Wolf Island

heart leaps hopefully. Someone must have found a way past the barrier, snuck up behind her and struck while she was gloating over me. I glance over her shoulder in search of my saviour but I can’t see anyone.

Juni releases me and takes a step back. Her expression clears and she smiles. Then she laughs, and the laughter strikes me harder than any of her blows. She screams with crazy delight, jumping up and down on the spot, bits of her diseased flesh dropping off like bloated ticks.

“Oh, Grubbs!” she cries. “You absolute darling. How delicious. How ironic. The saviour of the world… protector of mankind… Hah!”

I slump to the floor, take a painful, rasping breath and stare at Juni. Has she lost herself entirely to madness? Have I been saved by a mental breakdown?

“I just had a vision, darling Grubbs,” Juni says, backing up to the window. “I had them all the time when I was Beranabus’s assistant. I catch glimpses of the future. That’s why he valued my services so highly. I served Lord Loss in the same way when I joined him. That’s how we knew the cave in Carcery Vale was going to be reopened, why we acted when we did.

“But this vision was the most vivid ever. You were in it, the star of the show. It was the near future… very near. You were at your most powerful, tapping into the sort of power that would allow you to crush me like a bug.”

Juni sticks a hand through the window. It’s pulsing at the edges. It will close soon, but not before she fires off her parting shot.

“I saw the world destroyed,” she whispers. “It was blown to pieces. The seas bubbled away, lava erupted, the land split and crumbled. Everyone died, young and old, good and bad. Then a ball of fire burst from the heart of the planet, incinerated the globe and blasted the ashes off into space, before spreading to consume the universe—worlds, suns, galaxies, all.

“You were there,” she sobs, crying with happiness. “But you weren’t trying to stop it. You made no attempt to save the world. You couldn’t… you didn’t want to… because you were controlling the mayhem. The Demonata won’t destroy your universe, Grubbs Grady—you will!”

With that she skips through the window, giggling girlishly. Moaning wildly, I drag myself after her, but before I’m even halfway the window disintegrates, and all I can do is lower my face to the cold, hard, blood-drenched floor and weep.

THE DEVIL’S IN THE DETAILS

As magic drains from the air, the barrier blocking the doorway gives way. Meera, Prae and the werewolves stumble into the room. Timas enters via the hole which Pip blew in one of the side walls earlier. He must have circled round while I was fighting Juni. A dangerous manoeuvre—he could have been attacked by a rogue werewolf but he got away with it. Not that it mattered. Juni had blocked that entrance too.

“Grubbs,” Meera cries, rushing over. “Are you OK?”

I moan pitifully, reaching for a window which is no longer there, Juni’s prediction echoing in my ears. It can’t be true. She was mocking me. It’s part of some horrible game.

But she had me at her mercy. I was helpless. It would have been a simple matter to finish me off. She spared me because she saw me destroy the world in the future. Nothing else makes sense. I’m more valuable to her alive than dead. I can do what she, Lord Loss and the Shadow can’t.

“You’re wounded,” Meera says, fussing over me. “You have to heal yourself.”

“Leave me alone,” I cry, hammering the floor and cursing.

“The magic’s fading,” Meera hisses. “Use it to heal yourself or you’ll die.”

“Good,” I mutter. Better if I die. I can’t wreck the world if I’m dead.

“Grubbs!” she snaps. “Don’t be an ass. Heal yourself. Now!”

I sigh miserably, then focus my power on the bleeding wounds, broken ribs and ruptured inner organs. It would be for the best if I perished, but I can’t give up on life. I’m not that much of a hero.

“What happened?” Timas asks.

“Didn’t you hear?” I wheeze, working on my chest and upper stomach.

“The sound faded out,” Timas says. “It was like someone turning down the volume on a television set.”

“It was the same for us,” Meera says.

So Juni didn’t want the others to hear her prediction, in case they decided to kill me for the good of mankind. I consider telling them. I’m pretty sure one of them—maybe all three—would put a bullet through my head if they knew of the threat I pose. But that would be another form of suicide, so I hold my tongue and shake my head.

“Just more of the same rubbish,” I grumble. “She said she was sparing me for her master, that Lord Loss wanted to kill me himself.”

“Strange,” Timas notes. “She was happy to let the werewolves slaughter you.”

“I guess she knew I’d survive. It was all a set-up. She never meant for me to die, only the rest of you, so that she could relish my pain.”

Timas makes a sceptical humming noise, but says no more. I continue healing myself, Meera watching closely to make sure I don’t miss anything. The power’s fading fast, but I’ve dealt with most of the life-threatening injuries. I’ll live.

The werewolves—there are five in the room with us—are sniffing the floor by one of the walls. They’re growling. I bark at them to be quiet. Listening carefully, I hear scrabbling sounds. Someone’s crawling away in a hurry.

“The maps you studied earlier,” I say to Timas, rising painfully but standing steady on my feet once I’m up. “Did they show any tunnels or crawlways running off this room?”

“No,” Timas says, edging up beside the werewolves.

“Then they weren’t as complete as you thought,” I sniff.

“You’re right,” he says, tapping the wall. “There’s a hidden panel. I’m sure I can find the opening mechanism if you give me a few—”

I snap at the werewolves. The largest smashes a fist into the metal panel. Again. A third time. It crumples under his fourth blow, snapping loose at the upper and left edges. The werewolf gets a few fingers into the gap and wrenches off the panel, revealing a small passage.

The werewolf who removed the panel darts into the crawlway, but stops at a command from me. Shuffling forward, I stoop and stare into the gloominess. I can’t see the person scuttling away from us, but I can smell him. It’s a familiar, cultured scent. I smile viciously.

“After me,” I say softly, then lower myself to my hands and knees. I edge forward, moving faster than the man ahead of me, steadily catching up, making heavy snarling noises, letting him know I’m coming, savouring the intoxicating smell of his mounting fear.

The crawlway opens out into a large room at the rear of the compound. There are several boats stacked at the sides, but all the hulls have been shattered, holes punched through the shells, making them as seaworthy as sieves. I figure Juni wanted to give her soldiers an extra incentive to stand and fight. She made sure nobody shipped out early.

Antoine Horwitzer is struggling with one of the useless boats, hauling it towards an open section at the far side of the room. I can smell and hear the sea, the crash of the waves, the cries of the gulls. Antoine is sobbing, his jacket tossed to one side, shirt ripped, trousers dirty. He must know he can’t get anywhere in the boat, but desperation drives him on.

As the others emerge behind me, I raise a hand, holding them in check. Antoine doesn’t know we’re here. He’s totally focused, head bent, straining painfully, using muscles he probably hasn’t tested in years. I’m amused by the sight of him dragging the wreck of a boat towards the edge. For a while I forget about Juni Swan and her terrible prophecy, and just enjoy the show.

Finally, when he has about a metre to go, I cough softly.

He freezes. Moans. Gives the boat an especially strong tug. Doesn’t look up.

“Antoine,” I laugh, stepping towards him.