by Holly Rivers
‘Yeah,’ replied Demelza. ’When I was little. But what’s that got to do with anything? It’s just a fairy tale.’
‘In the story the children leave behind a trail of breadcrumbs,’ explained Miranda. ‘They use it to find their way back home.’
‘We don’t have any breadcrumbs, though!’ said Percy.
‘I know that,’ said Miranda, reaching into Demelza’s satchel. ‘But we do have these.’ She pulled out the bag of Mr Barnabas’s glow-in-the-dark bonbons. ‘Ta-da!’
Demelza stood up straight, grinning. ‘Miranda Choudhury, you clever, clever thing! As much as it pains me to throw away a perfectly good bag of sweets, it’s our only choice.’
Deeper and deeper into the forest they went, with Demelza dropping one of the luminous bonbons on to the floor every minute or so. Underfoot, twigs snapped like brittle bones, and the overhanging growth scratched at their skin and clothes. Every movement, every noise seemed magnified in the thick expanse around them, and with nothing else to distract her, the reality of what lay ahead began to weigh heavily on Demelza’s mind. Dark images dominated her thoughts, pushing out hope like a cloud across the sun. She thought longingly of her attic room and her books, and Shiver asleep on Grandma’s lap like a little snoozing salami.
But Demelza’s thoughts were suddenly scattered.
Without warning, Miranda had grabbed her arm and was ushering both her and Percy behind a nearby tree. She put a cold finger to Demelza’s lips, and the three children stood, frozen, listening to the sound of footsteps approaching across the dry leaves and a flurry of escalating voices.
Before long three sets of shoes came to a halt dangerously close to where the children were hiding, their long shadows falling across the ground. Demelza felt her stomach flip.
‘I said I was sorry, boss,’ pleaded a raspy-sounding man. ‘The girl was just too quick for us. But the old woman won’t have gone anywhere, that’s for sure. Last time I checked it was pretty difficult to run away with rope around your ankles.’
‘Yeah!’ added another voice. ‘Especially when your walking stick’s been snapped in half.’
As the men moved off, Demelza peered out from behind the tree trunk. Up ahead she could make out the shape of three hooded figures trundling off into the distance.
‘W-w-was that Boris and Gregor?’ stuttered Percy.
‘I think so,’ said Demelza. ‘And the one they called “boss” must be the Snatcher!’
Miranda pointed to where the figures were veering left on to the pathway out of the forest. ‘Look, they’re heading towards the cemetery. You were right, Demelza.’
Demelza nodded. ‘Quick, we need to follow them!’
Keeping at a safe distance, the children tracked the figures through the trees, dashing behind branches and bushes with the stealth of three fox cubs. It wasn’t long before they came to the edge of the forest, and the dark iron railings of Eternal Sorrow Cemetery appeared up ahead. Stone lions and serpents adorned its gateways, and Demelza watched as the three hoods slipped inside.
‘Right, I think it’s best if I go on alone from here,’ she said to Percy and Miranda. ‘You two, stay here and guard the entrance. Hopefully I’ll be able to get Grandma Maeve out of there, but if the men try to escape with her, you’ll need to do something to stop them going any further.’
‘But we can’t leave you to go in there alone—’ Percy began.
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Demelza. ‘I need you to stay here.’
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Percy. ‘But we’ll be right here waiting for you.’
Demelza smiled. ‘Thank you. You really are the best friends anyone could wish for. And Percy, whoever it was who called you a daddy’s boy earlier really needs their head seeing to.’
Percy crossed his arms in faux-annoyance, but couldn’t help smiling. ‘Well, as long as they never call me that again I think they can probably be forgiven!’
Demelza looked out on to the cemetery, and with her heart thudding in her chest, ventured through the gates. All around, gravestones sprouted upwards like broken teeth, bound together by sprawling tendrils of wilted ivy. It was painfully quiet, and as she walked deeper into the graveyard, a tide of mist began to swirl about her ankles like water. Soon, to her dismay, she lost sight of the hooded figures entirely. Thinking of the undertaker’s bill she’d found in the castle, she decided to try and find the grave herself. Plot number 10345, wasn’t it? Where could it be? She knelt down by one of the graves and ran her fingers over the tombstone, but it was covered so thickly in mould that the words were barely readable. As she shuffled to the next one, a familiar voice called out behind her.
‘Demelza, is that you?’
Demelza flinched and turned around.
Even in the dim light there was no mistaking the figure that stood over her.
It was Percy’s father, Mr Grey.
CHAPTER 31
The Snatcher
‘Mr Grey?’ mumbled Demelza, slowly getting to her feet. ‘What are you doing here? Are you lost?’
‘Lost?’ Mr Grey shook his head. ‘Oh no, I’m very much in the right place.’
Demelza’s brows furrowed as she stood silently among the graves. The mist was rising, soupy around her legs. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘What do you mean? I thought you were on a business trip.’
‘Oh, come on, Demelza!’ he replied, running the tip of his moustache through his fingertips. ‘You’re a smart girl. Do I really need to spell it out? I’m here to see you, of course.’
Demelza’s head was spinning . . . he couldn’t be . . . could he? He wasn’t . . .
‘You?’ she said, her voice hoarse. ‘You kidnapped my grandma?’
Mr Grey nodded, watching her in silence.
Demelza gasped as another realization hit her. That’s where she’d seen Boris and Gregor before! They were Mr Grey’s gardeners!
She stepped backwards, shaking her head. ‘No! You can’t be the Snatcher! You just can’t!’
‘But I am,’ said Mr Grey. ‘I know I’m not exactly the – what was it you said again? – the murderous criminal that you had in mind.’
A lump formed in Demelza’s throat as she listened to Mr Grey repeating her own words back to her – words she’d spoken to Percy when she’d revealed everything to him in his bedroom the other night. She felt her breath quickening. That creak outside the bedroom door . . . they’d assumed it was the cat, but it wasn’t, was it? Mr Grey had been listening all along! Her mind felt like it was about to explode. Demelza lunged forward. ‘Where is she?’ she shouted. ‘What have you done with my grandma?’
‘All in good time,’ answered Mr Grey calmly. ‘But first, let’s get down to business.’ He began to circle around Demelza, the crunch of his footsteps on gravel cutting through the stillness of the cemetery. ‘You know why you’re here, don’t you?’
Demelza’s face was like steel. ‘You want me to perform the Conjuring of Resurrection.’
‘Exactly!’ replied Mr Grey. ‘You see, Demelza, there’s someone that I’ve been wanting to bring back to life for a long, long time. I’ve been looking for a young Spectre Detector to help me for years, but so far no one has had the sense to oblige my request.’ He sighed. ‘Strange, really. I thought it would be preferable to being killed by my henchmen, but obviously not.’
Demelza clenched her fists. ‘All those young Spectre Detectors you kidnapped . . . you got Boris and Gregor to murder them?’
Mr Grey nodded with chilling nonchalance. ‘And if you don’t do as I ask, your grandmother and that ridiculous sausage dog will be joining them. On the other hand, if you fulfil my request, then I’ll promise to spare them both – although, of course, your life will be forfeited as part of the Conjuring. This really couldn’t be simpler.’
A sickening feeling rose up in Demelza’s tummy as a million conflicting thoughts thrashed around in her head. What on earth should she do? She couldn’t make such an awful decision. She needed to buy herself some th
inking time.
‘Well?’ sneered Mr Grey. ‘What’ll it be? Are you going to come nicely, or am I going to have to get Boris to sharpen his carving knife? He’s not in the most forgiving of moods after what you put him through in the castle earlier—’
‘FATHER! LET HER GO!’
A voice rang through the night and Demelza turned to see Percy standing under a nearby weeping willow. He was trembling and as pale as frost, but was grasping a large stick which he pointed towards his father. Demelza had never seen him looking so angry.
‘Percival?’ said his father, quickly distancing himself from Demelza. ‘What on earth are you doing here? You’re meant to be at home with Fräulein von Winkle!’
Percy’s gaze was probing. ‘What am I doing here? What are you doing here, more like!’
Mr Grey cleared his throat. Sweat was pouring down his face and an eel-blue vein had begun to twitch in the side of his head. ‘I-I was just on my way back home from a business meeting. I came across young Demelza here, who seemed to be lost. I was just helping her find her way home—’
Percy scoffed. ‘Don’t lie to me, Father! I heard everything you’ve said. Now let Grandma Maeve and Shiver go!’
Demelza ran to her friend. ‘Percy, I told you to stand guard at the gates with Miranda. What are you doing here?’
‘I couldn’t just leave you alone,’ Percy replied. ‘And besides, Miranda’s fine on her own. She’s tougher than the both of us put together.’
Mr Grey moved towards his son, pushing Demelza aside with unflinching determination. ‘Now listen here, Percival, let’s not be a silly billy, eh? Demelza’s promised to help me with something, that’s all. Now come over here with me at once.’
Percy’s face crumpled and he looked to the floor. Demelza could see his eyes gleaming and she watched with anticipation, expecting him to give up and submit to his father’s wishes. But Percy sniffed and held up his head. ‘No! Demelza hasn’t promised to help you with anything! Why do you even want her to do the Conjuring of Resurrection anyway?’
‘Because . . . because . . .’ Mr Grey pushed his fingers through his hair in obvious frustration. ‘I’m doing all this for you, Percival!’
‘Me?’ Percy replied. ‘What’s any of this got to do with me?’
Mr Grey’s gaze dropped to the ground and he sighed. For a moment he looked almost defeated, completely lost for words. Demelza swallowed. What was he about to reveal?
‘Haven’t you ever thought about why I’ve mollycoddled you so much, Percival?’ Mr Grey said eventually. ‘Why I don’t let you go out to play, why you aren’t allowed to go to school? Why you can’t eat proper food, or touch other people?’
Percy looked to Demelza then back to his father. ‘Because I’m ill, of course. Because I’ve got a weak constitution, or whatever it is that you always say. That’s why.’
Mr Grey’s chin began to tremble. ‘No, Percival, that’s not it at all. I’m afraid, son, it’s because you’re a spectre.’
CHAPTER 32
Percy’s Memories
Percy jostled from foot to foot. ‘W-w-what are you talking about?’ he spluttered. ‘How can I be a spectre? That would mean that I’m . . . dead!’
Mr Grey nodded.
Percy looked down at himself, staring in confusion, as if looking at his body for the very first time. ‘No,’ he muttered. ‘No, it can’t be true.’
Demelza stood, dumbfounded. She would have known if Percy was a spectre, she would have known if he wasn’t really alive. Mr Grey was lying! She turned to her friend and whispered, ‘It’s not true, Percy. I’ve seen spectres and you’re not one. This is just some awful trick!’
Percy looked to his dad for confirmation. ‘Father?’
Mr Grey sighed heavily. ‘Percival, take off your gloves.’
Percy’s brows furrowed in surprise. ‘But I’ll freeze! It’s the middle of the night—’
‘Just do it!’
Trembling, Percy put down the stick he was still clutching and began to take off his woollen gloves. He let them fall to the floor, his exposed fingers hanging pale and limp at his sides.
Mr Grey turned to Demelza. ‘Now, try and touch his skin. Try and hold your hands against his. You won’t be able to.’
Demelza suddenly felt nervous. Surely she’d touched Percy’s hand before? Surely they’d arm-wrestled or given each other high fives? But then, Mr Grey had always warned so strictly against making any physical contact.
Demelza edged towards her friend. There was fear in his eyes, desperation. ‘Hold up your hands,’ she whispered, trying to soothe him. ‘It’ll be fine.’
‘I-I don’t want to,’ stuttered Percy. ‘I’m scared.’
‘Don’t worry, I had a bath last week,’ joked Demelza. She held up her hands and wiggled her fingers. ‘There’s no bogies on them, I promise!’
Percy smiled meekly and turned his palms towards Demelza’s. There were only a few centimetres between them now and Demelza felt the hairs lifting on the nape of her neck. She felt as if she were being made to touch a hot poker or stroke an angry dog.
Don’t be dead, she prayed. You can’t be dead . . .
But as Demelza reached out, she watched as her hands disappeared through Percy’s. It was like they were moving through cold air, through a cloud of fog. . .
‘No!’ Percy yelped. He stumbled backwards, shaking his fingers out in front of him as if they weren’t his. ‘NO! It can’t be . . . It can’t . . .’ His voice was panicked, desperate. ‘If I’m a spectre, then why don’t I float around? Why don’t I fly?’
‘Because you’ve never known that you could!’ replied Mr Grey. ‘Why don’t you try now?’
Percy laughed nervously and turned on his heel. ‘You’re crazy!’ He glanced at Demelza for confirmation. ‘He’s crazy, isn’t he?’
But Demelza felt the sting of tears. ‘Percy, I’m so sorry . . .’
‘Even if I think really hard about floating,’ Percy murmured. ‘There’s no way I can . . . no way . . .’ Percy gazed down at his feet and his mouth fell open. Demelza followed his gaze: he had lifted a little way above the ground.
For a while all was silent, the long tendrils of the weeping willows moving in the night breeze like trails of tears. Demelza’s mind was racing. Why hadn’t she spotted it sooner? Her mind flicked back to the photographs she’d seen in their house, how Percy had been curiously missing.
Eventually Percy looked to his father. ‘So how did I die?’ he whispered.
Mr Grey stepped forward towards his son. ‘It was when we were still living in our old house in London. Can you remember it, Percival?’
Percy nodded timidly.
‘And what’s your last memory of us being there?’
Percy stared at his feet, deep in thought. He looked as if he were panning the rivers of his mind for memories, for any little flash of gold.
‘It was that night you took me to the funfair,’ he said softly. ‘We ate popcorn and went on the waltzers. You got angry because a clown dropped a custard pie in your lap. I remember Mum tucking me in that night, switching off the light . . .’
Silence.
‘Go on,’ urged Mr Grey.
Demelza could see the cogs of Percy’s mind turning again, and he winced as if remembering something unpleasant. ‘My chest started to feel tight,’ he said. ‘It was my asthma. I was having an attack. I was coughing. I couldn’t breathe and . . .’ Percy paused momentarily. ‘The next thing I remember is waking up in a new house. You said that I’d been in hospital, that I’d been unconscious for a long time but a very special doctor had saved me.’ He looked up to his father. ‘You lied to me?’
‘No, no, I didn’t lie!’ said Mr Grey. He ran to his son but Percy floated backwards. ‘A special doctor did save you! He brought you back to me as a spectre . . . so you could have another chance at life. So we could be together again!’
‘A special doctor?’ Demelza blurted out. ‘You mean a Spectre Detector! Percy passed away a
nd you got a Spectre Detector to bring him back, didn’t you?’
Percy’s cheeks began to tremble, his thin arms tight to his body. ‘Is that true, Father?’
Mr Grey nodded. ‘I didn’t know what else to do. The asthma attack had taken you from me . . .’ His voice caught in his throat. ‘I had nobody left.’
‘You had Mum!’
Mr Grey’s shoulders drooped, tears running down his cheeks and into his moustache. ‘She left too. She couldn’t cope with losing you. She needed to get away. She wanted a fresh start.’
He looked longingly at his son and Demelza could see a deep sadness swirling in his eyes. For a moment she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him – he had no wife and his only child had died. No one should have to go through that . . .
No! She couldn’t think like that! This was the evil man who’d kidnapped Grandma Maeve and Shiver. This was the man who’d murdered all of the other young apprentices. She had to stay strong!
She turned to Mr Grey. ‘Why wasn’t there a reverse summoning?’ she demanded. ‘Spectres are only meant to have three hours in the living world. Who was the Spectre Detector you used? Some crook, no doubt!’
Mr Grey sniffed back his tears. Within an instant his face had darkened and he glared down at Demelza with ghoulish eyes. Without answering, he reached into his briefcase and brought out an old photograph. It showed a gentleman with a large moustache standing next to a young, bespectacled man wearing a mortar board.
Demelza’s heart sank. It was Mr Grey . . . and her dad!
‘I was your father’s university professor, you see,’ said Mr Grey, reclining against a gravestone. ‘We grew close during his studies and stayed friends long after he graduated.
‘But after I lost Percival I fell into a state of deep mourning. I thought that I’d never be happy again. Naturally, your father wanted to help me. And so your parents revealed their biggest secret. They took me to their summoning chamber.’
Demelza’s stomach flipped as she anticipated what Mr Grey was going to say next.
‘Your parents told me all about the Spectre Detectors and what they did to help those in mourning,’ continued Mr Grey. ‘I couldn’t quite believe it at first, but as soon as they performed the summoning and I saw Percival again I—’ He breathed out heavily and composed himself. ‘Well, for those first couple of hours it was as if I had never lost him.’