It couldn’t continue. She only had so much she could give. She sagged against the doorframe, skirt snapping and cracking like a sail at sea, and the few objects still in flight lost their momentum. They tumbled to the floor, rattling and rolling.

Stanislav stared at them, his many eyes reflecting the outline of the woman in the red dress. Then he came for them, faster than was conceivably possible, flooding towards the door in a wave.

Dalip stepped forward, arm extended, and the knife went straight in: up to the hilt, up to the wrist. Warm, cloying wetness engulfed his hand, and it was a shock. He remembered enough not to let go, but to turn the knife with a twist and drag it out sideways.

It would have been enough to kill any man – catastrophic injuries that would have bled out in seconds.

Stanislav was not a man, nor did he care about such calculations.

Dalip was punched harder than he’d ever been punched before. It was like being hit by a bus square in the chest, hard enough to break his ribs and stop his heart. He flew without the aid of wings, ending up on his back in the mud outside, gazing up uncomprehending at the flickering, churning sky.

He should, by rights, be lying still, waiting for the ambulance, reassured by strangers that everything was going to be okay and being asked if there was anyone he needed to call.

Instead he found himself getting to his feet, renewing his death grip on his knife, and taking the first unsteady step forward.

Mary had picked up a broken table leg. Holding it in a two-handed grip, she swung it over her shoulder as she retreated, almost unbalancing herself.

‘Dalip? Dalip?’

He could barely breathe to reply.

‘This isn’t working.’

‘If you’ve got something else we haven’t tried, don’t hold back.’

Stanislav was in the open with them, now fully visible in his pomp, crowned by an ever-moving halo of tentacles.

And then Dalip shouted to her: ‘We have to get him to follow us.’

‘Is that it?’

‘For now.’

‘Fuck,’ said Mary, and threw herself at the dark, seething mass, swinging as she came within what she hoped was range. The blow was blocked with such severity that it nearly broke her arms. She was wrenched off her feet, and she fell hard. Her wounds stretched and tore.

Dalip ducked under the flailing suckers as they tried to reel both him and her in. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her backwards, out of reach for a moment.

‘Tell me we’ve got its attention.’

Stanislav surged towards them.

‘Run.’

They ran hand in hand, for no other reason but to help the other up if they fell. Dalip guided them towards the gatehouse. The gates were, as they always had been, open, but the arch tying the posts together had fallen into ruin.