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curious coincidence. So curious, in fact, that it can’t possibly be one. The time has come for you to leave Hallow House. In your brief stay, the climate has changed – both literally and metaphorically.” She winked at him. “Consider this your training. Your gifts are a vital asset; you must learn how to use and control them. Only by doing so may you unlock the knowledge that the Trinity hid within you.”
    “You must become a Sentinel,” Isabel added.
    “But train how? By finding this girl?” Nicholas asked. Somehow he doubted he would be getting a lightsaber out of it. “Who is she? What’s her name?”
    “That, too, eludes us.” Esus’s tone was like wind rushing over a grey expanse of ocean. “The name she was given at birth has been discarded. Lydia Green was her birth name, but that is no longer the case. She has been running for a very long time, but you have a connection. With your gifts, you alone are capable of finding her.”
    As if to balance the phantom’s solemnity, Jessica added: “Isabel will be there to help you.”
    Nicholas couldn’t tell if the cat was happy about that or not – she always looked miserable. He liked to think she had puffed herself up importantly.
    He shook himself. “Sam. Why is Sam going to Bury?”
    “Mr Wilkins has a, what do you call it? I forget the terms... A ‘lead’ on the Harvester who called himself Raymond Snelling,” Jessica said. “It seems there’s a house in Bury St Edmunds registered under his name. You’ll help Mr Wilkins with his investigations, familiarise yourself with the Sentinel way. You may even be of use to him. You’ve proven you can handle yourself when it’s required. I think this will be good for you. And Isabel.”
    “Snelling,” Nicholas breathed. The name sent shivers down his spine. He’d watched Snelling being incinerated by a fiery portal; Snelling had been screaming madly when he died. Nicholas imagined a screaming ghost returning to haunt him and shuddered.
    “Yes,” Jessica nodded. “Tonight you rest. Tomorrow, you and Mr Wilkins will visit the home of Raymond Snelling.”

CHAPTER THREE
    Dawn
     
    S IX MONTHS AGO
     
    D AWN MORGAN AWOKE TO THE SOUND OF SCREAMING. Darkness crowded in around her and for a moment she thought she was still asleep. But the screaming was real and it was close, splitting the night apart. She sat up with a start and listened, holding her breath.
    It was coming from somewhere in the village. Perhaps two houses up. She’d never heard anything like it.
    “Dad?” she whispered. Her voice sounded tight and small, like it belonged to a child instead of a teenager. No answer came. Her parents should be asleep on the other side of the guest hut they were sharing, but she couldn’t hear their usual soft snores.
    Just the screaming.
    The Cambodian heat, unbearable even at night, even at this time of year, was suffocating and Dawn wrestled with her blanket.
    Fumbling out of bed, she hurried to her parents’ mattress. Nothing. The blanket had been pushed to the foot of the bed and her parents were gone. Normally that wouldn’t have concerned her. She was fifteen and her parents could do whatever they wanted, but something was definitely wrong.
    The screaming continued and, panic lodging in her throat, Dawn rushed to the door, throwing it open. She stared out in shock.
    The hillside village was on fire. People were shrieking and running. There were twelve huts, six on either side of a dusty road, and every one of them was ablaze. Dark-skinned figures flitted through the night like terrified birds, some clutching small bundle-like children, others returning from the river with slopping buckets of water.
    In a daze, Dawn staggered between the villagers. Dust and grit stuck between her toes but she felt as if she were floating. Still asleep. She frowned, looked down.
    An ash-like substance was on the ground. It was piled in a peculiar mound. Dawn stepped back and felt like she was going to be