I examine the wing as gently as I can. I’ve observed the vet a few times doing this exact same thing and can recall the illustration of a bird’s wing that I studied in college, its delicate skeleton structure. They heal fast, I remember that. Bird bones aren’t like human bones. For a start they’re hollow.

‘I think it’s a simple fracture,’ I say to Liam after a few seconds of gentle probing. ‘It’s not broken through the skin, which is good.’

I cut off a length of tape and wrap it carefully around the bird, pinning the wing in place and smoothing down the feathers, knowing that the strength of the splinting and the positioning of the tape is key to helping it heal correctly, otherwise it won’t ever fly again. It would be kinder to wring its neck if that were to happen, just as Liam suggested back at the castle, but I think the taping is good. It should hold.

Liam curses as the crow tries to nip his finger. He hands it over happily once I’m done and I take it, still bundled in the towel, and place it back in the box. ‘There you go,’ I say.

I feel a huge sense of pride at a job well done and make a wish that the bird recovers. Somehow, I feel as if the bird’s recovery is tied to my own.

After washing my hands, I take my dirty coat from the side and start scrubbing at it under the tap. Liam is standing at the window glaring out at the overcast sky, as though willing whoever is spying on us to dare show their face.

I’m worried that later he’s going to leave me here to go and take a look around the castle by himself. Luckily, it’s started to rain so maybe I can convince him to stay inside, and hopefully by the time it stops raining he might have calmed down. Like Liam though I can’t stop thinking about it, wondering who it is and why they’re on the island.

I carry the crow in its box through into the living room and set it down by the fire, out of the way. The room is dark as a tomb thanks to the fact the curtains are still drawn, and so I move to open them to let in some daylight. As I do, I let out a scream.

Liam comes running, skidding to a stop beside me. I point at the window; the one where the man carved those strange symbols.

Except from this side it’s obvious. They’re not symbols with some hidden meaning we can’t decipher. They’re letters. And this way around it’s clear what they spell. DEVIL.

Chapter Fourteen

We stare at the word DEVIL etched into the window.