A moment later, a sound in the distance tickled Serafina’s ear. It wasn’t sparrow wings, like she’d heard before, but something earthbound. She tilted her head and listened for it again. It seemed to be coming from down in the valley.

      She stood, faced the sound, and cupped her hands round the back of her ears, a trick she’d learned from mimicking a bat.

      She heard the faint jangle of harnesses and the clip-clop of hooves. Her stomach tightened. It was a strange sound to encounter in the middle of the night. A team of horses pulling a carriage was making its way up the three-mile-long winding road towards the house. In the daytime, there would be nothing unusual about that. But no one ever came to Biltmore at night. Something was wrong. Was it a messenger bearing bad news? Had someone died? Was the North going to war with the South again? What calamity had befallen the world?

      Pulling back from the rocky ledge, she hurried down into the valley and made her way through the forest to one of the arched brick bridges where the road crossed over the stream. She watched from the concealing leaves of the mountain laurel as an old, road-beaten carriage passed by. Most carriages had one or two horses, but this was pulled by four dark brown stallions with powerful, bulging muscles, their hides glistening with sweat in the moonlight and their nostrils flaring.

      She swallowed hard. That isn’t a messenger.

      Braeden had told her that stallions were wild and notoriously difficult – they kicked their handlers and bit people, and especially hated other stallions – but here were four of them pulling a carriage in unison.

      When she looked at who was driving the carriage, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. The carriage bench was empty. The horses were all cantering together in a forceful rhythm, as if by the rein of a master, but there was no driver to be seen.

      Serafina clenched her teeth. This was all wrong. She could feel it in her core. The carriage was heading straight for Biltmore, where everyone was fast asleep and had no idea it was coming.

      As the carriage rounded a bend and went out of sight, Serafina broke into a run and followed.

      She ran through the forest, tracking the carriage as it travelled down the winding road. The cotton dress Mrs Vanderbilt had given her wasn’t too long, so it was easy to run in, but keeping pace with the horses was surprisingly difficult. She tore through the forest, leaping over fallen logs and bounding over ferns. She jumped gullies and climbed hills. She took shortcuts, taking advantage of the road’s meandering path. Her chest began to heave as she pulled in great gulps of air. Despite the trepidation she had felt moments before, the challenge of keeping up with the horses made her smile and then made her laugh, which made it all the more difficult to breathe when she was trying to run. Leaping and darting, she loved the thrill of the chase.

      Then, all of a sudden, the horses slowed.

      Serafina pulled herself short and hunkered down.

      The horses came to a stop.

      She ducked behind a clump of rhododendrons a stone’s throw from the carriage and concealed herself as she tried to catch her breath.

       Why is the carriage stopping?

      The horses anxiously shifted their hooves, and steam poured from their nostrils.

      Her heart pounded as she watched the carriage.

      The handle of the carriage door turned.

      She crouched low to the ground.

      The carriage door swung slowly open.

      She thought she could see two figures inside, but then there was a roil of darkness like she’d never seen before – a shadow so black and fleeting that it was impossible for even her eyes to make it out.

      A tall and sinewy man in a wide-brimmed leather hat and a dark, weather-beaten coat emerged from the carriage. He had long, knotty grey hair and a grey moustache and beard that reminded her of moss hanging from a craggy tree. As he climbed down from the carriage and stood on the road, he held a gnarled walking stick and gazed out into the forest.

      Behind him, a vicious-looking wolfhound slunk down from the carriage onto the ground. Then another followed. The hounds had large, lanky bodies, massive heads with black eyes, and ratty, thick blackish-grey fur. Five dogs in all came forth from the carriage and stood together, scanning the forest for something to kill.

      Afraid to make even the slightest sound, Serafina took in a slow, ragged breath as carefully and quietly as she possibly could. The beat of her heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to run. Just stay still, she ordered herself. Stay very still. She was sure that as long as she didn’t break cover, they wouldn’t see her.

      She wasn’t certain what it was – maybe his long, frayed coat and the worn state of his carriage – but the man seemed as if he’d travelled a long distance. It surprised her when he shut the carriage door, stepped away and looked at the horses. The stallions immediately broke into a run like they had been whipped. The carriage soon disappeared down the road, taking whoever remained inside onward towards Biltmore but leaving the bearded man and his dogs behind in the forest. The man did not appear to be dismayed or upset by this, but acted as though this forest was exactly where he wanted to be.

      Saying words Serafina could not understand, he gathered his pack of dogs around him. They were foul beasts with massive paws and thick claws. They didn’t seem like normal dogs that sniffed the ground and explored the forest. They all looked up at their master, as if waiting for his instructions.

      The man’s face was shrouded by the bent brim of his hat. But when he tilted his head upward towards the moon Serafina sucked in a breath. The man’s silvery eyes, peering out from his weathered, craggy face, glinted with power. His mouth opened slowly as if he were trying to suck in the moonlight. Just when she thought he was going to utter words, he let out the most terrifying hissing scream she had ever heard. It was a long, raspy screech. And right at that moment a ghostly white barn owl appeared, flying overhead out of the trees, the beat of its wings utterly silent. It answered the man’s call with a bloodcurdling shriek. The sound sent a terrible burst of shivers down Serafina’s spine. And as the owl flew by, its eerie, flat-faced head pivoted towards her, as if searching, hunting. She ducked to the ground like a frightened mouse.

      When the owl had disappeared into the midnight gloom, Serafina peeked back towards the road. Her heart stopped cold. The bearded man and his five hounds were now looking out into the forest in her direction, the man’s eyes still gleaming with an unnatural light despite the fact that he had turned away from the moon. She tried to convince herself that it was impossible for the man and his dogs to see her concealed in the leaves, but she couldn’t shake the horrible fear that they knew exactly where she was. The ground beneath her seemed to become slippery with some unknown dampness. The ivy on the forest floor seemed to be moving. She heard a tick-tick-ticking sound, followed by a long, raspy hiss. Suddenly, she felt the touch of the man’s breath on the back of her neck, and she spun round, cringing violently, but there was nothing there but blackness.

      The man reached into his pocket with one of his knobbly, leathery-skinned hands and took out what appeared to be a scrap of