Serafina and the Twisted Staff. Robert Beatty

her way up the slope through an area of open grassland dotted with large trees. She slinked from tree to tree, careful to stay hidden.

      When she spotted two men and a dog in the distance walking towards the edge of the forest, she crouched low and took cover. She immediately recognised the lean, dark-haired figure of Mr Vanderbilt, the master of Biltmore Estate, in his calf-high boots, woodsman jacket and fedora hat. Like most gentlemen, he often carried a stylish cane when he was out and about on formal occasions, but today he had equipped himself with his usual chestnut hiking stave with its spiked metal ferrule and leather wrist strap. Cedric, his huge white and brown St Bernard, walked loyally beside him. Over the last few weeks, she’d got to know Mr Vanderbilt better than she had before. There was much about the quiet man that was still a mystery to her, but she’d come to appreciate him, and hoped he felt the same about her. She was relieved to see him safe and out for what looked like an early-morning walk. This was surely a good sign that all was well at Biltmore.

      But then she saw the man walking with him.

      He wore a long tannish-brown coat over his light-grey gentleman’s suit, and carried a walking stick with a brass knob that glinted in the sun as he moved. He had an old face, a balding head and a thick grey beard. Serafina narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She immediately thought of the terrifying man she’d seen in the forest, with his silvery glinting eyes and his craggy face. They were disturbingly similar figures. But, as she watched, she decided that this wasn’t him.

      The man walking with Mr Vanderbilt was older, slower in movement, more bent of frame. She could not see his face well enough to know who he was, but he seemed familiar. And she remembered that the man with the dogs had exited the carriage and sent it on towards Biltmore. Was this the second occupant of the carriage? Maybe it was one of the bearded man’s servants sent ahead to spy. Or was he a demon like the Man in the Black Cloak? She knew that someone had come to Biltmore during the night. She just needed to find out who it was.

      She slipped behind a large black walnut tree and watched the two men. As they walked slowly into the forest, the stranger poked a hole in the ground with the tip of his cane. Then he took something out of his leather shoulder satchel, knelt down and seemed to bury it in the earth. Serafina thought that this was very peculiar behaviour.

      The two men and the dog finally disappeared into the foliage, leaving Serafina with nothing but lingering doubt about who this stranger was and how he was connected to the man she’d seen the night before.

      As she puzzled through what she’d seen, she continued up the slope towards the house. Her heart leapt when she saw Braeden by the stables saddling one of his horses.

      Seeing her friend safe and sound, Serafina smiled and felt her muscles relaxing. She could see now that whoever or whatever had come to Biltmore in the carriage during the night hadn’t hurt her friend. But the first thing she was going to do was tell Braeden what had happened to her in the forest and warn him about what she’d seen.

      Braeden was wearing his usual brown tweed hacking jacket and vest, with a white shirt and beige cravat. He moved around easily in his leather riding boots. His tussle of brown hair was blowing in the breeze a little bit. It did not surprise her to see Gidean, his Dobermann, at his side. Braeden seemed to make a lasting bond with whatever animal he met. He had befriended the unusual, pointed-eared black dog while travelling in Germany with his family a few years ago. After the tragic death of his family in a house fire, the boy and his dog had become inseparable. In some ways, Gidean was the last remaining member of Braeden’s family before he came to Biltmore to live with his uncle, and he had found few other friends.

      Serafina knew that Braeden rode every day. He’d gallop across the fields like the wind, his horse running so fast that it was like they weren’t even in contact with the earth. It was good to see him here.

      She broke from her cover and ran towards him, thinking that she’d pounce on him and knock him to the ground in fun. She was just about to shout, Hey, Braeden! when a second figure stepped out from behind the horse. Serafina dropped quickly into the tall grass.

      When she didn’t hear anyone shout, Hey, there’s a peculiar girl in the grass over there! she crawled over to the base of a nearby tree and peeked out.

      A tall girl about fourteen years old with long, curly red hair stood waiting for Braeden to adjust the stirrup on her horse’s sidesaddle. She wore a fitted emerald-green velvet riding jacket with an upturned collar, triangular lapels and turned-back cuffs. The jacket’s gold buttons glinted in the sunlight whenever she turned her body or lifted her wrist. Her trim green-and-white-striped waistcoat and long skirt matched her jacket in every detail.

      Serafina frowned in irritation. Braeden normally rode alone. His aunt and uncle must have asked him to entertain this young guest. But what should she do now? Should she brush off her ripped, dirtied, bloodstained, fang-shredded dress, and walk over to Braeden and the girl and introduce herself ? She imagined an exaggerated, backwoods version of herself coming out of the brush towards them. ‘Mornin’, y’all. I’m just back from catchin’ some wood rats and nearly gettin’ eaten up by a pack of wolfhounds. How you two doin’ this mornin’?’

      She thought about approaching them, but maybe interrupting Braeden and the girl would be a rude, unwelcome imposition.

      She had no idea.

      Out of instinct more than anything else, she stayed hidden where she was and watched.

      The girl allowed Braeden to help her up into the saddle, then rearranged her legs and the long folds of her riding skirt to drape over the left side of the horse. That was when Serafina noticed that she was wearing beautiful dove-grey suede, laced-up, flower-embroidered ankle boots. They were completely ridiculous for horseback riding, and Serafina couldn’t even imagine running through the forest in such delicate things, but they sure were pretty.

      Along with her fancy attire, the girl carried a finely made riding cane with a silver topper and a leather whip end. Serafina smirked a little. It seemed like all the fancy folk liked to carry some sort of cane or walking stick or other accoutrement whenever they went outside, but she preferred to have her hands free at all times.

      Seeing the whip, Braeden said, ‘You won’t need anything like that.’

      ‘But it goes with my outfit!’ the girl insisted.

      ‘If you say so,’ Braeden said. ‘But please don’t touch the horse with it.’

      ‘Very well,’ the girl agreed. She spoke in a grand and mannerly tone, as if she’d been raised in the way of a proper lady and she wanted people to know it. And Serafina noticed that she had an accent like Mrs King, Biltmore’s head housekeeper, who was from England.

      ‘So, do tell,’ the girl said. ‘How do I stop this beast if it runs away with me?’

      Serafina chuckled at the thought of the horse bolting with the screaming, frilly-dressed girl, jumping a few fences in wild abandon and then landing in a mud pit with a glorious splat.

      ‘You just need to pull back on the reins a little bit,’ Braeden said politely. It was clear that he didn’t know this girl too well, which further reinforced Serafina’s theory that Braeden’s aunt and uncle were putting him up to this.

      Beyond all the girl’s fanciness and airs, there was something that bothered Serafina about her. A highfalutin fashion plate like her would certainly know how to ride a horse, but she seemed to be pretending that she didn’t. Why would she do that? Why would she feign helplessness? Was that what a girl did to attract a boy’s attention?

      Seemingly unmoved by the girl’s ploy, Braeden walked over to his horse without further comment. He slipped effortlessly onto his horse’s bare back. A week ago, he had explained to Serafina that he didn’t use a bridle and reins to control his horse but signalled the speed and direction he wanted to go by adjusting the pressure and angle of his legs.

      ‘Now, we mustn’t go too fast,’ the girl said daintily as the two young riders rode their horses at a walk out onto the grounds of the estate. Serafina could tell she wasn’t scared of the horse but simply