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SIMON

T he next day, Simon looked out on a full room of listeners as he read from his latest book about ghosts at the Grand Strand Sculpture Garden.

“I’ll be happy to take questions,” Simon said when he finished and looked up at his audience with a smile.

Hands shot up in the air. Simon chose an older woman who was three rows back. “What happens if someone asks for a séance but the ghost won’t show up? Why wouldn’t the spirit come?”

“Good question,” Simon replied. “Sometimes ghosts have faded beyond hearing our request for their presence. Where they go or whether they just become part of the universe is beyond my paygrade. But I also believe that they can simply move out of range. If they retain their personality and consciousness, they have good days and bad days, just like the living. It may be a day when they don’t feel like talking. I’d advise respecting that and trying again at another time.”

That seemed to satisfy the woman who nodded and smiled her thanks.

The next question came from a college-aged man. “Why do ghosts hang around? If I could go anywhere for free, I wouldn’t camp out in some dingy old attic or basement.”

That drew laughs, and Simon couldn’t help chuckling as well. “I totally agree. Unfortunately, for reasons we don’t completely understand, some ghosts are range-limited to whatever is anchoring them to the world of the living. That could be a house or a cemetery, an object, or the place where they died—somewhere or some item that is deeply significant to them.”

“What if you haunted something portable and made a deal with someone to take you places after you died?” the young man persisted.

Simon admired his ingenuity. “There are a lot of legends about whether ghosts can cross running water, like rivers, or bodies of water, like lakes and oceans. Many of the legends contradict each other, so it may depend on other factors, like the strength of the ghost or how close it is to an object of attachment.

“If a particular spirit can’t cross bodies of water, then international post-mortem travel would be out,” Simon continued, and the audience laughed. “Their range could be limited by not being able to cross rivers since large ones, like the Mississippi, can be difficult to avoid. But there are plenty of stories about ghost ships and haunted ships, so the lore isn’t really clear.

“Airplanes, however, can be haunted according to the stories,” Simon went on. “In those cases, it was because the plane re-used parts from a wreck, so it’s not talking about a carry-on ghost brought by a passenger. I love the question. Thank you!”

He took three more questions before time ran out, but none were as inventive. When his host wrapped up the Q&A session, Simon moved to a table with stacks of his books where he could sell and sign copies—and answer more questions.

One older woman hung back, waiting to be at the end of the signing line. She paid for a book and gave Simon her name. “I want to book a séance with you,” Shirley Brighton blurted as if she was nervous about asking. “I need to talk with my uncle. He was the last keeper of the Georgetown Light.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “I don’t think they are keeping the protections up like he used to.”

That got Simon’s attention. “Protections?” There was no one in line behind her, and his host was busy directing the helpers who were putting the room back in order. “I’m not sure I understand. Isn’t that lighthouse protected by the Coast Guard?”

She gave him a mysterious smile. “There’s protection and protection. The Coast Guard never did know the full story of the coastal lights, and now that the keepers are gone, there’s no one to work the spells.”

That made Simon look up. “Spells?”

“It’s quite a story—and I heard it from my uncle himself. I have to go meet my ride, but I’ll tell you everything at our appointment,” she promised.

“I want to hear all about it.” Simon handed her his card. “Just call and tell Pete to book you.”

She headed toward the front doors as Sally Anne Roberts, the community events manager of the garden, walked over to Simon’s table.

“You had a great crowd.” Full of excitement, as usual, Sally Anne’s enthusiasm for the garden and her job always brightened Simon’s day. He was a regular during the fall, especially in the run-up to Halloween, when his books about ghosts were especially popular.

“Thank you for having me and promoting the event.”

Sally Anne grinned. “We’re a good team. Did you sell some books?”

“More than usual. Maybe with fall coming, people are stocking up.” Simon started to put his remaining copies into a plastic box. “By the way, do you know the woman who just left?”

“Mrs. Brighton? She’s a regular, especially around the holidays. Why?”

“She wants me to do a séance for her uncle, the lighthouse keeper. I wondered if you knew the history involved.” Simon kept the comments about spells to himself, but he intended talk to some of his sources.

“Her uncle was the last lighthouse keeper for the Georgetown Light before it was automated back in the 1980s,” Sally Anne replied. “Before that, all the lighthouses had live-in keepers.”

Simon made a mental note to research the lighthouses of the Carolina coast. Something in Mrs. Brighton’s comment pinged a half-remembered detail about protective magic.

“Are you ready for Halloween?” Simon asked as he and Sally Anne walked out to the main lobby.

“As ready as I ever am! It’s great that we have so many community programs—readings, craft days, children’s costume events, and a fall festival—but it’s an all-hands-on-deck sort of thing, and when it’s done, we swing right into the holidays. The good thing is that people come to the garden and see what we have to offer.”

Simon thanked her again for setting up the reading and promised to come back again during the Christmas season. Once he got into the car, he couldn’t stop thinking about Mrs. Brighton’s words.

“Hey, Pete,” he said when he called the store. “Has anyone called to request a séance?”

“Just got a call. You must be psychic or something,” Pete joked.

“Or something. Mrs. Brighton?”

“Right again. What’s up?”

“She was just at my signing, and she said she wanted a séance. Did she tell you anything about who we’re going to try to talk with?”

“Just that her uncle was a lighthouse keeper, and she wanted to reach him. Why? Something going on?”

“I’m not sure,” Simon admitted. “When is she coming in?”

“This afternoon at two. Anything you need me to do to get ready?” Pete asked.

“No, thanks. I’m going to see what I can find out before then. I think this might be bigger than just missing a departed relative.”

“Gotcha. It’s been quiet here, so if there are things you need to do, I’ll hold down the fort,” Pete told him.

“Thanks—I think I’m going to take you up on that. See you in the morning.” Simon ended the call and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove, trying to decide what to do next.

He called Father Anne Burgett and smiled when she picked up on the second ring. “Simon! Great to hear from you. Please tell me this is social and that the world isn’t in impending peril.”

He laughed. “Well, I’m always glad to talk with you, but I can’t promise about the peril. I need to pick your brain or get your St. Expeditus folks to do some research.”

“Spill. We’re always up for a good challenge.” Father Anne was an Episcopalian priest and a member of the St. Expeditus Society, an order of clerics who researched and fought supernatural threats. Even though she was based in Charleston, she had helped on other cases.

Simon told her about the motorcycle club deaths first, including the disappearance of the most recent victim.

“You sure know how to have fun,” Father Anne replied. “That’s…wow. Definitely not something I’ve heard before, but there’s a thread to it that does seem familiar. I can have someone do some digging in the archives. What next?”

“Is there such a thing as lighthouse magic? Especially on the Carolina coast?” Simon filled her in on Mrs. Brighton’s mysterious comments and the upcoming séance.

“Interesting question. I’m not sure, but it wouldn’t surprise me. The lighthouse keepers fit the traditional role of guardian, which pops up in folklore as a very important, almost sacred, trust. In the olden days, the keeper position was hereditary, and there were families who approached it like a priesthood.”

“I can see that. After all, they were saving lives,” Simon responded.

“Saving lives, sending light into the darkness, protecting the coast from threats—human and not. And before modern weather equipment, the first to warn about incoming storms,” Father Anne pointed out. “Lighthouse keepers also lived a somewhat monastic life. Some had families, but many were single people who didn’t mind being isolated. They had to be sturdy to maintain the lighthouse and its grounds and fearless because they weathered fierce storms. I’ve never researched it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if some, if not all, of them had protective magic.”

“That’s what I’d like to know. If so, did they work alone, or did they cooperate to provide stronger protection?” Simon hesitated. “And were they just concerned with keeping people safe from bad weather or other kinds of threats?”

“Ooh, I like where this is going.” Excitement was clear in Father Anne’s voice. “I can’t wait to see what we find out. Do you think the lighthouse issue ties together with the motorcycle deaths?”

Her question caught Simon by surprise until he remembered that he had mentioned the biker situation in an email looking for insights. “I hadn’t until you brought it up. I guess it depends on what kind of creature is behind the curse on the club and whether the keepers protected against that sort of thing.”

“I’ll get the researchers working right away,” Father Anne promised. “I’ll let you know when I’ve got something.”

Simon thanked her and promised to get together the next time he was in Charleston. Their conversation raised more questions in his mind than he expected and opened up possibilities he hadn’t considered.

His next call went to Miss Eppie, a powerful root worker who had helped him on many occasions and knew the area’s lore.

“Sebastian, it’s been a while. What have you gotten up to now?” Miss Eppie was about the same age as Simon’s mother and one of the few people who used his real first name.

“It’s…complicated. We should probably get Gabriella in on this too. How soon can we get together at the Botanica?”

Miss Eppie laughed. “I just happen to be there right now with Gabriella having a cup of tea. You come this way, and we’ll fix one for you.”

“Thank you.” Simon felt better just knowing his friends had his back. “I’ll be there shortly.”

Botanica Hernandez, Gabriella’s shop, took up an unpretentious older building on one of Myrtle Beach’s side streets. A bell rang as Simon opened the door, and he felt a frisson of magic when he stepped inside.

The air smelled of candles, plants, fragrant woods, and herbal products. Bunches of dried herbs hung from hooks on the walls. In the back of the shop, a beaded curtain separated the break room.

“Simon! So good to see you. Please, come in. We have coffee as well as tea.” Gabriella stretched out the last word like it was a bribe. She knew Simon liked that hers was often extra strong, brewed the Latin American way.

“Great to see you! Sorry I haven’t been by since the honeymoon. You know what the last weeks of the season are like,” Simon said. “And I will never turn down your tea.”

“Hello, Sebastian!” Miss Eppie called from behind the curtain.

Gabriella turned to her assistant, whom Simon guessed was a grandchild or niece. “Call if you need me,” she told the young woman. “But if anyone asks, I’m in a meeting.”

Both women hugged Simon, and Gabriella fixed his tea, something she insisted on because, according to her, no one else could make it just right. Gabriella brought out a plate of cookies and set it in the middle of the table. Simon accepted the cup gratefully and closed his eyes with the first few sips, enjoying the smell and taste.

They waited patiently until he sighed and opened his eyes. “We’ve got a situation. There’s a powerful entity that might be immortal doing death curses, and I suspect that there’s magic involved with the lighthouses along the coast.”

Neither Gabriella nor Eppie looked surprised. “Tell us what you know,” Gabriella urged.

Simon laid out what he had told Vic about the motorcycle club deaths and recounted the latest disappearance. He caught them up on what he had learned from Father Anne and the comment from the woman at his book signing.

“I don’t know what we’re dealing with,” he concluded. “And I’m worried because people are dying.”

“You did right reaching out to Father Anne,” Miss Eppie said. Even though the priest was based in Charleston, she had worked with them on other cases. “Her people at the Society have good resources.”

The St. Expeditus Society had its own compound with a church, dormitories for the monks, and a large library of esoteric and occult books. Many of the books were centuries old and exceptionally rare. Some were protected by spells and wardings.

“I thought you might know more, so here I am,” Simon concluded.

“It’s interesting that the person who contacted you today wants to reach someone at the Georgetown Light,” Miss Eppie said. “That lighthouse sits on an island that doesn’t allow visitors. It’s always been a place of power. During the Civil War, quite a few escaped slaves found sanctuary there and wove their own protections.”

“The native peoples also thought that the locations of several key lighthouses were places of natural power.” Gabriella’s power as a bruja and potioner drew on the traditions of the Latin American countries of her family heritage. “They believed there was a sentient primal essence to the land, like a genius loci but more of a creature than a nexus.”

“What kind of creature?” Simon asked. He reached for a cookie and took a sip of tea.

“The stories vary.” Eppie picked up the tale. “The people brought here from Africa were more attuned to the spirits of nature than the Europeans were. Their beliefs recognized those spirits instead of denying or banishing them. They were willing to work with natural energies. So they adjusted their rituals and turned to them for help escaping oppression.”

“It’s said that a seven-pointed star can be traced between the seven most supernaturally-charged lighthouses in North Carolina. In South Carolina, the lighthouses are in more of a straight line, and creating a magical link between them was used to protect the coast from storms, reduce the creature’s power, and bind it as much as possible,” Gabriella resumed the tale.

“And that knowledge was passed down from one lighthouse keeper to the next?” Simon asked, fiddling with the tablecloth as he listened.

“Yes. It was a solemn calling, and the keepers had magical power as well as knowledge about the sea,” Gabriella said.

“So when the lights were automated, the keepers left their posts,” Simon supplied. “Who maintained the wardings?”

Gabriella shrugged. “I’ve heard that the keepers tried to sustain the protections, but there were no new guardians chosen to replace them, and many have died without choosing an heir.”

“It would be nice to know what form this entity takes. I did some research, and there’s a pretty short list of creatures who do deals and have magic that can make people disappear,” Simon said. “I also need to figure out if it has other tricks we haven’t discovered yet.”

“That is an unusual combination,” Eppie agreed. “Which tells me it’s very old magic. I’ll see what the ancestral stories say.”

Gabriella nodded. “I’ll look into it as well and let you know.”

“Thank you. We need to figure out how to defeat or bind the entity and restore the protections around the lighthouses,” Simon added. “We might not be able to eliminate the creature, but it sounds like there were ways to keep it from running amok.”

They talked for a while about the upcoming Halloween events, the change in the weather, and the grandchildren that Eppie and Gabriella adored. Simon told them about his and Vic’s honeymoon in England and was amused at their questions about adjusting to married life.

“You know that being gay-married is just like regular-married only gay, right?” he laughed. “People are people. I lay my bets that there’s more similar than different in the whole adjustment thing.”

Gabriella chuckled. “You’re probably right about that. And neither of you are teenagers. Back in the day, we got married young and had to grow up while we figured out how to be a couple at the same time. With babies. It was quite the juggling act.”

“Lord, I don’t miss those days,” Miss Eppie said. “I was tired all the time.”

The alarm on Simon’s phone went off. “That’s my cue to go meet the lady from the garden event. Thank you for letting me come over and for the tea. Any research or ideas you come up with, please toss them my way.”

Gabriella made a shooing motion with her hand. “Let you come over? You know you’re welcome here any time, and your young man too. The tea’s just part of being sociable.”

“Don’t worry—you’ve got us interested now,” Miss Eppie added with a laugh. “We’ll dig into this like bloodhounds. I’ve already got some people in mind to talk to.”

Simon thanked them again and headed for his car.

He thought about his conversation at the botanica. Simon appreciated the different perspectives that Gabriella and Miss Eppie brought to their discussions that opened investigations up to a much broader range of possibilities.

People tend to think that the US was just a blank slate before the Europeans got here, but of course it wasn’t. There were people with their own cultures and religions who knew the land. Monsters lived here, and there were ancient places of power. We didn’t listen to the people, so we found out the hard way about the monsters and places.

Sometimes, those old creatures break loose and go wandering. Is that what happened with the bikers’ deal? And was it a side effect of the coastal lighthouse magic or a direct result?

Simon couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, even though he didn’t spot any likely culprits. He grabbed a burger at a drive-through and ate it after he parked in his usual spot near his shop. Simon scanned the lot before stepping out of his warded car, being extra careful.

A truck veered toward him, seemingly out of nowhere. Simon had no room to flee. He heard the screech of brakes, the smell of burnt rubber, and the overwhelming pain of impact as bones cracked and flesh tore…

As quickly as the vision hit, it vanished. Simon nearly lost his footing and caught himself against the hood, breathing hard. He couldn’t fight the urge to pat himself down, finding no injuries, no wreck, no truck.

He looked around but didn’t see a likely culprit. Even so, Simon’s sixth sense told him this was a warning and that he had attracted the entity’s attention as a potential foe.

It took a couple of minutes for Simon to catch his breath and for his heart to stop pounding. Simon thought about calling Vic to warn him but realized he didn’t know what to caution him about. Simon had been the target of the vision, and it wasn’t hard to guess that the entity wanted him to stay out of its business. He debated calling Vic and decided to hold off until later since it had been a vision and not a real attack.

He took the long way back to the store and picked up fresh coffee for him and Pete.

“Oh, thank Cthulhu.” Pete cradled the coffee cup in both hands. “I was afraid of nodding off. It’s been extremely quiet today.”

“Never say that,” Simon replied, only partly joking. “The universe will decide to make sure you’re not bored.”

“Everything go okay?” Pete asked as Simon leaned on the counter and flipped through the email on his phone. “Your reading at the garden ended a while ago.”

“I grabbed a quick lunch and visited with Gabriella and Miss Eppie,” Simon confided. “The motorcycle bargain was weird enough, but now I’m wondering where the lighthouse fits in.”

“If it does,” Pete warned. “It seems like a stretch.”

Simon filled him in on his discussion at the botanica. “Actually, a connection isn’t as weird as I thought. Especially if it’s a case of old magic trying to contain an ancient creature.” For now, until he could figure out the entity’s role, Simon held off talking about the vision.

“Okay, rookie question here, but are there two entities?” Pete asked. “The being that does deals and makes people go poof, or the lighthouse magic that draws on some big-deal old energy? Are they both sentient? How old are they?”

Pete took a sip of his coffee. “If they’re magic, what kind of magic? If they were here before the Europeans came, were they also here before people came over the land bridge from Asia? And if so, would we even recognize what kind of magic they use?”

Simon grinned. “Nothing rookie about any of those questions. They’re damn good—and that last one worries me. What if the magic for the guardians and the power they draw from pre-dates any culture we know? We like to think that everything important waited until there were people around to notice, but the world was off doing its thing for a long time before humans showed up.”

“If there are dinosaurs involved, I want in,” Pete said.

“I don’t think we’re dealing with dino magic,” Simon replied, pretty sure Pete was just joking.

“You never know. Maybe they could do spells, and someone goofed, and that’s what set off all the volcanos,” Pete embellished with a grin.

“Let’s hope that there aren’t any volcanos involved—or dinosaurs,” Simon replied with a shiver.

They looked up when the bell over the door rang, and Mrs. Brighton entered. “I know I’m early, but I wasn’t sure about parking.”

“Come right in,” Simon said. “Would you like a bottle of water?”

“That would be lovely. Thank you.”

Simon took his cup to the break room and returned with bottles for all three of them. “This is Pete, who keeps everything running here while I go galivanting around at libraries and gardens,” Simon told her, and she shook Pete’s hand.

“Pete, this is Mrs. Brighton, who called about the séance.”

“Please to meet you, ma’am. I’ll make sure you don’t get disturbed.”

Simon ushered Mrs. Brighton to the back table and waited while she put down her purse and got seated. He guessed she was in her seventies, with silver hair in a flattering cut. A navy blue jogging suit gave her a sporty look.

“Thank you for working me in so quickly. I know it was an imposition to ask.”

“It’s not always possible, but when we can, we try to accommodate.” He looked more closely at Mrs. Brighton than he had been able to in the aftermath of the event at the sculpture garden. Simon wondered if she was sleeping well. She seemed to have a lot on her mind.

“I was very close to my uncle when I was a girl. He never married. Went to the Navy for a while, and when he came back, he took the job with the lighthouse. Most people weren’t allowed to visit the island, but of course we were. He and my father were brothers and had a strong bond even though my father got married and had a family. Uncle Frank said that his nieces and nephews were just like having his own kids.”

“Did you ever see anything supernatural or even just a little weird when you were visiting?” The idea of live-in lighthouse keepers seemed so different from modern times.

Mrs. Brighton got a far-away look in her eyes. “There were things he took for granted that, in hindsight, probably weren’t normal. Even on hot days, parts of the lighthouse were as cold as a refrigerator. Now and then I heard a child laughing when we were alone and there wasn’t any radio or TV.

“One night, there was a bad storm. All of a sudden, Uncle Frank wanted us to have a sing-along. He and my dad looked spooked. I thought I heard screaming, but they told me it was the wind.” She gave a sad smile. “I don’t think that was where the noise was coming from.”

“You believe the lighthouse and island are haunted?”

Mrs. Brighton nodded. “Yes. And both Uncle Frank and my father knew it. My dad let me visit, but he made me wear a crucifix necklace—and we weren’t Catholic. I would find loose salt in my pockets and little bags of iron nails tucked into my suitcase. I don’t think Uncle Frank would have knowingly put me in danger, and my father trusted him to protect me, but I think he took precautions, just the same.”

“Did you ever get the sense that there was anything else…weird…about the lighthouse? Did being at the lighthouse feel different from other places?”

She considered for a moment and then nodded. “One summer I got my parents to visit different lighthouses. They didn’t all feel like the Georgetown Light. The closest thing I can compare it to is what it’s like to walk into an old church, one of the big cathedrals that has been around for a long time. There’s an energy you can’t put into words.”

Simon understood what she meant—the sense of being on consecrated, protected ground. Whether those wardings were religious or magical, people with sensitivity to the supernatural could often pick up a sense of power.

“I can’t promise that I’ll be able to contact your uncle or that if I do, he’ll answer. Sometimes ghosts aren’t social. We’ll call out to him and see what happens.”

“I understand. In all the years since he passed away, I never tried to seek out his ghost,” she said. “I wanted him to be at rest. But I’m getting a strange feeling, like there’s a storm coming, only not regular weather. Something…other. The kind of thing that wouldn’t have happened if Uncle Frank and the other lighthouses were keeping up the protections.”

“How did you find out about the wardings?” Simon couldn’t help being curious since it didn’t seem like something that would have come up casually, especially when she was younger.

“One night there was a storm brewing and a full moon. I came downstairs to get a glass of milk, and I saw Uncle Frank standing outside the lighthouse in the rain. He was talking, but there was no one else around. Then I saw him cut his palm and let the blood drip onto the wet concrete, and he shouted something in a language I didn’t understand.”

“That would have been frightening to a child,” Simon sympathized.

“He came in soaking wet with a towel wrapped around his hand and realized I had seen him. I asked what he was doing—I wasn’t afraid. I loved and trusted him. He said he was praying for safety. And I guess, in a way, he was,” she said. “Only invoking magic, not talking to God.”

“When did you figure that out?” Simon asked.

“Much later. He wanted to stay at the lighthouse until he died, but his health didn’t let him carry out the duties anymore, and the state wanted to automate. He told me he worried about what would happen without keepers—only the way he said that the word definitely had a capital K like it was a guardian, not just a job,” she recalled.

“Did he tell you why he was concerned?”

“He was very sick when we talked about it, and on medication. I’m not sure he would have said what he did if he were his usual self. He kept mentioning the seven-point star lighthouses in North Carolina and the chain in this state, and how without the wardings, the energy wouldn’t contain the danger,” Mrs. Brighton answered.

“Did he ever tell you what that danger was?”

“No. I didn’t press because he was fading, and I wasn’t completely sure how his mind was, especially with the medicine. But I wish I had. I’ve always wondered if he took a shine to me because I had some of his talent. And lately, I feel like there’s another storm on the horizon, not the normal kind. I don’t know what to do.”

Simon gave his best reassuring smile. “Well, let’s see if Uncle Frank will answer and take it from there.”

“Are you ready?” Simon asked. Mrs. Brighton nodded, and Simon tightened his grip slightly.

“Frank Brighton, can you hear us? Your niece wants to speak with you.” Simon spoke quietly but with authority. They waited. This was the difficult part: waiting to see if the spirit would respond. Simon could ask, but it was up to the ghost whether to respond.

“Uncle Frank? It’s me, Millie. Please come. I have an important question about the lighthouse.”

Simon felt a presence stir in the distance, reaching toward them.

“I think he’s listening, but he’s still far away,” Simon told her. “Ask again.”

“Uncle Frank—I need your help. It’s about the protections.”

The ghost drew closer, and its energy shifted, growing stronger as if waking from slumber.

“Ask your question,” Simon urged. “See if he responds.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Uncle Frank. I’ve missed you. I need to ask you what to do because the protections from the lighthouses are fading. People are disappearing. Is there a way to restore the wardings even though no one lives at the lighthouses anymore?”

They waited. Simon strained to listen for any response from the ether.

“Find my journal for my first year in the lighthouse,” Frank’s ghost said, and Simon relayed the message since only he could hear the spirit. “There are notes…invocations…instructions. I was getting older. Didn’t want to forget. Then I worried that there was no one to pass along the knowledge. I left it to you because I hoped you would understand.”

Mrs. Brighton smiled despite tearing up at Simon’s recount of the ghost’s response. “Yes, I have it. I haven’t read it…just never seemed the right time.”

“You will need help. One lighthouse isn’t enough. Best to get a descendant, otherwise need witches.”

“What is the energy the lighthouses keep at bay?”

“We called it the Wellspring because it was old and deep. It was part of the land. That’s why it could keep the creature contained.”

“If we can raise the wardings again, will it be able to keep the creature at bay?” she asked,

“As I understand it, yes,” the ghost replied. Simon could tell the spirit was tiring.

“What is the creature? Where did it come from?”

The ghost paused long enough that Simon wasn’t sure it would answer.

“It calls itself Trogre.”

Simon’s heart sank. “Trogre? I’ve heard that word before.”

“What does it mean?” Mrs. Brighton asked.

Simon met her gaze. “Troll.”