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I shrug. “I thought I’d have a read,” I say, and in one swift movement, I crouch down, grab the book, and back away.

His face fills with rage and the ground rumbles again. I teeter for a second and then firm my stance. The rage is gone as quickly as it appeared, but I know he’s more dangerous now than he was before. It’s in the air, like the charge before a lightning strike.

“I believe that is mine, Mr Billings.”

“Eh? Well, maybe it’s finders keepers.” I open the book and smile at him. “I’m not on Goodreads much, but I hear this one has some very bad reviews.”

He must guess my intent because a panicked look crosses his face. “Do not touch that book!”

I remember Levi after the possession—the hurt in his eyes, the horror when he found out he’d hurt me, and the complete fear that this man could make him do it all over again. I remember feeling small and lost because the one person who can always find me was gone. All of that can be laid at this man’s doorstep. “Too late.” Still holding his gaze, I tear a sheet of paper from the book.

The tearing is a horrific wet noise, as if I’ve ripped flesh rather than paper. The whispers start up again, getting louder and louder until they’ve become a thousand people screaming in agony. I cry out, clenching the page so tightly that my knuckles are white. The sound goes on and on, filling my head with pain. Something pops and I feel blood run down my neck.

I open my hand and the wind whips the paper away.

“No!” Richard cries, rushing after, hands outstretched. His grab is thwarted as the wind sweeps it high into the sky.

He whirls to face me, and I take an involuntary step back. Purple veins swell all over his face, and his eyes are an obsidian with no light. “You’ll pay for that,” he says in a guttural voice.

“Nay,” Branok says immediately, his face tight with concern. “Do not hurt him.”

Ignoring him, the vicar lifts his hand. He points at me and then rubs his hands together as if washing his hands of me. There’s a brief moment of silence and then a wind starts up. At first, it’s a breeze but then it gets stronger and stronger until it’s jostling me, making me teeter on the verge of falling. My hair is in my eyes and the voices are back. Taunting, invisible fingers poke at me, tearing at my skin and pinching.

Give me the book, Boynton says in my head.

No.

Then you will pay.

“Stop!” I hear Branok cry and then there’s the clash of metal against metal.

The wind dies. It happens in the blink of an eye, and I’m left swaying, with my ear stinging and my head spinning as if I’ve been on a week-long bender.

Richard and Branok have drawn swords and are fighting. I am now apparently living in some sort of BBC drama without having to pay the licence fee. The blades flash bright in the moonlight amidst grunts and cries of pain. Branok flickers out of sight, reappearing over the other side of the garden. Richard does the same, and then they’re clashing again. And all the time, the eerie whispering goes on.

There’s no sign of Levi, but in the distance, a light bobs in the window of the house. I gaze down at the book in my hand and reach into my pocket for my lighter. This needs to go. Right now.

A low, creaking sound, slow and deep, rumbles from nearby. The air is charged and cold, and my hair rises in static clumps. I’m not sure what presence is trying to make itself known, but I don’t have time to guess. I need to find my lighter. The silver, engraved Zippo is one of my most treasured possessions, a gift from Levi. It’s handy to have on me always, even though I don’t smoke, but I never thought I’d need it for destroying a demonic book.

Another creak rends the air, louder and more deliberate, as if whatever is making this noise really wants me to hear. Then comes a loud sigh and on its tail is a breeze that blows my hair back and rustles through the garden. I cough and gag on the scent of decay.

Branok stops in his tracks, looking around as if something has unnerved him. “Be careful, Blue!” he shouts.

Boynton attacks him again, abruptly absorbing all his attention. With no luck finding my lighter, I close the book and carefully slide it under my arm. The next creak wrenches the air directly over my head. The shadows shift and my gaze jerks toward the angel statue.

I abruptly fall on my arse, my mouth dropping open. The angel’s head just moved.

“No,” I whisper. “No, it can’t be.”

Her head slowly turns from side to side as if releasing a crick in her neck, and that creaking groan sounds again. Then she lowers her head and her eyes catch mine. They’re as black as jet and there is no life there, no spark of intelligence. Just pure malevolence. Moss has laid tracks over her face that look like dark scars.

I skuttle back on my arse while she watches me calmly, her marble gleaming in the moonlight. Then she cocks her head.

I get to my feet slowly, trying not to activate her hunter-prey impulse, and then I start to back away. Slowly at first and then more quickly until I jolt against something behind me. I whirl around in a panic, but it’s just a statue of a faun, and hopefully it will stay that way.

There’s another creak and then a groan that echoes through the garden. I moan in horror. She’s climbing down from her pedestal. I’m held in place by absolute terror as she reaches the ground and stands for a second before turning and looking straight at me.

“Yes!” Richard shouts. “Nemesis, my beautiful queen. Destroy him.”