The high priestess, the queen of the Nephilim, was dead. She had fallen – or been thrown – from somewhere on high, her skull smashed like an egg. But her features were intact enough for him to recognise her. Rage quickly replaced shock. Her blood was still wet. Who had done this?

He looked up. A shadowy form was discernible on a crystal ledge at the summit of the chamber. Sidona’s murderer.

He had no weapons other than his hands – but they were all he needed. Fists clenched so tightly his tendons strained, he hurried up the spiral path.

Nina almost released the crystals in despair. She couldn’t stop the earth energy surge from exploding . . .

But, she suddenly realised, she could move it.

The focal point was beneath Lower Manhattan. She knew her hometown well enough almost to pinpoint the block, in Tribeca – but it was less than a mile from the waters surrounding the island. She brought her illusory hands back into the flow, now not so much trying to dam as divert it. Sweep the maelstrom clear, a little at a time . . .

Sidona had forced the channels of energy away from their natural paths to create the confluence. Some seemed almost eager to return to where they belonged, pulling the seething force with them. Nina followed the path of least resistance, even though this drew it roughly southwards over land rather than directly towards the Hudson River.

She could feel the people around it – all the lives that would end if she failed. And they now knew that something was happening. The enormous power swelling beneath the earth was affecting the city above, buildings shaking, static discharges crackling through the air. Panic spread through the streets.

Her streets. She had lived in Lower Manhattan for the first three decades of her life. Now she was the only person who could save it.

Even with the Chinese machine expanding the limits of the possible, it felt like trying to redirect a tornado with a hand fan. Her actions were having an effect, but frustratingly slowly. Everything she did brought it that little bit closer to the water, though. Keep moving—

A warning at the back of her mind. Something had happened – not halfway around the globe, but close by. Inside Uluru. A change in the energy within the crystal pillar, a life resuming . . .

She couldn’t afford to withdraw from her task to investigate. The confluence was at bursting point. Appallingly, she realised it was near the site of the former World Trade Center: Ground Zero, now a memorial garden that had left her in tears on more than one visit. Not again, she swore. It was not going to happen again!

Her determination strengthened her grasp on the intangible. She guided it clear of the park, beneath buildings, towards the waterfront. The pent-up energy started to escape; bolts lanced up into the sky, a display heralding the approaching destruction. Almost at the river, almost there—