The air was cold and damp and smelled moldy. Isaac was reminded of the cemetery in Josefov, the crush of tombstones leaning like bad teeth, the shadowed, dank oldness of it.

This forest was now so thick they couldn’t see beyond the first trees.

“There’s some dreadful magic at play,” Kat said. “Those brambles are shoving right up against my warding spells. If only Gumble was still here.”

Isaac heard a noise and looked up.

“Rooks,” Kat said. “They’re always here. But that seems like a lot more than usual. Colin?”

“They aren’t our rooks,” Colin said. “They won’t tell me where they’re from.” He paused. “They’re laughing at us.”

To Isaac, they sounded like ordinary birdcalls, which made him wonder about all the other animal sounds he’d ever heard.

“What’s going on?” Leo emerged from the parlor where Baines had stationed himself.

Kat pointed outside.

Leo stood silent for a moment, then said, “I can feel it. It wants in.” The trees were moving even though there was no wind.

“What about him?” Kat pointed at the door to the parlor. “Baines?”

“Don’t know yet,” Leo said. “He went on and on about my father. It was awful. And magic. He seems to think I’m on his side, that I couldn’t possibly believe in what he called nonsense.”

“Maybe that’ll come in handy,” Kat said, as she turned and closed—and locked—the great door.

Amelie said, “Isaac needs our help. This may be more complicated than we think. More than just about the wards and the forest. It may be that everything since he arrived is connected. Maybe even bigger than last time, with, you know.”

Colin made a small noise.

The five children exchanged looks, and then Kat, putting her hands on her hips, said, “Well then, let’s get started.”

CHAPTER 25

The Wraith

A gift has been given to the forest wraith.

A boy entered the forest and with him came a magic so strong it still shivers through the trees and whispers through the shadows. The vines snake toward the warding boundaries searching for the boy. The trees stretch their branches nearer the castle. The wolves prowl closer, sniffing for his scent. The boy’s very presence strengthens the ancient magic the wraith has brought to the forest. Soon, the wraith thinks, the wards will fall.

A man entered the forest, too, but he was as blank as bones, as dry as dust. Useless.

But then came the gift, the true gift.

Two quite useful humans left the castle, and now they are unconscious, wrapped up like spider-catch and twisted in the branches of the largest tree in the middle of the dismal glade that forms the center of the wraith’s tiny world. The humans’ heads loll and their eyes stare blankly through the Scottish mist that settles, thick and thicker.