A few days later, under the cover of night, the trio entered a small, sleepy village nestled in the valley. The moonlight bathed the narrow streets in silver, and shadows danced in the corners of the cobblestone lanes.


    Jack and Jackelin crouched in an alleyway, their young faces alight with both apprehension and mischief. From the shadows behind them, Mr. Blackwood’s voice emerged, low and commanding.


    "Tonight, you will practise subtlety," he instructed. "You will take on the faces of these villagers—someone harmless, someone they will recognise but not suspect. Then, you will create disturbances—small ones. A misplaced pot, an open door, a whisper in the dark. Nothing more."


    Jackelin frowned, glancing back at the dark figure of their adoptive father. "And then what?" she whispered.


    "Then," Mr. Blackwood replied, a faint smile in his voice, "I will arrive to banish the ghosts."


    Jack’s brow furrowed in confusion. "Ghosts?"


    "Your pranks will not be seen as pranks, but hauntings," Mr. Blackwood explained. "Villagers fear what they cannot explain, and I will give them the explanation they crave. It is the perfect ruse: they will see their own faces acting against them, but they will believe it is the work of spirits. Meanwhile, you will learn control."This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Jackelin nodded slowly, her lips pressing together in determination. She glanced at Jack. "I’ll take the butcher’s wife. You take the baker’s son."


    Jack hesitated, then nodded. The two closed their eyes, their breathing steadying as their features began to shift. The process was smoother now, more natural. When they opened their eyes, they were no longer themselves. Jackelin’s face was round and rosy, her hair pinned back in a perfect imitation of the butcher’s wife. Jack stood taller, his shoulders squared, with the freckled, innocent face of the baker’s young son.


    "Good," Mr Blackwood murmured from the shadows. "Now go."


    The children crept into the village, their light footsteps barely audible against the cobblestones. They worked quickly but carefully, moving with the precision their father had drilled into them.


    Jack, wearing the baker’s son’s face, left a trail of flour leading from the bakery door to the well. Jackelin, in her guise as the butcher’s wife, arranged the livestock pens so that the doors appeared to open on their own. Whispers echoed in the still night air, faint and chilling.


    By dawn, the village was in a frenzy. Neighbours whispered of spirits and curses, clutching crosses and calling upon the heavens for protection. That was when Mr. Blackwood appeared, stepping boldly into the centre of the square.


    "You need not fear," he intoned, his voice commanding and authoritative. "I shall rid your village of these restless spirits."


    The villagers watched in awe and terror as he walked from home to home, muttering incantations and brandishing a small vial of water. Behind the scenes, Jack and Jackelin slipped away, their glamours melting to reveal their true selves.


    When they returned to their father later that morning, he greeted them with a faint smile.


    "You see," he said quietly, "with patience and precision, you can use your gift to survive—and thrive."


    Jackelin glanced at Jack, a flicker of pride passing between them. They still had much to learn, but for the first time, they felt a glimmer of confidence in the powers that had once frightened them so deeply.