The greenhouse doors were closer. The more convenient entrance to the family home on a cold, moonless autumn night. Glass shard or no, it was a significant moment in his mind. With every step she took he grew in certainty. The set of her shoulders, her pace, how she navigated the garden’s slope; she wasn’t going to the greenhouse.

As ridiculous as it was, Christophor was leaning forward on his tiptoes. Mrs Eder wasn’t going to the greenhouse.

He strangled a sound of triumph. She was five paces from the side door. Perhaps she had business at the front of the house? Perhaps his efforts, his theories, his experiment was all for nought. Perhaps, but no.

In a matter of moments it was over. Mrs Eder opened the side door, entered the house, and closed it behind herself. No cry of pain or surprise. No recognition of she, the lady of the house, using a door typically reserved for staff. She simply gripped the handle, turned, and entered. The clouds did not part. The trees remained silent. The world was not split asunder.

And yet, he had his witch.

He rushed out of the forest and to the door. He no longer cared if he was seen or heard. He trained his lantern fully onto the brass handle. Its dull gleam was topped by the glass sparkle, clean, free of blood. She did not bleed from the right hand. She did not bleed.

Still, there was doubt. Where did it come from? Was it me? Or was there something else at the root of it?

He gripped the handle, pricking himself. He gazed at the drip of blood forming in his palm. He would rouse the magistrate and make a formal arrest, as was dictated by the King’s law. It was almost over.

Above, he saw Victor watching him from a window.

30th October 1721

‘Hello, Harriet.’

The eldest Eder girl gave a start. She’d been very much focused on the ambling waters of the Dreken river. If my visit to this far away town had revealed one surprising truth above all others, it was the concentration of children.

‘I’m sorry, do I know you?’ she said, squinting up at me.

‘No,’ I said plainly. I introduced myself as the Inspector’s day-brother, a musician by trade, and new to these southern lands. She accepted this information with mild interest. ‘May I sit with you?’ I said. ‘Share some wine?’ I took a bottle from my coat. This she found more interesting.

I positioned myself beside her on the river bank, trying to ignore the damp feeling growing beneath me. For her part she was sitting on a wooden stool of a design I was not familiar. She noticed my attentions.

‘My little brother made it,’ she said. ‘Folds up so it’s easy to carry.’

She appeared at ease with accepting the talents of her younger sibling. Appearing at ease was perhaps the defining feature of Harriet as I saw it. Even talking to a confirmed stranger her posture was relaxed. Her dark hair was tied back loosely; a far more practical style than that of her night-sister’s fringe. Her clothes fit well enough, but were plain – again, practical and at ease with that fact.