“As old as my tongue and a little bit older than my teeth,” she replied.

I turned my back in exasperation, ready to return to the house.

“John Gregory trained for the priesthood first,” she said to my back. “He was almost twenty when Henry Horrocks took him on, but he turned out to be an excellent spook. I’m easily young enough to learn the trade.”

“How do you know that? Who told you that about John Gregory?” I demanded, stopping and turning around.

She smiled mysteriously, answering my earlier question instead. “I’m fifteen,” she said brightly. “I’m just two years younger than you. We have the same birthday—the third of August.”

“You’re making that up!” I snapped angrily.

It was late August now, and yes, she was right about the date of my birthday. How could she know that? She really had been spying and digging for information.

“Why should I make things up?” she asked. “I like strange things, and the truth is often stranger than fiction. That’s what my mam once told me, anyway. Don’t you agree?”

I turned again and headed for the house, and didn’t look back this time. She was really starting to annoy me.

The boggart had cooked the bacon to perfection that morning, and my fried eggs were exactly the way I liked them—just slightly runny. I cut thick pieces of warm bread and buttered them before smearing them with yolk. I managed to eat about half the meal. My appetite was improving a little, though it was still nothing like it had been; previously I’d have polished off that breakfast and still been hungry.

“My compliments to the cook!” I announced, and in response I heard a purring from underneath the table. Kratch always liked to be thanked. For a couple of seconds it flickered into view; it was licking its ginger tail.

The movement suddenly reminded me of what the dead girl, Miriam, had told me about the creature that had killed her.

“It wore a long coat like a man’s, but it was definitely some kind of animal, because its arms were hairy and it had a long tail.”

Did it walk upright? It had clambered up onto her chest—so not necessarily. But it was unlike any creature I’d read about in my master’s once-extensive library. I suddenly realized that it might well have left some unusual tracks. It was certainly worth taking a look.

So after breakfast I collected my bag and staff and set off over the fells toward Caster. I could have visited Broughton or Penwortham, where I’d managed to send the other two murdered girls to the light, but it seemed best to go where the trail would be freshest. My destination lay northeast of Caster. I was going back to Kirkby Lonsdale, where the spirit of the dead girl had actually seen and remembered her killer. Now I was going to have another look at the surrounding area.

I would hunt for the beast that wore clothes.