Winter wasn’t in the mood for waiting. When no one answered the doorbell, he knocked loudly. When that didn’t work, he shouted, ‘Oscar Marsh! This is Arcane Branch! Open up!’ He knocked some more, the force of his fist making the flimsy door rattle and shake in its frame.

‘You could try turning the doorknob,’ I suggested. ‘It would take a lot less effort.’

Winter wasn’t ready to take the easy route. He knocked some more, with increased vigour. Without a warrant, he probably couldn’t enter a property unless he had the owner’s permission. I could fix that. I didn’t want to stand here all day.

Taking a step backwards, I focused on the rusty doorknob. Like the rest of the house, and indeed this street, it had seen better days. It didn’t matter what it looked like; the rune I’d developed was to avoid having to root around in the bottom of my bag for my keys. That might not sound like a particularly arduous task but, given the amount of crap I carry around with me, it could take some time to find what I needed. With this little magic rune, I didn’t have to worry about losing my house keys – and Winter and I wouldn’t have to stand out here until his knuckles were bloody.

With his back towards me, it was easy for me to sketch out the rune without him noticing. I added a little pinkie flick at the end as a flourish, which had precisely the desired effect. The doorknob turned and the door creaked open. Not by much but enough to reveal the dank and musty corridor beyond.

‘Hey,’ I said cheerfully. ‘He must have heard you. Let’s go.’ Before Winter could argue, I nipped past him and went in, although the reek inside almost made me wish I hadn’t.

Irritated, Winter stepped over the threshold and joined me. He looked at me suspiciously, as if he were sure that I’d had something to do with the door’s miraculous opening. The whiff that reached his nose and made it wrinkle gave me the chance to forestall any pointed questions. ‘Smelly, huh?’ I said.

Winter shook his head. ‘I’ve never smelt anything like it before.’

I stared at him; he had to be kidding. ‘Chips and curry sauce,’ I said. I lifted my nose and sniffed. ‘And, if I’m not mistaken, just the faintest tinge of three-day-old doner kebab.’

Now it was Winter’s turn to look astonished. ‘People actually eat doner kebabs?’

‘What else would they do with them? You can’t beat a good kebab.’ I smacked my lips. ‘Especially with slatherings of chilli sauce.’ I grinned. ‘Let me guess: you’re a vegetarian?’

‘No, I’m not. But I don’t eat garbage like that.’

I hadn’t seen him eat anything yet; so far, he’d seemed to exist on air and a furrowed brow. My stomach gurgled to remind me that it was some time since I’d eaten anything substantial myself.

‘I made dinner last night,’ Winter said. ‘I even went shopping. You’d have noticed if you hadn’t crammed a chocolate bar into your mouth then fallen fast asleep.’