Jim climbed into the basket of the gas balloon, perched his pilot goggles in his hair, and met with a slap round the face.

"Ow. What was that for?"

His passenger, Nancy, folded her arms. "How dare you, Jim Penderry?"

He rubbed his stinging cheek, brows raised.

So overdramatic.

Nancy was an actress and dancer by trade, so he supposed she couldn't help it.

"You swore this wouldn't happen again. This was supposed to be a romantic balloon ride. It's bad enough you brought him along." Her plump red lips formed a pout, and she gestured at the scruffy servant with an eye-patch who worked the gas.

"Who, Blinks? He's my friend's valet. We're fortunate to have him for the evening."

"I'll let you off for that. But not for leaving me up 'ere while you run around the park, shooting deer or whatever that was."

"A werewolf."

She trilled with laughter, flicking her wrist. "A likely story. Do I look like some silly tart to you?"

"Well, of course not."

"Save your lies."

While she continued to tell him off, Jim motioned at Blinks to pass him the spyglass from his satchel. He raised the lens to his eye and tried to locate the creature. Blood marked the snow, but the trail ended at the lake's edge.

"Take us lower, Blinks," he instructed.

Blinks obliged and released some gas from the balloon.

"Why can't you just behave like a normal young man?" asked Nancy.

"I'm afraid there's nothing normal about my line of work, Nancy."

"Well, I've had enough."

"Confound it. The blasted thing has escaped." He suspected it had gone to ground somewhere to lick its wounds. With an apologetic smile, he turned to Nancy. "I'm sorry. How can I make it up to you?"

The smile worked, and Nancy's anger weakened. She uncrossed her arms and twisted a black curl around her finger. "All right. I'll give you one more chance."

At that moment, a sweeping gust of wind rattled the gas balloon. Jim gripped the safety rail and peered over the side of the basket to discover a clutch of oak trees in their path.

"More height, Blinks."

Blinks worked the gas supply with worry in his eye. "Er, we might have a problem, sir."

"What is it?"

"I think we've run out of hydrogen."

The words barely left his mouth before a splitting crack arose beneath their feet. The basket struck the treetop and Nancy screamed.

"Tare an' hounds!" Blinks took hold of a rope for support.

They smashed deeper into the trees, and a ripping noise came from above, followed by the whistle of escaping gas.

Jim ducked an incoming branch. "Hold on, everyone!"

Their alarming descent ended with a bump when the basket became lodged within the crown of an oak. Varnished silk deflated upon them, and the trio fended off the torn balloon. Jim tossed the material away and Blinks surfaced, his good eye wide and his breathing rapid. The crash had shaken them both, but at least the basket now appeared to be stable.

A relieved grin stretched Jim's lips, and he laughed. "By golly, that was a close one."

Blinks located his misplaced hat and chuckled. "Aye, sir, for a moment there I feared the worst."

"No need to fear, Blinks, for we are safe and sound at the top of this tree." He gave the branch beside him a hearty pat.

Nancy lashed at the balloon silk and burst free, her hair falling from its pins. "This is the limit!" She threw the rope ladder over the side and straddled the edge, flashing a white stocking.

"Steady on, Nancy."

She started down the rungs, and he followed.

"Where are you going?"

"Away from you," she replied.

"But what about everything we've shared?"

"I can't recall one pleasant thing we've shared."

"That bag of pickled winkles I bought by The River."

"Pah! I hate winkles."

"That's not what you said at the time."

Nancy hopped down to the snow and strode toward the South gate. "Goodbye, Mr Penderry."

"Nancy," he called, reaching the ground.

But it was hopeless. She turned onto Kensington Street and marched out of sight.

"Looks like she's made up her mind, sir," said Blinks, jumping off the rope ladder to join him. "Sorry your outing ended in disaster."

Disaster was usually the result when he set out to woo a young lady. Often his job was the culprit, like this evening. The rest of the time he could only blame his own stupidity. He'd become accustomed to face slaps, colourful names, and withering glares. But he liked to look on the positive side.

"On the contrary, Blinks. I almost caught a werewolf, didn't I? Not to mention I saved some lives. Ultimately, not a bad night's work."

"Mr Westman always says keep your business and private affairs separate."

Blinks' master, Freddie Westman, was Jim's best friend. And he could always be counted upon – to be a spoilsport, that is. Running footfalls approached and a stout man emerged from the trees.

Mr Danes, the proprietor of Hyde Park Balloon Hire, hunched over to catch his breath, then cried, "Oi! What happened to my balloon?"

***

"So," said the constable. "You and your friends were attacked by a large wolf-like creature?"

Bunny warmed herself by the fireplace and stroked Pikoo. "That's right, sir."

The log fire crackled in the park ranger's cottage while the injured driver rested in an arm chair. He sipped a hot drink and the ranger, a solid-looking young man, applied a dressing to his leg. Anju sat cross-legged by the hearth, holding a cup, her shawl missing. Exhaustion had left shadows under her eyes. After what they'd witnessed, even the freshly boiled coffee couldn't cheer their spirits.

The constable from the police lodge lowered his notepad and pencil. "That can't be right, miss. There are no wolves in London, or England for that matter. They were wiped out a hundred years ago. No, what you saw was most likely a dog, and rabid by the sound of it. Your cab driver was lucky it didn't bite him."

"It wasn't a dog, sir," she insisted.

"Well, perhaps an animal escaped from the zoo."

The driver who'd been silent until this point, peered at them all with a troubled gaze. "I'm tellin' you, Constable, that thing didn't come from London Zoo. Lord knows what it was, but it weren't natural. Its speed and strength, and teeth as sharp as needles, it was like a wolfman from hell."

The ranger stopped bandaging and looked up at him with interest.

"Had a few drops of the gin tonight, have we, sir?" asked the constable. "There's a law against driving a carriage under the influence."

The driver turned his eyes up in frustration. "No, I ain't. The young ladies 'ere can vouch for my story. And you could've asked that gunman, too, if he was 'ere. He called it a werewolf. It came out of the trees like a streak of lightnin' and rammed the cab. Its claws tore straight through my leg like a hot knife through butter. I swear, it was a monster. And I'll never forget those yellow eyes, shinin' in the dark, starin' straight at me."

Silence settled over the room, making Bunny uneasy.

The spell broke when the constable chuckled. "Horror stories. You should write for a penny dreadful. Well, I think I have all I need. Names and addresses, details of the incident. I'll have a warning put out. There might be time to get it in tomorrow's newspaper. And I'll see if I can track down that Mr Carte. Resident of Knightsbridge, you say?"

Bunny nodded, bristling at the mention of the man who'd abandoned them to die.

The ranger stood and shook the constable's hand. "Good night, Constable. You'll see they get home safely?"

"Of course. Good night, Mr McKusky. Come along, young ladies."

Bunny exchanged a glance with Anju, and they followed him. They were halfway to the door when the park ranger, McKusky, touched Bunny's arm. Between his thick blonde sideburns, he wore a serious expression.

"I believe what you and your friends saw was something very dangerous," he said in a hushed tone. "The police aren't open-minded about these matters. But I've been the ranger here for five years, and before that I looked after this parkland with my father. I've seen things out there that defy rational explanation. It was fortunate Mr Penderry came to your aid. Though God only knows how he came to be in the park, swinging from a gas balloon, but I shouldn't be surprised."

At the mention of their mysterious rescuer's name, she recalled him kneeling in front of her. "You know Mr Penderry?"

"Yes, I know him." He went to a cloak stand near the door and put on an overcoat before taking a rifle from a rack. "It's late. Get yourself home, Miss Spencer. And trust me, it's best to stay in after dark."

A chill climbed across her neck, and she left with Anju to catch up with the constable. The police carriage waited to take them home.

Home.

Uncle Appleby's home. She still considered herself a guest. And what a wonderful impression she'd make on her arrival. No luggage, a police escort, and a far-fetched tale about a wolfman.

Snow swirled in the wake of their carriage, and she watched McKusky's silhouette in the lodge doorway recede. For a bone-chilling moment she mistook the wind for a distant howl. Bunny wrapped Pikoo inside her cloak, then slipped a hand into her pocket. Her fingers brushed the empty revolver, then the smooth surface of a calling card. She took it out and read the crisp, black font again.

James Penderry... investigator of myth, legend and the supernatural.

She'd known brave soldiers who'd served in Her Majesty's army. Some were superstitious and told ghost stories, or carried lucky charms. But she didn't know anyone like James Penderry. Who in the world jumps from the sky, guns primed, saves everyone then politely pops off to catch a werewolf, by gas balloon?

They passed the Hammersmith workhouses and approached the residential streets. Rows of tightly packed brick houses, each like the last, loomed over low-walled gardens. Somewhere in the distance a church bell tolled the hour. Nine o'clock. Many of the residents were still awake in their sitting-rooms. Candles and oil lanterns burned behind thin curtains.

When they reached her uncle's address, the constable slid out first and led the way. Miserable brown grass poked through the patchy snow in Appleby's small front yard. A rusty garden gate screeched on its hinges, inciting a riot of barking at the dark window.

Apparently, Uncle Appleby kept dogs.

The barks drifted to the hallway behind the front door, accompanied by a man's voice. "Who's there? Disturbing the peace at this time of night. Get in there, you blasted animals. Go on."

It couldn't be Uncle Appleby. The kind gentleman she recalled from her past would never speak in that tone of voice.

"It's the police, sir," said the constable.

A door slammed within the house, then the front door opened a crack. Candlelight spilled on a pair of overgrown eyebrows and scowling eyes. "Police? What's happened?"

"Are you Mr Appleby Spencer?"

"Yes."

"There's been an incident, sir. I believe you're expecting your niece?"

The door flew open and Uncle Appleby stared at them, lingering on Bunny's face for a long moment. "You're here."

He was shorter than she remembered. And a great deal less soft-looking. His clothes were crumpled and stained, and lines creased his face. He scratched the grey whiskers on his chin.

She forced a smile. "Hello, Uncle."

He backed up, stumbling over the edge of a carpet runner. "You'd best come in, then. All of you."

Appleby showed the way to the sitting-room. His walking stick tapped across the runner, supporting his limping body.

"What happened to your leg?" asked Bunny.

An unclean smell wafted up her nostrils, and she fought the urge to pinch her nose. Dust and crumbs coated the floor and furniture, along with plenty of pet hair.

"It's nothing." Appleby lowered himself into an old armchair. "Arthritis, that's all."

An elderly dog slept near his feet while a puppy chewed a shoe under a nearby table. Two large, shaggy canines sprawled over the furniture and one glanced up at their arrival. Amidst his collection of smelly animals, Appleby looked like a grizzled monarch in his worn and ripped throne. Was it normal for an Englishman to keep so many dogs in a two bedroom terraced house?

"Well, Constable," he said, "What's happened?"

The policeman dragged his gaze from his surroundings and tucked his helmet under his arm. "It was an animal attack in the park, sir,"

"Animal attack?" Appleby moved forward in his chair, gripping the armrests. "What animal?"

"We suspect it was a rabid dog. We're still investigating the specifics. Thankfully, the young ladies are unharmed. Just a little shaken. But I'm afraid to say they lost their luggage during the incident."

Appleby stared at Bunny without a word, his eyes large and bright in the firelight. After a while, he shifted back and composed himself in the saggy leather seat. "A dog, you say? Well, you had better catch it before it hurts someone."

"We'll do what we can." The constable turned to Bunny and bobbed his head. "If we track down Mr Carte and your luggage, we'll let you know. I'd best get back to the station."

She nodded. "Thank you for everything."

He showed himself out, and silence descended on the sitting-room, save for the crackle of a log.

Appleby fiddled with the stuffing that hung from a chewed seam in his chair and shook his head. "Barely five minutes in the country and already bringing trouble to my door." His voice rose to a squawk. "What are you doing here?"

Bunny blinked. "Uncle? I don't understand. I thought you were happy for me to come and stay."

"Come and stay? What gave you that impression? It's the first I've heard about it."

"Papa said..." She trailed off, unprepared for such a cold reception. "Papa sent you a letter. He said he'd asked you to introduce me into London society."

"I haven't heard from him in months, and he never mentioned any of this."

"Really?"

"Indeed."

She glanced at Anju who appeared equally confused. "Well. Obviously there's been a misunderstanding. Perhaps the letter lost its way."

Appleby grunted and watched the flames in the hearth. "Speculating makes little difference now. You're here and that's that."

"But I don't want to intrude. I'll send Papa a telegram and tell him we can't stay here."

In truth, London was more interesting than she'd expected. But still, she was relieved to find an excuse to go back.

He waved his hand dismissively. "I will contact your father and demand an explanation for this. For the time being, you'd better go and rest."

"Where?"

"Upstairs. There's a spare room on the right."

When they reached the staircase, Anju leaned close and whispered, "You said he was nice."

Bunny frowned, bewildered over her uncle's demeanour. "He's changed."

Upstairs, they entered the unheated spare room and Bunny rubbed her arms. A shaft of moonlight cast a glow over the thick dust on the floorboards and junk piled against one wall.

What a dismal room.

"There's no bed," said Bunny.

Even army camp conditions were better than this. She knew from photographs that Uncle Appleby had once lived in a lovely white townhouse where cherry blossom trees dotted the road. The picture was amongst her lost belongings, but she could imagine the sepia image. Appleby stood outside in the sunshine, young and dashing in a suit with a dandy bow tied at his neck. What in the world happened to him?

She let Pikoo explore the room while she rummaged through the clutter. If the room was invested with bugs or mice, the mongoose would enjoy a good meal. She delved through a collection of tarnished silver cups and rosettes. Beneath the trophies, she found a pair of cushions and a patchwork throw.

"These will do. This reminds me of the time we made a tent from blankets outside the bungalow."

Anju, an orphan who'd lived under the care of her father's cook and his wife, had been a childhood playmate before a chaperone. She stood by the grimy window, clutching her long braid, and peered up and down the dark street. She'd barely said a word since the attack in Hyde Park.

"Anju?"

She turned with a start. "I'm sorry, I can't stop thinking about it."

"Put it out of your mind. It's over now." Bunny cleared a space and propped a cushion against the wall to rest her back. "Besides, you heard my uncle. It looks like we have a new problem to worry about."

"You don't understand." Anju joined her, twisting her hair in her hands. "I'm your travelling companion. I'm older than you and I'm supposed to keep you safe. I should have done more."

"Anju, you were by my side the whole time, what more could you have done? Besides, I can take care of myself, you know that."

The tension ebbed from Anju's face, replaced with affection, or amusement. Perhaps she was recalling all the times she'd helped Bunny out of trouble. Like the time Bunny took the sweets from the kitchen and her ayah chased her with a broom. Anju had shown her the best hiding place. Or the time they went into the forest and found a cobra. Bunny had been ready to knock it away with a stick, but Anju told her snakes were good luck. They'd sunk with care to their knees and bowed, and the snake had slithered away, leaving them alone.

They'd been lucky!

But when it came to bullies, and hyenas, and werewolves, Anju's soft approach wouldn't work. Bunny wouldn't hide or get on her knees.

She hitched up the soggy hem of her dress and unlaced her ankle boots. "I just wish I hadn't wasted our only bullet."

"That wasn't your fault."

"I was careless." She pulled off her boots. Fear had made her careless this evening. But she wouldn't admit something like that. She wasn't weak. "That creature was like something from a bad dream. A monster."

The haunted look returned to Anju's eyes.

Bunny stopped spreading the blanket over their legs and regarded her. "Sorry. Listen, we're safe now."

Anju agreed with a nod, and they settled down for an uncomfortable night's sleep.

Pikoo scratched behind the stacked furniture, probably catching spiders. Outside, something clattered on the pavement and Anju huddled further under the sheet. When Bunny finally fell asleep, she dreamed of a room filled with snarling wolves. And at the heart of the pack, a figure hunched forward in a throne. It pointed a curved claw at Bunny, its yellow-tinged eyes aglow.