Nat’s senses were overwhelmed by a hissing, spitting sound. His eyes widened as a flash streaked up Iona’s grand staircase as though the hounds of hell were following. Clawdia! Seconds later, Nat gasped in horror: Someone, or something, was after her.

A large, mottled paw grasped the ornate rail of Iona’s grand staircase. Just before the image faded, Nat saw the owner of the paw. It was the face of his nightmares: Lucas Scale.

“Uh?” The vision had gone. “That was telepathy, right?” said Nat shakily. “Lucas Scale was here, wasn’t he?”

Woody yipped and swiped the door with his paws, anxious to keep moving.

“Iona might have left us a clue,” said Nat urgently. “You take downstairs and I’ll take this floor.”

Between them, they searched every inch of Meade Lodge. There were thirteen bedrooms to check, two with bathrooms en suite, and a massive chamberlike room with a sunken bath in the center of the floor. As far as Nat could see, there were no signs of disturbance. If Iona didn’t come back, they would have to make some permanent arrangements for Clawdia, but Nat erased that thought from his mind. He didn’t like to think of Iona not coming back. It sounded so final. As though she were dead.

Leaving Clawdia to her refuge under the bed, Nat ran downstairs in search of Woody, but there was no sign of him. Where is he? he thought to himself, beginning to panic. When he reached the bottom step, he wondered whether to call out for Woody. The silence was unnerving, but he didn’t want to break it, just in case there was still something lurking in the shadows.

He entered the banquet hall. The rows of computers sat there, staring at him with their blank, silent screens. Nat shivered.

Get a grip, he told himself sternly. Get a grip, get Woody, and get out. Then a sudden movement to his left made him freeze.

A book lay open on Iona’s table. Nat instantly felt certain it had been left for him. Maybe Iona left it as a clue. Its pages fluttered in a breeze from nowhere, making a nasty, papery hiss. Nat found himself moving, almost drifting, toward it. Like in my nightmares, he thought, his throat dry. As he drew closer, the book snapped shut with a loud smack! Nat almost screamed out loud. He forced himself to read the title. Written in bold black letters were the words Nightmares: A Compendium.