A tall woman, who looked to be a couple of years my senior, held his arm with both hands. Her face – sallow and delicate – was framed by hair of deepest rose-red, which came down to her waist. The pair were shadowed by six other voyants, none of whom looked like the sort of people you would want to run into at this time of the evening. Or at any time, really.

‘Hector,’ Nick said coolly.

The silence went on for eternity, until the woman let out a close-mouthed snicker.

The sound jarred my heart. This must be the Underlord, Haymarket Hector, and his gang, the Underbodies.

‘I didn’t realise we were on first-name terms,’ Hector said. ‘Are we on first-name terms, Red Vision?’

Nick looked at the ground.

‘Show me. Show me how you will address your leader properly in future.’

‘I ask for your pardon, Underlord,’ Nick said.

His jaw was tense, but he kept his gaze on the pavement. It nettled me to see him cowed like this.

‘You are pardoned, for the time being.’ Hector’s teeth were lucent and uneven, like chips of blackened seashell. ‘I don’t think you’ve met my mollisher, Chelsea.’

Nick nodded stiffly to the redhead. She didn’t return the gesture – just looked at him with that little smile.

‘And you have company.’ Hector moved away from her and paced around me, coming so close I could smell his sweat and the rot on his breath. I just about quelled a shudder. ‘My dear friend Binder has been keeping secrets from me. He never informed me of a newcomer.’

‘He didn’t think you’d be interested,’ Nick said.

‘Oh, Binder’s business always interests me. As do his belongings.’

My instinct was to physically recoil from this man, to fold into myself, but gone were the days of shrinking away.

‘I’m the Pale Dreamer,’ I said, and looked him dead in the eyes. ‘Underlord.’

A name for all of London to remember.

‘The Pale Dreamer,’ Hector echoed. ‘Elegant moniker. Curious aura. I can see why the White Binder decided to … harvest you.’ Speaking of auras, his was so close to mine that it was making me nauseous. ‘We were just on our way to pay a visit to Anne Naylor. What business brings you to this part of the citadel, I wonder?’ When neither of us replied, he said, ‘I see we’re playing coy, so let us stop beating around the bush. I know you’re here to snare Sarah Metyard, just as we are.’

‘We’re not here for Metyard,’ Nick said too quickly. ‘Maria just wanted us to—’

‘Shut it,’ Chelsea sneered. ‘You think we’re stupid? You think we didn’t know that Metyard would appeal to Binder – that he would send his lapdogs after her?’

I didn’t dare say anything. If we were lapdogs, these people were bloodhounds.