Charlotte sank to the floor again and drew the blankets over herself. It might have been cold or it might have been terror; I felt both those sensations myself, and was powerfully tempted to join her. But I thought of Miss Davenport, and of Hildi, on her way now to rescue us. I looked out of the window at the grim ranks of pine trees. Even if we could get out, we would be no safer out there.

The clock ticked on. There was a peal of thunder, very far away over the mountains. I was so tense that I heard every sound there was to hear: real ones, like the smug wheeze of the clock, and imaginary ones, like the terrified scramble of small woodland creatures to bury themselves in their burrows out of reach of the Demon Huntsman. Who would be here in—I looked at the hated instrument—a quarter of an hour….

Another peal of thunder. And what was that? Hooves? And that far-off, lost, wailing sound, like the voices of phantom children on the shores of the kingdom of the dead—was that the hounds?

No, no—I was imagining it.

But I wasn’t imagining the hoofbeats. They were louder. They were real. I ran to Charlotte and tugged her up, and we clung together, with no words left to speak, as the rider drew up his horse outside. Zamiel? Was it the Demon himself? But it wasn’t midnight yet, and the horse was whinnying and stamping the ground as if it was frightened itself.

There was a moment’s pause, and then a blow on the door—and then another and another, as if some other demon were seeking to break in and consume us before Zamiel could arrive.

“Hildi!” I cried, more in despair than hope.

But another voice answered—a man’s, and we could not hear what he said, for now there was no doubt about it: above his voice sounded the eerie baying of hounds, coming nearer. Charlotte’s hands were gripping mine and our eyes were turned toward the door in terror, as the man outside shouted louder and hammered more furiously on the heavy door.

And then, pure and savage and blood-chilling, came the worst sound of all: the single wild note of a hunting horn….

Part Three: Hildi Again

Chapter One

I had to keep saying to myself: Peter’ll lose the police, he’s too clever for them, they’ll never find him….Because otherwise, I’d have cried.