Astrid thrashed, grenade still firmly in her grasp. Ava’s hand slipped down in excruciating slow motion until only the tips of her fingers were brushing Astrid’s boots, then she was gone, falling the single storey to the ground, screeching furiously into the night.

The grenade unleashed its terminal force as Astrid hit the pavement. Ava covered her face with her good arm, where she hung from the open window. She heard nothing. There was a sensation of force, like being hit by an invisible wave. Then there was pain. Her ears filled with hot liquid. Her eyes were sandstorm raw. And the night was alive with light, with mirror-ball reflections on every surface. Glass flew. It was beautiful and terrible. The ground was awash with crimson. Ava wondered momentarily if she’d survived.

By the time Callanach lowered her body carefully to the floor of his bedroom, she was unresponsive.

Chapter Forty-Two

24 March

Machines beeped. The hospital bed was surrounded by wires. Screens flashed electronic messages to onlookers. At the bedside sat a white-coated man, staring at a clipboard, running his pen down the text on the attached sheets and frowning over his glasses. At the far end of the room was a mirror, and in the space beyond that another room allowed interested parties to watch and listen unseen. Not that the person in the bed didn’t know what lay behind the mirror. There was nothing deficient about Rune Maclure’s IQ. That wasn’t an issue. The small group gathered in the observation room was interested in a much more specific function of his brain. A number of stickers covered Maclure’s head, a lead trailing from each one.

‘Right, Mr Maclure, if you’re ready, I’ll begin,’ the white-coated man announced. ‘I’m Dr Fox and I’m part of the psychiatric team. Your solicitor consented on your behalf to this procedure. Do you recall that?’

Maclure gave a single slow nod. The doctor lifted a page, checked something and looked up again.

‘You’ve refused medication since you’ve been here. Is that right?’

‘I don’t need medication,’ Maclure said, twisting his right wrist and loosening the covering blanket to reveal a handcuff attached to a low bedrail. ‘What you call psychosis, I know to be evolution. I’ve moved beyond.’

Dr Fox made a note on his clipboard and cast a swift half-glance into the observation suite.

‘What does he mean, “moved beyond”, Professor?’ a young woman in the group safely behind the glass asked.

An older female, around whom a semicircle had formed in obvious deference, smiled at her students.

‘Beyond being human.’ The professor switched on a monitor, upon which a variety of horizontal lines ran, some blipping neatly and regularly, others varying wildly. ‘Keep listening, but watch this screen.’

‘So what are you now?’ Dr Fox asked Maclure.

‘I’m The Crow,’ Maclure said simply.