minutes.
His fingers and toes were already numb, and the lack of feeling was creeping slowly along his limbs. More snow was falling, the gale howling over the rooftops, raising whirlwinds of white along the street. Hypothermia was a constant threat; freezing to death a distinct possibility.
But the risk of getting caught was too great. In the current climate of anger, fear and suspicion, it was more than likely that some overzealous guard would save everyone the trouble of a trial. A bullet in the back of the head. A foot on the windpipe. Or simply locking him up without food or water in an unheated room. In the looming crisis, who would even care? He would simply be one less thing to worry about.
Beneath the cold was a sickness of spirit born of incomprehension. How had he become the chief and — from the way Samantha had described it — sole suspect? He hadn’t done anything that might have hinted at his involvement. That left only one other possibility: that he was being set up. It was obvious that the Government had been a hotbed of plotting and counter-plotting in recent weeks, but he would never have suspected that any conspirator would go to such lengths. Clearly it had all been running slow and deep and dark, like the waters beneath the frozen river.
A rush of self-loathing swept through him. Why was he always so naive, so self-obsessed, so consumed by his own petty emotions and intellectual games that he never saw the big picture?
Shouts rose above the wind: a large disturbance nearby. Afraid that he had been discovered, Hal ran to the other end of the alley only to be confronted by an iron gate topped with razor wire. His heart thundering, he huddled down, staring at the gleaming snow at the end of the alley in anticipation of a silhouette, the shadow of a gun, a barked order.
His attention was caught by a trail of golden light high overhead, seen briefly and then lost in the swirling snow. Slowly, a figure descended from the dark and the snowstorm. It was Petronus, the boy who was not a boy, still wearing his floppy nightcap mask and his romper-suit outfit. His hands were clasped nonchalantly behind his back and his feet crossed as he floated down.
‘Brother of Dragons, why do you wait here in the cold and the dark?’ Petronus asked, curiously.
‘I’m hiding from the soldiers. Can you help me?’ Hal said.
Petronus held out his hands. ‘How can I refuse such a request after you saved the life of my companion? What do you require?’
‘A diversion. Can you swoop around the patrols so they’re distracted enough for me to slip by?’
Petronus nodded slowly, and under his mask Hal had the impression that he was smiling.
‘But you must run fast, Brother of Dragons,’ Petronus cautioned. ‘Battle is about to be joined. The city is surrounded and soon it will be overrun.’
The news came as a shock, but Hal could only deal with one obstacle at a time. Petronus bowed theatrically, then swooped to the end of the alley where he paused for a second before darting out. As soon as Hal heard the sound of gunfire, he sprinted out of the alley and across the street as fast as the snow would allow. Keeping to the backstreets and alleys as much as he could, he arrived at Mrs Damask’s just as the sound of whinnying horses echoed across the approach route.
Hal dropped back to wait for the riders to pass, only to feel an almost overwhelming surge of relief when he saw that the first rider was Hunter. Behind him, a woman with pale skin slumped weakly in her saddle.
Hunter reined in his horse as Hal stepped out of the shadows, then jumped down in surprise to greet his friend raucously.
‘I thought you wouldn’t be coming back,’ Hal said.
‘Hal, this is me we’re talking about.’ Hunter held out his hands in a disbelieving gesture. ‘I am unstoppable.’
‘Unbearable, more like.’
‘What are you doing out in the cold at this time of night?’
Hal’s grin faded. ‘The PM’s been assassinated and they think I did it. Everyone’s looking for me.’
Laura slid from her saddle and walked up to them wearily. ‘Can we cut the male-bonding? I need to get inside to rest.’
‘I didn’t do it,’ Hal protested.
‘Course you didn’t,’ Hunter said. ‘Let’s face it, you’re the most unlikely suspect for a political assassin I can imagine.’ Hunter clapped a reassuring arm around Hal’s shoulders and nodded towards the unfamiliar woman. ‘She’s a bossy witch but she’s right — let’s get inside. Time’s running out and we’ve got a lot to do.’
As they walked to the door, Hal asked, ‘Who’s your friend?’
‘Some kind of plant. Haven’t quite decided the phylum, subphylum or class yet, but probably a distant relative of poison ivy.’
Hal gaped in incomprehension, while Laura eyed Hunter superciliously. Hunter smiled back at her. Then, as they passed through the door, Laura let it slam in Hunter’s face.
The atmosphere in Mrs Damask’s warm, fragrant lounge was subdued. Mallory, Shavi and Sophie talked intensely by the fire, while Lugh and Ceridwen pored over a map of the city at the table near the window. Sophie had already made a remarkable recovery.
When the new arrivals entered, Shavi strode quickly across the room and swept Laura into his arms with enthusiastic happiness.
‘It has been a long time, Laura,’ he said.
‘Feels like years.’ She put her head in close to his so that only he could hear. ‘I’ve missed you. I’ve missed all of us, together. We made a good team, didn’t we?’
‘We did.’
‘This new lot don’t know what they’ve got.’
‘Give them time. They need to draw closer to each other. Find their shared strengths. Overcome their weaknesses together.’
‘Time is one thing they haven’t got.’
Shavi ignored her last statement and looked to the door hopefully. ‘Where is Ruth?’
Laura shook her head gravely.
While Laura and Shavi spoke quietly, Hunter and Hal gathered by the fire with Mallory and Sophie.
‘You look very fit for someone who’s supposed to be dead,’ Hunter said to Sophie, with a hint of flirtation.
‘You’re wasting your time turning it on with me, Hunter. Mallory’s already warned me about you,’ she replied, in a not unfriendly manner.
Hunter feigned a hurt expression. ‘Well, then. Down to business.’
‘It’s a bit late in the day to start talking,’ Hal said.
‘Who’s this misery goat?’ Sophie shucked off the cloak Mallory had wrapped her in; her skin, so pale and deathly less than an hour ago, now bloomed with vitality.
‘Don’t go saying anything against my chum.’ Hunter clapped an arm around Hal’s shoulders and crushed Hal to him. ‘This is Hal Campbell, damned intellectual, the brains to my brawn, the brains to my beauty-’ Hal fought his way free.
Sophie’s eyes narrowed as if she was peering through skin and bone into Hal’s very heart. ‘There’s something about you-’
‘There’s nothing about me!’ Hal snapped.
‘Stop picking on him.’ Hunter edged Hal away from Sophie’s probing stare. Hal wandered into a corner where he observed the proceedings sullenly.
‘This is better than I thought,’ Hunter continued. ‘With Sabrina here back in the land of the living, we should be up to speed.’ He glanced at Shavi and Laura, still locked in deep, quiet conversation. ‘If you count our two substitutes.’
Quickly, they began to exchange information. Hunter explained Ruth’s absence — Sophie could barely hide her disappointment. ‘I wouldn’t be here today if not for the trail Ruth walked before me,’ she said, before telling everyone how Caitlin had lost her Pendragon Spirit and become possessed by the Morrigan. Caitlin was locked up downstairs under the guard of Thackeray and Harvey in case the Morrigan reasserted herself.
‘We stand a chance, then,’ Mallory said. ‘But I’d be happier if we had the true number instead of trying to pad it out with Laura and Shavi. Still, even if we had the proper number, five of us against a couple of million-’
