Nick had been edging closer to my side. At first I thought the movement was protective – a subtle display of unity – but behind our backs, out of sight of the Underbodies, he passed something to me. I registered a handle against my palm, the rasp of a blade on the pad of my thumb. He had taught me how to use one, but I had never had practical experience.

My heart shouldn’t be beating this hard. I had drawn blood for years, but there was something about the cold weight of the knife that I knew would make it harder. When I had used my gift to do it at school, it had been easier to divorce the notion of causing pain from my intention – to balance the scales of justice – but a blade gave that desire a shape.

‘Ognena Maria must have struck a deal with you, or you would have been turfed out of this section,’ Hector mused. ‘You know I should have been informed of a rogue poltergeist.’

‘Look, I’ll level with you,’ Nick said. ‘We are here for Metyard. We meant to present her to you once—’

‘You are not a good liar, Red Vision.’ Hector clicked his tongue. ‘No, not at all.’

I could tell from Nick’s eyes that this run-in with Hector was unexpected. He hadn’t reckoned on the Underlord knowing that Metyard was awake, let alone on him having had our idea to stake out Farringdon. And I was willing to bet that we couldn’t come to an arrangement with him in the same way we had with Didion and Maria.

‘Leave,’ Hector said, his voice almost friendly. ‘Both of you. All spirits are mine by right.’

‘I haven’t been in the syndicate long,’ I said, ‘but I know that’s not true.’

Another silence, this one fraught. All the amusement drained out of Hector, turning his face into that of a predator with no understanding of pain, no concept of human empathy. The redhead looked hungrily at the Underlord, wrapping a lock of her hair around one finger.

‘Come with us,’ Hector said.

Nick stiffened. ‘Why?’

‘I hope you’re not questioning your Underlord,’ Chelsea said, staring him out. ‘He’s given you an order.’

The gang split into two. One half mustered behind us, while the other walked in front.

‘Move,’ one of them snapped, shoving me in the small of the back. I moved. My knees felt stiff. As they marched us around the corner, Nick leaned down, so his lips were close to my ear.

‘We can’t fight them in the open,’ he breathed. ‘I’ll get us out of this. Don’t worry.’

Easier said than done.

They were leading us into a narrow passage. FAULKNERS ALLEY was displayed in gold lettering about the wrought-iron gate, which Chelsea shouldered open.