Watching through my future selves, I saw Haken talk on his phone for a few minutes. Eventually he hung up, gave a glance in the direction in which I’d disappeared, then turned and went back into the building that led down into the War Rooms.

“That’s not the way back to the station, Haken,” I murmured. I waited for a few minutes more just in case he reappeared, then headed for Westminster.

| | | | | | | | |

I caught the Jubilee line and then the London Overground, alighting at Hampstead Heath. By the time I stepped off the train and walked into the Heath itself, it was night. The sky was overcast, thick clouds blocking out both starlight and moonlight, leaving the Heath pitch-black. A cold wind blew as I walked deeper into the park, whipping at my clothes and filling the night with the sound of rustling leaves. There was no way to see and hardly any way to hear. Most people avoid the Heath on nights like this, and for good reason.

But I’m not most people, and a night like this suits me just fine. With my divination I can navigate in pitch-darkness as though it were broad daylight, and against the vast emptiness of the park, the few wandering people stood out like searchlights. As I strode through the night, the wind gusting through my hair, I felt my spirits rise. The War Rooms had been tense, claustrophobic. Out here, alone in the cold and the blackness, I felt at home.

I didn’t hurry making my way to Arachne’s cave. When I finally stepped down into the ravine, I took a moment out of the wind, then stepped to the overhanging tree, touched two fingers to a root that was quite invisible in the darkness, and spoke into thin air. “It’s me.”

Arachne answered instantly. “Alex! Come right in. Everyone’s waiting.”

With a soft rumble the earth parted, revealing a yawning cavern. I stepped through and the earth and roots wove themselves shut behind me.

| | | | | | | | |

Arachne’s cavern felt warm and peaceful compared to the park outside. Globe lights cast a soft glow over the rocky cave, picking out the rainbow colours of the clothes draped over the sofas. Arachne was crouched at the far end. She’s a giant spider who looks almost exactly like a blue-and-black tarantula that’s been scaled up to ten feet tall, and she’s probably the nicest magical creature you’ll ever meet, assuming she’d let you in her lair in the first place, which isn’t all that likely. Nowadays my little group of friends are all on Arachne’s guest list, but it took them a while. Arachne’s got her own reasons to be cautious of mages, and it’s lucky for me that she isn’t the type to judge all by the actions of a few.

And speaking of my friends, they were all there: Luna, waving from a sofa; Variam, leaning back near to her with his arms spread out; Anne, cross-legged in a chair of her own. “Hey, sleepyhead,” Luna said as I walked up to them. “What kept you?”