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didn’t seem to have a say in any of it. All he wanted was his parents back. He hadn’t even noticed the humdrum routine of everyday life before. Now it was gone, replaced with overwhelming uncertainty, he craved it. The lemon squares his mum used to bake. His dad’s bad jokes. But they were the one thing he couldn’t have, and never would.
    Sam seemed to struggle with this for a moment. Then he offered sagely: “I believe it is important that we do as your father asked – he always knew how to best handle situations like these.”
    “But I’ve never even heard of her before,” Nicholas argued. “Mum and Dad never mentioned her.”
    “In time, lad,” Sam said, a smile crumpling the corners of his mouth. “Don’t worry about such things. We’re all going to take care of you.”
    Nicholas frowned, worried. He stared down at the letter, re-reading it quickly, searching for anything that he might have missed. “I still don’t understand why, if he knew something was going to happen, all he could think about was me,” he murmured.
    Sam rested a hand on Nicholas’s shoulder. “Love knows no bounds,” he said plainly. As he said it, though, Nicholas detected something else in the man’s voice, something strained. He couldn’t think what it meant.
    They sat quietly for a few moments. Nicholas shivered, aware that a chill had entered the garden, and the pair looked up in unison. An angry black cloud was unfurling across the afternoon sun like a colossal inkblot. The day grew dark and thunder grumbled.
    “The heat wave has broken, then,” Sam commented, returning the fedora to his head. “We had best get inside.”
    Nicholas got to his feet, hurriedly pocketing the letter as rain began to drum from above. It was only a matter of seconds before they were drenched. Hurrying to the back door, he and Sam hastened into the kitchen and Nicholas forced the door closed against a gust of wind.
    “Well, that was rather unexpected.” Sam shook water from the brim of his hat. “Our summers really never improve, do they?”
    “What a pair you two are!” a voice shrieked behind them. Tabatha was standing in the doorway. “Like a couple of drowned rats!”
    “Hello again, Miss Blittmore,” Sam greeted her genially. “I apologise for the briefness of my visit, but I had better be moving before it worsens out there.”
    “Oh Mr Wilkins, you won’t stay for a cup of tea?” Tabatha looked disappointed. She seized a tea towel from the counter and began to rub vigorously at Nicholas’s tangle of wet hair. He scowled and darted out of her reach.
    “Another time, thank you, Miss Blittmore,” Sam replied. “There’s no rest for the wicked, you know. I must be very wicked indeed; there always seems to be something on the go.” He strode to the kitchen door, then stopped and turned stiffly. “Ah, and the matter of the funeral. I’ve spoken to a priest at a quaint church that I know Anita was fond of. I’ll phone you within the day with the necessary details.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Wilkins,” Tabatha said, putting an arm around Nicholas’s shoulders. The boy moved away to peer out at the rain-lashed garden.
    Sam nodded and then tipped his hat. “I’ll show myself out. Goodbye.”
    “’Bye,” Nicholas murmured, still peering through the kitchen window. Snow was fluttering into the garden.

CHAPTER THREE
    Whispers
    S HE HAD MANY NAMES. B UT OF them all, those numerous titles and adoring epithets, the one that He had chosen for her was the one she cherished. It had suited her even before it had been uttered, and as it stung the air for the first time, she had embraced it as her own. From then on it evoked fear and love in the hearts of all who crossed her path.
    Malika .
    A flash of lightning lit the cemetery. Gravestones erupted from the ground like snaggle teeth to grind at the night air, and in that briefest of moments something was silhouetted amid them. A cloaked figure.
    It wove between the stones, twin