The dragons left the children in the garden of Honeystone Hall, before buzzing off into the night. Blossom flew away with them, to spend some time with her relatives, after her encounter with the Mirk. She’d seen some things that would scare even a dragon!

Mum saw them walking up the drive.

‘There you are!’ she said, opening the front door. She seemed a little flustered. ‘I’ve been looking for you for ages.’

‘We’ve been for a … walk,’ said Archie innocently. ‘There wasn’t much else to do, seeing as the festival was cancelled.’

‘That’s just where you’re wrong!’ said Mum with a smile. ‘Unquiet Night is back on. I’ve just been called by the organising committee! I don’t quite understand what’s happened, but that dreadful Mr Preen vanished with the fog, then there were fireworks overhead, and suddenly everyone is in the mood for a festival again. What’s up with these people? There must something in the water.’

The children looked at each other as sounds of music floated up from the town. They left Sherbet safely with Tablet then, with Mum following behind, hurried down the street to Dundoodle’s market square. It was already filled with people, stalls and tables, all lit up by lanterns hung from the surrounding buildings. People were bringing out heaps of food: Witchberry buns, toffee apples and Wyrdie-pudding, Spooky Pie, Corpse Rolls and Coffin Cakes.

‘I think I’ll give those a miss,’ said Billy, eyeing the Coffin Cakes. ‘It’s a shame there are no Gingerbread Dragons. Preen got rid of them all.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ smiled Archie. ‘They’re not needed. And I’m sure they’ll be back next year.’

They had a go at ‘Bite the head off a Water Sprite’, which Fliss won, and ‘Guess how many skulls in the pile o’ skulls’, which Fliss also won, and a three-legged race called ‘The march of the Triskelion’, which Fliss also won (with Mum), much to Billy’s annoyance.

‘I should be studying paranormal activity, anyway,’ he said huffily. ‘Not playing silly games.’

Then there was the puppet show. To Fliss’s delight, the real Miss Clabbity appeared in a little theatre tent with her puppets, none the worse for her time spent as one of her own creations. The Mirk’s spell had broken, leaving her with no memory of what had happened. She was puzzled as to why there was a burned coffin in her shop, but Dundoodle was an odd town. The lady and the dragon appeared on the stage of her theatre, to cheers from the crowd, but no Mirkthorn appeared that night, or ever again.

There was a costume parade, with children in their best (and worst) home-made outfits, ready to go on the Wyrdie Walk and bag as many sweets as possible, without Mr Preen to interfere.

Then there were proper fireworks. They were no match for the honey dragons, but they still lit up the sky with a rain of stars and sparkling fountains of bright colour. The crowds clapped and squealed and laughed, and – clinking glasses of Spellcaster Sugarbeer together – agreed they were much better than last year’s.

Finally, someone brought out some bagpipes, and violins and drums and tin whistles appeared too, and the music began. Everyone joined hands, forming a chain of people that danced through the streets, weaving in and out of the alleyways and the lanes. Archie was surrounded on all sides by happy, dancing people and could feel the magic of Unquiet Night in the song and the movement and the joy. It tumbled into the air, away over the loch, and if he had been able to, he would have seen another dance taking place beneath the Wyrdie Tree, a circle of strange folk dancing together, to the same tune as the people of Dundoodle, lit by the fire of a flight of dragons.

Archie was stood in the portrait room of Honeystone Hall. Was he imagining it, or did the painting of Archibelle McBudge look happier than before? He had picked some heather from the dragons’ moor and placed it on her tomb a few days after Unquiet Night, as a way of saying thank you. It felt like the right thing to do, a proper end to her chapter in the story.

None of the townsfolk of Dundoodle ever knew what had become of Mr Preen. As far as they were concerned he had just disappeared, and with him had disappeared their appetite for all things N.I.C.E. They discovered they were actually quite fond of sweets, after all.

The McBudge factory would be producing Fizzfires for the next Unquiet Night. Mr Fairbairn said they were already proving very popular with test groups, and that Archie’s future as a sweet-maker looked very bright indeed. Almost as bright as Billy’s future as a historian. He was made an honorary member of the Dundoodle Historical Society, in recognition of his discovery of Belle McBudge’s original recipe for Gingerbread Dragons – the youngest ever person to receive the award.

Fliss wasn’t fully her normal self for a while. Her confidence had taken a knock. She did not like being used and was horrified that she could have worked against her friends. She was too stubborn for the mood to last, however, and she was soon back to arguing with Billy, or teasing Archie, and her bond with Blossom was stronger than ever.

‘I thought I might find you here,’ said the ghost, who appeared through the wall of the portrait room, at Archie’s side.

‘Great-Uncle Archibald!’ said Archie. ‘I thought I was never going to see you again.’

‘I wanted to properly congratulate you on your good work, Archie. You’ve already achieved more than most Guardians do in a lifetime. I can see you are going to have an eventful future.’

Archie grinned.

‘I’m ready for it,’ he said. ‘There was a while when I thought I wasn’t. But I know now that being the Guardian is what I was meant to do. And I’m happy to do it, as well. I belong here.’

The ghost smiled.

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘It was you who helped us find the map to the Wyrdie Tree, wasn’t it?’ said Archie. ‘The atlas flying off the shelf and that sudden breeze were your doing.’

‘Aye, it was me,’ Great-Uncle Archibald admitted. ‘I thought you could do with a hand. Since Belle’s time, all the McBudges have used her map to get to the Wyrdie Tree. I was shown it by my father, so I thought it was fair enough to provide a bit of spiritual guidance. I don’t think you need my help any more.’

‘I hope I do,’ said Archie. ‘I think I would miss you, if you were gone for good.’

‘I meant to ask you,’ said the ghost, its misty eyes getting mistier for a moment. ‘What did you do with the Treeheart after the Wyrdie Tree had renewed? It has to be kept safe for the future. Where did you hide it?’

The boy gave the ghost a sly smile. Sunlight shone through the elderly phantom, beckoning Archie outside.

‘It’s quite safe,’ he said, whistling for Sherbet and running for the door. ‘Where? You’ll only have to wait five hundred years to find out …’