A New Darkness Read Free Page B

abilities, even before you start—special talents that help you fight the dark. I’m new to the job myself. My own apprenticeship was cut short, and I’ll still be learning for at least a few more years. I’m hardly in a position to train anyone else, am I?”
    “That’s not a problem,” she said with a smile. “We should spend all our lives learning, and I know you already have lots to teach me. I can help by doing chores as well. I could have collected your food from the village and saved you the bother. I could make your breakfast, too. My mam says I’m a good cook.”
    “I don’t need anyone to make my breakfast,” I said, not bothering to explain that I had a boggart that did that already. “How did you know I’d been down in the village collecting provisions?”
    “I watched you going into the shops. Then, when you went into the last one, I ran up here to wait for you.”
    “How did you know it was the last one? Have you been spying on me?” I asked.
    “I wouldn’t call it spying, but yes, I’ve watched you for a couple of weeks and I know your routine—you go to the butcher’s, the greengrocer’s, and finish at the baker’s shop. I’ve seen enough to make me realize that you are the one who should train me.”
    “Listen, I’d better tell you what’s what so that you won’t get your hopes up. To become a spook’s apprentice you have to be a seventh son of a seventh son. That gives you some immunity against witches and enables you to see the dead and talk to them. That’s the basic qualification. I might as well be blunt. You’re a girl, and you just don’t qualify.” I picked up my bag, nodded at her, and started to climb over the stile.
    “I’m a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter,” she said. “And I can see the dead. Sometimes they talk to me.”
    I turned and looked back at her—a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter with those powers . . . ? I’d never heard of such a thing.
    “I’m sure you can,” I replied, “but I just don’t need an apprentice. Have I made myself clear?”
    Then I headed for the house, putting her from my mind.

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    3
    Bad Things Happen
    I spent the afternoon and evening in the library. The house had been burned to the ground a couple of years ago, and John Gregory’s original library, a vast collection of books—some of them written by generations of previous spooks—had been destroyed.
    The house had been rebuilt, but the library was far more difficult to replace.
    Now the new shelves were mostly empty. They housed a very small collection of books. These included a few notebooks of my own and my master’s, including his Bestiary, the illustrated dictionary of the entities he’d encountered during his years as a spook defending the County against the dark.
    I sat at the desk and began to write up the happenings of the previous day in my notebook. I’m sure John Gregory would have had much to say on the subject, but I was alone now, and it was up to me to find an explanation. The library couldn’t help me. I was getting nowhere and needed a plan.
    The following morning I woke up early, no nearer to finding an answer to the mystery. It was too soon to go down to breakfast. The boggart became very angry if you went into the kitchen before it was ready for you, and it was not wise to annoy such a dangerous creature.
    So I went outside and strode toward the western garden. It was a good place to think. The weather had turned, and I was surprised to find a thin coating of hoarfrost on the grass. The air was unusually cold for late August, much colder than I’d expected. Even in the County, which was known for its long winters, we didn’t usually get the first frosts until late September or early October. It could well be that winter would come early this year, more severe than ever.
    I sat down on the bench and gazed