My window had been firmly closed. I preferred stale air to cold air. “What were the noises like?” I asked.

“Something between a scream and a roar,” she said.

“It might have been the boggart warning somebody off. You’ve never heard the boggart before, have you?”

“I did wonder about that at first, but it seemed too far away to have come from the boggart. It sounded as though it came from many miles distant. It was like the cry of some big, scary animal.”

“Well, I think I’ll continue to keep my window closed, but if you hear it again, come and knock on my door and I’ll have a listen.”

That night, Jenny did just that.

I rubbed my eyes free of sleep, got out of bed, and opened the door a crack. “What’s wrong?” I asked, surprised, forgetting for a moment what I’d said earlier.

“You told me to knock if I heard that strange cry again. Well, I just heard it—it’s louder tonight. Open your window and listen. There’s something big out there, and it sounds really angry.”

“Go back to bed,” I told her. “I’ll listen now, and then we’ll talk in the morning.”

When she’d gone, I lifted the sash window slightly and got back into bed. I could hear the wind whistling through the trees, but that was all. Eventually I drifted back to sleep, only to awake a couple of hours later to a freezing bedroom. Annoyed, I reached across, slammed down the window sash, and went back to sleep.

At breakfast the following morning I was a bit short-tempered with Jenny. “A spook needs his sleep!” I told her. “And so does an apprentice. Tonight I suggest that you shut your window and sleep. Understood?”

“So you heard nothing?” she asked, buttering a thick slice of bread. She certainly had a healthy appetite.

“Nothing at all. The bedroom got cold, and this morning I have a headache. So don’t bother me again with your strange noises.”

That should have been the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

The following night I awoke suddenly with a strong sense that something was terribly wrong. Something dangerous was out there. And I knew roughly where it was.

Jenny wasn’t the only one with gifts, but this one wasn’t given me because I was a seventh son of a seventh son. This was something I’d inherited from Mam, courtesy of my lamia blood. It was a useful gift and had helped me in the past.

It was not a good feeling. I was sweating, my heart was racing, and I was filled with dread. I felt compelled to do something; to act in order to make those awful feelings go away. Moreover, it was my duty as a spook to investigate. I dressed quickly, pulled on my boots, and ran downstairs. At the back door I threw on my cloak and snatched up my staff. Then I paused for a moment to concentrate.

My gift didn’t let me down. I was able to locate the danger precisely. Then, knowing where I was going, I paused for a moment to buckle on the belt that held the scabbard, and I slid the Starblade into it.