The chamber is in commotion. Those who were spoken to are in shock and others seek to console them. Some start talking animatedly of what action should be taken, and how soon we might call another spirit who could help us. They are all so shaken by what has happened that few among them seem to hear what I can hear. A low, distant voice. A whisper almost. Or rather, a strong voice, but far away, slowly growing stronger, coming nearer. Now I can see, in the center of the sacred circle, a shimmering shape, the beginnings of a figure, starting to take form. How can this be? We have neither called nor summoned anyone further. The crossing is strongly protected by our own magic, so that the uninvited shall not enter the Land of Day.

And yet the bees came. The bees got through. Someone, or something, enabled them to do so. Someone, or something, who knew what they meant to Amelia. Who knew what they would do. But why? Why torment the girl? Why, if not to prevent her from helping us?

Which can only mean that malevolent forces are at work here. Self-serving, dangerous, wicked forces. The protective magic Druscilla and I worked so hard to place about the chamber was not sufficient. And now a powerful force is materializing as I watch, and I know that I am once again in the presence of the wicked spirit of Edmund Willoughby. Only this time he is not content to pursue me only in voice. This time, he plans to show himself. The figure is not yet sufficiently formed to have human features, but it is without doubt a tall, thickset man. And I can hear the words he speaks more clearly. Or rather, the word. One word, over and over and over.

Lilith! Lilith! Lilith!

I step as close to the edge of the circle as I can without touching it and raise my hand. Some of the senior witches are aware of the spirit’s presence, but without pausing to confer with anyone else, without arming myself with the grimoire or Maygor’s Silver Thread or anything that might protect me, I send a spell of banishment as boldly as I am able.

“You may not enter here!” I tell the fearsome spirit that chants my own name. “You are not welcome. You are not wanted. You were not called. You were not summoned. Return from whence you came!”

The voice twists into a loud hiss. The figure dissolves and is gone. The circle is empty once more. I find I am holding my breath. I release it, and gulp steadying air. As I turn away from the circle I find the earl of Winchester watching me, his face dark, his eyes full of tears.

Chapter 16

16.