Quill had felt all the signifiers, all the meanings of the world collapse at the moment of his death. For just an instant, it had been a relief, an end to the terrifying pain. He saw his old life fall away below him with his body, and suddenly it had been like when he was dying in Mora Losley’s attic, except now there was nothing to hold him back from speeding higher and higher towards … what? To somewhere where mind and matter existed together in a different way.

He felt the heat and closed his eyes. He had hoped for Heaven. Hadn’t he been good? But he already knew that the supernatural in London wasn’t about good and evil.

Sarah and Jessica – the thought of them made him panic and try helplessly to shove himself back down towards his body. They would hear what had happened to him. The hurt they would suffer. He couldn’t help them. It was too much to bear. He pushed such thoughts away and tried to control his non-existent breathing and concentrated on the now.

He was looking at a sign. He was passing under it. He was being forced to read it. He hated what it said. Could what it said be true? No, it mustn’t be, it mustn’t be. That lie was surely meant to be the first step towards breaking him.