And found an inferno.

Jasmine hit the brakes and the wagon skidded to a halt on the wet tarmac.

Tom jumped out, looked at her expectantly.

‘I’ll stay here,’ she announced, ‘and you’d better be quick. When the cops come calling we’re out of here.’ Her pretty face softened. ‘Don’t take any risks you don’t have to,’ she added quietly. ‘’K?’

‘OK,’ Tom told her solemnly. ‘Rico, you’d better stay here too.’

Rico said something noisy and probably very offensive in Spanish, and leaped from the wagon to join him.

A few night-owl neighbours across the street were staring in wonder from windows, but Tom didn’t care who saw him now. ‘Kate!’ he yelled. ‘Kate, are you in there!’

‘Back way,’ said Rico, racing toward the vacant lot adjacent to the house. ‘Fire might not have reached there yet.’

Tom chased after him.

Rico was right. The flames hadn’t yet reached this part of the building. The wood of the back door was slimy with mould. Tom thought of all Woollard’s locks and bolts and mystical protections to keep the dark things out – and yet the shell of his apartment was so old and worn that it wouldn’t keep out a determined field mouse.

With a couple of well-placed kicks, Tom booted open the door. Stinking black smoke choked out in his face. He recoiled, coughing and spluttering.

‘Better leave this to me, Tom,’ said Rico confidently. ‘If you turn howler in there, you gonna burn your fur.’

And with that, Rico rushed inside.

‘Come back!’ Tom yelled, his eyes streaming. ‘Rico!’

There was no reply. Tom dashed in after him, and found himself in Woollard’s kitchen. He yanked down the yellow curtains from the windows and soaked them in the sink. Then, crouching down low where the smoke was less dense, he draped the wet curtains over his head and pressed on through to the passageway.

Woollard’s body lay prone outside the living room. Tom felt his neck for a pulse.

So much for answers. He was dead.

Tom peered into the lounge. The fire was fiercest here. The arcane texts that papered the walls, the charms, the feeble garlic flowers, all were blackening to a charred mass. Glass cracked as a heavy frame tumbled from the wall to land at Tom’s feet. He saw it held Woollard’s doctorate, hard-won in a brighter time.

‘Tom!’

His heart leaped; that was Stacy’s voice, from across the passageway. Tom crawled from the room, the damp fabric heavy about his head and injured shoulder. He placed the doctorate beside Woollard’s corpse as he passed by.

He squinted into the smoky room. Suddenly Stacy came into view, coughing, eyes streaming. Rico appeared just behind her.

‘I woke her up!’ he wheezed in triumph.

‘Where’s Kate?’ Tom asked Stacy, handing her the other soaked curtain.