Warier now, I slowed to a walk. I’d memorised Bob’s directions so I knew exactly where to go. He’d assured me that his information was accurate as of 1923. Considering that was close to a century ago, it wasn’t the most comforting thing to hear. Bob had been with an English lord who wanted to woo his new bride and whose wish had thrown up Dagda’s harp to help him. Needless to say, things hadn’t turned out very happily for the lord and the harp ended up staying exactly where it was. When I’d pressed Bob for more details, he’d given an enigmatic shrug and suggested I could wish for the information if I really wanted to know. Genies. Honestly.

My slower pace meant that I noticed more of what was around me. The buildings, which were growing in number and density, might have been simple and covered in a sticky dark mould which I was far too sensible to touch, but their craftsmanship was obvious. Abandoned or not, they were built to last. It was difficult to avoid the sense of history which imbued the atmosphere; the tragic fate of all those who’d lived here prior to the Fissure left me feeling empty.

It felt as if I’d been walking for hours. I was starting to wonder whether the entire race of Fomori demons had died out and no one had noticed because no one ever came here, when something from the interior of one of the buildings caught my eye. I didn’t want to make a detour – I didn’t want to spend more time here than was absolutely necessary – but my curiosity was too strong. For all I knew, I was the only non-horned being to have been here in centuries. The least I could do was to get a proper idea of what the Lowlands were really like. I owed all those lost souls that much.

Stepping over a broken oak door which had fallen off its hinges and was lying across the threshold, I tiptoed carefully inside. I didn’t have to go far to see what had attracted my attention. Etched into the wall was a name. I squinted at it through the half-light: Matthew MacBain.

I hadn’t felt cold before but I certainly did now. I had no idea who Matthew MacBain was but the MacBains were one of the remaining twenty-four Clans. Did the graffiti mean that he had wandered through here from the Highlands like I had? And if he had, what had happened to him?

The letters were crude, as if carved out of the stone with a blunt instrument. I reached out with my finger and traced them. ‘Who were you?’ I whispered.

I turned my head and looked further into the gloom of the house. If I went much further from the door, the dim light would vanish. Outside remained as silent as before. I was completely alone and, because I was inside, completely concealed from any dark demon eyes. I pulled out my phone and turned it on so I could use its light to look around properly. Not surprisingly, there was no signal. No matter: I wasn’t about to chat to anyone or update my Facebook page with my current location.