A senior member of the coven raises his hand for permission to ask a question and I nod my consent.

“Child, some here believe war is coming. That it cannot be stopped. Do you see it? Will there be war?” he asks. The quality of the silence in the chamber changes perceptibly. Many feel they know the answer to this grave question. None of us truly wants to hear it.

“Oh yes,” Amelia tells us. “There is going to be a war. A very big war. Lots and lots of people will die.”

“How many?” Another of the senior witches cannot contain himself and asks the impossible question without seeking permission. I frown at him. This is too specific. He sees my expression and tries to make it easier for the girl to respond. “Hundreds, d’you think? Thousands?”

Amelia shakes her head sadly. “Oh no,” she says. “Millions will die.” Before we have a chance to react to such a statement she goes on. “So many young men. Boys, really. Poor, poor boys, lying and dying in the mud. No good air to breathe their last breath with. Sinking in the stinking mud.” The terrible words sound somehow so much more dreadful spoken in her soft, singsong little voice. Suddenly she looks up at one of the minor witches and points a thin, white finger at him. “Your son will die!” she declares. There is a collective gasp of horror at this and the witch clutches at his heart. Amelia wheels about now, pointing here, there, everywhere, singling out witch after witch after witch. “And yours! And yours! And your son, too. And yours, and yours…!” On and on she goes, causing shock and despair throughout the chamber.

I try to follow her gaze, to see exactly whom she has picked out. She moves at such speed and finds so many to tell it is hard to discern them all, though each who has been selected knows it. And, as he is seated next to me, I know I am not mistaken when she singles out Lord Harcourt.

“And your beautiful boy, too. He will be among the first to die.”

Louis! I turn back to the earl. To hear of the impending death of a loved one is surely the greatest terror of all who speak to spirits. The man is impressively still and silent, bearing whatever pain and terror he feels without the least outward sign of it, as he has been brought up to do.