When the tent was empty, and there were only twenty-five of us left, the Carnegie Sidhe spoke again. ‘There are only three competitors whose accrued points put them in a position to win. If the rest of you want to drop out, go ahead. This is a short challenge and it won’t be long before we have our winner.’ No one moved. He shrugged as if we were all idiots and continued. ‘You will each take a number from this bag. The number you take corresponds to your assigned door. When the klaxon sounds, you will go through it. Your goal is to find the red button and push it.’ He stared at us. ‘Simple, really.’

‘I doubt that,’ Angus whispered. ‘We know there’s going to be one giant spider to contend with at least.’

And then some. I took my place in the queue, eventually pulling out a small plastic disk with the number thirteen etched onto it. Unlucky for some. We arranged ourselves in numerical order and I was none too pleased to see that Tipsania had drawn number fourteen. As we filed out onto the field, she trod on my heel. ‘Oops,’ she simpered. ‘Sorry.’

I turned to look at her. ‘Why are you doing this?’ I asked her. ‘Why are you being a bully?’

She snarled, ‘Your very existence is an affront to all that the Sidhe stand for.’ Her words dripped with vile condescension but, for the first time, I saw something behind her eyes that suggested she lacked conviction. Or maybe I was just softening towards her.

We heard the roar of the crowd long before we saw them. The grandstand was filled to capacity. There were a lot of makeshift placards proclaiming support for the competitors and I was shocked to see a few Sidhe from other Clans holding signs up for me. That was unexpected – and probably dangerous for them. Maybe people liked to show that they’d backed the winner; my odds, which had been three hundred to one before the Artistry challenge, now placed me as favourite. I wasn’t sure whether to be pleased that my efforts were being acknowledged or to worry about the target that was now placed on my back.

I took my place in front of my assigned door. The field was almost covered with walls of smoky black glass – the ones that I’d seen stacked in the pallets aboard the Carnegie ship. I had visions of a crazy arena inside where we’d be forced to fight each other to the death like some bloody, warped Battle Royale. I clenched my hands. If that was the case then I was pretty much screwed.

The countdown started and Campbell Carnegie’s dulcet tones came over the loudspeaker. I bounced up and down on the balls of my feet. If I had to make a run for it then I would.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.