“This makes us cousins—if it’s true,” I note.

“Yeah,” Bill-E giggles, then pokes me in the chest. “It also makes me his son and rightful heir, so don’t go getting too attached to this place, Grady, because as soon as the old man kicks it, you’re out of here!”

“Charming!” I laugh, and dump the last of my popcorn over Bill-E’s head.

“Hey!” Bill-E shouts, shaking kernels from his head, all over the couch and floor. “Clean that up!”

“You clean it,” I grin wickedly. “It’s your house…”

Both of us laughing, he chases me up the stairs to my room, lobbing fistfuls of popcorn at my head all the way.

Routines. Daily chores. Lots of chess competitions with Dervish and Bill-E. Dervish taught Bill-E how to play. He’s much better than I am, though his concentration wanders occasionally, so I beat him more than I should. Watching TV. Hanging out with Bill-E. We play football and explore the countryside when we’re not stuck in front of the massive screen or locking horns in chess tournaments.

I’m recognised in Carcery Vale now. Bill-E introduced me to the shopkeepers and gossips. They accept me the same as any other kid. Pass the time of day with me when I come in to pick up shopping. Ask about Dervish and what I think of the mansion. Tell me tales from its gory past, trying to spook me.

Bill-E also takes me to visit Gran and Grandad Spleen. A couple of battleaxes! Narrow-eyed, sharp-tongued, drably dressed, their house in a state of perpetual gloominess. Grandad Spleen rambles on about the old days and how Carcery Vale has gone to the dogs. Grandma Spleen hovers in the background, serving tea and biscuits, eyes daring me to spill crumbs on her carpet.

Both have lots to say about Dervish, none of it good.

Not right, living out there on his own.

A house like that’s too big for one man.

He should be married—but no one will have him!

If he does anything out of order, you let us know.

Bill-E smiles apologetically when we leave. “I love my grandparents, but I know what they’re like. I won’t take you there too often.”

I shrug as if it’s no big deal, but offer up silent thanks. I don’t know how he sticks them. I’d have run away from home years ago if I was caged in with a crabby old pair like that! Although, thinking twice about it, I suppose it’s better to have grumpy grandparents as parents than no parents at all. I complained a lot about Mum and Dad when they were… still with me. They had their faults. I think everybody does. But I wouldn’t complain if they were with me… alive now.

The murders are never far from my thoughts. The memories of Vein, Artery and Lord Loss haunt me. Many nights I wake screaming, arms thrashing, eyes wild, imagining demons in the room with me, under the bed, in the wardrobe, scratching at the door.

Dervish is always there when I wake from my nightmares. Sitting by the bottom of my bed. Passing me a mug of hot chocolate or a towel to wipe the sweat from my face. He never says much, or asks what I was dreaming about. Leaves as soon as I’ve settled down.

We haven’t discussed the demons. I think Dervish wants to, but I’m reluctant to step back into that world of darkness. He leaves books in my room, or open on the tables downstairs, about monsters, demons, magic. I avoid them at first. Later I read certain passages and study pictures, attracted to the mystery of this other realm despite my fear of it.

No pictures of my demons in the books. I glance through some of the many encyclopaedias in the mansion, but there’s no mention of a Lord Loss or his familiars in any of them.

Friday. Listening to CDs I bought in the Vale. A roaring outside, of a motorbike approaching. But it isn’t Dervish—he’s up in his study. I creep to the window and secretly watch the cyclist dismounting. A woman dressed in black leather. Long blonde hair tumbles down over her shoulders when she removes her helmet. She stretches, hands going high above her head. Ay carumba! I’m down the stairs in a flash, but not as fast as Dervish. He’s already opening the front doors. I catch a glimpse of a big smile. Then he’s shouting, “Meera! I wasn’t expecting you for another few days. Why didn’t you phone?”

“You never answer,” the woman says, meeting Dervish in the doorway, hugging him hard. She pushes him away and studies his face. “How’s it going, hon?”

“Not bad,” Dervish chuckles.

“How’s the lodger?” She spots me over Dervish’s shoulder. “Oh, never mind, I’ll ask him myself.” She strides over and offers her hand. I shake it politely. “Meera Flame,” she introduces herself. She smiles—dazzling. “And if I know Dervish, he hasn’t told you a thing about me, right?”

I nod dumbly. I think I’m in love!

“Grubbs Grady—Meera Flame,” Dervish says. “Meera’s a close friend of mine. She comes to stay quite regularly. I meant to tell you she was on her way, but I forgot.”

“He’s useless, isn’t he?” Meera laughs.

“At some things,” I mutter, finding my voice at last.

Meera unzips the front of her leather jacket, revealing a T-shirt with an anti-war slogan. She slides out of the coat, then sits on the stairs and peels off her boots and trousers. She’s wearing shorts underneath.

“Make yourself at home,” Dervish says wryly.

“Don’t I always?” Meera replies. She catches me ogling her, and winks. “Got a girlfriend, Grubbs? If not, watch out! I like younger men!”

I blush like a fire engine. Meera slips through to the kitchen for a drink.

Dervish laughs. “You look like a kettle.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“There’s steam coming out your ears!”

Before I can think of a comeback, Meera calls from the kitchen. “Whoops! I’ve spilt milk all over my T-shirt. Can you come and help me out of it, Grubbsy?”

I think life’s about to get very interesting!

“Ah,” says Bill-E with a cheetah’s smile. “The mysterious Meera Flame. She’s hot, isn’t she?”

“And doesn’t she know it!” I huff. “She hasn’t stopped flirting with me since she arrived. My cheeks feel like they’ve been slapped a dozen times today!”

We’re in the kitchen, guzzling milk shakes. Dervish and Meera have gone out for dinner. “Don’t worry about that,” Bill-E says. “She does it with me too. She likes making men—and boys! — blush.”

“She’s doing a good job of it,” I mutter, then cough. “Her and Dervish… are they…?”

“Nah,” Bill-E says. “Just friends. She travels around a lot. Always off somewhere exotic. Comes to stay every now and then. They go on biking holidays together sometimes, but Dervish says they aren’t an item, and I don’t think he’d lie. Who could keep quiet if they had a girlfriend like that!”

Saturday. Meera woke me up this morning for breakfast in bed. Walked right in, wearing a dressing gown and (as far as my imagination’s concerned!) nothing underneath. Sat chatting with me while I ate, asking about life with Dervish and what I thought of Carcery Vale—“Boring as hell, isn’t it?”—and just being all-round beautiful. I had a hard time keeping my eyes on my toast and fried eggs.

Bill-E came early to see Meera. She fussed over him like a mother hen. “You’ve grown! You’re filling out! Becoming a man! When are you going to sweep me off my feet and take me away from all this?”

Dervish and Meera made for his study after a while, so Bill-E and I headed out to explore the nearby forest. Searching for Lord Sheftree’s buried treasure.

“If we find it, we don’t tell anyone,” Bill-E says, poking through the roots of an old dead oak. “We wait until we’re older and know more about these things. Then we sell it on the quiet and split the profits fifty-fifty. Agreed?”

“Maybe I’ll bump you off and take it all for myself,” I smirk.