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1

Jesse wakes up in confusion. He is lying on his back in the bed at Hill Fort farm. But he has no idea how he got back there. Groggy, he props himself up on one elbow and examines himself. He’s wearing the same clothes he had on when he got to the old church but he has no memory of returning. He presses a hand to his forehead where a nasty headache is brewing and a slideshow of images fills his mind.

Running. So much running. Suddenly, he can hear his heart beating in his ears again. He squints and groans. Running faster. Grass and hills. The church. What made him go there? Why were the others there? What were they doing?

The black hare…

Jesse springs upright, lowering his hand and gazing around in a panic. He saw it, the black hare. He chased it. He wanted it. The smell, the scent, the blood. Hunger. Running, running, running. Teeth. Escape. He shakes his head – after that, he has nothing.

A knock on the door alarms him. Margaret never knocks. Jesse moves to the end of the bed and lowers his feet to the floor. His throat is tight and dry and his stomach is rolling over in hunger.

‘Who is it?’ he asks, his voice a thin croak.

The door handle turns slowly and time seems to slow down as the door swings open, revealing Hilda in her wheelchair, Horatio at her side.

‘Horatio is not much of a dog,’ she states flatly, her eyes shooting around his room. She has a tray on her lap and what looks like a sandwich in the middle of it. Jesse swallows, licking his lips.

‘What?’

Hilda rolls herself slowly in. She ignores his question and gazes around the room. Seemingly satisfied, she holds out the tray and Jesse takes it nervously. His hands shake as he rests it on his knees. The sandwich looks divine. Thick white bread, corned beef, lettuce and tomato. He stares at it longingly.

‘Thanks.’

‘She said you’d be hungry.’ Hilda is turning her chair around. ‘She’s gone to town.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Lunchtime,’ says Hilda, glancing over her shoulder. ‘Saturday,’

Jesse’s jaw drops. Saturday? He leans forward. ‘Wait. Did you say Saturday? It’s Thursday.’

‘It was Thursday,’ yawns Hilda. ‘Then it was Friday. Now, it is Saturday. Come on, Horatio.’

‘No, wait! Please!’ Jesse places the tray behind him and gets up. He feels sick for a dizzying moment, light-headed as the room swims around him. He holds his head. ‘I’ve been asleep since Thursday? No way.’

‘Yes way,’ is Hilda’s terse reply. She still won’t look at him, he notices. But he looks at her. He sees a small woman in a child’s body – her clothes young, her face old. She’s supposed to be a decade younger than Margaret but as Jesse looks at her now, he thinks she looks older. Her wrinkles are deeper, the skin on her neck saggier. It’s almost impossible to tell what goes on behind those eyes but Jesse can’t help feeling that she’s been trying to tell him something.

‘How did I get here then?’ he demands. ‘Last I remember, I was in the old church with my friends.’

‘Yeah, they brought you,’ Hilda replies, her eyes on the dog. ‘They helped you back here.’

‘Why don’t I remember? What the hell was in that drink they gave me? It did something, didn’t it?’

Hilda releases a dramatic sigh. ‘Not supposed to ask questions.’

‘And you’re not supposed to tell me things, but you did. Didn’t you, Hilda?’ He steps closer and she glances up nervously. Is she afraid of him? He stops where he is and holds out his hands. ‘You told me that Horatio isn’t a dog and Margaret isn’t your sister. What the hell does that mean?’

Hilda arches her lip, her eyes now fixed on her lap. She rolls herself a little closer to the door. ‘You know about the boy. The hare,’ she says after a beat. Jesse nods. ‘Then you know about Horatio,’ she sighs, her gaze shifting to the Labrador’s dozy face. He’s sniffing around her lap trying to snuffle up sandwich crumbs.

Jesse steps closer again. ‘He’s not a dog. Shit.’ He presses both hands to his head. ‘Shit. Shit. Like Paddy. When? When did it happen?’

‘I don’t know,’ she grumbles, with another eye roll. ‘Don’t ask me.’

‘But I need to know. You have to tell me, Hilda. Horatio was a missing kid too? Is that what you’re saying?’ His mind is spinning when an awful thought occurs to him. ‘Jesus, he’s not my mum, is he? Or my aunt? They both went missing!’

A shrill and childish laugh escapes Hilda. ‘He’s a boy, stupid!’

‘Whose boy? Whose? Where did he come from?’ Jesse closes the distance between them and puts his hands on the arms of her chair, trapping her. ‘You have to tell me. You can’t just drop that and not expect me to ask more!’

‘It’s not important who he is,’ she mutters, eyes burning into the floor.

‘Yes, it is! If he was someone’s kid!’

‘He was never a puppy…’ she hisses. ‘He was… grown-up.’

‘Why can’t he change back? Like the committee? Like Mayfield? Hilda, please!’

‘I don’t know.’ She crosses her arms tightly and glances at the window, panicked by the sound of wheels on gravel. ‘She’s back. She’s never gone for long.’

‘Please tell me,’ he begs. ‘Please.’

‘I don’t know. They don’t tell me anything.’

‘Then how do you know about him?’

‘I listen. I wait. I pick stuff up.’ She unfolds her arms and grips the wheels. Jesse lets go and she rolls forward. They hear the front door open and he knows he has to let her go. She wheels away silently, head bowed, Horatio at her side.

Jesse closes the door and paces back to the bed. He sits down and devours the sandwich in seconds. It’s only when the plate is clear that he sees the folded note poking out from under it. Quickly, listening out for Margaret, he reads the note:

Jesse – you passed out. Sick! You made us take you to Margaret’s. You said you were close but we’re worried. You were not like you! We need to see you ASAP. Find a way, They are trying to change you – Willow, Ralph and Jaime.

2

Jaime watches Mark passing the first crate to the delivery driver, then creeps back up the stairs and closes her bedroom door behind her. She goes to the window and waves at Ralph who is lingering outside the shop opposite. He gives a wave to show that he has seen the signal. Then he starts to move. She watches breathlessly as Ralph crosses the road, walks past the pub and turns left into Lupin Lane. He is out of sight and Jaime has no knowing if his part of the plan worked or not.

3

Ralph arrives at Lupin Lane just in time to see the first crate being loaded into the waiting van. He ducks back and waits. Shaking and unable to believe he is actually doing this, Ralph watches until he is satisfied the van is loaded with enough crates for him to hide behind.

As the driver returns to the pub for more, Ralph hares down the road and flings himself into the back of the stationary van. He scuttles quickly behind the stacked crates. He’s clutching his bicycle helmet tightly in both hands and he curls himself over it, closing his eyes and holding his breath as footsteps approach.

The van dips as another heavy crate is loaded and then the doors slam shut and Ralph is in darkness. He opens his eyes and sits up, huddled against the back of the van. He’s breathing fast now, hands shaking slightly as he holds onto the helmet, his only protection.

Shit, he thinks, picturing Jaime’s face; I’m gonna need more.

The engine starts and music blares, making Ralph jump. It’s that Spaceman song he keeps hearing everywhere, one that gets in your head and won’t get out. He closes his eyes again, a small yelp escaping as the van starts to move. Ralph cannot believe he is doing this. Alone. Willow had offered to come but he’d refused. She needed to put her own plan into action.

Ralph folds his arms around his knees and tries to prepare himself.

4

‘You ought to take a break now,’ Willow’s mother says to her from the till where she is sipping a fresh cup of tea. ‘Before it gets busy again. It always gets busy after lunch.’

Willow turns the jewellery stand around another rotation, her eyes fixing firmly on the one she wants. A silver dagger on a black cord. She slips it from the hook then conceals it up the sleeve of her shirt.

‘Okay, I’ll go for a walk then,’ she tells her mother, slipping behind the till to retrieve her cloak. She nods at the pile of neatly wrapped gifts in a box beside the till. ‘Are these orders?’

‘Yes, waiting to be picked up.’

‘Could I deliver any? On my walk?’

Her mother eyes her curiously but nods. ‘Sure. Go for it. Take as many as you like, They’re all addressed.’

‘I will.’ Willow selects four gifts and drops them into a large gift bag. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘Thanks, love.’

Willow pauses at the door. ‘Mum?’

‘Yes, love?’ Her mother lowers her mug of tea.

‘I gave those photos to Jesse to show his dad, is that okay?’

Her mother looks uncertain; her lips parting then closing again as a troubled frown wrinkles her brow. Then she recovers with a nervous smile and pushes her hair behind her ears. ‘Yes, of course, that’s fine.’

‘And you still don’t remember hanging out with Nick Archer? Or Frankie Maxwell?’ Willow asks softly. ‘It’s okay if you don’t, Mum. Sometimes I think this town sort of sings people to sleep, you know.’ She laughs at herself, lowering her gaze. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I do know,’ her mother replies and when Willow looks up she is sure she can see tears in her eyes. ‘I think you might be right. It’s like I don’t want to remember, but I don’t even know why I don’t want to, or why I can’t. Does that make sense?’

Willow nods. It breaks her heart but she gets it.

‘I just know that it’s better that I don’t,’ her mother adds softly, looking down.

Willow nods before slipping out the back way. She starts to skirt swiftly around the outskirts of town. She delivers the packages one by one to four surprised and grateful customers. Willow saves the dagger necklace for Hill Fort Farm.

5

Jaime checks the library first. It’s empty except for two elderly ladies perusing the romance section in a wobbly manner. Eugenie Spires peers over the rim of her spectacles and raises her eyebrows.

‘Can I help you, dear?’

‘Just looking for my friend.’ Jaime fakes a smile and backs out again just as quickly.

Her heart racing, Jaime doesn’t really know what she is doing. This is not a plan; nothing they agreed upon anyway. But she couldn’t sit still and do nothing; not while Willow is on her way to Jesse and Ralph is risking life and limb trespassing on Bob Rowan’s land.

Her mother had complained of a headache so Jaime had offered to pop out and pick up her prescription. She hadn’t thought twice; it was just an opportunity to get out of the pub and away from Mark’s accusing gaze.

A quick trip around town, she’d thought, get away from Mark and help out Mum and get time to think, because it’s been increasingly hard to think inside the pub. Jaime is relieved the investigation is no longer stashed there. The pressure had been keeping her awake at night and she certainly doesn’t need any more reasons for Mark to distrust her. But even with it gone, the atmosphere there makes clear thought almost impossible. The pub, she has realised, is a focal point for the town. There is another, of course, the ill-reputed Old Fort, a place frequented by the likes of Jesse Archer’s father. But almost everyone else goes to the Hare and Hound at some point every week. Mark is proud of this. The heart of the community, he often says, while the church is the soul.

Jaime isn’t sure about any of that but she does know the pub is constantly rammed with people, morning to night. Everyone knows Mark and Mark knows everyone. It’s like that in small towns, he likes to remind her.

But out here, in the fresh air, where everything still smells like the earth after rain, Jaime can finally think clearly. She checks the library for Nathan Cotton who she knows frequents it as much as her but then outside, remembers the other place he can usually be found and quickly diverts to the chemist.

Of course; why didn’t she think of it sooner? Because thinking rationally is so hard in that damn pub. It’s a circus, day and night. But maybe somewhere at the back of her mind she had known.

She pushes open the door and there he is. Reading a magazine behind the counter; a magazine he quickly stuffs under the counter when she walks in, his cheeks reddening.

‘Hi!’ He looks pleased to see her, so she smiles back warmly.

‘Hi, Nathan, how are you?’

‘Pretty good thanks. How can I help you?’

‘I just need my mum’s prescription.’ Jaime rests her arms on the counter in a casual manner that she hopes indicates there is no need to rush. ‘It might not be ready though, she said.’

‘I’ll check for you. Catherine Aster, right?’

‘Yep, thanks.’

Nathan trots around the back and she can see the top of his head bent over a few shelves whilst murmuring to Mr Martin, the pharmacist. Nathan returns, shrugging apologetically.

‘You’re right, it’s not ready but Mr Martin is making it up for you now. Can you hang on a few minutes? It shouldn’t take long.’

‘No problem.’ Jaime flashes her sweetest grin. ‘I can wait.’

‘Cool.’ Nathan returns to his stool but does not retrieve his magazine from under the counter. He smiles guiltily instead.

‘So how are you?’ Jaime asks. ‘You and your family?’

He sighs and examines his hands. ‘Oh, you know. Okay, I suppose. Thank you for asking.’

‘There’s been no news, I suppose?’

‘Great-Grandma? No.’ He shakes his head. ‘Nothing. Mum says not to expect any. She says it was a long time coming.’

‘Really? That’s so sad.’

‘Yeah, but she was super, super old.’

Jaime nods in sympathy. ‘It must be hard not knowing for sure.’

‘She was always vanishing,’ says Nathan. ‘Mum says even when she was a kid. There one minute, gone the next. Never knew how long she’d be gone for.’

‘Where do you think she went?’

Nathan shrugs. ‘No clue. If she went off, you could never find her. Just had to wait for her to come back on her own.’

‘Wow. So, you never knew where she went or what she did?’

‘Nah. Just figured she went off into the woods, the hills, you know. She really liked it out there. Just needed to be alone, I guess.’

‘And what was the longest she’d be gone for?’ Jaime asks, then, seeing a slight frown on his face, she adds hastily, ‘I’m sorry. I’m so nosy. I should shut up. I want to be a journalist one day and once I get asking…’ She laughs at herself. ‘I’m sorry, Nathan.’

‘No, no, not at all.’ He reassures her with a smile, ‘The answer is, I don’t know. A few weeks maybe? Here and there.’

Jaime nods and decides she might as well brave one more question. She can see Mr Martin sealing the paper bag with her mother’s prescription in. ‘What was she like, Nathan? What sort of person was Iris?’

‘Hard to say.’ Nathan glances at the ceiling and rubs his chin as if thinking. ‘Eccentric mostly, I guess. Old-fashioned. In her own world, really. I’d have liked to get to know her better but my mum always said not to expect to.’

‘Really? Why not?’

‘Said she didn’t like children.’ He shrugs again.

Jaime lets a nervous laugh escape. ‘But she had a family, she had you..?’

‘Yeah I know. But I can vouch for it. She wasn’t mean or anything, but Mum was right. She really didn’t care for children.’

‘Was it your mum’s mum or dad…?’

‘Her dad,’ nods Nathan. ‘He didn’t stick around when my nan was expecting Mum though.’

‘Oh? He left town? Iris’s only child left Black Hare Valley?’

‘Never to be seen again,’ Nathan smiles and shrugs. ‘My nan brought my mum up on her own until she died of cancer when my mum was, I dunno, I think about eighteen? She didn’t have a lot to do with Iris, I don’t think.’

‘Oh, I see. I’m sorry, Nathan. Not exactly happy families then, hey?’

‘No, I guess not.’

‘Catherine Aster?’ Mr Martin shuffles into sight, squinting behind his thick glasses and holding out the paper bag.

Jaime wishes she had more time with Nathan but she knows it would be risky to keep questioning him. She takes the bag, thanks them both and leaves.

6

Ralph has been bumped about long enough to know they are now on Rowan land and he has the bruises to prove it. The van has finally come to a stop. Ralph freezes, listening. The music stops and a van door slams. He curls into a ball and holds his breath. He thinks to himself, what is the worst that can happen? The driver finds him, shouts a bit and then sends him on his way? But what if the driver is one of them? What if he is caught and handed over? Changed in some way? What if they hand him over to the police? What if he ends up alone with Mayfield?

Ralph’s mouth is paper dry and his pulse is roaring in his head when the doors are slid open and sunlight fills the van. He feels footsteps walking away, crunching on loose gravel. Ralph knows he has to move now. He can’t risk missing his chance or getting shut in the van again. Breathless, almost sick with nerves, he forces himself to move. He slides over to the doors and lowers his feet to the ground, before climbing slowly and cautiously out of the van.

When nothing happens he peers around the door and sees the Rowan farmhouse looming ahead at the end of a scruffy gravel drive, overgrown with weeds. It is surrounded by long grass, stinging nettles and unkempt hedges. Huge oak trees circle it and beyond them, nothing but deep dark woods.

Ralph shivers and looks around. Seeing no one, he starts to move, heading left to where a rusty red tractor is stationed. He slips behind it, hidden in cold shadows to wait.

7

Willow approaches the farm under a dark and turbulent sky. It looks like bruises spreading out across the horizon, slowly but surely creeping closer to Black Hare Valley. The clouds are blooming, she thinks, swollen and pregnant with the promise of yet more rain. Summer in Black Hare Valley is not a given, she thinks. Weather can, and will, go either way.

Willow wonders; how close will Margaret allow her to get? A cold wind whips viciously across the fields and Willow’s cloak drifts out to either side, briefly illuminating her slim dark frame, before she tugs it together and hurries on, eyes fixed ahead on Hill Fort House.

A large bird arrives, circling above her as she approaches the drive. Margaret’s car is there and Willow can see the light from the open front door. She curries on, casting a watchful eye on the hovering bird, then she sees that it is Hilda at the door. She wheels herself backwards to allow Willow an entrance, almost running over a drowsy Horatio as she does.

Willow stands there, blinking in silence for what feels like forever. She suddenly has no words, and barely any thoughts. A roll of thunder shatters the silence and Hilda wheels forward to swing the door shut with a bang,

‘Are you here to see stupid?’ she asks, wheeling around to face Willow, who nods instantly, mouth hanging open. ‘I gave him your note. He’s out the back.’ Hilda points to the conservatory attached to the library. ‘On the patio.’

‘I’ve got a delivery for him.’ Willow finally remembers her voice but Hilda is not interested. She looks away and wheels herself towards the kitchen with the dog in tow. Willow turns slowly, mystified, before marching stiffly into the library. There are no lights on and its dim and shadowy as she makes her way across to the French doors. One is ajar so she slips through and follows the small orange glow in the rose garden.

Willow clears her throat and walks quickly over to join Jesse. The clouds have thickened and the quality of light is poor. Jesse is perched on the edge of the patio, smoking a cigarette. He looks up as Willow joins him and she sees pure confusion in his eyes. He is pale and clammy, his fingers trembling as they tap ash from the cigarette onto the grass.

‘She lets you smoke?’ Willow can’t help smiling. His gaze shifts to the cigarette and his shoulders lift and drop in a small tight shrug. ‘I can’t believe she let me in. Hilda, I mean. Where’s Margaret?’

Jesse looks up. The large bird, a buzzard, Willow thinks, is still circling above them, slowly and lazily as if it has nowhere else to go.

‘You gave Hilda that note? Bit risky.’

Willow swallows and looks back at Jesse. She digs into her cloak and retrieves her last package. ‘I know. I hope she didn’t show anyone else. This was my cover,’ she tells him, pushing it onto his lap. ‘I was going to say you’d ordered it from the shop. You might as well have it.’

Jesse pulls on the cigarette one last time then flicks the butt away. He unwraps the package carefully, his eyes clearing suddenly, his face losing the tension. He lifts the necklace out by the cord and allows the silver dagger to dangle in front of his face. A small smile brightens his features.

‘This is cool.’

‘Yeah, it is. Jesse?’ Willow looks down at her hands clasped between her knees. She feels a drop of rain splatter onto her head. ‘Do you remember what happened that night at the church?’

He drops his hands between his legs and releases a juddering sigh. ‘No.’

Willow feels a surge of relief. Before she can stop herself she turns to him and takes one of his hands into her own.

‘It’s okay, Jesse,’ she tells him softly, leaning closer. ‘She wants you and she’s trying to change you. I think we need to get you out of here.’

He doesn’t nod or shake his head. He stares into her eyes, then licks his lips and says, ‘It was a drink they gave me.’ There is a slow shock building behind his eyes and Willow waits, giving a tiny nod to encourage him on. ‘It did something to me. But I should stay here… The more she trusts me, the more I can learn.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Willow squeezes his hands. ‘We can’t undo what they’ve done. We spoke to Paddy, to the hare, at the church before you ran in. He’s been saving us again and again but he’s not safe from them and he can’t ever be Paddy again.’

Willow waits while he tries to absorb this news. There is nothing but pain and confusion in his face. She glances up as the bird of prey cries out suddenly – a shrill, haunting call. She shudders and squeezes his hand again.

‘I had to see you.’

Jesse nods but does not answer. His eyes are fixed on the small silver dagger pendant.

‘We’ve got some plans,’ Willow hisses at him. ‘But I think we really need to get you out. You could go back to the treehouse. You’d be safe there.’ When he does not reply, Willow leans closer, until their heads are pressed together. ‘Jesse, if you can do it, please go to the treehouse. If you get the chance, okay? Paddy is there. You’ll both be safe while we figure it all out. Because there has to be an answer, Jesse, there just has to be.’

Jesse finally meets her eye, draws in his breath and gives a firm nod. Willow breathes out in relief and lets go of his hand. She tugs her cloak closer as the rain falls harder.

‘I better go. We’ll see you soon, okay?’

He nods. Willow forces herself to move when all she really wants to do is grab his hand and drag him with her. But the bird is circling and the lights are on in the house that looms behind them.

She walks quickly away against all her instincts, and does not look back.

8

Ralph doesn’t know how long he’s been hiding behind the tractor but it feels like forever. It’s raining steadily and the plumy low clouds have darkened considerably. Bob Rowan is there by the van with the delivery driver, a short burly man with a grey baseball cap on. They’re chatting – perhaps Bob Rowan is relaying his next order, or perhaps a dissatisfaction with this one – but he keeps looking over at the tractor.

The knowledge that he has been spotted or sensed somehow, drips through Ralph like cold cement until he starts to fear he is going to heave. But Ralph reminds himself sharply that he is here to speak to Mr Rowan. This is all going to plan. Despite how close to vomiting he is.

The van door slams and Ralph jumps dramatically and bites down a scream. He peers out long enough to see the van driving away and that Bob Rowan has disappeared from sight. Ralph allows himself to breathe out slowly, steadying himself and willing the nausea away.

Then suddenly he is surrounded by black feathers fluttering madly against his face, and a terrible dark scream fills the air. Ralph staggers backwards, yelping and gasping and batting with his hands. He trips and falls on his backside, looking up long enough to see a huge black raven flapping directly above his face. Ralph screams and scrambles back until his spine presses against the trunk of one of the huge gnarly oaks.

The bird dives in, black feet and talon like claws stretching towards Ralph’s face. He lowers his head, pulls up his knees and wraps himself into a tight ball. The claws strike the helmet again and again, soft black feathers filling the air as the raven’s wings bat rapidly up and down.

Ralph shrinks in on himself – safe in the knowledge that the helmet is protecting him – then he yelps in pain when the claws rake across his knees. He had thought to wear thick jeans and chunky walking boots along with a wool-lined duffel coat. It still hurts, despite the padding.

‘Stop it!’ he barks behind his arms. ‘Stop it! I know who you are! Just stop it!’

The raven squawks at him and continues to try to gouge his flesh. He feels a sharp slicing pain in his wrist when the bird’s beak finds exposed skin.

Ralph reaches out in desperation, lifting his head long enough to stare right into the demented white eyes of the bird – whilst his hands grab and slip and grab again, finally closing around the wing feathers.

Ralph cries out with the effort to contain it but he has it and he forces the bird down onto the damp ground. It twists and flaps and squawks furiously, but he’s on his knees leaning over it and putting his weight onto it.

‘Stop it!’ he shouts angrily. ‘Just stop it Bob Rowan! I just want to talk! And I’m not leaving until we do!’

Ralph feels a shift under his hands. The soft silky feathers seem to contract inwards as if shrinking away from his touch. He stares dumbly but darkness fills his vision, feathers beating and rustling and fluttering in his face. Ralph backs off, raising his arms and closing his eyes for the briefest moment.

When he opens them again he is staring at Bob Rowan. The dark-haired sturdy looking man is standing over him, breathless, his eyes burning with cold malice.

Ralph gulps and uses the tree to help him to his feet. He realises then that despite everything he still can’t fathom how any of this is possible. Rewind a few weeks and Ralph had no idea such sinister and impossible things happened in his town. He presses himself back into the thick rough bark and gulps cold air.

Bob Rowan examines him – looks him up and down then licks his lips. ‘You got a death wish?’ he snaps suddenly, stepping forward. ‘Is that it?’

‘No,’ Ralph shakes his head. ‘No, I haven’t.’

Rowan steps closer, his low round head jutting viciously forward. ‘You must have!’ he snarls, spittle flying from his thick lips and splattering Ralph’s face. ‘Sneaking on my land! Did you think I wouldn’t smell you or hear you the second that van arrived? I knew that van had a visitor in it, you stupid little shit. Do you think they don’t know too? Of course they do! They know every little move you miserable lot make!’

He steps back finally, glaring at Ralph, who lifts his hands warily and drags them across his face. ‘They,’ he manages to utter. ‘The committee? They? You’re not one of them, are you?’

Rowan’s eyes drift away. His face shuts down and he turns away abruptly, lifting and dropping his broad shoulders in a dramatically sulky shrug. He starts to move away, muttering to himself, ‘Get off my land…’

Ralph leaves the tree and follows.

‘Mr Rowan? You were happy Iris was killed. You pecked at her and the mayor, she shooed you away like she hated you. That must mean something. You’re like them but you’re not one of them.’

‘Oh, aren’t you a clever clogs?’ Rowan sneers at him sideways.

‘We’re right,’ Ralph asserts. ‘And they changed Paddy. Others too. But Paddy is stuck like that, isn’t he? It’s different for him and he’s in danger. We’re all in danger, Mr Rowan.’

‘Leave well alone then.’

‘We can’t do that.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? Because Paddy is our friend. We have to save him. And Jesse too – the mayor is trying to change him, isn’t she? We want our friends back. Safe.’

Rowan chuckles darkly. ‘No chance, lad. Too late.’

‘Was it you?’ Ralph asks suddenly. He stops walking. ‘Was it you that tried to warn Paddy?’

Bob Rowan growls again and turns to face him. He looks him up and down again. ‘You need to go, sunshine, right now. You, those others, they’re no match for what’s out there. You should know that by now.’

Ralph agrees but he can’t stop now, he can’t have gone through all this for nothing. He has to take something back. He has to. He steadies himself and stands tall.

‘You’re right,’ he nods. ‘We don’t understand any of this, not really, but we’re trying and we’re not afraid, Mr Rowan. We have to save our friends.’

‘Too late I told you,’ Rowan shakes his head solemnly. Ralph wonders if he can detect regret in the old man’s eyes. ‘They’re too strong,’ he adds. ‘Too old. Ancient, they are. You’re meddling with ancient… things, boy. Things you don’t understand.’

‘Help me understand,’ Ralph begs him. ‘Even if we don’t stand a chance. Please. Tell us it’s hopeless if it is, but please tell us so we can decide for ourselves.’

Bob Rowan stares back at Ralph, into Ralph, for what feels like a very long time. His eyes, though surrounded by wrinkles, are incredibly bright and sharp. Curious, even. Then, he wrinkles his nose and looks away.

‘Mayfield is the problem,’ he says in a low voice, almost a whisper. ‘He’s the danger.’

Ralph swallows thickly. He feels cold suddenly, drenched in a creeping icy panic.

‘Mayfield is her mistake,’ Rowan goes on. ‘He’s her regret. She hates him and Mayfield – along with being a bloodthirsty sadistic killer, is a spy. A blackmailer. A spy with power over every single person in this town, even if they don’t know it yet.’

Bob Rowan steps back. His head is low on his burly shoulders. He looks weary and old, the light in his eyes dimming.

Ralph stares at him, a deep and dark realisation pouring over him, suffocating him with its gruesome obviousness – He licks his dry lips and says to Bob Rowan,

‘We’ve got to kill Mayfield.’

The old man nods. Yes.

Thanks for reading!

Please feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you thought of this latest chapter.

NOTE: Please remember this is NOT the finished version of Black Hare Valley Book 1. This book has not been to my editor yet or even my beta readers. There will be typos, grammatical mistakes, and sentences that need rewriting.

COMING NEXT THURSDAY: Chapter Twenty-Eight “The Storm”