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1

The beast pins the boy down even though he knows he cannot have him. The long, drawn-out howl is one of frustration and rage. The prey caught and squirming under his heavy paws, ensnared by his filthy claws, writhes and twists to get free. The beast’s yellow eyes watch the dark head whipping from side to side, the desperate outstretched arms, the fingers digging into the grass and earth. It can smell blood and inhales fear with relish.

The muscles in its back and shoulders strain and stretch and it’s too late because he is already half in the garden. It could drag him back, sink razor sharp claws into his flesh and scrape him back across the rugged earth. It could tear at his skin, flay him raw, bones exposed and then it could feast and suck on the flesh of his neck and head, warm blood flowing and drenching its fur.

But the beast knows it cannot.

It roars again – half-human, half-not – a shrill and agonising bellow of fury and resentment and then it backs up quickly, releasing the prey, panting sullenly as the feelings of loss wash over it. The prey wastes no time scrambling away and is quickly lost in the shadows of the garden.

2

Of course, Jaime can see why her step-father loves Black Hare Valley so much. She watches him at closing time, laughing and joking as the stragglers make their way out of the door. There are always a chosen few he allows to finish drinks and even start new ones once the doors have been locked. His close friends, sometimes neighbours, sometimes committee members and the old-timers in their long coats and flat caps.

As she scoops up the last of her apple crumble, Jaime looks up to see Mark approaching. Unlike earlier, he is all smiles now, throwing a bar cloth over one shoulder and wiping his hands down his shirt.

‘All right there, love?’ He stops at her table then glances with a fond grin at the two older men still drinking at the bar.

Jaime eyes them too. Their conversation seems to have gone up a notch in volume and one of them is now standing, whisky glass in hand.

‘I’m fine,’ Jaime tells him. ‘Thanks. That was great.’

‘Good.’ He sweeps up the bowl. ‘Your mum went for a lie down. Your little brother or sister is kicking the hell out of her.’

‘Oh, okay. I won’t disturb her. I’ve got some homework to do anyway.’

‘All right.’ He flashes her a toothy smile. ‘So, you’ve settled in okay then, love? I can’t believe it’s been a whole week already. It sort of feels like forever.’ He laughs, then adds quietly. ‘In a good way, I mean.’

Jaime forces a smile. She feels the same but for very different reasons. ‘I know what you mean and yeah, I’ve settled in really well, thanks.’

‘It’s a great town, right?’ he asks, nodding at her. ‘It’s a fantastic place to grow up.’

She beams. ‘You must have loved it as a kid.’

‘Oh yeah! I was outside all the time, me. Exploring, playing, making dens. Getting into mischief!’

‘Oh, really?’ grins Jaime, eyeing the two men at the bar. They are shouting now and both appear wobbly on their feet. ‘I can’t imagine that. What sort of mischief?’

Mark glances at the men. ‘Oh, you know. Bit of poaching, bit of scrumping apples. Don’t tell old man Rowan though, eh? He’d have my hide even now.’

Jaime giggles appreciatively. ‘I won’t, I haven’t met him yet.’

‘No, he’s very old now, reclusive too. Likes his own company too much, that one. He’s all self-sufficient up there on his farm so he doesn’t appear down here much.’

One of the men has shoved the other one. He goes down slowly and quietly, his flat cap falling off as he tries and fails to keep his drink upright.

Mark intervenes quickly, snatching at the arm of the offender and wrestling him quickly to the doors. With one arm wrapped around the wriggling man, Mark uses the other to unlock the door and throw him out onto the street. He looks back at Jaime with a wink and a grin, and lights up a cigarette.

‘Great place to live,’ he says again and she nods back unsurely.

As the man on the floor begins to snore, Jaime makes her excuses and goes up to her room.

3

Jesse sits up in the darkness, holding on to pain. He has crawled under the blankets and huddles there, shivering, refusing to cry. Though hot tears squeeze free and coat his cheeks, he doesn’t think they count because he didn’t give in to them. In his hands, he clutches the photo of his mother, and says the name of his missing aunt over and over in his head. Carol-Anne, Carol-Anne, Carol-Anne.

He’ll give the photo to Jaime. He’ll ask her to investigate Carol-Anne’s disappearance. He’ll tell them about his parents and his aunt being friends with Willow’s mother and a boy called Frankie. He curls up tight and squeezes his eyes shut against the sharp and throbbing pain in his back. He’ll ask her if there are any more going further back. And when he sees them again he’ll show them the marks on his back and Ralph will finally have the evidence for his mysterious beast.

4

Jaime leaves early for school.

‘I need to go to the library,’ she tells her mum before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘The school one, I mean.’

‘So studious.’ Her mother ruffles her hair affectionately. ‘Oh, and before I forget, I’ll cook dinner early and leave it in the oven because I’ve got one of those committee meetings tonight.’ She meets Jaime’s eye and winks. ‘An urgent one, apparently.’

Jaime lingers in the doorway, trying to hide her fear and intrigue. ‘Urgent? What could be so urgent?’

Her mother rolls her eyes slightly. ‘Nothing, probably. Just kids being silly, I think, anti-social behaviour, that kind of thing.’

‘Oh. Okay. Well, I better-’

Mark pops his head around the door. ‘Make sure you tell an adult if you see that Archer boy!’

Jaime nods sombrely. ‘I will.’

Outside, the morning is crisp – a blue cloudless sky promises warmth but for now a chilly breeze coats her bare legs as she pads down the garden, out of the gate and towards High Street. She hopes that no one is watching her as she turns left instead of right and steals slowly along the street in the direction of Black Hare Cottage.

Jaime is tired. Her head aches from all the reading and her body is tired from the tossing and turning that kept her awake long after switching off her light.

She keeps thinking about the names that go back generations. Rowan, Spires, Sumner, Mayfield. She glances to the left at the impossibly tall and green hills covered in trees behind which lurks the mysterious Rowan farm. Another mystery she thinks, Iris Cotton.

In her pocket she holds a notebook with all the words she has translated so far. She has another copy at home and she hopes to finish the rest of the translation later today.

Her hand goes to her pocket now, fingering the edges of the notebook. She feels nervous but determined. With every passing day she feels like they’re getting closer to finding Paddy. Jaime can’t yet let herself believe in boys becoming hares or monsters stalking the town at night, but she can believe in human monsters, in ancient traditions, superstitions and secrets. Those she can feel almost everywhere.

Slowly and cautiously, she wanders through the woods until a house comes into sight. She walks as confidently as she can around to the front door. There is no sign of anyone, so she approaches the door and knocks loudly. The door is thick and crooked, pale blue paint flaking alongside the wood – even as she knocks, bits of wood break free and drift to land on the doorstep. She imagines just one hard kick would send it flying open.

There are cobwebs in the windows and the thatch has seen better days. She thinks about Agnes Salter, and wonders what her cottage looked like. Who rebuilt it, and who lived in it after her terrible death? When there is no reply, Jaime turns and sits on the step. She has time. She will wait.

5

Ralph also leaves home early that morning. The caravan is in disarray and his mother has been given three days off to move them into the new house. Try as he might, Ralph can’t seem to get excited about it. He feels guilty for forcing smiles as his mother fills cardboard boxes and tapes them up before labelling them, knowing how long she has waited and planned and hoped for this.

Ralph tells her he has to meet Jaime early at the school library and leaves her to the excitement of packing up their old life. Outside, the air is crisp and still. The town is only slightly awake – shops are opening, signs are being hauled out onto streets. The smell of summer is in the air. The fresh new leaves are unfurling rapidly, turning the town green once again. Ralph hops on his bike and cycles to Black Hare Lane.

He feels sneaky going in the back way but he doesn’t know what to say to Paddy’s father when he sees him. He doesn’t have any words.

He wonders if he should give Jesse a warning as he props his bike up and crosses the grass to the rope ladder. He could be asleep, or on guard. Ralph doesn’t want to scare him.

‘It’s Ralph,’ he announces softly, then, clearing his throat, he hauls up his school bag and lets it land on the treehouse floor. He peers up and sees Jesse huddled on the far side, blankets wrapped tightly around him. ‘Hi, I bought you breakfast,’ he says then stops.

Jesse’s face is pale and smeared in mud. He looks jittery and sleep deprived, like he is existing on his last raw nerve. Ralph climbs the rest of the way up.

‘What happened?’

Jesse doesn’t answer at first. His teeth are chattering and his hands are shaking under the blankets. Ralph unzips his school bag and takes out the spare cheese and ham roll he made when his mum was in the shower. It’s wrapped in foil. He passes it over.

‘Are you okay?’

Jesse takes the roll. ‘I went to see my dad.’ He sighs then, blinking hard and exhaling slowly. He appears to be trying to get control of himself.

‘Last night? You left the treehouse? What happened?’

‘Got there okay,’ Jesse reports, nodding, his eyes fixed on the floor. ‘My dad was out of it but I kept asking about my mum. You know, what Jaime said about her being missing too?’

‘Yeah,’ breathes Ralph, trying to take it all in. ‘I suppose she is.’

‘Well, not just her as it turns out.’ Jesse’s voice is soft and low and his eyes finally shift to meet Ralph’s. ‘Her younger sister went missing when they were our age. Carol-Anne. She was fourteen. I’d never heard of her before last night, but she existed, Ralph, and then she vanished like Paddy and was never seen or heard of again.’

Ralph stares at him, frowning, blinking, trying to absorb the new information, until finally he shakes himself and holds out his hands. ‘But I’ve never heard anyone mention it… You’d think, with Paddy? Why didn’t your dad tell you before?’

‘He’s always drunk,’ Jesse shrugs. ‘He won’t talk about my mum, not ever. I got something though. A photo of her.’ He digs under the blanket with one hand, brings out the photo and passes it to Ralph. ‘Can you give it to Jaime? The clues should all be together, right? For the investigation?’

‘Yeah, yeah of course.’ Ralph examines the photo for a moment and then puts it carefully into his bag, sliding it between the pages of a text book. ‘I’m meeting them at break. I’ll tell them everything you just said and we’ll look into it. Her and Carol-Anne, I mean.’

‘He mentioned a group of kids he used to hang out with,’ Jesse goes on, pulling a piece of bread from the roll and popping it into his mouth. He chews and swallows. ‘My dad and my mum, her sister, Carol-Anne and a Lizzie and a Frankie. I asked if Lizzie was Willow’s mum and he said yeah. I’m not sure about a Frankie though.’

Ralph stares at him, his mouth falling slowly open. It can’t be, surely? He watches Jesse’s forehead crease with a frown. He watches him sit up straighter. Ralph closes his mouth and shakes his head. It can’t be.

‘What is it, Ralph?’

‘Nothing. Nothing.’ He shakes his head.

‘Come on, spit it out! Do you know anyone called Frankie? We’re gonna have to ask Willow’s mum about Carol-Anne, we might be able to ask this Frankie too.’

‘Well, you can’t if it’s who I think it is. No.’ Ralph shakes his head again. ‘It can’t be. There must have been loads of guys called Frank in this town over the years.’

Jesse leans closer. ‘Ralph, this is no time to dick around. Who do you know called Frankie?’

Ralph laughs nervously and shrugs his shoulders. ‘My dad was called Frank. Everyone called him Frankie. But we can’t ask him anything. Obviously.’

Jesse whistles through his teeth. ‘Shit. I never knew we were all connected already. You think that’s a coincidence or what?’

‘Yeah,’ Ralph smiles nervously. ‘Must be. Jaime is new and she’s not related to Mark Aster anyway, is she? And your dad didn’t mention Mr Finnis, right?’

‘True, but we’ll have to ask him anyway. Him and Willow’s mum. Make sure you tell the others as soon as you see them, okay?’

Ralph nods but he can tell there is more. It’s not just the missing aunt he didn’t know about or the possible connection between some of their parents. Jesse looks shocked to the core. He looks grey and sick. His expression is tortured and Ralph can almost hear his mind whirring with indecision.

‘What is it, Jesse?’ he asks him, gently. ‘What else? You’re covered in mud. Did something happen?’

Jesse lets the blanket fall. He picks at the foil on the roll then puts it down and leans suddenly toward Ralph.

‘Your monster, Ralph,’ he hisses through his teeth. He turns sideways and hitches up his clothes. Ralph gasps instantly and falls back on his knees, his hand over his mouth.

There are two sets of deep scratches on Jesse’s back; dried blood turning black around the edges – more than scratches, thinks Ralph, gouges.

Jesse’s breath hitches in his chest. ‘Your monster is real, Ralph. It got me.’

6

‘Have you seen the camera anywhere, Willow?’

Willow looks up from her cereal, mid-chew. Her mother is downstairs opening up and her father is walking briskly from room to room. He’s wearing a silk dressing gown and his long hair is plaited neatly down his back. His John Lennon style glasses are resting on the top of his head. Under the dressing gown Willow sees he is wearing his black jeans, the ones with the holes in the knees. While her mother has always been a gentle, ethereal hippy type, who likes to paint in her spare time, Willow’s father, Justin, has a harder edge. He likes punk bands from the 80s and Willow would describe his style as confused at best.

He wears a lot of black but likes to add textures to the darkness. Corduroy, silk, wool. He is tall, dark and thin just like her.

‘I borrowed it,’ she says and he reappears quickly. ‘Sorry. It’s in the pocket of my other coat.’

‘The cloak?’

‘Yeah sorry, it’s at Jaime’s.’ She pushes her bowl away and gets up from the small table. It gives a view of the High Street below and she pauses for a second, wondering if a flash of white caught her eye. She turns that way and peers out. Feeling her dad’s curious eyes on her, she adds, ‘I’ll go and get it now.’

‘It’s a bit early.’

‘That’s okay. I’m ready.’ She can’t see anything unusual out there so she goes to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

‘Well, have a good day,’ her father calls out from the kitchen where he has wandered in response to the whistling kettle.

Willow stares at her face in the mirror and sighs. She loves her parents – they have always been sort of cool and laidback, not authoritative or overbearing like some. They don’t take anything too seriously – putting just enough effort into the shop to keep things ticking over. It crosses her mind now though; how much can she trust them? What would they do if she told them that Jesse Archer was hiding in Paddy’s treehouse? What would they do if they knew she helped him break into a policeman’s house?

She tries to picture their faces to imagine what would register there. Shock maybe. Shame? Disappointment? But then she thinks about Mr Finnis helping Jesse and she feels tempted. But not now. She shakes herself and leaves.

Outside the shop, Willow pauses to button up her duffel coat and that’s when she sees it again. The flash of white, only it is more than just a flash now. It’s a streak of pure white zig-zagging down the middle of the street.

There are not many people about but everybody stops to stare. The post van slows to a stop and Willow sees the driver lean out of the window to catch a glimpse of the rare and beautiful beast racing through the town.

Willow follows it as fast as she can but she knows she has no hope of ever getting close to it. No one does. Like lightning, she thinks, mouth open as the pure white hare sprints down the high street. A collie dog on its lead outside the pub strains to catch it but has to settle for high-pitched barking instead. Another car screeches to a halt to avoid hitting it.

Willow loses sight of it and stops for breath outside the Hare and Hound. One of the old men who frequent the place on a daily basis, is leaning on the wall there, a scruffy whippet type dog peering out from between his legs, its sharp brown eyes focused on the spot where the hare vanished from sight; the copse next to Saint Marks church.

‘That’s something you don’t see every day,’ he says to Willow with a toothless grin. ‘Never seen a white one in all my years! Do you know what they say it means to have a hare run through your town?’

Willow looks at him and shakes her head. ‘No, what?’

‘Well, they used to say if a hare was seen running through a village it meant a house was going to catch fire soon.’ He nods with some certainty and a degree of wonder in his old eyes.

‘They’re amazing,’ Willow says and the man nods again.

‘That they are.’

7

Jaime checks her watch again. She decides to give it another five minutes and then she’ll go. She doesn’t want to be late for school. The last thing she needs is her mum and Mark getting worried about her. Her mind travels back to yesterday and she feels the same lonely twinge of unease.

The look in Mark’s eye when he questioned her had been so different to the one she was used to. Then at closing time, he had been himself again, full of light and laughter and love for his pub, his town, his place in the world.

Jaime stares at Iris Cotton’s front garden and at the lake glistening beyond and tries to work out how she feels about the town now. It is beautiful – no one can deny that. She feels a constant pull to explore it, to know it, maybe even to be accepted by it and that’s why it bothers her so much – the way Mark looked at her as if she was an outsider, not to be trusted.

Jaime has always hated being in trouble. It makes her feel sick even now, sat on the doorstep of a reclusive old lady who lives in a house rebuilt where a supposed witch used to live.

She feels the pull – something like love and longing, because she wants to belong. She wants to be a part of it. It’s beauty is breathtaking, every inch of it, she thinks, from the woods and the fields, to the farms and the dramatic rolling hills, to the streams and the rivers and lakes. There is something for everyone here, she thinks, and the thought makes her long wistfully for long summers here with her new friends, playing out from dawn until dusk, camping, building dens, climbing trees, making memories like the ones Mark speaks of. An idyllic place to grow up, she muses, staring at the shimmering lake.

Something moves suddenly across the open gate and Jaime sits up with a jerk.

A creature, pure white, walks into the space as if it is about to plod casually up the path, then stops. It fixes huge other-worldly eyes on her – they are red, tinged with pink, sat on either side of a narrow bony head and they have a permanently startled look which gives the creature an air of madness.

‘A hare…’ she whispers.

The white hare is frozen. Four feet on the ground, its back straight, with an impossibly big gap between its belly and the ground, it looks like a tripod, all legs. She wouldn’t be surprised to see a fifth or a sixth emerge. It appears almost deer-like, ready to spring, white tail flashing as it bounds away – only the lengthy ears swivelling on the top of its head and the dramatic round curve of each back thigh suggest its lupine nature.

Jaime does not move. The hare’s nose is twitching – less of a nose, she thinks, more like huge slits at the end of a long muzzle. There is such power and strength in the coiled stillness of its athletic body. Jaime barely breathes.

The hare’s ears twitch and rotate. It’s eyes are fixed solely on Jaime. She breathes out slowly. She thinks it is the most strange and beautiful thing she has ever seen.

Suddenly, it breaks the spell. It jumps to the right then moves slowly in a delicate yet somehow ungainly manner around the side of the house. Jaime is just as fascinated with its movements as with its stillness. It barely hops; it seems to move more like a deer, flicking out each paw as the morning dew soaks the fur.

Jaime gets up. She walks around the side of the house cautiously, unsure what to expect. The garden is large and green and leafy – an oasis of calm, well-tended as much as it is wild. She cannot see the hare.

‘Where’d you go?’ Jaime walks softly onto the grass, turning her head from side to side. She stares carefully at the hedges and shrubs but can see no sign of the hare.

‘Can I help you?’

Jaime releases a sharp scream and spins around. An elderly woman with a halo of powder puff white hair is standing in the back doorway. She is small and stooped with a slightly hunched back. Her frame is wiry but she does not appear fragile as she uses an old-fashioned wooden broom to sweep dust from the back step.

Jaime stares in horror and intrigue, her heart thudding wildly under her uniform. ‘I’m sorry,’ she croaks, a hand fluttering to her chest. ‘I knocked on the door but no one answered.’

‘Little hard of hearing,’ the woman replies, tapping two fingers against the side of her head. She carries on sweeping but she keeps her sharp blue eyes on Jaime. She is wearing a pale blue dress that falls below her knees. It is dotted with tiny white flowers. A scruffy beige cardigan with chunky brown buttons is over the top and a crocheted shawl of emerald green is gathered about her shoulders. On her feet are fur-lined boots.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Jaime says again, stepping a little closer. ‘Are you Iris Cotton?’

‘Yes,’ she replies in a tone that suggests a hint of caution and impatience. ‘That would be me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jaime apologies for a third time. She attempts a smile and smooths her hair behind her burning ears. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just needed to ask you something.’ She gives a nervous chuckle. ‘This is probably going to sound really strange.’

Iris Cotton leans the broom against the outside wall. She puts a hand into the deep pocket of her cardigan and brings out a small metal tin.

‘You’re the new girl,’ she says opening the tin.

Jaime risks another step forward. ‘Yes, hi, I’m Jaime. It’s nice to meet you.’ She glances around. ‘I love your house and garden.’

‘Old like me.’ Iris stares at her for a moment the looks back down at her tin, plucking out a neat hand-rolled cigarette. She closes the tin and drops it back into the pocket then fishes a lighter from the other side. ‘Your mum joined the committee,’ she says and lights up.

Jaime nods. ‘Yes, she did. I think she just wants to make friends.’

‘Oh,’ smiles Iris, something cold and teasing dancing in her bright eyes. ‘They’re a friendly bunch, all right. What did you say you wanted?’

‘Oh, well, it’s a weird question and you’ll probably think I’m weird for asking it.’ Jaime edges a little closer. Iris leans against the door frame and smokes silently, watching her. ‘It’s just, well, you might know that a boy went missing a week ago. Paddy Finnis.’ She looks at Iris in hope and the old woman nods back. ‘I only met him once,’ she goes on. ‘But he was so nice to me… Anyway, sorry, I’m getting side-tracked. The thing is, it turns out that he found this really old strange book in his shop and nobody knows how it got there, but-’

‘I put it there.’

‘Wh? What?’ Jaime freezes, mouth open. She can’t believe what she is hearing and the relief of one piece of the mystery at last falling into place is staggering. She had expected denial, confusion, even anger.

‘I put it there,’ Iris Cotton repeats, an arm slung around her small middle as the other holds the cigarette close to her wrinkled lips. She stares at Jaime for a long moment and then makes as if to go back inside.

‘Wait!’ Jaime calls out. ‘Why did you?’

She looks back with a shrug and a smile. ‘Didn’t need it anymore.’ She moves inside the door.

‘But why? What was in it?’

Iris Cotton does not answer. She puts one hand on the door and pulls. Her eyes stare past Jaime and when she turns to follow her gaze, she sees a large bird of prey has landed noiselessly on a low branch of a nearby apple tree. Jaime feels cold. She doesn’t know what type of bird it is – only that it is huge and its piercing yellow eyes are trained directly on her.

She sees long yellow talons curled around the branch and looks back at Iris. The old woman peers through the gap in the door.

‘Off you go now,’ she rasps with the faintest of smiles. ‘See you again.’

The door closes with a soft thud. Jaime inhales sharply and starts to walk stiffly and briskly towards the front garden. She does not look back at the bird.

8

The morning passes in a daze. Willow floats silently through classes she does not remember, barely present, only sharply and helplessly aware of the cold shifting inside of her. Of the realisation of a new, altered reality making itself at home.

At break she goes to the bike shed and finds Jaime stiff and weak. She shakes her head at Willow while biting the insides of her mouth. ‘Let’s wait for Ralph.’

Ralph appears next, breathless, wide-eyed and checking over his shoulder twice before finally focusing his gaze on the girls. They wait, lips pressed together.

‘I saw Jesse this morning,’ pants Ralph, his tone low. ‘He went out last night to see his dad and two things happened, guys, two crazy things!’ With their attention fixed on him, Ralph pauses to dig the photograph out of his bag. He holds up a picture of a dark-haired teenage girl smiling shyly at the camera. Ralph points. ‘That’s Jesse’s mum at our age. Her little sister went missing, guys, just like Paddy.’

Willow and Jaime lean back at the same time and stare at each other then back at Ralph.

Jaime snatches the photo. ‘Who was she? Who?’

‘Her name was Carol-Anne,’ he says. ‘She was fourteen, just like Paddy. No one ever saw her again and no one talks of it. Guys, Jesse didn’t even know his mum had a sister! But last night his dad told him, said it drove her mad.’

‘Shit, shit.’ Jaime presses a hand over her mouth.

‘And,’ Ralph goes on, his gaze shifting to Willow. ‘His dad said they all used to hang out together. His parents and his aunt Carol-Anne, plus a girl called Lizzie and a boy called Frankie.’

Willow gapes at him for a second. ‘What, my mum? Hey, wasn’t your dad called Frank?’

Ralph’s head bobs up and down on his neck. ‘We need to find out for sure. You’re gonna have to ask your mum, Willow. See what you can find out about Carol-Anne and what happened back then, and I’ll ask my mum about my dad.’

‘Shit…’ breathes Jaime, pressing her hands to her forehead briefly. ‘This gets weirder and weirder. I mean, why the hell wouldn’t any of them mention this before? Have they got some sort of collective amnesia?’

‘No idea, but I’ll ask my mum after school. What was the other thing? You said two crazy things, Ralph.’ Willow dreads asking but she knows they don’t have much time. They have to sort through what they have.

‘He got back to Paddy’s,’ whispers Ralph, ‘and something attacked him, something knocked him down, half in the garden. It scratched up his back really bad, he showed me!’ Ralph shakes his head at them. Willow can see a shininess to his eyes that suggests he is close to tears. ‘It’s bad. It’s really bad, guys, like all bloody and gross. It was a creature. I’m thinking maybe the one whose footprints I found.’

They look at each other and nod, then huddle closer together. The raucous background noise of the school at break-time has faded to near silence – it’s just a background heartbeat – while they’re cocooned and buried in horror.

‘I went to see Iris Cotton,’ Jaime bursts out before Willow can ask Ralph if Jesse is okay, if he needs anything. ‘This morning, but at first she wasn’t home, and then a white hare appeared again, right in front of me!’

‘I saw one too!’ exclaims Willow. ‘It ran down the high street this morning in a hurry.’

Jaime nods. ‘Must be the same one. And I saw it before, and so did Jesse. It ran around the back so I followed and then it was gone, but Iris was there at the back door, just sweeping.’

Ralph nibbles a knuckle. ‘Jesus,’ he murmurs behind it.

‘There’s more,’ warns Jaime. ‘I asked her about the book and she just admitted it. She just said it was her who left it in the shop because she didn’t need it. That’s all she would say and then she shut the door on me because this huge bloody bird of prey was glaring at us from a tree.’ She shudders and hugs herself. ‘It creeped me out. The whole thing creeped me out.’

‘I can’t believe it was her,’ sighs Willow. She looks at Jaime. ‘Any luck with the translations? She must have left it for a reason.’

‘They’re a bit like verses,’ says Jaime. ‘Like poems.’ She pauses, biting her lip. ‘Or spells.’ She tugs a small notebook out of her pocket and flips it open. ‘This word comes up a lot. Praesidium. It means protection, or shelter, or fortress. Oh, and circulus, which obviously means circle. These words were on a page together but I couldn’t translate it all. It’s just the first bit from your photos, Willow.’ She reads on. ‘Then we’ve got absanditum, which translates to hidden or secret? Tutum, absanditum, circlulus. Tutum means safe.’

‘So, something about a circle?’ frowns Ralph. ‘A secret circle? A safe circle maybe?’

Willow’s eyes light up and she clutches his arm. ‘We all said we felt safe in the treehouse! If Mayfield is putting up wanted signs for Jesse, why hasn’t he looked at the treehouse for him? And if a creature attacked Jesse last night, was he saved because he was already half in the garden?’ Willow looks between them, mesmerised by the thought.

‘Maybe,’ replies Jaime but she looks reluctant.

‘Listen,’ says Willow. ‘Casting circles of protection goes back hundreds of years. We’ve got loads of books about it in the gift shop, stuff to do with white witches and paganism, that kind of thing.’

Jaime nods with a bit more certainty. ‘I’ll need to look at those.’

‘I used to be really into it,’ Willow explains. ‘Witchcraft and stuff. It was just silly though, just a phase. I didn’t really believe in any of it but I remember that stuff about circles. They used to believe you could contain energy in them, create a sacred space even.’

‘A safe space?’ asks Ralph. ‘A protected space?’

‘Exactly.’ She nods at him. ‘Maybe… maybe, Paddy translated lots of the book, enough to know he had to make a safe place for himself.’

‘And that explains why Mayfield had to get Steven and Dominic to get the book from the treehouse!’ gasps Ralph.

Jaime shrugs miserably and Willow tosses her hair back. ‘He probably just blackmailed them to get it for him, just like he’d been blackmailing Jesse to spy on people.’

‘You really think he cast a spell around the treehouse?’ Jaime is frowning and looks deeply uncomfortable with the idea. She glances back at her notes then checks her watch. Her hands are shaking and it is obvious that the strange encounter with Iris Cotton has really shaken her. ‘There were more words that came up a lot, almost on every page,’ she says. ‘Versipellis.’ Jaime lowers the notebook and presses two fingers to her forehead as if in pain.

‘What does it mean?’ asks Ralph.

‘It pretty much means shapeshifter,’ Jaime says with a sigh and Willow can see how much she does not want any of this to be true. ‘There are other more obvious words too. Transformatio, mutation, metamorphosis, which leads me to believe guys, that some of it at least, are ancient spells about shape shifting. I just…’ She stuffs the notebook away rather irritably, pockets her hands and glares away angrily, shaking her head. ‘I just don’t know. After everything that happened, it makes an awful kind of sense but I don’t want to believe it. I can’t believe it. I have to believe there is a logical explanation for all of it.’

‘Just like Scully,’ Ralph sighs softly, gazing at her.

Jaime just hangs her head as Willow nods thoughtfully. ‘Logical. There could be. But if so, that’s just as awful, Jaime, if not worse. Logical is that kids go missing in this town and no one knows why and no one really talks about them or remembers them. Logical is a psychotic policeman who spies on people, blackmails teenagers and physically assaults them, maybe even kidnaps them.’ She gulps and looks down at her feet. ‘Maybe even worse.’

Ralph looks anxiously between them. ‘Yeah, I think I prefer shape shifters.’ He attempts a weak smile but it dies on his face and they all fall silent.

Willow scratches her nose, tosses her hair and exhales. ‘It is crazy. But I mean, what Jesse said about this creature, what he said about the black hare too. Shit guys, what if it is Paddy? What if the white one is Iris Cotton?’ She can’t help grinning. ‘My mind is fucking blown! We need to talk to her again.’

‘I still can’t believe how easily she admitted to leaving the book there,’ nods Jaime. ‘We’re figuring things out, guys. She left the book, Paddy found it, probably translated it, and for some reason, Mayfield had it stolen it back. All of it is connected to Paddy being missing.’ She breathes out slowly. ‘I’m scared shitless guys but I think we have to keep digging.’

‘We need a plan,’ prompts Ralph. ‘What next?’

Willow nods. ‘Ralph and I grill our mothers about Carol-Anne then we all see Jesse after school and talk it out. We keep working on the translations and then maybe visit Iris again.’

Jaime licks her lips nervously. ‘Okay. Plan. Iris.’ She visibly shudders, before pulling the camera from her bag and passing it to Willow. ‘You better take this back now, oh, and my mum’s going to another meeting tonight. An urgent one apparently. Something to do with anti-social behaviour.’

Willow and Ralph look at each other. ‘Jesse,’ they say at the same time.

Suddenly, a shadow falls over them. They tense, then straighten up, turning and looking into the narrow-eyed stern faces of Mr Bishop and Mr Hewlett.

Shit, Willow thinks, her stomach dropping, oh shit…

‘What’s this then?’ Mr Bishop demands, as usual no politeness, no warmth. He’s always been terrifying, thinks Willow, shuffling to face him. ‘A mother’s meeting?’ His tone is sharp and snappy. He doesn’t wait for a reply or an explanation. He just gestures to them impatiently. ‘Come on, get out from behind there. Follow me. All of you.’

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 Eighteen “The Committee”