Darquesse watched Star charge through the others, come straight for her, swinging a punch. Darquesse could have increased her body’s density in an instant, watched Star shatter her fist upon impact. But she didn’t. She let the punch land, let it launch her backwards. She hit the ground and rolled and before she’d even finished sprawling, Skulduggery and the others were there, protecting her. She watched them fight, watched Star cover up under the onslaught. Star broke left, launched herself at Saracen. They went down, Saracen scrambling beneath her as they turned over, and Star let out a roar as her arm was snapped. She managed to get up, but Skulduggery kicked her knee sideways and Darquesse heard it go pop. Another roar from Star as she staggered, her magic boiling within her.

Darquesse could have killed her from where she lay on the ground. She could have burst her like a balloon, or taken her head off with a stream of energy. She could have got up and grabbed her and torn her heart from her chest. She didn’t do any of that. What she did do was to reach out with her magic and smother Star’s, keeping it from boiling over. She saw the confusion in the renegade girl’s face, as something that should have happened didn’t happen. Gracious finished the fight with a right hook that wiped the confusion away, replacing it with a look of serene relaxation as Star slumped to the floor. Donegan shackled her wrists.

Stephanie stood over Darquesse. One hand held the Sceptre. The other was reaching out to her.

Darquesse hesitated a moment, then clasped Stephanie’s hand, and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.

“You OK?” Stephanie asked.

“Yeah,” said Darquesse. “Suppose I’m a little out of practice.”

Stephanie shrugged. “It’ll come back to you.”

That was it. That was all she was getting. Stephanie wandered away, slipping the Sceptre into her backpack. Darquesse watched her go. She frowned. What was this she was feeling? This odd sensation?

Was it … warmth?

She shook her head, trying to dispel it. It felt both weirdly comfortable and uncomfortably weird, all at the same time.

She realised they were fussing over Fletcher. He was sitting against the wall, holding his head.

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

Saracen crouched in front of him, his hand splayed. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Fletcher counted, frowned, then counted again. Finally satisfied, he nodded and said, “Six.”

“Oh, God,” Stephanie muttered. “He’s brain-damaged.”

Saracen helped Fletcher to his feet. “He’s fine, he just needs a doctor.”

“Be right back,” Fletcher said, and stood there. He blinked at Saracen. “Hello, Doctor.”

“You haven’t teleported,” Stephanie said.

“Oh.”

“He’ll need someone to walk him back,” said Skulduggery. “Valkyrie, can you do it?”

Stephanie frowned. “Her?”