Cursed

Unforeseen Circumstances

My precognition warned me just in time and I jerked my head back. Half a second later there was a high harmonic crack as a bullet whipped through the space that had just a moment ago been occupied by my right eye. My would-be assassin was a very good shot.

That last bit of information was enough to make me sure that I did not want to make a run for it. The ground around the tree was rolling grassland for fifty yards in every direction and I had no intention of trying my luck. I hugged the tree and waited.

Ten seconds passed, twenty. How long would the assassin stay with his sights trained on the tree? He couldn’t afford to wait forever; the more time he spent in his position the better the chance of being found. Thirty seconds. Forty. I looked into the future and saw that putting my head out wasn’t going to attract another bullet. Maybe he’d gone? No, there was another attack coming, it was—

My eyes went wide. He’s going to shoot me with a WHAT?

Praise for

FATED

“Fated is an excellent novel, a gorgeously realized world with a uniquely powerful, vulnerable protagonist. Books this good remind me why I got into the storytelling business in the first place.”

—Jim Butcher, #1 New York Times bestselling author

“Benedict Jacka writes a deft thrill ride of an urban fantasy—a stay-up-all-night read. Alex Verus is a very smart man surviving in a very dangerous world.”

—Patricia Briggs, #1 New York Times bestselling author

“Jacka deftly invents the rules of magic as he goes along, creating an emotionally satisfying story arc and a protagonist who will keep readers coming back.”

—Publishers Weekly

Ace Books by Benedict Jacka

FATED

CURSED

cursed

BENEDICT JACKA

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) • Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) • Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

CURSED

An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Ace mass-market edition / June 2012

Copyright © 2012 by Benedict Jacka.

Excerpt from Taken by Benedict Jacka copyright © 2012 by Benedict Jacka.

Cover photographs: Tower Bridge © Paul Knight / Trevillion;

sparkler © Patrycja Mueller / Shutterstock.

Cover design by Judith Lagerman.

Interior text design by Laura K. Corless.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or

electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of

copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

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375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

ISBN: 978-1-101-56891-0

ACE

Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

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If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is

stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the

author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

ALWAYS LEARNING

PEARSON

cursed

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Taken

chapter 1

The old factory was the kind of place you only find in the very worst parts of big cities. Its bricks had once been red, but years of grime and pollution had darkened them to a brownish-grey. The outer wall was topped with ragged coils of razor wire. The wire was rusted and full of holes that hadn’t been repaired in years, as if the owners had decided that they couldn’t keep the burglars out but might at least be able to give them tetanus on the way in.

The rest of the dead-end street was dark, empty-looking buildings and shops hiding behind steel security gratings. The gratings were covered in graffiti and it was hard to tell whether the businesses locked behind them were still open or whether they’d been abandoned too. The only shop that looked in good shape carried the triple-sphere sign of a pawnbroker’s. Behind the shops and factory was the sort of council estate where the muggers use broken bottles because they can’t afford knives.

It was only eleven o’clock and the rest of London was filled with the sounds of the city, but on the street nothing moved. The road was empty except for parked cars. Half of them were missing wheels, windows, or both, and none would have looked out of place in a junkyard—except for the minivan parked at the top of the street. Its polished black paint melted into the shadows, with the orange glow from the streetlights picking out the silver hubcaps and lights along with the Mercedes symbol mounted on the grill. I rolled my eyes when I saw it. My senses told me there was no immediate danger but I stayed in the shadows of the alley and scanned the street for another minute before walking out towards the van.

Most of the streetlights were broken and the ones still working were patchy. I walked the street’s length cloaked in darkness, with only the occasional circle of orange piercing the gloom. Looking over my shoulder I could see the pillars of light of the Canary Wharf skyscrapers, visible over the rooftops. We were close to the river, even if I couldn’t see it, and as I walked I heard the mournful sound of a boat’s horn echoing off the water. Ragged clouds covered most of the sky, their cover blending with the glow of the streetlights to hide the stars.

As I reached the van one of the front windows slid down, and the street was quiet enough that I could hear the purr of the motor. I stopped by the door and looked at the man sitting inside. “Could you possibly have made it any more obvious?”

My name is Alex Verus. I’m a mage, a diviner. In mage terms I’m unaligned, which means I’m not affiliated with the Council (the main Light power block) but don’t count myself as a Dark mage either. Although I’m not part of the Council I do freelance jobs for them, like this one. The man in the passenger seat to whom I was talking was my contact with the Council, a mage named Talisid, and he gave me a patient nod. “Verus.”

“Good to see you.” I looked the van up and down. “Seriously, a Mercedes? Did you get it waxed, too?”

“If you’re concerned about stealth,” Talisid said, “perhaps we shouldn’t be talking in the open?”

Talisid is a man in his forties, shorter than average, with greying hair receding from a balding head. He always seems to be wearing the same understated business suit, but with a sort of steadiness that suggests he might be more than meets the eye. I’d met him in the spring, at a ball in Canary Wharf where he’d offered me a job. Things didn’t exactly go to plan, but Talisid had held up his end of the bargain, and when he’d asked for my help tonight I’d agreed. I stepped back and watched as the passengers piled out of the van. Talisid was first and following him was a tall, thin man with a long face like a greyhound, who gave me a nod. His name was Ilmarin, an air mage. I didn’t recognise the next three but I hadn’t expected to; their guns marked them as Council security.

“Still planning to take the lead?” Talisid asked me quietly as the security team went through their preparations, checking rifles and headsets.

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“It’s also what they’re here for,” Talisid pointed out. “It’s their line of work.”

I almost smiled. When Talisid had called me yesterday and given me the briefing, he’d assumed I’d be staying at the tail end of the formation, maybe all the way back in the van. He was offering me another chance to back out. But there was another message in there too, which wasn’t so funny: the security men were expendable and I wasn’t. “I’m not going to be much use from a hundred yards back,” I said. “I’ll give you all the warning you need, but I need a good view.”

Talisid held up a hand in surrender. “All right. You’ll be on point with Garrick. We’ll move on your signal.”

The man Talisid had nodded towards was the one who’d been in the driver’s seat, now standing a little apart from the others. He was tall, with short sandy hair and an athlete’s build, strong and fast. He was wearing black body armour with a high-tech look, along with dark combat fatigues, black gloves and boots, and a webbing belt that held a handgun, a machine pistol, a knife, and half a dozen metal cylinders that looked suspiciously like grenades. A second pistol rested in an ankle holster, and he carried a weapon in a sling that looked like a cross between a submachine gun and an assault rifle. He watched me with calm blue eyes as I walked up. “Garrick?” I asked.

Garrick nodded and spoke in a deep voice. “What’s the layout?”

“I’ll tell you once we get inside.”

“Going with Talisid?”

“With you.”

Garrick raised an eyebrow and looked me up and down. I was wearing combat trousers, black sneakers, a belt with a few things hooked into it, and a light fleece. If Garrick looked like something out of a military thriller, I looked like an amateur camper. “I’m flattered,” Garrick said, “but you’re not my type.”

“I’m your recon,” I said.

“That’s nice,” Garrick said. “You can do it from the van.”

“I’m not going to be in the van.”

“This is a combat mission,” Garrick said patiently. “We don’t have time to babysit.”

A lot of people think diviners are useless in a fight. All in all it helps me more than it hurts me, but it’s still a bit of a nuisance when you want to be taken seriously. “I’ll be the one doing the babysitting,” I said. “Those guns won’t do much good if this thing takes your head off from behind.”

I expected Garrick to get annoyed but he only gave me a look of mild inquiry. “What are you going to do? Punch it?”

“I’m going to tell you exactly where it is and what it’s doing,” I said. “If you can’t figure out a way to beat this thing with that going for you, then you can back off and let us handle it.”

Garrick studied me a moment longer, then shrugged. “Your funeral.” He turned to the other men. “Let’s move.”

The inside of the factory was pitch-black. The power had been turned off a long time ago and the lights that hadn’t been smashed or lost their bulbs were dark. Corridors were cluttered with old machinery and pieces of junk that had been piled up and left to decay, forcing us to pick a winding path through the obstacles and making it difficult to get a clear line of sight. The air smelt of dust and rusted metal.

The creature we were hunting was called a barghest: a shapeshifter that can take the form of either a human or a great wolflike dog. They’ve got preternatural speed and strength, and they’re difficult to detect with normal or magical senses. Or so the stories say; I’ve never met one. But all the sources agreed that the creatures killed with claws and teeth, making these sort of dark, cramped quarters the absolute worst place to fight one. There were too many possible hiding places, too many ways the creature could lie in wait to attack from behind.

Of course, that was the reason Talisid had brought me along.

To my eyes, the factory existed on two levels. There was the present, a world of darkness and shadow, broken only by the torches in my hand and on Garrick’s rifle, looming obstacles blocking our path and the threat of danger around every corner. But overlaid upon that was a second world, a branching web of lines of glowing white light, the web branching over and over again through four dimensions, multiplying into thousands and millions of thinning wisps, every one a possible future. The futures of the corridor and the objects within it were fixed and solid, while my and Garrick’s futures were a constantly shifting web, flickering and twisting with every moment.

Looking through the futures I saw my possible actions, and their consequences. I saw myself stepping on the loose piece of scrap metal in front of me, saw myself tripping and falling, and corrected my movements to avoid it. As I did, the future in which I fell thinned to nothingness, never to exist, and the futures of me stepping around it brightened in its place. By seeing the future, I decided; as I decided, the future changed, and new futures replaced those never to happen. To anyone watching, it looks like pure fluke; every step in the right place, every hazard avoided without seeming to notice. But the obstacles were just a detail. Most of my attention was on the near and middle future, watching for the flurry of movement and weapons fire that would signal an attack. As long as I was paying attention, nothing in this factory could surprise us; long before anything got into position for an ambush, I could see it and give warning.

This was why Talisid had wanted me along. Just by being here, I could bring the chances of things going seriously wrong down to almost zero. Knowledge can’t win a battle, but it’s one hell of a force multiplier.

Something caught my attention as we passed through a doorway, and I signalled for Garrick to stop. He gave me a look but held up his hand and I heard the main body of the group halt behind us. I crouched and brushed a hand across the dusty floor, feeling the chill of the concrete.

“What is it?” Garrick said at last.

“Someone forced this door,” I said, keeping my voice quiet. “Not long ago either.”

“Could have been the barghest.”

I held up a broken link of chain. The outside was rusted but the edge where it had been broken glinted in Garrick’s torch. “Not unless our barghest uses bolt cutters.”

Garrick raised an eyebrow and we moved on. I didn’t mention the second thing that had been out of place: The rest of the chain had been taken away.

We moved deeper into the factory. Garrick and I were on point with two of the security men ten paces behind. Talisid and Ilmarin walked in the centre of the formation, the last of the Council security bringing up the rear. When I sensed that the barghest was near, I was to withdraw and let the mages and soldiers move up into a combat formation, ready to take it by surprise. At least, that was the plan.

Things weren’t going to plan. By now I should have sensed where and how the fight was going to start. Looking forward into the future, I could see us searching every room of the factory, yet there wasn’t any sign of combat. In fact, I couldn’t see any future in which any of us got into combat. I could feel the men behind us growing tense; they knew something was wrong. The only one who seemed unconcerned was Garrick, radiating relaxed confidence. Had Talisid’s information been wrong? He’d been certain this was the place …

Around the next corner was a bigger room with a high ceiling and again I signalled for the others to stop. I closed my eyes and concentrated. Searching for combat wasn’t working. Instead I started following the paths of our group through the timeline, looking to see what we would find. Something in the next chamber would occupy everyone’s attention, and I looked more closely to see what it was …

And suddenly I knew why there wasn’t going to be any fighting tonight. I straightened with a noise of disgust and called back to Talisid, no longer making any effort to keep my voice down. “It’s a bust.”

There was a pause, then I heard Talisid answer. “What’s wrong?”

“We came here for nothing,” I said. “Somebody beat us to it.” I walked around the corner and out onto the factory floor.

Most of the machinery on the floor looked to have been removed or cannibalised for parts long ago, but a few pieces were still rusting in the gloom, piles of rubbish in between. My torch cast only a weak glow in the darkness, the beam of light disappearing up into the wide-open ceiling, and my footsteps echoed in the silence as I picked my way through broken boards and half-full plastic bags. The smell of dust and old metal was stronger here, this time with something underneath it that made my nose twitch.

The barghest was lying in the centre of the room, and it was dead. With its life gone, it looked like a grey-brown dog, big but not unnaturally so. It was lying on its side, eyes closed, with no blood or visible wounds. There was no smell of decay; it obviously hadn’t been there long.

The others moved up into the room, following me. Garrick came up to my side. Although his weapon was lowered, his eyes kept moving, checking the corners and upper levels of the room. Only once he’d swept the area did he look down at the body. “Doesn’t look like much.”

“Not any more it’s not.”

The next two security men reached us, followed by Talisid and Ilmarin, and we formed a circle around the creature. They made a lot more noise than Garrick, as if they didn’t know where to place their feet. “Well,” Talisid said at last.

“It’s dead?” Ilmarin asked me.

“It’s not getting up any time in the next few years,” I said. “Yeah, it’s dead.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Garrick said, “but I thought the mission was to kill this thing.”

“Looks like someone else had the same idea.”

“Can’t find any wounds,” Ilmarin said. Air mages are great at sensing movement but not so good with objects. “Verus, any idea what killed it?”

I’d been looking through the futures of me searching the body of this thing, watching myself rolling it over and running my hands through its fur. All I’d found was that it was heavy and smelt bad. Actually, I didn’t need my magic to notice that it smelt bad. “No wounds, no blood. Looks like it just dropped dead.”

“Death magic?”

“Maybe. Anything from the living family could do it.”

Talisid had been studying the body; now he looked at me. “Is there any danger in splitting up?”

I looked through the futures for a few seconds, then shook my head. “This place is a graveyard. The only way anyone’s going to get hurt is if they fall off the catwalks.”

Talisid nodded and turned to the others. “Spread out and search in pairs. Look for anything unusual.” Although he didn’t raise his voice, there was a note of command that assumed he would be obeyed. “Check in every ten minutes and we’ll meet back here in an hour.”

Somehow or other I ended up with Garrick. We worked our way through the factory’s ground floor, searching methodically.

The bodies of the barghest’s victims were in a side room off from the factory floor. There were seven, in varying states of decay. I didn’t look too closely.

“Had an appetite,” Garrick remarked once we’d left the room and called it in.

“That’s why we came,” I said. I was trying not to think about the corpses.

“Really?” Garrick looked mildly interested. “My contract was to make sure it was dead.”

“Looks like someone did your job for you.”

Garrick shrugged. “I get paid the same either way.” He gave me a glance. “So how far into the future can you see?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

I returned Garrick’s gaze. “On who’s asking.”

Garrick looked back at me, then gave a very slight smile. It made me think of an amused wolf.

I went back to the factory floor and found Talisid. “The bodies are in the second room off the back corridor. Nothing else worth checking.”

Talisid nodded. “I’ve called in the cleanup crew. You may as well take off.”

I looked at the barghest’s body, still undisturbed amidst the rubble. “Sorry I couldn’t help more.”

Talisid shrugged. “The problem’s been dealt with.”

“Even though we didn’t do anything?”

“Does it matter?” Talisid said. “There’ll be no more killings and we took no losses.” He smiled slightly. “I’d call this good enough.”

I sighed. “I guess you’re right. Did you find anything else?”

Talisid’s smile faded into a frown. “Yes. Scorch marks on the walls and signs of weapons fire. Several places.”

I looked at Talisid. “A battle?”

“It seems that way.”

I nodded at the barghest. “But that thing wasn’t burnt or shot.”

“Not as far as we can tell.”

“So what happened here?”

Talisid surveyed the dark room, sweeping his gaze over the rusting factory floor. With everyone else gone the place looked like it had been abandoned for a hundred years, and once we left there would be no trace of our visit but for footprints. This was no place for living people, not anymore. “We’ll probably never know,” Talisid said at last, and gave me a nod. “Good night, Verus.”

I left the factory, passed Talisid’s new Mercedes, and turned right at the corner of the street. I walked half a block, turned back towards the river again, then slipped down an alleyway next to a dark, squarish building. A fire escape took me up to the roof.

Stepping onto the roof felt like coming out of the woods. The Thames was just a stone’s throw away, the vastness of the river winding past like an enormous serpent, forming a huge meander around the Isle of Dogs. Surrounded by the Thames were the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf, reaching up into the night, shining from a thousand points, the white double strobe of the central tower flashing regularly once a second. The lights of the skyscrapers reflected off the black water, forming a second set of towers that seemed to reach down into the darkness. Off to the west I could see the lights of Whitehall and the West End and the landmarks of central London. I could still hear the sounds of the city, but this close to the Thames it was almost drowned out by the rhythmic shhhh of the water, the waves lapping against the banks as the water continued its steady flow out to sea. The air carried the scent of the river, not pure, but not unpleasant either.

“It’s me,” I said into the darkness.

There was a moment’s pause, and then a girl stepped out from the shadow of the building. She was a touch below medium height, with wavy brown hair held up in two bunches, and had a careful, deliberate way of moving, always looking where she was going. Her age would have been hard to guess—she looked perhaps twenty-one, but there was a distance in her manner that didn’t match her youth. Her name was Luna Mancuso and she was my apprentice.

“It’s cold,” Luna said with a shiver. She was dressed warmly, in a green pullover and faded jeans, but it was September and there was a chill breeze blowing off the water.

“There’s a warmer spot down in the alley.”

Luna followed me quickly, leaving her corner perch. The roof of the building had a clear view down onto the factory, which was why I’d picked it. If anything had gone wrong, I’d told her to get out. “Did you get a count?”

“You went in with six others. That was it.”

“Did you see anyone else?”

“No. Was there?”

“No.”

The alleyway bent through an S shape at the bottom of the fire escape, leaving a corner sheltered from the wind, obscured by machinery and old boxes. It was the kind of place that would make most people afraid of being mugged, but one of the fringe benefits of being a mage is that you don’t have to worry much about that kind of thing. A pair of hot-water pipes ran vertically into the concrete, raising the temperature a few degrees, and I let Luna huddle against them, keeping my distance. There was space for me, but that would mean coming within arm’s reach of Luna. “What was I watching for?” Luna asked.

“No idea,” I said. “You don’t bring backup for the things you know about. You bring backup for the things you don’t know about.”

Luna was silent for a moment, rubbing her hands together next to the heating pipes. “I could have watched a lot better if I’d been closer.”

“Luna …”

“I know I can’t go inside,” Luna said. “Not that close. But can’t I meet them?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“You said the barghest was inside the factory.”

“I meant the mages.”

That made Luna look up in surprise. “I thought you were working with them?”

“Today?” I said. “Yes. Tomorrow?” I shrugged.

“Seriously?”

I sighed. “Luna, if an order went out tomorrow to bring the two of us in, those guys would be first in line to do it. I might not be on the Council’s hit list anymore but that doesn’t mean they like me. I don’t think they’re out to get me. But if it ever became in their interests to get rid of me, I doubt they’d think twice. And every bit of information they have on you makes you an easier target.”

Luna was silent. I hoped she was listening because I wasn’t exaggerating. Tonight I’d worked with Garrick and Ilmarin and the security men, and we’d done a good, professional job. But if one of those same men tried to threaten or kidnap or even kill me, a week or a month or a year from now, it really wouldn’t surprise me much. “What about Talisid?” Luna said at last.

“He doesn’t know everything that you can do, and the more time you spend with him, the harder it’ll be to keep that secret.”

“I don’t care about keeping everything a secret. What’s the point in staying safe if I can’t do anything?”

I could hear the frustration in Luna’s voice and was about to reply but stopped. I could have told her she needed to be patient. I could have told her mage society was a dangerous place, and that sometimes the best thing was to stay away from it. I could have told her that her position as my apprentice wouldn’t do much to protect her if things went wrong.

All of those things would have been true, but they wouldn’t have helped. Luna is an adept, not a mage. An adept is like a mage with a much narrower focus; they can use magic, but only in a very specific way. In Luna’s case it’s chance magic, altering the flow of probability. Chance magic can only affect things that are sufficiently random. It can’t win you a chess match or make money appear out of thin air, because there’s nothing for the magic to work on. But it can send a breeze a different way, make someone slip a fraction, cause something to break at a certain point: countless tiny changes that can make the difference between success and failure, danger and safety, life and death. It’s not flashy, but it can be powerful.

Unfortunately for Luna, her magic isn’t a gift; it was laid upon her as a curse, passed down through the generations all the way from one of her ancestors in Sicily. The curse twists bad luck away from Luna and onto everyone nearby. For Luna, it’s like she has a charmed life. She doesn’t get sick, she doesn’t have accidents, and any bit of random ill fortune will always hit someone else. You’re probably thinking that doesn’t sound like much of a curse, and you’d be right … except that all that bad luck gets intensified and redirected to everyone nearby. To my mage’s sight Luna’s curse looks like a cloud of silvery mist, flowing from Luna’s skin to surround her in a protective cloud. To anyone who comes too close, that mist is poison. Passing within arm’s reach is dangerous, and a touch can be fatal. There’s no way to defend against it, because there’s no way to know what it’ll do—it might be a scraped knee, it might be a heart attack, and you’ll never know until it happens. Luna knows, every minute of every day, that simply by being near anybody she’s making their life worse, and that the best thing she can do for them is to stay as far away as possible.

It adds up to a pretty horrible form of isolation, where every time the bearer lets herself get close to another living thing, something terrible happens. From what I’ve learnt, most victims go insane or kill themselves within a few years. Luna grew up with it. She survived … but not by much. Luna told me once that the reason she started the search that eventually led her to me was because she realised that if she didn’t, there was going to come a day where she simply didn’t care enough to stay alive anymore.

And what all that meant was that warning Luna of the dangers of the mage world wasn’t going to work. Not because she didn’t understand the danger, but because she’d quite coldbloodedly decided a long time ago that any amount of danger was better than the life she’d had. “All right,” I said at last. “Next time, you can come along.”

Luna blinked and looked at me. She didn’t smile but she seemed to lift somehow, as if she’d grown a couple of inches. With my mage’s sight, I felt the mist around her ripple and recede slightly. I turned and started walking back towards the main road, and Luna followed at a safe distance.

Somehow, as of a little while ago, Luna’s started to learn to control her curse. I still don’t know exactly how she managed it, partly because I don’t really understand how her curse works in the first place and partly because it happened in the middle of a rather eventful few days during which I was trying to keep myself from being killed, possessed, or recruited. Since then Luna’s been training to master it, under what guidance I can give her. “Next session is Sunday morning,” I said. “Make sure you’re at Arachne’s for ten.”

Luna nodded. We’d reached the railings where Luna had locked her bike—she can’t take public transport without killing whoever sits next to her, so a bike is about the only way she can get around. Luckily no one had tried to steal it. I watched as Luna unlocked it, but instead of getting on, she hesitated. “Um …”

“What’s up?”

“You’re at the shop tomorrow, right?”

I nodded. “Coming in?”

“Yes. Well … Could I bring someone?”

I blinked at that. “Who?”

“A friend.”

I almost said but you don’t have any friends. Even I’m not usually that clumsy, which should tell you how surprised I was. Luna’s company is lethal to anyone who doesn’t know to stay clear. How did … ?

It must have shown on my face, because Luna ducked her head with an expression that didn’t look happy. “I know,” she said at the pavement. “I won’t go near him. I just … he was interested. In your shop. He wanted to see.”

I looked at Luna; she didn’t meet my eyes. Again I wanted to warn her and again I held back. God knows I don’t need to remind Luna of how bad her curse is. But if she was just setting herself up for something worse …

“What’s his name?” I said at last.

Luna looked up with a quick flash of gratitude. “Martin.”

I nodded. “I’ll be in all day. Drop by whenever you like.”

“Thanks!” Luna climbed onto her bicycle. “Bye!”

I watched Luna as she cycled out of sight, checking quickly through the futures to make sure she’d be safe. Her curse protects her from accidents but not from things done on purpose; it wouldn’t stop a gang from deciding to pick on her, though it’d mess them up pretty badly if they were stupid enough to go through with it. But that wouldn’t be much consolation to Luna, so I watched until I was satisfied she’d make it out of Deptford safely before turning to leave myself.

I’d been planning to go home to bed but instead found myself taking the trains past Camden to Hampstead Heath. Once there, I got out and walked, passing Parliament Hill and carrying on, heading deeper into the Heath. Within a few minutes the lights and sounds of the city had been left far behind, and I was alone in the vastness and silence of the park.

Not many people go into Hampstead Heath by night. Partly it’s because of crime, but there’s something else as well, something more primal: the ancient fear of the woods. The Heath is the wildest of London’s parks. During the day it’s easy not to notice, but at night, when the rolling hills blot out the lights of the city to leave the park in utter darkness, when the branches and undergrowth rustle and whisper in the silence, when the forest itself seems to be watching and waiting …

Most people would admit it’s scary. But not many would admit why. Deep down, in the corners of their minds, the reason people don’t go into dark forests at night isn’t because they’re afraid there might be people. It’s because they’re afraid there might be things.

And it doesn’t help that they just so happen to be absolutely right.

The little earthen ravine was tucked away behind a ridge, concealed by the lay of the land and by thick bushes and trees. None of the footpaths came near and even during the daylight hours it was deserted. But for the distant sounds of the city, I could have been alone in the world. I found the overhanging oak, then felt around its roots embedded into the bank until I found the right one and pressed two fingers into it in a certain way. “Arachne?” I said into the darkness. “It’s Alex.”

There was a moment’s pause before a clear female voice spoke out of nowhere. If you listened closely you might hear a faint clicking rustle under the words, but only if you knew it was there. “Oh, hello, Alex. I wasn’t expecting you. Come right in.”

With a rumble the roots unwove themselves, earth trickling away as the bank gaped wide to reveal a tunnel, sloping gently down. I stepped inside and the hillside closed up behind me, sealing me into the earth.

Although it doesn’t look it, Arachne’s lair is one of the best-protected places in London. Tracking spells can’t find the lair or anyone inside, and gate magic can’t transport in or out. The only way to get in is for Arachne to open the door. An elemental mage could probably smash his way in but by the time he did Arachne would have more than enough time to prepare some surprises. It’s not as unlikely as you might think, either. While Arachne doesn’t get many visitors, mages know she exists—and generally mages and creatures like Arachne don’t get on too well.

Arachne is a ten-foot-tall spider, her body covered with dark hair highlighted in cobalt blue. Eight thick legs hold her body well off the ground, and eight jet-black eyes look out from over a pair of mandibles that do little to conceal her fangs. She’d weigh somewhere near half a ton, but for all her bulk she can move with the speed and grace of a predator. She looks like a living nightmare and a glance would be enough to make most people run screaming.

She was also on a sofa sewing a dress, which made her a bit less intimidating. Not that I was paying attention anyway. Arachne looks like a horror out of darkness, but you don’t last long in the mage world if you put too much stock in appearances, and I don’t even notice her looks anymore unless someone points them out. “You’re up late,” I said.

“So are you,” Arachne said. The dress was some sort of green one-piece thing that shimmered slightly and she was working on it with all four front limbs at once, moving in a blur of motion. Arachne’s legs are covered with hairs, becoming gradually finer and finer the farther down you go, and she can use the tips better than I can use my fingers. I’ve always suspected she uses magic in her weaving, but there’s no way to tell; for creatures like Arachne, everything they do is tied in with their magic one way or another. “Something wrong?”

Arachne’s main chamber is so covered in brilliant-coloured clothing that it’s hard to see the stone. There are sofas and tables scattered around and every one of them is draped with dresses, coats, skirts, jumpers, shirts, scarves, shawls, tops, gloves, belts—you name it. They’re red, blue, green, yellow, and every colour in between, and the whole room looks like a clothes shop with so much stock there’s no room for customers. “No,” I said.

Arachne rubbed her mandibles together with a clicking, rustling sound. “Hm. Just move that pile over there. No, the other one.”

I did as Arachne said, shifting a double handful of jackets over to a nearby table before settling down on the sofa with a sigh. It was pretty comfortable. “Sewed any good clothes lately?”

“All the clothes I make are good.”

“Yeah, I was just making conversation.”

“You’re terrible at making conversation. Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”

I sat on the sofa in silence for a few moments, listening to the quick ftt-ftt-ftt of Arachne’s sewing. I wasn’t thinking about what to say; I was trying to work up the courage to say it.

I’ve known Arachne for ten years. For me that’s a long time; for her, not so much. When I first met Arachne I was still apprentice to the Dark mage Richard Drakh. She didn’t trust me at first, and with hindsight I can’t really blame her. But if it hadn’t been for her I doubt I’d have survived, and over the years she’s become probably my closest friend, funny as it sounds. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing teaching Luna?”

“What an odd question.” Arachne didn’t look up from her work. “You’re hardly going to turn her out on her own.”

“Of course not. It’s …” I hesitated. “Am I teaching her right? She’s still pushing to get involved with other mages. I thought she’d ease off on that. I mean, she gets to meet people at the shop.”

“Not very often, from what you tell me.”

“She can’t afford to do it very often. With her curse …”

“Is that the real reason?”

I sighed and let my shoulders slump. “No. It’s that I don’t want her around other mages more than I can help it.” Even as I said it, I knew it was true, and it shocked me a little. The whole reason Luna had come to me in the first place was out of a hope that she could become part of the mage world. And yet I’d been trying to avoid it …

Arachne only nodded. “And she can tell. And you feel guilty for keeping her away.”

“I’d feel more guilty if I got her into trouble.” I looked up at Arachne. “I still don’t think she understands how dangerous mage politics can be. I was out tonight on a hunting mission. But tomorrow or next week or next year those same men might be my enemies. And if she’d been there …”

Arachne didn’t answer. “You think I’m trying too hard to protect her,” I said at last.

“I think what you’re really afraid of is that you’ll introduce her to something that’ll get her hurt or killed.”

I sometimes wonder whether Arachne can weave more than threads; whether she can see the connections between people, as well. She can seem to pay no attention, and yet strike right to the mark. “I’ve done it before,” I said.

“Yes,” Arachne said. “But it was her choice too.” She set down the dress and turned her eight eyes on me. “Alex, the trouble with you is that you’ve spent so long on your own you’ve forgotten how to live with someone else. The only way she’ll learn these things is by experience.”

“Yeah, well, I guess she’s getting that one way or another. She’s bringing some guy to the shop tomorrow.”

“Jealous?”

“No,” I said automatically.

Arachne just went back to her sewing. She doesn’t have any eyebrows to raise, but somehow she conveyed exactly what she thought of that.

I sat grumpily for a minute before remembering the other reason I’d come. “Oh. Something weird happened tonight.” I put Luna out of my mind and leant forward. “Talisid tracked down the barghest in Deptford, and he called me in to help. I met up with his team outside the lair, and we made it all the way in. But here’s the thing: it was dead. Someone had taken it out before we got there.”

“Strange.” Arachne picked up the dress she was working on in her front two legs and examined it, turning it around. It was turning into a narrow, vaguely Chinese-looking gown that reflected the light and sent it back with a pale green shimmer. She put the dress down at a different angle and returned to work. “Have you any idea who it was?”

I frowned. “No. And it’s a bit odd. I mean, sure, that creature was preying on people, but it’s not as if most mages would care. Not enough to risk a fight anyway. I mean, barghests have a pretty scary reputation. Why would anyone go after one when they could just wait and have the Council take care of it?”

“Was it an escapee?”

I nodded. “Yeah, Talisid and I were wondering that. If it was some mage’s fault that the thing was there, then it makes sense they’d want to clean it up quietly. But we couldn’t find any trace that it used to be someone’s property. Besides, if they really wanted to keep it quiet, they would have gated away the body—oh. And another thing. There were signs of a battle at the lair—fire and ice magic—but no freeze or scorch marks on the barghest.”

“What killed it, then?”

“Nothing. At least, nothing I could see.”

The ftt-ftt-ftt stopped. I looked up to see that Arachne was watching me, her needles still. “Elaborate.”

“Um …” I tried to think of what to say. “It was just … dead. Wolf form. No marks. I thought it might have been death magic but …”

Arachne didn’t answer. “Arachne?” I asked.

Arachne seemed to twitch, then returned to her sewing, the ftt-ftt starting up again. “I see.”

“Something wrong?”

“Perhaps.” Arachne paused. “If you could establish the cause of death, I would appreciate knowing.”

I hesitated a second before nodding. “Okay. I’ll see what I can dig up.”

Arachne went back to her work. She didn’t say anything further, and I didn’t ask. “How many of them do you think there are?” I said after a pause.

“Of which?”

“Magical creatures like that barghest. Living here in our world.”

“Few. Fewer each year.” Arachne continued to work, but there was something a little distant about her voice. “So many have been killed or enslaved. The survivors have hidden themselves in remote places or in other worlds. Perhaps what you saw today was the body of the last barghest.”

An hour later, walking back home through the darkness of the Heath, I found my thoughts going back to Arachne’s words. I’m so comfortable with Arachne that I forget other mages think of creatures like her as aliens at best and monsters at worst. This was the first time I’d gone on this sort of hunt, and I’d had a good reason—but that didn’t change the fact that the creature I’d been intending to kill was basically not that different from Arachne.

For the first time I wondered exactly how long magical creatures would still be around. As far back as mage histories go, they’ve always been there, but for a long time the number’s been decreasing, mostly because of expeditions like the one I’d been on today. Usually it’s only the dangerous ones that mages go after … but not always, and dangerous is pretty subjective. Now that I thought about it, the only magical creatures I’d seen over the past few months had been either working with mages or under their control. I hadn’t come across one in the wild for a long time. If things kept going the way they had been, then the only creatures left would be property, powerful enough to hide themselves, or dead. It would mean no more killings like the ones the barghest had been responsible for … but it would mean none of the gentler or more wondrous creatures, either.

I wasn’t sure how much I liked the idea, and I wasn’t so sure any more that I’d done the right thing by agreeing to help Talisid. I headed home to sleep and to see what the next day would bring.

chapter 2

It was a new day and it was raining.

My shop’s tucked away down a little side street in Camden, only a minute’s walk from the canal. The rail and road bridges that interlock the area make it tricky to find, but plenty of tourists still filter through. The sign above my door says Arcana Emporium, along with a description of the contents that’s technical enough to stop most people immediately thinking magic shop. A notice on the door lists my opening times as ten A.M. to five P.M. Mondays to Saturdays, and every now and again it’s actually right.

As far as I know, I’m the only mage in England who runs a shop. Most mages think it makes me eccentric or just plain stupid, and to be fair they’ve got a point. Money isn’t a big concern to most mages. Sure, they need it, but it isn’t the primary medium of exchange the way it is to regular folk, for the simple reason that most mages who know what they’re doing and are willing to put in the work can leverage their power into as much money as they’re realistically likely to need. They aren’t all millionaires, not by a long shot, but they don’t generally have to worry about paying the rent either. So as a rule you can’t buy anything really valuable from a mage with cash, because cash isn’t scarce enough for them to value it.

The real currency of the magical economy is favours. Mages are specialists: A typical mage is great at one thing and poor to useless at everything else. If he’s faced with a problem that requires a different type of magic from the kind he can use, he can’t do anything about it—but he probably knows someone who can. And that mage might need someone else’s help a bit further down the line, and so on. Established mages have whole networks of friends and contacts to call on, and let me tell you, mages take those favours seriously. Failing to pay your debts in mage society is bad. We’re talking “sold to Dark mages as a slave” levels of bad. Of course it still happens if the guy in question thinks he can get away with it, but it’s rarely a good idea in the long term and at the higher levels a surprising number of things run on simple promises. They might not be as good as gold, but they can buy you a hell of a lot more. That was the basis on which I’d been working for Talisid last night. He hadn’t offered payment, and I hadn’t asked, but all of it was done on the understanding that the next time I asked him for help he’d give it to me, no questions asked.

Or maybe not. But life would be very boring if it was too predictable.

Anyway, to get back on topic, what this means is that anyone with enough magical items to set up a shop is generally powerful enough that they don’t have any reason to sell said items in the first place. They also tend to be leery (for good reason) of putting large stocks of highly valuable items in an easily accessible place. Or maybe they just think serving customers is beneath them. Who knows.

There’s a certain band of items, though, that you can make a business out of selling—the stuff that’s just useful enough to be worth keeping but not powerful enough that a mage would bother to trade a service for, like old or weakened focuses, or the kind of one-shots that don’t do anything dramatic. Then there are rare components, which don’t do anything useful on their own but are really inconvenient to run short of right in the middle of a ritual. And finally there are things that aren’t magical at all, like crystal balls and tarot decks and herbs. They’re pretty much useless for anything except window dressing, but they’re good camouflage.

Put all of that together and you’ve got the contents of my shop. There’s a roped-off area in the back-right corner next to the door to the hall that contains the genuine magical items, or at least the weaker ones. Two shelf stands hold a collection of nonprecious and semiprecious stones, as well as figurines and materials, and a rack holds herbs, powders, and various types of incense that together make the whole shop smell vaguely like a herbalist’s. Staffs, rods, and blades of various types take up another corner, and you can get a good view out onto the street through a wide window, which was currently streaked with water from the steadily falling rain.

And lastly, you get the customers.

My clientele used to be strictly small fry. A tiny fraction who knew what they were doing, a slightly larger fraction who sort of knew what they were doing, and a whole lot whose knowledge of magic would fit on a Post-it note. After the business five months ago, things changed. My shop suddenly got popular, and adepts, apprentices, and even mages started coming along.

Trouble is, along with the influx of knowledgeable people, I’ve also picked up a whole lot of idiots. On a Saturday like today, I’m lucky if one customer in five knows enough to be trusted. The rest …

…well.

“Hi, I’m looking for some gaff coins?”

“You want the Magic Box, other side of Camden. Here’s one of their cards.”

“Oh. Which tricks have you got?”

“None of them. You’ve got the wrong shop.”

“So what do you sell?”

“…”

“Wait, this is supposed to be a real magic shop?”

“…”

“Oh my God, you’re serious! Ha-ha-ha!”

“…”

“Ha-ha … oh man, this is awesome. Okay, okay, I’m going.”

“Um …” (giggling)

“Can I help you?”

“We’re looking for—” (more giggling)

“…”

“Have you got, um …”

“Take your time.”

“…a wand?” (chorus of giggling from all three)

“No. And my name’s not Harry and I didn’t go to Hogwarts.”

(yet more giggling)

“Um … hee hee … what about …”

“…”

“Do you know how to find any vampires? Like, the really hot ones?”

“I want a refund for this spell.”

“Which spell?”

“This one.”

“Hmm … ‘A Spell to Make You Win the Lottery.’ I’m going to go out on a limb and say it didn’t work.”

“I want my money back.”

“Your money, right. How much did you pay?”

“Fourteen ninety-nine.”

“Uh-huh. How much would you expect to get from a lottery win?”

“At least a million.”

“…”

“…”

“And you don’t see a problem with this.”

“What?”

“Okay. The first problem is that you’ve got a product here with a sale value of fifteen pounds—”

“Fourteen ninety-nine.”

“Fourteen ninety-nine, sorry, which is supposed to win you over a million. Now, stop and think how that would work.”

“I don’t care. I want a refund.”

“Right. The second problem would be I never sold you this spell.”

“I bought it from this shop.”

“That would be quite impressive, given that I don’t sell spells.”

“I know my rights. If you don’t give me a refund I’ll sue you.”

“If your understanding of the legal system is on par with your grasp of economics, I don’t think I’ve got much to worry about.”

“Oh, is that right? I’m going to call the police! I can get this shop closed down, I think you’ll find!”

(stomp stomp stomp SLAM)

“…”

“Um, hello? Excuse me?”

“Yes?”

“Uh, could I get one of those spells to win the lot-tery?”

“Hi!”

“You again?”

“Yeah, I decided I didn’t want to go all the way across Camden. So what tricks do you sell?”

“We don’t sell tricks.”

“Okay, okay. So what ‘magic’ do you sell?”

“Could you not make a hand gesture in the air when you do that?”

“Sure. Whatcha got?”

“Just what you see.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Um, hi.”

“Hey. What do you need?”

“I heard you can … uh … find out things?”

“Who told you that?”

“Uh … it was … can you find out something for me?”

“Not likely.”

“But I need to know! It’s really important!”

“Fine. What is it?”

“I … I need to know if my girlfriend’s cheating on me.”

“Probably.”

“What! Why?”

“Because if you’re asking that question, the answer’s probably yes.”

“So is there any way to use magic to talk with people who’ve … passed on?”

“Passed on?”

“I mean, died.”

“No.”

“But all those psychics say—”

“Psychics make their living telling people what they want to hear. Magic can’t let you talk to someone once they’re gone, and as far as I know neither can anything else.”

“So … there’s no way they can send a message?”

“No.”

“Nothing at all? Once someone’s dead, that’s it?”

“Yes.”

“And they couldn’t tell anyone how they died, right?”

“No, they—wait. Why do you want to know this again?”

“Um, no reason.”

“…”

“…”

“That death spell won’t work.”

“Wh-what? I-I wasn’t …”

“…”

“Could—”

“No, I’m not going to teach you how to do it.”

“Hey, man.”

“Oh, for the love of God. Why are you still here?”

“Look, I’m just curious. Now, I know you don’t sell tricks over the counter—”

“We. Don’t. Sell. Tricks.”

“Hey, what are you so angry for? I’m just asking.”

“I’m going to go through this one last time. This is a shop. There are things on the shelves. You want to buy the things on the shelves, bring the things on the shelves to the counter.”

“C’mon, I’m not that stupid. I’ve seen loads of guys coming up. You must have some good stuff, right? I mean, for people in the know?”

“And you want to know the secret?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. It’s a secret.”

“Fine, I get it. I’m going.”

“…”

“Oh, one more thing—”

Afternoon edged into evening. It had been raining all day, but as evening drew near, the clouds became thicker and the rain heavier. By five o’clock the light was dim, the window was translucent with running water, and the raindrops were drumming so hard on the pavement outside that I could feel the vibration through the legs of my chair.

The weather had finally driven the customers away and only one was left, a guy in his twenties. He circled the shop a couple of times before drifting over to the counter. I didn’t lift my eyes from my paperback. He cleared his throat.

“Can I help you?”

“Oh, hi. Yeah, I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“I don’t sell spells.”

“…Okay.”

I turned a page. “I don’t sell spells, and I don’t sell tricks. I don’t carry illusions or marked cards or weighted coins. I can not sell you an endless purse or help you win the lottery. I can’t make that girl you’ve got your eye on fall in love with you, and I wouldn’t do it even if I could. I don’t have a psychic hotline to your dead relatives, I don’t know if you’re going to be successful in your career, and I don’t know when you’re going to get married. I can’t get you into Hogwarts or any other kind of magic school, and if you even mention those stupid sparkly vampires I will do something unpleasant to you.”

“…Ookay?”

“Good. Now that’s settled, what do you need?”

“You’re Alex Verus, right?”

“That’s me.”

“Hi, good to meet you.” A hand appeared above my book. “Martin.”

I looked up and got my first good view of Martin. He was twenty-four or twenty-five, slim, with small blue eyes and dark blond hair that was spiky from gel and swept in a fashionable style from left to right. I guessed most women would have found him good-looking. He was wearing a button-down shirt and trousers, with a coat slung over one shoulder, and moved with a sort of casual confidence that made me think of money.

I disliked him on sight. I probably would have disliked him anyway, but the haircut made it a lot easier. I said, “Hey,” and reached out to shake his hand.

In the fraction of a second before our hands touched, I focused on Martin with my mage’s sight. The technique isn’t really sight—it’s a whole other sense, separate from the five—but for whatever reason sight seems to be the way all mages interpret it. It lets you perceive magic directly rather than just the vague feelings a sensitive or adept gets, all the wisps and auras and strands that make up the currents in the world around you. Most are so faint you have to strain to see them but anything really powerful, like a mage’s spell, is dazzling. If you’re good—and I’m very good—you can pick out what the spell does, how long it’s been there, and even the nature of whoever cast it. I didn’t need any skill to recognise the silvery mist around Martin though. It was Luna’s curse, and it meant he’d been close to her. The mist was only a thin layer swirling gently around his skin. Despite all the time I’ve spent around Luna I’ve rarely seen her curse in action, and I wasn’t sure how long it would have taken for Martin to pick this much up. I didn’t think it was enough to put him in serious danger, but it might be.

My hand clasped on Martin’s and the moment was gone. I couldn’t feel the silver mist over Martin’s skin but I could see it. It didn’t spread from him to me; that’s not the way the curse works. “Great to finally meet up,” Martin said as he shook my hand. “Luna’s told me a lot about you.”

“She’s not supposed to.”

“Not— Oh, ha-ha! Yeah, I see what you mean. Don’t worry, I won’t spread it around.”

I had my doubts about that. “Looking for something?”

“Yeah, I really wanted to have a look at some focuses and one-shots. They’re over there behind the rope, right? Mind if I have a root through?”

“You don’t want to mess with those things unless you know what you’re doing.”

“It’s fine, I know the score. Besides, you can tell me what they do, right?”

I really wanted to say no. But the aura on Martin confirmed he was the guy Luna had been talking about and I didn’t have a good reason to tell him to get lost. Reluctantly, I walked over as Martin unhooked the rope and started looking through the contents of the shelves, asking me questions all the while.

In between answering Martin’s questions, I asked a few of my own. According to Martin, he’d grown up here in London, moved away for university, then moved back to get a place of his own. He was a musician and played in a band. He was vague on the details of exactly how he’d learnt about the magical world. He’d just picked things up, he said. He’d been trying to break into mage society but was finding it difficult. He’d met Luna through a mutual friend. She’d mentioned my shop to him and he’d wanted to learn more.

I learnt other things about Martin too, not so much from what he said as how he said it. He had charm, knew how to be funny, and knew how to flatter. He was clever, though maybe not as clever as he thought. Although he didn’t come out and say it, he knew I was a mage. He knew the basics of how magic worked but couldn’t use it himself—he was only a sensitive. That was the only point at which his smile slipped a little. It was only for a second, but enough to make me wonder if it was a sore spot. Maybe he’d just made friends with Luna to take advantage of her connection to me.

And maybe I was just being jealous. I didn’t like Martin, but if I was being honest with myself I had to admit I didn’t have a good reason for it. He was pleasant, charming, and probably the only new friend Luna had made in months.

Which also put him in danger, as the silver mist hanging off him proved. I’d have to find out from Luna how much she’d told him. As if I didn’t have enough to remember already. “So would any of the focuses work for me?” Martin was asking.

“Probably not. They’re for helping with a spell or a type of magic you have trouble with. They don’t let you cast from scratch.” I nodded at the twisted wand of rowan in his hands. “That’s a defensive focus. If you could put together a protective spell and if you put in the work to attune yourself to the wand, it might help, but on its own it’s just a stick.”

“How do you attune it?”

“Trial and error. You have to figure out how the thing interacts and adapt your own way of doing things to match it. Sometimes it’s impossible and there’s no way to know without trying.”

“Can’t you just make it do what you want?”

I shook my head. “Doesn’t work that way.”

“Okay, what about something that worked on its own?”

I raised my eyebrows. “You’re talking about imbued items.”

“That’s how they work, right? Anyone can use them?”

“Not … exactly. Imbued items choose their bearers. They decide when to use their powers, not you.” I thought of an ivory wand beyond a sealed door and pushed the memory away.

“But I’d be able to use one?”

“If you ever got one, yeah. And no, before you ask, I don’t have any here.” Which was true, if by here you meant on these shelves. I had several upstairs, which I was most definitely not telling Martin about. Imbued items are priceless, and mages will quite literally kill for them.

Martin was quiet, no doubt dreaming of an imbued item of his own. If he’d known more, he might not have been so eager. Imbued items have minds of their own and the stronger their power, the stronger their will. The most powerful imbued items can reduce their bearers to little more than puppets. Oh, it looks like the bearer’s in charge—but somehow, everything they do ends up being what the item wanted.

I scanned through the futures, looking to see when Luna was going to turn up. Her arrival had been vague all through the day but as I looked I saw that she was due to knock on the door any minute. I was glad. The rain hadn’t let up and the glass of the shop window still ran with water.

And then I felt something snap and change. I jerked my head around, looking for danger. The shop was quiet and Martin was holding a white and blue lacquered tube in his hand. The silver mist of Luna’s curse was gone. “What’s this?”

I stood dead still. The two of us were alone in the shop, and the only sound was the steady patter of rain. Martin looked at me. “Hey, Alex? What’s this one?”

I spoke quietly. “I wouldn’t take that if I were you.”

Martin frowned and looked down at the tube. It was ten inches long and two inches wide, its ends rounded, made out of what looked at first glance like lacquered wood. The tube was white, with raised engravings of blue flowers twining about its length. A braided cord hung from one end. “Why not?”

I didn’t answer. Martin started to return the tube to the shelf and stopped. He stared at me. “Wait. This is one of those, isn’t it? An imbued item?”

I stayed silent, and Martin’s eyes went wide. “Thought you said you didn’t have any?”

“It’s not mine.”

“So why’d you put it on the shelf?”

I looked at Martin and spoke quietly. “I didn’t.”

Martin didn’t seem to hear. He held up the tube to the light, turning it around. When nothing happened he shook it gently, and there was a faint katta-katta sound. “There’s something inside.”

“Yes.”

“How much is it?”

I took a deep breath. “Martin, listen very closely. I don’t know you and you don’t know me, but you have to believe me when I tell you that if you take that thing away with you, you will regret it for the rest of your life.”

For an instant Martin hesitated and I saw the choices branching before him. Then his eyes narrowed and the choice was gone. “Imbued items choose their wielder, don’t they?”

I sighed. I could see the futures laid out ahead of us and in every one of them, Martin was going to leave my shop with that item. “Yeah,” I said with an effort.

Outside, hurrying footsteps blended with the rain and the door opened with a rush of sound and a cold wind. Luna ducked inside, trying to fit through the door while folding a big golf umbrella, water running everywhere. “Sorry I’m so late! Ugh, it’s awful out there.” After three failed tries she managed to get the umbrella folded up, then she pushed the door shut and the shop was quiet again except for the drip of water from her clothes. “The weather was so bad my bike …” Luna finished propping the umbrella in the corner and finally noticed something was wrong. She looked from me to Martin. “Hello?”

Martin and I hadn’t taken our eyes off each other. “Martin, I need to talk to Luna,” I said. “Could you wait here for five minutes, please?”

There was a beat, then Martin nodded. “Sure.”

I turned to Luna, who was still looking between both of us, trying to figure out what was going on. “In the back.”

The door at the back of my shop leads into a small, dark hallway. What little space it has is mostly filled with the stairs up to my second-floor flat. There’s one side door leading into a back room where I store stuff that isn’t important enough to secure properly, and I led Luna inside and shut the door behind her. “You have to get away from Martin.”

“What?” Luna stared at me. “Why?”

“Because he’s done something very stupid and you don’t want to be around to get caught in the results.”

“How—? I don’t understand.”

“You remember the little white and blue lacquered tube I showed you three months ago in the safe room? The one I told you to never ever touch?”

“Yes … Wait. It was that? You gave him that?”

“I didn’t give him anything.”

“Then why didn’t you tell him not to take it?”

“You think I’d be telling you this if he’d listened?”

I turned away from Luna and walked to the corner. There was a single window of frosted glass high on the wall and I stared up at it. “What does it do?” Luna asked from behind me.

“It’s called a monkey’s paw,” I said without turning around. “It grants wishes.”

“Wishes? You mean … anything?”

“Pretty close. It’s the most powerful item I’ve got.”

“Is there some kind of catch?”

“Of course there’s a catch. You don’t get anything like that for free. Trying to use that thing is really bad news.”

“How? I mean, do the wishes have a price or some-thing?”

“I don’t know, Luna, because no one who’s ever tried using the damn thing has been around afterwards to answer questions.” I turned to face her. “I want you to keep your distance from Martin as long as he’s got it.”

Luna paused. There were drops of water clinging to her hair and the sleeves and ankles of her clothes were still wet. “Wait. You just said that nobody’s …”

I was silent, and Luna went still. “You’re waiting for something to happen to him.”

“I’ll do what I can to make him give it up,” I said. “But as long as he has it, he’s a threat.”

“Until when? Until he’s dead?”

“Luna …”

“Why do I have to stay away?”

“Because he’s dangerous.”

“I don’t care if he’s dangerous.” I could see Luna was starting to get angry. “You said you weren’t going to keep me away anymore!”

“There’s nothing you can do to make it better and a lot of ways you could make it worse,” I said harshly. “He had your curse on him when he came today.”

As soon as I said it, I knew I shouldn’t have. Luna stared at me, then I saw understanding dawn in her eyes. “You think it’s my fault.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” I wished I hadn’t brought it up now but there was no use going back. “But it’s sure as hell not going to help if you stay nearby. The best thing you can do is keep your distance.”

“If this thing’s so bad why can’t I just talk to him?”

I sighed. “Because taking the monkey’s paw wasn’t the only stupid thing Martin did.”

“What?”

“He’s not waiting for us to finish. He walked out into the street thirty seconds ago.”

Luna looked in the direction of the shop, then back at me. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she said quietly, and now for the first time I knew she was really angry.

I stood my ground, meeting her gaze. “Because if Martin were the kind of person who’d listen to warnings, the monkey’s paw wouldn’t have picked him in the first place.”

Luna stared at me for a second longer, then in two quick steps was at the door. “Luna!” I said. “Wait!”

“Maybe you don’t care about him,” Luna said. “But I do.” She pulled the door open.

I started towards Luna, wanting to hold her back—and stopped. To my eyes, the silver mist of her curse glowed around her, filling her space and the doorway. One more step forward and it would be me that mist would be touching. “Luna, you don’t understand how bad this thing is. As long as Martin’s carrying it, he’s a danger to everyone around him.”

Luna looked back at me. Her blue eyes were cold and when she spoke, her voice was too. “Like me?” The door slammed and she was gone.

I moved to follow her, then stopped. I heard the sound of running feet, cut off by the bang of the shop door. Luna had run out into the rain after Martin. Looking through the futures I could see the exact point at which she’d catch him up. I could track them down and find them.

And all it would do was make things worse. If I went after Martin he’d think I was trying to chase him, and if I went after Luna it would lead to a worse fight. I wanted to run after them, or do something, and all I could do was stand there. I smacked a hand into the door, hard, and swore, then stood there and listened to the rain beating against my window.

I was angry and upset. I wanted to go after Luna. Instead I went upstairs to the small living room in my flat, hung up the heavy bag that I keep in the corner, and started beating on it. The bag shook and I felt the vibrations run down the beams and through the floorboards of the house. While I kept punching, I scanned through the futures, waiting to see if Luna would come back. She didn’t.

After forty-five minutes I knew Luna wouldn’t be coming back that night. I abandoned the bag and went for a shower to wash the sweat from my body. I washed my hair, towelled myself dry, and dressed in a clean shirt and a pair of jeans. Once I’d done that I checked again to see if the future had changed. Nothing.

Now I’d burnt through the worst of my frustration I could think clearly again. Unwillingly, I had to admit that it had been stupid to tell Luna to stay away from Martin. If I’d thought about it I’d have realised that telling her not to go near one of her only friends was a bad idea. I haven’t had many fights with Luna, and this was the angriest I’d seen her in a long time.

The sun had set and the sky outside my window was darkening from grey to black. The rain had died away to a steady drizzle, forming a fine mist in the air that was visible only in the yellow glows cast by the streetlights. There were lights in the houses and blocks of flats beyond the canal—many lights; few people were out in weather like this. As the evening turned into night and the weather began to dry, the streets would begin to fill once again. I paced back and forth across my small room and thought about the monkey’s paw.

I don’t keep records, but I remembered the day I’d acquired the thing very clearly. One winter evening three years ago, an old man came into my shop and asked if I would be interested in an imbued item. There would be no charge; he just wanted to pass it on to a good home. He explained that it could grant any five wishes its owner desired and I could use it however I saw fit.

I refused. I told the old man that wish-granting items usually came with some sort of horrible price, and you never got something for nothing. If he was offering it for free, it was a pretty safe bet it wasn’t something I wanted to have.

The old man agreed that the wishes came at a high price. He asked if I would be willing to simply keep hold of the item and give or sell it on.

I refused again. If the thing was that dangerous, I wasn’t going to be responsible for handing it over to anyone else. The old man smiled and left.

The next day, the monkey’s paw was sitting on the shelves in my shop next to the focuses. I put on a pair of gloves, picked the thing up, and placed it in my safe room upstairs. Three months, six months, nine months went by and I forgot about it.

Then one day a woman picked the monkey’s paw off my shelves, out of a spot I would have sworn was empty. She wanted to buy it. I said no and closed the door firmly behind her. When I checked that evening the monkey’s paw was gone. I found out the woman’s name and learnt that the monkey’s paw was in her possession.

She committed suicide a week later. The monkey’s paw was back on the shelves the same evening. I put it back in the safe room and left it there.

A year later, someone else picked up the monkey’s paw in the exact same way. This time I didn’t try to stop the man from taking it. I agreed to give it to him on the condition that he promised never to use it. He gave me his promise and left, happy.

The man came back to my shop one last time, on a Saturday evening just before I closed up for the night. I remembered his shifty eyes, the tension in his movements, his insistence that everything was fine. Under pressure he admitted he’d been using the paw. According to him he’d made four wishes. There had been problems. He wouldn’t go into details but he wanted to know if there was some way to make a wish do exactly what you wanted.

I never saw him again. By the next day he had disappeared, and no one ever found out where he’d gone. But while cleaning the shop that Sunday night, I saw the monkey’s paw had returned.

And now Luna was alone with the thing’s next owner. Just the thought of that made my skin crawl. I thought of ringing her, but what would I say? To stay away from him? Yeah, that had worked so well last time …

I wondered whether Luna’s curse would be enough to keep her safe. The luck-twisting effect of the curse is a powerful protection but it has its limits, and I didn’t know how it would interact with the monkey’s paw. The only bit of reassurance I had was that judging from the last two times, the monkey’s paw wouldn’t do anything straightaway. Luna was supposed to be meeting me tomorrow to train at Arachne’s. I couldn’t tell for sure whether she’d show up but I didn’t think anything terrible would happen before then. Maybe she’d have calmed down enough to listen to me. And maybe I wouldn’t screw things up so badly next time.

With that decided, I felt a bit better. I went and fixed myself some dinner, then washed up and returned to my room. As I did, I turned my attention to the immediate future and saw that someone would be wanting to get into my shop. It was well past closing time but most mages don’t like to go shopping during business hours. It’s not common for them to show up after dark but it’s not rare, either, and it’s happened enough that I’ve installed a bell by the front door.

The bell rang just as I finished tying my shoes. I pulled on a jumper and walked down the stairs, flicking on the light as I reentered the shop. The place always feels a little eerie after dark; row after row of silent shelves, watching and waiting. I could see the outline of somebody through the shop window, half hidden by the door.

I opened the door and the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen stumbled in, gasping and wide-eyed. “Please, I need your help! There’s something trying to kill me!”

My precognition screamed. I took one look at what had set it off, grabbed the woman, and yanked her back, pulling her with me into the middle of the shop. An instant later, the shop window exploded in a shower of glass as something came flying through, landing with a slam on the spot the woman and I had been standing in just a second ago. Without pause the creature pulled itself to its feet and lunged straight for us.

Some days are just better spent in bed.

I shoved the woman out of the creature’s path and let the momentum push me back so the thing went between us. The move would have been a lot more graceful if I hadn’t hit the herb rack on the way, almost tripping over. The woman stumbled and fell, and the creature was on top of her before she could recover. It dropped to its knees, its hands reaching for her throat.

The creature looked human, but wasn’t. It had two arms, two legs, a head and a body, but there was something about it that was just wrong. Before it could get a grip on the woman’s neck, I took a step and swung a roundhouse kick into its ribs.

I’m not a real hand-to-hand expert but I’ve done a fair bit of training in the past, and a swinging kick against a low target carries an awful lot of force. The impact flipped the thing over and sent it rolling to slam against the shelves. The shelves swayed and crystal balls and statuettes rained down on the thing with a crash. I pulled the woman to her feet and hustled her towards the door to the hall. “Get out! Go!”

The creature stood up. Now that I got a good look at it, I saw it had the face of a nondescript man in his thirties with brown hair, brown eyes, and a bland expression. The eyes were locked on me now, and as I looked into the future I saw that its movements were solid lines of light, changing to match my decisions but without choice or variation. A construct. The woman and I backed to the door and the construct followed.

My counter is an L shape set against the wall. As the woman opened the door I moved into the dead-end space, reaching for what was under the counter. I’m not so paranoid as to carry weapons in my own home, but I’m just paranoid enough to stash them where I can reach them quickly. I knew without looking that the construct would follow me, and as it came around the counter I straightened up with the gun in both hands, thumbed off the safety, sighted at a range of less than two feet, and shot the thing in the middle of the chest.

My gun’s a M1911, a single-action semiautomatic. It had been a while since I’d fired the thing and I’d forgotten how damn loud it was. The crash echoed around the shop and made me flinch, and the construct jerked. As a general rule anything worth shooting is worth shooting twice, so I brought the gun down and shot the construct again.

The construct jerked a second time, then closed in. In the instant before it reached me, I had just enough time to realise two things: first, the shots had done absolutely nothing, and second, I was backed into a corner with nowhere to run. A moment later, the construct had its hands around my neck.

By construct standards, the thing was weak. Unfortunately, weak by construct standards is still freakishly strong for a human. The thing’s fingers locked around my throat like iron, crushing my windpipe and cutting off the flow of blood to my brain, and in panic I dropped the gun and grabbed at its hands, trying and failing to pull them away. The construct stared at me, its eyes empty and bland as it methodically choked me to death. My vision was just about to grey out when I remembered my training. I put my hands together under my chin knuckle to knuckle, fingers down and slightly hooked, then jerked my arms apart in a single explosive motion.

The leverage was enough to break the construct’s grip. Its hands flew apart, air flew back into my lungs, and before the construct could recover I kneed it in the groin with the strength of panic and slammed both palms into its chest. The knee to the groin did nothing but the palm strike sent it stumbling backwards. Its legs caught on the rope to the magic item section and it went over, its head slamming into the floor with a crack. It started to get up immediately.

I staggered through the door into the hallway, gasping for breath. The woman was there, looking at me with wide eyes, and I gestured and rasped, “Up!” The woman turned and ran up the stairs, I followed, and as I scrambled upwards I heard the construct come through the door right behind us.

Constructs are made things, a physical body animated by magical energy. The most powerful ones use the bound spirit of an elemental, but even the weakest can be deadly because they’re so persistent. They don’t feel pain, they don’t get tired, and they can’t be bought off or bargained or negotiated with. Once a construct’s been given an order, it’ll follow it to its own destruction, and it’s not harmless until it’s completely destroyed. I’d been fighting for less than a minute but already I was gasping for breath, my limbs heavy and tired. The construct hadn’t even slowed down.

The woman raced up the stairs with me right behind her. The construct reached through the banisters, grasping for my ankle, and missed. The extra few seconds were enough for me to reach the landing. The woman was there and looking from side to side. I rushed past her into my living room. “Hold the door!”

The woman hesitated. She was small, frail-looking, with long dark hair. “I can’t—”

I slammed the door behind her just as the construct appeared at the top of the stairs. “Learn!”

The moment’s breather had given me time to get my brain working. Weapons weren’t going to hurt this thing—the only way to physically destroy it would be to literally tear it to pieces. But I’d picked up an item a long time ago designed specifically for this. Now where had I put it?

My bedroom’s just through the living room, separated from it by a connecting door. I pulled open a desk drawer and started rifling through. There was a thump as the construct hit the living room door and out of the corner of my eye I saw the woman recoil, then throw herself desperately against the door and slam it closed again. I rummaged through the drawer: knives, tassels, jewellery boxes, marbles, figurines, carved stones, bags of powder, vials, clear plastic boxes filled with everything from dried flowers to Russian dolls. Wrong drawer. I yanked open the next one. Counterspell ingredients, no. Gate stones, no. Notebooks, no. Wands—

“It’s coming through!” the woman shouted from the living room, her voice high and panicked.

“Hold it a second,” I told her. Fetishes, no. Crystal holders—wrong kind. I moved on to the next drawer.

“I can’t!”

There. Beneath a sheaf of handwritten papers was a needle-thin stiletto made of gleaming silver. I snatched it up and moved back into the living room. The construct had stopped hitting the door and was simply pushing. The woman was being slid back as the door was forced steadily open, the carpet scuffing up beneath her heels. “Let go!”

The woman jumped back almost as soon as I spoke and the door flew open. I’d been watching the futures and I knew exactly how the construct would come through the doorway, its hands up, grasping blindly. I let the door breeze past my face, saw a flash of the construct’s emotionless eyes as it came in at me, then I ducked and the thing’s hands swept over my head. The construct ran straight onto the stiletto, the blade piercing its stomach.

The construct’s eyes seemed to flash. Sea-green energy wreathed its body, pouring out into the air, soaking down through the floor, then the energy cut out and the eyes went dead. It was over in an instant. The construct dropped to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.

And everything was quiet.

I stood still, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. The construct lay motionless and a scan of the futures confirmed that it wouldn’t be getting up. I kept looking, searching for other threats.

“Is it dead?” the woman asked at last.

I opened the window and stuck my head out, looking down into the street. I could see movement at the far end near the corner, but no one was approaching. I scanned through the futures, checking to see if police were coming. The fight had been noisy, and there had been shots fired, but I couldn’t find any trace of a future in which police cars arrived. I gave a silent thank-you to the rain and to the fact that most Londoners don’t know what gunshots sound like.

“What was that thing?” The woman’s voice was shaky. “How did—?”

I held up a hand. “Wait here. Don’t touch anything.”

The shop downstairs was a mess. Shattered glass and merchandise were scattered across the floor and a cold wind was blowing away the smell of gunsmoke. I checked to see if either of the bullets had gone through the construct and into the wall behind (they hadn’t), then got some plastic sheeting from the stockroom and tacked it over the broken window. It didn’t do anything to keep the cold out, but it blocked line of sight. With that done, I locked the door and hid the gun. The adrenaline rush of the battle had worn off, and I knew that if I did what my body was telling me and sat down, I’d go to pieces. Experience has taught me that the best way to get through postbattle shakes is to walk them off, so I went back upstairs.

The woman was sitting on my sofa with her knees together and her hands clasped, shivering slightly. She didn’t try to speak as I knelt over the construct and gave it a quick search. I came up empty, as expected; mages don’t send construct assassins out with identification. The wounds hadn’t bled or oozed. Most constructs are basically a big energy battery with a simple guidance program and this seemed to be one of the more basic types, an outer shape wrapped around a jellylike storage material. At a glance it looked similar to the ones I’d seen made at Richard’s mansion: a short-range design, without the intelligence or stamina to operate for long on its own. That suggested whoever had sent it was close by. The stiletto had been a one-shot designed to disperse a construct’s energy pattern. It had worked perfectly. I’d have to get another.

I was avoiding looking at the woman. I sat on the chair facing her and met her gaze.

It’s hard to describe just what made her so incredibly beautiful. She had near-black hair, long and slightly wavy, falling down her back and framing a diamond-shaped face with slightly tanned skin and dark eyes. She was small, only a little over five feet, but with such perfect proportions that you wouldn’t realise it unless you stood right over her. She wore dark clothes that looked so simple that they had to be very expensive, and a single ring on her right hand. Somehow, though, neither her clothes nor her features seemed to matter—they were the adornments of a painting or a picture, not the real thing. What made her so captivating was something else, not so easily named: the way she moved, the glance of her eyes, the manner and sound and form. All I wanted to do was sit and gape. If I’d let myself fall into her eyes, I think an army of constructs could have battered down the door and I wouldn’t have noticed.

“What’s your name?” I said. I’d meant to say Who are you? but found myself changing my mind at the last second.

“Meredith.” She leant forward a little. “Thank you so much. You saved my life.” Her dark eyes shone with a hint of tears. “Without you I wouldn’t have had a chance.”

I felt my face burn and wanted to look away. A less polite but more vocal part of me spoke up with several suggestions as to how she could show how grateful she was. “Don’t worry about it. Where did that thing come from?”

Meredith shivered. “I don’t know! I was just—” She covered her face with her hands and started to cry.

Somehow I found myself on the sofa next to her, my arm around her shoulders, speaking quiet reassurances. Meredith hung onto my sleeve and kept crying. Gradually her tears ran dry and eventually she excused herself and vanished into the bathroom. She was gone for ten minutes and when she reappeared she looked a bit more composed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go to pieces. I’m not usually like this.”

“It’s okay, you just had a shock. I did a lot worse my first time.” Was that true? I couldn’t remember. “Feeling better?”

Meredith nodded. “Yes, thanks. I must look terrible.”

“Really, you don’t.”

Meredith returned to the sofa, sitting down naturally next to me. “I’m sorry for all this. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I was trying to find your shop and then that … that thing started chasing me.”

I glanced over at the construct’s body, still lying on the floor. Meredith followed my gaze. “I’ve never seen one before. I heard stories but—”

“It’s an assassin,” I said. “Programmed to go after you. It only attacked me when I got in its way.”

Meredith shivered. “It’s horrible. There … won’t be any more?”

I shook my head, and Meredith sighed in relief. “Do you know who sent it?” I asked.

“I don’t know their names. I was so afraid they’d come after me. I heard it and I just wanted to find you and—”

“Why me?”

Meredith looked up in surprise. “But you’re famous. Everybody knows about you. You fought all those Dark mages in that battle in the British Museum. And you can see the future.”

“Um …” That took me aback. I’m definitely a lot better known since that business with the fateweaver but it was the first time I’d heard the word famous. “And you thought I could help you?”

Meredith clutched my arm. “Please don’t send me away! I don’t know if they’ll try again. I know it’s a lot to ask but can’t I stay here? Just for tonight?” Wide dark eyes looked up at me pleadingly.

I’m not sure I could have said no even if I’d wanted to.

And that was how, an hour later, I found myself lying on my bed with Meredith on the sofa in the next room, about ten feet away. The house was quiet but for the sounds of the city. I could hear the shouts and calls from the restaurants one street over and the hum of traffic from the main hub of Camden Town.

I found myself listening for what Meredith was doing. I couldn’t quite hear her breathing and I wondered if she’d moved. Maybe I should have offered her the bed. No, that wouldn’t have been smart. All of my items were here. But still …

I shook my head sharply in frustration. What was wrong with me? I’d even found myself wondering if she might come through into my room—

No. Stop being stupid and think. Who was she? She obviously wasn’t a normal. An adept or a mage? It was the kind of thing I would normally have asked but for some reason I hadn’t. In fact, I hadn’t taken any of my normal precautions.

It’s rare for there to be a woman sleeping over in my flat. Like, once-in-a-blue-moon rare. I could say it’s because I’m a diviner and it would be sort of true—being able to know another person’s secrets doesn’t do wonders for a relationship. I could also say it’s because I suck at romance and that’s definitely got something to do with it—I’ve never been good at knowing what to say to women and my lifestyle hasn’t given me much chance to improve. I could say it’s because I used to be an outcast from both mage factions and that sure didn’t help.

But if I’m being honest the biggest reason is that I have serious issues with trusting people. Since I was young, every time I’ve put my trust in another person and depended on them, it’s ended badly. Sometimes very badly. I first learnt magic as a Dark apprentice in a society where everyone was a predator and giving away the wrong piece of information could get you hurt or killed. Things got worse before they got better and by the time I got to relative safety it was burnt into me to treat everyone as a potential enemy. I don’t like it—it’s not natural to me—but it’s an ingrained habit and it’s saved my life at least once. Even if I don’t have any reason to be suspicious of someone, or even if I’m actually trying to be trusting, there’s a part of me that stays on guard, always alert.

So I didn’t fall asleep. I dozed, but that wary animal instinct stayed alert, listening for movement from the living room. And when Meredith’s phone gave a muted buzz, I was awake instantly. I heard the sound of her picking up and the murmur of her voice, then her footsteps crossing the room and the creak of the door.

I swung my legs off the bed and moved to the connecting door, my bare feet silent on the carpet. The living room was empty and I could see the blanket lying ruffled on the sofa. The door to the landing was open and I could hear the sound of Meredith’s voice from below.

I crossed the living room and slipped through, the planks of the landing cool under my feet. Through the banisters, I saw a flicker of movement: Meredith was below, in the hall, her head down, speaking into her phone. “…have much choice!” Her voice was pitched low and she sounded scared and angry. “You said they wouldn’t come after me!”

The other person replied, an inaudible buzz. Whatever they said, it didn’t make Meredith any happier. “Don’t give me that! Did you know this was going to happen?”

“…”

“No! This wasn’t the deal.”

“…”

“Don’t you dare.”

“…”

“What, be your bait?” Meredith gave a shaky laugh. “You wish.”

“…”

“No shit I’m angry! If I hadn’t come here I’d be dead right—”

“…”

“Oh, now it’s my fault?” Meredith paced up and down the hall, only barely keeping her voice down. “Screw you!”

“…”

“Go to hell. Why am I even talking to you?”

“…”

“Yeah well, I’m a lot safer here than with you.”

The voice on the other end started to answer again but Meredith cut it off halfway through. “You’re gonna have to do better than that.” She hung up and switched off the phone.

I withdrew silently back across the living room, pulled the door to behind me, and lay down on my bed. A minute later I heard footsteps on the stairs, followed by the sound of the door to the landing being softly shut. A moment later the sofa’s springs creaked and there was the rustle of blankets followed by a soft sigh.

I lay awake, listening, but nothing further came. It was a long time before I fell asleep.

chapter 3

I woke to the sun on my face. Rays were streaming through my bedroom window, lighting up the drab room in yellow and white. Outside the window I could hear the chatter and bustle of the city. The storm had passed and the sky was blue with white cloud.

From the living room and kitchen, I could hear the bustle of movement. Meredith was making breakfast. I rose quietly and slipped into my jeans and shoes, then moved out onto the landing. The smell of something frying drifted from under the door to the kitchen and I heard the clink of plates. I opened the door out onto the balcony and stepped outside, shivering slightly in the cold, and the sounds from the kitchen cut off as I shut the door behind me. I climbed the ladder set into the wall and stepped off onto the roof.

It was a beautiful morning. Puffy white clouds were scattered across a clear sky and the sounds of the city washed up all around me, carried upon fresh, cold air. Puddles of water were scattered on the flat roof, left over from last night’s storm, but the sun had been up long enough for most of the damp to dry. A breeze was blowing, cool and brisk, sending ripples racing across the water. Chimneys and TV aerials rose up all around, and a little farther away were road and rail bridges as well as the square shapes of blocks of flats. The morning sunlight was clear and crisp, outlining every brick and stone in sharp-edged shadow. It was London: dense, ancient, and my home.

I took out my phone and dialled Talisid’s number. In case you’re wondering why I was climbing onto the roof to make a phone call, it’s because I didn’t want to be overheard.

It’s a perfectly reasonable thing to do. Stop looking at me like that.

Talisid answered when I’d expected. “Morning, Verus.”

“How did things go on Friday?”

“Routine. As far as the Council’s concerned, the matter’s closed.”

“Did you figure out what killed the barghest?”

“No need. Now that it’s dead, no one has any reason to spend the time.”

“Is the body in storage?”

“Destroyed.”

“Oh.”

“Did you want it examined?”

“I’d been hoping it would be.” I couldn’t honestly say it was unexpected but it was a bit disappointing all the same.

“I could always give you the autopsy report.”

“…Wait, what?”

I heard Talisid chuckle. “Glad to see you’re not entirely immune to being surprised.”

“I thought you just said there wasn’t any need?”

“There wasn’t. I had the corpse analysed anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because you were curious.”

“And you thought you’d satisfy my curiosity?”

“No, I decided if you were curious, it was probably worth looking into. Consider it a compliment.”

I snorted. “All right, Sun Tzu. What did you find?”

There was the rustle of paper in the background. “Physically, the barghest was completely undamaged apart from minor bruises and lacerations. As far as nonmagical analysis can show, the creature was in perfect health.”

“Apart from being dead?”

“Apart from being dead. Magical scans also negative. Fatal life or death magic usually leaves distinctive evidence in the cellular structure, and the same goes for mind and charm magic in the brain. There was no evidence that living family magic had caused the creature’s death.”

I frowned. “So that means … what? It wasn’t killed by injury or by magic?”

“Not quite. There was no spell residue but there was something missing. The creature’s natural residual aura was only a fraction as strong as it should have been. Something drained the energy right out of the thing. The examiner thinks that was the cause of death, and I agree. Barghests are magical creatures. Take away their magic, no more barghest.”

“Huh.” I stood thinking. “That’s not a normal way to kill something, is it?”

“It’s not. What’s your interest in this?”

“Favour for a friend. Do you want me to copy you in if I find anything?”

“Please. Was there anything else?”

“Yeah. Know anything about a woman called Mere-dith?”

“Meredith … Dark, petite, late twenties to early thirties? Could cause a traffic accident walking down the street?”

“That’s the one.”

“Unaligned mage. Affiliated with several different Council mages over the years, but she’s always stayed independent. Probably got a few connections in the Dark camp as well, though nothing’s been proven. She dabbled in politics for a while and used to be a regular on the social circuit, but she got too close to that business with Dagon last year and had her fingers burnt rather badly. Haven’t seen her at the balls since then.”

I paced slowly up and down. “What type of mage?”

“Enchantress. Not too powerful but very skilled. Could twist men around her little finger.”

I stopped moving.

“Verus? You there?”

I was silent for a few seconds. “Yeah,” I said at last.

“Is there a problem?”

“No,” I said. “No problem. Any connections?”

“No master, no apprentices. Her name’s been linked with plenty of other mages, but the relationships never seem to last. They’re usually active in Council politics and always men. You can guess what the rumour mill has to say about that, but the truth is no one knows very much about her.”

I stood quietly on the roof. “Thanks for the help,” I said eventually.

“No problem. I take it you weren’t asking from academic interest.”

“No.”

Talisid sounded amused. “Well, consider yourself forewarned. You’ll have to tell me how it goes.”

“Assuming I’m around to tell you. I’ll be in touch about the barghest.”

“Good to hear. Until then.” Talisid hung up.

I lowered the phone and stared down at it. The cool wind blew over me, ruffling my hair and chilling my bare arms, and I shivered.

Enchantresses use charm magic, also known as emotion magic. Men who can use it are called enchanters, but they’re rarer and it’s always seen as one of the stereotypically female branches. They can’t affect thoughts and concepts in the way a mind mage can, but they’re masters of feeling and emotion. In terms of raw power they’re on the low end of the magical scale but they have one distinctive ability: their magic is incredibly hard to detect. It’s almost impossible to tell when an enchantress is using her magic and when she’s not. The whole distinction between magical and normal is much more fuzzy for enchantresses than it is for other mages; magic for them is as natural as talking and just as easy, and they’re sometimes not aware they’re using it at all.

Mages tend to be wary of enchantresses, almost as much as they are of diviners. Our emotions are one of the most basic parts of what we are. The idea that someone can make you like or love or hate, and that there’s no way to know when they’re doing it … well, most people find it dis-turbing.

Including me. As soon as Talisid had said the word enchantress, I’d had a jolt. Right now I was running back through my memories from last night. Had I been under Meredith’s spell? Was that why I’d let her in and helped her so readily? I’d hardly even asked her any questions. A subtle urge to trust, to protect …

Or maybe it was what I would have done anyway. This is why charm magic’s such a headache. It could have been magic. Or it could have been because Meredith had needed my help and asked me for it, or because if I hadn’t acted she would have been killed right there on my shop floor, or because she was really hot and I’m single.

I shook my head and started climbing back down to the balcony. It was time to ask Meredith some questions.

The smell of frying bacon greeted me as I walked into the living room. The table was set, and Meredith was working at the kitchen unit. She looked different in the morning sunlight, but just as lovely. She turned at the sound of the opening door. “Oh, you’re up! I’ll be done in just a minute.”

“Okay,” I said, but didn’t sit down. Instead I walked over to see bacon sizzling in the frying pan, along with some mushrooms.

“Was it okay to use your kitchen?” Meredith asked. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“No, that’s fine. Uh … where did you find all this?” My kitchen isn’t exactly what you’d call well stocked.

“Oh, I went out and got a couple of things. You don’t mind? I made some for you too.”

“Thanks.” My breakfast usually doesn’t get any more advanced than cereal. This smelt really good.

“Great!” Meredith took out a couple of mugs. “Tea or coffee? I didn’t know which you prefer so I made both.”

“Tea would be great.” I’m used to being alone in the mornings. Looking around at the warm kitchen and the smell of cooking food, it occurred to me that this was really nice. Much better than eating on my own and—

Suddenly I shook my head. What was I doing? I’d come in resolved to get some answers out of Meredith yet as soon as she’d started talking to me I’d forgotten all about it. “Look,” I said. “Don’t take this the wrong way. But I think it’s about time you explained what’s going on.”

Meredith was turned away from me so that I couldn’t see her face. She didn’t react visibly. “What do you mean?”

“I think you’ve got a pretty good idea.”

Meredith paused a second, then turned and looked at me with those big dark eyes. “What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with the basics. Who sent that thing after you and why were you coming to my shop last night?”

Meredith hesitated. “It’s … Do you mind if we sit down?”

I sat. Meredith moved things from the counter to the table. I waited, knowing she was going to speak eventually. “I don’t know their names,” she said at last.

“How did you meet them?”

“I didn’t! I’ve never met them.”

“All right,” I said. “Why don’t you start from the beginning? How did you get involved in this?”

Meredith leant against the counter, her hands wrapped around her arms. She was staring off into the corner and seemed to have forgotten about both me and the food. “It was …” She hesitated. “It was Belthas.”

“Who’s Belthas?”

“A Light mage. With the Council.”

I didn’t recognise the name, but that wasn’t surprising. I know the names of the Junior and Senior Council and a few of the heavy hitters but I’m not well connected enough to know everyone the way Talisid does. “Same cabal?”

Meredith shook her head. “No. He came to me and wanted my help with something. We’re not partners or anything … Oh, you know.”

I nodded. A lot of business amongst mages gets done in these kinds of loose arrangements. Sometimes they last, sometimes they go their separate ways once the job’s done, and occasionally they fall apart right in the middle of what they’re supposed to be doing (doesn’t happen often, but when it does it’s usually spectacular). Once you start to pick up a reputation, it’s pretty common for mages to approach you with offers like this. Sometimes it’s genuine and sometimes it’s a con, and it can be tricky to tell which is which. “What did he want?”

Meredith hesitated again. “I’m not sure—”

“Come on, Meredith,” I said. “You want my help, this is part of the deal.”

Meredith looked at me for a second, then turned back to the stove. She switched off the heating ring and the kettle and started putting out the food. I waited, knowing she was making up her mind about what to say.

“Belthas told me about a group of Dark mages,” Meredith said without looking up. “They were supposed to have gotten their hands on some sort of ritual, something powerful. He wanted to stop them.”

“What kind of ritual?”

“I don’t know. He just told me that he wanted me to find out where they were.” Meredith set the plates down on the table with a clink. “I found they were in London and where they were going to be. Belthas and his men went to meet with them to make a deal. Something went wrong. There was a fight. After that, the Dark mages started hunting me. They knew I’d been talking to Belthas.”

“Why did you come here?”

“I was scared,” Meredith said quietly. “The other people at the meeting got hurt really badly. Belthas wasn’t answering and … and I came to you. You’ve done this sort of stuff before, haven’t you? With that thing that happened at the British Museum?”

I picked up my knife and fork and took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

“But everyone says—”

I cut across without raising my voice. “And if it were true, it would be covered by Council secrecy and I wouldn’t be allowed to talk about it.”

“So … you did do all that?”

I looked at Meredith silently. After a few seconds she dropped her eyes.

“Meredith, don’t get the wrong idea,” I said. “I’m a diviner. I find things out. I don’t get into fights if I can help it. If you want a bodyguard, you’re in the wrong place.”

Meredith looked down at the floor. “I haven’t anywhere else to go,” she said. “There isn’t anyone who’ll help me, not without …” She trailed off, staring at the wooden floor, looking very small and vulnerable.

I suddenly felt a wave of sympathy for Meredith, wanted to help and protect her. I fought it off; I didn’t trust my feelings at the moment. “So you want my help,” I said.

Meredith nodded, without raising her eyes.

Damn it. The sensible thing would be to tell Meredith that I was sorry but it wasn’t my problem and turn her out. I didn’t want to get into a fight with a bunch of Dark mages and I didn’t know how much I could trust Meredith or what her real intentions were. I still had the feeling she wasn’t telling me everything.

But I was pretty sure she was telling the truth about being scared. That construct had been no joke. If I hadn’t been there it would have killed her. And when it came right down to it, I hate turning someone away who’s come to me for help. It’s not that I’m especially selfless or anything, but I know what it’s like to be alone and hunted and afraid. I’ve seen the expression on people’s faces as they decide not to get involved, the look in their eyes as they shut you out, and I hate it. Maybe when it comes down to it, that’s all that matters.

“All right,” I said. Meredith’s eyes lit up in relief and I raised a hand in warning. “Two conditions. I’m not fighting your battles for you. I’ll do what I can but I’m going to avoid trouble as much as possible. Second, you tell me everything. If I find out you’re keeping anything back, you’re out. Understand?”

Meredith nodded instantly. “Yes. Thank you. If there’s anything I can do—”

Her eyes were really distracting. “You can owe me a favour. I think the first thing is to talk with Belthas. I’d like to know what got these Dark mages so upset.”

“I can try and get through by phone. He’s got a business address in the City.”

I nodded. “Get in touch and set up a meeting as soon as you can.” I glanced at my watch; it was almost ten o’clock. “Right now I’ve got somewhere to be.”

Meredith wasn’t completely happy about being separated from me, but once I’d promised she wouldn’t be in danger for a few hours she reluctantly agreed to wait. Settling her down and explaining what she should do took longer than I’d expected and by the time I’d finished I didn’t have time to make it to the Heath on foot.

I went back up to my roof. Camden had woken up and the air was filled with noise and the rumble of traffic. This time I hopped across to the roof next to mine and kept walking until I was amidst the chimney stacks and ventilators of the block of flats a few buildings down. I use this roof when I don’t want anyone watching or when I’m feeling especially paranoid, both of which happen more often than they probably ought to. I took out a small glass rod from my pocket—a focus—and wove a thread of magic through it, whispering. “Starbreeze. Traveller, watcher, listener, queen of cloud and sky. I call—”

Something flipped my hair into my eyes and I cut off, turning around with a sigh. “Heard it before, huh?”

Starbreeze is invisible to sight and to most other senses too. It’s not that she conceals herself, it’s just that she’s made of air, and she looks exactly like what air looks like. To my mage’s sight, though, she looks like a woman drawn in blurry lines of blue-white, ever-shifting. She changes her looks daily but there’s something in her face that’s always the same, something ageless. Starbreeze is an elemental, and she’s immortal and eternal, fast as the wind and as powerful as the sun.

She’s also got the memory of a goldfish. It’s like her mind’s got a storage limit, and for every new thing that comes in, one old thing goes out. Sometimes I think her immortality and her ditziness are connected: she can never age because she can never change. But she’s saved my life at least once and I care about her a lot, though I’d never tell her so.

Today Starbreeze looked like a woman in a flowing dress with long hair falling to her ankles. She whipped around me in a tight corkscrew. “Where’ve you been?”

“I’ve been dealing with monsters and assassins and trying to persuade someone not to … You know what, if I explained it you’d forget halfway through.”

“Forget what?” Starbreeze said brightly.

“Never mind. Can you take me to Arachne’s lair?”

Starbreeze came to an abrupt halt, upside down with her head eye level with me, her hair hanging down to the floor. “Present first.”

“Here you go.” I took a small silver piece of jewellery out of my pocket, a stylised dolphin designed as a brooch. I keep a stack of them in a drawer. “I just—”

“Ooh!” Starbreeze snatched the dolphin out of my hands and whirled up into the air, tossing the brooch around in delight. “Starbreeze!” I yelled.

Starbreeze halted, looking down at me from twenty feet up. “Hmm?”

“Can you take me to Arachne’s lair?”

Starbreeze’s face cleared. “Oh right.” Before I could blink she’d darted down, turned my body into air, and whisked me up into the sky.

I love flying with Starbreeze. When I was younger I used to wish I could fly but being carried by an air elemental is better. Starbreeze transforms the bodies of whoever she’s carrying into air, then mixes them with her own form, carrying them along with her. It means you can go as fast as she can, and Starbreeze is fast.

The city shrank underneath me as Starbreeze rocketed upwards, the buildings and roads becoming a winding grid. London looks sprawled and confusing from above, the twisting, irregular roads making it hard to pick out where you are. I could see the winding shape of the Thames to the south, and the green spaces of Regent’s Park and the Heath ahead and to the left. Starbreeze could have gotten me to Arachne’s lair in ten seconds flat but she was obviously enjoying herself far too much to hurry. She kept climbing until we were on the level of the clouds then started soaring between them, twining her way between the fluffy masses like they were some kind of gigantic obstacle course. Looking down at London spread out below me, I could see the shadows of the clouds dotted across the city, the sun and darkness alternating almost like a chessboard. I was supposed to be at Arachne’s lair, but really, I didn’t mind that much. I relaxed, letting the scenery scroll beneath me.

There was a flat-topped cloud the size of an aircraft carrier drifting over Crouch End. Starbreeze swung towards it, soared vertically up its bumpy sides, then levelled off over the top, her wake brushing the cloud’s surface as she cruised over it. “Oh!” she said suddenly. “Someone’s asking about you.”

“Asking about me?” I said. My voice sounds weird when I’m in air form; a sort of buzzy whisper, though Starbreeze seems to understand it easily enough. “Who?”

Starbreeze brought us up onto a tower reaching up out of the top of the cloud. It gave a panoramic view of London, the city stretching away in all directions. “You!” Starbreeze said. “Cirrus told me a nightwing told him a man asked the nightwing.”

“About me?”

“Mm-hm.” Starbreeze frowned. “Wait, the nightwing told me. Maybe a man told Cirrus.” Her frown cleared. “Where are we going?”

“Just a second. What were they asking about me?”

“Who?”

“The men talking to Cirrus.”

“No, to the nightwing.”

“And they were talking about me?”

“They were?”

I sighed. “Let’s go to Arachne’s lair.”

“Okay!” Starbreeze whirled me up, did a somersault, and dived straight down into the cloud. There was a second of icy chill as near-freezing vapour rushed past us, then we were diving towards the Heath at what felt like a thousand miles an hour. I had one lightning-fast glimpse of rushing grass, people, and flashing trees, then Starbreeze turned me solid again, dropped me in the ravine, and darted off before I could even say good-bye.

I checked that no one was watching, found the right spot in the oak roots, waited for Arachne to recognise my voice, and entered the tunnel, my mind focused on what Starbreeze had just told me. Starbreeze hears everything and she probably learns as much of what happens in the mage world as the highest members of the Council—it’s just that she forgets it as fast as she learns it. But the fragment she’d repeated was enough to worry me.

I’m not ranked amongst the movers and shakers of magical society, and all in all, I like it that way. I’ve found my life is much easier if no one thinks I’m important enough to mess with. Having someone asking about me was disturbing. When mages take a sudden interest in a guy it usually means one of two things: they’re considering an alliance, or they’re planning to get rid of him.

Luna was waiting for me in Arachne’s living room, twirling a ribbon between her fingers. Arachne was perched over a table to one side, sewing away at something and apparently paying no attention at all. I felt awkward talking to Luna and it seemed she felt awkward too; I think both of us kind of wanted to apologise but didn’t want to raise the subject. It was a relief to focus on training.

Mages normally take an apprentice who specialises in the same type of magic that they do. The branches of magic are very different; trying to teach a type of magic you can’t use is a lot like trying to teach an instrument you can’t play. But sometimes you just have to live with it, especially if you happen to be landed with one of the more uncommon kinds: If some kid’s just discovered a talent for shapechanging, it’s not exactly practical to wait five or ten years for one of the handful of master shifters to free up his schedule to teach him. In Luna’s case, I wasn’t sure if there even was a mage with her exact talent, and she wasn’t a true mage either, meaning it was me or nobody.

Unfortunately, I was just as new to the master business as Luna was to being an apprentice, and the teaching methods I’d tried out over the last five months had been kind of hit-and-miss. Most had been ineffective, a few had turned out promising, and two or three had led to really spectacular disasters. But while sweeping up the mess from the last one, it had occurred to me that there might be a way of making use of how Luna’s curse worked on objects. Her curse affects inanimate things as well as living ones; it’s just that it’s a lot weaker against dead material. But as we’d found out the hard way, the more vulnerable an item was to random chance, the more easily the curse seemed able to destroy it. After a bit of research, I tracked down the most unreliable and fragile brand of lightbulb on the market and bought a case of them.

Which was why Luna was standing in the middle of Arachne’s living room with a lamp in either hand. We’d cleared a section of the room of fabric and furniture, and the brilliant white light cast a rainbow of colour from the clothes hanging all around, the fluorescent bulbs making a faint, persistent buzz. “Do I have to do this?” Luna asked.

“The better you learn to control your curse, the less likely you’ll hit someone you don’t want to.”

“I get that part. Why do I have to dance?”

Luna was perched with her weight on her right foot, the left foot resting lightly with the leg straight, her right-hand lamp held at chest level in front of her and the other down by her side. This was her third session on Latin—the last two weeks had been ballroom—and it had taken me a good hour to get her stance right. It’s a lot harder to correct someone’s posture when you can’t touch them.

To my mage’s sight, the silver mist of Luna’s curse swirled around her like a malevolent cloud. At her hands, though, the mist was reduced to a thin layer. The two lamps had a few strands of mist clinging to them, but not many. Luna was holding her curse back, keeping it from reaching the items in her hands. The bulbs were fragile and I’d learnt from experience that a single brush from her curse at full power was enough to burn them out. “Again,” I said. “From the top.”

Luna rolled her eyes but did as I said. I’d been teaching her a routine, and as I watched she ran through each move in the sequence. The silver mist flickered and swirled, but it stayed clear of her hands and the lamps shone steady and bright. “Good,” I said once she’d stopped. “Now start doing basics and I’ll give you instructions.”

Luna settled into the basic rhythm, soft-soled shoes quiet on the stone floor. “Wouldn’t it be more useful if I learnt martial arts or something?” she asked after a while.

“No.”

“Why not?”

It was something I’d already thought about and decided against. Given the kind of situations I tend to get into, it would be a useful skill for Luna to know … except she’d be far more likely to end up hurting a friend than an enemy, and quite honestly, her curse is lethal enough already. “What you practice, you use without thinking. The last thing I want is to teach you to hit someone by reflex. Flares.”

Luna hesitated an instant, then stepped into left and right stretches, one arm holding a lamp low, the other lifted high to the ceiling. “I can’t even dance.”

“New Yorks,” I said. Luna obeyed reluctantly, turning on the spot in place of the backwards step. “I know dance, so you get to dance. Be grateful it’s Latin and not Morris dancing.”

“Might as well be,” Luna said under her breath.

Ballroom dancing was one of the odder skills I picked up as apprentice to Richard. Light and Dark mages are quite traditional at the upper levels and a proper apprentice is supposed to be able to fight a duel, dance a waltz, and know which fork to eat dinner with afterwards. “Fan and hockey stick.”

Luna hesitated again, trying to remember the complex figure, and this time the silver mist around her hands pressed outward. For just a second the lights flickered, then she stepped into the move and they steadied. She finished with a basic and started the next. “See? It’s not—”

“Alemanas.”

This time Luna managed without any hesitation. “Outer balance helps with inner balance,” I said. “Your routine again.”

Luna stopped talking for a few minutes as she worked through the pattern. The first time she got it wrong, but her concentration didn’t waver and the lights shone steady. The second time was perfect. “Good,” I said. “Now backwards.”

“Oh come on!”

“And keep doing it till I tell you to stop.”

Luna rolled her eyes again. I noticed, though, that even when she was struggling over the transitions, the silver aura around her didn’t flicker. I’d started to suspect over the past week that Luna’s control over her curse was tied more to her emotions than her thoughts: There didn’t seem to be any connection between the difficulty of what she was doing and how likely it was that she’d slip. “There,” Luna said after she’d done the reverse sequence three times in a row.

“Not bad. Now freestyle. Basic rhythm, any moves you like.”

“How much longer are we going to stick with this?” Luna said as she stepped smoothly into the figures. Her technique was still pretty bad, but she was moving with more grace. Luna’s never done much sport but she’s not naturally clumsy and she was learning fast.

“Until you can dance with someone without killing them.”

Luna stumbled, and the silver mist around her flared. The lights buzzed and flickered but she recovered control just in time, clawing the mist away from where it had been reaching for the lights. For a few seconds she stayed on basic steps, recovering her equilibrium. “That’s not easy,” she said at last, her voice quiet.

“Didn’t say it was. But if you can dance body to body with someone without letting your curse touch them, that’s when you’ll be ready.”

Luna returned to her routine, though with a little more caution in her steps than before. “How long?”

“However long it takes.”

“It’ll take forever.” Luna’s curse flickered, but only slightly.

I smiled slightly. “There’s a story that Napoleon once told his advisors he wanted to plant trees by the sides of every road in France, so that his soldiers could march in the shade. His advisors said, ‘But sir, that will take twenty years!’ And Napoleon said, ‘Yes, so we must start at once!’”

Luna was silent.

“You see, if something is going to take a long time—”

“I get it.”

“How did things go last night with Martin?”

The silver mist around Luna surged. There was a blue-white flash and a ringing sound, and both bulbs blew out.

Luna rounded on me, glaring, and with my mage’s sight, I saw tendrils of silver mist reaching towards me. They were ten feet away, five, and I tensed … then the tendrils halted and slowly pulled back, thinning as they withdrew. Only once they had merged back into the aura around her did Luna speak. “That wasn’t fair.”

“Wasn’t meant to be,” I said quietly. I didn’t think Luna understood what she had just nearly done. But she understood what the lights burning out meant.

“It doesn’t even—” Luna started to say in frustration, then caught herself. She turned and walked to the corner, unscrewing the bulbs from the lights, and dropped them into the bin. There was a clinking sound as they joined the pile.

I waited for Luna to cross the room and come back, giving things time to settle. “We’re done for the day,” I said. “I need to speak with Arachne. Wait outside and I’ll catch you up.”

Luna obeyed silently. I watched her go with a frown, then turned to see that Arachne had stopped work. Her eight eyes studied me, unreadable. “Okay, so that could have gone better.”

Arachne didn’t answer and I looked at her. “What’s wrong?”

“I see why you were unsure about training her.”

I winced. “That bad?”

“She isn’t acting like your apprentice. And you’re not acting like her master.” Arachne crossed the cavern and settled down with her front legs brushing my sides, her head and fangs looming over me. “But that’s a matter for the two of you. What did you learn?”

I hesitated, then put Luna out of my mind. “A friend of mine had the barghest’s corpse looked at. He’s not a hundred percent sure but best guess is that the thing was killed from having its magic drained out of it.”

Arachne went still.

I waited but she didn’t speak. “Arachne?” I said after a moment.

“I … see.” The clicking sound under Arachne’s voice was stronger.

“All right.” I put one of my hands on Arachne’s front leg and looked up at her. “What’s going on? Something’s bothering you about this.”

Arachne turned and started walking slowly across the room. I followed her closely, keeping pace by her side and skirting around sofas and chairs. “You’re worried this thing might be coming after you, aren’t you?” I said. Arachne didn’t react and my eyes narrowed. “No, that’s not it. You’re worried you might die the same way.”

Arachne’s mandibles rustled. “You see clearly in such matters.”

“You mean when it doesn’t involve Luna?” I shrugged. “If you tell me what you know, I might be able to help.”

Arachne halted at the north end of her chamber. Arachne’s living room/workroom is huge and roughly circular. The south end is the exit out to the Heath, to the northwest are a few small changing booths, and to the east are some spare rooms in which Arachne keeps supplies and facilities for her few guests.

At the north end, though, just next to where we were standing, was a tunnel sloping down into darkness. It wasn’t lit, but from what light was reflected, I could see that it led into a T junction, forking away and down. Arachne’s never told me what she keeps down there and I’ve never asked. But from what I’ve seen, I’ve gotten the impression that the tunnels keep on going down … maybe a long way down. For all the time I’ve spent with Arachne, she keeps a lot of secrets, and there’s enough space under the Heath for those tunnels to spread a very long way.

I had to resist the urge to poke my head in and look. It wouldn’t be polite, but it would really satisfy my curiosity. “Do you know of the Transcendence movement?” Arachne asked.

I frowned. “Vaguely. They were that group of rationalist mages who thought magic was the next stage in human evolution. They were trying to find ways of boosting magical potential, turn everyone into a mage.”

“And what happened?

I shrugged. “They never got anywhere. People decided it couldn’t be done, they started losing members, and then the Gate Rune War kicked off and everyone had other stuff to worry about. Why?”

“Most of your account is true but there is one fact you leave out. There was a way to increase magical power and the Transcendents were well aware of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know it as Harvesting.”

I flinched. Harvesting is the act of ripping a mage’s magic from his body and taking it for yourself. It’s always fatal for the victim, often fatal for the harvester, and usually comes with a variety of horrible consequences. It’s the blackest of black magic, even forbidden by Dark mages, and that should really tell you something. “Are you serious? There’s a reason that ritual’s banned. Besides, it doesn’t make any sense—the Transcendents wanted to make more mages, and anyone with half a brain can tell you that if you go in for Harvesting, you end up with fewer mages.”

“Yes,” Arachne said. “They could not draw the magic from humans. So they drew it from magical creatures instead.”

I stopped. I’d never thought of that. “What happened?”

“They were successful,” Arachne said. “The recipients gained the power and strength of the creature they harvested. The process also drove them insane. After enough deaths, the project was abandoned.”

I frowned. It was the first I’d heard of the story; thinking about it, though, it made sense. Mages have a few (not many) compunctions about killing other mages but treating nonhuman creatures as living battery packs would suit them just fine. And mages don’t like to publish failure. If experiments go disastrously wrong, they usually cover it up. “What are you getting at?”

“There are rumours that a mage—perhaps more than one—has returned to the Transcendents’ research. I did not know whether they were true.” Arachne turned her eight opaque eyes on me. “It seems they were. I believe this will be our last meeting for some time.”

I nodded, resigned. Arachne hasn’t lived however many hundreds of years by being careless, and I’ve seen her do this before. When danger comes, she vanishes. I’ve never known where she goes but I suspect the answer’s somewhere down in those tunnels. “Well, I’ll tell you if anything happens.”

“I will be contactable for another two or three days,” Arachne said. “After that …” She gave an odd rippling motion that I’ve come to recognise as a shrug.

Walking up out of Arachne’s lair, I wondered just how many times she had done this over her long life, and how it worked. I’ve never heard of any other creatures like Arachne—giant intelligent magical spiders aren’t a known type in the way that, say, elementals are. I’ve wondered sometimes if Arachne is unique … but then where did she come from? Are there others of her kind, out there somewhere? Or was she once something else?

I watched the earthen bank rumble back into place, the roots writhing and retwining themselves to lock the door closed, and knew I wouldn’t be going back there for a while. It made me a little sad. There aren’t many places where I feel comfortable, and Arachne’s lair is near the top of a very short list.

Luna was standing nearby. I started walking out of the ravine and she fell in by my side. With my mage’s sight I could see that the silver mist around her was muted. “What were you about to say back there?”

The sun shone down out of a blue sky, white clouds drifting with a brisk east wind. It was September and there was a chill in the air, but even so there was a scattering of people around the park, most wearing greatcoats or ski jackets. “When?” Luna said.

“You were about to say that trying to control your magic doesn’t matter.” I looked at Luna. “What’s up with you? I thought you wanted this.”

Luna walked silently for a few seconds. She was wearing her green coat, and the wind whipped at its sleeves and ruffled her hair. We reached a path that would lead us southeast and turned onto it. “What if there’s another way?” she said without looking up.

“What do you mean?”

Luna sighed quietly. “Look, I’ve been doing this for months, okay? And I suck at it. It’s been half a year and I still can’t get through a session without burning the lights out!”

“We always knew it was going to take time,” I said. “Luna, mages spend years learning to control their powers. It’s not just you.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t kill everyone around them when they make a mistake.” Luna stared down at the path. “I know what it means when one of those lights burns out. I can’t make it so that it never happens. What’s the point if I only sometimes kill people? It’s just as bad.”

The path crested the ridge and sloped into a wide, open hillside. We were in the part of the Heath just north of the tumulus, where the rolling meadows descend gradually in a long stretch of grassland before flattening out into the woods and ponds at the park’s edge. It’s open to the sky and we could see for miles. People, alone and in twos and threes and with dogs, were scattered across the great meadow, strolling. On the other side of the ponds, the ground rose again into the huge shape of Highgate Hill, the roofs of houses and a single church poking up between the trees. The valley between gave the illusion that the hill was much closer than it was, almost as if you could reach out and touch it. In the distance East London stretched away, clear in the autumn sun.

Luna and I turned off the path and started down the meadow. Beyond the ponds at the bottom was the main road. “So what are you going to do?” I asked. “Give up?”

Luna walked quietly for a minute. “What if there was another way?” she said again. “Make it safe without all the work. Wouldn’t that be better?”

I looked sharply at her. “Are you—?”

Something flickered on my precognition and I stopped talking. Precognition is a kind of mental discipline and pretty much any diviner who spends much time in dangerous situations learns it by necessity. All diviners have the ability to see the future but we can only look in one place at a time. So what we learn to do is to recognise the outlines of the most important events that’ll affect us personally, things like sudden changes or danger, and then we train our awareness so as to always keep a vague eye on the immediate future, at the back of our mind. It’s like peripheral vision: you can’t see details, but you can sense if something’s about to happen, enough to turn your head and took a closer look.

I took a closer look.

Somebody was about to shoot me through the head in exactly eight seconds.

“Luna,” I said. I kept my voice calm, even as my heart sped up, dumping adrenaline into my system. “We’re about to get shot at. On my mark, go right and take cover.”

Luna stared at me. “Wait, what did—?”

From somewhere on Highgate Hill a rifle fired, and a supersonic bullet flew towards me.

chapter 4

Most mages don’t use guns. Mages will tell you that gunpowder weapons are crude and inferior, and it’s kind of true: While mages have whole libraries of spells and tricks, all a gun can do is kill people. What mages tend to overlook, though, is that guns are really good at killing people. If someone lines up a gun on the right spot and twitches their finger, you’re dead, end of story. Oh, it may not look impressive compared to battle-magic—a fire mage could incinerate your body, a life mage could stop your heart with a touch, a water mage could disintegrate you into dust—but when you get right down to it, most of that is just overkill. Dead is dead.

In a face-to-face fight, spell generally beats gun. Spells are just so much more versatile; a mage can counter pretty much anything with a second’s warning. If the mage doesn’t get that second’s warning, though … well, a shot in the back has been the death of an awful lot of mages. Once a bullet’s gone through your heart, it doesn’t matter much how tough you are.

If I’d been an elemental mage I would have died on that hill. But I’m not; I’m a diviner, and while I have no power to affect the physical world, one thing I can do really well is spot an ambush. I shouted “Go!” to Luna and jumped to the left. An instant later a sniper bullet went through the space my head had been occupying.

A supersonic bullet makes a really distinctive noise and once you’ve heard it you never forget it. First there’s the high-pitched crack of the sound barrier breaking, then an instant later the pitch drops into an reverberating echo as the sound waves from the bullet’s flight path wash over you. The noise makes your heart jump, but hearing a sniper bullet is a good thing. The bullet outruns the sound wave; if it’s on target, it kills you before you ever hear the sound of the shot.

I broke into a sprint, racing down the slope at an angle. I couldn’t spare the time to look back at Luna; all I could do was hope she’d listened. The grass swished under my feet, and looking into the future I could see another shot coming. The hillside was open and bare, and I wouldn’t get to cover in time.

The sniper fired again and I went into a roll. Another crack lashed my ears as the bullet whipped over me, driving into the grass and earth. I came up without breaking stride and kept running. There was an old thick tree up ahead, on a low rise; if I could reach it I’d be safe. I could sense the sniper getting ready to fire again, and I’d had long enough to mark the delay on the shots. His bullets were taking about half a second to cross the space between us. Doesn’t sound like much but in combat that’s a long time. The next shot was aimed at my body, and just as he fired I braked, slowing enough that the shot cracked past a couple of feet in front of me. A final shot fell short as I dived behind the tree and hit the deck.

I lay flat, my heart hammering. The earth under the tree was covered with thin grass, twigs, and nut shells, and they pricked my hands as I held myself still. The sun was shining down and the echoes of the shots had faded into the sounds of the city. There was no way you could have told from looking that someone was trying to kill me.

I was about halfway down the slope of the meadow. The ponds and forests at the bottom of the hill were clearly visible but to reach them I’d have to cross more than a hundred yards of open grass. As I looked around, I saw to my amazement that there were still people walking. A couple were looking around to see what the noise was, and one woman with a dog was shading her eyes and watching me, but most of them didn’t seem to realise anything was wrong.

I pushed myself to my knees, being careful to keep the trunk of the tree between me and the sniper, and looked around for Luna. I couldn’t see her, which was good. Carefully I leant my head around the tree trunk. The sniper had to be firing from Highgate Hill. I could see the giant shape of the hill rising up half a mile away and I scanned it with my eyes, but it was useless. Trees, houses, buildings, a thousand places to hide, all of them with a straight line of sight across the valley to the open meadow I was stuck in the middle of—

My precognition warned me just in time and I jerked my head back. Half a second later there was a high harmonic crack as a bullet whipped through the space that had just a moment ago been occupied by my right eye. My would-be assassin was a very good shot.

That last bit of information was enough to make me sure that I did not want to make a run for it. The ground around the tree was rolling grassland for fifty yards in every direction and I had no intention of trying my luck. I hugged the tree and waited.

Ten seconds passed, twenty. How long would the assassin stay with his sights trained on the tree? He couldn’t afford to wait forever; the more time he spent in his position the better the chance of being found. Thirty seconds. Forty. I looked into the future and saw that putting my head out wasn’t going to attract another bullet. Maybe he’d gone? No, there was another attack coming, it was—

My eyes went wide. He’s going to shoot me with a WHAT?

I scrambled to my feet, leapt around the tree, and threw myself flat. Just as I dropped, something with an exhaust glow flashed very fast over my line of vision, then hit the ground on the other side of the tree and exploded.

It made a hell of a noise. I was less than five yards from the thing and all I heard was a massive bang followed by a ringing sound. Concussion whacked at my legs and arms but the tree was thick and solid and the shrapnel embedded itself on the other side. Leaves and twigs showered down. I couldn’t hear but I knew another sniper round was coming and I scrambled back around the other side of the tree again, getting out of sight before the sniper could manage to fire.

I lay still as the ringing in my ears began to fade. The ground was warm and there was a blackened patch of scorched earth and grass about fifteen feet away where the explosive had gone off. I scanned frantically through the futures, trying to see if another rocket was coming so that I’d be able to get out of the way in time. Nothing. The people who’d been watching were scurrying away. Londoners might not be much good at recognising gunshots but they aren’t going to stick around when someone’s firing a bloody rocket launcher.

Gradually, as my hearing returned, I realised I couldn’t sense any more attacks. I poked my head out cautiously, ready to spring into movement. Nothing happened. The tree trunk was pockmarked with scars where bits of shrapnel had torn into the bark. I looked into the future to see what would happen if I left the cover of the tree and saw nothing. I double-checked and triple-checked, but the futures stretching out before me were free of weapons fire. The assassin was gone.

I pulled myself to my feet and started jogging uphill. I looked through the futures for the ones where I ran across Luna and adjusted my course to match. The adrenaline was still coursing through my system and I covered the first hundred yards at a good pace until the reaction hit me and I suddenly felt like I’d just run a marathon. I forced my legs to keep going until Luna peered out from behind a clump of trees ahead of me. As she saw me, relief flashed across her face and she said something I couldn’t hear.

“What?” I shook my head. “Sorry. Ears. Don’t stop.”

I fell into the fastest walk I could manage and Luna hurried to keep up, torn between wanting to get close and having to keep away. “Are you okay?” she said more loudly, her voice anxious.

“I’m okay. Keep moving.” I adjusted our course to avoid curious bystanders. People were heading for the site of the attack but we would be able to steer clear of them.

My hearing returned as we reached Parliament Hill, just in time to pick up the distant wail of sirens from behind us, first one and then several. We headed down the hill as the sirens grew louder, passing the athletics track on our left and heading southwest. Only once we’d crossed the railway bridge and left the Heath behind us did I start to relax. “What was that?” Luna said at last.

“That was somebody trying to kill me,” I said, managing to keep my voice steady. “Congrats, you’ve just had your first assassination attempt.”

“They were trying to shoot you?”

“Yes they were.” I shivered at the thought of how close they’d come. Divination magic is great for avoiding danger but it also lets you see every possible fate in vivid detail. In the process of dodging those shots, I’d seen exactly what would have happened if I hadn’t dodged them and I’d gotten to watch myself torn apart by high-velocity bullets over and over again. It’s gruesome and it’s one hell of a mental shock if you’re not prepared for it. I stuffed my hands into my pockets to stop them from shaking. “He was firing from Highgate Hill, across the valley.”

Luna hesitated. “Do we … ?”

I shook my head. “No point. He’ll be miles away by now.”

“Who—”

“Not a clue.”

Luna fell silent and we headed west on foot towards Camden Town, taking the back streets instead of the main roads. As I walked, I started making a list of everyone in the mage world whom I’d opposed, fought with, or otherwise irritated. After I ran out of fingers to count on I decided to limit the number to people I’d pissed off relatively recently. Two names topped the list: Morden and Levistus.

Five months ago I got involved in a hunt for a Precursor relic, a powerful imbued item called a fateweaver. Levistus wanted me to bring him the fateweaver and (as I found out the hard way) didn’t want any witnesses to his involvement. Morden wanted the fateweaver too, and by a funny coincidence he didn’t want anyone left to point fingers either. For my part, I didn’t particularly care who got the fateweaver but did have quite strong opinions on staying alive.

As you’ve probably guessed, neither Morden nor Levistus got what he wanted, and I’d been expecting them to do something about it ever since. There was no way to be sure which one to blame the sniper on but my instincts said Levistus; sending agents to kill from a distance was very much his style. But there was a snag. If Levistus had wanted me silenced, the time to do it would have been five months ago. It was possible he just held a grudge and I wasn’t ruling that out, but as a motive for murder it felt a bit thin.

There was a more recent and more obvious person to blame: the Dark mage who’d sent that construct. If I hadn’t been there last night, it would have killed Meredith. Maybe this assassination attempt had been intended to make sure that next time I wouldn’t get in the way.

But whoever it was, it was clear I’d gotten into something a lot bigger than I was prepared for. I walked the rest of the way in silence, laying plans. Luna didn’t break into my thoughts. It wasn’t until I was almost home that something occurred to me to cheer me up. Despite the argument, Luna had obeyed me instantly when danger had arrived, and the relief in her eyes when she’d seen that I was uninjured had been real. It was enough to make me feel a little better as I unlocked the door to my shop.

Luna did a double take. “Uh … ?”

“Hm?”

Luna pointed and I turned to see the smashed window. “Oh, right. That was the other assassination attempt.”

Luna stared at me.

I sighed. “I need to get it fixed. Go on, I’ll catch up.” Luna picked her way through the trashed shop, looking around at the damage, as I called the number of a glazier who I knew wouldn’t ask any questions. It’s not like it’s the first time this sort of thing has happened. Once I’d made the arrangements I followed Luna upstairs, then walked into the living room and stopped.

Luna was next to the sink with the cupboard open, having just taken out a glass. Meredith was in front of the balcony with the doorknob in one hand and her mobile phone in the other. She’d obviously just stepped inside after having made a call. In between Luna and Meredith was the body of the construct. I hadn’t done anything about the thing and it was still lying facedown where I’d left it. Meredith was staring at Luna. Luna was looking up and down between Meredith and the dead construct. Then, in perfect unison, both of them turned to look at me.

“Uh,” I said brilliantly.

The silence stretched out and I tried to figure out what to say. Well, both of them were technically my guests. “Okay, so. Introductions. Luna, this is Meredith, a mage. Meredith, this is Luna, my apprentice. Luna, this is Bob the Dead Construct. Bob, meet Luna. So now we all know each other.”

Okay, so social graces aren’t my strong point. Hey, you try to come up with a polite way of introducing an apprentice, a mage, and a dead body.

Meredith reacted first. “Oh, of course.” She glanced at Luna. “You didn’t tell me you had an apprentice, Alex.”

“No, I—” Luna looked from the construct to Meredith to me.

I was about to explain but Meredith spoke, moving to my side. “It was a construct assassin sent last night to kill me. Alex”—she put her hand on my arm—“saved me.” She smiled up at me.

My face went red. “No, that’s—”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Meredith looked at Luna, contrite. “Do you usually stay here? I didn’t realise I was taking up your space.”

Luna stared at the two of us for a long moment before answering. “No.” Her voice was toneless.

“That’s good.” Meredith smiled at her. “So, you’re Alex’s apprentice? Have you been studying long?”

Luna was still staring and I realised she wasn’t looking at me but at Meredith’s hand where it rested on my shoulder. I moved away, breaking the connection, and as I did, Luna’s eyes flicked up to my face, then down. “No.” She put the glass down. “I should go.”

I stared. “Already?”

“I’m supposed to meet Martin.” Luna moved towards the door. Her movements were sharp, jerky, without her usual control. My precognition flared and instinctively I moved out of her way, and a moment later Luna was through the door.

“Luna, wait!” I followed her out into the landing.

Luna was halfway down the stairs. She stopped as I spoke, and as she did I pulled myself up short. To my mage’s sight, the silver mist was lashing around her, its range and strength far greater than normal, tendrils snaking through the air and soaking into the walls and floor. Another step and I’d be in deadly danger.

I stood my ground. “I need to talk to you. Martin as well. Ask him to come to the shop tomorrow morning.”

“Why?” Luna’s voice was flat but there was an edge to it I hadn’t heard before.

“You wanted me to help, right? If he comes in, maybe I can do something about that item.”

A beat, then Luna nodded. “Fine.”

I hesitated. I wanted to say more, something to encourage her, about how she’d done well today. But before I could think how to say it, Luna started back down the stairs and her curse flared again in the instant before she vanished into the hall. I heard the door shut, followed a second later by the bang of her leaving by the front door.

I frowned. For a moment I tried to figure out everything that had just happened, then my thoughts vanished in a wave of exhaustion. I returned to the living room and made it to the sofa before my legs collapsed.

“Alex?” Meredith said in concern. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said without looking up. The reaction from my near-death experience on the Heath hadn’t worn off yet, and for some reason I didn’t want to talk to Meredith right now. I felt as though what had just happened was her fault, though I couldn’t explain why.

“Well … I got in touch with Belthas.”

For a moment I didn’t know who Meredith was talking about. It was funny; while I was with Luna and Arachne, all the details with Meredith just didn’t seem important. Then I remembered. “Belthas, right.”

“He says he’d like to meet you. I could take you to him this afternoon?”

All I wanted to do was sit there. “Okay,” I said with an effort. “Give me half an hour and we’ll go.”

Meredith hesitated an instant, then withdrew. I leant back on the sofa and closed my eyes. I needed to figure out who was trying to have me killed and why. I needed to find out more about Belthas and Meredith and what their goals were. And I needed to do something about Luna and Martin and the monkey’s paw. But right now all I wanted was to sit and rest, and remember a simpler time.

I made my preparations and travelled with Meredith to Canary Wharf. According to Meredith, Belthas had an office in one of the skyscrapers. It’s not as rare as you’d think: Mages like towers. They’re a kind of status symbol in the magical world, even though no one seems able to explain exactly why. Some say it’s a leftover from the old days where mages had to worry about actual armies laying siege to their homes and a tower gave you a tactical advantage. Others say it’s from when mages went in for astronomy—a tower makes a better observation platform. Other explanations I’ve heard include a better view, attracting attention, reducing electromagnetic interference, impressing members of the opposite sex, a way to reduce the danger of vertical teleportation mishaps, and my tower is bigger than yours. My personal suspicion is that mages like to feel above everyone else, but I usually keep that to myself. Belthas’s office was near the top floor of the second- or third-highest skyscraper in the cluster, which meant he was either powerful and successful, concerned about his reputation, or compensating for something, depending on your point of view. The ground floor was huge, with tall wood-panelled walls and a shining white floor. A doorman showed us through the security gates and we stepped into a lift that carried us upward.

The back of the lift was mirrored and as we ascended I used the mirror to study Meredith. She’d been quiet all the way, hardly saying a word, and I wondered if she was thinking about the mage we were about to meet. I hadn’t forgotten about the conversation I’d overheard last night and I wondered if it had been Belthas she’d been talking to. Meredith had sounded as if she wasn’t happy about their deal.

There was a ding and the lift stopped on the thirty-eighth floor. From what I could see, Belthas seemed to own about half the floor space. There was a receptionist to greet us but my attention was on the men with guns and body armour standing against the wall watching us with alert eyes: Council security. We were shown into a room, and after a brief wait, the receptionist put her head in with a smile. “Mr. Belthas will see you now.”

It’s not the first time I’ve been to see an important mage in Canary Wharf. The last time, it was at night in the middle of a ball, I was shown in alone, and I very nearly never walked out again. The mage I’d met had been Levistus and it had been a near thing. I could still remember the soundproofed room, silent and empty.

Belthas’s office was very different. It was set into the corner of the tower and sunlight streamed in from two glass walls, leaving bright patterns on the carpet and keeping the air comfortably warm. Belthas rose from his desk as we entered and walked around to shake my hand. “Verus. I’m glad you could make it.”

Belthas was tall, almost as tall as me. His hair was almost entirely white and he looked like a very well-preserved fifty. His features were difficult to place: His face looked English, but a faint accent to his words made me think of Eastern Europe. He had a pair of clear blue eyes and a ready smile, and his manner as he greeted me was friendly, but there was something in those eyes that made me cautious. You don’t get places in Council politics without playing the system and somehow I had the feeling that Belthas was watching me just as I was watching him. He went through the usual formalities while I gave the usual replies. Belthas wasn’t acting as though he had anything to hide … but then the best manipulators don’t.

“Well then,” Belthas said once we were seated and I’d refused the offer of a drink. “What can I do for you?”

“How much has Meredith told you?”

Belthas frowned. “I haven’t been fully filled in. I understand you came under attack?”

“That’s one way to put it,” I said dryly. “Someone sent a construct assassin after Meredith.”

Belthas’s eyebrows went up. “I see.”

“Yes. I’d appreciate knowing why.”

Belthas steepled his fingers, seeming to think. Meredith was sitting quietly to one side, but otherwise the three of us were alone in the office. “I can certainly understand why you’d be upset,” Belthas said. “And I’m grateful for your assistance. However, as I’m sure you’re aware, the details are not common knowledge.”

“Belthas, please don’t play games,” I said. “I’m a diviner. If I wanted to find out I could, and you know it.”

Belthas didn’t react, which was revealing: If he’d really meant to keep it a secret he wouldn’t have taken it so calmly. “Perhaps this would go more smoothly if you explained your goals.”

“I don’t have any,” I said. “At least I didn’t until that construct came through my front window last night. Now whoever sent it’s got a reason to go after me too, and Meredith’s asked me to help her. Whether I agree depends on you.”

Belthas didn’t answer straightaway. I could feel the tension in Meredith off to my right but I couldn’t detect any danger. The futures branching before us were only conversation … for now. “I can understand why you’d feel that way,” Belthas said at last. “Perhaps if I explained how this situation came about.”

I nodded and Belthas leant back in his chair. “It begins with a mage named Jadan. He was Dark, but not as hostile as some, and I had some small contact with him. As far as I was aware he was devoted to his research and rarely ventured from his sanctum. He died last month, but it appears that before his death he made a breakthrough. From what I’ve learnt, he was able to finally develop a genuinely practical method of drawing energy from magical creatures.”

I went dead still. I don’t think I showed anything on my face, but it was a near thing. Belthas was looking at me, waiting for a reaction. “Harvesting is banned under the Concord,” I said at last.

“Harvesting of humans. The laws don’t apply to magical beasts.”

“And the side effects?”

“As I understand it, the subjects came out sane.” Belthas regarded me. “However, as far as I know, the knowledge of how to perform the procedure is currently in the hands of only one group: a small cabal of Dark mages. They are, for obvious reasons, attempting to keep it secret.”

“And you found out about it.”

“Yes,” Belthas said. “I met with them recently and attempted to come to an understanding. It was my hope that we could negotiate something in exchange for an agreement that the technique would not be used. Negotiations were … unsuccessful.”

“And after that they decided to finish off your associates.”

“It appears so.” Belthas looked at me. “I hope you can see why I don’t wish the information to become public. Jadan’s technique has the potential to place a vast amount of power in the hands of this Dark cabal. This would not be to anyone’s advantage. In addition, there are suggestions that the technique could be adapted to humans. If this were the case, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the potential consequences.”

“I get it,” I said shortly. My head was still whirling as I put everything into place.

Belthas glanced at Meredith, then leant forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Then with that in mind, perhaps you would be interested in hearing my offer.”

I knew what he was going to say. “Your offer?”

“A simple contract of service. At present Meredith and I are the only mages opposing this group, and to be frank, we could use some assistance. You’ve already proved your ability. I would like to hire you.”

“To do what?”

“Find the Dark cabal. Stop them.”

“I’m not a battle-mage.”

“From what I understand, you’ve acquitted yourself quite well against opponents who are.” Belthas raised an eyebrow. “I’ve read the reports of the fateweaver incident. The uncensored reports.”

“Then you know I don’t get into fights if I can avoid it,” I said. “If you’re looking for someone to kill these guys, I can’t help you.”

Belthas shook his head. “Force is not in issue. I have enough influence with the Council to deal with the cabal in any direct engagement. What I need is an investigator. Someone to find the Dark mages and discover what they know about Jadan’s method. Once we know that, we can move in.”

“You can move in,” I said. Belthas nodded and I thought fast. “And in return?”

“As I said, I have some influence with the Council. I could assist you in any endeavours with them, should you require it. If not, I can promise future service. I would of course insist on paying for your time as well, if only on a token basis. Would ten thousand pounds a day be reasonable? In advance, of course.”

I had to stop my eyebrows going up at that. Like I said before, mages don’t value money all that much. But they still use it as a sense of scale: that much per day meant that the favours he was promising were significant. Of course, if this job would put me in the sights of a Dark cabal, they’d have to be.

“There are some things I’d like to know first,” I said.

“Of course.”

“Meredith was on her way to see me when she was attacked. Why?”

“We had already identified you as a potential ally,” Belthas said. “I delayed approaching you in the hope that we could resolve the matter without spreading the information any more than was strictly necessary. It seems Meredith decided on her own initiative that the priorities had changed.” He glanced at Meredith, who nodded after a second.

“What are you going to do with this technique if you get it?” I said.

“I would prefer knowledge of its existence suppressed if possible.”

“And if it’s not possible?”

Belthas frowned. “Then the task will be considerably more difficult. However, I see no way to avoid that risk.”

I fell silent. Belthas waited patiently for my answer. Looking into the future, I could see that I wasn’t in any danger: Belthas wasn’t going to try to silence me or anything if I said no. The question was whether I wanted to.

If this technique of harvesting magical creatures really existed—and from what Belthas and Arachne had said, it seemed pretty damn likely—I wanted it destroyed. The idea of the magical creatures of our world being hunted down in a race for their life force made me feel sick. I didn’t know if it could be done but I was going to try.

On the other hand, I wasn’t sure how much I trusted Belthas. His explanation had been plausible and smooth but something still made me hesitate. I’m pretty good at telling when I’m being lied to; if I had to bet, I’d have said Belthas was telling me the truth but not the whole truth. Although his manner was friendly, I couldn’t shake the feeling that underneath it was something calculating. He was keeping something back, maybe something important.

But for exactly that reason, I didn’t want to refuse. If I walked away, I’d have no way of learning what Belthas was up to. I already knew I wasn’t going to let this drop; it was a choice of investigating with him or without him. Then there was Meredith. I didn’t like the idea of just cutting her loose and it was pretty clear the Dark mages weren’t going to give up easily. I looked at Belthas. “You’ve got a deal. On one condition. I don’t want anybody else to gain access to Jadan’s research. If we get it, I want it destroyed.”

“Agreed.” Belthas smiled slightly. “Welcome aboard.”

To my side, I felt Meredith relax slightly. “So what’s your plan?”

“I’m working with my contacts in the Council to assemble a strike force. I need you to find out where the Dark cabal is operating from and how powerful they are.”

“And once I do?”

“I will eliminate them.” Belthas’s words were matter-of-fact, with no sign of bragging, and I pricked up my ears.

The split between Light and Dark mages is thousands of years old. There have been wars in the past, but at present there’s an uneasy peace governed by a set of rules called the Concord. Under the Concord, there’s a truce between all mages, whether Light or Dark … in theory. In practice, all the rules really come down to just one: don’t get caught. Open warfare is rare nowadays but violence isn’t, and a lot of brief, brutal skirmishes take place in the shadows of mage society, away from witnesses. Dark mages tend to come off best in these fights. It’s not that they’re any more powerful than their Light counterparts—they’re not—but they’re meaner and a hell of a lot more experienced and there aren’t many Light mages who’ll willingly engage a Dark one. Conventional wisdom is to steer clear of them; sooner or later someone else will take them down, and it’s a lot safer if that someone isn’t you. But somehow, as I met Belthas’s steady gaze, I didn’t get the feeling he was exaggerating.

“How much do you know about them?”

Belthas nodded. “As you say, that is the weak point. So far, the cabal have worked hard to keep their identities secret. I’ve only seen them once and they were masked. There were at least two, of which one was a fire mage, but the encounter was too brief for me to learn much of value.”

“Any leads?”

“They would have had some connection to Jadan, but I do not know what. I suspect, to start with, the best avenue of investigation would be the location of the battle. I met with the Dark cabal last Thursday at—”

“—an old factory in Deptford, just south of the river,” I finished.

Meredith started and Belthas raised his eyebrows. It was the first sign of surprise he’d shown. “You’re well informed.”

I just looked at him. I didn’t explain how I knew. Bad for the mystique.

“Meredith.” Belthas turned to her. “I think it would be best if you assisted Verus.”

Meredith’s eyes went wide. “What? No!”

“You have a problem with working together?”

“I don’t want to get anywhere near these guys. It’s too dangerous. I didn’t sign up for this!”

“I believe you agreed to gather information.” Belthas’s voice was mild.

“Not like this. You—” Meredith hesitated, then started again. “You know what I agreed to. This isn’t it.”

I wondered exactly what Meredith had agreed to. The silence stretched out and Meredith shifted uncomfortably. “Well,” Belthas said finally. “If you wish to distance yourself, I will not do anything to stop you. However, I cannot guarantee the same of our opponents.”

Meredith frowned. I wondered what Belthas was getting at; it didn’t sound like a veiled threat unless … oh.

“What do you mean?” Meredith said suspiciously, then suddenly she got it. “Wait! They’re still after me!”

“Then it would seem to be in your best interests to stay with Verus, wouldn’t you say?” Belthas said. He looked at me. “Assuming Verus has no objection.”

After a moment, I shook my head. Meredith stared at Belthas. She wasn’t happy and I could tell she wanted to say more; maybe my presence was stopping her. If nothing else, I was sure by now that Meredith and Belthas weren’t close allies. Unless I missed my guess, Meredith was only still working for him because she couldn’t see any other way out. “Then it’s agreed,” Belthas said. “I’ll see to the arrangements.”

I left Belthas’s office an hour later. As promised, he’d given me a run-through of the other information he had as well as setting up payment into one of my bank accounts. I didn’t have any worries about the money, but the information was another matter. I walked out into the waiting room at exactly the same time that a familiar blond-haired man strolled in the other door.

Garrick was wearing civilian clothes instead of the body armour and fatigues that I’d seen him in on Friday night but he was unmistakable; there was something about the lazy grace with which he moved that made me think of a predator. His eyes registered me without surprise. “Verus.”

“Garrick,” I said. I looked him up and down. “No guns?”

“Off duty.”

“Working hard?”

Garrick smiled slightly. The two of us faced each other across the small reception room. The window to one side gave a spectacular view across London but neither of us paid it any attention. “Up to anything interesting?” I asked.

“Looking to hire me?”

“Depends who you’re working for.”

“Sorry. Confidential.”

I looked at Garrick. He looked back at me. I’d been fired at just a few hours ago by someone involved in mage business who was a very good shot. There wasn’t any proof that that someone had been Garrick … yet. “Funny coincidence you showing up here.”

“Business.”

“What is your business, by the way? You don’t exactly act like Council security.”

“Could say the same for you,” Garrick tilted his head. “So you’re working with Belthas?”

“Business,” I said. Garrick’s mouth twitched.

We stood looking at each other a moment longer. “Want some advice?” Garrick said suddenly.

“Why not?”

“Take a holiday.”

I looked at Garrick with raised eyebrows. “I’m kind of busy.”

“Didn’t say you weren’t.” Garrick studied me. “But if I were you, I’d clear my desk and take a break. Maybe a month.”

I started to answer, then paused. It sounded like a threat, and Garrick was the kind of guy you’d pick to deliver one. But as I looked at him, I got the odd feeling that he was giving me not a threat but a warning.

The door behind me opened and Meredith stepped out. She stopped as she saw Garrick. Garrick gave me a nod and walked past into Belthas’s study. I gave him a last glance, then headed for the elevator. Meredith hurried to catch up. The security guards watched us impassively as we left and I wondered if I’d be seeing them again.

As you’d guess from the name, Canary Wharf wasn’t always a financial district. Only a few decades ago it was a dock, part of the vast wharf network running along both sides of the Thames in what used to be the greatest port in the world. Nowadays it’s steel and glass, skyscrapers rising up past the Docklands Light Railway and mixing with cafés and shopping malls, but the layout is still that of the old Docklands. Channels are carved out of the mud, inlets flowing in from the Thames. It’s gracefully landscaped and framed with stone but there’s no hiding the huge bodies of water, enough to make the skyscrapers feel almost like islands. I walked along one of the old piers, watching the crowds thronging the plazas. The concrete was warm from the late-afternoon sun but the breeze off the water was cold.

Meredith was still with me. She seemed to have come out of herself since meeting Belthas and I could tell she was about to speak. There was a stone bench near the waterside, and I sat down on it. “Thank you,” Meredith said.

“For what?”

“Agreeing to help.” Meredith sat down next to me, close enough that our knees were touching. It might just have been the cold. “I know you didn’t have to.”

Meredith’s dark eyes looked up at me but I avoided meeting them; I probably would have said yes to Belthas even without her, and I felt uncomfortable being thanked for it. “What about you? Why did you sign up with him?”

Meredith’s gaze drifted down and she looked out over the water. “I’m not sure.” Her voice was doubtful. I looked at her as she gazed away, watching her brush her long hair back as she stared over the Thames. “I mean, he offered the same things … favours, credit, you know. It’s been so much harder since last year, since …” She seemed to realise what she was saying and looked back at me. “Do you think I should have said no?”

“I’m not sure.” Meredith was right next to me, looking into my eyes, and it was really difficult to think straight. I forced myself to look away. “It’s your choice to make.”

Meredith sat quietly. “What should we do now?” she said at last.

“I can think of a couple of things,” I said. I braced myself and turned to Meredith. “The question is what you’re doing.”

Meredith looked up at me in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Look, Meredith, it’s pretty obvious you’re not too keen on the parts of this that involve people trying to kill you. And I can promise you it’s not going to get any safer. Are you sure you want to stick around?”

“Belthas said—”

“I don’t care what Belthas said. The investigation side of this is going to be dangerous. If you want to stay out of it, it might be best if we found you a place to stay out of trouble.”

Meredith hesitated, and I felt the forks of a decision opening up before her. She was really thinking about this. Then the futures settled and she shook her head. “No.”

“Are you—”

“I want to stay with you. And I won’t be useless. I can help.”

Now it was my turn to hesitate. But Meredith’s answer had put me on the spot and it was likely I really would need the help. “All right,” I said at last. “We could ask around to find out more about this cabal. But that was what you were doing when you got targeted, right?”

Meredith nodded. “Did you have any leads?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. I thought I was getting somewhere but …”

“But some of the people you were asking tipped off the people you were looking for.”

Meredith looked at me in surprise. “How did you know?”

I shrugged. “Not hard to guess.” Asking around about a mage is dangerous. Mages who aren’t prepared for trouble tend not to live very long so one of the first priorities of most mages is to establish an early-warning network to spot potential threats, in the same way I’d been warned by Starbreeze. And anyone willing to sell you information about the mage you’re looking for is just as likely to sell the information to them the instant you turn your back. “Anyway, it sounds like this cabal’s gone into war mode. I don’t think there’s much point going fishing. Last thing we want is for them to jump us halfway through.”

Meredith nodded with obvious relief. Apparently she hadn’t been looking forward to that idea either. “So let’s try Belthas’s plan,” I said. “Check out the factory.”

“Right now?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. I need to make some calls.”

The classic thing to do in this situation would have been to go to the factory, magnifying glass in hand, and look for clues. There were several good reasons why I wasn’t going to do that, the main one being I’d already tried it and it hadn’t worked. I hadn’t been able to find much on a search even before a bunch of mages and Council security spent several hours tromping around the place. Besides, why root around when someone’s done it for you?

I called Talisid but came up dry. The investigation of the barghest and factory hadn’t turned up anything else useful. In exchange, I relayed the information from Arachne. “Harvesting nonhumans?” Talisid said in surprise. “Really?”

“Do you know anything about it being tried?”

“God no.” Talisid sounded revolted. “In every instance I know of, the harvester went violently insane. If that was what they killed the barghest with, I’m surprised we didn’t find their bodies too.”

“Why’s it so lethal?” I kept my voice casual, as if from idle curiosity, though I didn’t expect Talisid to believe it for a moment. “Harvesting works on humans, doesn’t it?”

Talisid snorted. “If you can call that ‘working.’ It’s like ripping out half someone’s mind and injecting it into your own. Usually turns whoever did it into a deranged psychopath, though if they were willing to use Harvesting in the first place, most people probably wouldn’t notice much difference.”

It matched with what I’d heard. Magical power isn’t something that can be given away; it’s part of who you are. The only way to take a mage’s power is to rip out most of him with it. I can’t imagine what it would be like to try to merge that maimed fragment with your own self, and that’s if what you were taking came from a human. Trying to assimilate something totally alien, like a barghest …

“So now what are you up to?” Talisid broke into my thoughts. “Trying to track down the mages who did it?”

“Yup,” I said. “Anyone still searching the factory?”

“Empty.”

“Okay.”

“You didn’t have anything to do with that business on Hampstead Heath, did you?”

“What would that be?”

“Someone tried to settle a disagreement with military-grade weapons.” Talisid’s voice was dry and I knew he had his suspicions. “Anything you want to tell me?”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t.”

“Hm. Watch yourself.”

Talisid broke the connection and I dialled another number, and this time I had more success. It took only a few minutes to tell the story and fix a time for the meeting. I dropped my phone into my pocket and went back to Meredith. “We’re done.”

Meredith looked up from her coffee. We were sitting in a Starbucks, the late afternoon sun slanting through the glass of the shop front. “Did you find the guy you were looking for?”

“He won’t be here till tomorrow.” My meeting with Luna and Martin wasn’t until the morning either, meaning I had nothing immediate for the rest of the evening. “Want to get dinner?”

“Really?”

“Not much we can do for the rest of the day. Besides, we might as well relax while we’ve got the chance. There’ll be trouble enough soon.” Which was about to prove more prophetic than I would have liked.

There was a beat, then Meredith nodded, looking at me appraisingly. “I’d like that.”

Meredith wanted to go back to her flat, having been away for more than a day, and I went with her. Apart from anything else, the Dark cabal might be planning to take another shot at her, and if they were, her home was the natural place to set an ambush.

Meredith’s flat was in Kensington and Chelsea, a little west of Cadogan Square. It’s expensive even by London standards and I don’t go there much. As we turned into the street, I saw that it was lined with old white-pillared terraced houses. Once upon a time, sixty or seventy years ago, those would have been used by the gentry and their servants and families; these days they’d been converted into flats for rich professionals. Some things change, some stay the same. The sides of the road were tightly packed with lines of well-polished sedans and sports cars. I stopped on the patio of Meredith’s house, my instincts warning me to check the area before going in. The sun had set during our journey and as I looked from west to east I could see the colour of the sky fading from a deep yellow sunset to midnight blue. There was a scattering of people but the street was quiet with the coming evening and nothing set off my alarms. I followed Meredith inside.

Meredith’s flat was the top one of four, the stairs thickly carpeted. “I really need to change,” Meredith said. “Could you wait a few minutes?”

If there was anything messy about her appearance, it was more than I could tell. “No hurry.” Meredith disappeared into the bedroom. I knew what “a few minutes” meant in girl talk and settled down to wait. A moment later I heard a shower start up from somewhere past the bedroom and I added another quarter hour onto my guess.

Meredith’s living room was decorated in pale green, with tables and chairs of light wood, and a carpet lined the floor. A bookcase stood by one wall—the shelves were less than half full and most of what was there seemed to be boxes or CDs. There was a TV and stereo system, both new looking, the remote controls on the table next to a bowl of dried flowers. Two soft-looking white sofas were piled with cushions and the wall held a piece of artwork made of curves of black metal. The room looked nice but somehow I didn’t feel particularly comfortable. It was a room for receiving visitors, not a place where you could put your feet up and relax. I sat on the sofa and found it was as soft as it looked.

“Where are we going?” Meredith called. I could make out her voice clearly, which meant the bathroom door was probably open … and I stopped that line of thought before it went any further.

“It’s a surprise,” I called back. Actually I hadn’t thought ahead that far. I tried to think of somewhere to take Meredith and came up blank. There are a lot of things I’m really good at but entertaining women isn’t one of them.

“So what should I wear?” Meredith called over the sound of the shower.

“Meredith, I think you’re going to look good whatever you wear.”

Meredith laughed; she sounded pleased and for some reason that put me in a good mood. The sound of the shower stopped, replaced a moment later by the whirr of a hair dryer. I got up and wandered over to the bookshelves. There wasn’t much there; it seemed Meredith was more into music than reading.

“Alex?”

I turned to see Meredith standing in the doorway wearing nothing but a small towel and a couple of hair clips. My brain kind of shorted out at that point and I didn’t notice much else. Gradually I realised that she’d just asked me a question. “Sorry?”

“Which one do you like better?”

I managed to tear my eyes off Meredith long enough to see that she was holding up a couple of dresses on hangers in front of her. “That one,” I said.

“Which, this?” Meredith let one of the dresses she’d been holding in front of herself fall to her side, giving a very interesting view for half a second before she draped the other one over the front of her body. “Do you think?”

“Yeah,” I said. Honestly, I was having trouble even noticing what colour it was. Meredith was looking down at the fall of the dress, apparently completely absorbed, thin tanned arms bare all the way to her shoulder blades. “Go with that.”

Meredith disappeared back into her bedroom and I let out my breath, only then realising that I’d been holding it. This was getting dangerous.

I still didn’t know what to do about Meredith. I knew she’d been recruited by Belthas and I knew she had a very different set of priorities than he did. I was tempted to think of her as a partner … except for that nagging voice of paranoia wondering what her real motives were. Was Meredith staying close to me because she wanted to? Or because she’d been told to? Or for some other reason I couldn’t guess?

As if that weren’t enough, there was Meredith’s ability to manipulate emotions. I still didn’t have a clue just how much of what I felt towards her was my own feelings. She could be nudging me for her own ends … and then again she might not be, and the hell of it was I didn’t have any idea how to find out. So I hesitated, and the longer I hesitated the more I found myself thinking about her. The sounds from the bedroom suddenly went quiet and I turned to see that Meredith had returned.

Even prepared, it was hard not to stare. Meredith had changed into a black dress trimmed with gold. A deep V-neck showed off her cleavage and the lines of the dress followed the curves of her body closely from the waist down to the knees. She’d somehow found the time to restyle her hair and it hung loose around her shoulders with a slight wave. “Well,” I said at last. “I feel underdressed.”

Meredith smiled and walked forward, running her hand down the lapel of my shirt. “I think you look nice.”

“You’re about the only one.” Stupid thing to say.

Meredith didn’t take her hand away and I found myself staring down into her eyes. Her touch was soft and I couldn’t help thinking how nice it felt. It had been a really long time since I’d had a pretty woman do that. “Maybe we should …” I began, and tailed off.

“Mmm?” It was a wordless sound, rising inquisitively, and my heart beat faster. I looked down at Meredith and wondered what would happen if I were to—

The doorbell was loud, an electronic shrill, and it cut right through my head, making me jump. Meredith started as well and looked towards the door with annoyance. After only a few seconds it shrilled again, and Meredith sighed. “I’ll get rid of them.” She walked out into the hall. “Who’s calling this late … ?”

I stared after her, standing and feeling out of place. Something was nagging at the back of my mind but my thoughts were moving slowly. Meredith picked up the receiver just as the bell shrilled again. “Hello?” she said over the sound of the bell.

Suddenly my head cleared and I saw what was about to happen. “Meredith!” I shouted. As Meredith turned in surprise I grabbed her around the waist, dragging her back into the living room as the handset clattered against the wall.

Just as I did so, a column of searing flame tore through the door. The hallway of Meredith’s flat became an roaring inferno, red fires tinged with black. The walls crisped and ignited and the handset Meredith had been holding melted, the plastic liquefying and evaporating as the air heated to a furnace.

Then just as suddenly, the torrent of flame cut off. The hallway was left burning fiercely, flames licking up the walls and reaching eagerly into the living room. Over the crackle of flames, I heard footsteps. Heavy boots kicked the burning remnants of the door aside and stepped into the flat.

chapter 5

It was a good ambush. Anybody caught by that blast would have been turned into a living torch, writhing and screaming in horrible pain for the few seconds it would have taken for the fire mage to finish them off (and yes, I saw that in more detail than I wanted to). The fight would have been over before it began, which was of course the point. There’s a duelling code under mage law for resolving formal challenges. The code is impartial, requires mages to give their opponent fair warning, and is completely ignored by almost everyone. Any mage with the tiniest bit of sense knows that combat is dangerous and that the best way to survive it is to finish the battle as quickly as possible. If you’re a diviner, like me, that means running away. For a fire mage, like the guy who’d just kicked down the door, it means killing your enemy with the first strike.

Of course, for the same reason, mages who are easily ambushed tend not to live very long. I’d pulled Meredith far enough back that the first blast had done nothing but dry our skin, but in only a couple of seconds the fire mage would be in view, and I dug through my pockets for something to hold him back.

But I’d underestimated Meredith. I hadn’t expected her to be any use in a fight, and to be fair, she hadn’t given me much reason to think otherwise: in the battle with the construct, the best that could be said was that she hadn’t gotten in my way. But it hadn’t occurred to me that the reason she’d been so scared was because she’d been facing something her magic couldn’t touch. The fire mage was deadly and powerful but he was still human, and even caught by surprise, Meredith didn’t waste more than a startled breath. She turned to face the door and my senses tingled as she sent something into the hallway.

Over the crackle of flames, I heard the sound of staggering footsteps as the mage fell back. He recovered fast, though, and I saw the attack coming in time to snap “Down!” and pull Meredith to the floor.

A beam of fire slashed through the doorway and sawed sideways through the wall, slicing through wood and plaster and sweeping the living room at waist height. I covered Meredith with one arm and tried to burrow into the carpet. A flash of terrible heat rolled over my back and I felt the hair on the back of my head crisp, then in an instant it was gone and I looked up just in time to see the beam cut through the shelves. The shelving and everything on it literally vapor-ised in the instant before the beam cut out, leaving the burning upper half of the shelves to crash to the floor.