“You must listen to me,” the creature says. It has taken the boy out into the garden, down past the small pond to that uncertain area where garden ends and countryside begins. There are no fences here in Longford, no distinct breaks between civilisation and wilderness. The boy has grown up with that, and he understands it is an aspect of this place that his mother treasures. She says she likes the sense of the wild.

She likes Mohserran, too. This wild thing. That doesn’t stop him being afraid. Even more so now, because its eyes are wider than usual, dripping a strange yellow substance that is luminous in the moonlight, almost afire. Blood is splashed across its skin and fur, and trapped between its teeth he can see dark blots of what might be meat. It’s like looking at himself in a future mirror.

“But I want Mom.”

“Boy, listen to me. It’s important. It’s...” The creature growls and spits, shaking its head like a wet dog. It looks confused, glancing around, clamping its jaws on a shadow. Shaking, fighting against something the boy cannot see or understand, it takes a few slow, deep breaths to compose itself. It stands still for long, long seconds before speaking again. “Something very bad is happening.”

The boy knows. It’s obvious, from the whoop-whooping above the town, and the lights he can now see moving up on the surrounding hills, like distant fireflies with malevolent purpose. He knows from the way he feels—the violent things he imagines, the deep, sick hunger gnawing at his belly—and what he’s seen other people in the town doing. Maggie Parks was down by the river, choking creatures and throwing them in. They might have been kittens, or puppies. Albert Roy, the post office manager, was sitting beneath a tree on the town square, carefully threading sharp sticks through the loose skin covering his old thighs. Mrs Carter was naked in her garden, walking in tight circles around a pile of red clothes or meat on the ground.

“I’m scared.”

“And you should be scared. Scared will keep you safe. Afraid keeps your senses sharp.” The creature talks as if it knows scared and afraid. The boy would never have believed that Mohserran was afraid of anything. Not with those teeth, those claws.

“Where’s Mom?”

It avoids the question and says, “I won’t let you...” It growls and slams the flat of its big, clawed hand against its head. Its eyes roll, spilling speckles of yellow fire like glitter, then refocus on the boy. It seems he is their only focus. Everything else is a blur. “I won’t let you fall. I can’t look after you for much longer, not with the change, and not now that... now that I have to fight.”

“Fight?”

Mohserran does not elaborate. The kid thinks it’s because there is so little time.