Garrick was a man of turbulent emotions, which he usually kept tucked inside his heart, but now warm tears of happiness trickled down his face spilling on to his lapels.

Not simply conjuring. Real magic.

The assassin sank to the ground, his long spindly legs folding so that his knees were level with his ears. Blood soaked through the seat of his expensive breeches, but he cared not one jot, for nothing would ever be the same again. His only fear was that the magic had gone from this place forever. To have been so close and to have missed out by a whisker would indeed be devastation.

I will wait here, Riley, he thought. The Chinese believe that magic often resides in a place, so waiting is my only card to play. And, when the men come with their fabulous weapons, I will avenge you. Then I will take the magic and bend it to my will and there will be none who can stop me.

Gym Girl

BEDFORD SQUARE. BLOOMSBURY. LONDON. NOW

Chevron Savano had never particularly cared for the parable of the Prodigal Son. In fact, it could be said that she hated that particular story and had to grit her teeth whenever some lecturing type brought it up.

There is great rejoicing in heaven when a prodigal son returns to the fold.

Really? Was that so? And what about the son, or daughter, who has stayed in the fold and worked through holidays and weekends to keep the fold safe from organized crime and corruption? What about the daughter who has sacrificed just about everything to make sure that the fold didn’t come under threat? What about that daughter? Well, apparently that daughter got shipped off to London to babysit an overseas witness-protection safe house, which seemed to be pretty much a career-killing assignment, as far as she could tell.

Special Agent Lawrence Witmeyer, her FBI boss in the LA office, had assured her that she was not being unofficially punished for her recent, very public embarrassment of the Bureau.

‘This is an important assignment, Chevie. Vital in fact. WARP has a thirty-year history in the Bureau.’

‘What does WARP even stand for?’ Savano had asked.

Witmeyer checked the email on his screen. ‘Er... WARP: Witness Anonymous Relocation Programme.’

‘That sounds like they threw in Anonymous to fit the name WARP. Otherwise they’d have WRP and what kind of acronym would that be?’

‘I guess they wanted to make it sound cool. You know these name guys.’

Chevie fumed. It was obvious that the Bureau was tucking her out of the way in London where the press might not find her.

‘I did my job, you know? I saved lives.’

‘I know you did,’ said Witmeyer, softening for a moment. ‘Chevron, you have a choice here. The rest of the group accepted the decommissioning package. You’re sixteen years old, you could do whatever you want.’

‘Except be a Fed.’