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Are you ready? he asked. You sound like youve been hypnotised, says Rowan, shaking his head. Jeren of River Holt isnt one of us, Ylandra was sobbing now. She doesnt deserve to be. And her story, broken and desperate, spilled out. Jeren lurched free of Shans grasp and, slipping past the oncoming sword, she seized Maldrine. She swung her whole weight around, hurling her enemy against the tunnel wall. He fell back, momentarily dazed and she turned on him, a fierce light in her eyes, her gaze not entirely her own. Hippy claptrap, muttered Daddy, as if he hadnt already read the brochure cover to cover. I dont know, he says, quietly. I sometimes dont even know how old I am. None of it matters. I feel a connection with all things. A oneness. I try to help people…., I understand that, Jeren. But it cannot be. We are changing, just by being here. Our... our darker drives, things we have put away long ago have are coming back to the fore. I cannot sanction this. Go away, he hissed, his voice no longer musical. It grated, like the rusty gate. Go away. Stop staring. Prying eyes should be pried out! And then he laughed, an awful, hollow sound. I might hurt you, he warned, and for some reason she wanted to laugh. She was thinking about her vision, about the pain she saw in that future, the agony of separation from this wondrous man. And he was thinking of her. He raises his glass, toasting his sister. Saint Serendipity - always willing to blow-dry a drowned rat. Im thinking you missed the part where I said without questions. You gonna do it or not? Jeren drew the sword. It slid through the air like water, its song bright and terrible. Its nice here, in Serendipitys madly-patterned kitchen, at the heart of the large stone farmhouse that Jo has spent a very keenly worked out budget on transforming into a home of distinction. Warm, with the Aga belting out heat. The walls are a mixture of burgundy and teal and the low roof and dark wood beams make him feel as though hes sitting in some marvellous Victorian tavern, tankard in hand and pipe cupped in a grimy palm. He’s having to squint a little to keep up the charade. Jo is seated at the other end of the kitchen table, a hunched preying mantis with whom his bee is sharing a sunflower. Jeren tried to speak, but was abruptly reminded that the body and the voice were not her own. A thin, high whimper of terror came out as she struggled, tearing the skin holding her on the metal restraints in an effort to escape them. That way, smiles Crow. Hotel and bar and the birthplace of British rock-climbing, if youre interested. Id sit there and have a good hard think..