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The witch tutted loudly. ‘They think someone’s in the river,’ she said, clearly understanding why Thane had stopped her.

‘Everyone’s gone down to help get them out.

’ She shook her head. ‘Stupid, if you ask me. Whoever fell in will already be dead.’ She stepped around us and continued on her way without a backward glance.

‘It’s not the first time someone has died in that damned river,’ I heard her mutter. ‘And it won’t be the last.’

The old woman was right: if somebody had fallen into the River Tweed, there was little chance they’d make it out alive. Forget hypothermia or drowning; there were so many river monsters in its fast-flowing depths that anyone who went for a dip would quickly find they’d become supper.

‘We should go down and see if we can help,’ I said to Thane.

‘I doubt there’s anything we can do.’ His expression was grim. ‘Another couple of rubber-neckers won’t be any use.’

I knew what he meant but I stood firm. ‘This is my community, Thane. I have to try. These are my people.’

He pulled a face but he didn’t disagree further. ‘Come on then. We’d better run.’

It didn’t take long to locate the large crowd of people. Some were shouting suggestions but most were watching the proceedings quietly, their faces dark and their shoulders hunched.

Thane sucked in a breath. ‘Look at those witches,’ he said. ‘They’re casting some sort of spell.’

I could feel the thrum of their magic in the air, and I saw their strained faces when I stood on my tiptoes and gazed over the assembled heads. Maybe there was still hope for whoever had fallen into the river.

Trilby was standing on the riverbank, their eponymous hat perched upon their head. If anyone knew exactly what had happened, it would be them. I marched quickly through the crowd with Thane hot on my heels.

‘Good afternoon, Kit,’ they said without turning around. ‘And wolf.’

How did they do that? How did Trilby know who was behind them? ‘Afternoon,’ I said. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Someone is in the water. Those witches are deploying every magic spell in their arsenal to keep the river creatures back until the victim is recovered.’

‘Alive?’ It seemed unlikely.

Trilby shrugged. ‘Stranger things have happened.’

I lifted my head and scrutinised the straining witches. Sweat was pouring down their faces. Two of them were on their knees in the thick mud on the edge of the river bank.

I stared harder. I didn’t recognise any of them but their clothes – particularly their cloaks embroidered with the golden insignia of their coven – looked expensive.

There were three people nearby, none of whom appeared to be witches, who were tying ropes around their waists; they were clearly preparing to plunge into the river in a bid to find the poor bastard who’d gone in.

Even with the witches’ intervention, it was a bold move.

Few people messed with this section of the River Tweed .

‘Who is the victim?’ I asked carefully.

Trilby’s mouth crooked up. ‘You’re becoming more adept at asking the right questions, Kit. It’s Quentin Hightower.’

Thane inhaled sharply and my eyes widened. ‘The heir to the Hightower coven?’

‘The one and the same.’

Damn. I gazed at the swirling depths then back at the desperate, pained faces of the witches; no wonder they were throwing everything they had into the rescue attempt.

There were numerous covens in Coldstream and it was almost impossible to keep track of them all, but some were better known than others.

Everyone knew the Hightowers; they were the richest coven and arguably the most powerful – although the three covens that ran the tram network would disagree. I pursed my lips.

‘Did he fall or was he pushed?’ Thane asked.

‘Another good question,’ Trilby murmured. ‘I am sure that you’ve noticed that there’s been a great deal of rain lately. It’s been terrible for business. And,’ they waved a hand, ‘it’s not done much for the river bank either.’

I leaned forward. Several people were standing around a large muddy section, staring. It was as if something had taken a large bite of the land. Erosion, then; the hapless Mr Hightower had tumbled into the Tweed by accident.

‘They should have got him by now,’ a druid close by whispered.

‘Or at least pulled out his body,’ said another. ‘It’s been several minutes. Not even a witch can hold their breath for that long.’

I stared again at the dark, churning water.

‘They’re using a subduing spell on the river monsters, right?’ Thane asked.

Trilby nodded. ‘They are, but it won’t hold for long. And,’ they added pointedly, ‘with all the recent rain, those river currents are strong.’ They paused then added, ‘Well, Kit?’

I clenched my jaw; I understood what they were alluding to. ‘ You’re still here,’ I pointed out.

‘I have no interest in playing hero. You’re our local waif saviour. Here.’ They reached into their pocket and drew out a small, white-linen bag. ‘This might help you.’

My belly tightened as I took it. The decision had already been made.

‘Good luck,’ Trilby whispered.

Yeah, yeah. My fingers closed around the bag then I turned and started to push my way through the crowd.