“Maybe you should go home,” I suggest as he returns from his latest vomit trip to the toilet. “You won’t be much use throwing up all the time.”

“Don’t be too sure,” he smiles thinly. “Perhaps I can repel the werewolf with puke.”

“That’s one I never saw in the movies!” I laugh.

Bill-E has to leave in the afternoon, to check in with Ma and Pa Spleen and pretend he’s been to school. “I’ll have a quick meal, do some homework, then tell Gran I’m coming here for the night— I’ll say it’s part of a nature project, that I’m doing an essay on the habits of nocturnal creatures.”

“Not so far from the truth,” I grimace.

In my room. Alone. A knock on the door—Dervish. “Where’s Bill-E?”

“He had to go home.”

“That’s a shame—I was going to cook pancakes. I’ve a sudden craving for them.”

I start to tell Dervish that Bill-E’s returning to stay the night. Before I can, he says, “I have to head out later.”

“Oh?”

“I’m meeting Meera. We’re going to see some old friends. I could be gone all night. You’ll be OK by yourself?”

I nod wordlessly.

“I’ll give you a shout before I go,” he promises.

On the phone to Ma Spleen, asking for Bill-E. “He just got home from school,” she says frostily. “He’s eating.”

“It’s important.”

“Everything seems to be important today,” she grumbles, but calls him to the phone.

“When you return, enter by the back door and try not to let Dervish see you,” I tell him.

“Why?” he asks.

“He just told me he’s going out for the night. He thinks I’m going to be here by myself.”

“So?”

“Let’s quit with the seen it all, done it all act,” I snap. “If Dervish is what we think, there could be trouble tonight—real trouble. If he doesn’t know you’re in the house, he won’t expect to find you if he gets free later. That might work in our favour in case of an attack.”

“There won’t be an attack,” Bill-E insists.

“Maybe—but come in by the back anyway, OK?”

A moment’s pause. Then, in a subdued tone, Bill-E mutters, “OK.”

Bill-E sneaks in without Dervish spotting him. Hides in my room. We keep the door shut and our voices low when we speak—which isn’t often. I keep a firm hold on the axe I’ve been lugging about for the past few nights. Bill-E still doesn’t believe we’re in any danger, but he has a short sword lying on the bed close by, which I fetched for him from downstairs.

He’s in a terrible state, white and shivering. He’s been sick three times in the space of the last couple of hours. I see now that it isn’t nerves—he really is ill.

“You should be home in bed,” I whisper as he wraps blankets around himself and gulps down a glass of warm milk.

“I feel like death,” he groans, eyes watering.

“Do you want to leave?”

He shakes his head firmly. “Not until morning. I’m going to see this through with you, to prove that Dervish isn’t a killer.”

“But what if—”

He stops me with a quick cutting motion. “He’s coming!” he hisses, and tumbles off the bed, dragging his blankets and empty glass with him, lying flat on the floor, holding his breath.

I sit up in bed and open a comic, which I pretend to read.

Moments later, Dervish knocks and enters. “Coming for dinner?”

“No thanks—not very hungry tonight.”

He sniffs the air, nose crinkling. “It smells of sick in here.”

“Yeah.” I laugh sheepishly. “I threw up earlier. Think it was something I ate.”

“You should have told me.” He walks over and lays the back of his hand against my forehead. If he bends forward just a few centimetres more, he’ll spot the prone Bill-E Spleen…

“No fever,” Dervish says, stepping back.

“Of course not. Like I said—something I ate.”

“I hope that’s all it is.” He looks troubled. Checks his watch, then glances out the window. “If you get sick again later, I won’t be here to drive you to the doctor. Maybe I should take you into the Vale for the night.”

“That’s OK,” I say quickly. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

I cross my heart and smile blithely. “Never felt better.”

“Hmm…” He doesn’t look happy, but takes me at my word. “Want me to drop you up anything from the kitchen?”

“No thanks—I’ll wander down later and grab something light.”

“See you tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow,” I smile, and hold the smile in place until he exits.

“Phew!” I gasp when the coast is clear. “You can get up now.”

Bill-E rises from behind the bed like a ghost, grinning sickly. Then his face blanches, he clutches his stomach and rushes for the toilet.

I raise my eyes to the heavens and sigh. Of all the nights he could have picked to be sick, why this one!

Night. The moon rising. A roar from the corridor—“I’m off!”

“Bye!” I shout in reply. A quick shared glance with Bill-E, then we both rush to the room behind this one—with a view of the rear yard—and press up against the circle of stained glass, watching to see what Dervish does.

“Bet he heads straight down the cellar,” Bill-E says confidently.

“I hope so,” I sigh.

Moments later Dervish emerges and walks to the sheet of corrugated iron close to the sheds. He carefully removes it, unlocks the chains and casts them aside. Bill-E’s smiling knowingly—but the smile fades when Dervish drags the sheet of corrugated iron back over the doors, turns and heads off in the direction of the forest.

“What do we do now?” I ask quietly.

“He might just be going to…” Bill-E starts, but hasn’t the heart to finish.

“Two choices,” I growl. “We let him go—or we follow.”

“You want to go into the forest after him?” Bill-E asks uncertainly. “If he transforms out there and the beast spots us…”

“At least we know what to expect, and we’re prepared,” I grunt, hefting my axe. “Nobody else knows what he is. If we let him go and he kills…”

Bill-E rolls his eyes, but says sullenly, “We’ll follow.”

Hurrying from the room. In the hall downstairs, Bill-E stops to grab a sword, longer and sharper than the one I gave him earlier. While he’s at it, he plucks a couple of knives, sticks one in his belt, hands the other to me. “Double security,” he says.

“I like your thinking,” I grin shakily.

Then we’re gone—frightened, courageous, crazy—tracking a werewolf.

AROOOOO!

Slipping away from the house. Creeping around the sheds. Entering the forest. Moving cautiously, Bill-E leading the way. A bright night. Very few clouds to block out the worryingly full moon. But dark under cover of the trees. Countless spots where a creature could lie in ambush.

“Which way did he go?” I whisper as Bill-E pauses and stoops.

“That way,” Bill-E replies a few seconds later, pointing left.

“How do you know?”

“Footprints,” he says, tapping the ground.

“Who made you Hia-bloody-watha?” I scrunch up my eyes but can’t see any prints. “Are you sure?” I ask, wondering if he’s deliberately leading me astray.

“Positive,” Bill-E says, then stands and stares at me, troubled. “If he sticks to this course, he’s heading for the Vale.”

I stare back silently. Then we both turn without a word and resume the chase—faster, with more urgency.

Running. Ducking low-hanging branches. Leaping bushes. Bill-E comes to a sudden halt. I run into him. Stifle a cry.

“I see him,” Bill-E says softly “He’s stopped.”

I peer ahead into the darkness—can’t see anything. “Where?”

“Over there,” Bill-E points, then crouches. I squat beside him. “We’re on the edge of the forest. Carcery Vale’s only a minute’s jog from here.”

“You think he’s going to attack someone in the village?” I ask.

Bill-E tilts his head uncertainly. “I can’t believe it. But I don’t see any other reason why he would come here. Maybe—”