The coach that carries Valenta, Master Julian, and Mrs. Hun rumbles along the snow-speckled dirt lane. Valenta's kind smile shines through the carriage's rear window, the hat I bought her knotted with gossamer under her chin. Steam from the horses' nostrils spills into the soft mist that surrounds everything in the distance. The three will be fondly remembered - Mrs. Hun for her warm hospitality and strict tidiness; Valenta for her pleasant company and contagious curiosity for the world's mysteries. Most of all I will miss my Master, Julian Hun, the Gatekeeper.

There was much I learned from the Gatekeeper, skills that will supplement my training. The carriage disappears over the hill, and I return into the clean, bare cottage. Julian never knew of my true purpose in Drakesheath. I have had to be careful for the last few months, even in my very thoughts. In a town such as Drakesheath, where demons lurk, one's own thoughts may betray them to those who have the power to read them. For a brief moment, at the Halloween party, I suspected that Valenta may have such powers; I soon discovered that it was actually me, carelessly broadcasting my thoughts into her head.

A similar instance occurred again, just after Christmas. I was returning home from St Mary's, on the way leaving psychic bread crumbs for a pack of vampires. I received a claw wound to my arm; nothing serious. At a young age I was taught proper spells for warding off creatures of the night and their familiars, and my undead assailants soon retreated.

The small cottage is certainly not No. 9, Quimberlain Street, in London, but it will serve, as long as I am in Drakesheath. Not that I will be sitting idly by with my books. Now begins my true mission. I will stick close to Drakesheath Hall at all times, making sure that Victor finds the key that I've left him. If my plan works, he will realise that the key belongs to his father's chest, the one that contains the tools of the Watcher.

A cold sensation, one of dread, sweeps over me as a new thought enters my mind. With the Baron's butler and housekeeper lately discharged, the chest may no longer be in Drakesheath's possession. If my fears are confirmed, I will need to secure the key once again. There is only one way to know for sure. Donning my hat, coat and walking stick, I emerge from the cottage and follow the lane toward Wyvern Tower.

The Watcher's vigil begins.