerned. That’s why I asked you here.”

Ian’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not keen on me, I know. I married your niece and you play nice, but you’ve never warmed up to me.”

Paula licked her dry lips as she filled the kettle. “You’ve always been good to Jeanette,” she said. “And I’m very grateful for it. And heaven knows that poor kid deserves some luck in life. Her mother is dreadful.” She flicked the kettle on and pulled out two mugs. “You said tea, didn’t you?”

“Yes, no sugar.” Ian watched Paula fumble with the teabags. “I treasure Jeanette, and I make no secret of it. I’m lucky to have met her. I’m even luckier that she will have me. And you know my family have welcomed her. You were at the wedding.”

Paula dropped the teabags. “I’ve never been to a happier wedding,” she said as she scrabbled around for the teabags. “But you’re a werewolf.”

“Yes,” Ian said. “And so are most of my family.”

Paula pulled a fresh box of teabags out of the cupboard and struggled with the wrapper. “Jeanette always looks so happy.”

Ian took the box from her and opened it before casually dropping the teabags into the mugs. “You didn’t ask me to come around just because I am a werewolf. You’re obviously terrified.” He frowned for a moment. “Well, you’re safe. Try and relax.” He fidgeted with the bowl on the kitchen counter, avoiding Paula’s eyes. “I’m not like that. I never have been.”

“That’s garlic,” Paula said, holding on to the edge of the counter.”

“Hmm?” Ian said, tossing a bulb and catching it. “I love garlic,” he said. “Jeanette always grows extra for me.” He shot a hard look at Paula. “It’s vampires that are affected by garlic, not werewolves.” He set the bulb back in the bowl and picked up the boiling kettle. “Let me. You’re a bag of nerves.”

Paula swallowed. “You like garlic?”

“You should have silver against werewolves,” Ian said impatiently as he made two mugs of tea. “Come on, Paula, what is it? I’ll always go the extra mile for you. Jeanette told me how good you were to her growing up, and she needed it. Just try not to treat me like a monster.” He pushed a mug into Paula’s cold hand. “What is it?”

“There’s something in the garden,” Paula said quietly. “I hear noises, but I can never see anything. I’ve looked as much as I’ve dared, but I’ve seen no-one.”

Ian looked at her and then out of the window. It was dark outside and the huge garden was hidden from the window. “You’re scared of me, but you’re more scared of what could be out there.”

“The garden is getting too much for me,” Paula said. “It’s quite overgrown at the end. I thought it could be something…” she trailed off. “I never used to quite believe in werewolves.”

“I’ll have a look,” Ian said.

“You will be careful, won’t you?” Paula said, catching hold of his arm. “If there’s something dreadful out there, I don’t want you to be hurt.”

Ian patted her hand. “I can take care of myself. But lock the door after me and watch out of the window, just in case.”

Paula watched the hard faced, hard muscled man disappear into the shadows at the bottom of the garden. Even if she didn’t know that he was a werewolf, she would have found him intimidating. There was an unforgiving air around him. But she had seen him with her niece and their kids and Ian doted on them. And Jeanette absolutely adored her husband, it was clear a mile off. Paula peered into the darkness. She had heard a few stories through the years and seen enough not to dismiss what she was told. Besides, there had been a lot more large, wolf-like dogs at the end of the wedding then there had been at the beginning. Some of them had had bowls of beer.

She picked up her tea and took a reassuring sip. Surely there would be nothing. A doubt gnawed at her. What if she had sent Jeanette’s husband into trouble? What if it was darker than he could deal with? What if things went wrong? She couldn’t really call the police if it was something worse than a werewolf.

There was a commotion in the darkness and Paula nearly dropped the tea. It splashed wildly on the counter as she jumped but Paula didn’t dare stop to wipe it up. Instead she stared through the window, wondering what was going on. Something was emerging from the darkness. It was Ian with two teenagers. Paula started to breathe again. The young lad had the start of a black eye and the young girl was scarlet faced as she hastily buttoned her top. Behind them, Ian’s face was carefully expressionless, but Paula could see a glint of amusement in his eyes as they got closer. She unlocked the door.

Ian gave the lad a small shove. “What are you going to say?”

“I’m sorry, Miss, for trespassing in your garden,” the teenager blurted out.

“We won’t do it again,” the girl added.

“And why won’t you do it?” Ian said firmly.

“Because we realise that we were being disrespectful,” the lad said, glancing nervously back at him.

“And what are you going to do to apologise?” Ian prompted.

“We’ll come back tomorrow in the day to weed the front drive,” the lad said.

“We’re really sorry,” the girl added. “We didn’t think that you would realise we were there or that you would be worried.

“So, off you go and get back here around 10am, and no messing about,” Ian said with an almost paternal authority. His face stayed set in stern lines until the teenagers were well out of sight before he broke into a grin. “A little youthful romance,” he said. “They genuinely didn’t mean to scare you.” He chuckled. “The lad was accusing me of all sorts until I got his attention and explained. The lass was just about dead with embarrassment. But they’ll do something useful and that will be the end of it.” He frowned. “But I can’t have people thinking that no-one is bothered. I’ll come around tomorrow and get some tidying up done. Jeanette’s really the gardener, but I can at least get the worst of it cleared until she can come down here. Just make a list of what you want doing.”

“There’s no need,” Paula said.

“You were there for Jeanette when she needed you. That means that there’s every need,” Ian said firmly. “I’ll see you tomorrow – don’t forget to lock the door.”

Paula watched Ian stride away before carefully locking the door. She finished her tea and washed the mugs. Ian was intimidating, tough and relentless and looked like he was made of iron. But she remembered his grin after the teenagers had left, and the kindness he had shown her. Perhaps he was safe after all. She would have to make something for him as a snack tomorrow. Paula smiled. Perhaps she could make him garlic bread.

“Are you sure that he’s a proper vicar?” Mr Jennings asked as he watched their guest stalk across the office.

“I went through the Bishop’s office to get him,” Leanne said. “And he seems to know what he’s doing.”

Mr Jennings frowned. “I’m having enough trouble keeping staff, what with one thing and another. The last thing I need is a ghost. He needs to sort this out.” He marched across to the man in the centre of the room. “Reverend King, can you tell me what’s going on?”

“Please, call me Darren,” the exorcist said. He glanced around the office again. “So you are saying that you get cold chills after dark, and that people have talked about the cat acting oddly – why have you got a cat?”

Mr Jennings felt the conversation running away from him. “We have mice. And we think that they’ve caused a problem with the heating. This is a busy office, Reverend, and the office gets very hot during the day with all the computers. I needed to try and fix the problem with the air conditioning and stop the mice getting in. So we got a cat and it acts funny.”

Darren looked hard at the man in front of him. “When you say that the cat acts ‘funny’, what exactly do you mean?”

“Well, it’s a bit of a b-” Mr Jennings broke off, not want to swear in front of a man of the cloth. “When he catches a mouse, he usually brings them to one of the staff.” Mr Jennings pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his sweating face. He struggled to meet Darren’s unwavering stare. “Sometimes he makes the girls squeak a bit. Then he takes it away. Well, he’s started to do that to a space.”

“What do you mean a space?” Darren asked.

“I mean, he’ll go to an empty space and drop the mouse and look up,” Mr Jennings said. “It causes a lot of disruption when that happens, and we’re already struggling with a backlog.”

“Hmm,” Darren said, looking around.

“I’ve heard that cats are very psychic animals,” Leanne said.

“They’re really just difficult,” Darren said.

Leanne shivered dramatically. “That’s it, that’s a draught of cold air.”

Darren looked up, then around the office. “Could you give me a moment, please, and do you have any recordings of the cat giving a mouse to something that isn’t there?”

“Of course,” Mr Jennings said, and bolted out of the room, closely followed by Leanne.

“He’s very good looking,” Leanne said slowly, “But very stern.”

Mr Jennings looked back at the door. The exorcist was younger than him, muscled and impatient. “I don’t think I’d risk nicking anything out of his collection box.” He sighed. “Have you got anything on your phone?”

Leanne shook her head. “I’ll text the rest of the office and see what they’ve got.”

“And I’ll see if any of the security tapes in the warehouse have anything,” Mr Jennings said.

They had not been looking long, though, before Darren opened the door and beckoned them back in. “I think I’ve found the problem,” he said. “Let me guess – the people most affected sit here, and here, and here?” He indicated three chairs, widely spaced.

Leanne stared. “How did you know? Are you psychic? Did the ghost tell you?”

“I am not at all psychic,” Darren snapped. “You have got the settings on the air conditioning mixed up. The air conditioning is programmed to come on at 6pm instead of 6am. At this time of year, it’s starting to get dark but the office is warm after a day when the office has been full of people and computers. I’ve reset the timers, using a twenty four hour clock, and you should have no more trouble.”

“Is that all?” Leanne said, disappointed.

“There are some places that aren’t haunted, even in York,” Darren said.

“And you’ve saved me a big bill for the air conditioning,” Mr Jennings said. He grabbed Darren’s hand and shook it wildly. “I think I owe you at least half of that, plus any fee for the call out.”

“Just make a donation to the food bank,” Darren said. “If you give me a moment, I’ll just say a few prayers and a blessing, to reassure the staff. And I wouldn’t worry about the cat. They do odd things.”

“They do, don’t they,” Leanne agreed. “My nana’s cat used to get into laundry baskets and…” She trailed off as Mr Jennings dragged her out.

Darren waited until the door closed behind them before turning to the ghost of the old security guard. “Thanks for the tip off about the air con,” he said. He smiled gently at the spirit. “Now, it’s time for me to send you home.”

It started when the house along the street blew up. We were told it was safe and I suppose it was. The houses either side of the gap were fine and there was no trace of gas or anything. But that night the tapping started.

First it was on the windows, a light, tap tap tap, like a branch against the panes in a light breeze. Except there were no branches near my window. Just the tap tap tap after dark. It started to unnerve me. There was never any trace when I pulled back the curtains to look and nothing seemed out of place when I looked at the windows from the street in daylight.

Gradually I got used to it and talked about perhaps it was mice or birds in the attic. I even added it to the ghost stories that were exchanged at work – I live in York, after all, and there are always ghost stories. However, as the nights grew longer and the days got cooler, the tapping changed.

It was the day after my birthday, 22nd of September, when I sat bolt upright in bed. The tap tap tap was now coming from the living room. I remember how frozen I felt, pinned to my bed as the gentle tap tap tap seemed to patter against the wooden floor. I crept to the door of my bedroom and listened. There were no human footsteps, no rustle of clothes and no sigh or grunt of someone moving. I opened the door just a crack, peering out into the hall. No light shone from under the living room door. As I gathered my courage to confront the noise, the tap tap tap faded away and I realised it was dawn.

That was three days ago. I forgot about the tapping as I went away for work. I lost myself in the hectic pace of the conference and the after conference drinks, happy to forget about strange noises, but now I was back. There was no sign of any disturbance in the house. Nothing had moved. I had a quick shower and got into bed with Netflix playing loudly as I wriggled down into the bed.

But it didn’t drown the tapping. I can hear it now, tap tap tap in the living room. I am lying here, terrified, as the tap tap tap gets nearer and nearer. The tapping is in the hall now and getting closer to my door.  I pick up my phone from the bedside cabinet and scroll through my contacts, looking for the number that had been forced on me. Now I was desperate. I found the name – Rev D King, Exorcist. My fingers trembled as I dialled the number, burrowed under the covers. Dawn is two hours away and the tapping is getting closer.

Welcome to the fourth day of the October Frights Blog Hop! I hope you enjoyed my contribution and will look out for another story tomorrow.

And why not dip in to the giveaway of great stories at Story Origin? You can find them here. It’s a selection of free stories from some of the people taking part in the October Frights Blog Hop and you may find a new favourite author. Just in case, there is an associated Book Fair here, where you are always welcome.

And speaking of authors, here they are!

Nickronomicon

GirlZombieAuthors

An Angell’s Life

Angela Yuriko Smith

carmillavoiez.com

Frighten Me

Hawk’s Happenings

James P. McDonald

Blood Red Shadows

The Unicorn Herd

Creative Quill

Curiosities

Welcome to Avalon

Lady Freydis sighed. “It is the autumn equinox,” she said. “They used to call it Mabon.”

“Did they?” Fiona looked warily at Lady Freydis. She was looking wistfully into the distance as she polished the coffee machine.

“The day and night will be the same length,” Lady Freydis said softly. “An equal balance between light and dark. Then the nights will lengthen and the air grow chill. Frost will fall.”

“Are you feeling well?” Fiona asked.

“I agree.” Kadogan seemed to appear from nowhere. “The daylight hours dim and the night deepens.”

Mrs Tuesday came out of the back room with a tray of muffins. “What is going on?”

“You shouldn’t be carrying that with your bad back,” Fiona said. “You should be taking it easy.”

“There is no threat of grave danger to the White Hart,” Lady Freydis said. “Just the wheel of the year turning.” She sighed as she wiped the nozzles. “I always think of it as the sunset of the year. The long day of summer is over and now we sink into darkness to Yule, at the year’s midnight.”

“You’re bored,” Mrs Tuesday said, ignoring Fiona’s efforts to take the tray. “That’s what it is.”

Kadogan nodded. “It is strange that we have no great peril,” he said. “But the shop is flourishing.”

“Thank goodness for the mail order business,” Fiona said. “It’s really helped over the last year or so.”

“It seems so placid,” Lady Freydis said. “And it’s autumn.”

“It will soon be Christmas,” Fiona said. “We’re always busy then.” She looked at Mrs Tuesday, who shrugged. “And there is the new store opening,” Fiona added.

“Is that definitely happening?” Lady Freydis asked.

“Yes, we’ve discussed this,” Fiona said.

“I have some grave doubts,” Kadogan said. “It is very near the border with Leeds, and Lord Marius may wish to interfere.”

“I would not allow that,” Lady Freydis stated. She frowned. “I could visit occasionally, to ensure that the coffee was being prepared correctly.”

“And knowing that I will not be able to constantly monitor candles in two places concerns me,” Kadogan added.

Fiona sighed deeply. “We’ve all discussed this. The main shop stays here, but the depot for the mail order and space for secondhand furniture and gently used magical equipment go to the second shop. It’s about space. You know how expensive rent is in York.”

“I suppose so,” Lady Freydis said. “But you are making a mistake. It is autumn, the sunset of the year. The White Hart was opened near the spring equinox, in the dawn of the year. It is inauspicious.”

Mrs Tuesday slotted away the final cupcake. “Trust me, when you find out who will be in charge there, you won’t be bored.”

Darren leant back against the wreck of the sofa and looked over to Sir Dylan. “How are you doing these days?”

Sir Dylan shrugged. “I’m okay, I suppose.” He ducked out of the way of a flying mug and flinched as it smashed on the wall behind him. “Do you think we should help out?”

Darren shook his head. “It would be a shame to spoil their fun.” He watched as Flynn grabbed a boggart by the neck and tried to squeeze, but what looked like a werewolf in fur hit him hard in the side and knocked the boggart out of his hold. He spun around, caught the werewolf by the tail and threw it hard against the wall. It slid down, whimpering. Lord Marius, snarling through a spatter of someone else’s blood, was trading punches with Mercury. Mercury was putting up a hard fight, but he was starting to fall back.

“They’re going to have to pay to put the flat right,” Sir Dylan said. “I mean, it’s trashed.”

Darren looked around as one of Lord Marius’ warriors kicked a severed head against the wall where it left a dent and a mark that would be really hard to clean. “The brownies will sort it out. Have you ever seen what brownies can do? They take a real pride in their work. Of course, they’re expensive. If I didn’t have to be so careful, I’d definitely get them in. And they are wonderful when they clean a church. They don’t miss a corner.”

“It’ll need to be a full refit,” Sir Dylan said as an armchair flew across the room and caught a boggart squarely in the stomach, winding them and pinning them down long enough for Flynn to grab them.

Darren ducked out of the way of a stray piece of coffee table. “Lord Marius is not happy to find these sort of games going on. He has strong views. Apart from the risk of getting noticed and upsetting the local Knights Templar, if anyone should be extorting the locals, it should be him.” Darren grinned at Sir Dylan. “Lord Marius will make sure that he confiscates all the profits and it won’t be a hardship to refit this place. All we need to do is make sure that it’s to taste of Mrs Cook.”

Sir Dylan thought of Mercury’s latest victim and glanced around the wreckage. “It will have to be pink.”

“It will have to be completely replastered first,” Darren said as he watched sparks fly from an ambitious elfen next to Mercury.

Steve Adderson, waiting in the wings, raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think so.” He gestured casually and the elfen dropped like a stone.

Darren and Sir Dylan moved back a little as the battle raged. The neighbours were already starting to peer out of their doors and a few phones were being pulled out. Darren shook his head. “We need to wrap this up.” He nodded to Steve. “Any chance of messing up the phones for a few minutes?”

“Not a problem,” Steve said, and muttered a few words.

Darren stuck his head back into the shell of the living room. “We are getting attention and the police will be here soon.”

Lord Marius’ eyes narrowed and he roared with fury, grabbing the reeling Mercury and slamming his head hard into the nearest door frame. It cracked. As Mercury sank to the floor, he looked around. “Get this filth out of here!”

Elfen shimmered around the room. Darren found it unnerving as, without any sort of flourish or warning, the members of Lord Marius’ court disappeared. One minute they were flinging a goblin against the mantlepiece, the next minute both they and the goblin were gone. The remains and captives were whisked away until only Lord Marius and Steve were left facing Darren and Sir Dylan across the unconscious form of Mercury.

“I will make all this good,” Lord Marius said casually. “I’ll get the brownies to clean up and I’ll send an interior decorator to meet with Mrs Cook.” He glanced down at Mercury who was slowly coming to his senses. “I shall also personally apologise to the poor woman, affected by one of my own, taking advantage of an elderly widow.” His eyes narrowed as he hauled Mercury to his feet. “And I shall make an example.” He glanced over to Steve.

Steve was looking grim. He disappeared through a door for a moment and came back with a large shape covered in a grey silk throw. “I have a special surprise for you, Mercury,” he said. “You’ve terrorised elfen and normal for decades, if not longer.” Steve’s cold smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Now it’s your turn.” He pulled off the covering and Mercury flinched at the sight of the broken mirror.

“You can’t do this to me.” Mercury looked desperately from Lord Marius to Steve and then turned to the exorcist and the Knight Templar. “You have to help me.”

“We really don’t,” Darren said. “You have made too many people suffer.” There was a finality in his shrug. “Besides, it’s not our jurisdiction.”

“No, it’s mine,” Lord Marius stated. He nodded to Steve who began a low voiced chant. There were strange harmonics and the remaining glass in the windows vibrated.

Mercury shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t, you can’t…”

Lord Marius held him high and at arm’s length. Mercury thrashed helplessly but Lord Marius’ grip was relentless.

Sir Dylan shivered as a cold breeze ran around the room and he turned away. Darren watched, unflinching, as Mercury was stripped of his glamour until all that was left was a small, skinny twisted thing. Steve checked with Lord Marius, and, at the nod, Mercury seemed to flow and swirl, like oil in water, into the broken mirror. There was a long, inhuman wail, then silence.

Darren walked forward and peered at the shattered reflections. He could see a myriad of himself, reflected in the crazed and damaged glass. And in the very corner, almost out of sight, was a frantic elfen. If he caught the angle just right and tilted his head, he could see Mercury’s mouth opening and closing. There was no sound. “Seems like a just punishment to me,” he said.

“No, absolutely not!” Flynn said.

The hulking boggart facing him grinned. “You need the information. I have the information. You give me what I want and I’ll give you what you want.” The grin widened. “And what can go wrong with a game of cards?”

“You’re planning on playing poker with the Rev Darren King,” Flynn said. “He’s an exorcist. He’s a vicar. He’s used to facing demons. I’m not sure he even knows the rules, Vernon.” He looked around the cavernous warehouse at the watching boggarts and wondered if facing demons would be easier.

“That’s what I thought,” Vernon said smugly.

“I know the rules,” Darren said, irritation rolling from him in waves. “What are the stakes. I won’t stake my soul or anything that will affect my mission.”

Vernon hunkered down on one side of the kitchen table pulled to the centre of the hall. “It’s easy. We both start with equal chips. If you win, I tell you all I know about Mercury. If I win, I still tell you about Mercury, but you owe me a favour. And I won’t breathe a word about anything if you don’t play.”

“You really need to see someone about your gambling addiction,” Darren said as he sat on the hard kitchen chair opposite Vernon. “What are the rules?”

“I thought you knew the rules.” Vernon scoffed.

“I mean, is it the Texas game that I’ve heard about?” Darren said. “And is it played with a standard deck or is it like piquet where some cards are removed?”

Vernon’s grin couldn’t get wider, but he looked a happy boggart as he picked up the cards. “It’s a standard deck, draw poker. Bring over the drink, boys.”

“I’m just on water,” Darren said. “You know what I face. And I’m always on call.”

“That’s fair enough,” Vernon begrudgingly agreed.

“Let me play instead,” Flynn said as he watched Vernon expertly riffle shuffle. “I can give you a good game.”

“But then I don’t get to boast that I played cards with Darren King,” Vernon said. He handed the cards over to Darren. “Deal.”

Darren shuffled the cards with a loose, overhand shuffle and frowned at Vernon. “This is a waste of time.”

“Not if you want that information,” Vernon said, watching a young boggart in a mini skirt and heels stack the chips in front of the players. She poured a large whisky for him and placed a bottle of water next to Darren. “Go on, padre, let’s play cards.”

Flynn didn’t want to look. Darren wasn’t exactly wholesome. He had what looked like a good relationship with his girlfriend, and was a working minister as well as an exorcist, but he wasn’t exactly a little ray of sunshine. Darren had no tolerance for fools, no time for idiots and was ruthlessly determined. He also lost the first two hands. He wasn’t the sort of man who played cards. He would be more likely to read an improving book. Why couldn’t he have taken Darren’s place? Of course, if Darren just lost the games then at least they would get the information quicker. They would still owe Vernon a favour, though, and he wasn’t a nice boggart. The rotting warehouse was cold and damp but Flynn could feel a trickle of sweat between his shoulder blades and his stomach was churning. He straightened up. He was an immortal elfen that could deal with any amount of boggarts and was not in the mood for nonsense. On the other hand, Darren was mortal and comparatively fragile. He helped himself to a glass of the cheap whiskey.

“This place is a mess,” Darren said as Vernon dealt the next hand. He unscrewed the cap on the water bottle. “You should get yourself a decent place.” He took a mouthful from the bottle and grimaced. “Really? You had to use cheap vodka? You could have at least used the decent stuff.”

Vernon’s eyes narrowed. “I thought vodka didn’t taste of anything,” he said.

“Neat vodka is hard to miss,” Darren said, picking up the cards and looking around. “Do you have rats here?”

“Do rats bother you?” Vernon asked hopefully.

Darren stared at him. “I wouldn’t last long as an exorcist if they did. I just thought I saw one.” He threw in a chip.

Vernon glanced down at his cards. “We don’t usually get them in. Perhaps they followed the scent of fresh meat?” His heart wasn’t in it, though, and Darren’s mocking smile wasn’t help. “And I’ll raise.”

Darren grunted. “I’m sure a lot of your boys would be better in somewhere warm out of the draughts,” he said, tossing in another chip. “Just halfway decent chairs would make a difference.”

“What, and all nice covers and that?” Vernon sneered. “These are street boggarts. What sort of boggarts are you used to?” He threw in another chip.

“I used to have Mr and Mrs Appuck in my parish, and I see quite a bit of Mrs Tuesday,” Darren said, throwing his chip in. “Their houses were immaculate.”

Vernon grunted as he tried to ignore the reference to some of the most feared boggarts in the country. “That’s the old ways, though. We don’t need any of that.” He checked the diminished stack of chips and his hand. “I call.”

Flynn kept his face carefully neutral as Darren’s flush beat Vernon’s two pair. A suspicion started to grow as Darren bickered over the water that was brought to replace the vodka. Darren wasn’t paying that much attention to his cards, apparently, just throwing in the chips as he grumbled. Vernon was insisting that the water was fine and suddenly found himself once again running his decent full house into a straight that Darren had given no sign of holding.

“I suppose I do have the advantage,” Vernon said, ignoring his dwindling stack of chips and dealing the next hand. “Normals can’t read boggarts. It’s a well known fact.”

“Fold,” Darren said after a glance, pushing his cards away from him and taking a drink of the water. “That’s better, and nice and cold. I don’t suppose you need a fridge down here.”

“There is nothing wrong with this place,” Vernon said, scowling as he pulled in the tiny stake. “And it’s discreet.”

Darren sighed as he took the cards and shuffled. “Did you never think that activity in an abandoned warehouse would look suspicious?” He dealt the cards. “You’re going to get more attention here than a nice bar or restaurant where you expect to see people coming or going.”

“A restaurant?” Vernon stared at Darren in disbelief, then checked his cards. He glanced at the small pile of chips at his hand. “I raise.”

Darren pushed in his chips. “And you get a nice bit of cash from the business. Of course, you have to have a bit about you to do the wages and all that, but it’s surprising how it can work. You could even open a casino. The bank always wins.”

“I know my way around a poker table,” Vernon said. “All in.” He pushed the last of his chips towards the centre.

Darren pushed his chips in. “You would be better off supervising,” he said.

“Full house,” Vernon said, placing down his cards.

“Straight flush,” Darren said, placing his own cards down. “Now, tell me all about Mercury.”

Flynn was uneasily aware of the boggarts crowding around. It was an odd atmosphere. On one hand, this cocky vicar had just beaten their leader without apparently paying attention. On the other hand, Flynn got a sense that the gambling was becoming a problem. He breathed a little easier. They were probably going to get out of here in one piece.

Vernon smiled ruefully at Darren and held out his hand. “I’ve got it all typed up and I’ll send it to the usual email,” he said. “Thank you for the game.”

“Thanks,” Darren said. He hesitated. “What favour were you going to ask?”

Vernon shrugged. “My youngest is getting married in a few months, and it would have looked good to have someone like yourself tying the knot.”

Darren stared at him for a moment and then laughed. “I love doing weddings. Let me know and I’ll see what I can do. I hardly ever get to do weddings.”

Vernon nodded. “I guess you get too many funerals.”

“More than you can imagine,” Darren said with a grimace. “But that’s the nature of the work.”

Flynn interrupted. “We need to get on,” he said. He nodded to Vernon. “Good game to watch.”

Vernon snorted. “Watch me get beat. I’ll get the info to you.” He thought for a moment and then shrugged. “Mercury is a bastard. I’m not saying I’m helping out an elfen and a normal, but give us a call if you need some back up. Just don’t tell anyone.” There were nods around the room. Mercury had no friends here.

They had driven a few miles before Flynn turned to Darren. “Where did you learn to play cards like that?”

Darren didn’t glance from the road. “I used to be in the Navy, remember, in the Royal Marines. I learned to play cards there. And it came in very useful when I sat up with Mrs Tuesday for a week when she had pneumonia. She really knows how to play cards.” He flicked a quick glance at Flynn and then turned back to driving. “Mrs Tuesday is an elderly boggart with an evil sense of humour and makes Vernon looks like a toothless pussycat. She’d have had those boggarts cleaning so that you could eat your dinner off any surface in the place and left them grateful to her. After that, Vernon wasn’t so tough.”

“You learned to play like that from an old lady?” Flynn asked sceptically.

“From an older boggart card sharp with a dirty mind,” Darren said. A notification rang from his phone. “It sounds like Vernon has kept his word. Let’s see how close we can get to Mercury now.”

Rose opened the door a crack and timidly peered at the two men outside in the grubby yard. “Hello.”

“Good evening,” the dark haired man said. He was impossibly handsome and his hard muscles showed under the thin, well-washed shirt. The air of dangerous focus that hung around him was at variance with his clerical dog collar. “My name is Darren King, and this is my associate, Flynn.”

“I preferred being called Vertiver,” his associate grumbled. He was just as tall and muscled but more casual in t-shirt and jeans. A shock of thick red hair hung to his shoulders. He noticed Rose’s appraising gaze and smiled like the devil. “I didn’t realise that you were so young and beautiful. We should have been here sooner.”

Rose found herself blushing and tried to claw back some control. At 24 she was no longer used to being thought young, and she hardly thought she was pretty. “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.”

“In what?” Flyn leant against the door frame, at least six inches taller than her and full of flirtatious intention. “You don’t know why we called.”

“The Church fund?” Rose guessed. It had to be some sort of scam.

“May we come in?” Darren asked, glaring at Flynn.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Rose said. “I mean, as a woman living on my own, I have to be careful. I’m sure that you are both perfect gentlemen, but I don’t want the neighbours to talk.”

“But you don’t live on your own, do you?” Flynn leant in a little closer.

Rose stepped back involuntarily. “I want you to leave,” she forced out, “Or I’ll call the police.”

“You can call the police if you like,” Flynn said. “He’s with them, sort of.”

“I’m not police,” Darren snapped. “Flynn stop intimidating this woman.” He turned to Rose and tried a professional smile. “We have reason to believe that you have a haunted mirror.”

Rose stared at him as all colour drained from her face.

A deep voice behind her spoke. “It’s okay. We knew that this day would come.”

Rose shook her head. “I can’t lose you.”

Darren and Flynn exchanged glances as Flynn pushed past Rose and into the tiny hall with Darren following close behind.

The hall was a marked contrast to the grubby yard and grubby street outside. Inside was completely different. Pale walls and clever lighting gave an illusion of airy space in the narrow entrance. The wooden floor was polished and a subtle hint of lavender hung in the air. The men followed Rose as she retreated to the living room. Darren shut the front door firmly behind them.

The living room was a similar revelation. Outside there was a dirty street, cluttered with rubbish. Inside was a cool, understated minimalism centred around an unexpectedly ornate mirror. It had a flat copper sheen, picked up by the few decorating accents, and it only showed the magical inscription to the knowledgeable.

In front of the mirror was a transparent, ghost-like figure, an older man, with streaks of grey in his dark hair, lithe and slim in a grey, three piece suit. Magical energy whirled between the pale hands. Rose grabbed the iron poker and whirled to face them. “I don’t know how you found us, but I won’t pay you and you can’t take him. Leave us alone.”

Darren raised a sceptical eyebrow then, with snakelike speed, caught Rose’s arm, lifted, turned and pulled. The poker clattered onto the floor leaving Rose trapped in an impersonal, iron grip. Flynn moved with equal speed. His hands darted out, tangling his own magical energy into the glow in front of the ghost and unravelling it, reeling it in and catching it in a spinning, glowing sphere above Flynn’s left shoulder. Colour drained from the apparition and it faded into a translucent shadow. There had been barely enough time to breathe and suddenly Rose and the spirit were completely at the men’s mercy.

“I wish people would not jump to conclusions,” Darren said. “You have a haunted mirror, obviously. We are here to release the spirit. If there is any threat, we would deal with it, but it appears that there is an amicable arrangement here. I can’t see any reason for us to be involved any further once the spirit is released.” He grinned. “If the spirit behaves, that is.”

Flynn was staring at the apparition. “Lucius? Is that you?”

“Vertiver, what are you doing here? I was searching for you but got trapped.” Lucius managed a roguish grin. “I wasa at least aware enough that they couldn’t control me. They gave up trying to make me haunt properly, but they still sold on the mirror. I laid low, until I was lucky enough to meet Rose.” He paused and looked at Rose with love in his eyes. “Unfortunately they were still tracking me. We’ve been trying to hide from them.”

“You did a good job,” Flynn said. “I would never have thought to find you in a dump like this.” He smiled at Rose. “But the decorating is as excellent as ever.”

“You know who is tracking you?” Darren asked. “I’m trying to catch up with them. Flynn isn’t the only spirit we’ve managed to release over the last few months. Someone or something, somewhere, is making a fortune from fear, while trapping non-normals and effectively torturing them into slavery.” He released Rose and stepped back warily.

Rose stared at him. “You’re not going to try and take Lucius away.”

Darren shook his head. “Flynn should be able to release him. But we should step out of the room while it happens. Perhaps the kitchen?”

The kitchen was as minimalist and airy as the rest of the house. Darren leant against the counter. “How do you feel about Lucius?”

Rose blushed. “It’s complicated.”

“Do you love him,” Darren asked.

“Like I said, it’s complicated,” Rose said. “I think so. And I think he loves me.”

“Has he said so?” Darren said.

Rose felt her face glowing with embarrassment. “He said that he gave his word it was love and not lust that he felt,” she said. “He promised.”

“That sounds like love.” Darren said. “I’ll have a proper talk later, but you know that your life is about to get…” Darren searched for the right words. “Fairytale romances can be difficult. But they can work.”

“They can?” Rose asked cautiously.

Darren nodded. “I’ll have a proper talk later. For now, do you have records of any contact with the people looking for Lucius? Someone called Mercury?”

Rose nodded. “I kept everything.” She pulled out her phone. “I’ve saved everything, taken photos of the letters, made notes of conversations, times and dates – the whole lot. And I’ve saved it in plenty of places as well.” She jumped as a sudden crack rang through the room next door.

Darren ignored the noise. “Here are some places to send copies,” he said, pulling a small notebook from his jeans pocket and scribbling some notes. “Once you have sent them, change passwords and find another safe place to copy them. There shouldn’t be a problem, but it’s best to stay safe.” He tore out the page and handed it to Rose. “We’ll take it from there.”

Rose shook her head. “I’m sure that Lucius will want to be involved,” she said. “I don’t think you could stop him.”

The sound of Flynn swearing and the smell of brimstone seeped into the kitchen. Darren took no notice. “It may take some time for Lucius to regain his strength. Besides, he needs to look after you. Mercury doesn’t like being thwarted. We’ve heard enough to ask you and Lucius to move to a safe house.”

“A safe house?” Rose stared. “But I thought you weren’t police.”

“Other people than police have safe houses,” Darren said. “And you and Lucius have a lot of catching up to do.”

Darren looked around the small flat. The chill of an unwelcome and supernatural presence hung heavily and the bunch of flowers his host had brought in with them was already shrivelling in its supermarket cellophane. “Yes, there is definitely a problem.” He frowned. “Can you tell me a little of the background.”

Emma looked around her, wondering where to start. “It’s been going on for a few weeks. I thought it was the guttering at first. I got mildew on the wallpaper in that corner, for some reason, but the plaster behind it was dry. The landlord couldn’t work it out.”

“What’s the landlord like?” Darren asked.

Emma shrugged. “I’ve been here around three months. He leaves me alone, and I’m glad of it. But the boiler is in good working order and the appliances are quite new.” She looked anxiously at Darren. “I’m tied into the lease for another nine months. I can’t just walk away from it. I need to get this sorted.”

Darren grunted. “What about the neighbours?”

“There’s a man downstairs, a little older than me,” Emma said. “He’s in his late fifties, I suppose. He works in the week and gets drunk on Saturdays.” She grinned. “He starts singing punk anthems around 8.30pm and is usually quiet by 10. He seems pleasant enough. I’ve not really spoken to him.” She nervously adjusted a cushion. “Won’t you sit down?”

Darren shook his head. “How about upstairs?”

“The flat directly above is empty,” Emma said. “It was a mother and a couple of kids. They moved out the week I moved in. I’ve not heard any noises. Apparently the leases ran from the same dates. She was tied in as well.” She watched Darren pacing up and down the flat with leashed energy. He was not her idea of a priest. Priests, in her opinion, were not tall, well-muscled and ridiculously handsome. And they definitely did not wear well washed supermarket jeans with heavy boots, a faded black shirt and a leather jacket with their dog collar. They also had better people skills. Emma felt that she was getting marks deducted for silliness. “I suppose you could get in there, if you needed to.”

“I’d rather not start by breaking and entering,” Darren said. “Do you know why the people above left?”

“I thought priests could get all sorts of permissions,” Emma said. “I can give you the number of the agency.”

Darren peered through the blinds and out over the car park. “I’m not good with bureaucracy. And did they say why they were moving?” He turned and gave Emma a pointed look.

“Sorry, Phoenix next door said that they were moving in with the woman’s boyfriend,” Emma said. “Are you sure that I can’t get you a cup of tea or coffee?”

“Phoenix?” Darren said. “What sort of name is ‘Phoenix?’ Does she think she’s a superhero?”

Emma thought of the plump, dishevelled lady next door. “No, I don’t think so,” she said. “She told me that her name was revealed to her in a sitting. I think she used to be called Tina.”

Darren stared. “What?”

Emma smiled weakly. “She’s very nice, but into the new age stuff. You know, Tarot cards and crystals and stuff. I never believed in it much, until this.” She gestured helplessly at the blackened flowers on the table. “I think I’ve heard it described as, ‘weird washing powder and knits her own rice’. She follows an alternative lifestyle.” Emma trailed off a little in the face of Darren’s evident disapproval. “She’s saving up for a smallholding.”

“Does she look like she could farm?” Darren asked.

“Um…” Emma didn’t like to be cruel but the man downstairs had more than once been called to help Phoenix with spiders. Besides, she didn’t seem like the outdoor type. “I’m not sure.”

Darren shook his head. “Let’s hope that she’s bad at saving.” He paced back across the room. “What’s this?” he asked, waving a hand at the macrame wall hanging.

“Phoenix gave it me,” Emma said. “She seemed to think that it was lucky.”

Darren looked closer. “How long has it been here?”

“She gave it as a house-warming present.” Emma looked embarrassed. “She was insistent that I put it up straight away, and she always checks that it’s there. It’s not really my taste.”

Darren frowned. “Did you tell Phoenix about the problems?”

Emma nodded. “She said that the previous tenant had the same issues and that’s why he moved out as soon as the lease ended. But then she said she knew someone from her spiritualist group who could help me out. She was quite keen, but I felt better with someone more traditional.” Emma shot an uncomfortable glance at Darren, who looked absolutely nothing like a traditional priest. “I didn’t want to offend her, but I don’t feel comfortable with crystals and that.”

Darren sighed. “Do you have anywhere to stay if things go bad?” he asked.

Emma looked around nervously. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if your neighbour starts harassing you?” Darren said, looking closer at the macrame piece. “Do any of her group turn up here?”

Emma thought for a moment. “I don’t think that I’ve seen anyone. And I can’t just leave here – like I said, I’m tied into the lease.”

“It depends,” Darren frowned and then pulled out a pocket-knife. “The flat isn’t cursed. This knotted thing is.”

“What?”

“It’s a scam that seems to have been doing the rounds of the area,” Darren said. “A nice neighbour brings in a housewarming gift that you have to put up straight away. And that neighbour can keep coming around and checking that it’s still in place. After all, the neighbour is so nice and helpful so you can’t really stop them coming in. And that knotted thing holds a curse.”

“It’s macrame,” Emma interrupted. “And it is nice.”

“Yes, quite pretty,” Darren agreed. “But the nice neighbour, Phoenix in this case, knows someone and while they won’t charge, they will accept donations to their group. It’s all for good causes and above board, of course. They make sure that you’re so grateful that the curse has gone that you’ll be generous. And they’ll encourage you to come along and be part of that group. Before you know it, you’ll be buying their crystals at inflated prices, and paying for workshops and blessings and courses in their faith.” Darren almost spat the last word out. “I’m a minister of the Anglican Church, the Church of England. My faith is my rock. And I’ve worked with all sorts of Christians, from Greek Orthodox to the most austere Presbytarian, and their faith has been just as solid. I’ve worked with Imams from the mosques, and Buddhists and Sikhs and Wiccans and pagans and all the shades of faith, all of them taking strength from their beliefs. This is nothing to do with belief. This is to do with greed and spite and malice.” He took a deep breath. “Could you give me a moment to compose myself.”

Emma watched in silence. Darren appeared to be praying in front of the macrame hanging. She could feel the atmosphere changing around her. There was still the edge of decay and despair, but now there was a charge of electricity around the room, like the beginning of a thunderstorm. She jumped as there was a knock on the door.

“Emma, are you alright?” Phoenix called through the door. “Is everything okay?”

“Keep her away from me,” Darren muttered as he frowned at the macrame in front of him. He muttered some words and a quick flash of purple light ran around the knotted hanging.

“It’s okay, Phoenix,” Emma called. “I’m just in the middle of something.”

“My telly’s gone all funny,” Phoenix called. “How about you?”

“I’ll check in a minute, Phoenix, and I’ll be around to let you know,” Emma said, stalling.

“Are you having a manifestation?” Phoenix called. “Should I call Mercury? He can be here in twenty minutes. I’ll give him a call, shall I?”

“No!” Emma shouted. “I mean, no, it’s okay. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Let me in, Emma,” There was an unexpected steel in Phoenix’s voice. “I can help.”

Emma forced herself to stay back from the door. Phoenix’s voice was strangely compelling and it rang around her head like a chimed wineglass. “Just five minutes.” She looked back at Darren who was raising a hand slowly towards the hanging. He muttered a few words in what sounded like Latin and carefully, every inch of him braced for action, slit the rope at the bottom of the hanging.

Emma was flung back by the force of the blast as something hot and foul-smelling washed over her, pushing at her like a tidal wave. At the same time she heard her door splinter and Phoenix fell into the room through the ruined frame. Darren turned and spat out a few strange words which Phoenix seemed to knock physically aside. To Emma’s horror, Phoenix bounded across the room with unheard of grace and speed and grabbed Darren by the throat. Darren raised his shoulder, spun, broke the hold and continued around to get the momentum for a hard kick to Phoenix’s side. Phoenix gasped and then swung a wide, arcing punch but Darren ducked under. “Get out!” he yelled to Emma.

Emma turned to the door but lightning flashed across the room and blocked her path. She turned back. Darren was fighting hard against Phoenix, who seemed, somehow, to be a lot stronger than usual, and, as Emma watched, Phoenix picked up the sofa and hurled at Darren, who ducked. Emma turned back to the door as the sofa frame cracked behind her. The air in front of her seemed to be somehow thicker there, somehow darker. The lightning swirled and crackled, discharging around the ruins of the door frame and the corners of the windows. A shadow was forming.

She turned back to the fight. Darren was keeping Phoenix at arms’ length, dodging and blocking as he weighed up his options. “Emma, you need to get out,” he yelled.

“The door’s blocked.” Emma turned back and flinched as a sharp crack of thunder echoed through the flat and suddenly there was a man standing there, tall dark and absolutely furious. He glared past Emma, as Phoenix swung Emma’s favourite lamp at Darren’s head. Emma flinched as the lamp hit a mirror.

The stranger gestured at Phoenix who spun around as she noticed his presence. “No!” she cried out, “No, I can explain…”

The stranger gestured again and Phoenix twisted, wreathed in the same purple lightning. Somehow she was being folded, smaller and smaller as lightning crackled around the room. In front of Emma’s appalled gaze, the untidy, plump woman was turning and twisting like an origami crane, her features blurring as she shrank. Darren stepped clear. “Wait a minute!”

It was too late. Phoenix screamed one long, last scream and then twisted into a small, knotted, brown bundle of tattered hair and fur which fell with a prosaic thud onto the floor. Emma stared and then jumped as the stranger stepped forward and bowed to Darren.

“My thanks for your rescue, sir. I apologise for any distress and inconvenience to you and your fair lady. I am Vertiver, and I have been trapped by this creature…” he waved a dismissive hand at the bundle on the floor, “…for far too long. I owe you my life, and more.”

Darren shook his head. “No, I’m happy to help.”

“My life was a mere existence, trapped and twisted, forced to perform harsh magics.” Vertiver bowed to Emma. “I apologise for the unpleasantness I brought. I swear that I would not willingly torment a lady.” He turned back to Darren. “My rescuer, my lord, I owe you my freedom. I cannot turn away from my obligation.”

“You can,” Darren said with conviction. “You really can.”

Vertiver shook his head. “You are mortal. I shall pledge to serve you for the rest of your days. That is my oath and my word. I can do no less after being freed from that prison, that dark, dreary, desperate dungeon where I was bound by their cursed knots.”

“No, not at all.” Darren stumbled over his words in his haste to get them out. “No obligation, seriously, my duty.”

“But it is my honour. And no service could be more onerous than the labour recently forced,” Vertiver said, bowing again. “You are a priest? Well, that should make my service interesting and with far nobler deeds than my late captor.”

“Bloody hell,” Darren said.

Ian sat in the battered waiting room and tried to relax. Trent sat at his feet, panting and wild eyed. That was the problem. Trent was a werewolf, the same as Ian, but Trent was stuck in wolf form. He couldn’t change. As the leader of the pack, Ian had a duty to its members. However, he was in something close to a veterinarian’s office and his mouth was dry with the tension. But Trent needed help and it was beyond the home remedies of Jeanette and Mrs Tuesday. They had to turn to the one doctor in York that specialised in non-normals.

The icy, older lady who was busy behind the desk noted the flashing light above the scarred door. “Dr Williamson will see you now, Mr Tait.” She glared at Ian as he hesitated. “Please do not keep the doctor waiting.”

Ian forced himself to his feet and tugged at Trent. Trent whimpered but scuttled behind him, paws skidding wildly and his ears flat with fear. Ian knocked on the door and went in.

“Good afternoon,” Dr Williamson said. “Take your time and get your bearings.” He stood and walked to the head of the table. “I never try and rush a nervous werewolf.”

“It’s okay, Trent,” Ian said. “It’ll be fine.” As Trent pressed himself against Ian’s legs, Ian looked around. It was definitely a specialised treatment room. Most doctors didn’t have a treatment table with restraints – some in strange places. Most doctors did not have a burly boggart keeping an eye on things in case things got out of hand. And most doctors did not have huge saws, knives and augurs ranged in the glass cabinets surrounding the room. On the other hand, most doctors did not have a tray of best quality dog treats on their desk and a patient expression. Ian ran a comforting hand over Trent’s flanks and turned to the doctor. “It’s Trent, here. He’s stuck as a wolf. I don’t know what to do.”

“Hmm,” Dr Williamson patted the table. “Just jump up on here and let me have a look.”

Trent whimpered again, but, after a stern look from Ian, jumped onto the table, skidding a little on the polished steel. Dr Williamson selected an instrument from his desk. “Let’s have a look at your eyes, hmm.”

Ian kept a firm hold of the collar around Trent’s neck to stop him from bolting. Collars were worn by werewolves when they were out and about ‘in fur’ to stop awkward questions, and Ian was glad of the handhold. “It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt you.”

Dr Williamson examined Trent’s eyes and ears and felt along his lupine rib cage. “You’re in great condition for a young lad,” he said. He slipped in the stethoscope’s ear pieces and listened to Trent’s heart. “But stressed.” He turned to Ian. “Was he part of the pack that brought down the stray last week?”

Ian nodded. “We all turned out for that. It was a bad business.”

Dr Williamson nodded. “I hear a lot about non-normal stuff, one way or another,” he said. “I patched up a few of the stray’s victims. He made quite a mess of them. I’m glad you took him out.” He looked closely at Trent. “That stray was a murderer. He was a killer. He left some kids with injuries that they would carry for the rest of their lives, if they weren’t suddenly plunged into being werewolves. He was the worst of strays and you and yours did your duty.” He held Trent’s terrified gaze. “You were a stray once, I know. You were without a pack. You scrounged and begged and hid in the shadows.” Dr Williamson leaned closer. “And I bet you never so much as snapped at anyone, no matter what the provocations. I bet you didn’t growl, you didn’t snarl, you didn’t bite. You kept your head down and did your best. That’s why you didn’t end up like that stray that you helped to stop. That’s why you would never end up like that stray.” Dr Williamson didn’t break eye contact. “Hand me extract 34 please.” He frowned in thought. “Fifteen millilitres, undiluted.”

“What’s that?” Ian asked, holding the young werewolf firm as Trent’s paws slid in panic across the steel bench.

“Thank you,” Dr Williamson took the tiny cup of brown fluid from his burly assistant, ignoring Ian. “Open wide.”

Trent fought frantically to escape but Ian, pushing aside his doubts, prised open Trent’s jaws to allow Dr Williamson to tip the medicine inside. Trent gasped, coughed, swallowed, coughed again and shuddered as he changed back into his human form.

“There are some spare clothes behind the screen,” Dr Williamson said as Trent sat up. “I’d like them back later.”

As Trent dived behind the screen, Ian leant in close to Dr Williamson. “Neat brandy?”

“In this case, it wasn’t what was delivered, but how,” Dr Williamson grinned. “Nice young cub, that. I’m sure he’ll do well. But it’s always the good ones that get hit by this stuff hardest. Good thing that he’s got you looking out for him.”

Ian relaxed. “Good thing that he had you treated him.” He nodded in approval as Trent emerged wearing joggers and sweatshirt a little too big for him. “Thank you, doctor, thank you so much.”

“My pleasure,” Dr Williamson said.

“I’ll pay on the way out,” Ian said. “Thank you for treating us.” He watched Trent almost dancing on the way out and winked at the doctor. “And to show our gratitude, I’ll send around some top quality extracts of our own, for you to sample.”

“I look forward to testing them,” the doctor grinned.