I felt it then, the seducere, stronger this time and bringing with it the smell of roast pork, freshly mown grass, the stink of unwashed bodies, and a metallic taste, like iron, in my mouth. I turned to the railings, paused, and then turned back.

“What did you say your name was again?” I asked.

“Jump,” barked Faceless.

He gave me his full attention but seducere never seems to work twice, and while he was using it on me he wasn’t using it on Simone.

“Run,” I yelled.

I saw Simone snap out of it first and pull at Peggy’s arm. They both shot me scared looks and then, thank God, grabbed Cherie and started climbing the parapet where it separated the roof garden from next door. I glanced back at Faceless just in time to see the swing of his shoulders as he threw out his arm in my direction. I recognized the gesture—I’d been practicing it myself for the last six months. This saved my life because I was already diving to the left when something bright and hot zipped past my shoulder and melted a two-foot hole in the railings. About where my stomach would have been if I hadn’t moved.

I flipped a couple of skinny grenades at him even as I was flying through the air, which would have been way more impressive if I hadn’t been trying for a straight fireball. As I skidded along the floor another chunk of railing melted behind me and I saw that one of my skinny mines had popped harmlessly in midair; the other fell out of the air and bounced to a stop at Faceless’s feet. He looked down and through pure luck it chose that moment to explode. The blast staggered him backward and twisted him around. I used the time to scramble to my feet and face him.

“Armed police,” I shouted. “Stand still and put your hands on your head.” This time I knew I had the right spell lined up.

He turned and stared at me. Despite the mask I could tell he was incredulous.

“You’re the police?” he asked.

“Armed police,” I said. “Turn around and put your hands on your head.”

I risked a glance to check that Simone and her sisters were off the roof.

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” said the man. “I’ve found something far more interesting than them. After all, I can always make more people like them.”

“Armed police,” I shouted again. “Turn around and put your hands on your head.” They make this very clear at Hendon: If you’re going to put the boot in, there must be no doubt that you identified yourself and that the suspect heard you.

“If you’re going to shoot,” he said. “Then shoot.”