Martha glared at the elevator that had just appeared inside her nice normal War Room. “Why didn’t that . . . thing set off any of our alarms?”

“Because it’s not really here, as such,” said Molly. “I mean, it’s a magical construct that just looks like an elevator because that’s a concept our limited minds can cope with.”

“Your senses aren’t equipped to recognise things like this,” said Subway Sue. “So they show you . . . the nearest equivalent.”

“Right!” said Molly. “This is really old magic, remember, Wild Magic, from when we all lived in the forest.”

“I still don’t see why it has to look like an elevator,” I said, just a bit sulkily, feeling way out of my depth.

“Group mind consensus,” Molly said briskly. “Be grateful. It could have come as an escalator. Hate those things.”

I sighed, deeply and meaningfully, and stepped cautiously inside the elevator. The steel floor was firm under my feet, and the mirrored walls showed I was scowling again. I tried hard not to, in case it upset the troops. They followed me in, with various amounts of confidence, and when we were all in we filled the damn thing from wall to wall, with hardly any room to move, unless one of us breathed in to make a bit of space. Molly made a point of pressing her breasts against my chest, for which I was quietly grateful. The doors closed unhurriedly, and without any instruction or warning, the elevator started down.

We seemed to descend for a long, long time. I could feel the movement, sense it in my bones and in my water, even though the elevator made no sound and had no controls or indicators. It grew slowly hotter inside the elevator, until we were all sweating profusely and trying unsuccessfully to back away from each other. And then the heat just vanished, gone in a moment, and the temperature in the confined space plummeted, growing colder and colder, until our breath steamed on the air and we all huddled together to share our body warmth. And then that was gone too, and I felt neither hot nor cold, as though we had left such things behind us.

Then, the sounds. From outside the steel walls came noises, from far away at first, then drawing inexorably closer. Roars of rage, howls and screams, and something very like laughter, but not quite. Basic, primal emotions given voice, without the burden or restraint of conscious thought. The horrid empty voices we hear in childhood nightmares, from things we know would hurt us, if they could only find us . . . The voices sank into words, and that was worse, as though plague or fate or evil had learned to talk. They circled the descending elevator, coming at us from this side and that, rushing in and falling back, threatening and pleading, mocking and begging, trying to persuade us to open the elevator doors and let them in. I can’t remember exactly what they said, and I’m glad.