“We know,” the woman said. “We know you’re Valkyrie Cain. We know all about you. We know Darquesse was your true name, and we know she inhabited the body of your reflection. We know all this. Everyone does. Everyone knows that none of it would have happened if it weren’t for you.”

“Sensitives had dreams about her for years before she showed up,” the second guy said. “They warned you. All that time, you knew what would happen if you kept going. But you didn’t want to go back to a mortal life, did you? You wanted to be one of us. A sorcerer.”

“So you let it happen,” the first man said. “You allowed it to happen just like the Sensitives predicted it would, because you were having too good a time going off on all your adventures.”

“Nothing to say?” the woman asked, walking forward. Sebastian tensed. “For a girl with a reputation for being a smart-mouth, you’re awfully quiet.”

“Leave me alone,” Valkyrie said.

“You shouldn’t have come back.”

“Leave me alone. Please. I don’t want any trouble.”

The woman sneered. “Begging didn’t save my family. It’s not going to save you.”

The woman slapped her. Hard. Sebastian’s own cheek tingled in sympathy, but Valkyrie just stood there.

Obviously of the opinion that a simple slap wasn’t going to do the job, the first man stepped up and swung a punch that sent Valkyrie spinning to the ground. Sebastian readied himself to jump in the moment Valkyrie retaliated – but she just stayed down, propped on her elbow, holding a hand to her face. The woman kicked her in the shin, ended up hurting herself as much as she hurt Valkyrie.

Slowly, Valkyrie stood back up.

The first man looked at the second, who hesitated, then nodded and clenched his fists also. These were not warriors, Sebastian saw. These were just ordinary sorcerers. Ordinary, angry sorcerers.

The second man hit Valkyrie, a light punch to the shoulder.

“Come on!” said the first guy. “Harder!”

The second man stared at Valkyrie, his lips curling as he cultivated his anger, and he hit her again, this time in the face. Valkyrie took a few steps back before she regained her balance. Blood dripped from her bottom lip. Still she did nothing.

The punch was followed by another, and another, fists fuelled by pent-up rage, by loss and love and hate, all that pain finally finding an outlet in the infliction of pain on another. Valkyrie was doubled over by a shot to the belly and then sent to the ground again. A low, tortured moan escaped her as she struggled to breathe.

And, once more, she got to her feet.