“This isn’t witchery,” Tabby went on. “These are the local ways: a shoe in the wall, a stone head on the gable and, to clean a house of any ill will or foul spirits, salt and sage. Once the evil is gone, we’ll place the rowan and yew boughs at the door. Then none who are not invited will be able to enter.”

“Does that include Mr. Nicholls?” Emily asked hopefully, earning another swipe from Tabby, even though it meant that particular salt border would have to be done again.

“This isn’t instead of good Christian prayer and thought,” Tabby told Emily. “It’s as well as. My old ma always said belt and braces are best. God is the belt, and the old ways are the braces. Now, get on with you, and don’t you return until you’ve done my bidding, or I’ll send you to bed with no tea.”

“Quite frankly, at this point, I’d take bed over anything,” Emily muttered to Keeper as they disappeared into the dark.

—

It had taken only a moment for Emily to fetch some sprigs of rowan, though she was not sure if the bare twigs without a berry or a leaf on them would do as well. She knew there was a yew in the graveyard, as there often was. Tabby had told them when they were children that you would always find a yew where the dead rested: its roots grew deep in amongst the dead, wending their way through the eye sockets of their skulls to keep them from rising from the grave. It should take only a moment or two to locate the final item Tabby required, and then they could all go to bed at last.

There was nothing about the graveyard at night that alarmed Emily. To her it was a serene place—a place of rest. And though she had yet to meet a ghost here, she was fairly certain that if she did, it would be terribly interesting. Keeper, much calmer now, snuffled happily at her feet as they headed to the furthest corner of the graveyard, where a gnarly old yew stood guard. There was said to be a highwayman buried down here, and a poisoner. Once it would have been where they buried those who had not been christened, and there was a feeling of crossing as Emily approached the tree—a sensation of leaving all she understood far behind for the inky peace of the dark.

Placing her hand against the rough bark of the yew, she leaned her cheek against it for a moment, silently thanking the old creature, before smartly pulling off a branch.