They had taken me by surprise by coming so soon. I threw myself out of the rogue spirits’ path; my back slammed into a doorway. Metyard and Anne slashed past me, striking the side-mirror off a car, and careered around the corner into West Street. A man on the pavement let out a shout. Not a voyant. He wouldn’t have experienced the same gust of pressure that I had. All he would have seen with his own eyes was the car mirror flying off.

‘Sorry,’ I called to him. ‘It’s been loose for weeks.’

He shot me an uncertain look before walking on. A breath hissed between my teeth. We had to finish this quickly, before someone got suspicious and summoned the Vigiles. I checked that my hood was up before I sprinted after the pair.

I found Nick on his knees, breathing deeply. Light-headed with dread, I crouched beside him, searching his face for the silver slashes that marked the wounds of a poltergeist.

‘I’m okay,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Anne got a little too close for comfort. Where’s Jaxon?’

‘Eliza’s getting him.’

His lips had turned slightly blue. ‘We need to get off the street – take Metyard somewhere where Jaxon can bind her without attracting any unwanted attention.’ His hand went straight to his scarf, ensuring that his face was covered. ‘We’ll try to lure her into the courtyard behind the den.’

‘How?’

‘We get her to chase us instead of Anne.’

I helped him to his feet. ‘In other words, we piss her off?’

‘Exactly.’

Murderer and victim had stopped a little farther down the street, and now circled each other slowly, gracefully, as if they moved in water. A woman walked right past them, oblivious.

Metyard lunged at Anne, making her flinch – tormenting her, even in death. She couldn’t kill the girl again, but she could weaken and hound her. She would never leave her alone, and it was our fault for driving her from her hideaway.

Anne lashed back, driving Metyard away for a moment. I watched as Nick prepared to make a spool.

Movement from down the street. Twelve black-clad voyants, all with the same sort of aura, all wearing necklaces and belts made from what looked like hundreds of sewing needles. When they clapped eyes on us, they started running.

‘The Threadbare Company,’ Nick muttered. He sounded torn between amusement and frustration.

I had heard of them. A gang from another section of the citadel. ‘Gossip spreads fast around here,’ I said. ‘Let me guess. They’re here to claim Metyard, too?’

He grimaced in answer. ‘They’re from the district where Tyburn once stood. So, technically, Didion did steal her from them …’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘she’s on our turf now.’

His face hardened. ‘Right. As soon as we’re through the gate to the courtyard, lock it behind us.’