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say.’
    I made a non-committal noise. I remembered Lucy as someone who talked
at
you rather than to you, but perhaps she had been different with Sophie.
    ‘Everyone thought she was weird, but she wasn’t,’ said Sophie. ‘She was a witch, you know.’
    ‘A witch?’ I fought to keep the scepticism from my voice. ‘Really?’
    ‘Didn’t you see her tools?’
    ‘I haven’t really had a chance to look round much yet,’ I said. ‘What did she have? A broomstick?’
    Sophie didn’t approve of my flippancy, that was clear. ‘It wasn’t like that!’ she said, eyeing me with contempt. ‘Wicca is a serious belief,’ she told me
fiercely. ‘Witches revere the Earth. Lucy said we have to stop fighting nature and learn to live in harmony with it. What’s wrong with that?’
    ‘Nothing, I suppose,’ I backtracked, but my heart was sinking. Dealing with Lucy’s estate was going to be complicated enough, without adding witchcraft into the equation.

‘Lucy was teaching me wisecraft,’ Sophie went on. ‘I was going to join her coven as soon as I was old enough, but I don’t know if I will now. I’ve
found a new spiritual path,’ she said.
    ‘Oh?’ I zipped up my hooded cardigan against the chill. It was early April, but it felt more like winter than spring. I would have to buy myself a proper coat.
    ‘I’m a pagan,’ said Sophie proudly, and I suppressed a sigh. No wonder she had got on so well with Lucy. ‘I’m one of the Children of the Waters,’ she
continued, ‘or I will be, when I’m properly initiated. I’m not ready yet.’
    ‘Right,’ I said, running out of non-committal responses.
    It was partly because I was distracted by the strangeness of my surroundings. The tarmac gleamed wetly after the rain, and a breeze was tearing the clouds apart to reveal straggly glimpses of
blue sky. It was going to brighten up. Perhaps that explained the jagged quality to the light, which made the street look so odd.
    I dragged my attention back to Sophie. ‘What do your parents think about that?’
    ‘They don’t understand.’ Sophie scuffed her boots against the wrought-iron gate in a reassuringly adolescent gesture. ‘Mum only thinks about the latest status symbol, and
Dad’s only interested in dead people.’
    ‘
Dead people
?’ Then I remembered that he was a historian.
    ‘And books.’ She made it sound like a perversion, and I had to smother a smile. Drew Dyer seemed an unlikely pervert.
    I was surprised, in fact, by how vividly I could picture Drew and the amusement gleaming in his quiet face. I remembered how inexplicably familiar he had seemed. My palm had tingled where it had
touched his.
    To my dismay I felt my cheeks redden at the memory, and I pushed it hastily aside before Sophie could notice and wonder at my blush.
    I looked up the street instead. It was a narrow road, with cars parked on either side. At the end I could see a row of trees in front of the city walls, and behind them the great bulk of York
Minster. I hadn’t noticed it in the dark the night before, but now my whole body seemed to jolt with recognition, although I knew I’d never seen it before.
    Sophie was watching me curiously. ‘Are you going into town?’
    I pulled myself together. ‘Yes. I’ve got an appointment with Lucy’s solicitor.’ I half-pulled the piece of paper with the address out of my bag and squinted at it.
‘Coney Street.’
    Coney Street.
I’d read the address before, but now the name seemed to pluck at some deep chord of memory.
    Frowning, I stuffed the paper back into my bag. ‘I was planning on walking there. Is it far?’
    ‘Nothing’s far in York. I can show you a shortcut through the car park, if you like,’ she offered.
    Sophie pointed me in the right direction before slouching off to school. I watched her go, troubled in a way that I didn’t understand, before heading for the car park.
    The light was peculiarly intense, and I wished I’d brought my sunglasses after all. I