He took a cautious step, only to feel the air slam into him like a wave. He was blinded, forced choking to his knees, and yanked into a depthless blackness. He hurtled again through nothing, twisting and flailing until he landed roughly on a hard wooden floor.

He forced himself up onto his elbows, inhaling the stink of burnt chemicals mixed with damp wool. He heard voices before his vision cleared, Matthew’s rising above the other two: “James? Jamie!”

James coughed weakly. He tasted salt, and touched his mouth with his fingertips. They came away black and red. Hands caught his wrists; he was hauled up roughly, an arm around his back. Brandy and cologne.

“Matthew,” he said, in a dry voice.

“Water,” Christopher said. “Do we have any water?”

“Never touch the stuff,” said Matthew, settling James onto the long sofa. He sat down next to him, staring so intently into James’s face that, despite everything, James had to stifle a laugh.

“I’m fine, Matthew,” said James. “Also, I don’t know what you expect to discover by looking into my eyeball.”

“I’ve got water,” said Thomas, pushing past Christopher to offer James a mug: James’s hands were shaking so badly that his first swallow went half down his windpipe, half down his shirtfront. Christopher pounded him on the back until he was able to gulp air and breathe, and drink properly.

He set the empty mug on the arm of the sofa. “Thanks, Thomas—”

He was caught, suddenly, in a fierce hug from Matthew. Matthew’s hands were tight on the back of his shirt, Matthew’s cold cheek against his. “You went shadowy,” Matthew said, his voice low, “as if you were going to disappear, as if I’d wished you gone and you were vanishing—”

James drew back enough to smooth Matthew’s hair away from his forehead. “Have you wished me gone?” he said teasingly.

“No. Only I wish myself gone, sometimes,” Matthew said in a whisper, and it was that rarest of things where Matthew was concerned, an entirely true statement with no mockery or teasing or humor to be had.

“Never wish that,” James said, and sat back enough to see the other two Merry Thieves, and their worried expressions. “I turned into a shadow?”

Thomas nodded. Matthew was leaning against the back of the sofa now, only his right hand wrapped around James’s wrist, as if he were reassuring himself that James was still there.

“I did think that rubbish was over,” James admitted.

“It’s been months,” said Christopher.

“I thought it couldn’t happen to you anymore,” Thomas said. “I thought Belial’s realm was destroyed.”