Read Fury of the Seventh Son (Book 13) for Free Online Page B

wouldn’t be the Spook’s last apprentice, after all.
    â€œCheer up, lad!” my master said. “Things have a way of sorting themselves out.”
    I forced myself to smile back at him. He meant well.
    That night I didn’t sleep well. No sooner had my head touched the pillow than I was plunged straight into a nightmare. And in that dream I was reliving one of the scariest experiences I’d ever endured as a Spook’s apprentice.
    I was back in Read Hall, south of Pendle Hill, living moment by moment the night, years ago now, that I’d been visited by the evil creature called Tibb. He had been created from the body of a sow by the Malkin clan, in order to see into the future. They needed a powerful seer because they were being challenged by the young Mab Mouldheel, who had tremendous powers of prophecy.
    I was lying in bed, paralyzed by a dark magical spell. Tibb was above me, and I could hear the sound of his claws biting into the wood as he clung to the ceiling. He resembled a giant spider, but he had four limbs and his head hung down backward from his long neck. The mouth was open wide, and I could see his sharp teeth. In the dream I was just as terrified as I’d been then. Something fell from his gaping mouth onto my shirt. It was sticky and warm. At the time I hadn’t realized what it was, but now, despite the terror of the dream, I knew that it was human blood; Tibb had been in the next room feeding on Father Stocks. I had heard the poor priest crying out in anguish.
    It was then that Tibb spoke to me—the terrible words of a prophecy:
    â€œI see a girl, soon to be a woman. She will love you, she will betray you, and finally she will die for you.”
    I awoke dripping with sweat, my heart racing.
    Alice would be using dangerous magic, perhaps even at this very moment.
    Had Tibb foretold her death?
    Early in the afternoon I went to collect the week’s groceries from Chipenden, visiting the butcher’s, the greengrocer’s, and then the baker’s, as usual. The village had been attacked during the recent war, a patrol of enemy soldiers killing some of the inhabitants and setting fire to several houses. I was pleased to see that things were almost back to normal.
    Like the Spook’s, most of the damaged houses had been rebuilt, and the main cobbled street that sloped down between the shops was bustling with housewives clutching shopping baskets. People came to Chipenden from distant farms and hamlets, for here they could find the best cheese in the County, and mutton and beef of the highest quality.
    I threw the sack of provisions over my shoulder and set off back toward my master’s house. I was trudging up the lane toward the gate when I saw that I was being watched.
    To my left, not far from the place where I had first met Alice, three people were standing underneath a large, wide-branched oak. I knew them of old, and automatically put down my sack and brought my staff up into the diagonal defensive position—for they were witches.
    It was Mab, Beth, and Jennet Mouldheel.
    They came toward me, but halted about five paces away. I kept my staff at the ready.
    Mab was a girl of about seventeen; despite her youth, she was a dangerous malevolent witch and the leader of the Mouldheel witch clan. I’d found out what she was capable of on my first visit to Pendle. I’d gone there with the Spook to rescue my brother Jack and his family, who’d been kidnapped. She had a strong personality, powerful magic, and was without a doubt the best scryer in the County. She was attractive, too, with big bright-green eyes and fair hair. Like the rest of her clan, she went barefoot, and her feet and legs and tattered skirt were spattered with mud.
    Her two younger sisters, Jennet and Beth, were twins, and it was difficult to tell them apart. They lacked the good looks of their elder sister and had thin, pinched faces and hooked noses.
    All of them appeared a