It was under the bed, the gleam of something weird, untamed, pure and ancient, blocked and hedged around by powerful dark strands of Jack’s energy.

Zita had found it too. They opened their eyes and stared at each other.

‘Can you get nearer?’

Zita tried, but in the same way as it had Tom, an invisible barrier blocked her from nearing the bed.

‘We’ll need to take it apart,’ she said. ‘Can you feel it?’

‘Yes – it’s Jack. It’s strong.’ He felt the barrier. It was very much like the wards around the farm. ‘I think I know how this works. I think I can break it apart.’

‘It’ll take a lot of energy.’

‘I’ll start.’ Tom gritted his teeth and inspected the wall of energy. Here and there were little faults and bumps and knots. Jack clearly hadn’t strengthened the wards around it in a while.

Gently, Tom sent out some power into one of the faults.

Almost immediately, the sleeping young man shifted, snorted, groaned in his sleep.

As if in answer, Leana started to bark, the short, sharp noise that meant someone was coming; Zita and Tom fled the room as fast as they could.

The lurcher was already waiting for them at the edge of the landing. They needed no further warning.

‘Can you send yourself?’

Zita looked alarmed. ‘I don’t think we have time …’

Leaping down the stairs, Tom caught sight of Jack through the window, pacing back over the bridge, followed by Kit, who was dawdling as much as he was able to do so. Kit stumbled, and Jack turned irritably to help him.

Within half a minute, Tom and Zita were in the kitchen, and Zita had put an apron on, and Tom was busy peeling potatoes as if he’d been doing it for the past ten minutes.

Leana flopped down on her bed and gave a huge, blustery sigh.

‘… rather a good bit, actually,’ said Zita, as the door burst open. ‘I’ve always liked Jane Austen, even the twentieth time through …’ The kitchen immediately felt smaller, and Jack swept in, pausing only to glance at Zita and Tom.

‘Wards are good. Good work by you, Thomas Swinton. Strong.’ He glared around the room. ‘Zita, I need you in my rooms. Come.’

‘But I’m just telling Tom about the book I’m reading. He’ll be longing to hear the end, won’t you, Tommy boy?’

Tom managed to force his expression into a smile. ‘Yes, I’d like to read it after Zita.’ Inside he was trembling. His mouth was dry. Would Jack be able to sense that they’d been up in the attic? That they’d triggered some of his traps? Worse, that Tom had started trying to bring the wards down?

Jack left, Zita behind him. She turned and winked at Tom.

Kit, hovering in the doorway, looked at him, the question evident in his face.