I looked over the parapet – the civilian car park was almost completely empty except for one satellite van and a ten-year-old Ford Mondeo that belonged to one of the reporters from the Herefordshire News. The pack had migrated en masse to the hospital. I asked Windrow if there’d been any news.

‘They’re both sleeping now,’ said Windrow. ‘And their parents are with them.’

They weren’t suffering from exposure, and while they were wearing the same clothes they went missing in, both the girls and their clothes were relatively clean. They had definitely been held somewhere with amenities and had been fed and watered. There were no outward signs of physical or sexual abuse but Nicole, so far, had presented as withdrawn and uncommunicative. Hannah, on the other hand, had talked pretty much continuously from the moment she was reunited with her mother until she fell asleep in her arms three hours later.

‘What did she say?’ I asked.

‘Hold up, Peter,’ said Windrow. ‘I’m not prejudicing either of you before you’ve given a statement. And, besides, I haven’t seen the transcripts myself yet.’

Then we went inside and got ourselves statemented which, this being a serious investigation, meant that it was first light by the time we’d finished. Victor was waiting for us downstairs – well, waiting for Dominic. But he was nice enough to give me a lift back to Rushpool as well.

I had a mad urge to stop off at the hotel and see if Beverley was awake. But between the hiking, the magic, and the strenuous unicorn avoidance tactics I was so knackered that bed seemed more attractive. And I can tell you that doesn’t happen very often.

That morning the press went totally bonkers, but fortunately I managed to sleep through most of it.

I woke to birdsong, something with a call like a very high-pitched pneumatic drill. I wondered if Beverley would know what the name was. I patted the other side of the bed on the off chance Beverley might have mysteriously materialised there while I was asleep, but no such luck.

I checked my watch. It was mid-afternoon. I hadn’t actually slept that long, but I felt fully rested . . . just not inclined to get up.

Objectively speaking, my whole operation the night before had been a mess from start to finish. I’d gone out to attract unspecified supernatural entities with no real idea what the hell I was going to do if I succeeded. Worse, I’d put Dominic and Beverley at risk through a basic lack of common sense. Nightingale was going to be quietly critical when I explained the thinking behind my actions. If we hadn’t found Hannah and Nicole it would have looked even worse – we’d been lucky.

Or had we?

Had it really been a coincidence that two, count them two, invisible unicorns had chased us straight to their location?