

###  

###  Contents

Contents

1. Letters

2. Back to Hollow

3. Concert

4. On the Field

5. Diary

6. Birthday

7. Boat Ride

8. Lash and Blood

9. Admonition

10. Arrest

11. Expectations

12. Art School

13. Unexpected Revelation

14. Chocolate Fair

15. Tournament

16. The Creature

17. Straight through the Mirror

18. McAlisters

19. The Silver Key

20. Treehouse Memories

21. A Flight on a Broom

22. Tarot Session

23. Planning the Future

24. The Lonely Widower

25. The Woman by the Fountain

26. The Whistler

27. Travelers in Time

28. The Last Candle

29. The Fountain Riddle

30. The Cave

31. Silhouettes in Fire

32. Funerals

Epilogue

About the Author

Helpful Links

Also by I.D. Blind

Excerpt from Book 3

References

When Eric O'Brian learns that the weather in Hollow has been acting strangely, he returns to the magical town to help his friends with the danger they might soon face. Eric reads an old diary and learns gruesome details about the witch hunt that may happen again.

Eric and his friends have to understand what is wrong with the weather, and why the boys are getting paler day by day. Could the truth be hidden in the depths of the cave? And what is hidden inside the fountain on the square?

To solve the Fountain Riddle, Eric and his friends will have to fight the Pied Piper and his rats, visit a 19th century ball, and catch the boy in the painting.

### 1. Letters

LETTER FROM ERIC TO ELECTRA

Dear Electra,

I'm out of ink. At least now I can write longer.

So, my father has ceased nagging me and has been treating me kinder. He offered me a holiday anywhere in the world, and I suppose you know which place I named. Now I only have to wait for the summer to be back to Hollow.

The days here are boring. Life is dull without magical paintings, medieval bards, and time travels. At least I'm having an interesting time with my cousin, who's staying with us now. He's a barman and teaches me tricks with bottles. My mom isn't happy, though, as we keep breaking bottles and glassware.

I'm also taking an internship in a vet hospital. Yesterday, we went to cure a sick kangaroo. Can you believe that? And today we're visiting a sick gorilla.

Miss you a lot.

Eric

LETTER FROM ELECTRA TO ERIC

Dear Eric,

I've missed you too. I hope you'll be in Hollow on the Chocolate Fair day, where we shall have a big stand and will sell chocolate and pastries. I also hope that the constant rains will stop soon and won't prevent us from holding the event. We have never had so much rain in spring. Sometimes it seems that the heavens are falling down—there's thunder and lightning all the time.

The girls are constantly asking about you. Jack has been asking about you, too. He and Hector are training all day long for the upcoming tourney. They need a partner, and if you're back in time, that partner might be you.

Our Aunt and Uncle opened a restaurant! It's very beautiful. Aunt Andromeda spends all her time there, and when we finish our duties we help her with the cooking and serving; and Medea sometimes plays the violin for the guests.

Can't wait to see you in Hollow.

With love,

Electra

LETTER FROM HECTOR TO ERIC

Dear Eric,

Something is wrong in Hollow. It's raining constantly, with thunder and lightning. Every day we find infected trees and withered bushes. Jack and I talked to Woodcutter Acks. He couldn't explain the cause.

We wouldn't pay much attention to the weather, but we know that last time the nature's anomalies were followed by the Hunters' arrival. The rains might be a warning. Two days ago we saw a lot of dead fish in the lake. No one knows the cause.

Please return to Hollow. We might need your help.

Hector

LETTER FROM DAVID O'BRIAN TO ALBERT O'BRIAN

Dear Albert,

I don't know what you've done to my son, but I hardly recognize him since he has returned. I never receive complaints from his school. And he has stopped arguing with me and his mother. Is it something in the air of that town? Or in the water? Whatever it is, my son is dying to go back to Hollow. Can he be your guest once again?

Waiting for your answer,

David O'Brian

LETTER FROM ALBERT O'BRIAN TO DAVID O'BRIAN

Dear Cousin,

Tell him he can come anytime. We are more than happy to see him again.

Albert O'Brian

### 2. Back to Hollow

At last, a morning without rain. The meadow was wet and humid after yesternight's loud torrents. The sunrays needed time to evaporate the water which was making Electra's feet wet as she walked in the blooming meadow dotted with the drops of yesterday's rain.

Now and then she spotted leafless trees and withered bushes that stood out on the flourishing land, wondering what was happening to the nature in Hollow. It was behaving strangely. The trees were not infected, but some would dry out overnight, while their companions stood as green as ever.

"What's wrong?" she was asking the trees, stroking the yellowed leaves and the dried barks. But the trees were silent. They were dead.

Electra climbed on the white bridge and stared into the water. With her eyes closed, she listened to the nature, trying to make out the words and whispers. The breeze caressed her face and wavered her fiery hair. Then someone petted her shoulder.

"For some reason, I'm sure you're thinking of me."

Electra turned around, and there was Eric a step away from her. She stared at him open-mouthed, then threw herself into his arms. Eric hugged her and whirled her in the air.

"How much I have missed you!" he cried out. "And how much I wished to hug you." He lowered her to the ground and took her face in his hands. "You have become even more beautiful."

"I can't believe it! How could you hide your arrival from me?"

"Surprise!"

"The best ever!"

Eric told her he had arrived in the morning and the first thing he did after unpacking his luggage was to visit her. And the second thing he wanted to do was seeing Enchanted Garden. The witches had restored it, turning the garden into a flourishing palace overgrown with pink gardenias and red dahlias, big-budded roses and long-stemmed calla lilies. The arbor was repainted, and a small fountain stood nearby, serving as a pond for the rose finches.

"Are the fairies back?" Eric asked, his eyes wandering around the magical garden.

"They might be," Electra giggled. She took him to the field near the blue castle, where Jack and Hector were training in javelin throwing.

"You came back!" Hector dismounted his horse and hurried to Eric.

"Of course I did." Eric gave him a hug, but said no more. Whatever was happening in Hollow, he wanted to discuss it without Electra, so as to not scare and upset her. "When is the tourney?" he asked instead, looking at the shooting marks across the field.

"In a month," Jack said. "Wanna join us?"

"Count me in. But be warned, I've never in my life shot an arrow or thrown javelin."

"We'll teach you. Archery, javelin throwing on horseback, and jousting."

"All of that in one month?" Eric said with disbelief.

"Don't miss the trainings, and a month is more than enough."

"Oh dear, they will exhaust you." Electra pouted.

"We start at six in the morning," Jack said. "Considering that you live on the East Bank, we'll wait for you at seven. You should never be late; discipline is important. We train a lot and it's tiresome, but it's the only way to win the tournament."

"What about the horse?" Eric asked. "Uncle Albert has one, but he won't let me take it every day. And I don't think that horse is suitable for a tournament. It's quite old."

"We'll give you a horse—a magnificent stallion," Jack said. "I think Cassie's Pegasus will suit you perfectly. He's strong, yet calm, and doesn't fear strangers. She won't mind if you take him."

"How long have you been training today? You both look pale," Eric said.

"We're fine."

"A bit hungry, maybe," said Hector.

"Poor things." Electra threw her arms around their shoulders. "Let's go home, and I'll fix something for you."

"Where are the girls?" Eric asked when they sat down in the living room of the blue castle.

"Cassandra is helping Dr. Robinson at the veterinary hospital. After Mrs. Robinson passed away, she stays there longer. And Medea is at the rehearsal. Today at five, the orchestra is giving a one-hour concert, and at the end of the concert, she is to play a solo on the violin!"

"Medea is giving a concert?" Eric sniggered. "That needs to be seen."

"She'll be happy if you come with us. I think I have a spare ticket," Electra said on her way to the kitchen. While she fetched tea and pastries, the fellows spoke quietly, now and then pausing or changing the subject when she entered the room, and talking about something else unless she went back to the kitchen.

"One of the diaries we've read describes the arrival of the Hunters," Hector said. "Before they return to Hollow, the weather changes. It rains day and night, with frequent thunderstorms and lightning; trees defoliate and wither, harvest is bad, and animals get sick."

"Where can we find more information?"

"In the diaries of people who lived in Hollow back then, and who described some of the events," Jack said. "We have a few—one belongs to an herbalist, Arthur Winsdale, but it's unfinished. He was probably killed with the witches. His diary tells about the first days of the Hunt. Another one belongs to a woman named Amelia Wicker. She tells about the trials. I'll give them to you to read. But the diaries we've read aren't telling us everything we want to know; we need more."

"Are you sure there are more? Where do you get them from?"

Their conversation was interrupted when Electra entered the living room, with a kettle of freshly made tea and a fruitcake. None of the boys talked about the witch hunt anymore. Instead, Electra asked Eric about his internship, and told him that Dr. Robinson was looking for one more intern.

### 3. Concert

At four thirty, Eric was already at the gates of the Concert Hall. He watched the people arrive in carriages and make their way to the entrance. They were dressed formally; men were in black tuxedos, women wore beautiful dresses and sparkling jewelry. Eric was examining the people of Hollow—their looks and manners—when his eyes caught a familiar beautiful face. It was Dinah McCormack, in a long black gown, shoulders and neck bare, waving a feathery fan in one hand, and holding Thomas Baldric's hand with the other. Her hair was plaited into a long braid, and the blue diamonds that hung from her ears sparkled as strongly as her blue eyes. Eric couldn't take his eyes off her. Her cold beauty was spectacular and enigmatic, her proud face gave away the awareness of the strength of her charms, while her manners were a screaming example of vanity and conceit. Tim Van Balen and Marion O'Neal, a couple more modest in their outfit and behavior, walked behind.

Dinah noticed Eric at the gates and whispered something to Thomas. They chuckled, and reaching the gates, Thomas said aloud, "I've heard there will be a great concert tonight."

"Indeed?" Dinah pouted. "And I have heard about a lousy solo."

All four cracked up and passed Eric. Though unwillingly, he turned around and looked at their backs. Tim was hiding a package inside his tuxedo, and Eric wondered why he was bringing a package to the Concert Hall. His attention returned to the street, where an unknown lady appeared in the crowd. The woman was of age: probably seventy or eighty years old, wearing diamonds and a silver gown with a long trail. In one hand, she had a silver-framed lorgnette, and the other was squeezed around a young man's arm, whom Eric recognized as Raymond—the fellow he had met at the arena of the tournaments last autumn. They made their way to the entrance of the Hall as people around them greeted the woman, bowing in deference or raising their hats. The lady deigned stern smiles or strict looks. Her behavior amused Eric. She reminded him of one of those aristocratic personas who thought too much of themselves, considering the places of their birth and the wealth they possessed as synonyms of greatness and importance. The woman was forgotten when Eric saw Colin and Andromeda coming out of a carriage, followed by Electra, Cassandra, and Ariadne. After greetings, hugs and kisses, they all headed to the entrance—Jack holding Ariadne by her hand, Hector with Cassandra, and Eric together with Electra.

The spacious auditorium was illuminated by elegant chandeliers that were dazzling above the great hall, casting their glow on the velvety seats and the separate box in the center, designed for special guests.

When their group made its way to their seats, Eric noticed disgruntled glances and heard vicious words behind their backs. He turned to Electra, but she pretended to not hear the Easterners.

The lights went off, the curtain rose, and the members of the orchestra appeared on the stage. Mr. Frick raised the stick and the music began. Vivaldi's La Follia had the honor of opening the concert. The mellifluous music took the audience into the 18th century, to the Emperor's palace, the baroque architecture and laced gowns. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the music, but Eric was feeling uncomfortable. He could sense a glance aimed at him, and turning left, he saw Dinah staring. She looked away and covered her face with the fan, but Eric managed to notice resentment in her eyes. His thoughts were now filled with Dinah against his wishes. She was beautiful; he couldn't deny that, as much as he couldn't deny feeling nostalgic about the time he had once spent with her. Seeing her hand folded around Thomas's arm Eric felt something that resembled jealousy. She was stunning in that black dress and dazzling jewelry, just like a queen, and he couldn't help staring at her. He forced himself to look away, then turned to Electra. She glanced at him and awarded him with a sweet smile. Dinah left his thoughts like a specter, and he smiled back to the girl who didn't have an expensive dress or jewelry, whose only ornaments were the flowers in her hair, which gave a fabulous look to the nymph so dear to his heart.

Eric wasn't the only one looking around. Cassandra kept peeking at the box where the wealthy woman was sitting, and at the young man accompanying her. She turned to Electra and whispered, "That is Duchess Iphigenia von Aringwen of Ornshire, Raymond's grandmother."

Electra gave the old woman a distrustful look. "She looks grave."

"Rather sober."

"She's shining. She needn't put on all her diamonds. We could get blinded."

"Oh, I'm sure those are not all her diamonds. She's very rich."

"Then why do you keep staring at her?"

"Are you being biased because she's rich and wears jewelry?"

"I'm not biased, but she doesn't look like someone who can be easily pleased."

"You're being mean."

"Alright, I won't say that again. But when the day comes, don't tell me I didn't warn you."

Cassandra said nothing more but kept blushing and staring at the young man sitting next to the Duchess. Raymond seemed engrossed in Tchaikovsky's Waltz of the Flowers and wasn't looking anywhere else. Cassandra thought she ought to do the same, especially when it was her sister playing on the stage.

The next was Brahms's Hungarian Dance No. 5, followed by Mozart's Symphony No. 40. With the end of the symphony, the hall broke into applause. Mr. Frick bowed to the audience, turned back to the orchestra, and waved his stick. Piano music sounded in the corner of the stage, and Medea joined Romanza Andaluza with her violin. All her family watched her without blinking. They had never seen her so calm and concentrated. She was absorbed in the beautiful music, and her violin sounded magical.

Something whistled in the air and hit Medea's chair. She didn't stop playing, but then another tomato landed nearby. The hall began humming. Turning to Dinah's seat, Eric saw how Thomas snatched another tomato from Tim's package and threw it at Medea, who, nevertheless, continued to play. But when the rotten tomato hit her violin, the bow slipped from her hand. Medea hastened after it. The conductor stopped the music and turned to the audience. Whispers turned into cries.

Uncle Colin rushed towards Thomas through the row of seats. "Stop it right now!" he demanded, but Thomas just sneered into his face. Colin looked at him for a second, then slapped him so hard across the face that Thomas's knees bent. His father, Louis Baldric, bolted to his feet and rushed to his son's aid. Shay MacGavin and Alan Pickering hurried to their friend, and Peter McCormack and Manfred Van Balen appeared near Louis Baldric. A fight was about to break out, and Mayor Kynaston Daley hurried to stop the fray. Colin grabbed Thomas by his collar, and Louis Baldric tried to pull his son out of Colin's grip, while Shay MacGavin and Alan Pickering held back Peter McCormack and Manfred Van Balen. The hall was lost in noise and hubbub, for the men were on the verge of fighting, and the women were yelling and begging them to stay calm.

Medea squeezed herself through the audience. "Leave him, Uncle," she said, reaching for Colin's hand. "Don't waste your time on him."

Colin at last loosened his grip and pushed Thomas back into his seat. Mayor Daley stepped forward and ordered everyone to leave the hall.

Aunt Andromeda took Medea into her arms. "My dear girl, I am so sorry that your evening was spoiled," she said. "But you were amazing. I am so proud of you."

"It's alright. I should have known they might spoil the concert," Medea said. "Let's go home, it will be getting dark soon."

"Should've guessed they were up to something when I saw that package in his hands," Eric said, standing between Jack and Hector.

"Never mind," Jack muttered. "We'll pay them back at the tournament. Tomorrow at seven, you'll start training."

### 4. On the Field

Eric had been on the field since early morning. Pegasus was as calm and clever as Jack had told, but it in no way made the training easier. The spear was heavy, and javelin throwing appeared to be harder than he had expected.

"I feel I'm going to end up as the laughingstock of the whole town," Eric complained.

"You won't. None of us were born with the skills," Jack said.

"I thought it was easier." Eric took the bow and arrow from the ground. Before Jack and Hector could stop him, he aimed at the target, shot the arrow, and winced from pain.

"Ahhh, that must be painful!" Hector squinted at Eric's skinned forearm.

"You forgot your vambrace," Jack said, while Eric muttered something obscene through his clenched teeth.

"I'm an idiot." He took a bandage from the first-aid kit.

"You're a beginner. Come here, and put on that vambrace on your arm. Now look at the target." Jack stood behind Eric, holding the bow and an arrow. "Your body should be perpendicular to the target and to the shooting line. Now place your feet shoulder-width apart. That's right. Don't tense. Relax." He handed the bow and arrow to Eric. "Point the bow towards the ground and place the shaft on the arrow rest. Hold the bow with your left hand and pull the bowstring back with the right one. Hold your index finger above the arrow; your inner elbow should be parallel to the ground." Jack slightly raised Eric's elbow. "Now draw the string towards the corner of your mouth. Very well. And now, aim at the target, and don't forget to always check the range. We're in an open field, after all. Ready?"

"Yes."

"Shoot!"

Eric released the arrow and it pierced the bullseye.

"Ten points!" Hector exclaimed.

"Unbelievable," Eric chuckled, shocked yet contented.

"The beginners are always lucky." Jack grinned. "How's your arm?"

"Hurting."

"It will heal. Try to find time for press-ups and pull-ups. They will strengthen your arm so that it doesn't get shaky. I suppose you know that the target has ten circles. The inner two rings equal ten points, then the value decreases by one with each outer circle."

"I know." Eric released another arrow and it hit the line between the second and third rings.

"That's another ten! If the arrow falls on a line, you get the higher score. Not bad, O'Brian."

"That's because I'm so angry. If you only knew how much my arm hurts."

"We all learn from our mistakes. Now shoot again."

They continued shooting, while Jack told Eric about the rules of the tournament. "The number of the participants is unlimited, but each team can only have three members. The tournament consists of three rounds. First one is archery. One participant shoots the targets while riding a horse through the obstacles. I'll be doing that. The other part of the archery round is shooting from horseback, but without riding. Hector will take care of that one. Then there's shooting the targets while standing on the ground. That part is yours."

"I'll take that." Eric shot another arrow. "What's next?"

"Javelin throwing. The first one throws the javelins on horseback, riding the obstacles. This time, both the second and the third participants throw the spears riding a horse, but without obstacles."

Eric bent to the leather quiver and took another arrow. "And the third is jousting, right?"

"Right. The two teams with the highest points participate in the jousting round, where the winner will be decided. The bad part is that it's not very easy. The good part is that wooden spears are used."

"Haven't they always been used for jousting?"

"Not in Hollow. There was a time when the knights would use real arms. There were so many fatal injuries that the Town Hall banned real weapons from the tournaments. Soon the hotheaded knights raised so much ado that the Town Hall made amendments in the regulation. It's still possible to use real arms, but only if one of the parties asks for it. The other party can refuse, but then they will be declared losers. But don't worry, real weapons haven't been used in Hollow for over two hundred years. People aren't as thickheaded as they used to be. Now shoot that last arrow, and we shall rest before taking up the lances. If we have time, I'll also teach you swordsmanship."

Exhausted, Eric lay down on the grass and closed his eyes. The drowsiness was overpowering, but the moment he started falling asleep, Jack sat by him and called his name. He was holding something in his hands. With a closer look, it appeared to be a tattered journal.

"This is something I want you to read."

"What is it?"

"It's a diary that belonged to a woman named Amelia Wicker. She wrote about the beginning of the witch hunt, and about the trials."

Eric took the diary. It was torn, dog-eared, and smelled of herbs. "Where did you get it from?"

"You don't want to know," Hector said, reclining on the grass.

"Well?"

"Just read it. You'll get to ask the questions later. Do it fast, we have to take it back," Jack said.

After the training, Eric headed to the veterinarian hospital on the East Bank. Cassandra had told him they needed help, and he was happy to continue his internship in Hollow. When Eric entered the hospital, Cassandra was attending one of her shaggy patients.

"A wolf?"

"A cub," she said with a smile.

"He hasn't been a cub for at least six months. You should be more careful with wild animals, Cassie."

"I will," Cassandra giggled, taking the young wolf into her arms.

"Let me help you." Eric stretched his hands to her, but she shook her head.

"He won't trust a stranger. Come with me." She took her patient to the isolation ward. "We keep them here until they heal. Then they either go back to their owners, or are set free in the woods where we have found them. This one had gotten into a trap. I found him in the woods and brought to Dr. Robinson. He'll be ready to go back next week."

Eric ran his eyes around the ward full of cages with hares, raccoons, wolves, and owls. "I thought we were going to tend just sheep and lambs, not wild animals."

"You think you can't do this?"

He looked around the ward once again. "I think I'm going to love this."

### 

### 5. Diary

Eric reached his uncle's house by dinnertime. He didn't lie to Albert anymore, and told him all about the training sessions and about working at the hospital and at Pickering's shop.

"Dad, does that mean the ban is over?" Eleanora asked with anticipation.

"No," he said. "Not for you."

"But why? Why can he go there and I can't?"

"Because sooner or later, Eric will leave Hollow, but you belong here. You are my daughter—"

"That's unfair!" Eleanora ran to her room. Eric went upstairs after her and knocked at her door. She didn't respond.

"Nora, please open the door. Let's talk. I don't want to see you upset."

Eleanora made no sound and didn't open the door until little Henry came up the stairs and asked his sister to let him in. She was forced to open the door and let them both inside.

"Nora, don't be upset. We'll think of something to end that stupid ban."

Sulky and tearful, Eleanora sat at the window and pretended she couldn't hear Eric.

"Nora, I don't want to tell you to go against your father's wishes, but—"

"Just go."

"Nora—"

"Go away." This time her voice was harsher.

Eric went to his bedroom and, keeping in mind Jack's advice, did press-ups for an hour. Afterwards, sweated and exhausted, he crashed down on the bed, grabbed the diary he had left on the bedside table, and opened it.

March 13th

I asked Father what he thought about the weather. Received no answer. He is puzzled as much as I. I wonder what is happening. The birds in our garden were dead, scattered all around the ground. Such a heartbreaking scene. We couldn't cure any of them.

March 22nd

Father says that the weather's strange behavior has something to do with witchcraft. I don't believe him. I know the witches; they would never do anything harmful. I hope my father is wrong.

April 3rd

The sheriff paid us a visit today. I never said a word, but now I wonder if my silence might bring more trouble. He was talking about dead horses, asking if my father could explain anything. Father said he couldn't, and that is exactly what De Roy Senior wished to hear. I am scared to think how this story might end.

April 25th

The rains continue. Thunderbolts tear the skies. It rains in the morning. It rains in the afternoon and in the evening. Sometimes we are lucky to get a glimpse of sunshine, but it doesn't last long.

Every time I hear someone quarrel, the argument is followed with a thunderclap and a storm. I don't think it is a coincidence. I have asked my friends and neighbors to stop the quarrels and fights, but they won't listen to me. Sometimes I feel some of them are doing it purposely, adding oil into the fire of frays and clashes.

April 30th

Today I saw a strange creature. They called him Shadow. I had never felt more dread in my life. What was it? It was not human, or was it? No. No human could give me as much fright as the sight of that thing. How black was his face. Or was there a face at all? I still tremble when I think about him. Empty. Like a void.

May 4th

They came after Valeria and Sofia today. Heaven have mercy on us.

May 11th

I can hardly hold the pen in my hands. They took me away yesterday. They are taking away anyone who has the slightest connection to the witches. They were sure I knew where Andromeda was hiding with the children. I am happy I didn't. I am not sure I wouldn't have given away their whereabouts; that is how scared I was. That place is Hell. No way out. They threatened me with fire and hot pliers, but those threats were nothing compared to the voices I heard behind the iron doors. Was it Nicholas? Or was it Anthony? And where is Valeria?

May 16th

I just came back from the trial, if I can call that theatre a trial at all. Judge Alistair's behavior was cynical. He knew Valeria was telling the truth but did everything to cast a bad light upon her. His witnesses were circus clowns, claiming they had seen Val performing witchcraft. She has never done anything bad or illegal. Some of those men she had been nursing back to life. What a bunch of ungrateful folk! They said she had been giving them strangely smelling vials and had forced them to drink the potions against their will. They said so many lies; it was unbearable. Judge Alistair ordered a trial by fire. They can't do that with her. She is a mother, and she carries another baby. I have to do something to help her.

May 19th

It puzzles me that I can find strength to write about what I have just seen. But my mental anguish is nothing compared to what Valeria Ainsley, Rosaline MacGavin, and five other young women had to go through. Judge Alistair ordered them to walk over live coals. They did it. All seven. They burned their feet and I had to watch that barbarity. I didn't leave for Valeria. I wanted her to know that her friends were with her. I wish I could erase their cries of agony from my mind. And I wish that was the only trial, but I know that Judge Alistair is only warming up.

May 23rd

Today they gave the girls poisoned bread. They were supposed to eat it. If they vomited, the Judge would set them free. None of the girls wanted to put that poison into their mouths, but De Roy Senior threatened them with lashes. After some blows, all seven swallowed the poisoned bread. Six of them vomited. Rosaline did not. She died in convulsions.

May 29th

Another trial. This time Judge Alistair ordered them to retrieve a stone from a cauldron with boiling oil. Poor girls. Of course none of them could do that. They would put their hands inside and draw them out that very moment, screaming in pain. They had burnt their feet. Now they burnt their hands. Be damned, Alistair! He declared them all guilty.

May 30th

I talked to Peter. I asked about Valeria and her family. He said nothing. His silence was frightening. But I know he won't let it happen; I am almost sure of it. I know there is a plan, and Valeria will be saved from the dungeon along with the rest.

June 2nd

They killed all of them. Some died in the dungeon after the tortures. Those who survived were burnt at the stake. They tied Valeria and Nicholas to the log and burnt them. They made us watch. "Only a witch will not watch another witch burn," De Roy Senior proclaimed, and forced us all to the square. Peter was there. He was in a black mantle like the other Hunters, his face covered with a cloth, but I recognized his blue eyes. He watched them burn.

Eric put the diary aside and took a breath. The insides of his palms had sweated. He opened the window, and the wind gusted into the bedroom. Eric took another deep breath and returned his eyes to the torn pages on the bed. He couldn't believe what he had just read. He went through the first pages again. Valeria and Nicholas were Electra's parents. They had been burnt on the stake. Does she know about this? Probably not. Jack would never let her read that diary.

Rosaline MacGavin, Hector's mother. Now Hector knew what had happened to her. His suspicion was valid, she had been murdered. Eric thought about what Hector might have felt when he had read that diary.

He thought about the weather anomalies. What if it wasn't a coincidence, and those Hunters might be coming back to Hollow? He spent the whole night reading the diary. Sleep and rest were forgotten; he needed to know how the witch hunt ended. But the diary didn't give him the answer. It was unfinished. He couldn't sleep that night, couldn't stop thinking about the Hunters, the trials, the tortures, and the witches. He needed to know more, and wished Jack had other diaries that would shed some light on that blood-chilling story.

### 6. Birthday

On Sunday, Hector's friends had prepared a birthday party for him in the Cauldron and Broom, Andromeda's restaurant. When Eric arrived, the party had already begun. The place was filled with music and dancing and many familiar faces: Dr. Robinson, Woodcutter Acks, Ariadne's parents and little brother Jason, Raymond, who didn't take his eyes off Cassandra, bakers Rose and Duncan McKennit with their sons, Alan Pickering, Shay MacGavin, dozens of people from the West Bank, and of course the owners of the restaurant.

Eric looked around. It was the strangest restaurant he had ever seen. The place was colorful, with carved furniture, silver mugs, and china glassware. The floor was decorated with paintings of conical hats and black cats. Brooms, cauldrons, and old cuckoo clocks were hanging on the walls. Mannequins of witches with messy hair and crooked noses were standing in the corners, turning their heads whenever someone passed nearby, while colorful marionettes, hanging from the ceiling by elastic strings, were hopping up and down to the music of pipes and flutes.

Eric stood in the middle of the hall, looking around and getting in the way of the waitresses in black hats and striped stockings. Their trays were full of food and drinks: canapés with yellow cheese, banana bread, onion scones, mustard-roasted potatoes, trout with sliced carrots, and chicken with spicy chutney, looking so inviting that Eric couldn't help following one of the girls with the tray. To his regret, he lost sight of the waitress and her tray, but luckily Electra found him before he got lost among all the brooms and cauldrons. She came from behind and kissed his cheek. Eric turned around.

"Hey, beautiful, it's good you found me."

"I noticed you were a bit lost. Do you like this place?"

"This is the most unusual restaurant I've ever seen."

"Have you congratulated Hector?"

"Um, no." Eric looked around the hall. "I couldn't find him."

"Come with me."

The place was so crowded that even Electra had a hard time finding Hector. Eric wasn't looking where he was going, but glancing at his sides, and once in a while pinching food from the trays. They had crossed half of the hall when Medea ran to Electra.

"El, it's time for the present," she said. "Hurry!"

"Present time?" Eric asked, swallowing a cheese canapé.

"We have prepared a present for Hector," Electra told him. "We have to get ready."

"What kind of present is that?"

"Oh, no time to explain now," Medea said in a haste. "Wait a bit, and see for yourself." She dragged Electra up the stairs.

"She's right," Electra said. "It's time already. Hector is near the candy machine with Jack." She then blew him a kiss and disappeared upstairs.

Eric found Hector and Jack by the candy machine, in the company of three pretty girls. A pile of boxes wrapped in colorful papers was lying on the table nearby.

"Happy birthday." Eric put a small box near the rest.

"Thank you." Hector smiled. "And as propriety demands, let me say that you shouldn't have to worry about a present."

"No worries. I got it from the Old Curiosity Shop. To be honest, I have no idea what those things inside the box are, but Pickering told me it's the best present for an adult blacksmith."

Jack snatched Eric's present from the table and tore off the wrap. There was a wooden box under the colored paper, and taking off the lid, Jack looked inside. "Hair pins made of fish bones?"

All three girls burst into laughter.

"Why that man keeps mocking me is beyond my understanding," Eric muttered. "Can't believe I paid for that!"

"By the way, do you know my girlfriends?" Hector asked him.

Eric stared at the girls that had surrounded the birthday boy from all sides.

"Lora, Clara, and Romola. Ladies, this is Eric O'Brian. And you better don't smile at him like that; his girlfriend is a witch."

Eric let out a chuckle, but the girls continued hugging Hector and laughing along. Three girlfriends? he was thinking, when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It was his father calling. The place was too noisy for a phone conversation, and Eric went outside. When he came back, the three witches were playing violins and singing for Hector:

"A blacksmith courted me

Nine months and better.

He fairly won my heart

Wrote me a letter.

With his hammer in his hand

He looked quite clever.

And if I was with my love

I'd live forever.

"But where is my love gone

With his cheeks like roses.

And his good black billycock on

Decked round with primroses.

I fear the shining sun

May burn and scorch his beauty.

And if I was with my love

I'd do my duty.

"Strange news is come to town

Strange news is carried.

Strange news flies up and down

That my love is married.

I wish them both much joy

Though they can't hear me.

And may God reward him well

For the slighting of me.

"Don't you remember when

You lay beside me.

And you said you'd marry me

And not deny me.

If I said I'd marry you

It was only to try you.

So bring your witness love

And I'll not deny you.

"No witness have I, none

Save God Almighty.

And may he reward you well

For the slighting of me.

Her lips grew pale and wan

It made a poor heart tremble.

To think she loved a one

And he proved deceitful.

"A blacksmith courted me

Nine months and better

He fairly won my heart

Wrote me a letter.

With his hammer in his hand

He looked quite clever.

And if I was with my love

I'd live forever."

The guests were swirling in a merry dance. Young and old, married or single, everyone had found a pair and was dancing, except Hector, who was sitting on a chair near the candy machine, laughing shyly, while his girlfriends were standing behind him like beautiful sentinels.

When the song ended, a cake with five tiers was carried into the hall, decked with pink crème and fresh fruits.

"Make a wish, my dear," Andromeda said when Hector stepped towards the sweet mountain with eighteen candles. He closed his eyes and blew out the candles. Just then the music started again, leading the guests to another dance. Electra and Ariadne ran to Eric and Jack.

"Shall we dance?" the girls asked, offering their hands.

As they were about to dash into the center of the hall, Andromeda put her hand on Jack's shoulder.

"My dear, are you feeling well?" she asked. "You seem pale to me."

"I'm fine, mom," he said, and all four joined the dancing couples, among which were Hector with Lora, Clara, and Romola, Castor and Pollux McKennits, Medea, and Cassandra and Raymond. The last couple never left each other's company and danced till the end of the party.

### 7. Boat Ride

Rainless evenings had become such a rarity in Hollow, that when the young people were unexpectedly blessed with warm weather, they couldn't miss the chance to have a boat ride.

"So what do you think about those couples?" Eric pointed to their friends in the boats.

"Couples? I see only one couple, and that is Cassie and Raymond."

"Tell me about them. How did they start dating?"

"Ah, that's a cute story. Raymond's little sister, Bonnie, has a cat named Rufus. He got sick and they took the cat to the vet hospital. Bonnie visited her cat every day, and Raymond accompanied her. Cassie was already working there, and he grew fond of her more with each day. When the cat recovered and Bonnie took him home, Raymond found any small excuse to visit the hospital. First, he didn't like the cat's meowing. Then he was worried about his appetite. On the fourth day, the cat seemed pale to him. This lasted for a week, until he finally asked Cassie out."

"Funny story," Eric said, rowing the oars. "And what do you think of Raymond?"

"I don't know." Electra looked at the boat that was carrying her sister and Raymond in the middle of the lake. "He seems to be fond of her and he's a nice fellow. And Cassie is totally in love, but..."

"But?"

"Oh, I don't know. He's twenty-one, rich, and used to live on the East Bank."

"Used to?"

"Raymond is the heir of Duchess Iphigenia. He grew up without knowing his grandmother, because many years ago his father—Robert Von Aringwen, fell in love with the miller's daughter and married her against Duchess Iphigenia's wish."

"That sounds romantic."

"Not as romantic as it seems. The old Dowager didn't forgive her son and deprived him of everything. Raymond's father lost the title and the wealth, and left the county of Ornshire. Several years ago they came to live in Hollow. A year ago Robert Von Aringwen died of illness, and his wife followed him shortly after."

"I didn't know that. Poor fellow."

"At least the end is happier than the beginning and the middle of this story." Electra glanced back at Raymond, who had bent over the boat and was spattering water at Cassandra, while she was laughing and trying to avoid the splashes.

"And how did it end?"

"Learning about her son's and his wife's deaths, the Duchess invited Raymond and Bonnie to live with her in the county. Raymond now splits his time between Hollow and Ornshire, but I'm sure soon he will permanently reside in the county."

"Seems a happy ending to me."

"For Raymond maybe. But not for us."

"Are you saying that because Raymond lived on the East Bank? You seem a bit biased; I live there too."

"I'm not biased, why am I constantly being called so?" Electra pouted. "I just don't know what's going on in his head. What does he want? He is twenty-one. He might have serious thoughts about Cassie, but she has just turned seventeen; she can't marry so soon."

Eric sniggered. "Sunshine, don't you say you're already thinking about Cassie's marriage. Maybe he hasn't even thought about that."

"How should I know? The only reason he comes to Hollow is to see her. He might take her away from us. And she is so much in love she may not even think twice."

Eric looked at Raymond and Cassandra splashing water at each other and laughing. "I think you're way ahead of time. It doesn't seem to me they are discussing their upcoming marriage."

Electra managed a smile, which came out mirthless and dry. The idea that Cassandra could leave Hollow, could leave their home and her sisters, and go to live in Duchess Iphigenia's residence, filled her with dread.

"What about Jack? Don't you consider him and Ariadne a couple?"

Electra shrugged. "I don't even know what to say about those two. They puzzle me the most. I think Ariadne is in love with him, though I may be wrong. Still, I can't call them a couple, because Jack"—Electra looked at her cousin—"he's always so serious, and seldom shows emotions... Did you know that your cousin broke his heart?"

Eric looked at her in bewilderment. "My cousin? Nora? Nora broke his heart?"

Electra nodded. "It was years ago. They were only children. I know he adored her, and I remember she was fond of him too, but then she refused to see him or talk to him, and poor Jack was left heartbroken."

"Tell me more about that," Eric said, astonished. "I can't believe Nora and Jack were—"

"Sweethearts. In love as much as children can be. He had built a treehouse for her, and they spent a lot of time there. Remind me to show you that house one of these days."

"Oh, I surely will. Unbelievable. She never ever told me that. I wonder what happened."

"The ban happened. Folks on the East Bank, obeying the Council's ban, ceased any communication with us."

"I see now why Uncle Albert is always so gloomy when he comes back from the McCormacks—they probably chide him because of me. I wonder how this whole story is going to end."

"I wonder that too," she said thoughtfully.

"And what about those two?" Eric pointed to Medea and Hector.

Electra gave out a short laugh. "No way they are a couple."

"Why not? They look nice together."

"Maybe. But Hector is our brother. We love him as much as we love Jack. He can never be a sweetheart for us. I'm sure of it."

"You might be sure about yourself, but don't speak for Medea."

"I am more confident about Medea than about me. She has never been interested in anyone. Medea, she's different, unlike any girl I have ever met, unlike anyone. She is... just different."

The sun began to set. Eric left the oars and settled himself at Electra's feet, admiring the beauty of the tawny sunset. The lake, surrounded by Mysterious Forest on one side, and by the snowy mountains on the other, reflected the emerald sky afire with the last rays of the withdrawing sun. When the sunlight disappeared from the horizon, the skies darkened, and the water, copying the cotton clouds above, resembled a gray mirror with an undistinguishable reflection. Electra noticed a sudden radiance under the water, and bent over, trying to see what blazed inside the lake, but whatever it was, the glow was already gone. Eric bent with her, then turned to Electra and looked into her eyes that seemed to have sheltered the vanished sunshine. He had never seen anything more beautiful. As he reached out to her lips, the necklace with a pendant around her neck unclasped and plopped into the lake. Electra clapped her hand over her breast and looked despairingly into the water.

"My medallion!"

Eric shoved his hand into the water, but the lake was too deep. He would have to jump into the water to find the necklace, and he was about to do that when Electra stopped him.

"Don't."

"I'll get it back."

"It's starting to rain; you can't jump into the water while under the rain."

She was right; fine drops were already hitting the surface of the lake, and the fellows were drawing their boats to the shore.

"Hey, sweethearts," Hector cried out. "Noticed the rain?"

Eric waved his hand and rowed the boat to the shore.

Next morning, when passing by the lake, Electra noticed familiar sneakers on the grass. After a few more steps she saw Eric in the water up to his waist, feeling the bottom with a long stick and looking for the pendant. Electra perched on a low cliff by the shore, but Eric was so absorbed in his searches he didn't notice her until she spoke.

"Be careful, mermaids might take you away."

He looked around and spotted Electra on the cliff. "What about the mermaids?"

"This lake is not called Mermaid's Pond for nothing. Don't stay long in the water, or they might drag you away."

At other times Eric might have considered her words a joke, but he remembered well the winter day and the freezing water. Electra giggled when he looked anxiously around. "Don't worry; they don't swim so close to the shore."

"Yes they do." He trudged to the cliff through the water. "Sorry, sunshine, but I can't find it. Maybe one of the mermaids has taken it away?"

"I highly doubt it." Electra giggled again.

Coming near, Eric leaned his wet hands on the rock where she was sitting.

"Get out of the water, you look pale. You may get sick, if you're not already."

"Would that upset you?"

"Of course it would! Come, get out and take a walk with me."

Eric cupped her cheek with his wet fingers, then pushed a red lock behind her ear. "Do you know that you're the most beautiful girl in the world?"

Her cheeks turned pink. "Get out of the water," she repeated, taking his hand.

"On one condition."

"What condition?"

"Kiss me," he said, stroking her cheek. "Otherwise, I'll stay in the water."

Electra bit her lips to kill her giggle.

"Then I'll catch a cold. Get sick. Die."

She laughed.

"I thought you'd be upset." Eric pouted.

"Don't worry, I won't let you die."

"You're doing that already. The more you wait, the colder I get."

"Instead of all this talking, you could have just asked me."

"Kiss me, please!" As Eric stretched up, Electra leaned down to his lips, but a sudden rain poured so heavily that she squealed and shrank back.

"Get out of the water, hurry!"

Eric swiftly pulled himself out of the water, and they hurried to the shore where he had left his sneakers. He snatched them from the ground, and without putting them on, grabbed Electra's hand and looked for a sanctuary from the heavy raindrops. The castle ruins were nearby, and there, under one of the half-destroyed arches, they found a cover to hide from the downpour. Eric let Electra go deeper inside the arch while he, still barefoot and with his wet jeans rolled up to his knees, stood at the entrance and gazed at the gray sky.

"This may take a while," he said, leaning his hands against the columns of the arch.

Electra looked at the sky from behind his shoulder. "I don't like this rain," she said, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Eric looked back at her. "I won't let anything happen to you." He dropped his head back and kissed her on the lips, and while they were kissing, a vibrant rainbow bloomed above the ruins and crossed the sky from one edge to the other.

### 8. Lash and Blood

Cassandra had been in the hospital since early morning. Dr. Robinson wasn't always there; sometimes he was called to the stables, to tend sick cows, sheep, and horses. She was waiting for Eric while putting a bandage on the paw of the wolf cub and singing under her breath:

"As I went out one May morning,

One May morning betime,

I met a maid from home had strayed,

Just as the sun did shine

"What makes you rise so soon, my dear,

Your journey to pursue?

Your pretty little feet they tread so sweet,

Strike off the morning dew."

Cassandra became silent when she heard someone enter the hospital. Next second, Eric peeped at the cub over her shoulder.

"Can I help you with him?" He collected the used syringe and pieces of bandage from the table.

"We're done. Now we need to wait for a few days and take him back to the woods."

"Should I take him to the ward?"

"Yes, please."

Eric wrapped his arms around the cub and paced to the ward. Cassandra went back to singing under her breath while washing the flasks and vials.

"How gloriously the sun doth shine,

How pleasant is the air;

I'd rather rest on my true love's breast

Than any other where.

"For I am thine and thou art mine

No man shall uncomfort thee.

We'll join our hands in wedded bands

And a-married we shall be."

She heard footsteps again and said with a smile, "Problems in the ward?" Then she turned around and stood petrified. It wasn't Eric. Dickens McCormack was standing before her, with a black German shepherd in his hands. Cassandra blanched. Dickens didn't seem pleased with her presence either. He frowned at her, then looked around the room, and was about to turn to the door, when Cassandra said, "What's wrong with the dog?"

"Where's Dr. Robinson?"

"He's not here, and if the dog needs help, I'll take care of him."

"I'll wait for the vet."

Cassandra felt relieved when Eric stepped in. "What are you doing here?" he asked, and approaching Cassandra, whispered to her, "Did he insult you?"

She shook her head. "The dog needs help."

"Then why won't he put him on the table so that you can have a look?"

"I'll wait for the vet."

"Just leave the dog and get out. We'll take care of him."

Dickens smirked. "I wouldn't even trust you to clean my boots, let alone touch my dog."

Eric would've hit him if Cassandra hadn't grabbed his hand. "Please," she whispered, "he's provoking you. Don't go down to his level."

Eric stepped back. "So, will you let us see what the problem is? Dr. Robinson is away. That dog must have a serious problem if you've brought him here. Are you going to let him suffer 'cause you can't get off your high horse?"

Without a word Dickens put the dog on the table.

"Poor thing," Cassandra said, examining the wound on the dog's belly. "Who has done this to him?"

"Just take care of him and ask no more," Dickens muttered.

"Just get out and wait outside."

Dickens stared at Eric without blinking. "I'll wait here."

Dr. Robinson returned while Cassandra was putting stitches on the dog. He examined the wound, then told her she could go out. "Go breathe some fresh air," he said, looking covertly at Dickens McCormack. "I'll finish it."

Cassandra eagerly obeyed. Being so close to a McCormack was always disconcerting. At least Eric was near, she was thinking, looking around the street. The weather was gloomy. Though it wasn't raining, the sky was gray, dark clouds had gathered above, and a cool wind was blowing and waving her hair. The morning had been brighter, and she wasn't dressed warm enough for the cool afternoon, but she preferred staying out in the cold rather than going back to the hospital while the McCormack was still there. She was just recovering from the unpleasant feeling his presence had caused her when the sheriff drove his open carriage down the street. Cassandra examined the mask over the half of his face, wondering what was beneath it, and why Sheriff De Roy always carried that angry look.

In the middle of the road something happened to the sheriff's horse: it stopped and refused to move. Sheriff hit the reins several times, but the horse didn't budge. Then De Roy took his whip and lashed the horse. It neighed in agony and still didn't stir. Sheriff whipped him again and again, but the horse, whinnying aloud, wouldn't move. When De Roy lashed his horse once again, Cassandra ran to the carriage and tried to take the whip out of his hand.

"He's scared of something, no need to whip him like that!" she cried out, grabbing the haft of the whip.

De Roy shoved her back, and when she made another attempt, the whip whistled in the air and stung her shoulder. Cassandra shrieked and collapsed across the road. De Roy raised his hand, and when she tried to get up, he lashed her once more.

"Damned witch!"

The whip rose again. She heard how it thrashed the flesh, but didn't feel pain this time. Then she heard Eric wince, and felt his body over hers. Peering into the alley from under his arm she saw the passersby gape at them. When De Roy was about to hit again, some of the townsfolk at last recovered their senses enough to react, ran to the carriage, and tried to stop him. The horse began kicking and trying to get free. Still covered by Eric, Cassandra closed her eyes and clenched her fingers into a fist, chanting a spell under her breath. The harness broke and crashed to the ground.

"Run, Jupiter!" she shouted, and the horse darted away.

The horse's escape angered the sheriff so much that he prepared to send another blow into Eric and Cassandra, but Eric managed to grab her by the shoulders and pull her back. The whip shrilled and hit the side of the carriage. Eric and Cassandra hurried back into the hospital, and to their luck De Roy didn't follow them.

### 9. Admonition

The McCormacks' maid escorted Albert O'Brian to the living room, where Peter McCormack was waiting for him. He was sitting on a velvet couch, holding a cigar in his one hand and a sheet of sealed and signed paper in the other.

"Peter, what has happened?" Albert asked as soon as the maid closed the door behind him.

"First of all, hello." Peter took a puff on the cigar, then pointed to the armchair. "Greeting is good manners and etiquette. And following the treaties is another way to show good manners as well as the existence of principles."

Albert sat down in the armchair. "Peter, I can guess what you will talk about, but before you say anything, listen to me. The boy is my nephew, he has his own parents; I am not his father, I can't tell him what to do—"

"Yes you can. You did that last year. You can, you have the right. He's your guest, and obeying the wishes of the host in whose house you're living in is another example of good manners. I see that ill manners run in the O'Brian family."

"He's not a little child; I can't control him twenty-four hours a day. I am already having trouble controlling my own children."

"Are you?" Peter asked, his eyes fixed on his guest. "What is it with your children? Are they disobeying you? What's wrong with you, Albert? Why are you losing control over the people who live in your house?"

"Because they are growing up. It was easier when our children were younger, but now they are capricious, they disobey, they ask questions—"

"My children never disobey. They never ask questions. They trust me unconditionally. And they know that if their father has done something, then it's for their own good. Look at this paper, Albert. Read it, for I see you have forgotten what's written here. No communication with the witches! You signed it. We all signed it. We had a reason. We care for our children. The witch is cunning, Albert. Remember Colin! Remember the others!"

"It's about us and our children. Eric is not my child. I answer for him, but I can't make him do something he doesn't want to."

"That is such a bad excuse. You think I can't see that you're trying to fool me? If you can't control him, then send him away."

"I can't, I've promised my cousin."

"So now your promise means a lot. But the signed treaty doesn't have the same value to you. Mind you, it was also a promise. Your promise! You signed it, you became one of us, and you agreed to help the Hunters if they appear."

"I signed it only because I was sure they wouldn't be back."

"What makes you so sure?"

"They have nothing to do in Hollow. This place is safe now. We don't have any kind of black magic happening in the town."

"And again, what makes you so sure? Or don't you notice the way the weather behaves? Doesn't it remind you of anything?"

Albert paled. "Peter, don't continue. You have children, I have children; we are wiser now, and we can't let anything like that happen again."

"Our children are perfectly safe, my friend. At least, the ones whose parents follow the treaty."

Albert bounded to his feet. "Are you threatening my children?"

"Calm down, I never said anything like that. I am telling you what consequences the disobedience might bring. I'll give you some time to think. I hope you won't disappoint me."

Albert opened and closed his mouth, as if trying to say something and not finding the words. In the end, he turned sharply to the door and left without a goodbye.

Caitlin McCormack, having entered the living room at the end of the conversation, frowned at Albert, and turning to her husband, said, "Peter, you were too soft with him. You should have been stricter."

Peter gave her an ambiguous look. There was something hateful and abhorring in his eyes, but Caitlin was looking out the window and didn't see that glance.

"Why, Peter? Why were you so soft with him? Those witches have crossed the border. I hope another witch hunt will put them into their place."

Peter McCormack snatched one of his glass figurines and hurled it into the wall where his wife was standing by. The glass shattered into pieces. Caitlin screamed and turned around.

"Don't you dare tell me what to do!" Peter shouted at her.

"Oh, Peter, I didn't mean to, I was just angry with Albert—"

"Stop being so stupid!"

Caitlin squeezed her fingers and bit her lips. Tears of fear glistened in her eyes. "I am sorry, Peter, I didn't mean to."

"You never had brains, and you think you can teach me what to do and how to talk? Woman, don't you ever dare talk about the witch hunt with me!"

Dickens entered the room, looked at his tearful mother, then stared at his furious father.

"Take your mother and leave the room!" Peter demanded.

"What happened?"

Peter smirked. "Are you as stupid as your mother? I said take her and leave the room. Get out!"

Dickens approached his mother. "Let's go," he told her.

She nodded, still sobbing, and they both left Peter alone. He leaned his back against the bookcase, buried his face in his hands, and gave out a long, heavy sigh.

### 10. Arrest

Cassandra asked Dr. Robinson and Eric not to tell anything to her family about being whipped by De Roy, but both disagreed. Eric was shaking with anger, so much that Dr. Robinson had to give him a double dose of sedatives. The veterinarian wanted to take them to the hospital, but both of his interns assured him they were feeling better after he had washed their wounds with antiseptic. As soon as the last idlers left the square, Dr. Robinson asked Eric to take Cassandra home.

When they told her family what had happened, Andromeda threw herself at her niece. "My little girl," she cried out, pressing Cassandra to her breast. "My poor child."

"How did it happen?" Colin asked, looking at Cassandra's neck and shoulder.

"I am sorry, Uncle, I should have avoided him, but he was beating Jupiter. I had to stop it."

"Jupiter?"

"The horse. He was scared of something, and De Roy began lashing him. Then I intervened, and he threw all his anger at me. Poor Eric covered me with his body and got whipped too."

"I am sorry, my boy. And thank you for standing up for her," Colin said, and paced to the door.

"Colin! Colin, no, don't go there!" Andromeda shouted.

"De Roy has completely lost his mind. What does he think? That he can lash our child, and we shall behave as if nothing happened?"

"I'll come with you," Jack said.

"Stay with your mother and sisters," Colin told him, and dashed out.

Andromeda called after him, but he didn't come back. She turned to her son. "Jack, go find Shay, or Alan, and tell them to help your father. De Roy will have him arrested."

"I am sorry, I didn't want to cause so much trouble," Cassandra said as Jack ran out of the hall.

Andromeda hugged her and kissed her brow. "It's not your fault, my love. You did what was right."

Electra took Eric into her arms. "How do you feel? Shall I bring you something?" She put her palm on his whipped back.

"I'm fine," he said. "I only got one lash, while Cassie received a whole whipping."

Cassandra was taken to another room, where Andromeda could have a better look at her wounds. She told Electra to bring Eric to the Potion Room in ten minutes, but he said he didn't need anything. "Dr. Robinson took care of me," Eric told her. "I'm fine. Go, take care of your sister."

"Aunt and Medea will do that," Electra said. "I want to stay with you." She put her head on his shoulder. "Thank you."

Eric threw his arms around her and pecked her temple. "I love Hollow, but the townsfolk are so cruel. I had never seen anything like that in my life. He's a grown-up man, a sheriff; he should be wise and honest and just. What he did was immoral. And everyone was standing around and gaping at us. At least some of them helped us in the end."

"They are scared of De Roy."

"I have to admit that I'm scared of him too, but it didn't stop me."

"Because you're our friend."

"Something tells me I'd do that for anyone."

"I know," she said, and reached out to his lips.

Everyone returned to the fireplace hall, waiting for Colin and Jack. Eric didn't want to leave the girls, and was standing by the window, looking out at the hill that led to the town.

"Eric, your tea is getting cold."

"Thank you, sunshine, but I don't want tea."

"Drink it, my dear," Andromeda said. "It will soothe you; you are too stressed."

"Thanks, Mrs. Fitzroy, but nothing can soothe me unless De Roy is punished."

"I wouldn't have much hope about that," Medea said. "Who will punish him? The mayor? The judge? He himself? That's ridiculous." She stood up and marched up and down the hall. "I am beginning to hate this place. One day I will leave Hollow and never be back."

"Don't say that," Electra said. "It's not Hollow's fault. Bad people are everywhere."

"She's right," Cassandra said. "You can't leave only because some people won't behave nicely. There are still the ones who are not bad."

"How can you say that?" Medea yelled. "Cassie, you have been whipped over nothing! You are not a murderer or a thief—"

"I'm a witch."

"It's not a reason enough to be whipped!"

"You're right. But apparently De Roy thinks otherwise."

"That's what I'm saying! The sheriff and half of the townsfolk think they can whip us only because we were born this way. You hadn't done anything bad, just tried to protect the horse. And what did you get? Lashes from the sheriff and no support from the townsfolk."

"Eric helped me."

"He's not one of the townspeople."

"Other people came to help, too."

"After he hit you, then me, then tried to hit us again," Eric said.

"It's because people were shocked. It was unexpected. But then they came to help us."

"I wouldn't say they were helping us, Cassie; rather, they were stopping De Roy."

"It's the same—"

"No, it's not," Medea said. "Eric is right. A girl is lashed, and they don't even move."

"They are scared of De Roy."

"Why are you defending them?" Medea asked with irritation. "I don't understand you, Cass."

"All I'm saying is that not everyone is bad. Only because they didn't rush to help us doesn't mean they wanted us to be hurt. I am telling you, I saw their faces. There are people on the East Bank that don't wish us harm, which means that not the whole half of the town hates us. It's only four or five families, and people don't even like them much."

"What you are saying is a lie. Four or five families? Not everyone likes them? You're just looking for an excuse for them."

"Why would I look for an excuse?" Cassandra almost cried.

"Because you're trying to convince yourself that the Easterners can be good. Because you're in love with one of them."

"Medea, don't bring Raymond into this," Electra told her.

Medea was about to say something when a blast of thunder interrupted her. For some time the rain and the wind were making the only sounds; everyone else was silently staring at the windows. Eric noticed a flicker of light outside. Three silhouettes with lanterns crossed the courtyard and walked to the door. It was Mr. Pickering, Jack, and Hector. As they entered the fireplace hall, Andromeda bolted to her feet.

"Alan, what happened? Where is my husband?"

"He has been arrested," Mr. Pickering said. "He punched the sheriff, and they arrested him. That was something he should've expected. When Jack came after Shay and me, Colin was already at the prefecture. He had a bad argument with De Roy, hit him, and got arrested. We demanded that De Roy let him go, another argument started, and Shay was arrested too."

Andromeda reached out to Hector and squeezed his hand. "Everything will be fine," she told him. Hector nodded.

"I then went to see Judge Alistair," Mr. Pickering continued.

"Judge Alistair? Alan, did you really think he would help us?"

"I knew he wouldn't, but my intention was not to ask his help; I got him to offer us a deal."

"A deal?"

"I told the judge what De Roy had done in front of so many people and that we should be calling a Council meeting and demanding his resignation. Of course he couldn't let that happen, so he was forced to offer a deal. He'll convince De Roy to let Colin and Shay free, and we shall not demand the sheriff's resignation."

"Colin will not agree. He won't let De Roy get away with this."

"Then you'll have to convince him. If it were only him, I don't think we'd be able to do that, but Shay's been arrested, too. It will force Colin to accept the deal. That was the best idea I could come up with," Pickering said in his usual low voice. He looked at Cassandra. "I am sorry, sweetheart, for what has happened, and that I made this deal, but I couldn't come up with anything better."

"Don't worry about me, Uncle Alan. I want Uncle to come home. And I am so sorry for your father, Hector."

"It's not your fault, Cassie," Hector said.

"Yes, dear, it's not your fault." Andromeda gave her another hug. "When will they be released?" she asked Alan Pickering.

"Judge Alistair will speak to De Roy, but we all know how stubborn that man is. Might take a day or two. I'm sure he'll let them go. First, Judge Alistair is an authority over him, and second, De Roy doesn't want to lose his position. I'm afraid he's getting ready for something."

"For something?"

Mr. Pickering stood up and looked at the youngsters. "I think the children are tired, they better go to bed."

"Yes," Andromeda agreed. "It's bedtime."

It was getting late, and though Hector was going to stay in the blue castle, Eric had to return home. The boys accompanied him to the great bridge, and on their way, Jack gave Eric another diary.

When he returned home, it was already midnight. Uncle Albert was about to throw a tantrum, but when he heard what had happened, the first thing he wanted to do was rush to the sheriff's house and demand explanations. Both Eric and Riona were quick to keep him back and convince him not to do that. Eric reminded him what De Roy had done to Colin and Shay, and assured him that not much harm had been done to him. Albert was by the door when Eric felt dizzy and almost collapsed. Riona held him and helped him to sit down. Albert wanted to go after a doctor, but Eric again asked him to stay at home. Riona told Albert to do as Eric asked to avoid putting him under more stress, then took Eric to the bathroom to take care of his injury. Eric told her that Dr. Robinson had already done that, but she insisted and washed his wound with an antiseptic.

"I am so sorry," Riona said, applying iodine to the weal on his back. "What kind of memories will you have of us and this town after this? This was such a terrible thing to happen." She examined his torso, looking for other wounds. "What's this?" she asked, squinting at two red dots on his chest.

Eric looked down. "I don't know." He shrugged. "Insect bites, maybe."

Eric thanked Riona and went upstairs to his room. He sat down on the bed and for a very long time pondered over what had happened that day. Until today, all those stories, the ones he had heard of and the ones he had read about, seemed distant, untrue, just a flight of imagination. But today he realized at last how great was the danger.

### 11. Expectations

Sheriff De Roy had locked himself in his study and was staring at an open bookcase filled with paperbacks. He was sure something was wrong. De Roy was precise and methodical even when it came to organizing books, but volumes XI and IX were not in their correct places. De Roy pulled the other books out, put them on the table and looked at the hidden safe. It was locked. He put the volumes back in their places and closed the bookcase.

Someone knocked at the door. Sheriff opened it and looked down at his old governess.

"Master Gilbert, the judge and the Council are here."

"Tell me, Dora. Have you touched those books?" De Roy pointed to the bookcase.

"I only dust them. I never take the books out."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Master Gilbert, I am." The old woman's wrinkled face remained calm.

"Tell them I will come in a minute."

De Roy again glanced at the bookcase, pondered over something, and went to the living room, where Judge Alistair and the Council members were waiting for him. The Council consisted of five people, all of whom lived on the East Bank. The Council's purpose was making laws and regulations, and appointing the judge, the sheriff, and the mayor. When the witch hunt happened, and the town was divided into East and West sides, two of the members who lived on the West Bank, left the Council due to irreparable disagreements. Peter McCormack's elder brother Magnus, a wealthy landlord, and Caspar O'Neal, the owner of Hollow's Helicon Hotel, replaced them. The other three members were Louis Baldric, owner of stables, Manfred Van Balen, a winemonger, and Derek Iron, who possessed Hollow's lumber mill.

Judge Alistair told De Roy why they had come.

"That's ridiculous," the sheriff said. "I was given an opportunity to at last arrest Fitzroy. As a bonus, I even arrested the blacksmith. Now you want me to let them go?"

"That is a necessary sacrifice," Judge Alistair said, poking the parquet with his silver cane. "I may not like Pickering, but I have accepted his offer. You know well that the townspeople can demand the sheriff's resignation from the Council. You have already acted careless enough, whipping the witch in front of so many witnesses."

"There were mostly Easterners."

"Mostly," the judge said in his hoarse voice.

"I will not release them!"

Alistair got up, leaning on his cane, and walked to the window. "It's too early, Gilbert. We have been waiting patiently. Don't spoil everything now."

"He's right," Magnus McCormack spoke. "You're playing with fire. We have been patient for so many years. We have been waiting for them, and now, when everything points to the Hunters' comeback, you want to risk everything?"

"Fitzroy is at last in my hands. For so long I had been waiting for this chance, and now you want me to let him go? Ridiculous!"

"Letting him go means playing safe," Caspar O'Neal said. He took off his glasses, wiped them with a cloth, and put them back on his aquiline nose. "Listen to the judge. He knows better."

"Look out the window, Sheriff," Louis Baldric told him. "I'm sure you see the same as us. The weather has changed. Animals have become sick. Rain and lightning all the time. They are coming back. Just have a bit of patience."

"What if this all is just a coincidence? What if the Hunters aren't coming back, and by releasing Fitzroy and MacGavin, I will lose such an opportunity?"

"They will come back," the judge said, staring out into the street wet with the recent rain. "I know they are coming back. It's been thirteen years already that I have been waiting for them. Ever since they disappeared, I knew their job was left unfinished. I ordered the execution of so many witches, but I always knew some fled, and they came back when the Hunters were gone. The witches are cunning." The judge glanced at those present in the room. All eyes were fixed on him. "If we make a mistake now, all our efforts might be wasted."

The Council members nodded obediently, but De Roy was still hesitant.

"Listen to him," Manfred Van Balen said. "Judge Alistair is the wisest among us. Release Fitzroy and MacGavin. Let them think we gave in. Lull their vigilance."

"You're asking me an impossible thing. Those witches killed my father. I swore revenge."

"And they also killed my son," Louis Baldric muttered. "But I still don't rush with decisions; I still think and act carefully. Because if I make a mistake, my son's death will never be avenged."

"What do you expect me to do?" De Roy asked after thinking for some time.

"Tomorrow morning, you will let them go," Judge Alistair said.

The sheriff leaned his hands on the table and looked gloomily at the judge. "Do you know that they have come back? Not the Hunters. The witches."

"More witches?" Caspar O'Neal exclaimed. "Are you sure?"

"I am. They are back to the depths of the West Bank; some have returned to their abandoned houses and stores. I know that, though I haven't been in that part of the town for so many years."

"If that's true, then I think you ought to go there and see what's happening on the West Bank," Louis Baldric said.

The sheriff glanced at the fat man, thinking how stupid he was. "Do you expect me to go to the part of the town where so many witches used to live? Do you think I would come back alive?"

"Take your officers with you," Louis Baldric said, once again proving to De Roy his stupidity.

"How do you expect me to act? Take my officers and search the West Bank? Do you think that the officers can resist all the evil that might inhabit there? If so, then why do we need the Hunters? Why don't we just go to the West Bank and arrest anyone we suspect?"

"So what is our plan?" Manfred Van Balen asked.

"Our plan is this," Alistair said. "Sheriff lets the witch's husband and the blacksmith go. You and your families"—he pointed to the Council members—"keep starting frays and arguments. And we continue collecting money to use for bribing the townsfolk when the Hunters are back. You all are wealthy people; money is not a big deal for you. When the Hunters return, we shall have enough gold ready."

### 12. Art School

Eric had been wandering between the narrow alleys of the West Bank for the last hour, looking for the Art School. In the morning, he had received a note from Electra, asking him to come to the school and help her. She hadn't been specific about the kind of help she needed. Eric was sure it had something to do with moving the easels or a piece of furniture, or maybe helping her to pacify her pupils.

After an hour Eric found the place he was looking for and entered a one-story house with an arched door flanked by tall paintbrushes. A dozen girls aged eight to ten were sitting in front of their easels and looking at their art teacher.

"Oh, there he is." Electra sighed with relief when Eric entered.

"Hello girls," Eric said, passing between the easels. "I would've come earlier if you had given me the correct address."

"It was correct."

"It wasn't. It took me an hour to find you. You had written a wrong number on the paper."

"It wasn't wrong. I wrote Peach Alley 23."

"It was 33."

"I had written 23."

"Then you have bad handwriting."

"Until now you have been reading my writing perfectly," Electra said, and turned to her pupils. "Let me introduce you to my girls. Ladies, this is Eric. My friend."

"Her boyfriend," he corrected her, making the girls laugh.

"Yes, my boyfriend. And he has come to help us."

"But not with painting." Eric shook his head.

"So you don't want to help us?"

"Oh, sure, why not? I will if I can, but be warned: I'm not the best painter. Actually, I'm the worst you could get."

"Don't worry, you don't have to paint. We need a model."

"A what?"

"Come, I'll show you what to do."

Electra took Eric to the room next door, and after some persuasion and promises of rewarding kisses, they returned to the room with the girls. All of them dissolved into giggles when they saw Eric wrapped in a long toga.

"I told you this was a bad idea."

"Today the girls learnt about the art of Ancient Rome, and we were supposed to paint a Roman citizen, but last week we broke Aurelio and needed a model urgently."

"Aurelio?"

"It was the statue," one of the girls said. "We broke him last week. Poor Aurelio's head and hands smashed on the floor."

"Now I'm sensing danger," Eric jested.

"Don't worry, I will protect you." Electra giggled, then told the girls to take their pencils. "What is the first thing we need to pay attention to?"

"The light," the girls answered.

"Then?"

"The silhouette."

"That's right."

While Electra talked about Eric's face, silhouette, and the light that was falling on him through the window, he couldn't help but chuckle. He was thinking of how funny the scene might look from the outside, with him in a long white toga and the little girls trying to paint him as a Roman citizen.

"Will you stop laughing?" Electra scolded him. "You're distracting the girls."

Eric chuckled again. "Sorry, this is so funny."

"There is nothing funny in the history of Ancient Rome."

"My beautiful historian, how strict you are!" He pecked her on the cheek.

The girls giggled, and Electra blushed. "Not in front of the children," she whispered.

"But what's the problem?" Eric faked surprise. "It's not like I did this." And he gave her a smacking kiss on the lips. The girls burst out laughing again. "I only did this." He again pecked her on the cheek.

The girls tittered louder. Because Eric was trying to hug Electra while she stood next to him tutoring her pupils, she had to give him a spear to hold. The spear didn't help, as Eric was constantly moving and trying to kiss her, making the girls laugh harder.

"Oh, can you stop moving and keep quiet for a second? You're a model, after all!" Electra exclaimed, tousling his hair.

"Alright, I promise I won't move anymore, but when we finish this we're going to have something to eat, because I'm starving."

Electra promised they would go to Cauldron and Broom and have a snack, and it calmed Eric for some time. He managed to stand still for five minutes and then began rambling again. In the end, Electra sent him to the room next door to dress. While Eric was putting his shirt on, he felt the dizziness again and had to lean his hand against the wall for support. He sat down near the table littered with palettes and brushes, took a deep breath, and blaming the weakness on the hunger, dressed up.

Electra said they weren't going to stay long at Cauldron and Broom. She went to the kitchen and soon came out with a wicker basket full of snacks. Then she took him to a place in the forest not far from their castle. There stood a treehouse with a wooden stairway, built on a big oak. The small house was quadrangular, with a flat roof, a round window, and a door that was hanging on a broken hinge. There was also a rope bridge that connected the house with the nearest tree.

"Is this the treehouse you told me about?" Eric asked, going inside and looking around. The place was nice but dusty, with cobwebs in the corners.

"It is."

"Do you think we should be trespassing? What if Jack finds out? He may not like it."

"I don't think Jack has been here since forever. Once in a while the girls and I come and clean up the place, I don't even know why. Maybe we just don't want it to become derelict and broken."

"Or maybe you always knew that one day you'd bring your boyfriend to a romantic picnic in this house," Eric said, observing the walls, the wooden furniture, and the colorful pillows on the green carpet.

Electra sat on the carpet in the center of the only room and beckoned Eric to join her. "It would be more romantic if I had come here in the morning and cleaned all the cobwebs."

Eric sat beside her and took a sandwich from the basket. "So, your brother built this house?"

"Not really. He was young then and wouldn't have managed to build a house like this. Uncle helped him a lot; or rather, Uncle built it while Jack helped. Oh, he was so enthusiastic about this house. He wanted it to look like those houses deep in Mysterious Forest, the ones where the dryads live. But what he had envisioned was massive and required a lot of labor and time. Uncle couldn't spend so much time on the treehouse, so they came up with this small hut."

While Electra spoke, Eric took another look around. The place was cozy, with a small coffee table, round paintings, and a mirror with a silver frame. Eric noticed a name carved on the wall.

"Elora? Who's that?"

"Make a guess." Electra poured cherry juice into their cups. "Would you like another sandwich, with cheese and mushrooms?"

Eric took the sandwich and looked out the window. The day was misty, and the depths of the forest were shrouded in darkness. He sat back by Electra, who was now setting dessert on the carpet. She took out two strawberry pies and two waffles with cream and placed them on the tablecloth.

"I like our little picnic," Eric said. "Maybe we can come here more often? It's a real pity this nice house is abandoned."

Electra smiled and gave him a heart-shaped pie.

"I wonder why Jack doesn't come here. He could invite Ariadne to this house."

"Jack and Ariadne?" Electra asked dubiously.

"Don't tell me you can't see that."

"You might be right, though I'm not really sure. I mean—oh, I don't know."

"Do you see a problem?"

"I don't know. You're right—Ariadne seems to be totally absorbed by Jack, but I'm not sure about him."

"You think he could break her heart?"

"I'm afraid of that. I love them both dearly, but I don't know if Jack cares for her as much as she cares for him, and yes, I'm afraid he might break her heart."

They stayed in the treehouse till evening, talking about their friends, Colin and Shay's release from the prefecture's prison, and the Chocolate Fair, which would be taking place in a week. They chatted until Eric remembered he had to be at the Old Curiosity Shop. Putting the leftovers into the basket, Eric and Electra left the treehouse.

### 13. Unexpected Revelation

Raymond had promised Cassandra to take her on a ride in his carriage after work. She was waiting for him in the hospital when Dickens brought his bandaged dog for examination. To Cassandra's relief, Dr. Robinson was present, and she felt less awkward than she would have if she were alone with the McCormacks' aggressive son.

While Cassandra and Dr. Robinson applied a new bandage, Dickens stood behind and didn't speak a single word. A few times Cassandra turned towards the shelves stocked with medications, and noticed his stern glance on her. She thought he was probably enjoying the sight of the scars left on her neck and shoulder by the sheriff's whip. Or maybe he was angry that she was touching his dog, but she didn't care.

In the evening, Raymond brought Cassandra back to the blue castle. He was leaving Hollow for a week, and was supposed to be back on tournament day. "Just save a couple of chocolate rabbits for me," he told her. "I'll have them when I'm back. And don't be sad, my sweetheart, it's only for a week."

"I am missing you already." She hugged Raymond and for a very long time didn't want to let him go.

"You will have so many things to do at the fair that the time will pass quickly, and meanwhile, I'll take Bonnie back to Ornshire and come back to you." Raymond at last tore himself from her embrace, but a second later took her back in his arms. "Oh, Cassie, I can't wait for the day... But wait, I've got a present for you." He took a parcel from the carriage and gave it to her. "Open it."

She tore the wrapping and examined the tome on both sides. "Animal Biology! How did you know I was searching for this book?"

"Because when you talk, I always pay attention." Raymond put his hands on her shoulders and once again bestowed her with his beautiful smile. "Grandmother has problems with her health. When she feels better, I am going to talk to her."

"About what?"

"About us—me and you."

Cassandra's eyes turned wide like saucers.

"What is it?" Raymond chuckled. "You were not expecting to hear that?"

For some seconds she was lost for words, then she tried to speak, but nothing came to mind. Instead, Cassandra bit her lips and continued to stare at Raymond.

"Alright, you seem too startled." Raymond chuckled again. "We'll talk when I'm back." He kissed her goodbye and left the courtyard. Cassandra was hoping to talk to her sisters about her conversation with Raymond, but she wasn't expecting to find all her friends in the fireplace hall. Ariadne and Medea were sitting on the carpet, Jack was near the window, Hector was leaning against the mantelpiece, and Eric and Electra were sitting on the couch, holding hands. They were discussing something, and when Cassandra entered the hall, Jack said, "Here comes the animal lover. Cassie, tell us if the animals have warned you of anything."

"I can't say much. Just the same thing I've been saying all this time: something worries them. Sometimes they are scared, but all they say is that the weather is changing. I don't know what that means." She sat by Medea and Ariadne on the carpet.

"The weather is changing," Jack muttered. "We know that. And we also know it was changing thirteen years ago. Sometimes animals died, but most importantly, the townsfolk began acting strangely. They turned aggressive. I hear about arguments and fights all the time."

"I haven't heard about fights," Cassandra said.

"That's because you're either in the hospital or strolling with Raymond," Jack said. "But don't forget that one of the incidents involved you and Eric. And in most of the arguments, the McCormacks, the Baldrics, or the Van Balens were involved. I think my point is clear."

"It's indeed clear," Hector said. "They are up to something."

"Maybe we could help with ideas if you gave us the diaries to read?"

Everyone in the hall stared at Medea.

"What diaries?" Electra asked.

"She's raving," Jack said.

"Stop lying! I don't only have great eyesight, but good ears, and brains to think. Why won't you share with your sisters the content of those diaries? I'm sure we could find out something. Do you think we are stupid? No more than you, Hector, and Eric."

Electra turned to Eric. "Is she telling the truth? There are diaries, and you have read them?"

Eric pouted and looked away. Not receiving an answer from him, the girls looked at Hector, then at Jack.

"Jack, why would you hide them from us?" Cassandra asked. "Medea has a point; we can help."

Eric tried to lend Jack a helping hand. "Girls," he said. "If Jack hasn't given you the diaries or hasn't told you anything about them, then he thinks they are of no importance."

"Listen, I didn't tell you about them because they are not cute stories; they are gruesome, violent, and depressing."

"What makes you think we can't handle them?"

"Medea, what makes you so inquisitive?"

"It's not only her, Jack," Electra said. "We all are curious. We all want to know what's going on."

"Why won't you just trust me? I'm your brother. If I'm not saying something, it means I have reasons for doing that."

"I am sure Jack has reasons to keep the diaries from us," Ariadne said. "And I suppose that we all have already understood what the reason is."

"Oh, stop it, Ariadne," Medea said. "You will always find a reason to defend him."

"I'm not defending him. All I'm saying is that I think he is right about not giving us those diaries. If they are about the Hunt—"

"Of course they are about the Hunt! Why else would he hide them from us? He thinks we're too soft and can't handle gruesome stories or the shocking truth, but what he doesn't understand is that our imaginations have pictured any possible barbarity throughout these years, and we're ready for anything!"

"Alright, Medea, you're becoming aggressive," Jack told her.

"So is this what the people on the East Bank want to achieve? Disarray. Suspicion. Distrust. People are fighting. We are fighting all the time."

"Calm down, El, we're not fighting all the time," Medea said.

"More than we used to," Electra countered.

"I don't want to see anybody fighting," Jack said. "I admit I was hiding those diaries from you, and I'm still not going to give them to you—" Medea tried to protest, but Jack stopped her. "I won't give you the diaries, because, as I said, they are gruesome and upsetting. However, Hector and Eric and I will tell you what we've learnt from those diaries and what we think will be happening soon." Medea again tried to interrupt, but Jack didn't let her speak. "The weather will change for the worse. Animals will behave strangely. People will argue and fight. There will be much hate, lies, and gossip. This all will lead to a big problem, because every time the town sinks into this kind of mess, they come back."

"They?" Ariadne asked.

"The Hunters. The Dark Men. The Executioners."

When everyone became silent, Medea raised her hand.

"What is it?" Jack asked.

"I have a question."

"Well, go on."

"Thank you, you're too kind," she mocked him, then added, "Where did you get those diaries from?"

"Trust me, you don't need to know that."

"And still?"

"Please be a good girl and don't ask."

"Jack!" she yelled. "You're not letting us read them, so at least feed my curiosity and tell me where you got them from."

Jack pressed his lips together and looked at Hector. He shrugged and shook his head. The girls turned to Eric.

"Don't look at me, I have no idea where those diaries come from."

"Listen, the less you know, the better you'll sleep," Hector said.

"Oh, no, no. You're keeping too many secrets from us. That's enough. You said yourself that you don't want to see us fighting, so at least be so kind as to tell us where you got these diaries from," Medea demanded.

Jack sat down and buried his face in his palms. He then raised his eyes and looked at his sisters. "From the sheriff's house."

~ * ~

It was getting late and Eric had to return home. On his way, all he thought about were the diaries. He couldn't believe that Jack and Hector had been sneaking into sheriff's house and stealing the diaries from his study. For almost an hour everyone sat still, without saying a word, while Jack and Hector told them about the mirror in the sheriff's house, which was the twin of the one in the room of the Lady of Shallot. They had found it out a long time ago, driven by the curiosity to learn what places they could visit through that mirror. For the past months, the fellows had been using the magical mirror to sneak into sheriff's house and steal the diaries. De Roy and his late father had confiscated anything that mentioned the witch hunt and had been keeping those papers in their house. Jack and Hector related how they got into the sheriff's study, how they opened the locked shelves with a picklock, then began describing De Roy's rooms in all detail. The girls felt as apprehensive as if they were in the sheriff's house that very moment and would be caught at any time. Jack and Hector tried to ease their fears with comical stories about sitting in De Roy's armchair or lying down on his couch and then hiding behind the doors when one of the servants would hear noise and come to check the place.

"There's this young lady, I think her name is Anabeth, she's a cook in De Roy's house. Once she almost stumbled on us in the dark," Jack said, laughing.

"Another time sheriff's groom appeared in the corridor," Hector said. "What do you think he was doing at night in the house?" he asked Jack.

"I think he was stealing something." Jack sniggered. "De Roy's servants are as good as him. But seeing those two in the dark wasn't as scary as meeting the Cerberus."

"Cerberus?" the girls asked.

"Sheriff's governess, old Dora. Now that's a scary hag!"

"A creepy gramma," Hector continued. "Especially in the dark. Her footsteps make no sound, ears hear everything, and she carries a huge chandelier in her bony hand, which even I would have trouble lifting up."

The fellows continued the stories about the sheriff's house and his household servants, laughing and jesting in-between, but their stories were amusing only for Eric, who couldn't stop chuckling, while the terrified girls told them to never do that again.

Musing about his friends' adventures, Eric reached home. Albert and Riona were in the living room, and though they were trying to talk quietly, Eric could tell that they were arguing again.

He went to his room and got into bed. The disturbing thoughts returned and took over his mind, torturing him for long hours, until he finally sunk into sleep. In the middle of the night, he woke up from a sound near the open window. Something quietly crept inside. Half asleep, Eric tried to move, but felt too much drowsiness to fully wake. He barely managed to raise his heavy eyelids to see a blurred image above his face. She smiled sweetly, her face so dear and eyes so soft. Eric smiled back and closed his eyes. His lips whispered her name, and his head began spinning. He felt the heaviness again; something was pressing his chest and making breathing hard, and the giddiness was unbearable. Eric couldn't open his eyes, but he could feel the vision's hair tickling his neck and chest. Then his hands and feet became weaker, until the lethargic feeling took over him, and Eric fell asleep.

### 14. Chocolate Fair

The next days passed by without any incident, and the only upsetting occurrence was the rainy weather. While getting ready for the fair, the witches asked for sunshine so much that their request was eventually fulfilled, and on the day of the fair, the sun was shining brightly in the cloudless sky.

In the morning, the girls and Andromeda organized chocolate figures inside their baskets. Cassandra had made musical instruments and animals from chocolate: rabbits with caramel scarves, bears in green mittens, and camels with chests. Electra's was a chocolate castle with towers, a drawbridge, and trees with caramel apples. While putting the figurines inside the baskets, Electra and Cassandra periodically had to take Medea's figures away from her, as she would put two pieces into her basket and eat the third one. Thus, two of her spiders, one scorpion, and one shark disappeared without a trace.

The territory for the fair was swarmed with motley flags, maypoles, and colorful stands with their owners organizing the chocolate sweets or handmade crafts for sale. There were also musicians, acrobats and ropewalkers, putting up the poles for their performances. The witches' tent was standing ready, with Jack, Hector, and Eric waiting for them.

"Here, try this one." Electra brought one of the chocolate strawberries to Eric's mouth.

"Oh, sure, he can have one, but I can't," Medea snorted.

"Right," Cassandra said. "I need to save some for Raymond." She took a few figurines, put them back into her basket, and hid it under the stand.

Medea frowned. "You two have become so... so... I can't even find the right word."

"So in love, my dear," Andromeda finished for her.

"So annoying," Medea corrected her.

"The only reason I ask you not to eat any more sweets is because you might get a stomachache." Andromeda snatched another piece of chocolate from Medea's hand.

"And spoiled teeth," Jack teased her, biting into a meringue.

The fair was set to begin in the afternoon, and as they still had an hour, Jack suggested using the time for training. They left for the field, and first practiced shooting, then javelin throwing on horseback. Eric missed a few times, but Jack hit the center nine times out of ten. Then came Hector's turn. He took the spear and hit the spurs. The first three times he hit the target, but on the fourth time Hector lost his balance and fell off the horse.

Jack ran to him and helped him to sit up on the grass. "You alright?"

"I'm fine, I think." Hector pressed his hand to his head.

"Did you hit your head?" Eric asked.

"I'm fine. I just lost my balance. My head spun so suddenly."

"Are you sick?"

"No, I feel better now. Giddiness is almost gone. Must have been the sun. I should've worn a cap."

"I think we're all tired and had better stop training," Jack said. "Let's use this day only for rest."

It was one o'clock when they reached the fair, which was now in full swing. The place was bustling with people, pipe music, acrobatic tricks, and trade. Eric had never seen a fair so abundant with chocolate and sweets. The place was full of tents and stands, with flags flapping in the air. Musicians were playing flutes and bodhráns. Children were spinning around the maypoles; adults were trading their crafts and chocolate sweets with the foreigners who had come to Hollow from all over the world. From every corner Eric could hear conversations in German, French, Spanish, Chinese, Hindi, and Romanian.

"Namaste!" he overheard someone say nearby, then saw Dinah standing behind a beautiful stand. She was with Marion O'Neal, selling glass crafts. Dinah put her palms together and made a slight bow, greeting two Indian women dressed in satin saris. The women greeted her with the same gesture, then chose two glass goblets.

"Sukriya," they said, and left her stand.

Dinah saw Eric and whispered something to Marion. "You seem pale, Eric O'Brian," she said. "Could it be that the witches have put a spell on you?"

"You have beautiful things here," he said, ignoring her words. "I hope the trading is going well."

"Better than the last time. Everyone knows how great a craftsman my father is, and everyone has come from all over the world to buy his glass figurines, no matter at what price. Just a minute ago people from China were quarrelling over the vases."

When Dinah began singing praises about her father and his craft, Eric spontaneously yawned. Wishing her good luck, he crossed the spacious field and returned to Electra's tent.

"How is the trade going, my beautiful witch?" he asked, approaching her from behind and clasping his arms around her waist.

"Great. I didn't expect to see so many people today."

"Multumesc," Cassandra said, wrapping a chocolate animal into a handkerchief and handing it to a woman in folk clothing and apron with embroidery. The woman paid for the chocolate and left the tent with her child. Cassandra passed the money to Medea to put it into their box.

"No more room," she said, locking the lid. "I'll take it to Uncle and be back." She left the stand, pressing the box with the money tightly to her chest.

"El, why don't you go for a walk with Eric?" Cassandra asked.

"I'd love to, but let's wait until Medea comes back. I'm not sure you can handle the trading all alone." Electra leaned her head against Eric's shoulder, who was still hugging her and now and then biting into the chocolate she would bring to his mouth.

"Sure I can. Go, have some fun. You don't have to stay here all day long. This is Eric's first fair. Take him for a walk."

"Thank you, Cassie," Eric said, and holding hands, he and Electra left the stand and went for a walk through the fair, passing near the pole-walkers that were juggling on the ropes, meeting acrobats performing tricks with hoops, and fire-blowers that were breathing out flames into the air. Eric saw one of the fire-blowers wave at Electra. She waved back, smiling.

"Do you know him?"

"Yes, that's Adrian, one of the vagrant artists. They always come to Hollow during the fairs."

"Why does he keep staring at you?"

"He doesn't. He's doing his work—cheering up people."

"And staring at you."

Electra laughed. "Are you jealous?"

"Should I be?"

She shook her head. "Never."

"And who are those guys?" Eric pointed to a group of men in kilts, with auburn hair and sober faces.

"The McAlister clan. They are great fellows."

"They have that don't-mess-with-me look."

"Oh, no, not at all. That's just their appearance. They are sweet and fun. They have come to watch the tournament."

"Are they going to take part in it?"

"Not as far as I know. They always sit with the audience."

That was consoling. The last thing Eric wanted was to face those mighty fellows on the tournament's arena.

Orion appeared at their feet and licked Electra's hand. She bent down and stroked the dog's snout.

"Jack must be somewhere here," Eric said, looking around. Jack was with Ariadne, standing near a chocolate fountain and dipping pieces of fruits into the chocolate.

"Whoa, that's one great fountain!" Eric exclaimed.

"Let's go have fruits with chocolate," Electra said, but right then Eric spotted Eleanora nearby. She seemed upset, and telling Electra to wait for him near the fountain, Eric approached his cousin.

"Nora, has anything happened?"

She shrugged. "Nothing. I'm just looking around, waiting for something interesting to happen."

"Where's Henry? He'd love this place."

"Oh, he does. He's with mom and dad. They went to buy ice cream and pastries."

Eleanora seemed uninterested and bored. Eric followed her eyes, and at first thought she was staring at the organ grinder, but then he noticed that Eleanora was looking at Jack and Ariadne by the chocolate fountain. He suggested to approach the fountain, but she flatly refused his offer. Eric laughed under his breath at his own silliness. Eleanora would never approach Jack while he was with another girl. He had just started thinking up a plan on how to help his cousin when Mayor Kynaston Daley and an old man with a cane passed along the way. Seeing Eric and Eleanora, Kynaston Daley exclaimed, "Ahh, the young O'Brians! Are you having fun, children?"

Eric didn't like the mayor, his big belly, the auburn curls, and the insincere grin.

"That's the young O'Brian I've been telling you about," the mayor told the old man. He examined Eric from head to feet, but his long face stayed expressionless.

"Who's that?" Eric whispered to Eleanora.

"Judge Alistair," she whispered back.

Eric stared at the judge, feeling goose bumps covering his skin. He had to clasp his fingers into fists to hide their shaking. He was standing just two feet away from the man who had caused so much suffering, the man who had forced young women to walk on burning coals and eat poisoned food.

Eric hated Judge Alistair. Hated him with all his heart. He thought of his friend Hector; how hard it must be for him to tolerate this man's presence when they knew that Judge Alistair had killed Hector's mother. After reading the diary, Eric talked to Hector about his mother and the judge. He feared that Hector might try to take a revenge on Judge Alistair, but Hector said that the time hadn't come yet. There was pain in his voice, hidden anguish and suppressed anger. Eric wondered what he'd do if his mother's murderer lived in the same town with him, and shuddered from the thought.

Eric's long stare seemed to annoy the grave-faced judge. He leaned on his silver cane, tried to straighten his hunched back, and beckoned the mayor to follow him.

"Strange man, isn't he?" Eleanora's voice brought Eric back from the thoughts about the judge and the witches.

"Cruel man."

"I have heard that he's cruel but righteous."

"Cruelty and righteousness have nothing in common."

"Are you angry?"

"I'm not."

"Your voice says the opposite. Do you have anything against Judge Alistair?"

"Lots of things," Eric muttered under his breath.

"You don't even know him. Dinah says he's a fair man, impartial and just."

"Impartial?" Eric almost yelled. "Impartial, you say!" He turned to Eleanora, his eyes glowing with fury. "Only someone like Dinah might call him impartial and just!"

When the judge disappeared from sight, Eric calmed down. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have become so angry."

Wishing her a good time, Eric joined his friends, who by now had left the fountain and were on their way to a tent where Andromeda was sitting with the most beautiful woman Eric had ever seen. Her silver hair was flowing down to her waist, her eyes had the same silver glow, and her voice had a soothing effect on Eric, although he didn't understand a word she was saying. There was something placid, something serene about the woman. She seemed ethereal; her movements were gentle, and she spoke softly, separating each word. Eric tried to understand what that language was, but it didn't sound familiar at all. He knew he was staring at her, but for some reason he couldn't take his eyes away. He could stand there the whole day and just listen to the woman speak. Her voice, calm and quiet, managed to penetrate his soul and turn his inner world upside down. While listening to her, he felt an unexpected burst of rapture that lasted for some seconds before turning into sorrow. Emotions replaced each other, tormenting him, causing him elation, then grief, bliss, then sadness. Unwillingly, Eric's eyes filled with tears. The woman in the tent wasn't looking at him, but he, standing in the corner, knew that she sensed his presence nearby; he could hear her velvety voice in his head. Then he felt a familiar scent of perfume. Electra hugged him and bowed his head on her shoulder.

"Don't be afraid," she whispered. "It is always like that on the first encounter."

Her tender embrace calmed his unsteady heart. When Eric peered over her shoulder, he saw the mysterious lady pass before him. She only looked at him once, and smiled. There was so much in that smile. She told him a whole story with just a glimpse, and that faint smile told him all he needed to know. Eric nodded, and the lady left the tent.

"Namarie," Andromeda said, watching the elfish lady mount her stallion and hit the spurs. Then she turned to those in the tent. "Jack," she said, "how long have you been training today?"

"Not too long."

"I don't like the way you look. You are pale. The same goes for Eric. Did he give you a hard time?"

"We didn't train much today. We thought we should get some rest before the tourney," Eric said.

Andromeda nodded. "That is the correct thing to do. Your paleness worries me. And where is Hector? Does he look as pale as you?"

"Hector is there, at the McKennits' stand." Jack pointed in the direction of the stand, where Hector was standing with Japanese and Indian beauties in colorful kimonos and saris, laughing with them. "He fell off the horse earlier this afternoon, but he seems fine now, and in a good company. Just look at that blissful face." Jack smirked.

"Fell off the horse? He needs to be resting at home, not strolling around. I hope that after the tournament you will not exhaust yourselves this much."

With Andromeda's last words, gray clouds shielded the sun, the sky took on a gloomy hue, and thunder clapped above the fair. Everyone came out the tent and glanced up.

"Medea," Andromeda said. "Where is she?"

"At the stand," Electra said.

When they reached their stand, it was already ruined. The desk had been smashed, the sweets scattered around. After Cassandra had been left alone at the stand, Thomas Baldric, his younger brother Edward, and Tim Van Balen, with cudgels in their hands, came to the stand and began to smash it into pieces and throw its contents to the ground.

Cassandra had to step aside to avoid the blows, holding back only due to the promise given to her Uncle and Aunt to never hurt anyone if it wasn't in self-defense. Even though the Easterners kept insulting her, she didn't break her promise.

Then Medea appeared. She had a bucket full of milk she was carrying by the request of Mrs. McKennit. But the milk wasn't destined to reach the baker. Seeing all the mess Thomas Baldric and his sidekicks had caused, Medea approached him from behind and poured the whole bucket on his head. Startled, Thomas turned and met with Medea face to face. He raised the cudgel, but his hand froze in the air.

"Are you sure?" Medea asked.

Thomas's hand trembled when black smoke gathered in Medea's eyes, turning them into bottomless voids. He lowered the cudgel, then dropped it, staring into the black holes on her face. With his mouth agape, Thomas staggered back and darted away, his sidekicks rushing after him.

Cassandra hurried to her younger sister and began shaking her by the shoulders. "Medea, what's wrong with you?" she cried.

"Cowards." Medea smirked.

"Look at me!"

Medea looked at Cassandra, and her eyes returned to their old self.

"What was that? What happened to you?"

"Nothing. Why are you so worried? I am calm, as you see. I'm not shouting, nor fighting. I am calm."

Cassandra was still holding Medea by her shoulders when their family reached the broken stand.

"I will beat the hell out of them," Jack said through clenched teeth.

"Tomorrow," Eric told him. "At the tournament."

### 15. Tournament

The stands around the arena were teemed with the Easterners and Westerners. All their attention was drawn to the quintains in the middle of the field, and to the tents behind the arena, where the participants were getting ready. Mayor Daley recited a speech about Hollow's traditions and thanked Duchess Iphigenia, who was the sponsor of this year's tournament. As the Duchess wasn't present, Mayor Daley pointed to the honorary box where Raymond was sitting, thanked him too, and asked for a speech.

Raymond's speech was short. As a winner of the two previous tournaments, he asked for honesty and friendliness, then sat back and held Cassandra's hand. Her presence in the honorary box wasn't welcomed either by the mayor or the jury, which consisted mainly of the Easterners, but when Raymond threatened with leaving the tournament, the jury members were forced to suppress their anger and tolerate the witch's presence nearby.

Near the honorary box stood a pedestal with an engraved cup and three golden clasps. Those were the prizes for the winners, and now and then the audience stared at the clasps, discussing their value and speculating over who'd take them home. Ten teams were taking part in the tournament; among them were the Red Team, consisting of Jack, Hector, and Eric, and the Black Team, made up by Dickens, Thomas, and Tim—the favorites of the Easterners.

Eric's team was getting dressed in the red tent. Their two squires, thirteen-year-old Castor and Pollux McKennits, were hurrying from one knight to the other, handing them their garments, checking the arrows, putting them in the quivers, and taking care of the horses. Ariadne's little brother Jason had also been chosen as a squire. After much persuasion on behalf of his sister, Jack had agreed to take the eight-year-old boy and give him easy assignments like carrying his shield or helmet.

"How are the horses?" Jack took off his shirt and put on the linen undershirt. "Are they calm?"

"Yes," Castor said. "My brother is now putting caparisons on them." The boy helped Jack put on his doublet, then approached Eric, who was peeping outside, watching the jesters perform tricks in the center of the arena. "Your garments." Castor held up the undershirt and the doublet.

Putting his clothing on, Eric saw Jack staring at him. "What's the matter?" he asked, tying up the knots on his shirt.

"Nothing." Jack turned to the other corner of the tent, where Hector was getting dressed. "Now, this can't be a coincidence," he said.

"What coincidence?" Hector reached out for his garments.

"What's that on your chest?"

Hector cast his eyes down. "No idea." He smirked. "I knew you loved me, but not so much that you worry over every bite I get."

Eric chuckled, but the expression on Jack's face didn't change. "I have the same bites."

"So what? We have spent many days out in the field."

"I have them too," Eric said. "I guess some insect took advantage of our bodies while we were resting in the field."

"They don't look like insect bites to me."

The trumpeters blew the horns. The knights heard the herald's voice announce the beginning of the tournament and explain the rules.

"It's time. Hurry up!" Jack urged.

Castor and Pollux helped the fellows to put on the surcoats, and hung the leather quivers and bows on their backs. One by one, the knights entered the arena astride their horses. Judge Alistair, the head of the jury, read aloud the names of the participants when they cantered before his stand. When all the names were announced, the knights stood in a line, waiting for the trumpeters to blow the horns, signifying the beginning of the competitions.

The first event was archery. Jack was shooting first. He was on horseback and had to shoot the quintains while galloping around the arena, avoiding the obstacles or leaping over them. Jack completed the task with 99 points out of 100, hitting the bullseye nine times and missing the center only once. Completing the task, he stopped in the center of the arena, looking proudly at the targets and at his arrows sticking out of the centers. He saw three girls in the audience clapping and waving at him. They were sitting next to each other, one was blond, the other red-haired, the third with black hair, and crying out his name at the tops of their voices.

"Well done, Jack!" Medea yelled.

"Well done, Red Team!" Ariadne and Electra joined her, paying no attention to the disgruntled Easterners.

Jack waved at them and under the gloomy looks of the jury members left the arena.

"We shouldn't have let the witch-boy participate," Caspar O'Neal whispered in the judge's ear. "He might be using sorcery. I'm almost sure of it."

"I told Kynaston about that, but you know him—he is so spineless."

"This is an almost perfect result. Now no one will be able to overcome him."

Caspar O'Neal turned out to be right. No one from the other eight teams was able to show better results. Jack's points for the first round were the highest. But the Easterners' favorites hadn't yet stepped into the game. Jack's opponent from the Black Team was Dickens McCormack. Gloomy, never smiling, Dickens entered the arena astride a black stallion, and scored 95 points. It was the highest score apart from Jack, but it still didn't satisfy Peter McCormack. "What a lazy, untalented boy," he muttered under his breath.

"Why do you say so? That's not a bad score," his wife said defensively, but Peter didn't deign her with an answer.

Hector was the second from the Red Team. He was on a horseback, but his horse didn't have to gallop. He shot with ease and confidence, earning 94 points, and left the arena to the exultant applause of his three girlfriends. His opponent from the Black Team, Thomas Baldric, earned 92 points for his team, allowing his father to smirk priggishly whenever he looked around.

Eric was the third from the Red Team. Slightly nervous, he walked to the center of the arena and settled at fifty yards away from the first target. He twanged the bowstring, keeping in mind the tips he had received from Jack and Hector. The arrow hit the bullseye and Eric sighed with relief. The first shot was behind, but another nine were still ahead. He squinted at the target, took a careful aim, and shot.

"Ten points!" the judge announced.

The third arrow earned him nine points, and eight points came with the fourth.

"Uh." Medea scowled. "He's not doing well."

"My poor Eric," Electra said. "He didn't have much time to practice."

"Pastries? Chicken patties, or gingerbread with raisins?" A young girl with a tray full of snacks passed between the seats, offering appetizers.

"Yes, I will." Medea took a chicken patty and gingerbread from the tray, leaving a silver coin instead. "Would you like some?" she asked Electra, who looked at the food with disapproval.

"Oh, how can you eat now? I'm so tense."

"But that's not my boyfriend in the arena!" Medea said with a mouthful of chicken, the half-eaten drumstick in her hand. She looked so funny that Electra chuckled and gave her a quick peck on the temple, then concentrated on the arena and the shooter in the center. The remaining six arrows brought Eric 58 points.

"Well done!" Uncle Albert shouted from the audience.

The McCormacks—Peter, Caitlin, and Dinah—scowled at him. Their faces turned more sour when little Henry showed them his tongue. Riona clapped her palm over his mouth and made a remark about good manners.

The shooting was followed with a twenty-minute break. The minstrels played pipes and acrobats performed tricks with fire and clubs, while the quintains in the arena were replaced with bigger ones to withstand the javelin round.

The javelin throwing demanded not only concentration but also good strength. Jack and Hector didn't have much trouble with the javelins and collected 95 points each. Then came Eric's turn. He mounted Pegasus, and receiving Jack's last-minute instructions, rode out into the arena. His squire passed him the spear. Eric grabbed it and took a careful aim. Making sure that Pegasus was under control, he hit the spurs and threw the spear. The edge impaled the center of the target. After throwing the last javelin he let out another relieved sigh. One more task was over, and he could rest until the last round began.

After the jury counted all the points, Judge Alistair announced the two teams that had made it to the last level. Those were the Red and the Black teams. The herald wrote down the names of the participants on sheets of paper, put them inside two glass boxes, and let the judge decide who would face whom. Judge Alistair simultaneously lowered his hands inside the boxes and took out the first two names: Hector MacGavin and Tim Van Balen.

Hector smirked. "He doesn't stand a chance."

Judge Alistair took the next two sheets. "Jack Fitzroy and Thomas Baldric!"

"Curse me," Jack muttered.

"Is anything wrong?" Eric asked.

"Yes. I was hoping to get McCormack as my opponent."

"Don't worry. I don't mind jousting against my neighbor."

"It's not that." Jack pressed his lips together. "Dickens is... too good."

"You mean I can't overcome him?"

"Eric O'Brian and Dickens McCormack!"

Albert O'Brian and Peter McCormack looked at each other; the latter smirked and turned away. Electra and Medea exchanged worried glances. They had all seen Dickens on the arena before. He was fast, deft, and aggressive.

Although wooden spears were used for the jousting, the knights were still required to wear armor. In the red tent, the fellows were discussing tactics while putting on their armor with the help of their squires. Jack and Hector had met Thomas and Tim in the arena; they knew all their flaws and weaknesses. Dickens was different. He had no flaws, and his skills in jousting were nearly perfect. Jack made sure to let Eric know about the McCormack's moves and manoeuvres, but didn't think he could use them to his advantage; he was too unskilled.

The knights put on the foot irons on their boots, covered their knees with the poleyns, and the thighs with the cuisses, then attached the spurs. Putting on the armor that covered the arms, hands, and the body took longer, as each of them needed the help of both of the squires. Getting into the armor by oneself was almost impossible. The armor consisted of individual elements for each limb, which, in turn, was made of metal plates that had to be attached to each other by movable rivets and leather straps. After getting inside the armor, the young men put on their red tabards and gauntlets, and walked out of the tent. Castor and Pollux had already put champrons on the horses' heads to protect their faces from the spears, and iron peytrals on their chests. The knights mounted their stallions, put on their helmets, and rode to the arena with their young squires at their sides, holding the lances and shields.

Jack and Eric stopped at the fence. "Good luck!" they told Hector.

"I'll be quick," he said, and cantered to the center of the arena. When Hector and Tim took their stations, their squires handed them their shields and lances. The herald raised his hands, kept everyone in tension for another second, then yelled, "Go!"

Hector and Tim hit the spurs and tilted at each other. As Hector had promised, he didn't give Tim a second chance, and threw him down with the first blow. Tim crashed to the ground and rolled to the fence.

"What in thunder!" Manfred Van Balen shouted. "That boy cheated!"

Judge Alistair raised his hand to make everyone quiet. Then the jurors talked quietly for thirty seconds, and the judge announced that there had been no cheating. Hector's victory was flawless.

Jack and Thomas's jousting match lasted longer. They tilted twice but none struck the other. The third time, Jack hit Thomas's shield with his lance and broke it into pieces. Though Thomas, overwhelmed by the blow, was able to regain his balance and didn't fall off the horse, Jack was declared the winner.

"Well done, Jack!" Medea shouted, leaping for joy. Ariadne and Electra joined her, waving frantically to Jack, while Cassandra blew him kisses from her box.

When it was time for Eric and Dickens to begin their jousting match, Dickens approached the jury and told them something. Judge Alistair knitted his eyebrows and seemed to ask Dickens the same question a few times. Then he turned to the jurors. Some of them shook their heads, the rest shrugged. At last, the judge stood up and said, "Dickens McCormack has chosen iron weapons!"

A hiss came from the audience.

"Scumbag!" Jack muttered. He hurried to Eric and told him to dismount the horse. Eric was staring at the jury and didn't hear him. "Come down," Jack repeated, holding Pegasus's reins, but Eric's attention was still on the stand with the jurors. Jack had to repeat his demand for the third time to gain his attention.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because you won't joust with iron weapons."

"If I refuse then we lose."

"I know. But you can't joust with real weapons. It's too dangerous."

"That's what he wants us to do. I'm not going to let him win."

"I said come down. I will announce that we're quitting."

"No way you're doing that." Eric hit the spurs, reached the jurors' stand and said, "I accept the challenge."

Electra's heart began pounding faster. She turned to her uncle, her eyes filled with dread.

"That boy is out of his mind," Colin said. "I need to stop this."

Uncle Colin and Albert O'Brian simultaneously approached the jury's stand, and a quarrel began over whether the fellows could joust with iron weapons or not.

"These are the rules," the jurors were saying. "They might be old, but they are still in full power, and any participant has the right to choose iron weapons."

"This has been done during the tournaments," the judge said.

"But not in this century," Colin countered.

"It doesn't matter. There is a rule that should be followed. Young O'Brian can refuse."

"I'm not refusing."

"Of course you are," Uncle Albert said.

The argument lasted for a quarter of an hour. Neither Dickens nor Eric changed their minds, and the elders were forced to go back to their seats.

Colin returned to his place, looking grave and irritated.

"Dear, are they going to let this happen?"

"Yes," he told his wife. "They are."

Uncle Albert had the same grave look when he returned to his seat.

"You shouldn't have let him do this," Riona chided him.

"That boy is the most disobedient and unruly child I have ever seen. I don't even know what I'm going to tell his parents if anything happens to him." Albert's voice was shaking with anxiety.

"Mommy, Eric will fight with swords?" Henry asked.

"Nora, take Henry and go home."

Eleanora was so absorbed in the upcoming jousting she didn't hear her mother.

"Nora, please take your brother and leave." Riona squeezed her hand.

Eleanora was about to argue when the trumpeters blew the horns. Astride his black stallion, Dickens put on his helmet, took the shield and the spear, and rode to the center of the arena with an easy gait. Eric took the lance from his squire, but instead of riding to the center, he cantered to the stand where Electra was sitting, and stretched his lance to her.

"Will you do me an honor?"

Electra stared at Eric, her eyes pleading him not to do that. When he shook his head, she took the blue shawl off her neck, and with trembling hands tied it to the edge of his lance.

"Please be careful," she whispered.

Eric nodded.

Receiving his maiden's token, he galloped to his station, where Jack was standing instead of Pollux, holding an oblong iron shield.

"Well done, Ivanhoe. Now concentrate. Keep the lance up and cover your leg with the shield; he'll try to hit your thigh or knee."

The drumming began. For a minute Eric and Dickens looked at each other from their positions, waiting for the drumming to end. With the herald's signal, the horsemen rushed forth. As Jack had predicted, Dickens lowered his lance and hit Eric's kneecap. The armor broke, the lance cut Eric's knee, but he kept his balance and stayed in the saddle.

"I told him to protect his knee!" Jack cried, pressing his hands to his temples. Hector shook his head, his eyes glued to the arena.

The opponents retook their positions, and receiving the herald's signal, tilted for the second time. This time Dickens's lance caught in the cheekpiece of Eric's helmet and unhorsed him. Eric trundled from the saddle and crashed to the ground. Electra gasped and covered her mouth with her palms, holding her breath until he rose to his feet.

Then something unexpected happened. Dickens, although untouched by Eric's spear, reeled in the saddle, then fell off the horse. No one understood why. No one from the audience, none of his friends and squires had seen Eric's lance touch him, but Dickens fell, which meant that there was no winner yet. He stood up and staggered a few steps back, as if suffering from a severe dizziness, then mounted his stallion and hit the spurs. Gripping the lance in his hand, he dashed towards Eric, who managed to snatch his spear from the ground and block Dickens's blow. Eric hit him with all his might, causing him to tumble down again. Dickens stood up and turned to Thomas.

"My sword!"

Thomas threw him his sword. Dickens caught it in the air, then turned to Eric, getting ready to pounce on him. Eric stepped back and turned to Jack. Pollux, who was standing nearest to the red tent, grabbed a sword and threw it to his brother. Castor caught the sword and tossed it to Hector. Hector flung it to Jack, and Jack, being the closest to Eric, threw him the sword. All this took only seconds, and Eric clasped the iron haft just in time to block and throw back Dickens's blow. His opponent's strikes rained down at him, and Eric was barely blocking them. Under the endless hits he retreated to the fence, hardly staying on his feet. After another blow Eric fell to the ground. Dickens would have hit him on the chest if Eric hadn't managed to raise his sword and block his trunk.

Electra gasped and covered her eyes with her hands.

"This is too dangerous," Colin muttered.

"He's going to kill him," Albert said, and rushed to the jurors.

Gathering all his strength, Eric pushed Dickens back and stood up. His helmet was damaged, making it difficult to see Dickens when he attacked from the left. Eric stepped back, took off the helmet, and tossed it aside.

"What is he doing?" Electra's voice faltered.

"He's crazy," Medea whispered.

Albert and Colin appeared at the jurors' stand and demanded them to stop the fight.

"We can't stop it," the judge said. "The tournament has rules. One of them has to yield."

"This is beyond the rules," Albert shouted. "These boys will kill each other!"

The judge looked at the jurors. Two of them agreed to end the battle, three disagreed.

Cassandra had been holding back her breath since the fight began, but when Eric took off his helmet, she turned to Raymond and squeezed his hand. "Raymond, do something," she pleaded.

Seeing that Eric took off his helmet, Dickens did the same and threw his helmet on the ground.

Caitlin McCormack gave out a low cry. "Peter, you have to stop this," she said. "He could get hurt."

Peter McCormack stayed silent.

"Peter, do something. He might hurt our son."

"Let them continue," he said.

When the swords clashed again, Caitlin winced and looked away. "I can't take this anymore. Someone has to stop this."

"What's wrong with you?" Albert shouted at the jurors. "Don't you have children? Stop this now!"

"I agree. This has to be stopped," said Raymond. He had left his box and was now standing near the jurors' stand. "I have participated in the tourneys four times, and never in my life have I seen anything as dangerous. These two fellows will kill each other."

"They are wearing armor—"

"That armor wasn't intended for iron blows," Colin said. "And they even took off the helmets. Stop this right now, or I'll do it myself."

He turned to the arena and was about to jump over the fence when the judge stopped him. Alistair looked at Sheriff De Roy, who was sitting nearby and seemingly enjoying the fight. The clash of iron wasn't stopping, and the blows that the young men were pouring on each other were becoming more aggressive with each strike.

"Stop them," the judge told De Roy. The sheriff beckoned two of his officers to stop the fighters. At the same time, the judge made a gesture with his hand, telling the trumpeters to blow the horns. But neither the horns nor the officers' presence made Dickens stop fighting. Hearing the sound of the horns, Eric turned to the jurors, and while he was distracted, Dickens pounced on him and knocked him to the ground.

Eric's chest hurt. He put his palm over the armor and heard someone calling his name. It could be Electra, but he wasn't sure. The pain was so unbearable he almost blacked out. He barely managed to see Dickens approaching. The blade rushed towards him, but Eric rolled to the side and the sword clanged against the ground. Dickens raised it again despite the officers' demands to stop the fight. With bludgeons in their hands they tried to approach the fighters, but none of them dared go any closer, as Eric was back on his feet, and the fight continued with more fury. It seemed that nothing could stop them. Even the rain that began pouring mercilessly was of no significance. When thunder boomed and the water gushed down, part of the audience hurried to find shelter, but most of the townsfolk remained on the stands, some out of curiosity, others out of fear for the fighters.

"Stop it!" everyone urged the boys, but Dickens and Eric, soaked in water, hands aching, still didn't give up.

"Eric, stop it!" Uncle Albert was yelling by the fence. "Stop it I said!"

It was useless. They were absolutely absorbed in their meaningless fight, and even the cuts on their faces didn't stop them.

"That's it!" Medea said. "They both are starting to irritate me."

She stormed away from Electra, who was standing at the fence and staring at the fighters. Two more officers had joined their comrades, but to stop the fight they'd have to take the weapons out of the fellows' hands. Eric retreated to the fence, forcing everyone to rush away to avoid being hit by a sword. When he leaned over the wooden fence an officer tried to grab him and stop the fight, but then Dickens raised his sword, and if Eric hadn't managed to shake off the officer's grip, Dickens's sword would've killed them both. They managed to jump aside, and the blade broke the fence in two.

There was not to be a second blow. When the sword rose in the air something hit the blade and forced Dickens to drop it down. In a second, the same thing hit Eric's sword, making it fall off his hands. Unarmed, the fighters looked at each other, then at the staring crowd. Then they saw Medea perched on the fence under the rain, with a pulled bowstring and an arrow.

"If either of you tries to raise a sword, I will shoot your hand without hesitation," she said.

Her tone didn't leave room for doubt; she was serious, and her voice sounded menacing. Neither doubted her ability to shoot. She lowered the bow only after the fighters left the arena. The tournament was over.

### 16. The Creature

After the tourney, the witches and their friends gathered in the fireplace hall of the blue castle to discuss the marks on the fellows' chests.

"Maybe it was a snake?" Medea suggested.

"I think we would've noticed a snake biting us on the chest," Jack said.

"Whatever it is, those bites might be the reason behind your paleness and constant dizziness," Cassandra said in a tone of voice that Jack jokingly called doctorish.

Electra returned to the hall with a magnifying glass and began unbuttoning Eric's shirt. "Let me have a better look," she said.

"I think it's not a big deal," Eric said as she examined the bites through the glass, then beckoned Jack to approach her.

"Cassie, what do you think?"

"The same bites. Hector, show me yours."

Hector took off his shirt and let them examine the red marks on his chest.

"The same," Electra said thoughtfully, then turned to Medea and Ariadne. "Do any of you have such bites?"

They simultaneously shook their heads.

"I don't have them either. Cassie?"

"No marks," she said. "Just the boys."

"And?" Jack asked. "What do you think it is?"

"It's a snake," Medea said.

"It can't be a snake. How come none of us felt a snake's bite?" Eric said.

"Maybe a bat?" Hector asked.

"A werewolf?" Jack muttered.

"A vampire?" was Ariadne's suggestion.

"Wrong guesses," Cassandra said. "All that you mentioned could leave such marks, but then all of us would have them, not just the boys."

"It has to be something that bites only boys," Electra mused out.

"So, who has bitten us?" Eric asked. "And most importantly, are we going to turn into something?" he said with a chuckle.

"It's not funny," Electra said. "It could be dangerous." She took his hands in hers. "Your hands are cold. How do you feel?"

"Just fine. Slightly tired, maybe a bit weaker, but it could be due to the tourney."

"Or due to something that has been periodically drinking your blood," Electra said, resting her head on his shoulder. Eric put his hand around her waist and drew her closer to him.

"So it's not an insect?"

"I think it's something else." Electra looked at the girls. "What do you think?"

"If I understood correctly, there is something that bites the boys and drinks their blood, causing them to become paler day by day and be tortured by giddiness," Ariadne said. "Which means that this something is either very small, that none of you have noticed it, or very quick. Or both."

"Not necessarily," Cassandra said. "Why have none of them felt the bites? I don't think it's about the size or speed, rather the time. Vampire bats have an anaesthetic when they bite, and the victim doesn't feel anything. So, when someone is asleep, he won't feel the bite and wake up."

"So is this a bat?"

"If it is, then not an ordinary one. It bites only boys."

"Never thought they were tastier." Medea smirked. "We need to search the library."

~ * ~

The clock struck twelve.

Dinah couldn't sleep. She was staring at the clock on the wall, thinking about the tournament and what it had turned into. When Dickens and Eric began the fight, she couldn't tell what she wanted to happen. She wished her brother would beat up Eric, but something inside her objected. When Eric took Electra's token, a hellish fire flamed in her chest. She wanted both of them to suffer the worst tortures, but every time Dickens raised his sword, her heart jumped from fear.

A hundred times Dinah tried to distract herself with reading, but in the middle of the page, she would again start thinking of the tournament. She began cleaning her shelves, her wardrobe, sorted all her dresses, hats, gloves, and jewelry. But the thoughts kept creeping back into her head. She couldn't stop thinking about Eric. Why did he come back? It was better without him. But he was back and so close, right next door; she could take twenty steps and meet him.

Dinah began walking up and down the room. Stop it, she thought, stop it. But he was stuck in her head. He, who had chosen the witches, wouldn't leave her mind. He, who had insulted her, occupied all her thoughts. The only way to stop that torture was to drive Eric away from Hollow. She had to think of something, a way to send him off forever. She was happy when he was away, she didn't think of him much. But now, when he was back, when he lived so close and spent all his time with the witches, she couldn't tolerate his presence.

Dinah had to talk to Dickens. Her brother would come up with a plan on how to send Eric away from Hollow. He has to go, she was thinking on her way to Dickens's bedroom. Then I will not feel so miserable anymore.

She knocked on the door, but Dickens didn't answer. He had been tired after the tournament and was probably asleep. But Dinah was in turmoil and couldn't go to bed without thinking over a plan. She was sure Dickens would come up with a good idea.

Dinah peered into Dickens's bedroom, raising the candle above her head. The room was dark, but the window was open, and the bed was bathed in moonlight. She saw his hand peeping from under the blanket, his golden hair on the pillow, and someone leaning over his chest, her face shielded with long hair. Dinah tried to find an explanation for the scene, and the only thing that came to mind was that Dickens was unwell, and Caitlin was helping him.

"Mother?"

Whoever it was, she raised her head and leered. Dinah gasped and dropped the candle. The light went out. The creature hissed, her blood-stained fangs gleaming in the moonlight. She leaped on the windowsill and crept out of the bedroom. The slithering sound of her scaly tail caused Dinah's skin to break out in goose bumps. She rushed to the window and shut it, then turned to sleeping Dickens. Dinah grabbed his shoulders and began shaking him.

"Dickens! Dickens, wake up! What have I done? Oh, what have I done?"

### 17. Straight through the Mirror

"A lamia?"

"I'm almost sure of it," Electra said, but Jack shook his head.

"You mean to say that a lamia visits us at night and drinks our blood?"

"It could be," said Medea. "Here, read this passage." She showed him a book titled Bloodthirsty Creatures and Evils. "Lamias are on the list."

"And this one says that lamias lurk in the night and drink young men's blood before sending them into a lethargic state. That is why none of you have felt her presence," Cassandra said, holding the book Lamias.

"Lamia," Jack said thoughtfully. "Lamia. Where did she come from?"

No one answered.

"She can't have appeared from thin air, right?"

"Right," said Hector. "But if it's really a lamia, we must think of a way to get rid of her."

"First of all, keep your windows shut at night," Electra said.

"No, on the contrary, keep them open and wait for her," Medea said. "If a lamia has been climbing into your bedrooms, that means you have a good chance of catching her."

"We can do what you suggest, but we're not the only young men in Hollow. We can't be present near every window."

"What we need is to find out where that creature came from and how we can get rid of it," Hector said. "Let's go back to searching. Your library is big enough; we might find something else that can be of help."

"I found a chapter about the cave where the evil creatures live," Electra said, thumbing a handwritten manuscript. "It only talks about the cave and that some McMadicus locked it."

"McMadicus? Who's that?" Jack asked.

"McMadicus was a blacksmith. He lived centuries ago," Hector said.

"What do you know of him?"

Hector shrugged. "I've heard only of one McMadicus, a famous blacksmith who made everything from armor to iron furniture. Father used to tell me about Blacksmith McMadicus when I was a child."

"When do you say he lived?"

"Centuries ago."

"Could you be more precise?"

"I don't know. Four or five hundred years ago."

"He's a historical figure then. There might be information about him in the books of Hollow's history," Jack said. "Search some more. If we don't find anything, we shall go to the public library."

They stayed in the library for another hour, then continued the search in the morning, had breakfast, and returned to the shelves with books, but didn't find any other helpful information and decided it was time to visit the town's library.

Hollow's public library was on the West Bank, and none of the witches had ever had a problem entering it. But today there was a problem. Hollow's history books were placed under protective glass stands and locked. The five volumes were old and handwritten, and the mayor's written permission was necessary for reading them.

"Kynaston Daley won't even let us into the Town Hall," Jack said.

"What shall we do then?" Electra asked.

Jack and Hector looked around the hall with marble columns and iron statues. The place was spacious, with oblong tables and wooden benches. The librarian's desk was standing against the wall, right next to the glass stands with the five volumes. There was no way they could touch the books without the old man noticing.

"Is there anything else I could do to help you?" the old librarian asked, looking at them over his thick glasses.

"Oh, we just wanted to read the books," Medea said.

"I am happy that young people nowadays still like reading, but you will need permission from the Town Hall."

"Maybe you could make an exception?" Cassandra pleaded.

"No, no, my dear lady, that is impossible. If everyone obeys the law, the world will become a better place."

"Oh, it would take us just a minute," Electra begged.

"What is it that interests you so much in Hollow's history?"

While the girls were making up a story about an essay they had to write, Jack and Hector toured the library, peeping at the corners and inside the rooms, searching for another way to get the books. They stumbled upon helical stairs, which led to the third floor, into Hollow's museum. There was an oak door behind the stairs. It wasn't locked, and the fellows discovered a cosy room full of books stored in bookcases made of red wood. A modern-looking couch was pushed against the wall, a contrast to the oak-wood chairs and a table with simple ornamentation. Hector reclined on the couch and pointed to the cupboard with wine bottles and long-stemmed glasses.

"Dear boy, please be kind and pour me some wine," he told Jack.

"You have chosen a bad time for fooling around." Jack glanced at the wine bottles. "Château Lafleur! Not bad."

"Do you think this is where the Council Meetings take place?" Hector put his hands under his head and stared into the ceiling.

"I don't think they'd have the meetings on the West Bank. I've heard they meet at the Town Hall."

"Then whose room is this?"

"Could be a separate room for Professor Northmind, my Grandfather's colleague, who sends all those books here, or for Duchess Iphigenia and her entourage of those pretentious snobs from high society."

Jack stopped and stared at something at the inner corner of the room. Hector approached him and gaped at the same thing. "Is this a replica?"

"It's the real thing."

When they returned to the hall, the girls were still trying to convince the librarian to let them read the books, but he wasn't giving in.

"Come on girls, its dinnertime," Jack said, advancing to the exit. He seemed to be in good mood, which happened only when he had a plan.

"There's a mirror," Jack told them on the street. "We'll come at night."

"Are you sure?" Electra asked.

"Absolutely. Just like the one in De Roy's house."

Late at night, Jack and Hector were sitting on the floor in front of the door of the Lady of Shallot's room. Once in a while Jack glanced at his watch, drumming his fingers on the parquet floor. He closed his eyes and sat still for half an hour. Hector wasn't moving either, and none of them was in the mood to talk. All they needed was the right time.

Jack opened his eyes when footsteps came from the stairs. His three cousins appeared in the corridor, with lanterns in their hands.

"Why aren't you in bed?"

"We're coming with you," Electra said.

"It's not necessary, we won't be long."

"Jack is right. Go to bed, girls."

"We have made up our minds, and none of you can convince us otherwise," Medea said.

"And besides, there are five volumes," Cassandra added. "Each of us will take a book, and we'll finish quicker."

Jack knew that arguing with them was hopeless. He checked the time again. Then he put his ear against the door and listened. "I think it's time. She seems to be gone." Jack opened the door, and one by one, they tiptoed into the dark room. Electra and Cassandra snapped their fingers, lighting up the candles above the loom. The mirror stood next to the unfinished tapestry. Jack touched something behind the mirror's frame, and a dim light slanted into the room through the glass.

"Is this his house?" Electra asked.

"Yes."

"Creepy," Cassandra whispered.

Jack began to roll a gear on the back of the frame, and the view in the mirror changed.

"Not that, and not that. Keep rolling," Hector was saying while looking at the images within the mirror. "Stop," he said, when he saw the familiar sight of the bookshelves.

"Let's go," Jack said, taking his lantern. "Don't forget to close your eyes," he said, before taking a step into the mirror.

Hector waited for all three girls to go inside, and taking his lantern, followed them. When they opened their eyes, the loom and tapestry were gone, and they were standing in the room with books and bottles. Jack and Hector raised their lanterns and beckoned the girls to follow them. They walked past the stairs and reached the door of the library's hall. Jack poked the lock with a picklock, opened the door and entered the hall.

Wrapped in total darkness, the place looked ominous and unnerving. They made their way between the wooden tables, looking around at the figures of the knights in armor, at the shields and flags hanging down the walls, and at the high shelves of books with once colorful covers, which in the darkness looked gray and dull.

The locks of the stands with the five volumes were harder to open, but after some long minutes, Jack unlocked them. Each of them took one of the volumes and settled themselves at the feet of the stands.

"Read slowly and attentively. If we don't finish the books tonight we'll come again until we find anything helpful," Jack said as they opened the first pages of the books about the history of Hollow, from its foundation in 1122 until the year 1923. They had to read about 801 years, a task that could take more than one night.

For some hours the sound of turning pages echoed in the silence. The first volume was in Medea's hands. Absorbed in her town's history, she was eagerly turning the pages, reading about the town's rulers, the festivals, and the witches that were born in Hollow and later spread around the world, founding their own magical towns. The first volume also told about Hollow's knights, famous wizards, the conflicts between the white and black witches, and the town's mysteries, such as the forest, which the dryads had chosen as a habitat, the lake, where the mermaids had found their sanctuary, and the cave, which hid secrets and dangers inside its depths.

"I think I found something," Medea whispered.

"Read it aloud, but not too loud," Jack said.

Medea began reading a passage from the eleventh chapter: "The source of all the evil was thought to be the cave known by the name Imgroth. In 1480, upon exploring it, Blacksmith McMadicus found a dark hole, a cave within a cave, Taidgroth, which led to more petrifying secrets and existences. McMadicus then made an iron door and shut the entrance to the second cave. By the order of the Council, he made two silver keys. Later, McMadicus regretted making them for the Council, as their intentions turned out to be dishonest and cunning. Taking both of the keys, he tried to escape the town, but the Council chased him with bloodhounds. When the hounds tracked him down, McMadicus threw the keys into the bronze fountain on the square before the hounds tore him to pieces. One of the keys got caught in the statue of the whistler. The other one was left inside the fountain. It is believed to still be there." Medea looked up. Dark shadows had fallen across her face, making her eyes seem blacker. "Did anyone understand anything?"

"The Council was able to recover a key, so they still might have it, and someone might have opened the door of the second cave and let the lamia or any other evil being out," Jack said. "I doubt we can get the key from the Council. I have no idea where they may be keeping it, which means we should look for the second key and lock the door."

"The key is still believed to be in the fountain? How is that possible? The fountain hasn't worked for ages. It's empty. I've seen it a thousand times, there is no key inside," Electra said. "Of course, maybe someone had taken it after the book was written, but why did they not do that right after McMadicus was killed?"

"This seems to be some kind of riddle."

"You mean why no one took the key that was thrown into the fountain?"

"Maybe they did, but the one who wrote this passage decided to lie."

"Sounds possible."

"Why would the historian lie?"

"Then what stopped them from stretching their hands and getting the second key out of the fountain?"

They went back to reading, and stayed at the library until dawn. Nothing else in the books mentioned anything about bloodthirsty creatures, the cave, or the fountain. With the arrival of dawn, they put the books back into their places, and returned to the blue castle.

### 18. McAlisters

No sooner had the girls gone to sleep, when Morrigan rapped her beak on the window.

"Ugh, that bird again!" Medea muttered.

"I can't open my eyes, I'm too tired," Electra murmured.

Under the pouring rain, Morrigan continued to rap the glass with her white beak.

"Get up, let her in," Electra murmured again, her voice sleepy.

Yawning, Cassandra waddled to the window, rubbing her eyes on the way. She opened the shutters and the rain gushed inside along with the ivory-colored crow, which perched on Medea's bedhead and cawed, making her start.

Medea grabbed her pillow and swung it above her head, but the crow dodged the blow and settled down on the top of an old cheval glass.

Cassandra closed the window and turned to the bird. "What has happened, Morrigan? Why won't you let us rest a bit?" she asked sleepily, getting back into her warm bed and burying her bare feet under the blanket. She had just put her head on the pillow and was about to begin dreaming when Morrigan cawed loudly. Cassandra jumped up.

"McAlisters! At Cauldron and Broom! Hurry!"

In ten minutes, the witches were already leaving the castle. To their luck, Medea didn't occupy their bathroom for half an hour as she usually did every morning. Upon hearing the McAlisters' name, she got ready almost as quickly as her sisters. This was something they had faced already two months ago, when the McAlister clan was passing across Hollow and decided to find haven from the merciless rain in Cauldron and Broom. How many had there been? Twelve? Fifteen? Electra was sure she had counted at least twenty Scotsmen, and some of them were so alike she kept forgetting if it was Dougal whose mug she replenished, or if it was Malcolm who kept telling her to bring him more ale. Then there were Ranald, Tavish, Lachlan, Hamish, Gillian, Kenneth, Finlay, Donnan, and Somerled, and all of them big, loud, noisy, and not averse to having good pork or fine ale.

When the girls reached the restaurant, the feast had already begun. An oblong table was stretched from one side of the hall to the other, breaking under all kinds of food and mugs full of ale. The members of the clan were minding their food and chatting so loudly that people from the neighboring houses peeped their heads through the windows to see what was happening in the restaurant, until they were driven back into their homes by the furious rain.

The three waitresses were running from one end of the table to the other, looking like lost children in the crowd of auburn-haired, long-bearded Scots.

"There are the young ladies!" Boyd, the youngest of the clan, said.

"Greetings to you!" roared Ranald, the one with the longest beard, with food leftovers stuck inside that thicket. "Which of you will be kind enough to fill my mug with ale?"

"I hope that this time my tips will be more comforting," Medea muttered, heading to the kitchen, where her Aunt and two other cooks were rushing from the oven to the pantry, and from the pantry to the basin, carrying vegetables, fish, lamb, and chicken, cutting, boiling, roasting, and toasting.

"Oh, girls, thank heavens you are here," Andromeda said, cutting the paprika. "We didn't think our guests would arrive so early in the morning. Apparently they came for breakfast, when I was expecting them for dinner."

"Breakfast, sure." Medea looked around, wondering what to start with. "They ask for ale already."

"As you are here, you will help us," said Andromeda, getting the Haggis rolls out of the oven. "Les, you may take this."

The waitress masterfully took the three dishes and disappeared behind the door. Just then the other waitress entered the kitchen.

"Oh, Mrs. Fitzroy, now they want roasted pork with beans in lemon juice, tomato soup, Cornish pastries, crusted lamb with roasted vegetables, blueberry mousse and carrot cake with icing, salmon with pineapple and green peas, and the best ale we can offer!"

"Huh?" was all the three witches managed to say before the shelves with the cookware opened.

"Ready?" Andromeda said, cleaning the fish scales. The girls stared at the shelves in anticipation. "Electra—Cornish pastries; Medea—carrot cake; Cassandra—blueberry mousse. Go!"

The cups, plates, and cutlery jumped into the girls' hands. It seemed as if the kitchen utensils knew what each of the girls was going to prepare, as the pastry wheel and brush leaped at Electra, while the whisk and the grater appeared in Cassandra's and Medea's hands accordingly. Carrots and swedes soared across the kitchen and landed in the basin. The kitchen utensils knew exactly when to appear and where to spring, as the salt shaker, sugar box, flour gab, bowls and glasses kept flying from one side of the kitchen to the other right when the girls would turn around to get them.

"Ouch!" Medea yelled when she made a wrong turn, and a potato hit her on the forehead. "Silly vegetable," she muttered, mixing the icing sugar with the cream cheese.

"Put some ice on it," Electra told her, decorating pastries with pickled onions and cherry tomatoes. Finishing, she placed them on a tray and hurried into the hall, where their guests were competing to see who could swallow the biggest piece of pumpkin pie.

"Elvira, more ale!" Finlay shook his empty mug at Electra. She didn't correct him.

"I'd love some more soup," said Dougal, putting his emptied bowl on Electra's tray.

"Loved the pork and the gravy." And Tavish placed another empty plate on the tray. After Electra circled the table, putting the pastries into the guests' plates, her tray became heavy with empty dishes and mugs.

"Ale and music!" she heard behind her back, trying to get inside the kitchen without dropping the dishes off the tray.

"Medea, they seem to be calling you," she told her sister as Medea was taking the carrot cake out of the fridge.

"Why's that?"

"They ask for music. Your violin is in the corner. Go, amuse our guests."

Medea took the cake into the hall, and some time later everyone in the kitchen heard the jaunty music of the fiddler. In a heartbeat, clapping and bagpipes joined Medea's Celtic fiddle. The noise increased, and those in the kitchen heard the Scotsmen hitting their mugs on the table.

"Battle of Harlaw!" someone shouted. The sounds of merry music drifted into the kitchen. One of the Scotsmen began singing, and the rest of the clan joined him:

"As I cam' in by Dunideer

and doon by Nether Ha'

There were fifty thoosand' heilan' men

a-marchin' tae Harlaw.

Wi' a diddy aye o' an' a fal an' doe

And a diddy aye o' aye ay.

"As I gaed on an' farther on

and doon an' by Balquhain

Oh it's there I saw Sir James the Rose

and wi' him John the Graeme.

Wi' a diddy aye o' an' a fal an' doe

And a diddy aye o' aye ay.

""It's cam' ye fae the Heilan's man,

cam' ye a' the wey?

Saw ye MacDonald and his men

as they cam' in fae Skye?"

Wi' a diddy aye o' an' a fal an' doe

And a diddy aye o' aye ay."

Electra and Cassandra peeped into the hall. The McAlister clan, in similar tartan kilts, with auburn hair and beards, in a merry mood that the mugs of ale had caused, were dancing around the table. Two of the Scotsmen were playing the bagpipes, and Medea was leaping on the table, with the violin in her hands. Two young members of the clan, fair-faced brothers Eoin and Olghar, climbed onto the table and joined Medea's happy jig, singing:

""Oh na, na, my brither bold,

This thing will nivver be

Ye'll tak yer guid sword in yer haun',

ye'll gang in wi' me."

Wi' a diddy aye o' an' a fal an' doe

And a diddy aye o' aye ay.

"Well, it's back tae back the brithers bold

gaed in amangst the thrang

And they drave back the heilan' men

wi' swords baith sharp and lang.

Wi' a diddy aye o' an' a fal an' doe

And a diddy aye o' aye ay."

Eoin and Olghar beckoned Tavish McAlister and pulled the portly and clumsy figure on the table. Tavish began singing and trying to hop as agilely as the young brothers. His foot slipped on spilled ale and he nearly crashed down, but tall Ranald and massive Gillian caught him in time and pushed him back on the table, giving out a roaring guffaw.

Eoin saw Electra and Cassandra by the door, and beckoned them to the table.

"Ladies here!" green-eyed Kenneth yelled to the brothers. "Don't jump too high!"

Eoin and Olghar stretched their arms and pulled Electra and Cassandra on the table.

"Some rade, some ran and some did gang,

They were o' sma' record

For Forbes and his merry men,

They slew them on the road

Wi' a diddy aye o' an' a fal an' doe

And a diddy aye o' aye ay.

"O' fifty thoosan' Heilan' men,

But fifty-three gaed hame.

And oot o' a' the Lawlan' men,

Fifty marched wi' Graeme,

Wi' a diddy aye o' an' a fal an' doe

And a diddy aye o' aye ay."

After the guests sang every song they knew, danced as much as their legs could, and the torrent ceased, the McAlister Clan decided it was time to go.

"Thank you for the hospitality, Mr. and Mrs. Fitzroy," Somerled, the oldest of the clan, was saying, standing by the door while the clan members came out one after the other. "I didn't want to believe your premonitions, but I see now why you are so worried. Something will happen very soon. I can feel it. I can see it. Nature never lies; it feels the upcoming storm and has been warning us all to be ready."

"I wish we could stop this somehow," Colin said.

"You know you can't. They will come. I can feel their vile breath already. But you know you might have the chance to stop it for once and for all. Fight back when they come. Destroy them to the very last one, and get rid of them forever."

"Your words are full of sense, my friend, but you were here thirteen years ago. You saw what happened."

"I remember that dark night." The old Scot's eyes filled with sorrow. "For one and a half centuries I have been walking the Earth, but even another hundred and fifty years will not erase the memories of that one night." He tapped Colin on the shoulder. "If ever the McAlisters can be of help, you know where to find us," Somerled said before following his clan. "One call, and we will come and stand by your side. McAlisters don't forget their friends."

### 19. The Silver Key

For the last fifteen minutes Caitlin McCormack had been staring at the roast turkey, trying to make a decision about its fate. Should she send it back into the kitchen to heat it up, or should she wait a little more? It had been getting cold, maybe she needed to heat it up a little? But what if just at that very moment Peter comes to the dining room? He will chide her if the meal is not on the table. But what if it gets cold before he comes for dinner? Then he will be angry with her. He is always upset when she doesn't do her duty. "Is it so hard to prepare dinner?" Peter will tell her. "It's not like you're making a vase from a carnival glass."

Caitlin didn't take her eyes off the roast turkey. It was probably cold already, but if she told Mesida to warm it up, the meat would become dry. Peter hated when that happened. He was so precise; he liked order. Everything should be in order. Caitlin looked at the table. Is everything in order? The saltcellar and the pepper pot should stand together on the right side of the jar with compote. She looked inside the jar. The ice hadn't melted away. Peter hates when the ice melts away; then the compote becomes watery. But without ice it's too warm. Peter likes to have cold compote. What about the napkins? Yes, they seem to have the correct color and design. Peter hates those colorful napkins. Once Caitlin was inattentive and didn't notice that the maid had wrapped the napkins into swan figures. Peter became very angry that evening. He doesn't like it when napkins are turned into figures. "I can't wipe my mouth with a swan," he said then. But now the napkins are plain white and in a simple triangular form—the correct form. At the moment, the question was whether to send the roast turkey back to the kitchen or not. The whole world now revolved around that turkey. Caitlin stared at it. Peter knew it was dinnertime. He was probably on his way to the dining room.

"Can we start already?" Dickens asked.

"No, dear, we should wait for your father."

Dickens leaned his jaw on his palm and began drumming fingers on the table. The silence lasted almost a minute.

"Shall I go call him?" Dinah asked.

"No need to do that. He'll come in a minute, and then we shall eat."

"This is ridiculous," Dickens muttered. "If he decides to stay in his study the whole evening, are we going to starve?"

"Dickens, patience is a virtue. And we should respect your father."

"Sure, the way he respects us."

After another minute of waiting, Dickens pushed his plate away and left the table. His mother called after him, but he didn't come back. After another minute, Caitlin called the maid and told her to take the turkey to the kitchen and heat it up. Dinah was looking at her mother and shaking her head. Sometimes she doubted that Caitlin was indeed her mother. They were so different. She was so confident, quick-witted, and smart, and Caitlin so slavish, unsure, and tiring.

At last Peter McCormack appeared and without a word sat at the head of the table. Caitlin paled. Why had she sent that turkey to the kitchen? She bit her lips and didn't dare raise her eyes. But Peter said nothing. He sat with an impassive face and looked at the center of the table. The main meal was missing. His silence was worse than his fury. Caitlin wished he would shout at her, or would throw a plate on the floor and break it. She wished he'd say something, even if those would be words of condemnation, but Peter was silent. And that silence was agonizing.

Mesida brought the turkey back. As Caitlin had predicted, it had become dry. And the ice in the compote had melted away. They ate in painful silence. Then Peter wiped his mouth with the napkin and left the table in the same silent way.

Dinah went after her father and knocked at the door of his study.

"Father, it's me, may I come in?"

"Yes, my child," Peter said. Dinah entered the study, and a faint smile appeared on Peter's face.

"I didn't want to bother you, Father, but I need to talk."

"You never bother me, my precious. Has anything happened? You seem worried."

"Yes, Father, I have done something and I need your advice."

Peter sunk deeper into his armchair. "Tell me. Do not fear anything."

"I did something to fight our enemies, but now I'm not sure if it was the correct thing to do."

"Why do you think it wasn't the correct thing?"

"I was aiming at them, Father, but now I realize that others may get hurt, too."

For some time Peter looked at her without saying a word. Dinah thought he would get angry, but Peter was smiling.

"You remind me of one girl," he spoke at last. "You are as pretty and as smart. You could be her daughter... There is no battle without loss, Dinah. If it might cause harm to our enemies and weaken them, then you have done the right thing."

Those were the words Dinah was longing to hear. She left her father's study with a calmer heart, feeling as if a heavy burden had fallen off her shoulders.

Dinah went to her room, on her way recollecting the events that had led her to Taidgroth. The idea to open the door of the second cave came to her when she heard bits of conversation behind the door of their living room. One spring evening, the sheriff called a Council meeting in the McCormack's house. Dinah remembered well the misty evening when the members of the Council one after the other arrived at their house. First, her uncle Magnus McCormack came. Dinah was sitting on the swing in the yard, looking at the carriages shrouded in mist that carried the members of the Council to their house. Her uncle walked down the path, his face grave and thoughtful. He didn't even see her. Or pretended that he didn't. Then Louis Baldric arrived. In the thick mist his corpulent figure resembled a walking barrel, and Dinah tried hard not to laugh at him. But the smile vanished as soon as she saw the silhouette of a woman walking next to Mr. Baldric—his wife Esther. Dressed in black, with a veil over her face, she paced to the door, her head straight, and poise stately. Five minutes later, Manfred Van Balen arrived. Then Derek Iron and Caspar O'Neal appeared on the tiled path. The last was Sheriff De Roy, in a hooded cloak, akin to a ghostly shape inside the gray fog, walking in silence, absorbed in thoughts of the darkest nature and spiteful intentions.

Dinah sat on the swing so long that the menacing obscurity around the house aggravated her fears that something vague and ghostlike was lurking in the fog. It could have been the wind that stirred the bushes and branches, or that thing that had come to life on the Halloween night. Dinah hurried inside, and in the living room saw her father, the five Council members, Sheriff De Roy, and Mrs. Baldric.

"Go to your room, my child," Peter told her. "This is a conversation between the adults."

Dinah went upstairs and found her mother in the small lounge. Caitlin was standing by the window, eyeing the trees outside, and shuddering from the sound of the wind that was howling wildly.

Dinah looked at her mother's timid figure and thought about Mrs. Baldric downstairs. How different these women are, she thought. They both were still and silent, but Esther Baldric was calm, straight, and proud, while Caitlin McCormack was wan and piteous.

"Mrs. Baldric is down there, she'll be taking part in the meeting. Why won't you?"

"Your father forbade me to come out of the room," Caitlin said.

"Why?"

"I think he believes that the conversation should be between the men."

"But I just told you that Mrs. Baldric is down there."

"Mrs. Baldric is another type of woman."

Dinah clenched her teeth. "It's not about Mrs. Baldric; it's about you being useless. And Father knows that. He feels embarrassed in your presence, because you always say the wrong things."

Dickens appeared in the lounge.

"What about you?" Dinah asked. "He sent you away, too?"

"They said no children. And I couldn't care less."

"Of course you couldn't, child." Dinah smirked and stormed out, but stopped behind the door when she heard her mother call Dickens.

"My boy, I want to ask you something," she said. "And I want you to promise me you will do as I ask."

"What is it, Mother?"

"I want you to promise me that whatever your father decides tonight, you will do just as he says."

Dickens didn't say a word.

"Please," she said. "Promise you will always do what he says, and will support him in his difficult task of banishing the witches."

There was a long pause, then, "I promise."

"But Dickens, you must mean it. You are giving me a promise which you should never break. There was a fellow who once made a similar promise. I was staying at their house that night; I overheard him talk to his mother. He made the same promise, but when the time came he refused to fulfil it. He broke his mother's heart."

"Who was that fellow?"

"His name is Colin Fitzroy."

Another long pause followed. "I am no Colin Fitzroy," Dickens said with confidence. "I will keep my promise."

Losing interest in their conversation, Dinah went downstairs and tiptoed to the door of the living room.

"What if we publicly declare that the witch is dangerous and arrest her along with her family?" someone said. Dinah couldn't recognize the voice. It was either Marion's father Caspar O'Neal, or Thomas's father, Louis Baldric.

"And how shall we prove it?" another voice said.

"Strange things had been happening in the town. One even occurred with Peter's wife."

"No, Derek, it's not enough. Whatever it was, it is over now. Nothing of the kind has happened in the last months, and if we arrest the witch without any evidence, the West Bank will stand on their side."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"We need help. We can't overcome the witches by ourselves. You all know that we need them. If we have them back in town, they will help us to banish the witches."

That was Peter McCormack's voice, Dinah would always recognize it.

"What if we open the cave door?" another male voice suggested.

Then there was silence and no one spoke for almost a minute.

"I don't think that's a good idea," another voice said slowly. She recognized him—it was Sheriff De Roy. "Whatever comes out of the cave might hurt the ones on the East Bank as well. We can't take that risk."

"Still," Peter said, "I like the idea about the cave. I still have the key; it's in my library, inside a book. I can go there myself. I'm not afraid to enter that cave and open that door. Whatever comes out of it will throw the town into disarray. And maybe our saviors will be back sooner than we expect."

"The sheriff is right," another man said. "Whatever comes out of the cave may help us, but at the same time may hurt us. We had better wait a little bit more. I believe the Hunters might be back. We only need to plant a seed of hate and stand aside. That seed will grow into the disarray we need. The more the folks argue with each other, the sooner they will be back. Fights, frays and mistrust seem to beckon them like a magnet."

The maid paced to the door of the living room, with a cup of coffee in her hand and a frown across her face. She didn't pay any attention to Dinah, and entering the room, headed to Mrs. Baldric. The woman's face was covered with a black veil she had been wearing outside since her eldest son died fourteen years ago.

"Your coffee, Ma'am." The maid placed the cup on the table in front of Mrs. Baldric.

"Freshly made?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"No sugar?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Two spoons of milk?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Mrs. Baldric touched the cup. "It's cold. I want it warmer."

When Mesida left the living room and returned to the kitchen, Dinah could hear her swearing under her breath. She plastered her ear back on the door.

"I remember what this place looked like thirteen years ago," said the only female voice in the room. "Witches and wizards, elves and dwarves. Wicked sorcerers, crazy mechanics, malicious stargazers. I hated the town and rarely left the house. Then we were saved by those merciful creatures. They saved us from that unnatural weirdness. Sadly, not before the witch poisoned my son. And sadly, they were not able to extirpate them. Their remains were spared, and the Hunters' work was left unfinished. We need to finish what we all started thirteen years ago."

"What do you suggest, Esther?"

Someone in the living room paced to the door, and Dinah rushed upstairs to her room before they caught her spying. Late at night, when the meeting was over, she sneaked into her father's library and began searching for the key. Peter had forbidden his children to touch his books, but tonight Dinah was going to disrespect her father's ban for the first time in her life. She took the books, opened them, looked inside, and put them back into the bookcase. The thick volume in a brown leather cover had a surprise for her: the insides of the book had been cut out, and a big silver key rested there. Dinah looked at the door of the library, listened attentively, and not hearing a sound, took the key out of the book. It was heavy and cold, incised with engravings. She put the key under her pillow, and spent the night thinking over what would happen if she opened the door of the cave.

She went to the cave early in the morning. If she hesitated or postponed, she might change her mind or be a coward. The cave was dark and deep and chilly. As a child, she and her friends had been playing nearby, sometimes even venturing to enter the cave during a game of hide-and-seek, but never had any of them gone so deep into the darkness. The dim light of her lantern didn't help to drive away the fear, but Dinah was determined to find out what kind of door was hidden in the depths of Imgroth. And to open it.

Although she didn't see under her feet, she could feel the shallow water and the damp earth. Sometimes she'd shriek in fear when something would hover over her head, and her shriek would echo in the cave's endless passages. She tried not to touch the walls and not to look at them, as the illuminated bedrocks would disclose disgusting creatures akin to spiders with shiny shells and prolonged limbs. Dinah shivered from their sight. Sometimes she wished she were blind, and would continue making her way through the cave by using her senses of hearing and touch rather than witnessing all the malevolent life forms that inhabited the depths of the cave. But still she didn't turn off the light, and held the lantern before her eyes.

Trembling, breathing unevenly, she reached the door of the second cave. The iron panel was illuminated by dim sunlight slanting down through the cracks above. Dinah looked up and her gasp echoed in the cave. She heard bats flutter over the sculpture above the iron door: a stone face so appalling it left no more doubts about the horrors lurking behind it. A silent onlooker of the fear that possessed anyone who dared stand before its menacing appearance. The image was old, not a century old, but more ancient, with the traces of all the millennia it had spent in the silence of the cave.

Dinah forced herself to take a step. She was closer to the door now and saw the runes engraved across the door and on the walls around it. She didn't know what they meant, but was sure they couldn't carry a good message. This was the door with the horrors behind it, in the cave where, as the legends told, witches and other evils used to hide from just punishment.

Dinah took the key out of her pocket and put it inside the keyhole, but couldn't turn it for almost a minute. She wasn't sure that nothing would jump at her if she opened the door. What if a menacing creature was standing there, right behind the iron, waiting for her?

"You have to do this," she whispered. "Do it and get rid of them."

She turned the key and waited.

Nothing happened. Taking a deep breath, Dinah pulled the handle. The emptiness behind the door was terrifying. A sudden wail chilled her blood, and when a cold breath whiffed into her face, Dinah jumped back and shut the door. She pulled out the key without locking the door, and ran away as fast as she could.

### 20. Treehouse Memories

The three witches, Jack, Hector, Eric, and Ariadne, were sitting on the pool of the fountain in the square and peering inside it. None of them had ever seen the fountain working. It had never been filled with water. Instead, the fountain was full of rotten leaves and dust.

"The key got caught on the whistler's statue," Electra thought aloud, examining the man-sized figure of the whistler with pointy shoes and a medieval beret on his head. "What could it have gotten caught on? Maybe on his flute?" She touched the hands of the whistler he was holding in front of his mouth. "His flute is gone. I wonder who has taken it."

Cassandra and Medea were examining the statue of a lady in 19th century clothing. She was wearing a long dress and a necklace, her hair collected into a beautiful hairdo. And Ariadne was looking at the last figure, a little boy in a nightgown and slippers, with a candleholder in his hands.

"Maybe we need to enter the cave?" Medea suggested.

"Why?" Jack asked. "What shall we do there without the key? If it's indeed inhabited by deadly creatures, why would we endanger ourselves if we have no way to lock the door? We shall enter the cave only after we find the key, so search more thoroughly."

"Search more thoroughly." Medea snorted. "We already examined every inch of this stupid fountain. There is no key."

"Are there any other fountains in Hollow?" Eric asked.

"Plenty on the West Bank, but they are small," Hector said.

"And the book mentioned specifically the fountain in the square," Cassandra said.

"We are missing something," said Electra. "There has to be something that has slipped our attention."

"Maybe we need to dig under the fountain?"

"And how are you going to dig under the fountain on the square, Medea?" Jack asked. "Alright, my friends, this will be our homework for the next days or weeks or even months. I don't know how much time we'll need, but we have to solve this riddle. We need to find the key and lock that door. Search everywhere you can. Ask anyone you can, but don't forget about caution. Read any book that may shed some light. Do anything you want, but solve this riddle."

~ * ~

A golden-haired girl was passing across the glen, going to a place where she hadn't been for years, but which she used to visit so frequently in her dreams. She remembered the road as if she had passed it just yesterday. The treehouse hadn't changed. Maybe it looked a bit darker, but it was still the same hut where she and Jack would meet. It still had the same stairs, the rope bridge, the door, and the round window.

She was so engrossed in her memories she didn't hear the footsteps behind.

"Hello, Elora," someone said.

That voice was familiar, and only she knew how much she had missed it.

"Hello, Jack." Eleanora glanced at him, searching for something else to say. She hadn't seen him so close for a long time, and tried hard not to stare into his gray eyes.

"How are you doing?" Jack said after a long pause.

"Fine." She began chewing on her lower lip. "And you? How are you?"

"Marvelous."

The pause lasted for another minute.

"Jack, I... you know... I... wanted to say... I am glad that you are well."

"Oh, please, Elora. As if you care."

"But I do. I... always did."

Jack smirked. "Sure you did."

"Oh, Jack, don't be so heartless. You know I did. I... still do. I miss you. Everyday."

"Why are you saying that?"

"Because it's true."

"Why have you come here?"

"I told you already. I miss the old days. I missed this house. And you."

"I don't think you need to be here. It's not safe, you know."

"You're too cruel with me."

"Am I? More cruel than you?"

Her face turned crimson. "I am sorry." When her eyes glistened with tears, she bowed her head to hide them from him. "I was only a child," she whispered.

"You still are. If you think that saying sorry will change anything, then you're indeed still a little child."

"Why shouldn't it change? Have you become so heartless that you can't forgive anymore? What happened to you? You were never so cruel."

"I had good teachers. Teachers who taught me to betray friends, to stomp on them, to turn my back on them when they need me the most. To... break their hearts."

"I was only a child." She began to cry. "I couldn't disobey my father. But he seems to have changed his mind. Eric is your friend, and if last year my father was disgruntled, now he has softened."

"Is that why you've come here? Because your father has softened? What if he changes his mind again? What if another Council meeting happens? Will you again call me a warlock and say that I am dangerous to your well-being?"

Eleanora flushed. "I never meant those words."

"Please, Elora, leave this place."

She sniffed. "I miss being called by that name."

Jack was looking into the distance, at the lush trees and the darkness behind them, pretending he didn't see her tears.

"Is this because of that girl who's always with you? Ariadne, right?"

"She has nothing to do with this."

"But you care for her, don't you?"

"Yes," he said. "I do."

His words stung her in the heart. "If I could turn back the time, I would have never hurt you. I would have never said those words, but I was silly. I was young and said stupid things. I don't even know why I said them. I hated myself afterwards. If only I could turn back the time."

"But you can't. We can't take back what we say. That's why we should be careful when picking the words. We can't unsay them."

Jack left. Eleanora went home, and when she reached her house her mood couldn't have been worse. Henry ran up to her, asking her to play with him, but she refused him angrily and entered the living room. Albert was sitting in his armchair, reading newspaper. Riona had settled near the window, sewing a tablecloth.

"Where were you, girl?" Albert asked. "You've been gone since morning."

Eleanora turned to the stairs and was on her way to the second floor when her father repeated his question.

"It's all your fault!" she yelled out. "And I hate you for that! I hate you all!" She ran upstairs and slammed the door behind her. Riona went after Eleanora, but she didn't open the door no matter how many times her mother knocked. She didn't want to see anybody, and burying her face in the pillow, she cried until evening.

### 21. A Flight on a Broom

"Cassandra told us you had found traps in the forest," Electra said when she and Eric met at the Old Curiosity Shop and walked down the alley.

"Poachers put a lot of traps at the south edge of the forest. Cassie and I found a few yesterday, and marred them."

"Please be careful," Electra pleaded. "And take care of my little sister."

"Of course I will." Eric threw his arm around her and smacked her cheek.

"Isn't it an interesting coincidence that you two chose the same profession?"

Eric was about to answer her when they came upon the famous Candy shop, and the smell of freshly baked muffins wafted through the open door.

"I'd kill for a piece of strawberry cake," Eric said, and both hurried inside.

Rosy-cheeked Mrs. Rose McKennit began telling them about the muffins and cakes, how much cream was in the éclairs, how juicy were the blackberries in the fruitcake, and how many layers of chocolate were in the pineapple cake.

"We have come for a strawberry cake, Mrs. Rose," Electra said.

"Oh, I have a delicious cake to offer you," the baker said with enthusiasm. "Absolutely fresh and oh-so-tasty."

Eric took his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and looked at the screen. "It's my mom, I have to answer," he told Electra, and went to the doors. "I'll talk and be back in a moment."

"This pie has the freshest raspberry, and those rolls are absolutely delicious," Mrs. McKennit was telling Electra when they smelled something burning in the kitchen. "The donuts!" Mrs. Rose exclaimed. "Oh dear, my donuts." She rushed to the kitchen door. "Electra, dear, keep an eye on the cakes, and tell me if a customer comes. Oh, my poor donuts!"

Electra bent to the stand and was smelling the raspberry rolls when someone entered the shop.

"Just don't touch them, or you might spoil them with your stench," a voice said behind her.

Electra turned around. The three Easterners, Thomas Baldric, his younger brother Edward, and Tim Van Balen, were staring at her.

"This place stinks with a witch," Tim said.

Thomas smirked. "So many times we tell you not to show up here, but you keep ignoring us, as if something is wrong with your ears."

"Could it be that they are deaf?" Edward asked, approaching Electra from the left. She tried to get out of the circle, but Tim blocked her way and Electra retreated back.

"Is it so?" he asked. "Witch, are you deaf?"

She kept quiet.

"Even the scent of those fine cakes can't fight back your stink, witch." Thomas came so close that she had no more space to retreat. "What is it? Do I sense fear? You're not so brave when alone, right? That's how we shall crush you, one by one." Thomas leaned over; Electra could feel his breath on her neck, making the hair on her nape bristle. She made a desperate attempt to get out of the closing circle, but Thomas shoved her back. "I'm not done with you, witch."

She hit her back on the stand. Chuckling, the fellows pressed from all sides.

"Such a miserable sight," Thomas continued. "Like a butterfly caught in a trap. And now I am going to pull out its wings. Such sad eyes, filling with tears. But those tears can't move me. I have no sympathy for the witches." He gripped her neck and pulled her to his face. "Your family killed my brother. No sympathy for you!"

Electra searched for something helpful with her hands, and grabbing a piece of cake from the stand, spread it over Thomas's face.

"Witch," he hissed, loosening his grip and wiping his face with his sleeve.

Tim and Edward chuckled under their breaths.

"These witches keep mocking you, Tom," Edward sniggered. "How does the cake taste, by the way?"

"Shut up!" Thomas turned to Electra. "You worthless, confounded witch. You think you're so witty?" He was about to slap her, when someone grabbed his arm and pinned it behind his back, then squeezed his neck and dipped his face into the cake on the stand. When Tim tried to pounce on Eric, he released Thomas and punched Tim so hard he rolled to the corner. Before Thomas managed to rise to his feet, Eric grabbed his neck again, shoving his face back into the cake.

"Ned, behave!" Eric told Edward when the boy went to hit him. As Eric was older and taller, Edward retreated back and reached out to Tim, helping him to his feet. Tim pressed his palm to his bleeding lip and scurried out.

"How brave you are." Eric smirked. "Three guys against one girl. Unbelievable!"

Thomas tried to squirm out from the grip, but Eric squeezed his neck harder. "What are you saying?" He bent down. "Sorry, I can't hear you, speak louder." He dipped Thomas's face deeper into the cake. "Did he hurt you?" Eric looked at Electra. She shook her head.

"Please, let him go," she begged.

"Did you hear that? The witch is asking me to let you go." Eric raised Thomas's face over the smashed cake. "This witch is asking me to let you go. Should I do as she says?"

Mrs. McKennit came out of the kitchen and stared at the two fellows and her smashed cake. She threw herself back into the kitchen and returned with an oven fork in her hands. "Get out of the shop," she said. "Or I'll call the officers."

Eric let go of Thomas's neck. Panting, he rose to his feet and looked around, his face a composition of crème and marzipan.

"Call the officers, fatty," he muttered. "We have culprits to arrest—the witch and her bodyguard."

"I said get out!" Mrs. Rose raised the oven fork.

"Be careful, O'Brian," Thomas said by the door. "And watch your back."

Eric watched them until Thomas and his brother left the shop, then turned to Electra. "Are you alright?" he asked, taking her in his arms.

"What happened here?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. McKennit," Eric said. "I'll pay for the cake."

Mrs. McKennit put the oven fork down. "Did it happen again?" she asked Electra. "They threatened you?"

Electra nodded. Eric tightened his embrace and kissed her brow.

"My dear child, I am so sorry," the baker said.

"No big deal," Electra said. "But I spoiled a piece of cake. I'll pay for that."

"Oh, stop it, child," Mrs. Rose giggled, waving her hand. "That haughty boy deserved it." She gave them napkins to wipe their hands. "The Baldrics are so arrogant. Esther and Louis should have been paying more attention to their children. They are absolutely unsupportable."

A torrent had started, and Eric and Electra lingered in the Candy shop until the gray clouds dissolved in the air. Two days ago, Electra had made a promise to Eric, and now they hurried to the treehouse, where she would fulfil his request and give him a flying lesson. Two brooms were leaning against the wall, with leather saddles. Electra took one, told Eric to take the second, then crossed the rope bridge and reached the landing on the opposite tree.

"In fact, it's not very hard," she said, saddling her broom. Eric was expecting her to fall down once she raised her feet, but, strangely, she stayed in the air. Eric did the same, seated on the saddle, and crashed down on the landing. Electra giggled.

"Look here." She pulled the edge of her broom up and rose into the air. "You need to relax, just like in the water. You can't swim with a tensed body." She moved higher and looked down at Eric, dangling her feet in the air.

He gaped at her, his breath held back. "This is amazing."

Electra spun around the tree and returned to the same spot. "Oh, it's not really hard. Concentrate, relax, and fly!" She laughed.

Eric tried again, and again fell down. "I can't do this," he said. "There must be something wrong with me. Guess I'm too untalented for witchcraft."

"Nonsense!" Electra reached out to him. "Sit behind me. We'll have a short flight."

Eric jumped on Electra's broom, wrapped his arms around her waist, and held his breath again.

"Ready?"

"Go!" he cried.

The broom dashed through the branches. Eric felt as if he was on a carousel and was simultaneously riding a horse. The flight on the broom reminded him of riding—in both cases he had to hold his balance and keep his back straight, but if the horse hit the hoofs against the ground, the broom soared above the earth. How strange it was not to feel the solid ground, but to hover freely in the air, sitting on a broom and not falling down, watching your own shadow follow you, and letting the wind caress your face.

"Let's go faster," Electra said. "Hold on."

Eric held her tighter, and the broom increased its speed. Electra rode the broom higher, and through the branches and the leafage they made their way into the darkened sky. The broom and its riders swept over the forest trees, their feet touching the peaks of the pines. Eric looked down at the endless forest. The familiar lights sparkled inside the thicket. And though they were riding fast, he could swear he saw wooden constructions looping around the trees, looking like colossal treehouses with towers, roofs, and narrow stairs.

Eric turned around. They had left the town far behind and were high above the infinite woodland. There was nothing around but the dark sky and the twinkling stars. And he was among those shiny gems, so close and yet so far away. Their glitter taunted him and called him higher, into the boundless sky, to the round-faced moon. He was among the clouds, above the earth, so high, so free, riding through the vault of heaven.

An ivory crow cawed near the broom.

"It's Morrigan," Electra said. "She wants us to go down."

"Shall we do as she says?"

"No!"

Electra lowered the edge of the broom, and they dashed down, where instead of the forest, black water was spreading into the horizon. They descended so much that the heels of Eric's sneakers plunged into the sea. He bent down and dipped his hand into the water. The round moon was hanging over the waves, its silver ray crossing the sea.

"I have never seen anything more beautiful," Eric said when the broom came to a halt. He stared at the silver disc of the moon shining in the horizon, and at the foamy waves arising in the distance and curling under their feet.

A shiver ran through his body. The scene was mesmerizing but frightening at the same time. He was sitting on a flying broom, above the endless sea aglow with the moonlight, and the blackness of the water under his feet was terrifying. Eric raised his eyes to the silver eye. It was so big and so close that he could see the craters on the moon's surface. A gray fog began to curl in the horizon, covering the sea with vaporous smoke. The moon disappeared in a misty gaol, and the fog spread all over the ghostly waves.

"So quiet," Eric whispered.

"Are you scared?"

"I'd say I am, but my pride won't allow me to." He buried his face in the crook of her neck.

The curls of the vapor whirled under their feet, enshrouding them inside.

"What if in the mist we lose our way back?" Eric asked.

"We shall fly high above the fog," the witch said, and rode the broom up into the sky.

### 22. Tarot Session

In the morning, the three witches and their Aunt were treading in the field near the forest's edge. With wicker baskets hanging on their folded arms the girls were collecting herbs and singing under their breaths:

"As I was walking all alane,

I heard twa corbies making a mane;

The tane unto the t'other say,

'Where sall we gang and dine to-day?'

"'In behint yon auld fail dyke,

I wot there lies a new slain knight;

And naebody kens that he lies there,

But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.

"'His hound is to the hunting gane,

His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,

His lady's ta'en another mate,

So we may mak our dinner sweet."

Their aunt had been teaching them about medical and culinary herbs recently. The baskets were full of green-leaved rosemary for making tea and easing headaches; parsley, to clean the blood and ease spasms; poisonous aconite which, when prepared correctly could be used as a painkiller; and leaves of thyme to be used as antiseptic and against coughs.

The day was calm; the sun was shining down on the field, brightening their glossy hair. The field was swarmed with chamomiles, which constantly distracted Electra and Cassandra, taunting them to pick one every other minute and play the 'loves me, loves me not' game. Each time they would either smile with delight or throw the stalk away with resentment and continue their song.

"'Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,

And I'll pike out his bonny blue een;

Wi ae lock o his gowden hair

We'll theek our nest when it grows bare."

"'Mony a one for him makes mane,

But nane sall ken where he is gane;

Oer his white banes, when they are bare,

The wind sall blaw for evermair.'"

On the other side of the river, Sheriff De Roy was passing on horseback, with Magnus McCormack by his side. They gazed at the field, where, almost at the edge of the forest, three young girls were collecting herbs and singing a song about the crows that were preparing to eat the dead knight's corpse. De Roy clasped the reins and gritted his teeth.

"Witches."

Magnus McCormack scowled, his long gray hair waving in the air. "Just a bit more patience. We shall get rid of them soon."

They hit the spurs and vanished from the field. Neither the girls nor their aunt had noticed them. When the baskets were full, they seated under the shades of the maples and began sorting the herbs. Electra and Medea were talking about something, but Cassandra wasn't listening to them. For some time she sat by herself, quiet and thoughtful. Then a white hand patted her on the head, and Andromeda sat beside her.

"My child, is anything bothering you?"

Cassandra shook her head.

"I can see that you are worried about something. What is bothering you, my angel?"

"I don't know, Aunt Meda. I think it's only a flight of fancy and nothing more." Cassandra threw a quick glance at Medea and just as quickly looked away.

"Is it about Medea?" Andromeda asked. "What has she done?"

"No, nothing. It's not about her. Rather about my imagination."

"Tell me about it."

Cassandra bit her lips.

"You remember what happened the last time when you kept secrets from me, right? You can tell me anything. I won't get angry, but I want to be sure that my girls are not in trouble."

"Why is she different?"

"Medea?" Andromeda looked at the black-haired nymph sitting under the trees, telling something to Electra and laughing heartily. "You all are different, my dear. Everyone is different."

"Yes, but she... she is... it is like she's not..." She stopped halfway and looked at Medea, at her pale skin, paler than theirs, at her black hair and the black fathomless eyes. She then rested her eyes on the wicker basket near Medea, which was full of herbs, flowers, and fly agarics. Morrigan flew above their heads and cawed.

"That day at the fair," Cassandra said. "She changed. I didn't recognize her. I am so scared for her. What if she doesn't restrain herself? What if she gives them a chance to accuse her? My poor Medea. I don't want anything to happen to her."

Now she was trying hard not to cry. Her eyes were lost in moisture, but she knew she had to hold the tears back to avoid upsetting her sisters. Andromeda kissed her brow and assured her she wouldn't let anything happen to them. She left Cassandra, went near Medea, and began sorting the herbs in her basket. Cassandra wiped away the tears that had managed to crawl down her cheeks.

"Then I told him that witchcraft is not for everyone," Electra was saying. "But he is so stubborn, my lovely fellow. Now I'm wondering if there is anything easy enough to be taught to him."

"You don't need this." Andromeda took an acorn out of Medea's basket. Medea snatched it and threw it at the tree where Electra was sitting. The acorn hit the bark and fell into Electra's basket.

"Hey, darling, don't you dare tell your boyfriend our family secrets." Medea laughed.

Electra took the acorn, looked at it for a second, and tossed it at Cassandra, aiming into her basket. "Cassie, tell your sister that I'm not so stupid to teach Eric family secrets."

Cassandra gave the acorn to the squirrel nearby. The squirrel took it and scurried up the tree. "How do I know what's on your mind? Maybe you will," she said with a smile.

A butterfly floated before Cassandra's eyes and settled down on her head. A moment later another dozen butterflies appeared around her and perched on her soft hair, forming a colorful headband. Cassandra laughed. "Beautiful crown," she said. "Now set them free."

"Free!" Electra spread her hands aside. The butterflies rose above Cassandra's head and scattered away.

Andromeda helped Electra with her basket and all four returned home. Eric was in the blue castle, waiting for her. She sat with him on a swinging couch in the garden, among the lilies and lavenders, and listened to Eric's story about the premonitions he had been having recently.

"I don't know if I'm really sensing something, or if this feeling is because of the diaries I've read and the creature that's lurking in the town. I'm having nightmares every night. I wake up covered in sweat, but maybe it's only because I sleep with closed windows, and my room is hot. I'm so worried, sunshine."

Electra wrapped her arms around his neck and put her head on his shoulder.

"Am I thinking too much into it?"

"I don't know, sweetheart. So many things are happening. Would you like to tell me about your dreams?"

Eric stroked her check with his knuckles. How beautiful she was: a flower among the flowers, fairer than all the garden roses around. He tore off a white lily from its stem and tucked it into her braid behind her ear. Eric then lay down on the couch and put his head on her lap.

"I don't remember my dreams, but I remember the feeling after I wake up. I feel devastated. Sometimes I can feel I've been crying in my sleep. The only thing I remember about my dreams is the shining of the stars. And then there's darkness. I feel something bad will happen."

"You know what we shall do? We shall go to Aunt's Fortune-telling Room and have a cartomancy session."

Electra led Eric into a room on the second floor of the castle. She told him to sit in front of a round table, and lit up the candles. The room was hazy; only the table and one of the walls were illumined by the candlelight. Electra picked up a crystal ball from the table and put it away. In the dark corner of the room, she loosened her hair, and came back wearing a long mantle, with a black conical hat in her hands.

"Is that necessary?" Eric asked when she put the hat on.

"Not really. But I look good in it, don't I?"

"Absolutely, my gorgeous witch."

Electra took a deck of tarot cards and sat in front of Eric. "And now, young man, let's see what is bothering you," she said, shuffling the deck. "This is your past." She pointed at a card on the table. "Four of Wands. Appreciation, harmony." Electra pulled out another card. "Two of Cups—a romance, new friendship." She looked up at him and smiled. "Now what your present says." She placed a card on the table. "Eight of Pentacles. That's employment, a new profession."

"Wow." Eric looked at the card with a craftsman at his work. "Until now you haven't been mistaken."

The fortune-teller pulled out another card. "Ten of Cups. A family quarrel."

Eric sighed. Electra put one more card on the table. "The Star. Upright!"

"What's it?"

"Hope. Optimism. Faith. And now the future." Electra put three cards on the top of the rest. A shadow clouded her face. All cards were reverse. All predicted misfortunes.

"Why did you stop?" Eric asked. "What's this card?" He put his finger on the card with ten coins.

"Ten of Pentacles."

"What does it foretell?"

"It augurs family misfortune."

"And this one?" He pointed at a man with a sword in one hand and scales in the other.

"False accusations. Unfairness. Bias." For a moment Electra thought about lying to him, and hiding the true meanings of the cards, but changed her mind. She wasn't going to conceal anything from him. They looked at each other, then their eyes rested on the last card: a horseman on a white steed.

"Death," was written under the card.

### 23. Planning the Future

Cassandra was resting on the bank of the river, enclosed in her beloved's arms, and wondering how she was going to live without him for the upcoming months. Raymond was supposed to return to Ornshire and stay there until the end of the winter.

"I wish I didn't have to go," he was saying. "But grandmother needs me there, and I can't disobey her."

"I know," she sighed. "But I was hoping you'd stay the whole autumn in Hollow."

Raymond cuddled her. "I will talk to grandmother as soon as I have the chance."

"You will talk to her?"

"Have you forgotten? I'm going to talk to grandmother about my future, our future—mine and yours."

"Our future," she mumbled, forcing a smile.

"I want to introduce you to my grandmother. I am sure she'll love you as much as I do." Raymond drew her closer and bowed to her lips. "I can't wait to show you Ornshire. That's one beautiful place. I know how much you love Hollow, but Ornshire is something different. I've never seen so many trees as in Ornshire. It's one huge forest, teemed with oaks and poplars, cedars and aspens. It's so green there, and the air is cleaner than you can imagine. Ah, Cassie, I can't wait to take you there. Bonnie and I will take you on a tour, and you'll see that I wasn't lying, not even exaggerating. Grandmother takes good care of the place. No one can touch anything in Ornshire without her approval."

"She looks so grave—your grandmother. Always so serious." Cassandra considered the Dowager a woman with no soul, a rare jewel, polished to brightness and perfection.

"She is, most of the time. She's a strong woman, taking care of so many matters for the last three decades. You know her husband, the Duke of Ornshire, died very early, and being all alone made my grandmother develop a harsher character. My father's death was another strike for her, but she bore her grief silently, as she always does; she rarely shows emotions. She doesn't even smile."

"Maybe before you talk to her we need to discuss it?"

"Discuss what, my love?"

"Our future."

"There's nothing to discuss, Cassie. I've thought of everything already." He kissed the top of her head. "No need to burden this beautiful head with problems. I will think for both of us."

Cassandra bit her lips and kept silent. Raymond spoke about their future life in Ornshire for another hour, but she hardly heard him.

"You need to tell him you're not ready," Electra told her after Cassandra shared Raymond's plans with her sisters. "You're only seventeen, why would you marry so soon?"

"I don't want to marry," she said. "But I love him, and I'm afraid I might lose him if I tell him that. There's probably a whole line of girls ready to marry him this very moment."

"Cassie, I may not be the best advisor, I am only four months older, but if he loves you, he won't leave you just because you're not ready for marriage. You need not sacrifice yourself."

"She's right," Medea said, sitting on Cassandra's bed. "Why is it that you have to do as he wishes when he hasn't even asked if you want to marry? Getting married at seventeen is silly."

"Besides, is Raymond planning to live his whole life as the Duke of Ornshire and spend his days and nights lying on the couch doing nothing? Has he talked about that?"

Cassandra cast her eyes down.

"Sorry, my dear, I didn't mean to sound so harsh."

"You're not harsh. You both are right, but I'm not sure I can tell him all this. Maybe I need to write him a letter?"

"A letter?" Medea chuckled. "Are you such a coward that you can't say what you think straight into the face of the fellow you love? Or are you so unsure about him?"

"No! No, I am sure. I know he loves me just as much as I love him."

"Then talk to him. Do it tomorrow, before he leaves. I don't know a lot about love matters, but I think that lovers shouldn't hide anything from each other. You know what they say: love conquers everything."

"Medea is right." Electra sat behind Cassandra and began combing her hair. "Don't be afraid."

"I'm glad to have you. What would I do without you?"

"You'd get married at seventeen and have a boring life of a houseduchess all your life."

"A houseduchess!" Electra cracked up.

"I think thousands of girls would dream about being a houseduchess." Cassandra giggled.

"Maybe. But don't forget that we're special," Medea said slyly.

"Special? Rather damned," Electra muttered, braiding Cassandra's hair.

Cassandra pouted. "Don't say that. We're not damned."

"Then why do I hear 'damned creature' whispered behind my back all the time?"

All three sighed.

"Do you think this will ever end?"

"I don't know, Medea. I'm not sure it will."

"Why can't they leave us alone?" Cassandra said. "What have we done to them? Why are they so mean?"

"Forget about them, and think about the upcoming conversation with Raymond." Medea glanced at Cassandra's long braid. "I want one, too!"

Cassandra gave up her place to Medea, and Electra began combing her hair.

"Yes, you're right. I need to think about my conversation with Raymond. I only hope that none of us will be left disappointed."

"I promise you that everything will be alright," Medea said, stretching her arms to her sister and hugging her tightly.

Cassandra kissed her tenderly on the cheek. "Thank you for the encouragement, sweetheart."

She thought about Raymond all night. She hardly slept, got out of bed at the crack of dawn, and without waiting for the breakfast went to the hospital earlier than usual. At the hospital's door she saw Dr. Robinson scrubbing mud off the windows.

"Why is so much mud splashed over the windows?" she asked.

"Cassie?" Dr. Robinson started. "Sorry, I didn't want you to see this."

Cassandra stared at the dirty windows. "Dr. Robinson, does this happen every day?"

"It doesn't matter. Go inside, I will finish in a moment."

Cassandra took the cloth from his hands. "I'll do that myself. After all, it's been done because of me."

Dr. Robinson let out a heavy sigh. "One day this will end, and they will leave you and your family alone."

"And until then I will clean the windows." She smiled mirthlessly and began scrubbing the glass.

Cassandra met Raymond in the evening. She expected him to get angry and leave her on the bank of the river, but Raymond listened to her in silence.

"I see," he said when she told him she didn't want to marry yet. "And when do you think you'll be ready?"

"I don't know," she said sincerely.

"Maybe next year?"

"I... I don't know. Well, maybe, yes."

Raymond took her in his arms. "Cassie, my love," he exclaimed. "I'm so happy. What about next summer? But no, that's too long. Next spring. What do you think?"

Cassandra was scared to raise her eyes at him. The look of bewilderment on her face might upset Raymond once again. And this time he'd get angry, she was sure of it.

Spring. She wouldn't even be eighteen.

"Say yes, Cassie," he urged her, hugging her tighter. "Come to live with us in Ornshire. Grandmother, Bonnie, me and you."

She made a sound between yes, oh, and well. Raymond pressed his lips to hers and kissed her fervently.

"I'll take you to Ornshire during the annual ball, and you'll meet Grandmother at last. She'll give us her blessing and we will never have to part again. What do you think?"

I think I need to talk to my sisters, she thought.

### 24. The Lonely Widower

Eric and Electra were sitting under an oak tree named Lonely Widower, near one of the streams of the Sirtalion that cut across a beautiful glen. The name of the tree moved Eric's curiosity, and he heard a touching story about two oaks growing side by side for decades, and how one of them became infected with oak wilt, and Woodcutter Acks had to cut it down. From then on, the three witches gave the surviving tree the name Lonely Widower, as it lost a lot of foliage and looked broken and depressed the way that only trees could look.

While telling the story, Electra was painting the landscape. Then for some time Eric amused her by playing his guitar. Getting tired of playing, he put the guitar on the grass and approached Electra's easel. She had painted the scenery of Hollow: the gray rocks with trees around them, the mist at their base, the trail of yellow clouds swimming above the glen, and the lonely oak tree on the foreground. Eric climbed up the Lonely Widower and settled on the bough.

"Is there anything interesting up there?" Electra asked him, touching the canvas with the brush.

"I thought that this way I would appear in your painting."

"Your wit sometimes bewilders me."

"Is it a mirage or is there really a castle behind Mysterious Forest?"

"It's an old, abandoned castle."

"It surely has a story, right? Tell me about it. Why is it abandoned?"

"The castle has been abandoned because no one really knows how to reach it. There is no road. I've heard that only the river leads to the castle through the woods, but that part of the forest is said to be the most dangerous. It was there that Morgaine fooled the wanderers and webbed them in her nets."

"Does it have a name?"

"Ostband."

Eric gazed at the bits of the castle that were peeping through the thicket of the forest. It was far away, but a sudden chill passed through his body, as if he was there, inside the cold walls of that abandoned fortress. He looked away and for a while stared at his beloved. She was engrossed in the painting, and Eric was absorbed in her calm face and precise movements. The grass she was sitting on resembled the throne of a nymph harmonious with the beautiful surroundings she was painting. From time to time she put the brush down and looked into the distance. Sometimes she stared too long, and Eric wondered what she was thinking about. She was thoughtful. Even from a distance he could see the sorrow in her eyes. He wished her happiness; he wanted to always see her cheerful. She was happy when she was with him, but sometimes that shade of sadness clouded her pretty face. She was constantly in fear and doubt. She never knew what tomorrow would bring. While there was so much hate towards her and her family, every day could be her last. Eric bit his lips with anger. She shouldn't live in fear, he thought, that's not right. He wished he could take her away with him. He would protect her and no one would harm her. With all its beauty and splendor, Hollow was a dangerous place for his beloved witch.

Painting tired her. Electra stretched her hands, took a deep breath, then lay down on the grass and closed her eyes. Eric reclined on the bough and continued staring. So many colors, he thought, looking at the carpet of green grass, the deep blue of her dress, and the burning flames of her hair scattered around her face. He could sit on the tree and stare at her all day long. The glen was quiet. The wind was cool, the grass and flowers were rocking from side to side, and the nightingales were warbling on the branches—an absolute idyll.

A witch, Eric thought. Of all the girls in the world, he loved a witch. That word sounded malicious. It was so far from what she really was. To him she wasn't wicked, but a beautiful and gentle creature, and everyone who wished her harm was an enemy to him.

"Are you going to stay in the tree till night?" Electra's voice cut short his thoughts.

"I can't take my eyes off you," Eric said. "And from this angle, I'm not missing anything."

A sudden wind gusted and stirred the branches of the tree where Eric was sitting. The leaves tickled his face and the twigs swayed from side to side.

"Did you do this?" Eric asked, noticing that she was smiling.

"I can't tell you. You live on the East Bank."

"I won't betray your secret, my witch."

"You know we're not supposed to perform witchcraft around the Easterners," Electra said, playing with a blackbird that had perched on her bosom. "That's why that will be the last trick you witness."

"Please don't do that to me." Eric turned over the bough and landed on the ground. He reclined beside her and stroke her silky hair. "You can't be so cruel. I love your tricks of witchcraft."

"Ah, naive boy. You call them tricks. I wonder what you'd say if you faced the real witchcraft: a mighty power, a potent wave that can sweep away the trees, raise the sea, and whirl the wind."

"Tell me more," Eric said.

"I will not, but if you want, I shall sing for you."

Eric saw she regretted talking about witchcraft and wanted to change the subject. He didn't mind, especially when she was going to distract him with her singing. By her request, he handed her the guitar. She told him she had been practicing during his absence and was eager to show him how much she had learnt. She settled between his knees and put the guitar on her lap, then strummed the strings while the blackbirds leaped in the grass.

"I am a young sailor

My story is sad,

Though once I was carefree

And a brave sailor lad,

I courted a lassie

By night and by day,

Oh but now she has left me

And sailed far away.

"Oh, if I was a blackbird

Could whistle and sing,

I'd follow the vessel

My true love sails in,

And in the top riggin'

I would there build my nest,

And I'd flutter my wings

O'er her lilly white breast.

"Or if I was a scholar

And could handle the pen,

Once secret love letter

To my true love I'd send,

And tell of my sorrow

My grief and my pain,

Since she's gone and left me

In yon flowery glen.

"I sailed o'er the ocean

My fortune to seek,

Though I missed her caress

And her kiss on my cheek,

I returned and I told her

My love was still warm,

But she turned away lightly

And great was her scorn.

"I offered to take her

To Donnybrook Fair,

And to buy her fine ribbons

To tie up her hair,

I offered to marry

And to stay by her side,

But she says in the morning

She sails with the tide.

"My parents, they chide me

Oh they will not agree,

Saying that me and my false love

Married should never be,

Oh, let them deprive me

Or let them do what they will,

While there's breath in my body

She's the one I love still."

When Electra finished her song, Eric pressed her to his chest. She buried her face in his neck, and so they sat in stillness, watching the sky grow darker, and the clouds take over the waning sun. The shadow of twilight covered the glen, and a thunderclap warned about the upcoming storm.

"Someone is arguing again," Electra said.

"I won't let anything happen to you," Eric told her, pressing her tighter to his chest.

"I know."

While the rain was pouring, they hid in the treehouse, sitting on the pillows in front of the window and watching the trees under the torrent.

"I know what you're thinking about," Eric said. "I wish I could keep these thoughts away from your head."

"I wish that too," she whispered, her head on his chest.

"It breaks my heart to see you like this. You know I won't let anything happen to you."

Electra was silent.

"You think these are just words, right? You think I can't protect you from them. But I swear I'll do anything for you. The moment I sense real trouble I'll take you away."

Electra smiled mirthlessly. "To where?"

"To my home. You and the girls. I'll take you all to my place, where nothing will happen to you."

Electra let out a bitter laugh, then kissed him on the cheek. "We shall not leave Hollow."

"But why? Why won't you at least go to Walachia to live with your grandparents? You'd be safe there."

"We shall not leave Hollow," she repeated. "We never will. That's what we told Uncle and Aunt when they were debating on sending us to Grandpa Grindewald's castle. We shall not leave Hollow. That's what they want—to banish us from the town. But this is our home, and no one can force us to leave Hollow."

For a while the rain and the forest were the only ones making a noise: an incomprehensible conversation between two old friends, consisting of the sounds of gushing water and the rustling of leaves. Then she said, "Tell me, those diaries... Do they tell about my parents?"

Eric didn't speak.

"Please, tell me."

"Yes."

"Tell me about them. What were they like? Aunt and Uncle rarely talk about them. Whenever the girls and I asked Aunt Meda about our mothers, she became so tearful that in the end we stopped asking her questions. Maybe you could tell me more than just their names and looks."

"They were wonderful people. Your mother was a nurse. She brew potions that soothed pain and healed wounds. She'd stay in the hospital till morning, nursing her patients. Everyone loved her, because she was sweet and caring, and she had a soothing voice and a calm touch. She was Dr. Pill's favorite nurse; he trusted her with the hopeless patients."

"Then... why did they kill her?" she sobbed.

"I don't know." Eric wrapped his arms around her shaking body. "I wish I could explain people's strange behavior. Sometimes we do inexplicable things. Sometimes we see evil when there is none, or we're blinded by jealousy, ruled by fear, led by envy. Maybe because we can't accept anything unordinary, or because we need to blame others for our problems instead of taking the responsibility ourselves. I don't know. I really don't."

"Do you know how they died?"

Eric didn't know what to say.

"Please, tell me how they died."

Silence.

"Were they tortured to death?"

Silence.

"Drowned?"

No word.

"Burnt?"

To distract her Eric tried to kiss her, but she drew her head back and looked him in the eyes. "I want to know."

"Why are you torturing yourself? Let those thoughts go."

"Tell me," she said, and the tears crawled down her face. "Tell me now. Sooner or later I will know. Why not now?"

"Because I don't want to talk about the witch hunt. It's breaking your heart. And mine, too. Those diaries, they are the worst things I've ever read."

"What if they do the same to me and my sisters?"

She put her head back on his chest and took a deep breath. Eric buried his face in her fiery mane, closed his eyes for only a second, but had a vision that lasted an eternity. He saw a woman tied to a log, with burning brushwood around her. The black smoke was swallowing her and she was moaning in agony. He knew her, it was her—Electra, tied to the log, inside the flames, and there was a man with her...

Eric winced when the hot iron scalded his palms. He opened his eyes and looked at his hands—the skin was white and untouched.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He cupped her face and looked into her tearful eyes. "Whatever is coming, I will go through it with you."

### 25. The Woman by the Fountain

Hector and Jack examined every fountain on the West Bank, and Eric searched those on the East Bank, but there were still no results. The fountain riddle remained unsolved.

It was an August evening, when Eric was sitting alone in the Old Curiosity shop, glancing out into the Craftsman's Alley. He was thinking about the creature and how to warn others about her. Since he had been locking his bedroom window, the bites on his chest had healed. He had no doubt that whatever creature it was—a lamia or any other evil thing—it had been coming into his room and drinking his blood. He shuddered from the thought that a lamia had been digging her fangs into his chest. He could try to warn the townsfolk, but would anyone even believe him?

No one came to the shop for the whole day. Bored, Eric began sorting the books and manuscripts. He found photo albums and thumbed through them. There were the old photographs he had once been looking at, but there were also older ones, taken in Hollow decades ago. Women were in long gowns, and men were wearing tuxedos. The faces were indiscernible, but Eric didn't care for the faces, as in one of the photos he spotted the bronze fountain in the center of the square. He turned the photo and looked at its back. It was dated 1895. Eric pulled out other photos from the albums. Some of them were almost the same photos taken in different angles. He remembered about a device that Mr. Pickering used sometimes. He opened the cabinet in the corner and took out a big stereoscope, then placed two similar photographs under the glass and began examining them. In some of the photos the fountain was full of water. Eric scattered the photos on the table, took a magnifying glass, and squinted at them. Something was different. He again placed the photographs under the stereoscope glass and studied them for so long that his eyes began aching. There was one photo with a woman standing by the fountain, pointing the edge of her parasol at the bronze statues. And suddenly it dawned upon him that the statues were grouped together. Eric could swear that the figures of the fountain on the square were far from each other. He thought it over. Yes, they were away from each other: the lady was on the left, the whistler on the right, and the boy in the middle.

They can move, Eric thought. That might be the answer to the riddle. The figures move. Now, how could they move the bronze statues?

Eric put the photographs back in their places except for the one of the woman with the parasol. He went to the square and examined the fountain, then began feeling up the statues and looking for any possible button or lever that could make them move.

Nothing.

He spent half an hour by the fountain, pushed the statues, tried to move them across the pool, but only managed to pique the curiosity of the passersby, who stared in bewilderment at the fellow pulling the statues and trying to drag them from their places. The next morning, Eric called his friends to the fountain and told them about his discovery. Then he showed them the photo.

"Look at the whistler," Medea said. "He has a flute, and the water is flowing out of it."

"The flute is gone now," Eric said, looking at the whistler's figure.

"It has always been gone. At least, ever since I can remember," Electra said.

"Someone has taken it," Eric suggested.

"Who? Or rather, why? Why would someone steal the statue's flute?" Cassandra asked.

Jack groped the bronze hands that were grabbing the empty air where the flute was supposed to be, while the witches examined the lady's statue, looking at the folds of her dress, at the fan in her hand, and at her hairdo.

"Look here. Something is missing from her hair." Electra pointed to a small hole inside the bronze hairdo. "What can it be?"

"A brooch?" Medea suggested.

"I doubt it," Cassandra said. "It's not a good place for a brooch. If her hair were real, then the brooch would be totally lost in it. You don't wear a brooch to hide it."

The girls looked at Jack and Eric, but they spread their hands. "You know about women's accessories better than us," Eric said.

The girls began making suggestions: a ribbon, a gem, a hairpin. They looked at the lady from head to feet. Her dress reminded them of those from the 19th century, with long hems, corsets, and laces, and they began discussing what women would have carried in their hair two hundred years ago: a vial with poison, a key from a secret door, or maybe...

"I know what it is!" Electra exclaimed. "It's a flea box."

"Huh?" the boys said simultaneously.

"A flea box. That's what the ladies used to carry in their hair back in the day. In those times everyone had fleas. Flea boxes were designed to catch the fleas inside their hair. They were small and had a tiny hole. A tissue sprinkled with blood or honey was placed in the box, and the fleas would get inside and get stuck."

"I always suspected that behind all that glamor and gold, lousy reality was hidden." Eric smirked, examining the hole in the bronze hair.

They turned their attention to the statue of the boy in a nightgown, wearing slippers and a nightcap. In the end they all came to the same conclusion—the only thing that was missing from the statue was the candle in the candlestick.

"So, what do we have? A whistler without a flute, a lady without a flea box, and a boy without a candle. We need to get these items, put them on the statues, and maybe"—Jack looked around—"maybe the fountain will give us the key."

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go get those things," Eric said.

"Where do you think you can get them from? The market?"

"Why not? Does it matter where we get them from?"

Jack smirked. "Look at the statues, my dear boy, and tell me what you see."

Eric did as Jack said, thought for a moment, and said, "A woman, a little boy, and a whistler."

"It's not just a woman. She seems to be from the 19th century."

"So what?"

"Are you ready to go back in time and get a flea box for her?"

"You have to be kidding."

"And that boy. He needs a candle. I think I've seen him somewhere."

"Yes, this statue reminds me of something too," Hector said. "I've seen him before. Come now, think—remember."

"Small figure, nightcap, slippers. Oh, I'm sure I have seen him too," Cassandra said. "For some reason obscurity comes to mind. Coldness. Stones. Stairs. Oh, something is coming to mind, something that I will remember soon." She sat down on the fountain's edge and lowered her head. "Stairs. Stairs. Why am I thinking about stairs?"

"Where do we have stairs?" Medea tried to help her. "Think. Where do we have stairs?"

"At home," Electra said.

"In the restaurant," Jack added.

"At school," Hector said.

"In the library," Ariadne thought out loud.

"Yes! The public library. The museum. It's a painting in the museum!"

"Oh, right," Electra said. "Right, 'The Boy in the Nightgown.' The painting from the museum."

"How could we have been so blind?" Medea exclaimed. "Of course it's the boy from the painting. He's standing on the stone stairs that are supposedly leading to the top of the tower. He is wearing those same slippers and the nightcap, and he has a candlestick in his hand. I know that painting."

"That's good news," Hector said. "The museum and the library are in the same building. We'll get inside the same way we did once and find the candle."

"At least we don't have to go back in time to get a candle," Eric said.

"Maybe, but it doesn't mean that getting the candle will be easier than the flea box. And yet, none of them will be as hard as the flute," Jack said.

"Why?" Eric asked.

"Because this is no ordinary man. This is the Pied Piper."

### 26. The Whistler

At the crack of dawn, Jack was passing through the woods. He had taken the assignment of finding the flute, and he knew that the paths of Mysterious Forest, which had the ability to confuse and cheat time, led to the old villages from the ancient legends, and that the Pied Piper might be in one of them. Being a half-witch, he only had to keep in mind where he wanted to go, and the road that led to the north, would eventually take him to the desired destination.

Jack heard footsteps. He was sure he'd been alone on the path. He had refused Hector's help and told him to get the candle, and Eric was supposed to find the flea box. Jack looked around. The depths of the forest were ominous and had secrets hidden under each tree and danger lurking behind each bush. He hid behind a tree and squeezed the hilt of his dagger. The steps came closer, then a figure passed near Jack's tree. He looked at her back and sighed.

"Ariadne!"

The girl started and turned around.

"What are you doing here? I almost pounced on you." Jack put the dagger back inside the scabbard.

"I decided to come with you."

"You shouldn't have done that. This is dangerous. I told you to help the girls."

"Hector and Eric will help them. I'd better help you."

"I don't need help. Go back."

"No way. I can't leave you alone. I am coming with you." She stood in Jack's way and didn't move.

"Sometimes you remind me of my sisters. Why are the girls of Hollow so unreasonable and stubborn?" Jack walked down the path, and Ariadne followed him.

"It's not about reason. I just fear for you."

Jack didn't answer. He had to go far into the forest; the path was going to be a long one, and he was glad he wasn't alone.

The road that Jack and Ariadne had taken seemed endless. They had been going for three hours, with temporary lulls when Ariadne got tired and asked for rest, and still hadn't got out of the woods. When the fourth hour started, Jack spotted smoke above the trees. They reached the edge of the forest and looked over the village spreading on the other side of the river.

"Is that the Sirtalion?" Ariadne asked.

"I guess so."

"If we pass it here, we'll get into another time, right?"

"We're already in another time. Don't you see that this is not a modern village? Let's go." Jack took her by the hand and crossed the wooden bridge.

The village was small, teemed with bricked houses and barns. The pieces of land around the houses were separated with wooden fences. Fruit trees, carrots, and radishes grew in the gardens and orchards in front of the houses. The village seemed calm, but Jack could sense that something was wrong—it was too quiet. All the doors and windows were shut. Every time Jack would see someone looking out the window, they would close the shutters without giving him time to ask anything.

"What is going on here?" Ariadne asked.

"I'm afraid we've reached the village too late. He has been here already."

"The Whistler?"

"Yes. We not only have to steal the flute, but now we have something else to do."

An old man was sitting on a stump near one of the houses and crying.

"What's the matter?" Ariadne asked, putting her hand over his shoulder. The old man looked up at her.

"He took them all."

"Them?"

"The children. He took all our children."

"Oh." She looked at Jack, then back at the old man. "Don't cry. We have come to help."

"What can you do, child? He took our children because we didn't pay him enough. And now he is going to send the rats into our village. Those monsters will destroy us, they will kill us all, and they have probably killed our children."

Ariadne was trying to console the old man, but he kept crying and mumbling about the revenge of the Whistler.

Jack knelt before him. "Tell us what happened."

"Our village was attacked by rats," the old man began his tale. "We hired the Pied Piper to get rid of those disgusting creatures. They were everywhere! The Piper cleaned the village from those stinky rats, but then our mayor thought his price was too high and paid him less than we had promised. Silly, silly man. I heard the Piper swearing revenge. Then he came to the village while we all were working in the fields, and took our children away. My grandchildren, too." He burst into sobs.

"Tell me, where is his lair? Do you know where the Whistler lives?"

The old man shook his head. "Somewhere in the cave behind the hills."

Jack stood up and took Ariadne by the hand. "We have to hurry," he said. "We have to find them before the rats attack the village."

"I don't understand," Ariadne said as they moved to the hills. "How could a piper take all the children away? Why did they go with him?"

"He has a magic flute. He uses it to lure the rats that follow the enchanting tune whenever they hear it. This time he lured the children the same way, and now his rats are going to attack the village."

"His rats?"

"They obey him whenever he plays the flute."

"But can't the villagers fight back the rats and free the children?"

"These are no ordinary rats. I hope we won't have to meet them. If we manage to find the piper's cave, we shall free the children and steal his flute. Then he may not hurt us. But if he plays the flute we're doomed."

Ariadne shuddered.

"I knew I shouldn't have taken you with me."

"I'm not afraid."

"You're trembling."

"Alright, I am afraid. But it doesn't matter. I wanted to come with you."

"Thank you," he said, smiling.

They climbed up the hills and looked around. The village stood on a broad strath, quiet and empty. The houses were trapped inside the hills from one side, and the forest from the other. The river was snaking through the hills and disappearing into the depths of the forest. Jack tried to memorize the landscape. The sun was already setting, and he hurried down by the slope of the hill.

"Where are we going?" Ariadne asked.

"To the cave."

"How do you know where it is?"

"Look under your feet."

Ariadne didn't notice anything at first, but after looking more precisely, she saw traces on the ground, stomped grass and flowers.

"They passed this way. I noted from the hill that this road leads to a dark spot. Should be the cave. There won't be any other place to hide the children. We know where the children are—that's the good news. The sun is setting—that's the bad news."

"Will they attack the village at night?"

"I think so. That means we still have time. The Whistler and his rats have to be asleep now. They will wake up at night. If we get the flute, he'll be helpless. If he plays it before we escape, the rats will tear us apart."

"I hate rats," Ariadne whispered. "But I think I can run fast enough to escape from them."

She doesn't know, Jack thought. She had no idea what rats he was talking about, and he decided to keep quiet. Ignorance is bliss, he thought, she'll remain calm until she sees one of them.

The entrance of the cave was a round hole overgrown with leaves, and so black that even the last rays of the sun didn't penetrate it.

"No sound," Jack warned Ariadne. She nodded in response, scared to make a sound. He took her hand, mouthed, "Let's go," and they stepped into the darkness.

Ariadne couldn't see anything. She didn't make a sound. The only thing she was capable of doing was squeezing Jack's hand and walking next to him. She quivered at the thought of the rats lurking in the darkness, fearing she might stomp on those disgusting animals and feel their soft bodies under her feet.

The cave smelled odious. The stench was of litter, offal, and corpses. Ariadne was barely fighting back the sickness. Once she gagged when the stink of rotten flesh and garbage hit her face. Jack's hand around her waist gave her the strength to keep going.

Their eyes adjusted to the darkness, and soon both could distinguish the walls of the cave and the massive rocks under them. Jack dragged Ariadne closer to him. She didn't know why he hugged her tighter, but she felt calmer in his embrace. The warmth of his body was soothing, and his scent, though faint, helped her fight back the sickness.

Ariadne stomped on something in the dark. It was thick and slithered like a snake from under her foot. One of the rocks moved, raised its head, and stared at her. She would have shrieked, but Jack's palm shut her mouth. She felt his breath on her neck, his lips near her ear, reminding her that he was with her. But he couldn't calm her when a gigantic head was right in front of her face, so close that the whiskers tickled her forehead. Jack put his other palm over her eyes, leading her through the cave. Her eyes were closed, but his were open, and he saw the giant rats under the walls, resting and getting ready for an attack on the village.

Now he wasn't thinking of the flute, but of the children that might be somewhere in the cave, and who would become food for the rats if they didn't hurry. He heard snores coming from somewhere in the cave. A dim light flickered in the dark. Jack peeped into the room where the Whistler was sleeping. The candlelight trembled with every snore that was coming out of his mouth. The sleeping man was thin and tall, with wrinkly hands and black bags under his eyes. He wasn't young, and he wasn't old. He was ageless, his snoring loud and chilling, echoing in the cave.

Jack looked around the hazy room. It was almost empty: no furniture, no windows, only a bed with the sleeping piper, a bedside table with the burning candle and the piper's pied hat on it.

Ariadne opened her eyes and squeezed Jack's wrist. He put his finger to her lips. She nodded, and Jack moved forward. The cave was branching into three corridors, and they strode across the central one, which was less dark than the other two. As they reached another room Ariadne gasped. Nearly thirty children were lying behind the prison bars, cuddled up to each other. A torch was burning on the wall, its light almost faded. Jack tiptoed to the prison bars, stretched his hand into the cage and petted one of the children. The boy of about ten opened his eyes and jumped back. Jack put his finger on his lips, and the boy nodded.

"We've come to help you," Jack whispered. The boy nodded again and woke up the girl nearby. One after the other the children opened their eyes and stared at Jack and Ariadne. They all were pale, dirty, and scared, looking at the unknown couple with hope and pleading. Jack examined the padlock, then unlocked it with his picklock. The children hurried to the exit, but he stopped them.

"Don't come out yet," he whispered. "Do you know where the exit is?"

The boy who had woken up the first shook his head. The others copied him.

"Then wait here. I need to find the exit." Jack turned to Ariadne. "We can't go the same way. A rat has blocked the entrance. Stay with the children. I'll look for another exit."

She clung to him, shaking. "Don't leave us here."

"We have to save these children. We have to get the flute. Please stay calm. I promise we'll get out of this cave." He took Ariadne into his arms. "I know you're scared. I'm sorry I dragged you into this."

"You didn't drag me. It was my decision."

"Thank you for coming with me. Now stay with the children. Don't let them come out of the cage yet. I'll be back soon."

Ariadne leaned against the bars and stared at the fading fire.

"He said that the rats will wake up late at night," said the boy.

Ariadne patted his head. "What's your name?"

"Hans."

"Don't worry, Hans. Jack will get us out of here." She forced a smile to calm the children and give them hope. None of them knew how much time had passed. Each second seemed an hour, each minute an eternity. Small rats scurried across the corridor. The big ones were still asleep, but the waking hour was approaching.

Jack peered into the prison. "I found an exit," he whispered. "It's down the corridor. Don't enter any other room. After five minutes you will feel the fresh air. There's a path that leads to the bridge. Ariadne, you'll take the children to the village."

"Aren't you coming with us?"

"I have to get the flute."

"Oh, Jack, please, come with us."

"We need the flute. That's why we came here. I'll get it, and you will take the children to their home." Jack handed her a long stick. "Take this."

Ariadne took the stick and watched Jack disappear in the corridor again. She turned to the bars. "Children, listen to me. We all shall get out of here, but we have to be very careful and keep quiet. Understood?"

The children nodded.

"Now you shall come out one by one and then will follow me through the cave. But before we start, let me count you."

While Ariadne was counting the children, Jack entered the Whistler's room, stepping carefully over the rat that was sleeping at the entrance. Making sure that the Whistler was sleeping, Jack stretched his hand to the bedside table, where, under the pied hat, the flute was resting. He had almost reached it, when a female shriek echoed in the cave. The Whistler opened his eyes and pounced on Jack. Screaming like a madman, he squeezed Jack's throat and aimed his crooked teeth at his artery. Jack shoved his hand into the Whistler's face, and the rat-man plunged his teeth into the fellow's palm.

The dog-sized rats gathered before the entrance, watching the Whistler and Jack fight for the flute. Soon the biggest ones would come, and without the flute both of the fighters would be nothing but food for them. The rats growled and snarled, and the Whistler roared along, his sharp teeth scratching Jack's neck, searching for the vein.

Ariadne shrieked again, fighting a rat with the stick. Hans opened the cage door, and she jumped inside, shutting it a second before the rat leaped in. Another two rats pounced on the cage, hitting their shaggy bodies against the bars, scratching the iron with their claws, sometimes getting into fights with each other.

"To the wall!" Ariadne yelled. "Stand against the wall and don't move!"

She hit the rats through the bars to make them retreat, but her blows only infuriated the beasts and made them growl louder.

Then a gentle tune filled the corridor. The Whistler played his flute, and the rats froze in front of the prison bars. One by one they turned around and marched into the corridor. Ariadne didn't hurry to open the cage, but the tune was coming closer, the fire was almost gone, and she had to get the children out. As she dared a peek into the corridor, the color left her face. A tall figure was sauntering backwards to the prison, and the enchanting tune was beckoning the rats after him. Slowly, he reached the prison and under the fading fire she saw his face.

"Jack!" She sighed with relief. "Thank heavens."

Jack stopped by the prison and continued to play the flute, keeping the charmed rats in order.

"Hans," Ariadne called the boy. "Hurry up, we're leaving."

She told the children to hold hands and follow her. Grabbing the torch from the wall, Ariadne dashed down the corridor. The exit was illumined with dim moonlight, and the cave's stink was fading away.

Ariadne stood by the exit and began counting the children. When the twenty-sixth child came out of the cave, she let out a sigh of relief.

"We have to go back to the village," she told them.

"I know the road," Hans said. "Follow me."

The children hurried down the hill and ran along the river.

"Faster!" Ariadne was yelling, holding the smallest child in her arms. "Faster, children! In a group, all in a group!"

Their village was on the other side of the river. Ariadne told the children to cross the bridge while she stood at its edge and again began counting them. "One, two, three... Seven, eight, nine," she was saying, watching the children dart before her eyes. "Twenty-five." She looked around in agitation. "Twenty-five! Where is the last one?"

"She's in your hands," Hans yelled from the bridge.

"Ohh," Ariadne groaned. "Hans, tell everyone in the village to lock the doors and not to come out. Take her." She put the little girl into Hans's hands. "You can make it now. I have to help Jack."

"Look there!" Hans pointed to the hills. "He's taking them to the water."

Ariadne saw Jack playing the flute and luring the rats into the water of the river. He was walking backwards, and a row of gigantic rats was following him through the darkness, obeying the hypnotizing tunes of the magic flute. Jack entered the black river, and the rats, one by one, followed him.

"He will drown the rats in the river. But he'll drown with them." Ariadne's voice trembled.

"There's a raft under the bridge," Hans said.

Ariadne looked under the bridge and saw the raft with an oar. "Run home, Hans," she said, stroking the children's heads.

"Good luck!" Hans hurried to the village, holding the little girl in his hands.

Ariadne climbed on the raft and began oaring down the river. "Jack," she called. "Jack, over here! Come to my voice."

He heard her but couldn't answer. Stopping the music meant being torn apart by the rats the same way the Whistler had been killed the moment he dropped the flute and Jack picked it up. Ariadne reached Jack when he was inside the water up to his neck. The rats were still following the magic flute. The smaller ones had drowned, but those that were bigger had managed to keep their snouts above the surface of the river, staring at the flute and the piper that was leading them to their deaths.

"Get on the raft," Ariadne said.

Jack crawled onto the raft, letting the flute down for just a second, but it was enough to create disarray inside the line. The rats hissed and pounced forward, but Jack managed to take the flute back to his lips. Under the rays of the silver moon, the lonely raft with two passengers floated across the river, luring the beasts deeper into the water. When the last snout disappeared, Jack put the flute down and turned to Ariadne. "How are you?"

"Better."

"You did a smart thing with the raft."

"And you saved us all."

Ariadne settled in the center of the raft and took Jack's hand in hers. "Your hand is seriously injured," she said. "How could you play with such a deep wound?"

"I didn't have a choice."

The raft glided down the river, taking them back into the forest. Jack gave the flute to Ariadne, grabbed the oar and began rowing.

"It's time to go back to Hollow."

### 27. Travelers in Time

Electra and Eric were getting dressed in the blue castle. Electra had left clothes for Eric on Jack's bed, but he didn't think he could wear them. The clothing consisted of an old-fashioned black tuxedo and pants with braces, a white shirt, turquoise vest and cravat, ivory gloves, and a black top hat. Eric was sure he would look ridiculous. He put on the clothing and looked into the mirror.

"Absurd."

The medieval attire looked better than a black tuxedo and a top hat. Eric took off the tuxedo and the vest, unbuttoned the laced shirt, but didn't take it off. He knew he was still going to wear it. He couldn't go back to the 19th century in his regular clothes. He grabbed the vest and the tuxedo and went to Electra's bedroom.

"Who is it?" she asked when he knocked at her door.

"The Bluebeard!"

"Come in."

Eric entered the room and gaped at Electra. She was wearing a lush blue dress made of silk brocade, and the hoopskirt was so big that the wraps of the dress occupied half of the room. The décolleté was adorned with embroidery, and the neck and the shoulders were totally bare.

"You're so beautiful."

"Thank you." She began buttoning up his shirt. "You're not ready yet. We must hurry."

"You are so beautiful," he repeated. "Like a princess." While Electra was buttoning his shirt, Eric threw his arms around her and pulled her closer. "And you smell so tasty," he said, leaning his head over her shoulder and taking a deep breath.

"Oh, my dear, I am happy that my scent delights you, but we really have to hurry. We can't look for a flea box for the whole day."

"One more second," Eric said, resting his hands on her bare shoulders. He kissed her slender neck, then stepped back and looked over her again. "I don't think I want you to go there looking so gorgeous."

Electra chuckled.

"I mean it. You look so overwhelmingly beautiful. I'll have to keep you close all the time, because everyone will stare at you, follow you, and all the men will flirt with you and will compliment you. I'm not sure I can tolerate that."

Electra smacked him on the lips and put his vest over his shirt. "I promise you I will not accept any compliment. And will only concentrate on finding the flea box. Here, put this on." She handed him the black tuxedo.

"I'll look ridiculous in this."

"No! You'll look fine."

"You can say that as many times as you wish, but I still won't put on those silly gloves and that crazy hat."

"Of course you will. No one appears in high society without gloves or hats." She took a pair of blue gloves and put them on. Eric had to do the same.

"Last time we traveled back in time, I didn't have to get dressed so precisely."

"Last time? Oh, you mean the night at the forest and the Bard? That's not the same. The Bard is a timekeeper and can take you anywhere, and how inconvenient it would be if you had worn your casual clothing. I'm afraid the medieval folk would have executed you instantly. Now put on the hat." Electra put on a straw bonnet and tied the band into a bow under her chin. "Let's go."

They came out of the bedroom and went upstairs Eric recognized the door that Electra approached: it was the one with bright light and autumn trees behind.

"Listen, the room we're going to enter will take us to another time. While I don't think that much danger hides behind this door if we don't go too far, there is still someone whom you should be aware of."

Eric was guessing whom she meant.

"There is a horseman; he is the Guardian of the portal. When we go inside he will rush at us, but you shouldn't run. He does not exist."

Eric remembered well that horseman. He was as real as anything behind that door.

"The horseman is there to protect the portal," Electra said. "It's dangerous to go back in time—dangerous for the history. If you don't know where you're going to, you might cause much harm. If you don't know about the horseman, then you're not supposed to enter that place, and his revenge will be fatal. But if you know about him, then you also know that he has to be ignored. Don't pay attention to him, and he won't hurt you, understood?"

Eric nodded.

"Then let's go."

Electra pulled the handle and opened the door. Familiar bright light shone above the trees. They came out of an arbor door and stepped on the path flanked with a row of greening maples. Eric hadn't managed to take a good look around when the horseman appeared at the end of the path, astride a black stallion.

"Keep walking," Electra said as the horseman darted towards them. "He does not exist."

But how could he not exist, dashing across the road, the blade of his sword bared in the air? Eric wasn't looking at the horseman, but he could hear the sound of the horseshoes hitting against the cobbles. He was close already, and Eric couldn't help looking up. He does not exist, he reminded himself, does not exist. The horseman swung his sword.

Does not exist.

The blade whistled in the air, but it wasn't made of steel, but of black vapor that twirled before the eyes and began fading away. The rider turned into a black smoke and dissolved in the air along with the sword and the horse.

"Well done," Electra said. "You're more talented than I thought."

"I almost... never mind." Eric took a deep breath. "I'm glad he's gone. Now tell me about this place. Where are we going?"

"Frankly? I don't know. This park will eventually take us somewhere."

"Somewhere?"

"We're back in time, and now we need to find a more or less crowded place and see if any of the women has a flea box in her hair."

"I can imagine the look on her husband's face if I try to take something from his wife's hair."

"Then look for a bachelorette."

At the end of the park, an immense mansion opened before them in all its splendor, with an emerald lawn and old cedar trees, horses and carriages. The people in front of the mansion—men wearing tuxedos and top hats, and women in long dresses—left no room for doubt regarding their whereabouts—it was the 19th century, and the élite were attending a ball.

"Do we need tickets?" Eric asked when they reached the stone stairs and joined the crowd of gentlemen and their ladies.

"I think we look good enough to pass for aristocracy." Electra folded her arm around Eric's. With her other hand she took up the hem of her long dress, and smiling at the doorkeeper, entered the mansion. Although the guests were still arriving, the ballroom was already full of dancing couples. The ladies and their cavaliers were floating across the spacious ballroom, and their jewelry shone under the lights of the chandeliers with hundreds of burning candles.

"I am afraid, my dear Mrs. Potter, that their match was doomed from the very beginning," Eric heard a stout old lady saying to her companion. "Annabelle's father is a counselor, what were they thinking about?"

The old lady's companion, a woman with the biggest diamond necklace Eric had ever seen, was quietly nodding in agreement.

"Eduard will take me on a ride tomorrow."

"How marvelous!"

"I wonder if we could join you."

Eric turned to the voices and saw a group of young girls in muslin and silk dresses passing across the hall, discussing some Eduard and giggling behind their fans.

"Any luck?" Electra asked.

"Sorry?"

"Concentrate! Look at the ladies' hair," Electra said, then returned a smile to a middle-aged man with a thin moustache.

"Do you know him?"

"Let's pretend that we do. Oh, look! Can you see the girl in the pink dress?"

"The one who's talking to the man in the uniform?"

"Yes, her. I think she has a flea box in her hair." Electra sauntered towards the pair near the marble fireplace.

"Are you sure you saw a flea box in her hair? She seems so... clean."

"She is clean." Electra tittered.

"But she has lice! Poor man, he probably has no idea."

"It's not like his hair is deprived of lice. Maybe he's lousy too. You better think of a way to get that box off her hair. I don't think her cavalier will like it if we go too close."

Pretending to be absorbed in conversation, Eric and Electra approached the pair. They were close already when the host of the mansion announced that the musicians would now rejoice the guests with a quadrille. The lady in pink and her cavalier walked to the center of the dance room.

"Ahh!" Electra took a step after the couple and stopped midway, thinking over a plan.

"Good day, mademoiselle," someone said with a French accent. Turning to the voice, Electra saw a young man with a pointy moustache. "Would you honor me with a dance?"

"Merci." She put her hand into his outstretched palm.

Walking to the center of the ballroom, she searched for Eric with her eyes. He was standing against the wall, frowning at her French cavalier. Electra tried to explain him something with her glance, telling him to look around, but he didn't understand what she meant. Then a stately man approached Eric, saying, "Young man, why won't you invite the young lady for a dance? It's not polite to let her stand there alone."

Eric thought about protesting, then became confused, looked around, and spotted a lonely girl standing by the wall. The man grabbed Eric's arm and walked him to the girl. "Dear Miss Greta," he said. "Will you honor my young shy friend with a quadrille?"

Greta smiled. "Your friend, Mr. Osborne?"

Mr. Osborne squinted at Eric, as if trying to remember his name.

"Eric O'Brian, ma'am."

"I would be delighted." Greta put her hand over Eric's.

Eric took her to the center of the ballroom. "One step right, two steps left," he was mumbling under his breath, realizing that somehow he knew quadrille well enough to dance it with his companion. The music started and thirty pairs mingled in the dance.

"Comment trouvez-vous cette maison?" Electra's companion asked her when they circled in the center of the room.

"Oh, elle est magnifique," she said, and the next moment she was holding hands with Eric. "Get ready," she told him. "She's coming near."

The next lady to appear in front of Eric and take his hand was none other than the lady in pink, whose companion in uniform was now dancing with Electra. Eric held both of her hands and they floated between the other dancers. Electra threw a quick glimpse at Eric, pointing to the hair of his companion, then smiled to the man who traded places with the officer.

Greta was back with Eric. With his hand around her waist, he passed behind the lady in pink, and at last saw the flea box in her hair. A moment later she was gone. He didn't even get a chance to stretch his hand towards her hair, and he wasn't even sure he could do that without being noticed. Eric made another attempt when the lady in pink and Greta exchanged places, but again with no results.

"She's moving too quickly," Electra said when she and Eric rejoined and began waltzing. "I almost got it once, but failed at the last moment."

"I'm not sure we can get this thing off her hair while she's dancing so enthusiastically."

"One more attempt! She's coming!"

The luxurious pink dress swayed nearby. Eric could make the attempt, but the officer, though spinning in the dance with Greta, wasn't taking his eyes off the lady in pink. Eric groaned.

"You seem concerned with something, Mr. O'Brian," Greta said, replacing Electra. "Is my company so boring to you?"

"Oh, not at all," Eric hurried to say, gazing into her brown eyes. Greta was young, fair, and reminded a doe with big eyes and long neck. She was dancing elegantly, her moves were graceful, and her lips occasionally spread into a coquettish smile. She hardly took her eyes off Eric, even when they would trade their partners, and frequently complimented his dancing when they would find each other in the ballroom.

When the music stopped, everyone was back with their original partners. Eric saw the lady in pink and the officer retreating to the refreshment room. Electra thanked the French gentleman and was waiting for Eric by the wall. Another gentleman came up to her, asking for a dance. Eric was about to approach Electra, but then an idea came to his mind, and he turned to Greta.

"Miss Greta," he said. "Can I ask you something?"

Her lips curved into another smile. Being sure he was going to ask her for one more dance, Greta nodded eagerly. "Yes, please, Mr. O'Brian."

"I am sorry to ask this, but do you have a flea box in your hair?"

Greta's already big eyes widened, then a shade of anger clouded her face. She slapped Eric with her gloved hand and hurried away.

"I guess you deserved it," Eric said to himself, rubbing his cheek.

Electra hurried to him. "What did you tell her?" she asked in bewilderment.

"Make a guess."

She giggled behind her palms. "Then that slap was well deserved."

"Where's our lady? Is she going to dance again?"

"I don't know about her, but I promised a dance to Mr. Ferguson, and another one to Sir Harry Goldsmith."

Eric took her by the elbow and led her to the corner of the room. "I thought we'd come here after an important thing, not to dance."

"I know, my dear, but it's not polite to refuse."

"It's not like you're going to linger here for the rest of your life; no need to worry about politeness."

"Follow that advice and that won't be the last slap you'll receive this evening. These people are old-fashioned."

"She's coming back," Eric said, catching a glimpse of the lady in pink.

"We need another plan."

Eric looked around the ballroom. The orchestra was in the corner, near an old piano. Middle-aged ladies were sitting by the fireplace and discussing anyone who would pass by. Young girls were standing in small groups, throwing glances around. A waiter was serving drinks to a group of old gentlemen. When his tray became empty, he returned to the table at the end of the room. Eric looked at the table with bottles and decanters, and turned to Electra. "What do you think about a short performance?"

"A performance? Are you going to cite Hamlet's monologue?"

"I have a better idea. I will distract them, and you'll get the flea box off her hair, alright?"

Electra shrugged. "I'll do my best."

A young man approached her and asked to honor him with the promised mazurka.

While Electra was dancing, Eric crossed the ballroom and reached the table with the drinks. There were bottles of champagne, wine, brandy, and cognac, as well as sherbet punch in a glass bowl, with pieces of lemon and berries floating on the surface.

One of the waiters approached Eric and asked if he could be of help.

"Would you like to see a small show?" Eric asked him.

"I don't know, sir." The waiter sounded puzzled.

"What's your name, buddy?"

"Willie Stuart, sir."

"Alright, Willie, go to the kitchen and bring me a jar and a couple of lemons."

"A jar, sir?"

"Yes, a jar. And lemons. Now hurry up."

Eric began organizing the bottles, decanters, and glasses in a convenient order so that he could easily grab them and put them back. When Willie came back with a jar and lemons and put them on the table, Eric told him to ask the musicians to play something fast. Willie once again looked at him with wonder, but Eric was insistent.

When the mazurka ended, Electra tried to politely get rid of her companion and find Eric, but the gentleman kept following her, talking about the cold evening, the garden and the old cedar trees, and the wonderful music, determined to cling to her for the rest of the evening. Deaf to his compliments and inquiries, Electra was staring around, looking for Eric. People had crowded the other end of the ballroom, watching something. Then the orchestra played the trumpets, and Rossini's William Tell Overture filled the hall. More guests gathered on the other side of the ballroom, and Electra followed them, wondering what was happening. Then something darted into the air, and the audience gasped and began clapping.

Was that a bottle?

She squeezed through the crowd and gasped too. Eric was juggling bottles of wine and champagne, throwing them into the air and performing other barman tricks.

"Oh!"

"Splendid!"

"My goodness!"

The people of the 19th century had never seen anything like that before. With gaping mouths they stared at Eric while he juggled two, three, then four bottles simultaneously.

"Incredible!"

"Unbelievable!"

"Who is that?"

The bottles were flying up, landing on his elbows, trading places, hopping on his knees, and miraculously appearing back on the table, receiving a hail of applause. Using the jar as a cocktail shaker, Eric filled it with drinks and lemon juice, then spilled the cocktail into glasses, which his assistant Willie Stuart handed to the people from the audience, including the host Mr. Osborne, who tasted the cocktail with both suspicion and anticipation, then turned to his guests and, laughing loudly, told them to do the same.

While the guests were busy with the performance, Electra began looking for the lady in pink. There she was, standing with a group of young ladies who gasped every time the bottles flew in the air and landed back into Eric's hands.

"Find out his name," one of the girls was telling the other.

"Who is this fellow?"

"How does he do that?"

Electra smirked. They could talk about him as much as they wished, but once she got what she needed, she was taking her boyfriend back with her. She stretched her hand to the lady in the pink and swiftly pulled out the flea box from her hair, and had just taken a few steps back when the music ended. Eric put the decanter on the table and sighed with relief. No broken bottles. And suddenly he was surrounded by the guests eager to find out his name, position, and if he would be kind enough to attend the upcoming balls. Eric was stuck inside the growing crowd, receiving praises and congratulations, not managing to answer one question and being hailed by dozens of other queries.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thanks a lot," he was saying, making his way to the exit.

"I've got it. Time to go." Electra appeared beside him and grabbed his hand.

"Will you honor us with your presence at the Memberly Hall?"

"Can we hope to see you again in Davonshire?"

"Are you the nephew of dear Mr. Rochester? Pass him my sincere greetings."

Eric and Electra squeezed into the hallway, chased by curious masses begging for a visit, an audience, sending their regards to Eric's possible relatives, and voicing their hope to see him at the next ball at Eagleshire or the Regent's Court.

"Thank you. Yes, sure, I'll be there. Nice to meet you, too. Thank you," Eric was saying to the unfamiliar faces springing before him. They managed to get out of the mansion and ran down the garden, which was now enveloped in darkness, as the cold night had replaced the cool evening, and the glittering stars were their only guides on their way back.

"I forgot the gloves and the tuxedo," Eric said when they reached the path that would take them back to the blue castle. "And the hat."

"Never mind. What you did there was incredible!" Electra exclaimed. "Where did you learn it from?"

"From my cousin. I have to admit this was the first time I didn't break anything."

"That was spectacular! You have to do that again for our friends."

"Maybe I will." Eric heard a thunderclap and looked up. Lightning struck in the night sky, and the clouds rumbled. "What about the horseman? Will he appear again?"

"Not when we're going back."

As they reached the arbor Eric dragged her back and took her in his arms.

"What happened?" she asked.

"I thought I should kiss you in the 19th century."

Electra managed a chuckle.

### 28. The Last Candle

"And now what?"

"I don't know."

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know."

Cassandra and Medea were staring at a painting in the museum. They could see the bricked walls, the helical stairs, the arched window with the half-moon outside, but they couldn't see the boy. He was gone.

"So where is he?" Medea asked.

"I have no idea. I remember this painting. There has to be a boy inside it."

"Maybe there is another painting?"

"Maybe," Cassandra said dubiously.

They passed by museum artefacts—jewelry items, clay jars, daggers in golden scabbards—looking around the dark hall. The opposite wall was hung with tribal masks and Gobelin tapestries, as well as oil paintings with maple frames. The boy was not there.

"Which of these candles do we need?" Hector raised his lantern, looking at an iron candelabrum with guttered candles.

"The one that belongs to the boy from the painting." Cassandra was examining another candle when Medea called them.

"Look over here," she whispered. "There are dozens of candles here."

"Maybe we could take one of them?" Hector asked.

"We need the boy's candle, and we need to find either him or at least his candle," Cassandra said.

"Stupid boy," Medea muttered, looking around. There were candles inside the cabinets, on the shelves, on the stands, and on the chandeliers. They were big and small, long and short, thin and thick; some of them were figures of lovers kissing, archers shooting, horses, birds, or just cylinders of wax.

"So many candles." Cassandra thought she heard someone titter behind her back and turned around.

Nothing. Only an oil painting enshrouded in darkness. She peered at the castle ruins lying on the painted grass and gleaming under the moonlight. Was it a flight of fancy, or did she really see a flash of light behind the fallen arch?

Medea came upon her, holding her lantern above her head. "I looked at the paintings. That silly boy is gone. How shall we find him?"

"There might be other paintings."

"He's in none of them," Hector said. "I looked at all the paintings in the two neighboring rooms. He's gone."

The laughter sounded again, this time from the corner of the hall.

"Did you hear that?" Medea asked.

"You heard it, too?" Cassandra said. "I thought it was my imagination playing tricks in the dark."

"Wait here." Hector went to the corner of the hall.

Something or someone scuttled behind the girls, touching the hem of Medea's dress. She gasped and turned to Cassandra. "What was that?"

"I don't know."

"Light the candles! I need more light," Medea cried out.

"Easy, girl." Hector hurried to them. "The guard is sleeping in the room next door. Do you want to wake him up?"

"I don't care if it's the guard or De Roy himself. Something is creeping in the dark."

Hector took her by the hand. "Don't be scared. There's nothing in the dark."

"Tee-hee," they heard again, then a gleam shone on the wall. They all looked at the trail of light slithering farther into the wall, like a will-o'-the-wisp luring them into the dark.

"What's that?"

"A painting," Hector whispered. "He's in the painting and moving farther inside."

"Well let's go get him!"

Hector held Medea's hand when she was about to run after the light. "Wait. It could be dangerous."

"Oh, stop it, Hector. A small boy from a painting can't scare me."

"But he's been doing just that for the past fifteen minutes." Hector raised his lantern and cast the light on her face. "I thought you were the one asking for light."

Medea chuckled. "So it's just the antics of a silly little boy? I'll get him in a moment."

Cassandra had made her way to the other side of the hall, and was now standing in front of a painting, watching it without blinking. Hector told Medea not to move and approached her.

"What are you looking at?"

"Hush." She pointed to the tree in the painting. "He's behind the tree."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

It was a dark painting; the black and blue colors prevailed, and the bark of the old oak was hidden in the obscurity of the night. A dim light gleamed behind the tree, like a fire of a candle flickering in the wind.

"Shall we go after the candle?" Hector asked, but Cassandra shook her head.

"We won't succeed. He will escape into another painting. He knows these places better, as he goes from a painting to a painting every night—"

Medea let out a low cry and hurried to her sister.

"And sometimes comes out," Cassandra finished.

"I don't know what that waggish boy wants from me, but if I catch him tonight, I will choke him with my bare hands!"

A wisp of light passed under the wall and disappeared in the center of the hall. Cassandra and Hector looked back at the oak tree—the light was gone.

"He's moving too quickly, the little rascal!"

"Calm down, Medea, he won't harm you."

"I'm calm, Cass, it's his manners that creep me out. He crawls so smoothly in the dark... And that squeaky voice is—"

The tittering sounded again, this time coming from somewhere in the center, behind the stands with artefacts.

"He's taunting us!" Medea dashed to the center of the hall.

"Medea, wait, don't run."

"Girls, quiet!"

But Medea couldn't keep quiet. She was running between the glass stands, hitting them with her lantern and making so much noise that it was a matter of time until the museum guard woke up and discovered them.

"He won't get away from me!" Medea said when Cassandra caught up with her and made her stop.

"We can't catch him that way. He knows this hall and all the paintings inside out. We need a plan."

"First of all, stop making so much noise," Hector said. "Secondly, there are eleven paintings in this hall big enough to let him travel through them right under our noses. Even if each of us stands in a corner, the chances to miss him are high."

"I would say that maybe we need to come back tomorrow with Jack, Electra, and the rest, but I want to get that candle today, and choke that rascal while we're at it," Medea said.

"We are here already, we shouldn't wait for tomorrow."

"And you're not going to choke anyone," Cassandra said. "We need to make him stay in the painting long enough to take the candle."

"We need to catch him." Medea looked around. "I'll stand in that corner. If he comes through here, I'll catch him."

"This won't work," Cassandra said as Medea moved quietly to the dark corner.

"I know it won't. We need to think of something," Hector said.

"There he is!" Medea dashed to the effigies, bent down and peeped under the dummies' cloaks.

"He was here a second ago," she said when Hector and Cassandra approached her. "I saw the light."

Medea rose to her feet and let out a loud gasp when a dummy of a longhaired Viking stared into her face.

"Will you please stop making so much noise?" Cassandra rebuked her. "The guard will wake up!"

"But this Viking is the creepiest of all the Vikings I've ever seen."

"He won't hurt you; he's just a dummy."

"As if we have never made dummies come to life." Medea snorted and paced farther into the hall. "Come out," she was whispering. "Don't be afraid. Just come out and give me that candle!"

"This won't work," Cassandra muttered under her breath.

For another hour they searched the hall, looked at every corner, under every stand, near the wooden globes, but the boy was too quick. They could hear his laughter, the sound of his footsteps, but that little museum dweller knew the place by heart and avoided every obstacle with no trouble.

"This is silly," Medea said. "We won't catch him this way."

"She's right," Hector said. "We need to think over a plan to make him stay in the painting."

"How can we do that if that boy never stays in the same place for more than a second?"

"Oh, but it's obvious," Cassandra said suddenly. "We've seen that painting many times before, and the boy was always there. Why? Just because he has to be there—it's his right place. He can't go for a walk while there are visitors."

"Oh, right!" Medea exclaimed, and was promptly reminded to keep quiet. "Right," she whispered. "He's just an exhibit. A museum piece. And he has to go back when the visitors come."

"And when do the visitors come?" Hector's question was more rhetorical than inquiring.

"Surely not at night," Cassandra said.

"Thus, we have to convince him that it's morning already."

They became silent, looked around, and suddenly it dawned upon them.

"Candles!" all three said.

Cassandra snapped her fingers, and the closest candle, the red dwarf in a conical hat, lit up.

"Hurry up, light up all of them," Hector said.

While Cassandra snapped her fingers at the candles, Hector and Medea were lighting the rest with a box of matches. One after another the candle figures lit up, filling the obscure hall with growing light. When Medea turned around, the painting wasn't empty any longer.

"We fooled him!" she exclaimed, then clapped her palms over her mouth.

"Hurry up, get the candle," Hector said. "We don't have much time."

Medea threw herself at the painting and made another loud growl. "There's a glass over the painting!"

"A glass?" Cassandra ran to the painting and touched its surface.

"Why is there a glass?"

"I think it's to prevent the boy from getting out. Only the one who put the glass over the painting didn't consider that he'd find a way out through the other paintings."

"We have to break it," Medea said in a hurry, looking for a suitable tool in the hall. "Here, take this, Hector. McMadicus's Sledgehammer," she read on the plate of the stand.

"We can't break it. Too much noise."

"It's too late," Cassandra said. "The guard is up."

She grabbed Hector's arm and dragged him after her, telling Medea to hide. They had just turned off their lanterns and hid behind the stands when the half-asleep guard entered the hall.

"What in thunder?" he murmured. "Who... how?" He darted out of the hall.

"He went after a comrade in the library," Hector said. "We have to get out of here."

"Not without the candle." Medea ran to the glass and hit it with her fists. It didn't break.

"Stop it," Cassandra said. "There is another way. It might work. We need to find a similar candle. If he comes out every night, it means his candle melts away, and he has to take a new one. Now find the one which looks exactly like the candle in his candlestick."

They squinted at the painting. The candle in the boy's candlestick was white, thick, and with carved patterns. They ran to the stands and shelves, looking for a similar candle.

"Not this one. Not this one. Not this one," Medea was saying, passing by every burning candle.

"Don't forget to blow the candles out," Hector said.

As they began blowing out the candles, the hall gradually returned to darkness. In less than a minute only one candle was left burning on the top of a cabinet.

"There it is, the last candle," Hector said. The moment he reached the cabinet, they heard footsteps behind the door, then voices.

"I swear all the candles were burning."

"Did you examine the hall?"

"No. I hurried after you."

"You got scared, didn't you?"

"Of course I did. This place is so chilling at night."

The intruders turned off their lanterns and hid. Hector reached out and took the last candle, blew it out, pressed it against his chest, and buttoned his vest upon it.

The two guards barged into the dark hall and looked around.

"And where is your light?"

"I swear the candles were burning."

"How smart it was to not even take lanterns with us."

"Shall I get them now?"

"No time. Better draw the curtains. If there is someone here, the moonlight will be enough for us to see them."

While the guards paced to the windows, the witches were crawling behind their backs. In the darkness, Cassandra had to rely on Medea's eyesight, feeling like a blind mole trying to find her way out into the corridor. Medea dragged her sister to the wall, were Hector was waiting for them. They only had to make a few more steps, and their venture would have a successful ending.

The guards drew the curtains aside, and the moonlight gushed into the hall. They searched the museum from a corner to a corner, but found no one. The intruders had sneaked out of the hall, and were now going back to the blue castle through the mirror in the library room.

### 29. The Fountain Riddle

At night, when the square was empty and silent, and a blue mist had fallen over the town, three girls and three fellows met at the bronze fountain. Enshrouded in the torpor of the fog, it stood abandoned and ignored, filled with dust and dried leaves. The town was asleep—thoroughfares were quiet, shops and stores were closed, no soul was in the streets, and no light was burning but the dim crescent in the sky. Everything was calm, as if foretelling an upcoming storm.

"Let's see them." Jack put the flute on the pool of the fountain. The white candle and the flea box appeared near.

"So here they are," he said. "All three missing parts."

"I hope it will work," Electra said.

"We'll see right now." Jack placed the flute between the whistler's empty fingers.

A click sounded.

Jack looked at Eric, bidding him to put the flea box into its place. Eric went to the lady's figure and placed the flea box inside the hollow in her hair.

Another click sounded.

Hector put the candle into the candlestick of the bronze figure in a nightgown and nightcap. They heard the third click.

Nothing.

All six stared at each other, then into the fountain's pool. There was no key.

"Not working," Jack said dismally, coming down the fountain.

"What shall we do now?" Electra asked.

"No idea." Eric shrugged, then came down the fountain and stood next to her.

"This is ridiculous," Hector said. "We undertook all those dangerous adventures for nothing! There's no key. We must have missed something, some clue." He got down the fountain and looked at his friends. "We need to conduct another search in the library."

He had just made the proposal when something inside the fountain clicked again, then began buzzing, like some mechanism, or rather gears moving. The whistler stirred—slowly at first, but faster with every second. The lady's figure was the second to start moving, and a moment later the boy budged, too. All three statues grouped together, forming one big composition, with the whistler and the lady standing near each other, and the little boy at their feet. As the statues ended their route, a louder noise sounded inside the fountain. Water gushed from the holes around the pool, as well as the whistler's flute. Dirty and rust-colored, it soon became clean, even sparkling.

"Unbelievable," Ariadne whispered. "I have never seen this fountain working."

"It's beautiful," said Cassandra.

"Very beautiful," Electra agreed.

"And where is the key?" Eric shoved his hand inside the water. Electra wanted to protest, but seeing that nothing happened to him, kept silent.

"Anything?" Ariadne asked when Jack and Hector thrust their hands into the water.

Eric's arm was now inside the water up to his shoulder, but he still couldn't feel the bottom. He looked at Jack. "Can you feel anything?"

He shook his head. Eric looked around, then began searching for something under the trees.

"What is he doing?" Ariadne asked.

"Looking for a stick," Jack said, his hand inside the water.

Eric came back to the fountain, carrying a long branch. He lowered it into the water to feel the bottom, but the branch went down all the way of its length and still didn't hit anything hard.

"How is this even possible?" Eric pulled the branch out. "There was a bottom when it was empty."

"Oh wait," Electra said. "Could it be that this once was a Fountain of Desire?"

"So what?"

"There is a legend about the Fountains of Desire," Cassandra answered instead of her sister. "People were throwing coins into them for years, decades, even centuries. The spirits to whom those gifts were meant for would sometimes open portals that led to their habitats and collect the coins there. That's all I know about the Fountains of Desire."

"Why does it have to be so difficult?" Jack perched on the fountain pool and took off his shoes.

"What are you doing?" his sisters asked him.

"I'll go down there."

"No!" Electra said. "It could be dangerous."

"As if the rest hasn't been dangerous already. We can't stop almost at the end."

"He's right," Hector said, and began taking off his shoes.

"Wait, Hec. I don't think it's necessary for you to come."

"Jack, it's dark down there. Maybe we need to wait till morning?" Eric asked.

"In the morning, this square will be full of people. How shall I dive into the fountain in front of them?"

Jack took off his watch and the chain he carried around his neck, and gave them to Ariadne. "I won't be long," he said, hanging his legs down. "Brrr, it's cold," he muttered, and dived into the water.

"This is a bad idea," Cassandra said. "We shouldn't have let him do this."

"As if he ever listens," Hector said.

They stood around the fountain, now and then glancing at their watches. Jack had been gone for five minutes, but those five minutes seemed an eternity.

"How can he be underwater for five minutes?" Ariadne asked. "That's too long."

"He's a good swimmer," Hector said.

"It doesn't matter; he has been underwater for five minutes!"

"She's right," Electra said. "He has been gone for too long."

"What if he drowned?" Cassandra said, her voice shaking.

Hector took off his vest and sat down on the pool of the fountain. "I'll go after him."

"If you don't come back in two minutes, I'm coming after you," Eric said.

Hector nodded and dived after Jack.

One minute passed. Then passed the second. Everyone was leaning on the pool of the fountain, checking their watches every other second, but neither Jack nor Hector returned. After the second minute Eric began taking off his sneakers.

"It's dangerous," Electra said, sitting by his side.

Eric took her by her trembling hand. "We'll be back. All of us."

"Be careful."

"I will," he said, and splashed into the water. Jack was right—it was cold. And dark. The tunnel reminded him of the lake and the mermaid that had dragged him into the darkness, but there were no mermaids in the fountain, just endless water. Eric kept diving, hoping to reach the bottom, find his friends, and take them back with him, but the pool was a bottomless abyss. He knew he couldn't hold his breath forever and had to plan the one hundred seconds he could stay underwater. He'd spend one-half going down, and the other half coming up to breathe some air and dive again, but when he had counted to fifty he spotted a glimmer in the darkness. The choice was either going back to take a breath or to keep diving. He chose the second. If Jack and Hector hadn't come back, then they might have found something. He refused to believe they had drowned, and kept going down after the glimmer.

Eric emerged into a bright room. The walls were white, the curtains over the windows transparent, and a chandelier hanging from the aquatic ceiling was burning with all twenty bulbs. The place, bleached in light, was astounding, but Eric had no time to look around the underwater room with wooden furniture, pier and mirror, and thousands of coins across the floor. He swam to an open door and found himself in another chamber with an open window, through which Hector was swimming back. He pointed to the exit, and hoping that Hector was sending him somewhere with air, Eric swam through the French window. There was an underwater garden, teemed with corals in every form and color. Eric passed above the pink branches and yellow sunflowers, green mushrooms and embroidered petals. Growing into each other, they had grouped into a colorful palace inhabited with dappled fish and sea stars. Eric could spend hours admiring the undersea magnificence if he hadn't urgently needed air. He dashed up, as does anyone in need of air, and at last came up the surface.

"Strange place, huh?" Eric heard from behind. Jack was in the water, looking up into the cloudless sky and the sun setting on the horizon.

"Where are we?"

"In the sea, I suppose."

"In the sea?"

"Or maybe in the ocean. No idea." Jack chuckled. "Unbelievable, right?"

"A fountain that leads into the sea?" Eric looked around, and a rush of fear squeezed his heart. He was in the middle of a sea, so far from the solid ground. The fear increased when albatrosses soared in the distance. The water was endless. No land, not even mountains were in sight; only blue water sparkling under the vanishing sunlight.

"Eric, look there!" Jack pointed into the distance, where a pod of dolphins was hopping among the waves.

"Dolphins." Eric sniggered. "Amazing."

Hector emerged from the water and took a sip of air. "Would you like me to bring you coffee? Or shall we try to find the key?"

"Are you sure it's here?" Eric asked.

"No, but it might be in those rooms. Let's bring the matter to an end. We can't stay long in the open sea." Jack dived back into the water.

"Is that a ship?" Eric pointed to a black speck on the waves, gliding farther into the distance.

"I guess so."

"It doesn't look like a modern yacht."

"It doesn't have to," Hector said. "Don't stay long here. You might become food for sharks."

Eric had heard too many stories about shark attacks in his homeland and had no wish to meet them in Hollow or wherever he was now. When Hector dived, Eric followed him. As he was passing through the coral garden, a shoal of Flame Angel fish whirled around him, leading him to the room with coins, where Hector and Jack were looking for the key while trying to avoid the sea urchins and jellyfish. They looked under the furniture, behind the curtains, and inside the drawers, then went back into the open sea after some air, and came back to the room, followed by another school of fish.

While they were underwater, the girls were arguing over who had to dive next. Electra was saying that she had to do it, as she was the eldest, but Cassandra and Ariadne didn't consider the age difference of just a few months a reason enough to be the next diver.

"I'm a better swimmer," she said.

"I'll go," Cassandra said. "If there's some animal down there, it won't touch me."

"Why would there be an animal?" Ariadne asked.

"Who knows what might be there."

"That's why I will go. After meeting sheep-sized rats, I'm not afraid of any animal."

"Alright, girls, we can't stand idle and keep arguing. I am diving." Electra seated on the edge of the fountain and took off her shoes. Twenty minutes had passed since Eric had dived into the fountain. No one could stay underwater for so long. Something had happened to them, but she would find the boys and bring them back. Electra lowered her feet into the water and was about to dive into the fountain, when Eric sprang out and took a deep breath.

"Eric!" Electra jumped into his arms. "You're alive."

Hector emerged from the water, and Cassandra stretched her hand to him. He held onto her grip and pulled himself out of the pool.

"We did it," Hector said with relief. "Go, help him out," he told Ariadne. She hurried to the pool and looked into it with expectation. Then a hand came out of the water, holding a silver key. Ariadne grabbed Jack's arm and pulled him out.

"Did anyone ask for a key delivery?" he said, raising up the heavy key.

"You found it," Electra said, holding onto Eric in the water.

"We did, though it took a while. It was in the last drawer of the pier." Eric gave her a golden coin. "I got a talisman for you."

"A drawer? What drawer?" she asked, taking the coin and examining it.

"We'll have time to talk about," Jack said. "Now let's go home and get dry before anyone sees us."

"But why don't we go to the cave right now?" Electra asked. "And lock the door."

"Because the lamia is not there now," Jack said. "She's lurking around the town, and will be back in the cave before the first rays of the sun. We'll go to the cave at the crack of dawn and will lock the door after she hides behind it." He took his chain from Ariadne and hung it around his neck. "Oh, and by the way"—he looked at the girls—"You're not coming."

"No!"

"Of course we are!"

"You can't forbid us!"

"Girls, please, for once in your lives do as I say and stay away from the cave tomorrow."

"He's right. You don't have to come to the cave, it could be dangerous," Eric said.

"So what?" Electra said. "We have been with you all this time. We won't leave you at the end."

"Please, Elie—"

"We're coming with you!"

"Alright," Jack said. "We'll meet at the cave at six in the morning." He tried to pull the flute out of the whistler's hands, but it was stuck.

"The candle is stuck too," Hector said.

"And the flea box."

"We'll have to leave them," Jack said. "I wonder what the townsfolk will say in the morning."

"Let's go away from here until someone has seen us," Hector said, and putting his arms around Cassandra's and Ariadne's shoulders, walked away from the square.

"See you in a few hours," Electra told Eric.

"Yes, sunshine, in a few hours," he said. "Until then we'll get dry."

Smiling, Electra cupped his wet face and gave him a kiss. As she followed Hector and the girls, Jack walked past Eric and whispered into his ear, "Be at the cave at five sharp."

Eric nodded.

### 30. The Cave

Eric was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. His mind was haunted with the recollections of the stories about the witch hunt. He had read more diaries, and those were worse than Amelia Wicker's records. They contained so much cruelty and pain that he had a hard time believing it all could have been true. The malice, the human hatred and wickedness seemed endless; the envy and abhorrence prevailed over the people whose evil was proportionate to their own fears. Eric knew that behind all that gore and cruelty was hiding nothing but fear and jealousy. The sheriff, the judge, and the members of those families were a group of cravens who submitted to the Hunters that promised them a town free of anything they feared. And they agreed to partake in a massacre that would destroy the innocent along with the guilty, for they feared the guilty and hated the innocent.

Eric sauntered to the window. He couldn't sleep, not even for a minute. He had a disturbing feeling that something bad was to happen. The room was hotter than ever. He wished to open the window and let some fresh air inside, but didn't do that. The time hadn't come yet.

Another hour passed. Eric opened the casement and climbed out of his room. By the time he reached the cave, a drenching rain had begun. The lightning struck, then the thunder burst so loud that the earth shuddered. Light flickered in the distance and went off. A bit later Jack and Hector entered the cave.

"I'm here," Eric said.

"Good." Jack put his lantern on the ground. "It got drenched," he said. "Hector, any luck?"

"We'll have to go in dark," Hector said.

"Let's go then. It'll be five soon. We'll find the door and hide nearby until she comes. Here, hold this."

Eric felt a sheathed dirk in the darkness and took it by the hilt. "At least this time I'm armed."

The rain was pouring mercilessly, hitting on the walls of the cave that shuddered from the bursts of thunderbolts preceded by the flashes of lightning. After quarter of an hour, Hector tried to light up the lantern and succeeded this time, shedding hazy light over the slimy rocks. The door of the second cave was wide open, and the abyss was staring at the three uninvited guests.

Jack put the key into the keyhole. It matched. As a precaution, he took the key out and squeezed it tightly in his hand.

"We'll hide nearby and wait for her." He hung the lantern above the entrance to the second cave, below the ghastly sculpture.

"But she will see the lantern," Eric said.

"No big deal. She won't care for it. The lamia needs to go back into her den and stay there until the next night. When she gets into the cave, we shall lock the door. Now we only need to wait."

They hid behind the rocks covered with moss. Eric was squeezing the haft of the dirk, watching the path that led to Taidgroth. The cave was misty; the gray fog was crawling out of the door and curling above the damp ground.

No sound was heard but the dripping of the water and the flapping of the wings beneath the ceiling where the bats were dwelling. Then a hiss drifted across the cave, and a silhouette crawled into the light. She had long hair, her neck was refined, hands and waist slender, but the fog hid the rest, and her gait was the only thing that gave away her true essence. The creature wasn't walking; she was gliding across the cave. When the bats flapped above her head, the lamia stood erect and listened, and her body lengthened to twice its size, but her legs were never visible. Instead, there seemed to be an endless continuation of her waist—thick and long, dotted with scales.

Hiding in the lee, Eric was watching the lamia slither to the door, feeling the hair on his neck bristle. She was ghastly, and bigger than he had expected. In the darkness he couldn't spot the cave's tiny dwellers, one of which had crept to his hand and was moving across his palm. The spider bit him the moment when the lamia was entering the second cave. The bite was sudden, and so painful that Eric couldn't help wincing.

The lamia hissed through the bloodstained teeth. Eric crouched behind the rock, but she had heard his voice, and hit her pointy tail against Eric's hiding spot. The tail pierced the ground, an inch away from his leg. Eric bolted up and faced the lamia the moment when her spiky tail was getting ready for another hit. Shrieking, she wrapped her tail around Eric's neck and pulled him to her green face.

Eric clung to the tail, and it squeezed harder around his neck. Jack dashed at the lamia, plunging his dagger into her tail. She screeched and hurled Eric on the ground. Hector caught him in the air and they rolled to the mossy rocks. The lamia tossed her tail to the ceiling and clinging to the rocks above, pulled her body up and hid in the darkness.

"Are you alright?" Jack stared at Hector and Eric. They nodded, rubbing their napes.

"She's strong," Eric muttered, staring at the ceiling, his heart pounding against his ribs.

"We have to leave the cave, or she won't come—" The scaled tail wrapped around Jack's throat and pulled him up into the darkness.

"Jack!"

Hector and Eric bounded to their feet.

"Jack! Where did she take him?" Eric cried aghast. He dashed to the wall and began climbing up, the dirk squeezed between his teeth.

A shriek of agony echoed in the cave. The brown-winged bats flapped above the ground, then scattered in panic when Jack's body tumbled on the ground. Hector rushed to his friend.

"Jack, are you alive?" He tried to feel Jack's pulse. "Come on, say something!"

"The key," Jack murmured.

"What?"

"She's got the key."

Something dropped on Hector's head. He glanced up, and another drop landed on his face. He touched his forehead and glanced at his palm stained in blood. The trail of drops moved to the wall where Eric was standing.

"Get away from that wall," Hector told him, pulling Jack away from the path. Eric stepped back and looked up. The blood was dripping above the door of the second cave. The lamia was waiting for the proper time to attack.

Eric squatted and squinted at the sculpture above the door. Like a giant scorpion the lamia crept down, digging her jagged nails into the stone. She shielded the door with her green body, holding onto the sculpture with her tail. Eric saw Jack's dagger and the silver key, one thrust into her side, the other plunged into her belly. He stood up, hid his dirk behind his back, and took a step forward. The lamia hissed and bared her fangs. Eric's heart was pounding, but he forced himself to take another step. The lamia thrust out her purple tongue and licked her lips. Eric took a third step, staring into the crimson eyes—blank and soulless. There was nothing human in that creature; it was a creation of the dark—lethal, fatal, abhorring. So many nights she had fooled him into believing that her presence was nothing but a dream, that her touch was a sweet reminder of the one he was dreaming about, and that she was but a vague impression of his beloved girl, while the lamia had been real, and had been sucking his blood.

"Come now," Eric said. "We're no strangers, are we? We have spent so many nights in each other's company, so why are you so shy?"

The lamia leered and pounced on him, throwing him on the ground. Her fangs were aimed at the artery on his neck, but met with the dirk and bit into the blade. Eric tried to push her back as she began chewing the steel in front of his terrified eyes.

Hector snatched the bowie knife from his boot and stabbed the lamia's tail, nailing it to the ground. Her shriek was so loud that the walls of the cave trembled. Eric had to let go of his hands and cover his ears, so painful was her scream. She wriggled her tail and tried to free it, but the knife was embedded too deep into the ground. The lamia squirmed her tail until it tore off the knife, making her let out another wail. She tried to stand erect, but the wounded tail had lost its strength, and she lost her balance, collapsing down. Hector caught her from behind and turned her over. "Get the key!"

Eric snatched the sticking key and pulled it out, tearing her green flesh. The tail was twisting into knots and curves while the lamia was screeching and wailing, awakening anything that could be inhabiting the darkness of the second cave.

She wriggled out of Hector's grip and twined her arms around his throat, her nails raking his neck. Eric pulled the bowie knife from the ground and got ready to stab the lamia, but his hand froze in the air. She was alive, she was real, and he had never stabbed any living creature in his life. He had never killed anyone. He knew he had to help Hector, but couldn't move.

Jack threw himself at Hector and together they shoved the lamia back at Eric. The blade pierced her body, and she let out a prolonged moan. Stunned, Eric let go of the knife, and the lamia sank to the ground. She wasn't hissing or screeching anymore; a purr was coming out of her mouth as she crawled to the door, leaving a trail of blood across the path. As she lay by the door of the second cave and ceased making a sound, Eric dared approach her and squatted by her green body.

"Is she dead?"

"I think so," Jack said. "She's a monster. It was either her or us."

"I know. I only wish she'd never come out of this door. Shall we lock it at last?"

"Yes."

They looked into the nothingness behind the door. The darkness had never been so void and lifeless, and the howls that came from the depths of Taidgroth made the blood in their veins freeze.

"Would you dare step inside?" Hector asked.

"No way," Jack said.

"Is that another portal?" Eric asked.

"Whatever it is, I'm not going to be the one who finds that out." Jack gripped the haft of the knife and pulled it out of the lamia's back. "Hold the tail," he told Eric and Hector while he grabbed the lamia by her shoulders. Eric clutched the creature by the waist, and Hector wrapped his arms around her tail. They scooped the lifeless body and threw it into the abyss. Jack shut the door, and Eric locked it.

"What shall we do with this?" Eric held up the key.

"My idea is that it needs to be destroyed, but someone else has the other key, so we better keep it for now," Jack said. He took the key from Eric's hand, grabbed the lantern from the sculpture, and all three strode to the exit. They were near the entrance when a female voice called Jack's name. He raised the lantern and hurried to Ariadne. She looked pale and scared.

"No need to worry," he told her. "We killed the lamia and locked the door."

"Jack, you have to hurry!"

"Why? What happened?"

"Hollow!" Ariadne exclaimed. "Hollow is burning!"

### 31. Silhouettes in Fire

"Burning? How? What happened?" Jack shook Ariadne by her shoulders. "Speak! What happened?"

"I don't know, Jack," she cried through tears. "It must have been the lightning."

The fellows looked at the town, where the bundles of white smoke were eddying into the red sky.

"One of the wooden bridges is burning," Ariadne sobbed. "And so are the gardens, haylofts, the toy store, the wood turner's workplace, the lumber mill, the Candy Shop—"

"Candy shop?" Eric stared at the smoke. His little cousin was supposed to spend the night at his grandmother's place, two stories above the Candy Shop.

When they reached the blazing town, Jack and Hector ran to their houses, and Ariadne left with them. And Eric rushed to the Candy shop. The town was filled with people carrying buckets of water and trying to extinguish the flames that had caught the thoroughfares and were devouring the wooden houses. The dwellers were dashing out of the houses, holding children and animals in their arms, sometimes carrying valuables. The merciless flames seemed to mock all the attempts of being extinguished, and blazed with more fury and strength. Familiar faces had gathered in front of the Candy shop, staring at the building and crying.

"Where is Henry?" Eric asked Eleanora.

"In the house," she said through sobs. "Dad has gone after him. Uncle Neil is there, too. They have been there too long already..."

Riona was down on her knees in the middle of the alley, calling her son's name. Her mother and sister were with her, while their husbands were in the burning house.

The flames were creeping up. The second floor was engulfed in fire; the third floor was burning already. Eric looked around for someone with water, but the alley was smoking, and everyone was either running away or fighting with the flames to save their own dwellings. The McKennits were not around; they lived on the West Bank and probably didn't know that their shop was burning.

"More water!" someone yelled.

"Help!"

"Water!"

Water—the only thing that everyone kept asking for. More water. It wasn't enough—the fire was growing; the smoke was spreading over the square, hurting the eyes and choking the lungs. Panic had overtaken the people. If officers appeared, they were surrounded by the townsfolk telling about the relatives they couldn't find and asking for water.

Where is the rain when we need it so much? Eric thought, staring into the sky filled with red smoke. It was still dark, darker than it should be at the crack of dawn. Eric squinted into the blazing flames. He saw people running away, rushing for water and helping each other, but there was something else in the fire: silhouettes were coming out of flames. They were not hurrying, not running away, not offering help to the townsfolk. Five silhouettes in long cloaks, wearing hoods over their heads. And although they were walking through the flames, none of them was caught on fire. Eric lost the sight of them when people passed before him, dragging their animals and carriages down the road, but then the silhouettes reappeared. Far away, enshrouded in fire and smoke, it seemed that they were coming out of the inferno itself, uncaring about anything happening around.

Riona's sobs pulled Eric out of his stupor. He saw someone coming out of the house. All three women bounded to their feet and ran to Mr. Wilson, Riona's father.

"I couldn't find Henry, but I'll go back," he said, holding to his wife.

"No, Father," Riona cried out. "Albert will find him. You're too tired, your hands are burnt."

"I will go." Mr. Wilson tuned to the burning house, and all three women clung to his arms, crying bitterly.

"Stay here. I'll find them," Eric told him, and ran to the burning house, almost getting under the hoofs of a horse running past him. He reached the burning doors, and bracing himself, jumped inside. He had been there before and remembered that the stairs on the left led to the Wilsons' apartment on the third floor. Eric emerged in the corridor with four doors. Henry was behind one of them. The walls were burning; the corridor was shrouded in thick smoke. He heard Uncle Albert's voice drifting from the first apartment, and barged into the second one, looking around. The walls and windows were burning, the furniture was caught in fire. Eric pressed his sleeve over his nose and mouth and stepped into the next room, looking around, searching under the bed and in the corners. The fire was growing in a fierce haste; it had already devoured all the furniture under the walls and was now spreading through the ceiling and to the door. Eric was beginning to doubt that he'd get out of the house alive. He ran to the exit and stepped over the burning threshold.

"Henry! Uncle Albert!"

He entered the anteroom of the third apartment, searching for Henry. He knew he didn't have much time. All three floors were on fire, and he had no idea how he was supposed to go downstairs. The dense smoke had filled the place, hurting his eyes and making breathing painful. The fire had spared the last room of the apartment, but the flames were already creeping in through the shattered windows, and the smoke was curling in the center of the room.

"Henry!" Eric ran to the corner and lifted up the boy. Henry wrapped his arms around his cousin's neck. When they had reached the threshold, the boy whispered into Eric's ear, "Emily is there, too."

"Who?"

"Emily. Under the piano."

Eric looked around the room, searching for the piano. The boy was right—there was someone under it. It was Emily, the neighbors' five-year-old girl. Eric had no time to think about how she had gotten there and where her family was. Holding Henry in his arms, he peered down the piano. Emily was plastered to the floor, her eyes closed, and her head covered with her little hands.

"Emily," Eric said. "Come here."

She didn't move, and Eric pulled the hem of her dress. "Come here, girl. Come here."

She still wouldn't move. Eric grabbed her by her hand and pulled her sharply from under the piano. Emily shrieked.

"Come here. I'll take you to your mommy. Please, come here." He forced her out and lifted both the children. They were heavy, but Eric couldn't leave any of them in the burning room to be picked up later. He wasn't planning to return there.

"Close your eyes and try to hold your breaths," he commanded. He didn't know whether the children obeyed him, or whether they had even heard him. The flames were crackling, swallowing the room and the house. The roof of the building was made of wood, and it was a matter of time until the burnt logs would fall. Eric got into the hallway, but the way back was blocked by a wall of flame. There was no way out.

He went farther into the corridor, holding the children in his arms. Through the crackling he could hear Emily's sobbing and feel Henry shaking in his arms.

"Uncle Albert!" Eric yelled, and the acrid smoke filled his throat. He had lost concentration; almost blinded, he didn't know where he was going, but he was stepping deeper into the corridor, looking for a way out.

"Uncle Albert!" he called again. He had to tell him that Henry was with him, but couldn't go back. The corridor was aflame, as well as the whole house.

Eric heard voices outside and followed them through the smoke. There were two windows at the end of the corridor, one shrouded by fire, but the other still intact. He hurried to the window and looked out. They were on the third floor and he could climb down. If he had some time, he could take one of the children down, then climb up and get the other.

Eric turned around. There was no time. The flames were coming closer, and the window was the only way out of the burning house.

"Help!" he shouted. "Somebody!"

No one heard him. The Wilsons and Riona were in the alley, and he was on the backside of the building.

"Help!" he shouted again, holding the children tighter, feeling his back aching and breaking in two. "Somebody help!"

It was useless. Eric leaned over the windowsill and looked down. There were projections along the wall; he could climb down if he tried hard enough. But could he do that with two children? When a burning log collapsed behind them, and the children shrieked, he knew he had no time to think. Eric squatted before the window and put Henry down.

"Henry, listen to me. Hang onto my back. There you go, good boy. Now hold tight, both of you." He rose up, holding Emily in his hands and having Henry hanging on his back. "We can do this," Eric told himself, and breathed out. He climbed onto the hot sill. His jeans were thick enough to protect him from the heat, but his bare hands were getting burnt. He didn't care about the hands. He would've readily cut his hand off if it had helped him to get out of the flames.

Eric climbed out of the window and searched for support with his foot. The ledge was there. He let out a deep sigh, wishing that Henry wouldn't squeeze his neck like that, and hoping that the boy wouldn't loosen his hands and fall down from the third floor. Emily was before him, pressed to his chest by his left hand. He told her to hold tight and hung from the sill by both of his hands.

Eric searched for the closest jut that could afford a stiff hold for his foot, leaned against it, and climbed down another step. The stone wall was hot; he tried to press the girl closer to his chest so that her back wouldn't touch the hot wall and get burnt. His arms and palms were aching, but he told himself that the ground was getting closer. Soon the pain became unbearable, and he couldn't help moaning.

"Just get the children down," he was saying to himself. They were the only thing that mattered, the only reason he was still bearing that pain and wasn't letting go. He'd rather fall down from the third floor than feel that agony anymore, but two innocent lives depended on him. He had to get them down.

The sky growled, warning of the torrent.

At last. Never in his life had he been so happy for the rain. It would kill the fire. It was only a matter of time. But the walls were so hot that the rain couldn't yet soothe the flames and cool the stone. Instead, it made the ledges slippery and turned Eric's venture into a more arduous task.

"On the wall!" he heard below.

"Get a ladder!" someone yelled.

Had they been noticed? Eric tried to look down. They were on the second floor now. He could jump if necessary, but it was too high for the children.

"Henry!" Riona shrieked. Yes, they had been noticed, but would any of them get a ladder? More houses were on fire, but the gushing torrent was successfully fighting the flames. Eric managed another step down.

"Henry, jump," he heard a male voice cry out. Was it Uncle Albert? Eric couldn't tell, but the owner of the voice was ready to catch the boy.

"Don't be afraid, Henry. Let go," Eric said, but the boy wasn't in a rush to jump from the second floor. "Trust me, they will catch you," Eric said. "Just let your hands go. They will catch you, I promise."

He couldn't hold onto the wall anymore. It was slippery; the rain was gushing down on him, and Henry, hanging from his back, seemed to weight a ton. Either Henry jumped, or they would all fall down.

"Do it, Henry. Just do it."

Henry loosened his grip, plunged down like a rock, and was caught by the people under the wall. Eric felt as if his back was released of the heaviest burden. The wall had cooled down, and the stone wasn't burning his palms anymore. He hadn't reached the ground yet when the hands below reached out to him, then took the girl off his grip. Eric jumped to the ground and leaned his back against the wall. Riona's sister knelt before him and checked his heartbeat.

"Calm down," she said softly. "And breathe deeper."

Eric looked around. The people who had caught Henry were Riona's father and her brother-in-law. Some steps away from the house, Riona was hugging Henry and crying. And Eleanora was sobbing in her grandmother's arms. Eric returned his eyes to the men before him.

"Where is Uncle Albert?"

No one responded.

### 32. Funerals

A soft breeze swept over the tombstones, mingled with the dust, and flew away into the open field. People had surrounded a fresh grave, where the silence was disturbed by the quiet sobbing of the widow wearing all black.

The O'Brians' friends and neighbors approached Riona, offering her their help and support, while the pipes lamented the departed.

"I am sorry, Riona," Caitlin McCormack said. "Sorry that you have become a widow so soon, and that your children have lost their father at such a young age."

"Thank you, Caitlin," Riona said. "And I hope," she continued, raising her voice, "that no child in this town will be left parentless, for no child in the world deserves such a lot."

The McCormacks and the Baldrics frowned and shuffled on their feet. Caitlin McCormack returned to her family and stood between her husband and her daughter. Dinah was supposed to approach Riona, but she couldn't stop staring at Eric. He was sitting on a rock nearby, looking broken and grieving. Whenever he raised his head, tears glistened in his eyes.

She would have felt sorry for him and might have even tried to console him, but seeing Electra near the one who occupied her always restless mind, she lost all the gentle feelings for Eric. How dare she show up at the graveyard? And how dare she sit there, among all those people, well aware that she and her family were hated and unwanted? Electra was holding Eric by his hand. Once she even dared to sweep the tears away from his face. And he, instead of pushing her away, pressed her hand to his lips, then buried his face in her palms.

Dinah had now forgotten about the primary reason of coming to the graveyard. She had forgotten about her dead neighbor, about the fire that had taken away another two lives and injured hundreds of people. She saw only Eric and Electra taunting her. She saw them look at her, mock her and scorn her, then laugh at her. Everyone around the grave was making fun of her. All eyes were on her, deriding her and ridiculing her for her unrequited feelings. As if it wasn't enough, the whole family of witches appeared at the grave. Andromeda approached Riona and put her hand on her back. The widow cast a glance at her, and a new wave of sobbing burst out.

"I am so sorry, Mrs. O'Brian, dear Riona."

"Ohh, Andromeda, my kind lady." Riona threw herself into her consoler's arms and started to weep. "Can you do anything? Please say you can. You saved him once. Please, bring my husband back to life. Don't leave my children fatherless."

Eleanora felt a gentle touch on her shoulder. Turning around, she met with her favorite gray eyes. "Oh, Jack," she sobbed, throwing her arms around Jack's neck. She pressed her face against his chest and cried as bitterly as she had ever cried before.

"Elora, I am so sorry," Jack said, holding her in his arms.

"Oh, Jack," she murmured again. "Once more I did the wrong thing. Even after you told me. You told me to think about the words I say. Then I shouted at him, called him bad names, and now he's gone, and I will never see him again. Oh, Daddy."

"I am sorry for having been so harsh with you," Jack said. Eleanora clung tighter to him, and he tried to console her any way he could. But while consoling the one, he had forgotten about the other. Ariadne was standing behind them, with Cassandra and Medea by her sides, and looking at a scene so excruciating that even the grief of the girl in Jack's embrace couldn't help her from feeling indignant.

"He has to comfort her. She lost her father," Cassandra said.

"I know. Poor girl." Ariadne tried to sound sincere, and she hated herself for being jealous of a girl who was going through such misery, but her feelings were stronger than she had thought.

"Now, what are they doing here?" Magnus McCormack muttered.

"Indeed," Louis Baldric said. "Their presence only worsens the tragedy." As he took a step towards Colin Fitzroy, Shay MacGavin put his hand on his shoulder.

"Show some respect."

"Don't talk about respect, blacksmith. It's not I who's friends with a witch-man."

"A graveyard is no place for arguing," Uncle Colin said. "Show respect for the loss of the family."

"I will, if you do the same, Fitzroy. Take your family and leave, and I won't start a fight."

Colin went to his wife and explained the situation with just a glance. Andromeda nodded.

"Riona, my dear, we have to go," she said.

"No, please don't go," Riona pleaded. "Your presence is comforting. You know better than anyone here how painful it is to lose the loved ones."

"If you don't mind, my dear, I will visit you in the evening. Until then you need to have some rest."

Riona saw her neighbors roll their eyes and frown. "What do you want?" she cried out. "Why are you driving away the woman who has come to console me on the worst day of my life? My husband is lying in the coffin, he will be buried soon, my children and I have lost him forever, and all you can think of is your stupid ban?"

"It's not a stupid ban, Mrs. O'Brian," Magnus McCormack said. "The ban is called to protect our families. And your husband had signed that paper."

"But I haven't signed it. And my husband signed it only because he was forced to. I won't let you drive away the woman who once saved his life. What have you done for Albert? You only poisoned his mind, and put on his shoulders the burden of that pointless ban, ridding him of a chance to thank the person who saved his life. And she didn't only help him. This woman, whom you hate so much, has helped you too, Caitlin."

Caitlin turned pale as death. "What—? What are you saying, Riona? Has your grief caused you madness?"

"I demand explanations," Peter McCormack said.

"The explanation is that last year I gave Caitlin a soothing potion—"

"That's not true!" Caitlin's voice shook. "Peter, I swear she's lying. I have never... would never take anything from that woman."

Peter frowned, and Caitlin shuddered. "I swear, Peter. By my life. By the lives of my children. Why are you saying those lies?" she yelled at Riona. "You have lost your husband and want me to lose mine? What kind of a bitter woman are you?"

"It's not a lie," Riona told Peter. "But she indeed didn't know. I never told her."

When the argument had begun, the musicians had stopped playing the pipes, and when Riona's words silenced everyone, the graveyard plunged into absolute stillness.

Without saying a word, Peter McCormack turned around and walked away. His wife called after him, then rushed after her husband. One after another the Easterners left the place. Magnus McCormack scowled at Riona and muttered something offensive under his breath.

"I am sorry," Riona told Andromeda after the Easterners left. "I got you into trouble, but they made me so angry, I couldn't think properly."

"Don't apologize," she said. "You are having a very hard time, and I want you to know that you can always count on me and my family. Call me whenever you need me. I will always be by your side."

###  Epilogue

Eric was waiting for Jack and Hector under the Lonely Widower. He was leaving the next morning and wanted to talk to them before his departure.

He didn't want to leave; he was missing her already. He didn't know how he would bear the long parting that was to come soon. And he didn't know when he would be back to Hollow. He had to go to college soon, and it might be a year before he came back.

"Have you heard the news?" Jack asked when he and Hector approached the Lonely Widower. "They're saying that the witch sent the fire to the East Bank. Can you believe it? As if my mother can send lightning like she's some kind of Zeus or Thor."

"That's ridiculous but not unexpected," Eric said. "What do you think the sheriff and the Council are going to undertake?"

"I don't know." Jack took a seat beside Eric. "Until then I had hopes that everything happening in Hollow was a coincidence, but what I saw in the fire deprived me of the last hope."

Eric stared at Jack. "You saw them too?"

Jack looked at Hector, then turned to Eric. "Are you talking about the silhouettes in fire?"

Eric bounded to his feet. "So it wasn't a vision? They were real, coming out of the fire?"

"Hush! Calm down." Jack pulled him down on the grass. "Yes, they were real. They are coming back. Or are back already. It happened as it had been predicted. The Hunters came from the blazing flames. They came through fire, through mischief and trouble."

"But where are they?"

"I don't know."

"They are among us," Hector said. "They will be here, in Hollow—waiting, planning, anticipating. I won't be surprised to know they have already met the Council members. They will demand trials. Then they will start the Hunt."

"I still don't understand. Where are those people?"

"What people? Eric, wake up. You read the diaries and still didn't understand that they are not people? They are something else, some creatures that come to Hollow throughout centuries and organize a slaughter."

"Can we stop them?"

"We will try."

Eric ran his hand through his hair. "I have so many questions now, more than I had in the beginning, and I have to leave tomorrow. How can I leave when you're telling me this, and after I've seen them with my own eyes?"

"I too wish that you would stay, but I know you can't. Go back home. If any of us suspects the slightest danger we'll call you back."

"I wish I didn't have to go," Eric said. "I wish I could stay here forever."

"Be careful with what you wish for," Hector said. "It could come true, but not exactly the way you want."

"Electra has given me paper to use with the magic ink. If something happens, just send me a note, and I'll be back at once," Eric said.

He bade good bye to his friend, but stayed under the oak, waiting for Electra. She hadn't managed to dismount Graylock, when he rushed to her and clasped his arms around her.

"How are your wounds?" Electra asked, looking at his bandaged palms.

"Forget the wounds." Eric pulled her close again. Who will take care of you when I'm gone? he thought, his heart bleeding. "I don't want to leave you. Heaven knows how much I wish to take you with me."

Electra cupped his face and looked him in the eyes. "Your eyes are full of sorrow," she said. "Don't torture yourself so much. You know well that I will wait for you."

Eric took her hands in his. How gentle they were, how soft and beautiful. What would the Hunters do with her? Would they make her walk on the burning coals? Or would they force her to eat poisonous food? Would they drown her, or burn her on the stake? She didn't even suspect how close the danger was. No, she didn't know, she would have told him if she knew. But here she was, smiling and comforting him.

"I'll be back," Eric said, taking her back into her arms.

"I know you will. What will you do without Hollow?" She kissed him tenderly. "My sisters were sending their goodbyes. They will be waiting for your return."

The lump pressed against his throat. Poor girls. It wasn't their fault that they were born that way. They didn't choose to be witches, and it was unjust to hold them responsible for something over which they had no power. He knew he needed to come back for their sake; he wouldn't let anything happen to them.

The time was passing quickly. When Eric looked at his watch it was ten already. A cawing sounded from above. That was Morrigan, telling them it was time to part. The crow swept before the lovers and flew up into the sky, fluttered over the gorges and meadows resting under the moonlight, soared above the peaks of the poplars, passed the sharp mountains and hovered around Ostband, where dim flames of fire were burning inside the windows.

The old castle was abandoned no more.

###  About the Author

I.D. Blind was born and raised in Armenia and still lives in her beautiful country, writing in a third language for readers who, like her, love witches, magic, and Celtic music. Email her at idblindauthor@gmail.com. She is always happy to hear from her readers.

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###  Also by I.D. Blind

### YA Fantasy Series

(Under the pen name I.D. Blind)

Witch Hollow and the Wrong Spell

(Book 1 of 5 of "Witch Hollow" series)

(Free e-book)

Witch Hollow and the Fountain Riddle

(Book 2 of 5 of "Witch Hollow" series)

(Free e-book)

Witch Hollow and the Dryad Princess

(Book 3 of 5 of "Witch Hollow" series)

Witch Hollow and the Spider Mistress

(Book 4 of 5 of "Witch Hollow" series)

Witch Hollow and the Moon's Daughter

(Book 5 of 5 of "Witch Hollow" series)

(Contains a minor spoiler for "Abracadabra" series)

Witch Hollow: Stories from the Past

(A prequel to "Witch Hollow" series)

YA Fantasy Series

(Under the pen name Irena Davidian)

Abracadabra: The Witchcraft Academy

(Book 1 of "Abracadabra" series)

### Mystery/Horror

(Under the pen name Reina Blind)

Bedtime Stories

(A short story collection)

###  Excerpt from Book 3

The ball continued. The hall was full of people dancing and chatting, laughing and enjoying the delicious meals. Eric left the girls around the table, and went for a walk across the hall, marking the guests in the big ballroom. He knew some of them from Hollow, but most of the guest were from other towns and counties, and he was seeing them for the first time. At the end of the hall, Eric came upon a refreshment room with a table full of canapés and drinks. A group of young ladies was sitting in the corner and talking. Eric didn't know them. He poured punch for himself, put some ice into it, and took a sip.

"You don't even want to greet me?"

Eric turned to the voice. Dinah was standing in front of him, wearing a black brocade dress, her hair pinned up in a beautiful hairstyle. Eric had seen her in the crowd, but hadn't bothered to approach her. He hadn't talked to her since his arrival.

"Hello, Dinah," he said grudgingly.

"Is that all I shall receive from you?"

Eric kept quiet.

"How are you doing, Eric O'Brian?"

"I am doing fine, thank you. And I hope you are well, too."

"No," she said. "I am not well."

"Why?" Eric looked away at the ladies in the corner, then returned his eyes on Dinah.

"I am unhappy."

"I thought otherwise. Girls are usually happy when they are getting engaged, aren't they?"

"It depends."

"On what?"

"On the circumstances."

Eric put the glass back on the table. "I'm sorry to hear about your unhappiness. I wish you nothing but joy," he said, and turned around to leave when Dinah held him by the arm.

"Stop running away."

Eric wanted to say that he wasn't running away, but knew that she was right. He wanted to escape her company. He felt uncomfortable around her. She was stunning as always, beautiful, elegant, but he didn't want to talk to her.

Dinah looked at him for some long seconds. It seemed she wanted to say something but hesitated, and didn't know how to begin. At that moment, Electra, who had been searching for Eric, appeared at the door. She saw Eric and Dinah standing together and didn't dare approach them. Electra stood by the marble column near the door and waited for Eric, who was standing motionless near the table, his arm squeezed by Dinah.

"I want to help you," he said. "I really do. I don't want to see you unhappy, but you need to think independently, to decide for yourself, not to be led by others, even by your parents."

"My father only wishes to save the town. He knows he's doing the right thing. Leave them, join us."

Eric looked at her in astonishment.

"Join me. Just one word and I will call off the engagement. I don't want to marry Thomas. I don't love him."

"You don't understand what you're saying."

"I do. I have thought over this for so many nights. Please, leave them. Their days are over. You know the Hunters are back. Everyone knows. They are planning another Hunt. The witches' days are over, they will be killed. All of them."

"Stop it!" Eric wanted to get out of Dinah's grip, but she held him tighter.

"Leave them. Otherwise the Hunters won't spare you. But I am ready to accept you, forgive you, love you. Just leave the witches. You will have me as a reward. I am more beautiful than all of them together."

Eric stared at Dinah, thinking over what she'd said, and wondering how much of that was true. She was staring back with expectation; her heart was beating fast, throat was dry. She had just made a confession to him, and now her happiness depended on his decision.

"You are beautiful but rotten inside." Eric pulled his arm out of her grip and left the room. He passed right in front of Electra, but didn't notice her behind the column. Shocked by what she had just heard, she continued to stand by the marble column, then felt someone's presence behind, and turning around, let out a low gasp. Dickens McCormack seemed startled, too. He looked at her with surprise, as if not expecting to see her. Bewildered, Electra stepped back. Ariadne hurried to her friend, took her by the hand, and they paced away.

"Was he sniffing your hair?" Ariadne asked when they strode away from the refreshment room.

Electra shuddered. "That McCormack is the creepiest of all."

"The word 'creepy' describes him very well."

Left alone, Dinah snatched a strawberry from the bowl with fruits and squeezed it angrily in her palm. How could he deny me? she thought. How audacious, how impertinent he was! He will be sorry. He will be very sorry.

Thomas entered the refreshment room and approached Dinah. "Did you talk to him?"

She frowned at him.

"I saw Eric O'Brian coming out of this room. Was he talking to you?"

"None of your business."

Thomas saw the squeezed berry in her palm and grasped her wrist. "What have you decided? To disgrace me?"

Dinah roughly freed her hand. "I said, none of your business!"

"I think you have forgotten that we're getting engaged soon."

"And I think you have forgotten that we're not even engaged, yet you already behave like an old, jealous husband."

Dinah fled from the room, and Thomas, infuriated both with Dinah and Eric, stood in solitude, pressed his lips together, and thought about how much he wished for Eric O'Brian's disappearance. He knew that Dinah, who would soon become his wife—something he was wishing for eagerly—was pining over Eric, and his inability to win her heart caused hatred and detestation towards his rival.

On the way to their table, Electra saw Eric by the window, and telling Ariadne she would soon join their company, walked to him. As she put her gloved hand on Eric's shoulder, he smiled and hugged her waist.

"This is a beautiful place," he said, looking out the window. The night had fallen, and the reflections of the stars were shining brightly on the surface of the clear pond. The small lanterns, some hanging down the branches of the trees, some inside the colorful bushes, were already burning and brightening up the luxurious garden.

For a while, Eric and Electra stood silently by the window, admiring the beautiful panorama and thinking about Dinah's words, but none of them spoke about their concerns. Eric didn't want to scare her, and Electra didn't wish him to think she'd been eavesdropping.

The conductor of the orchestra turned to the guests, raised his stick, hushing everyone, and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, please choose your partners. The Ornshire Waltz begins now."

"Oh, the Waltz!" Electra exclaimed. "Let's go."

She dragged Eric to the dance floor, on her way waving to her friends and calling them to the center of the ballroom. The conductor waited for everyone to choose their partners, then turned to the orchestra and swayed his stick in the air. The Waltz began.

"Just don't forget to count," Electra reminded Eric.

Hundreds of pairs whirled across the ballroom, like motley butterflies fluttering over a blooming meadow. Not a guest was left sitting; everyone had found a partner, and was spinning in the dance, getting ready for the first turn.

"I don't want to change my partner." Eric held Electra's hand tighter.

"Neither do I," she said with a smile. "But the time is coming, one more spin, and we'll turn around."

Without stopping the music, the orchestra smoothly played another tune; the dancers stopped for a split second, and turned around. Medea appeared in front of Eric, and smiling at each other, they began waltzing in the ballroom, looking around to see who was dancing with whom. Hector was dancing with Ariadne, and Jack had met Eleanora on the dance floor. Eric smiled under his breath at the sight of his beaming cousin. At last she was dancing with Jack—something she had been waiting for the whole evening. Eric searched for Electra. The smile disappeared from his face when he saw her dancing with Thomas Baldric. She didn't seem pleased. Thomas's lips were moving, he was saying something, but Electra was silent, her eyes aimed at the floor.

"Calm down," Medea told him. Eric looked absently at her. "Calm down, she can handle one minute with Baldric."

"If he insults her, I'll beat him up."

"Just don't start a fight here. We have been tolerating insults all our lives, and we certainly can do that for a few more minutes."

The music changed again and everyone turned around. Eric stared at his partner, then put his hand over Dinah's waist, and avoiding her glance, looked around the ballroom again. Jack was now dancing with Ariadne, and Hector was waltzing with Eleanora. Medea was Thomas's new pair, and Eric grinned as he saw how boldly she was looking into Thomas's face and saying something to him with no fear. Medea was the boldest of the sisters and never shunned away from speaking her mind.

"What a bad day," Thomas said. "I've been stuck dancing with witches when there are so many normal people around."

"Indeed it's a bad day for you, Baldric. The day when you lost your pants."

"Huh?" Thomas's pants began slipping down. He hastily reached for his belt, trying to keep his clothing on, while waltzing awkwardly.

"Stop it, witch."

"Apologize."

"I said stop it! Now!"

"I said apologize."

While Thomas was trying to keep his garments on, Eric and Dinah spun in the dance nearby. Eric chuckled over Thomas's awkward dance.

"He's an idiot," Dinah said.

Eric couldn't believe she was saying that about someone she was going to marry. She had already said she didn't love him, but he couldn't understand why she also wished to humiliate Thomas in front of him.

"I don't want to marry an idiot," Dinah continued. "It's a decision on behalf of our parents. I've never gone against my father's wishes, but I don't want to marry that fool. Please, help me."

"Dinah, I'm sorry, but I don't know how I can help you. You need to talk to your parents. It's not too late. It's never too late. Don't do that if you don't want to."

"But I have to. Now, if you would only agree to join us. I would convince my father to accept you."

"You don't understand what you're saying."

"But we used to be friends once. Not much time has passed since. We still could resurrect our friendship, our feelings. I know you were fond of me. Your feelings couldn't have vanished without a trace."

Eric didn't say anything. He didn't want to cause her pain when she was already miserable, but the truth was that remorse was the only feeling he had. He pitied her and wished he could help her, but didn't know how. He didn't love her anymore. That feeling had vanished a long time ago, without a possible resurrection.

"It's because of her, isn't it?" Dinah threw a glance at Electra. "That witch stole you from us."

Eric followed Dinah's glance and saw Electra dancing with the worst partner in the whole ballroom—Dickens McCormack. Watching them dance was like watching Dickens hurting her and staying quiet. Eric was beginning to hate that stupid Waltz. It was an unpredictable dance, and when there were so many people hating each other in one place, that dance was only causing more confusion.

Eric danced with Ariadne, then with two young girls he was seeing for the first time. After one last turn, everyone was back with their original partners. Eric eagerly hugged Electra's waist and asked her if Thomas or Dickens had insulted her. Telling him not to worry about the Easterners, Electra asked if Eric had seen Cassandra in the hall.

"I have not. And frankly, I've just now noticed she's nowhere near. And I haven't seen Raymond, either. Maybe they are strolling somewhere?"

"Maybe," Electra said gravely.

Copyright 2013 by I.D. Blind.

Cover art copyright 2013 by I.D. Blind.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used factiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All right reserved. No parts of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, except for brief excerpts for the purpose of review or quotation, without permission in writing from the author. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at idblindauthor@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author's rights.

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###  References

 "Blacksmith." A traditional English folk song.

 "Searching for Lambs." A traditional English folk song.

 "Battle of Harlaw." A traditional Scottish song.

 "Twa Corbies." A Scottish folk ballad.

 "If I Were a Blackbird." A Scottish ballad.
