Carl came round with a jolt. I opened my box and found a breakfast wrap, a serviette and a pot of porridge. I caught Warden’s eye in the rearview mirror, and he gave me the barest nod of acknowledgment. I looked away.

The car passed into Section 4. My section. My scalp prickled with sweat. My father lived only twenty minutes from here, and we were getting close to Seven Dials—too close. I half-expected to receive something from Nick, but there was total silence in the æther. Several hundred dreamscapes pressed against mine, distracting me from meatspace. When I focused on the nearest few, I sensed nothing unusual, no fresh waves of emotion. These people had no inkling of the Rephaim or the penal colony. They didn’t care where unnaturals went, just as long as they were out of sight.

Our car stopped in the Strand, where a Vigile was waiting for us. The ones they put on duty all looked pretty much the same: tall, broad-shouldered, typically mediums. I avoided the man’s eyes as I stepped from the car, leaving the empty breakfast cartons under the seat.

Warden, being huge and formidable, was not in the least bit nervous. “Good evening, Vigile.”

“Warden.” The Vigile touched three fingers to his forehead, one at the center and one above each eye, then raised his hand in a salute. It was an official sign of his clairvoyance, of his third eye. “Can I confirm you have Carl Dempsey-Brown and Paige Mahoney in your custody?”

“Confirmed.”

“Identification numbers?”

“XX-59-1 and 40, respectively.”

The Gilly made a note of it. I wondered what had made him turn his back on his own kind. A cruel mime-lord, perhaps.

“You two should remember that you are in custody. You are here to assist the Rephaim. You will be sent straight back to Sheol I when your assignment is complete. If either of you attempts to broadcast Sheol I’s location, you will be shot. If either of you attempts to make contact with the general public, or with any member of the syndicate, you will be shot. If either of you attempts to harm your keeper, or a Vigile, you will be shot. Do I make myself clear?”

Well, he’d made it pretty damn clear that whatever we did, we were going to be shot. “We understand,” I said.

But the Vigile wasn’t quite finished. He unpacked a silver tube and a pair of latex gloves from his supply belt. Not another needle. “You first.” He grabbed me by the wrist. “Open your mouth.”

“What?”

“Open. Your. Mouth.”

I wanted to look at Warden, but I knew from his silence that he had no objections to this procedure. Before I could comply, the Gilly prized my mouth open. I wanted to bite the bastard. He scraped the plastic nib over my lips, coating them in something cold and bitter.

“Shut it.”