'Yes, I see him,' the girl's voice answered. 'He has just lost someone. I sense his sadness.'

'The boy's name is Thomas Ward,' Morgan said.

'He mourns his father. Bring his father's spirit to us now!'

The cold began to lessen and the water ceased its dripping. I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. Was Morgan really going to summon Dad's spirit? I felt a sense of outrage.

'Aren't you looking forward to speaking to your father one more time?' Morgan demanded. 'I've already spoken to him and he told me that all your brothers visited his deathbed to say goodbye but you, and that you even missed his funeral. He was sad about that. Very sad. Now you'll both have a chance to put things right.'

I was stunned by that. How could Morgan possibly know what had happened? Unless he really had been in contact with Dad's spirit...

'It wasn't my fault!' I said, angry and upset. T didn't get the message in time.'

'Well, now you're about to get the chance to tell him that yourself...'

It started to grow colder again. Then a voice spoke to me across the table. Morgan's jaw was moving again but, to my dismay it was Dad's voice that came out of his mouth. There was no mistaking it. n.o.body could possibly have mimicked somebody else's voice so perfectly. It was as if Dad were sitting facing me in the chair opposite.

'It's dark' Dad cried, 'and I can't even see my hand before my face. Someone light a candle for me, please. Light a candle so that I can be saved.'

I felt terrible thinking of Dad alone and afraid in the dark. I tried to call out and rea.s.sure him but Morgan spoke first.

'How can you be saved?' he said, his voice deep and powerful and filled with authority 'How can a sinner such as you go to the light? A sinner who always worked on the Lord's day?'

'Oh, forgive me! Forgive me, Lord!' Dad cried. 'I was a farmer and there were jobs to be done. I worked my fingers to the bone but there were never enough hours in a day. I'd a family to provide for. But I always paid my t.i.thes, holding nothing back that belonged to the Church. I always believed, truly I did. And I taught my sons right from wrong. I did all that a father should.'

'One of your sons is here now,' Morgan said. 'Would you like to speak to him one last time?'

'Please. Please. Yes. Let me speak to him. Is it Jack? There were things I should have said to him while I lived. Things unsaid that I would say now!'

'No,' Morgan said. 'Jack isn't here. It's your youngest son, Tom.'

'Tom! Tom! Are you there? Is it really you?'

'I'ts s me, Dad. If s me!' I cried, a lump coming up into my throat. I couldn't bear the thought of Dad suffering in the darkness like that. What had he done to deserve this? 'I'm sorry I didn't get home in time. Sorry I didn't go to your funeral. The message reached me too late. If you've anything to say to Jack, tell me. I'll give him your message,' I said, the tears starting to p.r.i.c.k behind my eyes.

'Just tell Jack I'm sorry about the farm, son. Sorry that I didn't leave it all to him. He's my eldest lad and it was his birthright. But I listened to your mam. Tell him I'm sorry that I left that room to you.'

There were tears running down my face now. It was a shock to hear that Mam and Dad hadn't been in agreement about the room. I wanted to promise Dad that I'd make it right by giving the room to Jack, but I couldn't because I had to take into account Mam's wishes. I had to talk to her first. But I tried to make Dad feel better. It was the best I could do.

'Don't worry, Dad! It'll be all right. I'll talk to Jack about it. It won't cause any trouble in the family. None at all. Don't you worry. It'll be fine.'

'You're a good lad, Tom,' Dad said, his voice full of grat.i.tude.

'A good lad!' Morgan interrupted. 'He's anything but that. This is the son that you gave to a spook! Seven sons you had and not one did you offer to the Church!'

'Oh! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!' Dad's voice cried out in anguish. 'But none of my lads had a vocation. None wanted to he priests. I struggled to find a good trade for each, and when it came to the last of my sons, his mam wanted him apprenticed to a spook. I was strong against it and we argued over that more than we'd ever argued before. But 1 gave in finally, because I loved her and couldn't deny her what she'd set her heart on. Forgive me! I was weak and put earthly love before my duty to G.o.d!'

'That you did!' Morgan cried out in a loud voice. 'There is no forgiveness for one such as you, and now you must suffer the pains of h.e.l.l. Can you feel the flames starting to lick at your flesh? Can you feel the heat starting to build?'

'Nay, Lord! Please! Please! The pain is too much to bear! Please spare me. I'll do anything! Anything!'

I came to my feet, filled with anger. Morgan was doing this to Dad. Making Dad believe he was in h.e.l.l. Making him experience terrible pain. I couldn't allow it to continue.

'Don't listen to him, Dad!' I shouted. 'There are no flames. There is no pain. Go in peace! Go in peace! Go to the light! Go to the light!'

I took four rapid steps down the left side of the table and, with all my strength, swung my staff towards the hooded figure and struck him a terrible blow. Without uttering a sound, he fell away to the right and I heard the chair tumble onto the flags.

Quickly I pulled my tinderbox and the candle stub from my pocket. Within moments I managed to light the candle. I held it up and looked about me. The chair had fallen sideways and a black cloak was draped across it and down onto the flags. But of Morgan there was no sign! I prodded it with my staff but it was as empty as it looked. He'd vanished into thin air!

I noticed something on the tabletop. The wood was dry as a bone and there was no trace at all of the water that had seemed to drip and puddle there, but where the bra.s.s candlestick had stood was a black envelope.

Setting the candle down on the edge of the table, I reached across and picked up the envelope. It was sealed, but on it were the words: To- My Mew Apprentice', Tom' Ward'

I tore open the envelope and unfolded the piece of paper within.

Well, now you've- seen what I am capable of. And what I have Just done, I can do again. I have trapped your father in Limbo. Thus I can reach him anytime I choose and make him believe anything' I want. There is no limit to the pain thatI can inflict upon him.

If yow would have him from' this, obey my will , firstly, I need something from Qregory'y house: Up in the attic, locked instde his writing desk, there is a wooden box and within it a grvmoive, which is a book of powerful spells and ritualy. It is bound in green leather and has a silver pentacle embossed on the front cover -three concentric circles with a five -pointed star within. It is mine . 'Bring' it to me.

Secondly, say nothing' to anyone of what you have seen. Thirdly, yow mu&t accept that you are now my apprentice, bound to my service for a period of five years- from this- day forth - or your father will suffer. To signal your acceptance, rap three times- upon the tabletop. The door is unlocked and, whatever your decision, you are free to go. The choice is-yours.

Morgan G I couldn't bear the thought of Dad's spirit in torment. But neither did I want to be Morgan's apprentice. I was reluctant to rap on the table, but it would gain me some time. Morgan would think I'd agreed to what he'd demanded, and it would save Dad from suffering now while I consulted the Spook. He would know what to do for the best.

I took a deep breath and rapped three times upon the table. I held my breath and listened but there was no acknowledgement. The room was utterly still and silent. I tried the door and it opened. I hadn't heard it happen but the bolt had been pulled back. I went back to the table, picked up my tinderbox, blew out the candle and put both into my pockets. Then, clutching my staff, I left the room and opened the front door.

I almost fell over in amazement. It was broad daylight! Sunlight was dazzling back from the snow and it was at least two hours after dawn! It had only seemed like for fifteen minutes or so that I'd been in the room with Morgan and yet the same number of hours had gone by.

There was no way I could begin to explain it. The Spook had told me that Morgan was a dangerous man who'd dabbled with the dark. But the Spook hadn't said he was capable of the things I'd seen. Morgan was a powerful and dangerous mage with real magical powers and I shivered at the thought of having to face him again. Within moments I was trudging through the deep snow as fast as I could, heading uphill towards the Spook's house.

Chapter 13.

Soon the house was directly ahead, with brown smoke rising from the chimney pots telling me that warm welcoming fires were waiting within.

I knocked at the back door. My key would open most locks, but I didn't use it. As I'd been away for a while it seemed more polite to wait to be invited in. I knocked three times before the door was finally opened by Meg, who smiled at me before stepping back to welcome me inside.

'Come in quickly out of the snow, Tom!' she exclaimed. 'It's good to see you back.'

Once inside, I removed my cloak and sheepskin jacket, leaned my staff in the corner and stamped the snow from my boots.

'Sit yourself down,' Meg said, guiding me across the flags to the fireplace. 'You're shivering with cold. I'll make you a cup of hot soup to warm your bones. That'll have to do for now - I'll cook you a nice big meal later.'

I was trembling more than shivering, upset by what had happened in Morgan's room, but gradually I began to calm down. I did as I was told and warmed my hands at the fire, watching my boots begin to steam. 'If s good to see you've still got all your fingers!' Meg said.

I smiled. 'Where's Mr Gregory?' I asked, wondering if he'd been called away on spook's business. I hoped he had because that would mean he was fit and well again.

'He's still in bed. He needs all the rest he can get.'

'So he's not that much better yet?'

'He's improving slowly' Meg answered. 'But it'll take time. These things can't be rushed. Try not to disturb or burden him too much. He needs to rest and sleep as much as he can.'

She brought across a steaming cup of hot chicken soup, so I thanked her and sipped it slowly, feeling it begin to warm my insides.

'How's your poorly dad?' she asked suddenly, as she settled herself down in her rocking chair. 'Is he getting better now?'

I was surprised that she'd remembered that, and her question brought tears to my eyes again. 'He died, Meg,' I told her. 'But he'd been very ill.'

'That's sad, Tom. I'm so sorry. I know what it's like to lose family . ..'

I felt the pain of losing Dad wrench my stomach and thought of what Morgan had done to his spirit. Dad didn't deserve that. I couldn't let it happen again. I had to do something.

Meg fell silent and stared into the flames. After a while she closed her eyes and started humming a tune very quietly under her breath. When I'd finished the soup, I went across and put the cup on the table.

'Thanks, Meg. That was really good,' I told her.

She didn't reply and seemed to be asleep. It was something she often did, falling asleep in her rocking chair near the hearth.

I didn't know what to do now. I'd hoped to speak to my master about Morgan, but he was clearly not well enough to be bothered with it. I didn't want to trouble him and make him worse. Perhaps while he was sleeping I could just take a look at this grimoire; check it was where Morgan had said. Maybe something in there would help me to decide what to do. One thing was clear: with my master so ill and Alice gone, I was on my own, and it was down to me to do the right thing by my dad. He was all that mattered, and I had to do something to stop him suffering at the hands of Morgan. I would start by looking for the grimoire.

The Spook was upstairs sleeping and I might not get a better chance to look for it. One part of me felt bad about even thinking of taking it without telling the Spook. But there would be a time for explanations later. Dad was all that mattered now. I couldn't bear the thought of him being tortured by Morgan again.

But when I started to leave the kitchen, Meg suddenly opened her eyes and leaned forward to poke the fire. 'I'm just going up to see Mr Gregory' I told her.

'No, Tom, we don't want to disturb him yet' she said. 'You just sit by the fire and warm yourself after that long walk you've had in the cold.'

'Well, I'll just go and get my notebook from the study first' I said.

But I went into the parlour rather than the study. If the Spook was still in bed, Meg hadn't had her herb tea yet. I needed her to sleep for a while so that I could hunt for the grimoire, and herb tea was the easiest way to do it. So I took down the big brown gla.s.s jar from the cupboard and poured three quarters of an inch of the mixture into a cup. Then I went into the kitchen and began to heat the water.

'What's this?' Meg asked with a smile, as I held the cup towards her.

'It's herb tea, Meg. Drink it down. It'll stop the cold getting into your bones.'

The only warning I got was when the smile slipped from her face. Meg dashed the cup from my hand and it smashed to pieces on the kitchen flags. Then she got to her feet, gripped my wrist and dragged me close. I tried to pull away but she was too strong. I felt that she could snap my arm without trying too hard.

'Liar! Liar!' she shouted, her face only inches from my own. 'I'd hoped for better from you, but you're no better than John Gregory! Don't say I didn't give you a chance. You've proved yourself to be just the same. You'd take away my memory too, wouldn't you, boy? But now I remember everything. I know what I was and I know what I am!'

With our faces almost touching, Meg sniffed at me very loudly. T know what you are too' she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper now. T know what you're thinking. I know your darkest secret thoughts, the ones you couldn't even tell your own mother.'

Her eyes were staring hard into mine. They weren't points of fire like Mother Malkin's had been when we'd come face to face in the spring, but they seemed to be growing larger. She was a lamia witch and her body was stronger than mine, and now her mind was beginning to control me too.

'I know what you could be one day, Tom Ward,' she whispered, 'but that day's still a long way off. You're just a boy, while I've walked this earth more years than I care to remember. So don't try any of John Gregory's tricks on me, because I know them all. Every last one!'

She spun me round so that I was facing away from her and let go of my arm, quickly transferring her grip to my neck.

'Please, Meg! I didn't mean any harm,' I pleaded. T wanted to help you. I'd talked to Alice about it. She wanted to help you too ...'

'It's easy to say that now. Was giving me that filthy mixture to drink the way to help me? No, I don't think so. No more of your lies or it'll be the worse for you!'

'But they're not lies, Meg. Remember - Alice comes from a family of witches. She understood you and really felt sorry for what was happening. I was going to speak to Mr Gregory about you and-'

'Right, boy! I've heard enough excuses!' snapped Meg. 'It's down to the cellar with you. Let's see how you like it down there in the dark. It's just what you deserve. I want you to know what I went through. I didn't sleep the whole time, you see. I kept waking up to spend long hours thinking, alone in the dark. Too weak to move, too weak to climb to my feet - trying desperately to remember all that you and John Gregory would like me to forget - I could still think and feel, knowing that it would be long, tedious, lonely months before anybody came to the door to let me out.. .'

At first I struggled, trying my best to resist, but it was useless: she was just too strong. Still gripping me by the neck, she marched me down the cellar steps, my feet hardly touching the floor, until we reached the iron gate. She had the key, and we were soon beyond it and descending deeper underground.

She hadn't bothered with a candle, and although I can find my way in the dark a lot better than most people, at each corner it grew darker and more difficult to see. The thought of the cellar below terrified me. I remembered her sister, the feral lamia witch, still imprisoned in the pit; I didn't want to be anywhere near her. But to my relief, when we turned the third corner, she brought me to a halt by the three doors.

With another key she opened the left-hand door, thrust me inside and locked it behind me. Then I heard her unlock the cell next to mine and go inside. She didn't stay very long. Soon that door slammed shut and she began to climb the steps. After a few moments there was the sound of the iron gate clanging shut; more steps, growing fainter and fainter; and then silence.

I waited a few moments in case she came back for some reason, then fumbled in my pockets for the stub of candle and my tinderbox. Seconds later the candle was alight and I looked around at my cell. It was small, no more than eight paces by four, with a heap of straw in the corner to serve for a bed. The walls were built from blocks of stone and the door was constructed of st.u.r.dy oak, with a square inspection hole near the top sealed with four vertical iron bars.

I sat down on the stone floor in the corner to think things through. What had happened while I'd been away? I felt certain that the Spook was now in the cell next to mine, the one where Meg spent her summers. Why else would Meg have gone in there? But how had the Spook ended up in Meg's power? He still hadn't been well when I'd left for home. Maybe he'd forgotten to give Meg her herb tea and she'd recovered her memory? Perhaps she'd put something in his food or drink - the same thing he'd been using all those years to keep her docile, most likely.

Not only that - there'd been Alice's influence. She'd kept chatting to Meg, talking to her about coming from a family of witches. Sometimes they'd whispered together. What had they been discussing? If Alice had had her way, Meg's dose of herb tea would have been reduced. Well, I didn't blame Alice for what had happened, but her presence in the Spook's house certainly wouldn't have helped the situation.

When I'd returned, Meg had only been pretending to be confused and had been playing a game with me.

Had she really been giving me what she'd called 'a chance'? If I hadn't tried to give her the herb tea, would she have treated me any differently? And then it hit me. When I got back to Anglezarke, I'd been so wrapped up in my thoughts of Morgan and Dad, I'd been completely blind to the evidence - signs I could see only too clearly now. Meg had called me 'Tom', not 'Billy', for the first time ever. And she'd remembered about my dad. Why hadn't I picked up on that at the time? I should have been on my guard. I'd let my heart rule my head, and now the whole County was in danger. A lamia witch free to roam once more, and neither a spook nor an apprentice to stop her. What was done was done, but somehow I had to put it right.

There was good news and bad news, but most of it was bad. Meg had sniffed me out using her powers as a witch. She knew a lot about me but she hadn't bothered to search me or she'd have found the tinder-box and candle. She'd have found the key too - the key that could open most doors as long as they weren't too complex. So that was the good news. I could get out of my cell. I could open the door to the Spook's cell too.

The bad news was that the key wouldn't be good enough to get me through the gate. Otherwise the Spook wouldn't have kept a special one on top of the bookcase in the library. And Meg had that key now. Even if I could get us both out of our cells, we were still trapped in the cellar. So what I needed to do now was clear enough. I had to talk to the Spook. My master would know what to do for the best.

So I used the key to open the door of my cell. It didn't make much noise, but the cell door seemed to stick and, despite my best efforts, jerked open, making a noise that echoed up and down the steps. I hoped Meg would be upstairs by the kitchen fire and wouldn't have heard. Taking the candle, I tiptoed out into the corridor and held it up to the bars of the Spook's cell. I peered inside but couldn't see much. There was a bed in the corner and a dark bundle on top of it. Was it the Spook?

'Mr Gregory! Mr Gregory!' I called through the bars, the cellar. So, if she'd a mind to escape, maybe even the iron trellis gate wouldn't be enough to stop her for long! As for the bars of my cell, they didn't bear thinking about. My only hope was that the witch was still relatively weak after being in the pit for so long.

I kept perfectly still and listened, doing my best to breathe quietly. I could hear her approaching, scuttling and halting, scuttling nearer and nearer. I pressed myself back into the corner and stopped breathing altogether.

Something touched the door lightly. The next contact with the wood was stronger and there was a scratching sound, as if sharp claws were biting in, trying to get a purchase. It was as if something was clawing its way up the door. I'd run into my own cell without thinking and now I wished I'd locked myself in the other cell with the Spook. I might have been able to wake him up and ask him what to do.

It was dark. Very dark. So dark that, inside my cell, I couldn't tell where the door ended and the walls on either side began. But the oblong, dissected by the four vertical bars, was slightly paler than its surroundings, so there had to be some light on the stairs, shedding a faint illumination of the wall beyond my cell.

A shape moved across the oblong. It was in silhouette but I could see enough to tell that it was something like a hand. I heard it grip the bars. But it wasn't as if flesh and muscle came into contact with them. There was a rasp, almost as if a file had sc.r.a.ped against iron, followed by an explosive hiss of anger and pain. The lamia witch had touched iron and the hurt she was suffering would be severe. Only her will was holding her there. Next, something big moved up in front of the bars, like the disc of a dark moon eclipsing the pale light beyond. It had to be the witch's head. She was peering at me through the bars but it was too dark to see her eyes!

There was another rasp and the door groaned and creaked. I trembled with fear. I knew what was happening. She was trying to bend the bars or pull them right out of the wooden door.

If I'd had my staff of rowan wood I could have jabbed at the witch through the bars and perhaps driven her off. But I had nothing. My silver chain was in my bag, but it was no use to me there. I'd nothing here that I could use to defend myself.

The door groaned and creaked as the pressure on it grew, and I heard it start to buckle. The witch hissed again and made a snuffling, croaking sound. She was eager to get inside, desperate to drink my blood.