‘Where did he go?’ I asked urgently. ‘Which direction?’

‘How the hell should I know?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Now piss off.’

This time she succeeded in shoving my foot out and closing the door. Wincing in pain, I drew back and stared at it. I could use magic to force it open but, despite the woman’s sour, unfriendly manner, I sensed she was telling the truth about Gareth – at least as far as she understood it. Somehow I doubted he was really searching for another errant sheep; in fact, I’d lay money on him using deepest darkest necromancy right at this very moment. If I were going to stop him, I’d have to move my plump arse faster than it was designed to go.

With heart-attack inducing speed, I accelerated back down the lane towards Dead Man’s Hill. Maybe they would rename it Dead Ivy Hill after this; that wouldn’t be fair on Benjamin Alberts, or any of the souls resting in the cemetery, but it sounded good. The more I focused on idiotic vanities, the less terrified I felt. That had to count for something.

I wasn’t foolish enough to drive up the same track where Winter and I had gone previously on the bike. I parked as close to the graveyard entrance as I could and sprinted through the heavy gates, ignoring the ominous shape of the mountain looming over me. The one small mercy was that the cemetery was at the bottom of the damn hill rather than the top. All the same, I was panting by the time I reached the first of the gravestones.

I doubled over, trying desperately to catch my breath and imagining Winter in my ear snarking at me for not doing anything to keep fit. That was when I heard footsteps.

Staying low, I edged round the neatly manicured pathway. There was a slight rise over to the right – and there was definitely a figure walking towards it, silhouetted against the night sky and with hands in pockets and slumped shoulders. I scanned round. This was no zombie; neither were there any other signs of nightmarish creatures. All the same, I half expected to hear Vincent Price’s voice booming about darkness falling across the land. Somehow I didn’t think I was going to be treated to an impromptu Thriller dance.

I decided that the element of surprise was the best thing going for me. Taking my time, I moved forward following a circuitous route to where the figure, presumably Gareth, was standing. He still hadn’t seen me. That was good.

I licked my lips and swallowed, wishing my tongue didn’t feel quite so furry. I should have had a last supper. Even condemned criminals got that much.

A gust of wind blew my hair, plastering it across my face and temporarily obscuring my sight. At the same time, an owl hooted. My fear increased; as far as harbingers of death and disaster went, that was one of the best. Winter might scoff at my superstitions but look at what had happened to Belinda after smashing that mirror.