Yes, I know that was not a helpful place to leave things, but I had an interruption. It’s all taken care of now, so I can resume.

We set off about fifteen minutes later, the girls finished their tea and cake while I pulled together a few odds and ends that might come in useful for locating and opening a mysterious container.

Sarah joined me in the still room for a moment. “I’m sorry about Emma, she’s usually really nice.”

So Fake America’s name was Emma.

My non-committal hum of a reply had Sarah squirming. Emma being very clearly not nice was probably her initial point of attraction. It seemed the novelty might be starting to wear off, and not before time.

In the car, Sarah joined me in the front, with the other three in the back seat, Bella squished in the middle. Power dynamics are funny things. I’m sure Emma would have normally demanded the passenger seat but wasn’t willing to risk further conversation with me.

The Castle is a little bit of a misnomer. There is a part that dates back to Plantagenet times, but its walls form the border of the kitchen garden. The house itself is Baroque, and a lovely example of the style. I’d hate to be the person responsible for washing all the windows.

The front door opened as we pulled up and a man came down the stairs, frowning until Bella scampered over to him and explained, something. Quite what I’m not sure but it was enough that his expression relaxed, and he approached with a hand out. “Bella tells me you’ve agreed to help, I’m most grateful. I’m Simon Mason.”

I shook the offered hand and introduced myself. “And I presume you know these three.”

His smile cooled a little as he scanned over the group, Emma with her arm firmly wrapped around Raekah’s muttering at her, Sarah hovering awkwardly between them and me.

“Yes, I was relieved Bella was able to make friends so quickly when we moved here.”

I moved us on and inside quite quickly. Although that may have been a mistake, the house had an air of foreboding about it that dropped on me like a weighted blanket as soon I stepped over the threshold.

A theory on the contents of the pot started to form.

Said pot, it turned out, was something that had belonged to the current Lord Mason’s mother and, like her, was Barbadian in origin. Which meant my theory could be completely wrong, or still right – we all have our hobgoblins and things that go bump in the night, no matter where in the world we come from.

Simon, as he asked to be called, led us to the kitchen, where the housekeeper was working on a truly gorgeous flower arrangement. He introduced her. “This is Mrs Drovesby, she very kindly moved to The Castle with us from London.”

Well now, that’s dedication. Mrs Drovesby gave me a friendly sort of nod, smiled at Sarah and Bella, and cut an ice-cold glare at Raekah and Emma, who were too busy whispering to notice.

I was able to get a reasonable description of the pot and decided on a spot of scrying. As I poured the water into the copper bowl I’d brought with me, I said to Sarah. “It’s a pity we didn’t bring Ben. He’d have it spied out in no time.”

All four girls did the Emma eye-roll, with Sarah adding. “Ben’s so annoying.”

“Of course, he’s your brother. That’s his job.”

Sarah’s grin was reluctant, but there. “I wish he wasn’t so good at it.”

“Don’t we all, but the fact remains, he has a talent for scrying as well as irritating his sister.”

Simon looked surprised. “A boy who’s good at magic?”

“At some elements, yes. It’s not that unusual, they’re just not generally given the chance to develop their abilities.”

Raekah shook herself free of Emma. “What’s Sarah good at?”

She’d picked that up quickly. I wondered if she had a touch of witch herself. Time enough to test all of them I suppose. Although what I’d do if Emma displayed any tendencies I did not know.

Sarah replied. “I have talents for plants, potions, and staying calm in a crisis.”

“That’s not a magical ability.” Emma. Of course

“I never said it was. But it’s essential in a witch.” That was from Sarah. Nice to see her pushing back.

The water in the bowl rippled and Sarah leaned across, to look. Bella at her side.

It was a tight squeeze with six people all trying to see inside the bowl at once. Mrs Drovesby was kind enough to stay back.

Raekah gasped. “I can see something. You said the pot was blue, right? A shiny blue one with yellow plasticine or something over the top.”

Emma glared. “Don’t be an idiot, there’s nothing in the water.”

Bella spoke up, amazingly. “No, Raekah’s right, see? It’s on a shelf in an empty cupboard, somewhere dusty and high up.”

Heavens, two more girls with talent, and Bella clearly something of a finder.

“Stop lying. You’re being stupid.” Emma was not taking it well, and I can’t really blame her. All of a sudden ‘her’ group was sharing something she wasn’t part of, and, worse, she clearly had a fascination for magic, so the exclusion was bound to sting.

I focused on Bella. “Can you pretend you’re zooming in and out with a camera? It might help us work out which room it’s in.”

Emma scowled and opened her mouth, Sarah nudged her in the ribs, hard, as Raekah stomped on her foot on the other side. I think it was their audacity that struck her dumb more than anything else.

Bella gasped. “It’s the old nursery. The one you were in as a baby, Dad.”

As one, the girls turned and charged out of the room. I yelled after them. “Don’t open it.”

“What will happen if they do?” Simon looked worried, as well he might.

“I have no idea. That’s the problem.” We were running too. “Sarah’s sensible, but all bets are off if Emma gets to the damn thing first.”

“Father said something bad would happen if it wasn’t opened. So perhaps it’ll be fine.”

“In which case, why was it sealed in the first place?”

There were shouts from the room ahead. An argument. We entered to find Bella wresting a cupboard door open as Sarah and Raekah blocked Emma’s access to it.

She lunged through them as the cupboard door finally creaked open, and grabbed for the pot.

I yelled. “Emma Sophia Gwendoline Livingstone, you touch that, and I will tell your mother.”

Dead silence until Emma, pale as a sheet, asked. “How do you know my name?”

“I’m a witch.” And that’s the only explanation I have. Sometimes, I just know things.

Simon reached across and picked up the pot. “It’s the nightmare jar.”

“What?”

He flushed. “When I was small, I was scared of the nightmares that lurked in the corners of the room, so one night, Mum did some magic, rounded them all up, and put them in the pot. Looking back, it was probably just a performance to make me feel better, but once the jar was sealed, I didn’t have any more nightmares.”

I headed for the windows. “Even if it was all pretend, let’s get some light in here.”

“You want to open the pot here?” Sarah looked confused.

“Where else should we open it? If it’s what I think it is, it’s going to be far less traumatised being released into familiar surrounds.”

That got their attention as you can well imagine.

Sarah, bless her witchy wits, headed for the door. “I’ll get the salt.”

“Fresh rosemary as well, if you can.”

I got the others opening curtains and windows – it seemed that window cleaner I’d imagined either didn’t exist or didn’t bother with top-floor windows. And sent Bella for a broom. Dust has an annoying way of messing up salt circles and this room hadn’t had a good going-over in years.

Emma made faces when I said we needed to roll back the rug, but Raekah gave her back her own eye roll and said. “You wanted something interesting to happen, and now it is, you’re being all posey about a bit of dust? You’re stupid.”

Nothing like being served with your own medicine.

Windows open, floor swept, and a salt-and-rosemary circle laid on the floor.

Raekah frowned. “It’s not very large.”

Which as true. It was barely two feet across, nothing like the room-spanning things you see in the movies. “It doesn’t need to be large, just secure.”

Emma chose that moment to whine. “But what’s in it? Why’s everyone being so drama queen?”

Simon handed me the pot, whoever had sealed it – presumably his mother – had done a thorough job indeed. The wax had aged though, and turned brittle, so it wasn’t that hard to crack it, and peel the covering away. I kept a firm downward pressure on the lid though. Any sense of change and the prisoner was like to make a bid for freedom before I was ready.

Wax clear, I set the pot in the salt circle and stepped back.

Nothing happened until Emma spoke. “See? It’s nothing. This is so st—”

The lid flew off, landing near one of the windows as a shadow erupted from the container. It spun until something that might have been a face formed and a high-pitched whistle of a voice screeched. “No. You’re stupid.”

All the girls screamed then, which was fair enough. I think even I jumped a little.

The nightshade spun again, screeching. “Witch, witch, witch! I’m surrounded by witches! Get out of my house, witch.”

I spoke. “It’s not your house. Not any more. Not for a long time.”

That gave it pause, that and the salt circle. It drifted close, a tall, thin pillar of shadow, drifting and morphing in and out of human-ish form.

It leaned towards Simon. “You. You where the small one. Your fear was delightful.”

Bella leaned against her father, holding tightly to his hand. The nightshade’s attention went to her next. “Are you a scaredy-mouse too? I will share your room next.”

Sarah stomped to stand beside her friend. “No you won’t, because she’s not scared of you and she’s a witch, so you’d better behave.”

That deflated it. That and the sunshine. It was wisping smaller by the minute.

Strangely, it was Emma who stepped in. “You can share my room if you want. But it’s a different house and you have to scare other people, not me.”

Maybe not so strange.

“You’re not a witch.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you.”

“Not a witch, but something else. Something interesting. I will go with you.”

The shadow flowed back into the pot. “Fetch my lid, interesting girl, we will create dreams of terror.”

I handed Emma the lid. “Try and use your power for good, not evil.”

“What do you mean?”

“Terrorise the bullies. Not the victims.”

Her grin was half mischievous child, half pure evil. “I’ll do that.”

It was all a bit humdrum after that. We tidied up, then went downstairs for tea and biscuits.

And I was right about why the jar needed to be opened, every minute that went by, the weight of that blanket of dread lifted. With the nightshade free and no longer of the house, its fury and discontent was dissipating. Heaven only knows what it will do in Emma’s home – I saw it when I dropped her off – a stark, modern, soulless block of a thing. The nightshade is going to have a field day living there.

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