Lilly set the tip of the chalk against the ground and began to draw a circle around herself. Her hand shook so much that the line was unveven. Professor Fitch would have been quite displeased to see such a sloppy Line of Warding.
Lilly snapped her head up, looking down the hallway at the door leading to the street. A shadow moved beyond the door’s clouded window plate.
The door rattled.
“Oh, Master,” she found herself whispering. “Please . . . please . . . ”
The door burst open. A figure stood framed in moonlight, a bowler on his head, a short cape covering his shoulders and coming down to his waist.
The things flooded into the room around him. Angry, squirming over floor, walls, ceiling. Their bone-white bodies almost seeming to glow in the moonlight.
Each was as flat as a piece of paper.
Each was made of chalk.
And each was terrible.