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stairs as quickly as we can. Once we’re inside, we find Simon and then get the hell out. Not much of a plan, I know, but we’re operating in the dark here. We know Roland Grype’s been left behind with Simon—’
    ‘That man and I are old friends.’ Pandora smirked. ‘We won’t have much trouble with him.’
    ‘Probably not,’ Jake agreed, ‘but it’s unlikely the Demon Father will have left the witch as his only defence. If the banshees were anything to go by, we’ll have our work cut out. Now, I just want to say something before we go on. This whole thing was my idea, my stupid plan—if you guys wanna bail…’
    ‘Honey, I don’t mean to be rude, but sometimes you’re as dumb as your daddy. Now let’s get that poor boy outta that ugly house.’
    There was no more talk. The friends made a break from the forest and swept up the staircase.
    The rain strengthened, lashed across the face of the house and drowned out the rush of feet on stone. Jake glanced up and saw the letters carved into the lintel above the great oak door—

HAVLOCK GRANCE
1623

H OSTES M EI T ERRITURI G UGIENT

    ‘The Crowden family motto,’ Pandora panted. ‘My Latin’s pretty rusty, but I think it means “Mine enemies will flee in Terror”.’
    ‘Not exactly welcoming. Still, I guess it fits in with the architecture.’
    Rachel was right. Time had worked its own black magic on the house. Four hundred years of wind and rain had wrenched tiles from the roof and softened the hard edges of the stonework. With its skin of dark, crumbling brick, its broken back and shattered windows, Havlock Grange looked like a crippled giant that had lain down to die upon the hillside.
    Pandora pushed against the door. ‘Locked. No surprise there.’
    ‘I’ll try my magic,’ Jake said.
    ‘Or maybe we should just cut to the chase!’ a voice roared.
    Bare feet boomed up the staircase. Jake turned in time to see one of the stone griffins tremble off its plinth and shatter onto the ground.
    Before any of them could stop him, Brag Badderson whirled his club overhead and launched it at the door. The thunder-crack of stone against wood rang in their ears as Brag’s club smashed a path into the house. Dust belched into the air, swirled and settled. Tiny splinters of oak, three useless hinges, and a battered lion’s head knocker were all that remained of the great door.
    ‘Well,’ Jake breathed, ‘they definitely know we’re here now. We better move quickly.’
    He led the way into Havlock Grange.
    EVIL.
    The force sent Jake reeling back through the doorway. He inadvertently knocked Rachel and Pandora aside, lost his footing, and hit the ground hard. Brag caught Jake’s collar between his fingers and lifted him onto his feet. Jake shook his head.
    ‘The demon’s not here,’ he strode forward, ‘but he’s left his stink behind.’
    The others followed him into the Great Hall.
    The room certainly lived up to its name—Jake reckoned you could just about squeeze a Boeing 747 inside, and still have enough room left over to host a medieval banquet. The hall’s arched ceiling, ribbed with wooden beams the size of ship masts, reached a height of well over twenty metres. In the middle of the ceiling there was a ragged hole through which the rain poured and the moon lanced down like a giant spotlight. Broken bricks and smashed tiles lay in a heap directly below the hole.
    Jake paused. Listened. Apart from the rain that drummed through the ceiling, nothing seemed to stir the stillness. He motioned for the others to follow.
    ‘Rachel, you and Brag search downstairs. Pandora, we’ll check upstairs. You’ve got your phone with you, Rach? Two bleeps and we know you’ve found Simon. It keeps ringing, you’re in trouble. Same goes for us.’
    While Brag and Rachel disappeared into one of the downstairs rooms, Jake and Pandora mounted the grand staircase and stepped into a long, gloomy corridor. They lit their torches and began to search the first