You can read the story so far from the beginning here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom nodded. “Yep, that’s a lily.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where do you want them?” Paul asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You had a farm?” Paul asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

The sky had cleared and the thin December sun was bright and cold as Magnus and Lord Peregrine left the quad bikes at the gate and trudged up the overgrown track towards the old chapel. Magnus paused and turned around for a moment. “This isn’t a bad place to start,” he said, gazing over the view. Green fields and rolling moor spread out for miles in the sharp, clear air and even the chill of winter couldn’t dim the beauty of the landscape. He took in a deep breath of pure, icy air before turning back up the track.

“It’s a logical place to start,” Lord Peregrine said. “It’s isolated, especially as Sam has moved all the sheep that he’s overwintering down to the lower fields. There is enough of the chapel left to provide shelter.” He glanced around the bare surroundings. “And it’s quiet. If he has been trapped, then perhaps the space here and the quiet are soothing to him.”

Magnus strode up the steep track with even strides. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “He was in a cellar under a shop being remodelled, on a busy road, in a valley. He may be looking for a safe space.”

Lord Peregrine matched Magnus’ stride as they approached the chapel. “There is no point in trying a subtle approach,” he said. “If there is a pooka in here, they’ll have known that we were approaching before we passed the gate.” He frowned. “Do you have a key to this place?”

Magnus looked at him blankly. “Why would I have a key to the old chapel?” he asked. “And when I think about it, who does have the key? Nobody’s used the place for decades.”

The neglect showed as they drew nearer. There were ominous spots where rooftiles were missing and the dead stalks of weeds lined the guttering. Grass and brambles lapped at the walls and the path to the majestic front door was almost covered with growth. Dust and dirt clung to the windows and as Magnus strode up to the main door, the red paint was faded and flaking. “It’s a sad place,” Magnus said. “I wonder who owns it. Whoever it is shouldn’t neglect it so much.”

Lord Peregrine winced. “It actually belongs to me,” he said. “I didn’t realise that the chapel was here. Well, I realised, but it had slipped my mind and I suppose I didn’t care enough.” He placed an apologetic hand on the door. “It used to be a place of faith and while some of my people were happy to embrace the churches, it never called to me, so…”

Magnus was curious. “Why did you buy the chapel?”

“It seemed like an investment,” Lord Peregrine said. “I thought that I was buying these fields around here, and I didn’t realise that the chapel came with them.. The small church organisation that once owned it needed the money and no-one had bothered with it for a long while. I hardly came here, as I rented the fields out to Scorton’s Farm.”

Magnus thought for a moment. “Did you bring the key?”

“I never bring keys,” Lord Peregrine said. “Keys are usually iron and while I can manage, it’s not pleasant carrying iron around.”

“You could have got a copy made of brass,” Magnus said before he caught himself. “There’s no point in arguing about it. Perhaps we can break a window or something.”

“You can’t just go around breaking windows,” Lord Peregrine said. “That’s criminal damage.”

“Not if you own the windows that get broken,” Magnus said. He ran a hand over the smooth iron ring of the door handle. “Do churches bother you?”

Lord Peregrine didn’t reply immediately, then shrugged. “The blessing was taken from this place a long time ago, and it was never very strong. There is no church protection here.”

Magnus thought for a moment. “How are we going to get in?” He stroked the heavy iron door handle and twisted it. The latch lifted and the door swung open. “It wasn’t locked.”

“That is something of a worry,” Lord Peregrine admitted. He peered at the door. “I’m sure I had a key, but there doesn’t seem to be a lock.”

“You are getting paid properly for the fields, aren’t you?” Magnus said.

Lord Peregrine waved a dismissive hand. “I have an accountant,” he said. He gestured at the doorway. “After you.”

Magnus pulled a flashlight from his pocket and stepped inside the old chapel. Light shone dimly through the wide, dirty windows, illuminating the space. “Someone’s been here,” he said quietly as Lord Peregrine slipped through the door behind him. “And it’s someone who likes order.”

The chapel was a relic of a Victorian revival over a century and a half ago. The people who had worshipped here would have faith and plenty of Bible-thumping sermons, but not much money. As far as Magnus could tell, it looked like an old stone barn had been converted, with windows added and a pulpit opposite the door, but the stone-flagged floor was still uncompromisingly flat and the thick glass windows were plain and without colour. Dust settled on the window ledges and the smell of damp neglect hung heavy in the air, but it wasn’t the fading ruin that Magnus had expected. Someone had carefully pulled the pews to one side where at least one of them was halfway through being dismantled for firewood. The thick dust that had gathered over the decades had been roughly swept into a corner, a rough and battered broom propped next to the pile. Even the old prayer books had been stacked carefully by the door.

“It makes me feel a little sad and perhaps a tiny bit guilty when I see this,” Lord Peregrine said. “I don’t think that there was every much joy here, but it could have been kept a little nicer. Perhaps I should have included it when I rented out the fields.”

“Farmers don’t have time to mess around with chapels,” Magnus said. “But someone’s been here, and that someone tried to tidy the place.” He placed a hand on Lord Peregrine’s shoulder and nodded at the door behind the pulpit. “I think I can hear someone through there,” he murmured.

The shadow of the pulpit hid most of the door, but there was a hint that the plain door was slightly ajar and a flicker of light shone through the small gap. Lord Peregrine nodded. “I believe that you’re right,” he whispered back.

Magnus tensed, poised to stalk quietly across the floor to the pulpit, as silently as a hunting wolf, then stared in disbelief as Lord Peregrine strode over confidently and threw open the door. “You’ll scare him off!” He hurried after the fae and into the small room.

This was almost sadder than the relics outside in the main chapel. Dust had been painstakingly wiped away and the rusted stove that had heated the preacher’s study had once again been lit and the dying coals were still warming the room. A battered camping lantern sat on the old desk next to a dish of wrinkled rowan berries and a dented soda can holding a few stalks of cotton grass and some fronds of dried sedge. The batteries in the lantern were failing, though, and the window here was small, so most of the room was in shadow. Magnus could see that someone had tried to make this a homely space. Faded and moth-eaten tray-cloths had been arranged on top of the bookcase and the old wooden candlesticks had been carefully arranged on top of the cupboard.

Lord Peregrine shook his head. “We must have missed him,” he said.

Magnus shook his head and held up his hand. “Ssh!” He prowled forward, then stopped.

Next to the stove and behind a small screen, a small figure lay curled up and shivering under some sacks. An empty tin plate and a half-drunk mug of water sat on the floor next to the bundle of rags that was supposed to be a bed. Magnus rushed over. “Are you okay?” He eased back the sacking and looked down at the small, flushed form of a pooka. He placed the back of his hand against the pooka’s forehead and turned back to Lord Peregrine. “He’s got a fever, and it’s bad. We need to get him some help. Who knows about nursing pookas?”

“Don’t take me back,” the pooka whimpered. “Not back into the hole.”

Lord Peregrine leant over Magnus’ shoulder. “Samgan? What’s happened to you?”

“Please, not the hole!” Samgan muttered.

“Who can help?” Magnus repeated urgently.

Lord Peregrine thought quickly. “We’ll take him to Rowan Cottage. Hilary will know how to nurse him if anyone does. She’s a sensible witch, and Bracken will be there as well.”

“No! Not the witch!” Samgan begged, his unfocused eyes wild. “Not back in the hole!”

Magnus shrugged off his coat. “We can’t waste time,” he said, lifting Samgan and wrapping the coat around him.

“I’ll call ahead,” Lord Peregrine said as he checked the fire was dying and turned off the lantern. “Hilary can have a bed waiting. She has plenty of room in that cottage of hers.”

Magnus strode out of the room and across the chapel floor. “Get a move on,” he said. “I’ll ride on the back of your quadbike. It’ll be quicker.”

Lord Peregrine followed him, jogging in the werewolf’s wake as he pulled out his phone. “Hello, Miss Hilary? I’m glad that I find you at home. I have another guest for you.”

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

Hilary stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and yawning. “Good morning.”

Bracken frowned. “You is far too exhausted,” she said. “I will make breakfast. And it shall be more than porridge.”

“Hmm?” Hilary slumped down in her chair at the kitchen table. “Just some toast will be fine.”

Bracken placed a large mug of hot tea in front of Hilary. “You will have a proper breakfast with meat,” she said firmly. “And a glass of orange juice.”

Hilary sagged a little. “I can’t argue with that,” she said. “Last night wore me out. I’ve got plenty of room for a large breakfast.”

Bracken shot her a worried glance. “You continue to be uninjured?” she asked.

Hilary rubbed her eyes. “I didn’t sleep very well, which is to be expected. But I’m fine. I’ve got a bit of work to finish of for one of my online clients and then I think I’m free until Christmas. I can get to work on those notebooks.” She took a cautious sip of the tea and sighed with pleasure. “I haven’t even stacked the notebooks properly.”

“They’re still in the library,” Bracken said. “But I have not taken the liberty of touching them.” She shuddered, remembering the darkness in the cellar. “Though I a have read other books that aren’t real.”

“That’s okay,” Hilary said. “And while I know that you prefer to keep up to everything, I think you should stay out of the library for a little while.” She thought for a moment. “Though if you want to go in quickly to pick up one of the romance books, or even one of the old cookery books, that’s fine. I just worry about you being in there for any longer than you need to, at least until this is sorted out.”

Bracken sniffed as she checked the warming oven. “You worry about me,” she said quietly, her eyes bright with a hint of tears.

“Of course I do!” Hilary said. She racked her tired brain to find the right words to explain her growing fondness for the young brownie. “You are very dear to me. You are a wonderful worker, you keep the house splendidly, your cooking is becoming better than mine and I think of you as a friend. I like spending time with you. I’m always going to worry about you.”

Bracken swallowed. “Last night, when it was very dark, I feared for you,” she said. “And I consider being a friend as an honour.”

There was a clatter outside and Paul flung open the kitchen door, letting in an icy blast of air. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at Hilary. “How are you feeling?”

“I could be worse,” Hilary said.

“In other words, you’re exhausted after a night full of nightmares,” Paul said.

“I am making a breakfast with meat,” Bracken said. “Leave the shoes at the door and the breakfast will be ready after your shower.”

Paul grinned at the brownie. “Are you giving me orders?”

“Orders are important,” Bracken said firmly. “I shall put the bacon in at any moment.”

“I’ll be quick!” Paul said, sliding his running shoes off in the corner next to the door and jogging past to his room.

“Well done!” Hannah said. “You have to take charge in the kitchen sometimes.”

Bracken blushed. “It is important to set standards,” she said. “And he will want a breakfast like a werewolf.”

“Thank goodness that you know how to cook like a genius,” Hilary said. Bracken waved an embarrassed spatula at her and started adding sausages to a large frying pan.

Paul jogged back into the kitchen just as Bracken was dishing up a full English breakfast. “This looks amazing!” he said. “And I’m glad of it after last night.”

“I don’t know if I thanked you properly,” Hilary said. “I was almost finished by the time I got up to the library.”

“I just felt the edges of whatever it was, and it rattled me.” Paul dropped into a chair opposite Hilary. “And it wasn’t what I was expecting when I moved here. I didn’t realise the magical currents would be so strong.” He glanced away from Hilary. “And I didn’t realise that I’d be sharing a roof with another witch.”

“I had no idea who you were,” Hilary said. “Lord Peregrine told me that you were coming the day before you turned up. Not that it’s the first time he pulled that sort of stunt. I didn’t know that Tom was going to be a lodger until just before he arrived and I didn’t expect a werewolf.”

“That explains the portion sizes, if you’re used to feeding werewolves,” Paul said. He sighed gratefully as Bracken slid a coffee in front of him. “Thank you, Bracken. It’s just what I need.”

“And there will be a large breakfast with meat,” Bracken said, turning back to the large frying pan and laying out strips of bacon.

“What’s going on?” Paul asked quietly. “I can tell that the magical flow is corrupted, and that there’s some sort of upheaval around the werewolves, but there’s more to that, isn’t there? I’ll be working in the heart of the village, so what do I need to be worried about.”

It took time for them to work through the breakfasts that Bracken put in front of them and Hilary spent a lot of it briefing Paul. “It comes down to the notebooks,” she said, spearing the last chunk of sausage on her fork. “And Samgan, though the two may be linked.”

“I’ve dealt with some pookas in my time,” Paul said. “I can imagine that the twisted magical flow would be affecting him.”

“So that’s where we stand,” Hilary said.

“Are you okay working with me?” Paul asked. “I know that we’ve barely met, but our magic seemed to mesh last night.”

Hilary thought for a moment. “Do you know, I didn’t think about that,” she said. “I’ve never managed to let another witch pass wards through me, not even a witch that I’ve known and trusted for years. But last night it worked.”

Paul nodded. “I’ve never known magic blend so easily,” he said. He tapped the rim of his coffee cup. “We should be fine working together. And in those circumstances, I’m happy to help with the notebooks.”

“I’ll be glad of the help,” Hilary said. “There’s so many of them!”

“I’m fascinated by the magical flow,” Paul said. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it, and I’ve worked in most parts of the country.”

“I’m not sure that I’m fascinated,” Hilary said. “I’m more terrified by whatever’s in that cellar.”

Paul grimaced. “That’s reasonable,” he said. He hesitated. “You know that the notebooks about whatever’s down there are probably in the workroom, don’t you?”

“Possibly,” Hilary said. “But the shelves were set up quite separately and the desk that Annie seemed to work on had new notebooks waiting. We could be lucky.”

“Did you swipe the notebooks left on the desk?” Paul asked.

Hilary shook her head. “But at least I got all of those on the shelves,” she said. “And the twist in the magical flow feels a little older. Like it predates Annie, but I couldn’t tell you why I feel that way.”

Paul nodded. “There are a lot of unknowns and a lot of data, at least until we work through those notebooks.” He stood reluctantly. “I need to get down to the new stores. Lord Peregrine told me that there are a lot of deliveries arriving today and I should be on hand to help Tom out.”

“Mr Tom already took his lunchbox with him,” Bracken said. “I have prepared an extra one for you, in a bag as there wasn’t a box.”

Paul took the offered bag and peered inside. Bracken had done her best and wedged a small cardboard box at the bottom of the shopping bag. Neatly packed, a small bag with two sausage rolls nestled against a large, wide-mouthed flask and a large sandwich wrapped in greaseproof paper. An apple and an orange were tucked next to a small plastic box filled with half a dozen cookies and a separate, slightly smaller box held a cheese muffin.  “You are an excellent cook,” Paul said. He looked thoughtful. “You may end up working two jobs, that is, two situations. You want to stay here and work, but I think that you’ll also enjoy working at the new stores. You’ll get good wages.”

Bracken lifted her chin proudly. “I get excellent wages here,” she said. “I asked for a place to sleep, my food, a glass of milk and a coin at Christmas and I get much more.”

“Bracken is worth her weight in gold,” Hilary said. She turned to the brownie. “Paul’s right. I think that you could run the kitchen at the new stores, and you would deserve a wage. People will pay to eat food that you’ve cooked.”

Bracken darted an anxious glance at Hilary. “But I has wages already.”

“It’s okay,” Hilary said. “We can work it out later. After all, we need to treat you fairly. And I won’t see anyone take advantage of you.”

“She stood against Lord Peregrine for me,” Bracken whispered to Paul. “She is very fierce.”

“Good,” Paul said. “Someone has to be.” He put a gentle hand on Hilary’s shoulder. “I know that I’ve got a busy day, but I’ll be happy to help this evening when I get back.”

“I’ll be glad of the extra eyes,” Hilary said. “There’s so many of them. It will probably take me until this evening to get them all date order.” She watched Paul grab his coat, pick up his lunch and stride confidently out of the kitchen. She still had bags full of notebooks to sort through and all sorts of problems in her cellar, but for a brief moment, things didn’t seem quite as overwhelming.

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

“Tom has been going frantic,” Magnus said. He leaned against the cellar wall and gestured upwards. The sound of Tom swearing on the shop floor above filtered down. “It was already chaos before we found the cellar and the extra building work needed to make a proper entrance.”

“I have left it completely in his hands,” Lord Peregrine said. “And I am convinced that he’s doing a good job.” He wandered over to the makeshift bed now gathering dust on the cellar floor. “I doubt we can learn much more from these fragments left behind,” he said. “We may as well permit Tom to clear the cellar.”

“You know he’ll do a good job,” Magnus said. “He’s thorough, honest and hardworking.”

“He has also threatened to rip the head off more than one contractor,” Lord Peregrine said happily. “Due to his experience on building sites, he is proving extremely competent at getting the new stores ready to open.”

Magnus picked up the straw pallet and gave it a brisk shake. Dust flew and hung in the cold, still air of the cellar, illuminated by the bright work light that Tom had brought down. “I notice that you have a man who knows construction as a store manager,” he said. “And you have an IT specialist as his assistant. Why do you think that two men with no experience whatsoever can run what is effectively a grocery store with a small café attached?”

“And hardware,” Lord Peregrine said. “And such gardening implements and supplies as they think fit. And perhaps some kitchenware.”

“And all of that stuff,” Magnus said. “Neither of them has ever sold a thing.”

“I consulted Jed at the Farm Shop,” Lord Peregrine said smugly. “I thought deeply about what would happen if the new stores sold in competition to the Farm Shop and what would happen if the new stores sold in partnership. It makes far more sense for me to work with Jed. I’ve already agreed that all the ingredients for the food in the café should come from his Farm Shop as much as possible.”

Magnus looked at him thoughtfully. “And how about the rest of it?”

“There are many things that Jed does not wish to sell, but that his customers request,” Lord Peregrine said. “He would prefer if Tom handled the plants and gardening side.”

“But Jed grows those plants,” Magnus said.

Lord Peregrine shrugged. “But he would rather that Tom dealt with the sales. He told me that his customers often request items like screws, nails, glue, envelopes and suchlike. Apparently people always request string.”

Magnus eyed his lord suspiciously. “What deal did you make?” he asked.

Lord Peregrine shrugged. “I agreed to encourage his crops for the next ten years in return for him allowing us to sell all the cake making and cookery items,” he said. “Which makes sense as Hilary will be baking here. Tom can order a large quantity of such things as flour and any surplus can go onto the shelves.” He grinned smugly. “I’m considering where my bargaining should like for extending more protection over the livestock on the farm. There is less livestock, but Jed has little interest in stocking cleaning supplies. He will be indifferent if we also stock such things as sprays and cloths. And I refuse to have frozen products here in case we are forced to stock chicken nuggets.”

“There’s nothing wrong with chicken nuggets,” Magnus said. “And you’ll have ice cream.”

“That’s different,” Lord Peregrine said with an airy wave of his hand. “But we should concentrate on what we can learn here of our pooka.”

Magnus frowned as he looked at the basic straw mattress. “Let me run through this,” he said. “It’s pretty certain that there’s a pooka on the loose, right?”

Lord Peregrine nodded. “The mischief that has been cause seems to be exactly the sort of thing an angry pooka would do, especially the problems with the milk.”

“And you and Cabus remember a pooka called Samgan that went missing?” Magnus continued.

“That is correct,” Lord Peregrine said. He looked away from Magnus. “I was dormant for a while and some things were… neglected. Cabus has never spent much time with the rest of the supernaturals, at least, not unless I insist, so he can’t give any details.”

“And could Samgan moved or died of old age?” Magnus said.

“He was barely a sprite when I withdrew,” Lord Peregrine said. “And pookas can live for a long time. By the standards of pookas, he is still young. And I believe it is unlikely that he would have moved away. I always had the feeling that he was tied to this land in a similar way to me.”

“Bracken’s family moved away,” Magnus said.

Lord Peregrine shook his head. “Brownies and pookas are alike, but not the same. I believe that brownies do get attached, but Bracken’s family didn’t feel that there was enough for them to do. Brownies have a deep need to be useful, and if they couldn’t find it here then they would have to find it elsewhere. It’s about the only thing that would get them to move.”

Magnus poked around the bag and moved the small glass bottle, now filled with dried and dead flowers, to check underneath the tray. “So Samgan was likely to stay here unless things were desperate, right?” he said. “And pookas don’t need to be useful the same way as brownies.”

“They don’t need to be useful, but they can be a wonderful blessing,” Lord Peregrine said. “Samgan was especially valuable at harvest time.”

“But he’s been missing,” Magnus said. “He had to have gone somewhere.”

“He could have been trapped somewhere,” Lord Peregrine said cautiously. “I hadn’t thought about it, but if he had been trapped, then that would explain how angry he was and why he was causing so much trouble.”

“And if he had lived in the area for a long time, he would know about the cellar and that it was blocked off.” Magnus set down the tray. “I’m trying to fit things together but if it’s a puzzle then I’m missing most of the pieces. Samgan, who was a reasonable being, was trapped somewhere for quite a long time. This made him angry.”

“That fits with the facts that I know,” Lord Peregrine said.

“He somehow escaped recently,” Magnus continued. “Something changed and he got away from whatever was holding him.”

“I wonder if it was the landslip that followed your battle with your brother,” Lord Peregrine said. “His unexpected ally caused considerable damage.”

“I put it all to rights afterwards,” Magnus said curtly.

Lord Peregrine shook his head. “I believed one of the stones of power that appeared while I was sleeping was dislodged. If Samgan’s prison, if it was a prison, relied on those stones of power, then that movement may have been enough to allow Samgan to escape.”

“What stones of power?” Magnus said. “The stone circles on the hills weren’t affected.”

Lord Peregrine shook his head impatiently. “I mean the other stones, the new ones.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Samgan gets out and he’s angry. He may not be quite sane if he was trapped for some time.” He looked down at the crumpled blanket. It had fallen from the pallet, but still showed the form of having been neatly folded. He picked it up. “But there is hope. This blanket may be old and worn, but it is clean and there was a hole that has been mended. There was an attempt at comfort, and even a desire for beauty.” Lord Peregrine dropped the blanket and reached out a finger to run over the glass bottle. “These flowers were once so beautiful before the water dried up and they fell into their container. They were arranged by a being who cared, and that gives us hope. If we can find Samgan and give him assurances and right any wrongs, perhaps he can once again be the good being that he once was.”

Magnus picked up the blanket, shook it out and folded it. “Who would have captured him?” he asked eventually.

Lord Peregrine shrugged. “Samgan could be a nuisance, but he rarely caused enough trouble to warrant being trapped. He may have found himself accidentally caught up in greater magic.” He frowned. “It may be caught up in those new power stones.”

“You’ll have to explain that to me,” Magnus said. “Nobody builds stone circles these days.”

“Magic still flows in streams, just as it has since the land was born,” Lord Peregrine said. “And there are still those who try and control that flow. I’m aware of attempts to dam and divert magic through various means over the last few hundred years, but few succeed. These stones that are placed all over our valley are successful but twisted. It would explain a lot about the magic flow in our lands.”

“We need to get rid of those stones!” Magnus said. “I’ll call up the family.”

“We need to find Samgan,” Lord Peregrine said. “And we have to be careful removing the stones. There could be a severe backlash and it could cause a lot of damage. We need to think about it carefully.”

“Who would have put those stones there?” Magnus asked.

“The answer will probably be in the notebooks,” Lord Peregrine said. “That is, if the witches took proper notes. That will have to wait.”

Magnus looked around the cellar. “Samgan came here because he knew it would be dry, out of the way and not too cold,” he said. “He knew that he could stay hidden.”

“Indeed,” Lord Peregrine said. “It was an intelligent choice.”

“We need to search places like this,” Magnus said. “That’s how we’ll find Samgan. Something uninhabited, I think, because he’s angry, but that can give him shelter.”

“People have lived in these hills and valleys for thousands of years,” Lord Peregrine said. “And many made hideaways and shelters that have been forgotten. There are a lot of places to search.”

“What about that old chapel up on the hill?” Magnus asked. “No-one goes near there because it’s so out of the way, and there’s still enough of it standing to give shelter, and he could perhaps even light a fire.”

“If we could give him shelter, even in my hall, it would perhaps make him listen to us,” Lord Peregrine said. “Pookas, like brownies, can make themselves comfortable, but if it is Samgan after a long captivity, he will find it hard going. Winter is setting in and he left his blanket behind.” He nodded decisively. “We can head up to the old chapel now. If you allow us to take one of those wonderful quad contraptions, we can get there in perhaps less than an hour.”

“I hope that he’ll listen to us,” Magnus said. “If I was trapped for decades and then left out in the cold, I wouldn’t want to listen to reason.”

“My hall is open to all my subjects,” Lord Peregrine said. “And it is clean and furnished with cushions and throws now that the Lesken sisters are there.” He grinned wickedly. “But if we need to strike a harder bargain, there are still empty rooms at Rowan Cottage. Hilary would enjoy having him as a guest.”

Magnus stared at him. “You couldn’t ask Hilary to take him in,” he said. “Not on top of her taking in another witch and a werewolf without warning.” Lord Peregrine’s grin grew wider. Magnus shook his head. “She’ll stop feeding you if you’re not careful,” he said.

“I have confidence in my persuasive powers,” Lord Peregrine said. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Magnus sighed deeply. “I haven’t got enough time to tell you,” he said.

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

“I’m out of my depth,” Hilary said.

Cabus waved an arm around the library. “Look around you,” he said. “Everything is clean and in its place. There’s a warm fire in the hearth and there’s tea and your favourite cinnamon muffins on the table. It’s safe up here. And based on what you said, it may well be safe down in the cellar as long as you don’t displace the curtains that hide the walls.” He put a gentle hand on Hilary’s shoulder. “I can’t feel anything out of the ordinary up here. This room feels as safe as it could be to my vampiric senses.”

“We haven’t opened the door yet,” Hilary said. “The bookcase is still in its place.”

“If there was dreadful evil rampaging in the cellar, I’m confident that a bookcase wouldn’t hold it back, no matter how worthy the books on its shelves,” Cabus said dryly. “I can also sense your wards. You can always retreat to here. It’s as safe as anything in the area.”

“And we will be here waiting,” Bracken said bravely, almost rigid with fear but determined. “I has the number of Lord Peregrine here and I will be waiting.” She glanced around. “There are also plenty of bags.”

Hilary managed a smile at that. She had an armful of large, sturdy bags and at least a dozen more were neatly lined up next to the bookcase that hid the door. “Well, the sooner I start, the sooner I can finish,” she said, squaring her shoulders and leaning down to pull out the wedge that kept the bookcase in place. “Do you have the rope?”

Cabus nodded. “I do. It’s strong nylon rope that’s almost impossible to break. It shouldn’t let you down.”

“That’s good,” Hilary said.

“I actually have two lengths,” Cabus said. “One to tie to bags and one to keep tied to yourself. I felt uneasy at the thought of you being perhaps vulnerable when the bags were being lifted to the top.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Hilary said. “But, yes, that’s a good call.”

“And if things get completely out of hand, we can always call on the witch upstairs,” Cabus said.

“What witch?” Hilary said as she swung the book case back, once again admiring how it pivoted out.

“Your new guest,” Cabus said. “Paul Tarnbrook is a witch. I can understand that you wouldn’t like to confide in him on his first evening here, but I am confident that neither Lord Falcon nor Lord Peregrine would send someone untrustworthy to stay under your roof.”

“What?” Hilary said.

“Didn’t you know?” Cabus asked.

“I absolutely did not!” Hilary snapped. “Are you going to hold the rope or should it be anchored to something?”

“I suggest attaching the rope to the main table,” Cabus said. “It’s solid oak and has some weight to it. It’s also too big to be easily dragged down the stairs and would jam at the doorway. This would buy time to aid you in an emergency.”

Hilary looked first at the large library table and then at the shadowy doorway. Her imagination could easily visualize the table hurtling across the room and smashing into splinters against the doorframe before the rope slithered down the stone steps. She could feel a chill running through her at the thought of what sort of strength would be needed to do that and how strong it felt in the cellar. Another thought intruded. “Wait a minute! Who is Lord Falcon and why does he know about Paul coming here?”

“Lord Falcon is the ruler of the fae in Cornwall and Devon,” Cabus said, shaking out two coils of rope. “He owed a favour to Paul, and Lord Peregrine owed a favour to Lord Falcon and so it was decided that Lord Peregrine would offer employment to Paul.” He ran the first rope around the nearest column under the table and tied and expert knot. “It seems self-explanatory.”

Hilary took the other end of the rope and tied a quick clove hitch around the handles of the nearest bag. “I’d never heard of Lord Falcon,” she said. “I’ve never been anywhere near Cornwall.” She watched Cabus tie the second rope around the other sturdy column holding up the table. “I didn’t even know that Paul is a witch.” She took the end of the rope and slipped the end through the belt loop of her jeans before attaching with an easily released donkey hitch. “Hang on, are you sure that Paul is a witch?”

“Vampires know these things,” Cabus said. He nodded at the doorway. I will wait at the top of the steps.”

Hilary stomped to the steps. “Damn!” she said. “It’s not as cold.”

Cabus looked at her. “That’s normally considered a good thing,” he said.

“I left the electric fire on,” Hilary said. “My bill is going to get sky high.”

“So that is part of the mission,” Cabus said. “You will go down the steps, turn off the fire, turn to the shelves and start loading up the bags with the notebooks. When one bag is full, you tug on the rope and I will pull up the bag while you continue to load up the notebooks. It’s very straightforward.”

Hilary swallowed. “These four bags should be enough,” she said. “But Bracken can send down further bags if I need them.”

“You don’t check the store room or the work room,” Cabus said. “We start on the notebooks on the shelves. The older ones are likely to have the information we need about the magic flows and may give some insight into the problems in the work room. We need those notebooks.”

Hilary took a deep breath and nodded. “Right.” She took a tentative step past Cabus to the top of the steps. “Did Lord Peregrine really know that Paul is a witch and didn’t tell me?”

“Lord Peregrine has his own little ways,” Cabus said. “Remember, switch off the fire, load up the notebooks.”

“Right,” Hilary said, marching down the steps and across to the small electric heater which she switched off without hesitation. The room was almost too warm and cosy and the lights were still bright. “Can you make sure that there’s a flashlight handy,” Hilary called up the stairs. “Just in case.” She looked quickly over the notebooks. She couldn’t waste time on finding some sort of order. And what was Lord Peregrine thinking? He must have known that witches didn’t usually share space. She scooped up the first stack of notebooks and slid them carefully into the bag.

“Bracken has gone to fetch a flashlight,” Cabus said. “Though the lights seem in perfect order.”

Hilary slotted the next stack of notebooks next to the first. “And lights are never the first to go in a magical attack,” she called up the stairr with extra sarcasm. “Does Paul know that I’m a witch?”

“I am unaware of what Paul Tarnbrook thinks,” Cabus said, his deep voice echoing down the steps.

Hilary filled the first bag quickly, her mind racing. It wasn’t that witches didn’t get on as such. It’s just that they all had their own way of doing things and accommodating someone else wasn’t always easy. It was bad enough having another witch in the next street, but two witches under the same roof? She carried the filled bag to the bottom of the steps. “Pull it up!”

Cabus pulled the bag easily up the steps, the robust bag sliding easily over the stone stairs. Hilary didn’t wait until the bag was at the top, though, but carried on stacking the notebooks into the bags. Some of the books were fragile and they were not all a standard size so she had to pay a little attention, no matter how quickly she needed to move.

“I’ve thrown the rope back down,” Cabus called.

Hilary nodded to herself. “Great. Hang on a sec.” She hauled the full bag over the ropes and threw a quick knot around both handles. “Pull it up!” she paused. “And the witch is male? That never happens.” She raced back to the shelving. “I’m going to need two more bags, I think,” she called.

“Don’t be bigoted,” Cabus called down. “Witches may be mainly female, but it’s not a given. And who knows how many men may have become witches if it hadn’t been for stereotypes and prejudice? There may be men out there who don’t realise that they’re witches.”

“Sorry, yes,” Hilary called up, shivering a little. “This cellar is getting colder.”

“You switched off the heater,” Cabus reminded her.

“No, it’s starting to have a chill,” Hilary said, scooping up an armful of the notebooks and dumping them into a bag. “It should get that cold this quick.” She added another armful on top, careless about packing. “Hurry up with the rope.”

“It’s on its way down with the bags,” Cabus called.

Hilary rushed to the bottom of the steps and caught the bags tied to the rope. “I’ll need the flashlight next,” she called as she switched over the empty bags for the full one. “And perhaps another two bags. I can’t take time to pack carefully.”

“I understand,” Cabus called, hauling up the bag.

Hilary tumbled the notebooks into the bags, regardless of how old or how battered they looked. “The light is definitely dimming,” she said. “I’m going to have to be quick.” She shook the bag to settle the load and then quickly scooped up another armful into a second bag.

“Concentrate on the notebooks, Hilary,” Cabus said. “Do not look around you. Shadows can play tricks on the mind and you don’t need that now. Concentrate on the notebooks and don’t worry about anything else. The flashlight is coming down.”

Hilary thrust another armful of books into the second bag and dragged them over to the foot of the steps. “There’s two bags here.” She caught the flashlight and switched it on, wedging it into the corner of the lowest step as she swiftly tied the bags together. “Pull them up!” It took all of her trained willpower not to look at the work room door. “It’s definitely getting darker.”

“Don’t take risks,” Cabus said. “We have many of the notebooks already.”

“Throw the extra bags down,” Hilary called, striding back to the shelves. “There aren’t too many notebooks left. I want to get as many as I can.” She quickly piled the last of the top shelf into a bag, followed by the ends of the second shelf. Without thinking, she glanced around the room and shuddered. A dark shadow was gathering at the top of the door, like smoke contained in a narrow strip. “Quickly!”

“Hilary, you are not to take risks,” Cabus shouted. “I’m sending Bracken to fetch Paul.

“I should be okay,” Hilary said, tipping the last of the second shelf’s notebooks into a bag and opening a second. “I’ve almost got them all.”

“Don’t look around!” Cabus ordered. “Give me permission to order you to stay safe. I can use my influence.”

Hilary never thought that she would be happy to allow a vampire to use their vampiric mesmerising on her. “Go for it! Order me to stay safe.” The second bag was full with a jumbled mass of paper and she dragged the bags across the floor to the steps. “Who would have thought that notebooks would be so heavy?” She attached the filled bags with a firm knot and, leaving the flashlight bright against the dimming light and wedged firmly at the base of her escape route, grabbed the last two bags.

“Listen to me!” Cabus called. “You will listen and heed my words. You will act with caution and consider your safety.”

Hilary darted back to the shelves and started pulling out the last few notebooks. “I am listening to you,” she said, consciously welcoming his presence into her mind. “I am listening.” She filled the last bag, scooping up the few stray sheets of paper and turning back to the stairs. Her steps faltered and the sensation of fighting against an invisible but tangible barrier grew, like trying to wade through deep water. Panic ran through her. “Call me, Cabus,” Hilary cried. “Call me to you!”

“Listen to me!” Cabus thundered, his voice stern with authority. “You will come to me. You will follow my voice. You will ascend these stairs.”

The bags weighed heavily in Hilary’s hands, but she refused to drop them as she forced herself through the resistant air. She clung onto the orders in Cabus’ voice, the control he was pushing into her mind as she managed another step, then another across a room that suddenly seemed wider than a great hall. “I hear you,” she called back. “I wish to obey.” The sensation of control in her mind jumped, the intensity climbing as the next step was easier. “I hear you, Cabus.”

“What the hell is going on?”

Hilary could hear Paul’s voice at the top of the stairs but it didn’t disturb Cabus’ concentration and she held onto his voice as a lifeline. “Keep calling me, Cabus,” she cried, forcing herself to take another step. Please, keep calling.”

“I order you to obey me.” Cabus’ voice echoed inside her head in ways that had nothing to do with sound. “You will obey me. You will ascend the stairs and return to the library. I demand it!”

Hilary felt a sudden burst of energy as she managed two quick steps to reach the bottom of the stairs, then an icy shiver ran through her. “Call me, Cabus,” Hilary yelled. “I wish to obey my master!”

“I’m pushing wards,” Paul called. “Keep going!”

Hilary stared up the steps. Rationally, she knew that they were brightly lit and barely a dozen of them. Rationally, she knew that it would take less than a minute for her to carry the bags up those last few stairs. As she looked up, however, all she could see was an endless procession of chilly stones into an ominous dark tunnel. She swallowed and shifted both bags into her left hand. Their weight seemed to be increasing with every second but she ignored the strain and picked up the flashlight with her right hand. “I obey,” she yelled into the apparent darkness. “I obey,” she repeated.

“Keep going, lass,” Paul yelled. “We’re waiting here. Keep going.”

“Don’t go onto the steps,” Cabus said. “Keep coming towards me, Hilary. Listen to me!”

Hilary let the mesmeric control of the vampire flood her mind as she put her foot on the first step, then, heaving the bags, managed the second step. “I obey.”

“Don’t interfere,” Paul snapped, ahead somewhere in the darkness. “Let me work.”

A faint sensation of strange magic washed over Hilary, flooding from the top of the stairs downwards. She could make out faint shapes of Cabus and Paul at the top and the next two steps were a lot easier. “I’m getting there.”

“Keep going,” Paul called. “I’m pushing wards past you, so don’t fight them, okay? Just keep climbing the steps. There’s only six more.”

Hilary wanted to say that she didn’t have the strength to fight a cobweb, but even as another wave of cool magic ran through her, she still struggled. Exhaustion was weighing her down now as much as the magical attack, but the next three steps were the easiest yet and the light was breaking through.

“I’ve got the bags,” Paul said. “Just a couple more steps now and you’ll be safe.”

Hilary sighed with relief as the weight from the bags disappeared and she saw the outline of Paul just ahead of her on the top step. “Thank you,” she gasped. Then a strong arm was around her shoulders, taking her weight and easing her back into the library. She was safe.

“I don’t know what’s going on here,” Paul said. “And I don’t know why that manifestation can’t get anywhere past that doorway. But I hope that these old notebooks are worth it.”

Hilary looked around the library and sighed. The fire was still crackling cheerfully. The lamps still threw reflections over the polished bookcases in the room. There was even steam rising gently from her cup of tea on the table. Apart from the jumbled bags of notebooks, the library was warm, welcoming, and as pristine as ever. “It was worth it,” she said. “It was absolutely worth it.”

You can read the story so far from the beginning here

Hilary jumped at the sound of a knock at her kitchen door. “He’s early,” she said.

Bracken shrugged. “That is unimportant. The bed is aired and made up, the room has been polished and swept, the casserole has been prepared and ready for I to reheat it. I has already prepared the fresh garlic bread to be placed in oven.” She gave Hilary a pointed look. “The only thing left is to answer the door.”

Hilary managed a half-hearted glare at the brownie before hurrying to the door. Faint shadows fell against the window in the thin light of the December afternoon and the door handle felt icy as she opened the door. “Hi!” she managed to force out.

The man waiting on the other side took her by surprise. Lord Peregrine had described him as a man coming to work in the new stores. Hilary had imagined someone a little younger than her, perhaps a little skinny and unsure. Instead she was facing a tall, well-built man with a few threads of silver in his dark auburn hair. His cool, grey eyes met hers with calm assurance and there was a faint smile on his chiselled lips.

“Paul Tarnbrook,” he said, holding out his hand.

Hilary took his hand and shook it. “I’m Hilary Marshaw. Won’t you come in?” She looked at the small bag at his feet. “Do you want a hand bringing in the rest of your bags?”

“If you show me where my room is, I’ll get the rest in,” Paul said. “I don’t want to be a bother.” Before Hilary could answer, he strode past her into the kitchen and looked around. “This is cosy,” he said.

“And clean,” Bracken said. “It is cosy and clean. I is Bracken and this is my situation.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Paul said. He held out a hand for the brownie to shake. “I’m Paul, as you no doubt heard, and I’m honoured to be sharing a roof with a brownie.” He looked around appreciatively. “This room is a credit to you.”

Bracken flushed scarlet. “Mistress Hilary has done much and shown me much and I has learned cookery,” she blurted out. She shot a panicked glance at Hilary.

“First things first,” Hilary said. “Would you like a tea or a coffee? Bracken can make it while I take you to your room.”

“I’d love a coffee,” Paul said. “I take it black, no sugar, and I’m not very fussy as long as it’s hot and full of caffeine.”

Bracken’s eyes grew big. “Then I shall use the new coffee maker,” she whispered. “For coffee, with no milk and no sugar.”

“This way,” Hilary said. She led Paul into the hall and up the stairs. “The house isn’t logical,” she said. “It’s old and obviously been added onto over the years. I have a room downstairs, as does Bracken, but you and Tom have rooms upstairs. I’m afraid that you’ll have to share a bathroom.”

“I’m sure that we’ll manage,” Paul said. “Who’s Tom?”

“Tom Lowgill is another lodger,” Hilary said. “He’s the manager of the new stores, so I suppose it will be hard to get away from your job, with you both working there.”

“I doubt that it’ll be a problem,” Paul said. “But we can only wait and see.” He followed Hilary into the bedroom. “This is nice.”

Hilary looked around the room. The walls were mostly panelled with wood with an accent light blue next to the door and the curtains at the small window matching the darker blue at the quilt on the bed. The wardrobe and drawers were old-fashioned and dark, but there was plenty of space and the desk by the window was spacious and looked out over the garden. “I’ve only been here a few months,” she said. “The garden is one of the next things that I need to tackle. I hope you don’t mind. You can still sit outside and walk around, if you like, and the woods are part of the property.”

“Thank you,” Paul said. “I’m sure that I’ll be very comfortable here.” He carefully set his small bag next to the iron framed bed. “I’ll get my bags from the car now before I settle down with my coffee. It’s been a long day and I think that once I get settled inside, I won’t want to go out again.”

Hilary glanced back through the window. Clouds were rolling in from the west and the light was fading fast with a promise of cold rain. “That sounds like a good idea,” she said. “And dinner will be early tonight, as soon as Tom gets home.” She hesitated. “I have a private guest coming later, so the kitchen and downstairs parlour will be empty. I’ll show you where the snacks are kept and you’ll have all the space you need to unpack and get yourself settled.”

“If you have a brownie in the house, I’m sure that there will be plenty of snacks,” Paul said. “And Lord Peregrine told me that you were practising with Bracken to provide food for the new stores.” He patted his lean stomach. “I shall have to keep on top of my exercise.” He looked around the room once again. “I’m grateful for a quiet night so I can get my things put away.

*****

After a substantial dinner, Paul was happy to retreat to his room. Hilary and Bracken between them were excellent cooks and a definite threat to his waistline. They had even insisted that he take a small container of biscuits into his room, just in case he got struck by emergency hunger in the middle of the night. It was a welcoming place.

He unpacked with practiced ease. His small collection of clothes quickly went into the ample storage and his folder of personal documents slid easily into the desk drawer. It took him a little longer to set up and check his PC, laptop, tablets, headset, three monitors, speakers, both keyboards and his game console. The lighting was pretty good in the room, and Paul decided that he would wait and see if he needed to get an extra lamp. After all these years, he had become an expert at buying kit that was good enough to last until his next move and then easily disposable.

That was the problem with working in tech. He’d written code in almost every region in the UK. It was an unfortunate truth that the best way for a software engineer like him to get a better salary was to move jobs. With no family tying him to one place, he’d moved from lodging to lodging, packing the minimum as he left Sheffield for Bristol or left Maidstone for Lancaster. He was getting too old for this. His last job had been a turning point. He’d spent too many days working sixteen hours at a stretch trying to prop up a system that was never going to stabilise because the top bosses cheaped out on the company servers. It had to stop.

Paul reached the final stage of his unpacking. He checked through his largest case. His notebooks were there, and his herbs and crystals were undamaged. He’d helped out one of the local fae with a tricky magical flow and while it had been necessary, it may have been a mistake. Suddenly there was a fae who felt that they owed Paul a favour, and fae do not like owing favours.  Paul pulled out his current notebook and set it on the bedside table. It had taken Lord Falcon three days and a few ‘friendly’ drinking sessions to tease out the frustration that Paul was feeling. It took another week and a lot more alcohol before Lord Falcon had extracted fears and worries that Paul hadn’t realised were simmering under the surface of his mind. That had worried him. As a witch, he needed to have a clear idea of what was going on in his head as any confusion could lead to unfortunate consequences.

Paul pulled back the quilt and started stacking up the stuff that needed charging. He’d had to take a long look at himself after the talks with Lord Falcon, and he hadn’t been able to hide from the truth. He was burned out with tech, exhausted, getting older, lonely and wanting roots. Lord Falcon had called in a favour, and while Paul wasn’t sure that getting a room in a lodging house while working in a shop was the new start that he wanted, perhaps it wasn’t a bad first step. As he looked around the warm comfort of his room and remembered the meal downstairs, he thought it wasn’t a bad place to start at all.