Abruptly, each individual droplet in the web shimmered and coalesced. The spider web turned briefly reflective, so that it was as if she were looking into a huge mirror, and then it faded and darkened, revealing the intricate pattern beneath. A crackling green thread curled across each delicate strand and she distinctly heard Nicholas’s voice-“She always said that a little of her was in this bracelet”-the instant before the web came to glowing life again and three astonished-looking faces appeared out of the gloom, staring at her.

“Nicholas!” Perenelle’s voice was a ragged whisper. She fought hard to keep her aura from blazing. This was impossible-but then, that was the world she lived in. Instinctively, she knew this was a form of scrying, using the liquid on the spiderweb as a viewing source… and she also knew that her husband should not have been able to do this; he’d never mastered this particular art. But Nicholas was always surprising her, even after more than six hundred years of marriage. “Nicholas,” she whispered. “It is you!”

“Perenelle! Oh, Perenelle!”

The joy in Nicholas’s voice took her breath away. The Sorceress blinked back tears, then focused hard on her husband, examining him critically. The lines on his forehead had deepened, and there were new wrinkles around his eyes and nose, the bags under his eyes were bruise black and his hair was silvered, but it didn’t matter: he was alive. She felt something shudder and relax inside her. The sphinx had taunted her that Nicholas was doomed; the Morrigan had said the Nidhogg was loose in Paris. Perenelle had been almost afraid to even think about Nicholas and what might have happened to him. But here he was: looking older, certainly; tired, definitely; but very much alive!

The boy, Josh, was there also, just behind Nicholas. He too looked tired. His forehead was smudged and his hair wild, but otherwise he seemed well. She could see no sign of Sophie. And where was Scathach? Perenelle kept her face expressionless as she shifted her gaze to the man sitting beside her husband. He was vaguely familiar.

“I’ve missed you,” Nicholas said. He lifted his right hand, fingers spread wide. Half a world away, Perenelle unconsciously mimicked the gesture, her fingers matching his. She was careful not to touch the spider web, conscious that she might break the connection.

“You are unharmed?” Nicholas’s voice was little more than the tiniest whisper, and his image flickered as the web undulated in the breeze that blew in from the open door at the other end of the corridor.

“I am unharmed and well,” she said. “Quickly, Perry, there is not much time. Where are you?”

“I’m not far from home; I am on Alcatraz. And you?”

“Farther afield than you, I’m afraid. I am in London.”