Costain watched as the figure reached Pierce and grabbed her hand. He willed its features into being those he wanted to see. He hoped he had given enough.

*   *   *

James Quill woke up. He was in darkness. He was gasping for air. He sucked in a great breath of it. He didn’t know where he was. He … okay, he knew who he was. But there were gaps. He was naked. Was he…? He panicked for a moment, his limbs shot out and hit the sides of a container all around him. He cried out. He found that his throat hurt desperately. He bellowed again. He made himself concentrate and reached out … the sides he was touching were made of metal. He pulled back his legs as far as they could go, and slammed them forward again—

Suddenly, he was rushed forward, and was being hauled out into a light too blinding for him to see anything, amongst shouting people. He tried to lash out, fell, howling, onto a freezing floor. He was in a room. More and more people were rushing into it and they looked as astonished as he felt. He looked down at his body. His familiar flesh startled him. It was … as if he’d been gone from this house. For so long. There had been changes. Swathes of new pink skin across his chest and abdomen, younger than his own, smooth. Between his legs … new there too. The people were asking him all sorts of questions. They put water to his lips.

A morgue, he was in a morgue.

He took their hands and helped them haul him to his feet. He knew something terrible … but that didn’t matter now. Dear God, that didn’t matter now! He grabbed the glass and threw back the water. He moved his tongue, croaked and licked his lips until he was sure he could use this … unfamiliar … body again. Until he was certain he could form words. He knew exactly the words he wanted to form.

‘I know where Russell Vincent is,’ he said.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

TWENTY-EIGHT