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was.
    He was about to climb back into bed when he saw the two gargoyles on the gates turn round and wave at him. Jonathan reached out and shut the curtains before gingerly touching the gauze pad that was taped to the back of his head.
    I
’
m going nuts,
he thought to himself.
I
’
ve got brain damage.
    But he had to look again. He opened the curtains a crack. The gargoyles were still there, smiling and waving. He stifled a hysterical giggle and shuffled backwards to sit on the bed, his mind in a whirl. Just then, he heard footsteps on the stairs, and a tall, thin man in a tweed suit, blue shirt, clerical collar, and wire-rimmed glasses strode into the room, bearing a mug of tea.
    â€œHello, Jonathan,” said the man. “I’m Ignatius Crumb, vicar of Hobbes End. Are you all right? You look a bit pale. Did Grimm say it was okay for you to be up and about?”
    Jonathan just stared at Ignatius and pointed toward the window. “Gargoyles” was all he could say.
    â€œOh dear,” sighed Ignatius. “I thought we might have more time.” He seemed unsure as to what to do next.
    â€œIs that tea for me?” asked Jonathan.
    â€œOh, yes,” said Ignatius. “Have a sip; it’ll make you feel much better.”
    Jonathan nodded, took the tea, and proceeded to do just that.
    As Ignatius sat down next to him on the bed, Jonathan noticed that he had a streak of white in his hair, running back from his temple like a scar. The vicar took an unlit pipe from his shirt pocket and toyed with it nervously.
    â€œIt’s like this,” he said, turning to face Jonathan. “Hobbes End is not an ordinary village; in fact, it’s far from ordinary.”
    Jonathan just stared at him.
    â€œOh dear,” Ignatius said again. “I’m not very good at this, am I?” He paused. “Tell you what—wait there a minute.”
    Jonathan watched as Ignatius bolted from the room and thundered down the stairs. There was the noise of a door banging open, footsteps on gravel, and a cry of
“Cay!”
from outside in the garden. There followed some semiaudible mutterings, and then a much lighter set of footsteps came back up the stairs. Jonathan gripped his mug tightly and waited to see who it was going to be.
    A mass of auburn hair peeped round the doorway; beneath it was a pretty, freckled face with hazel eyes and a quirky grin. It was the girl Jonathan had seen being chased by the cat.
    â€œHello, strange boy,” she said, her smile making Jonathan beam at her in return. “I’m Cay, and I gather you may have broken your brain.”
    Â 
    â€œThey’ve been nattering for ages,” said Grimm. “I suppose that’s a good thing?”
    Ignatius nodded. “Cay’s doing a better job than me. I can stand in front of a congregation and relay something topical yet interesting for a sermon, and yet the second I’m asked a question about Monty and Stubbs, I dry up. Why is that?”
    Grimm chuckled to himself. “He caught you on the hop, that’s all. What bothers me is having to lie to him and everyone else about how he came here. He was so upset when he thought his mother had just abandoned him. He told me what he remembered, and I managed to reassure him by saying I’d go and take a look at the cottage and make sure his dad isn’t trapped in the rubble.”
    â€œThat was the right thing to do,” said Ignatius. “If only we could have told Jonathan that you’d already been out there and found nothing. It might have been of some comfort to him.”
    â€œHmm,” said Grimm. “I hope his parents turn up sooner rather than later. It’s their choice to tell him the truth or not, but we can’t keep it from him indefinitely. I can’t watch the lad suffer in ignorance.”
    â€œI know,” said Ignatius. “But we’ll have to let Gabriel decide that.”
    â€œHow is he?”