“Most people,” Shinigami says, “are slaves to their moods and their desires. They drift through life without resistance, pawns in a game of chess. Even Pathfinders Fall like this, unconsciously. It’s the reason so many of them become lost. But masters. Oh, we rise above. We move the pawns. We create the world we want.”

She circles in towards me and I step backward.

The pulsing darkness is next to me now.

“Tell me,” Shinigami says. “You carry Ra, mightiest of all Pathfinder weapons. You’ve achieved so much, so soon. Through my Reapers and spies I have seen it all, every step of your journey here. So, what are you? Master, or pawn?”

I look from her to the sword in my hand and say nothing.

“You know what I abhor?” she says. “Weakness.”

Then she does something extraordinary.

She draws her sword as fast as smoke and she flies at Graziani.

She brings the black blade down with a snapping sound.

And she decapitates him.

In horror, rooted to the spot, I watch his head roll, smearing a path of blood across the floor. Shinigami calmly resheathes her blade and looks at me.

“Weakness in the bloodline,” she says, kicking the head aside.

I stare at her in shock.

“Weakness is pathogen,” Shinigami says. “It must be destroyed. The multiverse is sick, overpopulated with the faint-hearted and the feeble. So, I will do what I must. I will annihilate what is left of the multiverse and build a new order out of the ashes of the old.”

“You’re off your meds,” I tell her, squaring my shoulders.

She smiles and says nothing. Her eyes are implacable. I look at Graziani’s headless body. I look at the black sphere at the centre of the room. Its shimmering, pulsing edge of fire.

“The Seventh Gate,” Shinigami says. “Here, over Paris Nouveau, undetected for millennia. Until I found it and built my fortress around it. Perfection lies beyond this gate. Power to build this new order. I’m certain of it. But finding the key—the one in Mother’s prophecy, that will open the gate to and from the other side—has proved infinitely more onerous than finding the portal itself. Every Pathfinder, every Normal I’ve sent through has not returned.” She steeples her fingers, like Dr. Augur. “Now, this could mean,” she says, “that, once there, they are so enthralled they never desire to come back.”

“What have you done with Bea?” I ask, breathless. “Is she—”