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Indarin glanced at him. His eyes were wholly black, more Fell than Fey, and Shan started back in shock. The Fellna burst over him, tearing Naul from him and pinning Shan to the ground. There wasnt even time to draw a weapon and they were so many, so impossibly many, that he couldnt shake them free. You have been chosen, comes a voice: an icicle melting in the centre of her skull. You will be reborn…., Youre gross. Max pulled it away.Youve had enough for now. We have a lot to discuss, including Browne. Jeren shifted, running her hand along the side of the door, searching for the hook on which the cell key should be hanging. No key hung there but she snagged her palm on the hook, tearing the skin, drawing blood. At her gasp of pain, Haledrens head lifted. Two bloody hollows were all that remained of his beautiful silver eyes. Dried blood streaked his face and blackened his tongue and teeth. He smiled broadly and raised his arm. He sank his teeth into the skin of his wrist and tore. I packed my suitcases and loaded everything into the car while Max and Gabriel listened to the tape. Jeren, leave him, Indarin said. Hes dying. Let him be. I told you, stop saying Daddy, snaps Violet, embarrassed. It makes you sound like a baby. Ive started calling my dad by his first name. He hates it. Then when I get in bother I call him Dad and he’s like a toddler with a sweet. You should try it. Or call him Reverend! Did you hear that Freya? Did you hear what I said? Can you describe the room the cage was in? Gabriels voice was soft, the way people used with children to coax the truth from them. From the hallway came the sound of ascending footsteps, each one ringing through the house like cannon fire. A howl of rage ripped through her and she let go in shock as the image of Shan which leapt into her mind fragmented and shadows swept into his place. He was gone. Completely gone. You did a good job with the media. If I were the killer and knew anything about Salyer, Id turn myself in. He took his normal parking place behind the station. Im going to have a word with the chief about letting Max have access to our equipment and work with Calvin. Hes too damned good to be wasted. Gabriel turned in the seat. “That wasn’t what you had planned to say today, was it?” Positive. Ill let you go in first. We climbed the steps together, and he checked the door. Its unlocked. He pushed it open slowly. Ours, chorused a host of voices inside her mind.Heir and vessel. Ours! She knew them, could hear Gilliad raging at her, her father and grandfather, all those voices of her ancestors married together inside her, shredding her resistance and her sanity, remaking her as the Scion of Jern. They were the voices her brother had spoken of, and now they had her as well. I bet you think you were being chivalrous, grumbles Sumaira, with a sigh that could knock over a pot-plant. Headbutting a wanker is only good for the soul temporarily, Rowan. After that, its just another headache. Theres a third girl. Catherine. Violet. And a new girl – Freya. Shes a redhead. The image dissolved in answer to her question and another scene resolved itself. Night time in River Holt and Gilliads body slumped at her feet, his face twisted in agony, frozen in death. Blood spread in a wide pool across the marble and Jeren knelt over him, trembling, tears streaming down her face. Her magic recoiled inside her, seeking sanctuary, a hiding place against the assault to come. And come it did,the power of the Scion of Jern, like a flood of light. It tore through her, stripping away her defences, too strong and too powerful to resist. And glorious. Terrifying and glorious. Rowan chews his lip. The Mountain Rescue Team keeps immaculate records. Would it be such a chore to trawl through the incidents from 30 years back and see if there are any more details? He can feel something unfolding itself in his mind, righting itself like crumpled cloth. He remembers a court case, maybe 18 months back. Somewhere in South London was it? A stabbing or a shooting, he cant recall which. They all blend together after a while; an ugly melange of victims and villains; of perpetrators and witnesses, killers and the bereaved, all swapping faces with the dead. But he always manages to remember attractive women, and there was no doubt that the Detective Inspector with whom he shared two machine coffees and a cigarette ticked that box with gusto. Shed been there to see some drug dealer get life for killing one of his teenage couriers. Loud, funny and dangerously indiscreet, theyd got on famously. She’d been unapologetically forward, sharing confidences andencouraging him to give various colleagues a roasting in print for the misdemeanours she was happy to elaborate upon. He’d done her a good turn, hadn’t he? He seems to recall that she’d said thanks’ a lot when she texted him, though he has no way of checking. Those messages would have been prudently deleted lest they be glanced at by his eagle-eyed partner. Even so, he can recall the contents – and the picture of her dainty feet propped up on the bath taps that she had sent along with the rather suggestive message thinking of you’. Sumaira, that was it, wasn’t it? Flirty eyes and a big mouth. She’d told him the case had made her mind up, hadn’t she? Said she couldn’t stare into the sewer of London’s underworld any longer. She was going to accept a job up North. They’d chatted for a while as he’d told her about his own connections to Cumbria; his start in journalism, his sister’s love affair with the Lakes. He has no doubt that he could persuade her to see the merits of renewing their acquaintance. Wonders whether his hands are up to it and decides there is no gain without pain..