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Harris hung his head.Yeah. Violet stands at the waters edge. She feels empty. Weightless. Her whole being seems insubstantial, as if it is resolve alone that stops her from disintegrating into protons and particles to be disseminated by the breeze. She considers this. Thinks of spores and bees. Decides she would like to be a part of a swarm; a speck in a shared consciousness. Would like to become nothing more than energy; cosmic vapour wafting into and out of trees and stones and raindrops. A pleasing thought dances through her mind. Perhaps she could become a sensation. An impulse. She would like to become a moment of somebody elses consciousness; her entire essence distilled into a strangers unbidden sense of joy. The picture makes her smile. She imagines herself as vapour, fleetingly inhaled. Mr Sixpence will be pleased that she was paying attention as he spoke, so softly, about the lower world; about what lay beyond the veil. Rowan wakes to pain. He feels as though hot iron is being pressed against his flesh. There is a pain in his shoulder joints; an agony so hot and perfect that for one delirious moment he feels as though wings have been stitched to his back. Yes. And he did it too. Torvins voice sounded hollow, broken. He gazed into the distance as if that was the only way to keep his emotions in check. Jeren handed the scroll to Indarin. The Shistra-Phail studied it briefly, his features like a rock. Violet swipes at the air, growling like a tiger. Catherine can sense that in a moment her friend will test the effectiveness of the makeshift claws by slashing at her face. Catherine tries to distract her before the idea occurs. The female warrior folded her arms.Our Sect Mother just made Jeren swear to obey her with one breath and stole her mate with the next, once she knew there was nothing else to stop her. Make it up as I go along, says Rowan, draining his glass. In the best scenario, Catherine will be delighted to have the chance to tell her story. She clearly got a desire to be heard – why else would she want to write? I need to show her that I can be trusted. Catherine shudders.She was trying to be like him. Shed sit and smoke Bible pages and chuck bacon fat in the fire pit, trying to make her memory come back to life. I didnt want to do it but the memory of everything that came before – it just pinged into my head. I remembered him. The busker. Elrik. And whenI said it out loud, thats when she started to remember too. A scream rips upwards and out of her throat. The memory is perfect. Clear as day. She feels warm blood upon her skin. The Shamans blood. Sees herself clambering towards the light. She hadnt stopped for Freya. Had just clambered, drunkenly, up the jagged slope and clawed her way into the darkness of the forest. She had lost sight of Catherine. And then something startled her, and she had lashed out, unthinking, just asshe had when the pig-faced thing tried to touch her. She had hurt Eve. Had spilled her blood. Had ripped off her clothes and dragged herself through the roots and branches and fallen trees and hadnt stopped running until she fell into the arms of the Mountain Rescue men. Catherine was with them,sobbing, terrified, eyes like skulls. Rowan has been walking for 20 minutes. Hes been pissed off for 19. Earlier, Jo had been gracious enough to drop him off for a lunchtime shandy at the nice foodie pub in Nether Wasdale. He and Pickle had eschewed solids in favour of sampling the unexpectedly good range of single malts. Rowans debit card hadnt worked when they’d come to settle the bill. He’d protested, appalled and embarrassed, plucking random numbers from thin air and claiming that the account contained that precise sum when he checked just a few minutes ago. In the end, Pickle paid cash, peeling off three greasy 20-quid notes from the unseemly roll in one of the pockets of his overcoat. He’d been happy to oblige, if only to ram his largesse down the throats of the snotty-nosed ramblers who’d looked at him with disgust when he’d shuffled in reeking of weed and wet dog. Pickle had been his reliable self, offering a listening ear and a few choice words of support. He agreed with Rowan – there could be a story in all this. What he couldn’t say with any clarity was whether that story could be turned into a pitch for a bestselling true crime novel before the New Year. Evelyn wakes in the kitchen, face down on crossed arms. Theres an empty bottle of Famous Grouse on the table and two Mars bar wrappers scrumpled up on her paperwork. A mugshot of Rowan Blakes face is staring up at her from the inside flap of the red book. She fell asleep while reading. Dreamed of tall, angular figures moving towards her through fire-blackened trees; the shadows and the objects that cast them indistinguishable; bindings about her elbows and ankles; soft earth in her throat. 35 I watched the interaction between them.They look like the relationship was more than doctor-patient.Max, you can keep Karen company while Gabriel and I check out the cabin. His eyes darkened, his face contorting, erasing the handsome features and revealing the demon that hid below the surface. Or at least that was how I saw him.Why do you always make me hurt you? Now, he continued, his hand closing into a fist with his forefinger out. He aimed it at her face. I want to know what it is, and who you got it off. What had caused Ariah to send the Scion of Jern home? Shan no longer remembered. Too many transgressions jumbled together—disrespect, trespass on sacred land, brawling, a vicious attack on a fellow student…every act bleeding out from the wound of blind conceit inside him, the belief that he was alone among a people far beneath him. Hard to believe that this was Felans descendent. Shan thought it enough to ignore him, and to pray his sister would come to her senses soon. For a moment all Jeren could do was stare at her companion. Did she mean Shan? The spark of hope died as she remembered his kiss goodbye, the way she sensed his early departure, the silent tears she had wept into the bedroll..