We flew down to South America in the family’s private fleet of Blackhawke aircraft. Great big black beasts of the sky, smooth and sleek and driven by powerful engines we reverse engineered from an alien star-ship that crash-landed in a Wiltshire field in 1947. Five planes, carrying fifty men and women with their new torcs, two hundred heavily armed volunteers, myself and Molly, Janissary Jane and Mr. Stab, and Harry and Roger Morningstar. I could have done without that last addition, but Harry wouldn’t go without him. Molly and I were there because it was my plan, Janissary Jane because she’d trained these people and knew more about fighting demons than all the rest of us put together, and Mr. Stab because . . . well, basically because I wanted a vicious supernatural serial killer on my side, just in case anything went wrong.

And I wanted to keep him close, where I could keep a watchful eye on him.

Mr. Stab hadn’t joined the rest of us in the Sanctity for the bestowing of the torcs, but then I hadn’t expected him to. He wasn’t what you’d call a social animal. So afterwards I sent Penny to look for him, to tell him about the forthcoming attack on the Loathly Ones. When she didn’t report back after a reasonable time, I got just a little worried. I found a private place, locked the door, tuned the Merlin Glass to the present, and ordered it to look in on Penny and Mr. Stab, wherever they might be. My reflection vanished from the mirror, replaced by a view of the two of them, walking together on the grounds. Just walking, and chatting. Penny seemed completely at ease in Mr. Stab’s company, even after I’d gone out of my way to warn her about what he was, and what he’d done. Their voices came to me quite clearly.

“I wouldn’t have thought you were the fresh air and wide-open spaces type,” said Penny. “I had you marked down as a town mouse.”

“I prefer it out here,” said Mr. Stab.

“Is the room we’ve given you not comfortable enough?”