Just as he fell asleep he had a last, somewhat comforting thought. He’d load his service revolver in case the bit about wolves was true. In case some wolves did remain in this hostile northern country.

Yes. Be practical and realistic and put this nonsense to rest. That was the ticket.

CHAPTER 19

Isaac

1942

Isaac woke to the sound of a high-pitched scream.

He couldn’t remember where he was—lying in a huge bed in a gigantic room with stone walls that were barely lit by gray early morning light.

Then came another bloodcurdling scream, and Isaac shot out of bed.

By the time he’d thrown on some clothes and made it to the door, everyone was in the hallway. Amelie ran by, her thick tartan dressing gown flapping. “It’s Lark,” she said as she passed.

Colin stood in the doorway opposite, eyes like saucers, Canut, his fur as rigid as porcupine quills, by his side.

Isaac followed Leo to the kitchen.

The others were all there. Lark stood on top of a large worktable with Amelie sitting next to her, Lark’s head buried in Amelie’s shoulder as Ame crooned in a soothing voice. Kat, Leo, and Colin knelt, gathered around a tiny pile of fur on the floor, and the teachers stood off to one side, still in their dressing gowns, whispering.

But Isaac, the instant he stepped inside the kitchen, heard the hum now elevated to a screech. He backed against the wall, clapping his hands over his ears and closing his eyes.

Then slowly, slowly, the screech faded and went silent. Isaac opened his eyes and lowered his hands.

“I think it’s dead,” Leo said, standing, wide-eyed. He turned to Isaac. “You all right, then? You look bloody awful.”

Isaac nodded. “Headache,” he lied.

The ghost cat sat in the air, tail flicking, head turning from what was on the floor to Isaac and back again.

“He is dead,” said Colin with a sob. “Poor little mouse. Poor mousie. Was so scared and confused and in such pain his little heart broke. He said his master would never forgive him. He didn’t do what he was supposed to do. Instead he gave up when he saw the ghost cat. Who, by the way, has not a word to say about any of it.” Colin buried his face in Canut’s fur.

Now that the screech had stopped, Isaac wanted to see what they were talking about. He knelt next to Kat, who was poking at the tiny mouse with a wooden spoon.

“What did he say he was supposed to do, Colin?” Kat asked. “And who’s his master?”

“I don’t know,” Colin said through his tears. “He never finished telling me.”

Kat said softly, “The mouse is partly mechanical.” She looked up and exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Gumble. “Reminds me of . . . you know. Her.”

Gumble pinched her lips together and whispered to MacLarren.