Robert Beatty - Serafina and the Black Cloak

First published in the USA in 2015 by Disney•Hyperion,

an imprint of Disney Book Group

First published in Great Britain 2016

by Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Copyright © 2015 Robert Beatty

The moral rights of the author and illustrators have been asserted

First e-book edition 2016

ISBN 978 1 4052 8378 6

eISBN 978 1 7803 1750 2

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties.

Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.

To my wife, Jennifer, who helped shape

this story from the beginning,

and to our girls

– Camille, Genevieve, and Elizabeth –

who will always be our first and

most important audience

Cover

Title Page

Copyright First published in the USA in 2015 by Disney•Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group First published in Great Britain 2016 by Egmont UK Limited The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN Copyright © 2015 Robert Beatty The moral rights of the author and illustrators have been asserted First e-book edition 2016 ISBN 978 1 4052 8378 6 eISBN 978 1 7803 1750 2 www.egmont.co.uk A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.

Dedication To my wife, Jennifer, who helped shape this story from the beginning, and to our girls – Camille, Genevieve, and Elizabeth – who will always be our first and most important audience

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Acknowledgements

Biltmore Estate

Asheville, North Carolina

1899

Serafina opened her eyes and scanned the darkened workshop, looking for any rats stupid enough to come into her territory while she slept. She knew they were out there, just beyond her nightly range, crawling in the cracks and shadows of the great house’s sprawling basement, keen to steal whatever they could from the kitchens and storerooms. She had spent most of the day napping in her favourite out-of-the-way places, but it was here, curled up on the old mattress behind the rusty boiler in the protection of the workshop, that she felt most at home. Hammers, wrenches and gears hung down from the rough-hewn beams, and the familiar smell of machinery oil filled the air. Her first thought as she looked around her and listened out into the reaching darkness was that it felt like a good night for hunting.

Her pa, who had worked on the construction of Biltmore Estate years before and had lived in the basement without permission ever since, lay sleeping on the cot he’d secretly built behind the supply racks. Embers glowed in the old metal barrel over which he had cooked their dinner of chicken and grits a few hours before. They had huddled around the cook fire for warmth as they ate. As usual, she had eaten the chicken but left the grits.

‘Eat your supper,’ her pa had grumbled.

‘Did,’ she had answered, setting down her half-empty tin plate.

‘Your whole supper,’ he said, pushing the plate towards her, ‘or you’re never gonna get any bigger than a little shoat.’

Her pa likened her to a skinny baby pig when he wanted to get a rise out of her, figuring she’d get so furious with him that she’d wolf those nasty grits down her throat despite herself.

‘I’m not gonna eat the grits, Pa,’ she said, smiling a little, ‘no matter how many times you put ’em in front of me.’

‘They ain’t nothin’ but ground-up corn, girl,’ he said, poking at the fire with a stick to arrange the other sticks the way he wanted them. ‘Everybody and his uncle likes corn ’cept you.’

‘You know I can’t stomach anything green or yellow or disgusting like that, Pa, so quit hollering at me.’

‘If I was a-hollerin’, you’d know it,’ he said, shoving his poker stick into the fire.

By and by, they soon forgot about the grits and went on to talk about something else.

It made Serafina smile to think about her dinner with her father. She couldn’t imagine much else in the world – except maybe sleeping in the warmth of one of the basement’s small sunlit windows – that was finer than a bit of banter with her pa.

Careful not to wake him, she slunk off her mattress, padded across the workshop’s gritty stone floor and snuck out into the winding passageway. While still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and stretching out her arms and legs, she couldn’t help but feel a trace of excitement. The tantalising sensation of starting a brand-new night tingled through her body. She felt her muscles and her senses coming alive, as if she were an owl stirring its wings and flexing its talons before it flies off for its ghostly hunt.

She moved quietly through the darkness, past the laundry rooms, pantries and kitchens. The basement had been bustling with servants all day, but the rooms were empty now, and dark, just the way she liked them. She knew that the Vanderbilts and their many guests were sleeping on the second and third floors above her, but here it was quiet. She loved to prowl through the endless corridors and shadowed storage rooms. She knew the touch and feel, the glint and gloom, of every nook and cranny. This was her domain at night, and hers alone.

She heard a faint slithering just ahead. The night was beginning quickly.

She stopped. She listened.

Two doors down, the scrabbling of tiny feet on bare floor.

She crept forward along the wall.

When the sound stopped, she stopped as well. When the sound resumed, she crept forward once more. It was a technique she’d taught herself by the age of seven: move when they’re moving; stay still when they’re still.