He wandered towards the back of the store and realized straight away that this was like walking uphill. There was a precise gradient. Every step he took, according to the Sight, got him into more serious territory. Checking the price tags on the items, he saw that they followed that index too: more expensive with every step. He stopped. That felt … wrong. Why? This shop, logically, attached a higher price tag to items that were genuinely powerful, that had the strength of London about them, that had the age so prized by the small portion of the clientele who knew what they were doing. Presumably, he was heading towards more valuable items that could accomplish things – like the Tarot of London or Book of Changes that Ross had encountered – unlike the jewellery in these halfway cases, which just shone through association, without the feeling that it might leap up and help him or hurt him. So what was the problem with any of that? He realized he was feeling that there was something wrong with linking occult power and money. Something almost … gauche about it. He could feel that embarrassment as a physical effect. It was like … being on a fairground ride, with each foot on a plank that rocked in a different direction … the power and the money were sort of … angry at being chained together. They were resisting each other. What the fuck was that about? He recalled the same feeling from the green thing that he’d run into in Soho when he first got the Sight – that same anger at money.

He shook off the feeling and glanced back to the staff. They hadn’t even looked up. They must be used to people doing weird shit in here.

He kept moving.