“All it took was the teensiest wee sample of his blood,” Zia bubbled. “Father’s Soaring Spirit got it during that nonsense at the big house in France. And weren’t you showing off back there with your exploding head, magic bunny. You should be careful with that, Alexander. You might almost have hurt me. And then I would have been very mad indeed. We’ll have to teach you to use it properly. And I still want my scissors back.”

A towering figure was coming along the street, walking stiffly in the rain. As Metz signaled him, the car’s flashing lights reflected from round glasses lenses.

Alex watched Beckman approaching. He felt as though he were drowning in slow motion.

“Now,” said the man who wasn’t Metz. He patted the frame Alex had brought him. “The gate.”

XXXII.

TOWERS AND MOONS AND EVERYONE FORGOT

The car tore south, Stuttgart fell behind, and neighboring towns passed as smears of light. Then they were out on a highway between fields under the enormous sky. A racing moon kept pace above, playing peekaboo through ragged clouds.

Alex had been forced onto the back seat beside Beckman. His hulking robotic body perfumed the car with scents of oil and metal tinged with sweet, medicinal overtones. Beckman had removed the hand from one of his spring-arms, and the razor-like wire now looped thinly around Alex. Anytime he moved, Beckman’s grip tightened threateningly.

The possessed Metz drove like a demon, but from what Alex could see in the mirror, the man was exhausted. Sweat beaded his gray brow over red eyes. Zia sat alongside him. Once, she placed a hand on his arm.

“Father?” She spoke in a tender tone Alex had never heard from her.

“I find even a will as weak as this tiring now.” The man gestured contemptuously at himself with pale fingers. “I must rest. Rebuild energy.”

“I could drive,” Zia said.

“We’re almost there.” The engine grumbled as he accelerated.

Zia had searched Alex and taken away his damaged flier. Now she wound down her window and stuck her hand out. Between thumb and forefinger, she held the lock of Alex’s hair. He watched it blowing in her grip. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she let it go into the wind. “Stop you getting any ideas.” She smiled over her shoulder as she stowed the little machine inside her coat.

Eventually, the tall man turned onto a side road, driving over a gravel track, then a narrow dirt trail, the car shuddering as the surface changed. They came to a sudden stop, and he instantly slumped forward as far as his seat belt allowed, hanging limp over the steering wheel, out cold.

Alex could make out two vehicles waiting in the lonely blue gloom ahead. The transit van he had seen on the Kandel, and a large, long car it took a moment to identify.

A hearse.