When the blizzard stopped and the Spook was strong enough, he'd come back to the house to sort things out -1 was sure of that. What I didn't know was when. It would be a long afternoon and a longer night after that. I might even have to spend days there on the stairs. I wasn't sure how many times Marcia would assault the gate.

    Twice more she attacked, and after I'd driven her away for the third time she retreated right back up the steps and out of sight. I wondered if she'd gone back up into the house. Maybe she'd go hunting for rats or mice. After a while I had to fight to keep awake. I couldn't afford to sleep because the gate was already weakened. If I wasn't ready to fend her off, it wouldn't take her long to force her way through.

    I was in serious trouble. If only I hadn't gone back for the grimoire, I'd have been safe and sound with the Spook and Alice at Andrew's house.

Home Truths

    It was uncomfortable on the steps and very cold. After a while, according to my calculations, night turned to day again. I was hungry, and my mouth was dry with thirst.

    How long would I have to spend down there? How long before the Spook came? What if my master hadn't recovered properly and was too ill to come? Then I began to worry about Alice. What if she came back to the house looking for me? She would think the lamia was still trapped in the cellar. She didn't know that it had been in the attic; that it was now loose in the house.

    At last I heard noises from somewhere above. Not scuttling legs but the welcome murmur of human voices and the thump of boots clumping downwards and then the sound of something heavy being dragged down the steps. Candlelight flickered round the corner and I came to my feet.

    'Well, Andrew! Looks like you won't be needed after all,' said a voice that I immediately recognized.

    The Spook walked up to the gate. He was dragging the feral lamia behind him, bound tightly in a silver chain. At his side was Andrew, who'd accompanied him down to pick the lock.

    'Well, lad, don't stand there gawping,' said the Spook. 'Open the gate and let us in.'

    Quickly I did as I was told. I wanted to tell the Spook what I'd done to Meg, but when I opened my mouth to speak, he shook his head and put a hand on my shoulder.

    'First things first, lad,' he said, his voice kind and understanding, as if he knew exactly what I'd done. 'It's been hard for all of us and we've a lot to talk through. But the time for that is later. First there's work to be done ...'

    That said, with Andrew in the lead holding the candle aloft, we set off down the steps. As we approached the live witch, Andrew halted and the candle started to quiver in his hand.

    'Andrew, give the candle to the lad,' said the Spook. 'It's best if you go up top and wait at the door for the mason and smith to arrive. Then you can tell them we're down here.'

    With a sigh of relief, Andrew handed the candle to me, and after nodding in the Spook's direction, walked back up the steps. We continued down until we reached the cellar, with its low ceiling thickly hung with cobwebs. The Spook led the way directly to the feral lamia's pit, where the bars were yawning wide, leaving plenty of space to drop her into the darkness - and the Spook wasted no time in preparing to do just that.

    'Staff at the ready, lad!' he commanded.

    So I stepped close to his side, the candle in my right hand to illuminate the lamia and the pit, my rowan staff in my left hand positioned to jab downwards.

    The Spook held the lamia over the gaping bars and, with a sudden jerk, twisted the silver chain to the right, giving it a flick. It unravelled and, with a shrill cry, the lamia fell into the darkness. Immediately the Spook knelt beside the pit and began to fasten the silver chain from bar to bar across the top of the opening to make a temporary barrier that the lamia couldn't cross. From the shadows below, the lamia hissed up at us angrily but made no attempt to scuttle upwards; within a few moments the job was done.

    'There, that should hold her fast until the mason and the blacksmith arrive,' my master said, coming to his feet. 'Now let's see how Meg is ...'

    He walked over towards Meg's pit and I followed, carrying the candle. He looked down and shook his head sadly. Meg was lying on her back looking up at us, her eyes wide and angry, but the chain still bound her tightly and she couldn't speak.

    'I'm sorry' I said. 'Really sorry. I was-'

    The Spook held up his hand to silence me. 'Save your words for later, lad. It really hurts me to see this...'

    I heard the choke in the Spook's voice and caught a glimpse of the grief on his face. I looked away quickly. There was a long silence, but at last he gave a deep sigh.

    'What's done is done,' he said sadly, 'but I never thought it would come to this. Not after all these years. Anyway, let's go and attend to the other one ...'

    We went back up the steps until we reached the live witch, Bessy Hill.

    'By the way, that was well thought out, lad!' exclaimed the Spook, indicating the line of salt and iron. 'Good to see you using your initiative.'

    Bessy Hill turned her head slowly to the left and seemed to be trying to speak herself. The Spook shook his head sadly and pointed downwards at her feet.

    'There, lad. You take her right foot, I'll take her left. We'll pull her down slowly. Gently, now! We don't want to bang her head ...'

    We did just that, and it was unpleasant work: Bessy's right foot felt cold, damp and slimy, and as we dragged her downwards she began to snuffle and spit.

    It didn't take long though, and soon she was back in her pit. All it needed now was the bent bars to be replaced and she'd be safe for a long time.

    We didn't speak for a while and I guessed that the Spook was thinking about Meg, but soon there was the distant sound of men's voices and heavy boots.

    'Right, lad, this'll be the smith and the mason. I'd half a mind to ask you to deal with Meg, but if s not right and I won't shirk what has to be done. So you get yourself back up those steps and light a big fire in every downstairs room. You've done well - we'll talk later.'

    On the way up I met the smith and the mason. 'Mr Gregory's at the bottom of the steps,' I told them. They nodded and carried on down. Neither of them looked happy. It was grim work but it had to be done.

    Later, when I went back down into the cellar to tell my master that I'd lit the fires, Meg was still in her pit but my silver chain was safely back in his possession and he handed it to me without a word. The stone and iron cover had been dragged into place and locked with metal pins driven deep into the ground.

    Now she was imprisoned beneath iron bars just as firmly as the other witches. The Spook must have been really sad having to do that but he'd done it anyway. It had taken him almost a lifetime, but Meg was finally bound.

    It was late afternoon before the work was done and the mason and smith had finally gone on their way. The Spook turned to me as he closed the door after them and scratched at his beard.

    'There's just one more job before we eat, lad. You might as well get yourself upstairs and clean up that mess in the attic'

    Even after all that had happened I hadn't forgotten about the grimoire. I hadn't forgotten what Morgan might do to Dad. And here was my chance! So, my hands shaking at the thought of how I was going to betray the Spook and steal the grimoire, I carried a mop and bucket up to the attic. After closing the skylight I began to clean the floor just as fast as I could.

    Once the job was done it would take just a few moments to force the desk and hide the grimoire in my bedroom. I'd never seen the Spook go up to the attic, so I could give it to Morgan without him realizing that it had gone.