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Praise for Emma Newman

“Emma Newman is an extraordinary new voice

in SF/F.”

Paul Cornell, Hugo Award winner, and author

of London Falling

“Emma Newman has built a modern fantasy

world with such elan and authority her ideas of

why and how the seemingly irrational world of

Fairy works should be stolen by every other

writer in the field. This book of wonders is first

rate.”

Bill Willingham, Eisner Award winner, and cre-

ator of Fables

“With a feather-light touch, Emma Newman has

crafted a very English fantasy, one brilliantly

realised and quite delightful. Between Two Thorns

is just the beginning of a remarkable journey.”

Adam Christopher, author of Empire State

“Emma Newman has created a reflection of Bath

that reminds one that charming is not safe.

Learning to be a young lady has never seemed

so dangerous.”

Mary Robinette Kowal, author of Shades of Milk

and Honey and Glamour in Glass

an excerpt fromBETWEEN TWO THORNS

(The Split Worlds I)by Emme Newman

To be published March 2013(everywhere – US/UK/RoW)

by Angry Robot, in paperback andebook formats.

UK ISBN: 978-0-85766-391-1US ISBN: 978-85766-320-7

EBOOK ISBN: 978-0-85766-321-4

Angry RobotAn imprint of Osprey Group

Distributed in the US & Canadaby Random House

angryrobotbooks.comtwitter.com/angryrobotbooks

Copyright © Emma Newman 2013

All rights reserved. However, feel free to share this

sample chapter with anyone you wish – you can

even embed this little player. Free samples are

great. We are so good to you. Of course, the whole

book is even better...

1

That night in Bath was the third time Sam’s beerbladder had got him into trouble. The first involveda bus, an empty bottle and a terrible underestimationof its volume. The second was at his wedding, whenhe’d taken an emergency piss behind the marquee,only to discover that with the stately home’sfloodlights behind him, the silhouette of his reliefwas in plain view from the top table. Five years laterhe still hadn’t lived that one down.

Clothed in the warm blanket of inebriation, allSam cared about was finding a secluded spot off thepath to ease his discomfort so he could enjoy thewalk home without an aching bladder.

The good and sensible residents of Bath wereasleep in their beds and the street was far enoughaway from the centre to be free of drunken localsand lost tourists. The grand Georgian buildings hestumbled past were cast in a soft orange glow by thestreetlights, the autumn night mild and still. Despitethe crowds and visiting school parties, the endless

requests for photo taking and the traffic, he did lovethe city. It was where he and Leanne had marriedand built a life together, even though it wasn’t theone he’d anticipated. The tourists would never knowthe city like he did. The old tree in Abbey Greenwasn’t just a nice place to eat ice-cream near thefamous bun shop, it was the place he proposed toher. Milsom Street wasn’t just a row of shops, it wasthe road they had marched down as studentprotesters back in the days before they somehowforgot how angry they were and got a mortgage.

His wife was out at yet another function with heroily boss and he wasn’t drunk enough to forget it.His friend Dave tried his best to get him slaughteredbut ended up drinking himself past slurring intobelligerence. Sam had poured him into a cab thendecided to walk. He couldn’t drink like he did on awork night, not with a deadline the next day.

His need to relieve himself had become criticallyurgent by the time he reached the end of GreatPulteney Street. Heading up Sydney Place, Sam sawa familiar alleyway, one that led to the old gardener’slodge behind the Holburne Museum. It was closedwith empty grounds full of trees perfect for his needsso he lurched off the street and into the darkness. Hekept a hand on the wall to steady himself, the stonecold under his fingertips. A few steps along hewondered if he’d make it to a tree, when he saw apair of stout wooden gates open on the right.

A quick glance confirmed there was no one to seehim slip into the grounds of the museum. There

were trees aplenty, the solid stone wall was behindhim and the building was far enough away on theother side of the driveway for him to relieve himselfwithout fear of discovery.

“The perfect crime,” he whispered and then sighedwith pleasure.

Once it was done and his trousers mostly zippedup, he turned to sneak back out the gates but a thudand hissed curse brought his attention back to themuseum.

Light was spilling from a side door and Sam fearedan irate security guard was about to run out. Heimagined the news headlines: drunken man caughttrespassing after relieving himself in museumgrounds.

But then he saw a large bundle spilling over thethreshold and the light was now hovering above itlike a glowing dragonfly. Sam went back to the damptree and peered out from behind it.

A man stepped over the bundle, out onto thesteps. He was thin, very tall, and his limbs looked toolong to be normal. His grace was reminiscent of aharvest spider’s delicate movement. He was dressedin what looked like a black morning suit, somethingnot unlike what Sam had been wearing that nightbehind the marquee.

Crouching, the man’s long legs folded beneathhim as the dragonfly whizzed about over the bundle.He lifted it and Sam realised there must be someoneelse still inside the museum lifting the other end.

The man took a step backwards, revealing more of

the load, and Sam shivered. He’d seen enough filmsto recognise a body wrapped in cloth, and, from theway the man was moving, it looked heavy enoughtoo. The bundled person wasn’t moving; a deadweight.

“Oh, bollocks,” Sam muttered, not wanting towitness any more. But he couldn’t resist watching asthe second person emerged, carrying the feet of thedeceased. He was an exact copy of the first, samethin and impossibly long limbs, same clothes, samestruggle to carry the body.

“Don’t forget the steps, brother.”“Will you keep still!” the first hissed at the

dragonfly and it hovered over the steps, castingenough light for them to navigate their way out ofthe museum, as if it had understood.

There was no car on the drive, and Sam could seethe main gates were shut. They were turningtowards the trees and he understood all too late whythe side gate had been open.

If he ran for the gate now, they’d see him, so heheld his breath, stopped peering around the trunkand sucked his belly in, hoping they’d be so busyworrying about the body they’d go past his treewithout noticing him.

“This is rather demeaning,” one of them moaned.“We hadn’t anticipated–”

“Shush. Concentrate on where we’re going, theArbiters are going to realise they’ve been distractedmore quickly than we’d like.”

“Couldn’t one of the slaves have dealt with this?

It’s beneath us.”“Of course they couldn’t. Stop moaning.”“Oh!” A tiny, high-pitched voice interrupted their

bickering. They were only a few metres away; Samworried they could hear his heart banging. He hadn’tseen a third person – had they just come out of themuseum?

“What is it?” one of the men asked.“I can smell a mundane. Very close. Euw! A man

and he smells horrid.”The voice was childlike and so quiet. Sam closed

his eyes, feeling a rush of self-loathing for puttinghimself in the path of murderers just because heneeded a piss.

The black turned to pink as a light was shone onhis face. The sixth beer wanted to make a suddenreappearance. He opened his eyes, squinting, andsaw the light coming from what he’d thought was adragonfly. He’d been so very wrong.

“He’s here,” the tiny thing said.Sam wondered if something had been dropped in

that last beer. He couldn’t remember trying anythingat university that could cause flashbacks, eventhough this felt like it was turning into one hell of atrip.

“What the arse are you?” he slurred. “Tinkerbell?”It looked like a tiny man, but prettier than any

he’d ever seen, wearing a tunic made of dusky pinkpetals. Its eyes were large, blue, its hair blonde andwispy. It glowed in the darkness and it was pointingat him.

He heard the body being dumped and the twomen were there faster than he thought possible.They looked like identical twins, but up close theyseemed less human. Their faces were long, inkeeping with the rest of them, with sharp featuresand thin, cruel lips. In the dim light, their eyeslooked like blackened almonds.

“What are you doing here?” the one on the leftasked.

“Nothing. I didn’t see anything!”The faerie started to laugh, until it was batted

away.“No one will miss a mundane, they kill each other

all the time,” the one on the right said.Left’s hand shot at Sam’s throat, grasping it tight

before he could even take a breath to beg for his life.Instinctively, Sam grasped at the wrist and when hishands closed around it the man leaped back as if he’dbeen electrocuted.

Sam decided to run but, before he had a chance tomove, Right had caught hold of his left wrist and wasinspecting his hand, his aquiline nose wrinkling indisgust.

“Oh!” the faerie squealed and covered its eyes.“He’s protected.”The brothers were staring at his wedding ring.“We can’t kill him,” Left said, clutching his wrist

to his chest where Sam had grabbed it. “Lord Ironwould know.”

Lord Iron? Sam wondered whether he’d passedout halfway through the pee and was just slumped

in the autumn leaves having the strangest dream ofhis life.

“We can’t enslave him, and we can’t rip his mindout,” Right said. “This is almost disastrous.”

“Almost, but he doesn’t have anything of hisown,” Left said, peering into Sam’s eyes as if he weretrying to see the inside back of his skull. “He’sdefenceless.”

Right smiled and blew at the faerie, making ituncover its face. “Bind his memories in chains andput him under the Fool’s Charm,” he instructed, andit clapped its hands in delight.

“Make the chains strong,” Left added, holdingSam’s left hand out as far as his arm could bestretched, “and weave the Charm deep into his soul.We will not be compromised by a filthy mundane,not when there’s so much at stake.”

Right took his other arm and pulled until he wasstretched between them, the tree trunk solid againsthis back. Even though they were thin, they werestrong enough to hold him still despite his struggles.

The faerie came closer until Sam couldn’t focus onit without crossing his eyes. Its smile made the backof his neck prickle. It hovered near the end of hisnose before moving round to his left ear. He couldn’thear the wings, but he felt it brush his earlobe. It feltlike a bug and he shook his head until Right pinnedit to the tree.

The faerie whispered. Sam couldn’t make out thewords but somehow his body could. He thrashed intheir grip, sweat bursting out on his forehead, tree

bark gashing the back of his head.Spidery men… Dragonflies… Leaves… Gates… taxi…

Dave… crisps… beer. Beer, beer, beer.Black.

Cathy’s socks were squelching by the time shereached Cloth Fair, a narrow London street tuckedbeside an ancient church. “Bloody weather,” shemuttered and then silently took it back. The sky wasthe colour of a day-old bruise and the wind wasbitter but she still loved it just for being there. Shenever wanted to see a silver sky again.

The street was as empty as she’d hoped it wouldbe. The weather was too foul for people to linger andeveryone had gone home from work. She whisperedthe words of the Charm the Shopkeeper taught heras she knocked the hammer against the metal plateon the door. In moments there was the sound of alock being turned twice and then the door openedinward, a haze in the air indicating it was leadingdirectly into the Nether property. Cathy took one lastglance down the mundane street and steppedthrough, feeling the gentlest tingle across her face asshe crossed the threshold into the Emporium ofThings in Between and Besides. She closed the door

2

without turning around, knowing there was onlysilence and silver mist where there should bethunderheads.

The shop was closed to customers but theShopkeeper was still in his usual place behind theglass counter, the only clear surface amidst thethousands of bottles, packets and magical curiositiesfilling the space from floor to ceiling. He wore hisusual tweed suit and bowtie and not a single whitehair was out of place. He was reading, but theleather-bound book was resting on the counter-topso she couldn’t see the title.

He peered at her over the top of his glasses.“You’re wet.”

“It’s raining in Mundanus. Horizontally,” Cathyreplied. The Shopkeeper pursed his lips at the dropssplashing onto the wooden floorboards around her.“Sorry, you know I can’t risk travelling in the Nether.The underground was all buggered up and the buswas too full, it always is when it’s chucking it down.”

“You’ve been spending far too much time inMundanus. Your vocabulary is bordering on thenonsensical.”

“I do apologise.” She made her vowels as plummyas she could as she peeled off her raincoat. “I like theway everyone talks there. It’s easy… like wearing aT-shirt after being in a corset.”

He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t know.” Hepositioned his bookmark and closed the bookcarefully before taking off his glasses. “It’s your lastday.”

“Until the next vacation, yes. Here’s the key to theflat. I left it the way I found it.” She placed it on thecounter.

“Mmm.” The Shopkeeper secreted it below thecounter. “You’re determined to continue with yourrebellion?”

“Yes.”“And you haven’t been approached by anyone…

unusual in Manchester?”“No. Should I have been?”“Not at all.” He retrieved a duster and ran it over

the nearest shelf even though there wasn’t a speckon it. He had powerful Charms in place to keep it allgleaming; a dusty shop implied a lack of popularity.“But I think it’s a risky place to live, Catherine.”

She shuddered at the use of her full name. “Doyou mean Mundanus in general or just Manchesterin particular?”

“Both.”“I disagree. In fact, Manchester is much nicer than

London and the people are much friendlier.” Theyboth knew it was too risky for her to live in Londonall the time, so she condensed the time she workedfor him into long weekends in her vacation. Themundane flat he provided was nice enough and in avery unfashionable area that was perfect for herneeds.

“All of this is unwise, in fact. Recklessness neverdid anyone any good, you know.”

“Are you regretting helping me?” When he didn’treply she hung her coat on the stand, left her bag

beside it and came closer. “It’s a bit late for that, isn’tit? You’re in just as deep as I am.”

“As I tell all of my customers, I merely supply theCharms, I leave the moral judgement to the buyer.”

“It’s not that simple and you know it. Andanyway, I haven’t done anything immoral. What’sthis about? Has my father been here?”

His dusting was getting more flustered. “Yourbrother came in yesterday.”

She went over to one of the other shelves, tryingto distract herself from the surge of anxiety. It didn’twork. “Is he well?”

“He wanted a more powerful Seeker Charm.”When she froze, he added, “Not powerful enough tobreak the Shadow Charm I gave you, but…” Heshook his head. “You didn’t really believe they’d juststop looking for you, did you? Why not seek areconciliation?”

Cathy frowned at him. He never made suggestionslike this before. Even when they made their deal hedidn’t try to talk her out of her decision. It was asimple transaction: she would be his bookkeeper inreturn for the best Shadow Charm he could provide.Why she wanted it and what she was planning to dowhilst hidden in Mundanus had never been asked.“There’s no reasoning with my family, they won’tunderstand.” She rubbed her nose; something hadbeen aggravating it since she came in. “What’s thatsmell?”

He twitched. “I was testing a new product. Do youlike it?”

Cathy sniffed. “It’s like… cut grass. Withalmonds.” She sniffed again. “I’m not sure it works.”

“Evidently,” he said, abandoning the duster andtugging his tweed jacket straight as he always didwhen annoyed.

The Shopkeeper plucked a purple atomiser off anearby shelf. “I can’t sell a Beautifying Mist ofAtmospheric Improvement to fine clientele if itmakes them behave like a starving puppy.”

“The name doesn’t work. It’s not catchy enough.”He frowned at her. “Catch-ee?”“Something… memorable and pithy. In

Mundanus this would be called an air freshener. Andit would smell nicer.”

“We are not, thankfully, in Mundanus. I’ll send itback to the supplier and tell them to improve thescent.” He noticed Cathy leaning closer, sniffingagain, and stepped away quickly. “Do you mind?”

“Sorry. Are you wearing aftershave?”“I have no idea what that is and I have no desire

to. Now, would you kindly rest your olfactory talentsand instead turn your attention to the purpose ofyour visit?”

“Are you grumpy because it’s my last day?” Cathyasked. Usually the Shopkeeper liked to gossip aboutthe latest ridiculous request from a customer, or toshow her new stock. He rarely rushed her. Quite tothe contrary, she often felt as if he wanted to keepher there as long as he could. Not that he’d everadmit to it.

“I don’t like disruption, you know that.”

Cathy smiled, thinking about how resistant he’dbeen when she first started to work for him, eventhough the deal had been his suggestion. He knewhe needed help but, after hundreds of years ofworking alone, it took weeks for him to even beginto explain how he ran the shop. There were stillparts of the business she didn’t understand andsuspected she never would. “I’ll be back in twelveweeks. Then I’ll come back like I did the last timeand get the books all straightened up again.”

He put the atomiser back and looked at her as ifhe wanted to say something but couldn’t find thebest way to begin. “You can’t keep me chattering allday, Catherine,” he finally said, “there’s work to bedone.”

He headed towards the office at the back of theshop and she followed, leaving the crowded shelvesbehind. Unlike the majority of the shops she’dbecome accustomed to in Mundanus, no two itemsfor sale were the same, and there was no obviousorder to their arrangement. She’d come to realisethat it was far from a lack of organisation on the partof the Shopkeeper, instead it was a way to keepcontrol whilst displaying the abundance of goods.With no labels, price stickers or signs, it meant thecustomer was forced to consult him before everypurchase. It also deterred shoplifting as there was noway to tell what was being stolen; with curse-bearing artefacts placed next to those that gaveamazing boons, it wasn’t worth the risk.

At first, she’d hated having to work for him every

holiday, but over the last year she’d somehow grownfond of him. It was probably something to do withhis gruff delight whenever she made sense of theledger, or his veiled compliments whenever shebrought in a new system that made the shop easierto run.

It hadn’t taken much to make a difference; he wasutterly hopeless at administrative tasks. Thousandsof wholesale purchases and sales had been recordedhaphazardly in his spidery scrawl. Either he’d neverhad to refund a customer in all that time or hecouldn’t bring himself to record them. From whatshe could tell, he’d been trading for over threehundred years without any system in place and shehad no idea how he’d managed to become such asuccess and maintain his monopoly. The Emporiumwas unique, the only establishment that catered forthe Great Families.

“I remember the important things,” he’d saidwhen she commented on the chaos. His memorywas remarkable. He could recall where the mostobscure stock was secreted and he remembered allof the prices, no matter how obscure. She hadsuspected he made some of them up, notinginconsistencies across the years, but he’d explainedthat he charged more if the customer was impoliteor poorly dressed.

“This would be much easier if you let me bring mylaptop, you know,” she said as she followed, thestrange smell of grassy almonds tickling her nose.She missed the gentle mustiness.

“How many times have I told you? I will never letone of those machines into my shop.”

She liked to suggest it at least once every fewmonths, but he’d never change. He’d never evenseen one, she was certain, but, like most of thepeople caught in the web of the Great Families, heharboured a deep distrust of technology. TheShopkeeper took it to extremes, however, extendingit to most things made of metal and not evenpermitting coins to change hands within hispremises. Thankfully the prices he charged rarelyhad anything to do with money, but it did make thebookkeeping difficult.

He tapped the lamp on the office desk, waking thetiny sprite inside. It was only the size of a ladybirdbut could still throw out a terrific amount of light.Only the best for the Shopkeeper.

“I’ve put all of the latest purchases into the ledgeras you asked,” he announced, as if he had donesomething remarkable. “And I’ve used my notationsystem to detail the customers.”

She nodded. “It won’t take me long, I did most ofit yesterday.” She’d given up trying to deduce whobought what. If there had been any chance of herfinding out, he never would have employed her. Shedidn’t mind though. Unlike most of the people in thelife she’d escaped, she had no interest in whateveryone else was buying from him. His legendaryconfidentiality was the only reason she’d been ableto approach him for help in the first place.

It had taken a month of her holiday to get things

straight, but she knew she’d be leaving everythingin good shape before going back to university. Shewouldn’t miss the uncomfortable wooden stool andthe cramped conditions. It was more a glorified nookthan a back office, and moving anything on theuntidy desk made dust plume and irritate her nose.Why he never used the anti-dust Charms in placescustomers didn’t see she’d never felt cheeky enoughto ask.

The Shopkeeper clattered about in the shop.Usually he read as she worked, but he was unsettledtoday and Cathy felt sorry for him. He didn’t seemto have any friends, though of course she only camewhen the shop was closed, to minimise the risk ofdiscovery. The news that Tom had been back for astronger Charm was niggling her; perhaps it hadupset him too. She’d hoped her family would giveup on her, but it seemed they weren’t ready to giveup the search yet. Poor Tom. They probably had himrunning all over the place casting Seeker Charmsbefore fleeing from the Arbiters. That it was affectinghim was the one thing she felt guilty about. He wasthe only one she missed.

“Have you finished?” The Shopkeeper lurked inthe doorway.

“Nearly.”She’d already assigned a numerical value to the

prices of the sold items, making it possible tocalculate the profit; all that was left was totalling thecolumn, which she did as quickly as she could. Hedidn’t return to the shop and she looked back up at

him. He was staring at her with such sadness that theanxiety bubbled up again.

“You’re very good at putting things in order.”It was the first open compliment he’d ever given.“Thank you.”“I… I will miss you, Catherine.”“It’s only a few weeks,” she said again, mustering

a smile.The Shopkeeper drifted away from the doorway

to potter about in the shop again.“All done,” she said less than five minutes later,

tucking the stool back under the desk. “I’ll see youin December.”

The Shopkeeper fiddled with the hem of his jacket.“Catherine… would you be kind enough to go to thestockroom for me?”

It was certainly a day of firsts. He only ever let herin the stockroom when he was with her, and thatwas still rare. It only reinforced how out of sorts hewas.

“What do you need?”“Nothing for me… you’ll see when you go in

there.”He didn’t say it like it was a surprise present, more

like he’d found a giant spider in there and couldn’tbear to get rid of it. Then she remembered she wasin the Nether, not Mundanus, and one of the fewadvantages it had was a lack of insect life.

“Please?” he added.“All right,” she agreed, worried her father might

be putting pressure on him. Surely he’d know the

only way she could stay hidden for so long would bewith the Shopkeeper’s help?

She resolved to go and look in the stockroom andthen have it out with him over a cup of tea. Theyneeded each other too much now for her father toruin it all, and she needed to remind him of that fact,especially before leaving for three months. It wouldbe long enough for him to forget how useful shewas.

Leaving the Shopkeeper lurking in the dusty nook,Cathy pushed the heavy wooden door open with herbackside and went in before its weighted hingescould push her back out again. She reached for thehammer-cord to strike the large globe hanging fromthe ceiling and wake the sprite within.

But the large room, crowded with shelves andboxes, was already lit. A beat later she smelt a gentlefloral fragrance and then she saw Lord Poppy leaningon an elegant black cane and smiling broadly.

Feeling like all of the blood in her body haddropped into her toes, Cathy scrabbled for the doorhandle, instinctively wanting to bolt out of the roomagain. She stopped when he shook his head. No actcould be more futile than trying to flee a Lord of theFae Court.

3

A black-haired faerie was perched on Lord Poppy’sshoulder, wearing a dress of blousy poppy petals, thered striking against the black of his frock coat. It wasscowling at Cathy as if she’d personally offended it.Cathy realised a look of abject horror was not anappropriate nor a polite greeting for the patron of herfamily.

She dropped into a low curtsy, breathless withpanic. She’d never seen Lord Poppy in person, buther father had, and he’d drummed a healthy fear ofthe Fae into her at an early age. She struggled toremember the etiquette she’d been taught, but usingthe correct form of address was hardly going tochange the fact that she’d run away from the family,disgraced the Rhoeas-Papaver line, and mostprobably infuriated Lord Poppy to such a degree thathe was there to enslave or curse her. Or both.

“Catherine Rhoeas-Papaver,” he said slowly, hisvoice silken. “What an extraordinary delight to findyou at last.”

She trembled, keeping her head bowed, not surewhat to make of the statement.

“Do stand up so I can see you, my dear, one doesprefer to speak to a face rather than a crown of hair.”

“It’s a very dull brown,” the faerie commented asCathy straightened up. “And such a plain face. I’mvery disappointed. She isn’t worth–”

“Hush, or I shall send you back to Exilium,” LordPoppy said and the faerie pressed its lips together.“Now…”

He walked towards her, the cane striking the floorwith every other step. His supernatural grace madeher feel clumsy. His skin was flawless, his long blackhair beautiful and his lips as red as the poppy petals.His eyes were pools of black, no iris or whitediscernible, and as quick as she saw them she lookedaway, chilled.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said as sheshivered. “But you’ve been hidden away inMundanus, in the dark city.”

She stayed silent, not trusting her voice.“My sources inform me that three and half years

have passed in Mundanus since you first piqued myinterest.” He stopped barely a metre away, wellwithin her personal space. Not that one of themwould appreciate such a human concept. “I simplycannot understand how you’ve survived so long allby yourself. You have none of your Mother aboutyou, even after all the effort to breed her beauty intothe line, no presence, nothing remarkablewhatsoever.”

Cathy could barely think as her panic reached itscrescendo and then an incredible sense of calmwashed through her, as if her body had used up allthe adrenalin it had. If she didn’t remember thehours of training she’d tried to bury along with mostof her other childhood memories, this conversationcould be the end of her, or of freedom. There waslittle to distinguish between the two.

“She survived because of the Shadow Charm, myLord,” said the faerie.

Either they could detect it, or they’d got theinformation out of the Shopkeeper. The former wasmore likely. If that was the case, Cathy thought, thenthey would see the curse too, and if there was onething she had to do, it was convince them she knewnothing about it.

“Ah, perhaps that’s the problem, let’s get rid ofthat first.”

Thumb and forefinger poised like pincers, hereached towards her shoulder but stopped just aboveher clothing. He pinched the air and slowly drew hishand back. She could see nothing between hisfingers, but noticed the shadow cast by thestockroom’s sprite changing. It looked like a blanketwas being pulled off her, one invisible to the eye, butvisible in shadow. When it broke contact with herbody, it faded to nothing.

“Oh. You’re still dull. The Shadow Charm hid herfrom her family,” he said to the faerie, “but it didn’thelp her to navigate Mundanus… it’s such anexciting mystery. My dear,” he focused back on

Cathy, “you are a tight bud with so many hiddenpetals yet to unfold.”

He scooped up her hand with a fluid movement.His was cool and dry, and she was aware of theclamminess of her own, thinking he wanted to kissit as many of the men in the Great Families still did.But instead he turned her palm towards the ceilingand bent towards it. An inhumanly long tongueflicked out from between his lips and he licked thetender skin of her wrist.

It felt like a feather, leaving no saliva, just a fainttingling and a wave of nausea.

“Mmmm. No trace of interference as I’d fearedand no contact with the Arbiters, that’s good. Shehas potential, but far from realised.” He was speakingto the faerie again, as if Cathy were simply an exhibitin a petting zoo. “There’s little more to her than whatwe see here. But the curse is interesting.”

That drew the faerie close.Lord Poppy was examining Cathy’s face now,

searching for a reaction.“Curse?” she asked, hoping that only innocence

would be seen. It was a tiny thread of a lie amongsta tapestry of deception.

He smiled, his thumb now stroking the inside ofher wrist. “So you have been good, after all.”

“What curse? I want to see it!” the faerie said, butLord Poppy swatted it away.

“I’ll tell you later.” It tumbled in the disturbed airbefore righting itself with a look of indignation.“Now…” Lord Poppy let go of Cathy’s hand and she

folded her arms. He took a step back, twisting hiscane thoughtfully. “There’s something I want toknow. When a girl as plain, inelegant and quitefrankly graceless as you has the chance to ask forbeauty, poise or even just good taste in clothes, whyin the Split Worlds would she not?”

So this was the reason this nightmare was weavingitself around her. He knew about her coming-of-ageceremony.

She was the middle child of one of the mostprominent Papaver families in Fae-touched society,the Rhoeas-Papavers. Her family had manytraditions, most of which she’d strained against andresented as much as the next child, but one inparticular she’d managed to turn to her advantage.At the age of eighteen, all children had the right tomake a request of the head of the Papaver families.When she was brought in front of the Patroon she’dasked to go to university instead of somethingshallow, as she’d been coached. Of course it hadreached the ears of their Fae patron. No women inFae-touched society ever went to university and fewof the young men did either. So many of theirparents, born in a different age, regarded furthereducation as a sure means of ruining a young man.Cathy saw it as a sure way to freedom. They couldn’tdeny her the request and even though they triedtheir best to make it as difficult as possible she stillgot to university several months later.

“Is that the reason for your interest, my Lord? Anunorthodox request?” Her voice was a little high, but

at least she was able to speak.“It’s more than unorthodox, it’s positively

scandalous. It was sufficient to catch my eye, yes.But it’s also the fact you ran away and have hithertoeluded your family with great success. Your tacticseven challenged me, and there are not many whohave been able to do that, my dear.”

“But you did find me.” She wondered what boonthe Shopkeeper had received for betraying her, andhis air-freshener experiment took on new meaning.He’d been trying to mask the scent of the Fae Lordwho’d presumably walked through the shop justbefore she arrived.

“So I did. But, sly one, you didn’t answer myquestion.”

“I wanted to go to university because I wanted tolearn.”

He wrinkled his nose, as if she’d just belchedrather than told the truth. It was important tosprinkle some in amongst the lies.

“Learn what?”“Everything I could.”“But why?”She had to think about that. “Because I had to

know the truth about Mundanus.”He frowned. “Why learn the truth about a place

you were never destined to be part of? You musthave planned to run away, even when you curtsiedin front of your Patroon and accepted his gift.”

Her body found a new reserve of adrenalin, butCathy forced herself to think carefully. She had to

gamble. “Not when I made the request to thePatroon, my Lord, but later, yes, I did plan to runaway. I had to, otherwise I would have failed.”

“So something happened that made you want tostay in Mundanus, even though it would age you?Even though it would disgrace your family andyou’d live a cursed life?”

“Yes,” she said, throat dry. She couldn’t revealeverything, she’d never tell anyone the real reasonshe’d fled her family. But she had to give him a sliverto be believable. “I fell in love with Mundanus. Ididn’t want to go back and live in the Nether likeeveryone in the Great Families. I couldn’t bear toleave it. So I ran away and hid from my family sothey couldn’t stop me living there.”

Eyebrows high, he sucked in a breath and thehand that had caught hers fluttered over his chest.“Oh! Oh, darling child, I understand. I know whatagony it is to fall in love with something we cannever have. And what deserves our love andattention more than Mundanus? Poor, empty world,denied our gifts and beneficence for so long!” Heclasped her hand again, this time pressing it over hisheart, but she felt no beat through the silk shirt.“Now I understand what a delicious creature ofpassion you are. It was buried so far beneath aninconsequential face and forgettable body that Ialmost missed it!”

Cathy wondered if this was what it was like tomeet someone who was truly insane. Someone somad that speaking to them demonstrated how the

world they lived in was so very different to everyoneelse’s. She couldn’t decide whether delighting theinsane was good or bad.

“I’m so glad you understand, Lord Poppy.” Shemanaged a smile.

“As am I! I arrived with a heavy heart, convincedthat I was going to have to turn your tongue into atethered wasp and then enslave you for eternity forhaving been so disloyal to your family.” He pausedas the colour sank away from her lips. “But now Idon’t have to, because I understand that it was lovethat drove you, and how can I deny love? And itreally is such a relief, as it would have been soinconvenient – everything has been arranged for solong, I was struggling to imagine how I wouldrecover.”

Cathy wanted to take her hand back, wanted torun out of the room and disappear, wanted to huddlein the corner of her student digs wrapped in ablanket and cry over a cup of tea. But he was stillpressing her palm against the cool silk and showedno sign of letting go. Then she processed what he’djust said.

“Inconvenient, my Lord?”“Yes, if you’d been unable to return to Aquae

Sulis.”It had been a long time since she’d heard that

name, and she hadn’t missed it. Hers was one of themost powerful families in Aquae Sulis, the Netherreflection of the city of mundane Bath, both placesshe never wanted to see again. Whilst the mundane

city was beautiful and vibrant, full of greenery andthe excitements of modern life in the normal world,such as electricity and films, and technologydesigned to make life easier and more entertaining,its Nether reflection was not. Only a few roads andbuildings had been reflected; she had grown up inGreat Pulteney Street, the long avenue of reflectedGeorgian houses owned by her family, and of course,the anchor properties in Mundanus were protectedby their clever network of legal expertise and theirstronghold on the mundane Corporation of Bath.Now she’d lived in Mundanus – what she had cometo think of as the real world – as an independentwoman, she couldn’t bear the thought of returningto that suffocating existence. “But… but I don’t wantto go back there. I can’t!”

The smile fell from his face. “My poor love-struckone. Of course you’re going to go back. As soon aswe are finished here you’ll return to your family,you’ll obey your father and you’ll live in the Netherlike all of the privileged, serving your patron.”

She forced herself to keep still, though the urge toshake her head and scream was almost unbearable.“But… they’ll be angry with me,” she croaked.

“Undoubtedly. But it doesn’t change the fact thatyou’re needed there. Everything has been plannedfor such a long time that your wishes are quiteirrelevant in the matter.”

He sounded like her father. Her yearning to makejust one decision for herself was always calledirrelevant. She forced herself to focus on questions

and answers, rather than emotions. “Why am Ineeded, Lord Poppy? What use could I possibly be?You said yourself that I’m plain and–”

“Your father didn’t tell you? Well, it’s for him todo so. You’ll find out when you get home. But wehaven’t concluded our business. Now I know you’regenuinely interesting and passionate, and mostworthy of further attention, I’ve decided to bestowupon you three wishes.”

The conversation that she thought couldn’t getany worse suddenly did. Not the three wishes trap.That was only one step up from the wasp tongue.

“I don’t deserve your generosity, Lord Poppy,” shesaid, without thinking.

“You’d rather be punished?”“No!” she managed to catch the retort before it

became a squeal. “I’m sure… your decision is thevery best for me.”

He pressed her palm against his shirt. She was surethere would be a damp hand-print left behind whenhe finally let her go. “Good. I will be watching whatyou choose with great interest, Catherine Rhoeas-Papaver, because I am certain that one who asks forsuch an outrageous wish at her coming-of-ageceremony could dream up something trulyspectacular with three to play with.”

The faerie started to giggle. It sounded like amouse being ripped apart by a cat.

“Now, three wishes are no fun at all if there are norules. So this is the first.” Lord Poppy released herhand so he could accompany his words with an

excited flourish. “You must impress me.”She was about to clarify whether he meant with

every single wish, but she stopped herself. She mightneed that as a loophole later on.

“The second rule,” Lord Poppy continued,evidently enjoying himself, “is that you cannot usea wish to leave Society. There is no denying who youare, my dear, and you are a Rhoeas-Papaver, one ofmy most cherished family lines. You have had yourlove affair with Mundanus, it’s time for it to end. ButI’ll let you into a secret,” he whispered. “Love affairsare always at their best when illicit and shouldalways be ended abruptly. It heightens the pleasureand keeps the dreaded boredom at bay.”

He was talking about her freedom like it was aholiday fling with a barman but she kept silent, notat all certain that she could speak without gettingherself into more trouble or bursting into tears.

“There should be a third rule,” he muttered,glancing at the faerie. “It’s prettier that way. Threewishes, three rules.”

“I have an idea!” It pirouetted in delight. “Thewishes have to be made before the grand ballopening the season in Aquae Sulis.”

“Exquisite!” Lord Poppy blew a kiss to the faerie,rustling the petals of its dress. The tiny creature’swings fluttered so much they left a trail of faintsparkles. “Then you can begin the season as afabulous success. Or as a faint shadow of yourself.Oh, I didn’t mention the penalty, did I?”

Tears or vomiting, Cathy wasn’t sure which now.

He’d removed the Shadow Charm but instead ofdelivering her to the family, Lord Poppy was toyingwith her. He knew as well as she did that it wasinevitable they would find her without magicalprotection and there was no way the Shopkeeperwould dare sell her anything useful now one of theFae lords had personally intervened. She didn’t needa penalty to feel absolutely screwed.

“Should you fail to impress me by the first ball ofthe season, I shall reach into your soul and pluck outthat bright source of your initiative. Then you canspend the rest of your life doing as you are told,perfectly incapable of forming a desire or opinion ofyour own.” He waited a beat, but she remained inhorrified silence. “I think that’s fitting.” He glancedat the faerie who nodded with glee.

4

Max slid the lockpick back into the leather case,tucked that into his inside pocket and pushed thedoor open. One last check up and down the corridorand there was no one in sight. He stepped inside.

The air inside the studio flat was as stale as he’danticipated, an unpleasant odour leaking from thefridge in the tiny corner kitchen. The place was verysmall with huge sash windows letting in light andnoise from the London street below. Up here, thetraffic was a constant background roar, punctuatedby the odd siren and beeping car horn. He could seethe roof of the building opposite, and noted nowindows or balconies overlooked the flat.

He swept his eyes over the mess as he quietlyclosed the door behind him. Takeaway cartons werepiled on the tiny table in the corner and the sofa bedhad been left unfolded with sheets and pillowsrumpled on top of it. Clothes were strewn all overthe floor and the rickety canvas wardrobe was full ofempty wire coat hangers. A couple of drawers wereopen, but it didn’t look as if the place had been

turned over. There were too many things still inplace that a burglar would have snatched: a jewellerybox, a laptop, a small plastic tub of loose change anda few notes.

Even though he was fairly certain what the resultswould be, Max took the Sniffer out of his pocket,wound it up and set it down on the kitchenetteworktop. The squat brass container ticked as itsspring slowly wound down, at first looking like anoctagonal musical box on stout legs. The eightsegments forming its top telescoped open and a tinyhorn emerged, not unlike that of a miniaturegramophone. The ticking was then masked by agentle whirring as the device sucked in the air fromthe room and blew it out of a vent in its underside.

All Charms used by the criminals in the so-calledGreat Families left a residue in the air, tiny amountsof the fragrance associated with the Fae whooriginally created the Charm. It was too little todetect with a human nose, and dogs couldn’t betrusted, so the Sniffer was used to extract the traceamounts from the air and analyse the strength of theCharm used. Even derived Charms, created by thecriminal families themselves, still had the originalscents, and thankfully none of them knew theArbiters had figured out how to trace theirhandiwork. No perfumes, nor any of the bizarre air-fresheners that seemed to be more popular inMundanus each time he came in, interfered with thesensitivity of the device, but it was just a question oftime before the Fae-touched families found another

way to cover their tracks.As it did its work, Max picked his way across the

room, navigating past skirts and dresses, glancing atthe stack of well-thumbed fashion magazines by thebed. Not a book in sight. It looked as if she’d beenchoosing what to wear; most of the garments werein piles around the long mirror hanging on the wallopposite the bed. He didn’t bother to look in ithimself. He knew what he was wearing and howugly his face was. He’d been living with it for years.

He glanced inside the corner of the roompartitioned off for a tiny bathroom. Every surfacewas covered with bottles and make-up. Taped to themirror over the sink was a picture of a brunette withsmoky eyes. Perhaps she’d been copying the make-up; speckles of rouge covered the sink and brusheswere piled up behind the taps.

He knew the brunette in the picture wasn’t MissBrooks because she was the fourth blonde todisappear from London’s St Pancras ward in the lastmonth. He wanted to confirm his theory as soon ashe could, so he went over to the coffee table on theother side of the sofa bed, seeing a notepad withsomething scrawled on it. He hoped that Miss Brooksliked to write things down rather than tapping themstraight into those infernal mobile phones.

He nodded as he read the scrawl. “2 pm!!! Photoshoot – casual and glam – contracts – passport!!!!” Hecould picture her taking the call, scribbling notes asshe held in the excited scream until she called herbest friend to give her the news.

It all led back to the talent agency; the theory wasconfirmed. A tiny ping from the Sniffer drew himback. The horn retreated as the pointer on the sidespun to… white. Good, no trace of Fae magic.

Once it was closed again, he dropped the Snifferinto his pocket. He had just enough time to send hisfindings back to the Chapter and make therendezvous with Montgomery. If he could help theLondon Arbiter crack the case he could be back inBath for dinner.

The windows were large enough to climb out ofand he’d seen the narrow walkway outside from thestreet below. Leaving his trilby on the bed, he forcedone of the windows up, admitting the city’s roar intothe flat. He stepped outside and sent a pair of pigeonsup into the sky, cooing in alarm. The walkway waslittle more than a ledge with an ornate stone safetyrail. Being incapable of fear in that moment was aboon.

The clear autumn day was a bonus; in the rain thelead roofing would have been even moretreacherous. He edged his way to the corner wherehe’d seen the angel. London architects liked the ideaof heavenly figures watching the streets and he couldsee why. London was loud, fast and crowded, evencompared to his native Bath on a summer Saturday.Yet again he questioned the sense of helpingMontgomery with a case outside his own territory.

The angel was twice his size, classical beauty andmarble toga both covered in pigeon droppings. Agrand lady with a bad job, she was holding up an

equally filthy cornice. If he stretched, he’d be able toreach her.

He fumbled under his coat and shirt and broughtthe chain up over his head, his neck feeling nakedwithout the thick, heavy links. It was a suitably uglything, engraved with formulae and carrying theWessex Sorcerer’s seal, still warm from restingagainst his chest.

Climbing onto the folds of the angel’s dress, hecaught hold of one of her arms and swung round todrop the chain over her head. After a few pokes andnudges, it dropped past her nose and fell with a dullchink around her neck. By the time he’d clamberedback down onto the walkway her stone eyes wereblinking, and once his coat was straightened andbuttoned back up again her head twisted round tolook at him.

He took a deep breath, preparing himself for therush of connection and then rested a hand on herarm to keep contact. “Personal diary entry,” he said,and the angel nodded. “I have confirmed mysuspicion regarding the talent agency’s involvementafter searching the studio flat of a Miss Clare Brooks,the fourth missing person on the list.”

He paused to give the statue a chance to repeat hisreport back to the Chapter.

“I was right about that damn talent agency.” Max’ssoul’s voice was far too low and gravelly to suit theangel’s face. “I’ve found evidence connecting it tothe fourth missing person on the list, Miss ClareBrooks, after searching her flat. I’m seriously

concerned that something is very wrong in theKingdom of Essex.”

Max blinked at the angel. Was that how he reallyfelt? He cleared his throat. “Montgomery has failedto make contact at the prearranged location. If ithappens again I’ll have to assume the individual orindividuals involved have learnt of his suspicion.”

“And I’m worried that the rat Montgomery calledme in to find is on to him.” The angel’s previouslyserene face was now distorted by a deep frown.

“Maybe he’s lying low, or…”“He might be dead!” the angel interrupted. “This

is getting serious and it’s not my territory and I don’tknow what I’ll do if this gets any worse.”

“All right, all right,” he said to the angel, “let’s stickto the facts.”

“This is a personal entry,” it replied peevishly. “It’sso rare I get a chance to express myself, I have tomake the most of it.”

“I’m not going to stand here and argue. I’m goingto stake out the agency. It’s been a week since MissBrooks went missing and I know I’m close. I can’ttrust anyone in London, so I’ll stick with it untilMontgomery shows up.”

The angel’s report was closer, though stillembellished with “until Montgomery shows up deador apologetic” tacked onto the end. When it wasdone, he climbed higher up the sculpture to retrievethe chain, ready for the familiar lurching sensationwhen contact with his soul was severed.

He’d lost count of the times he’d reported back to

the Chapter from Mundanus, but every single timehe broke contact it brought back the memory of theday he qualified. That was the last time he’d feltexcitement, when he heard he’d passed all the testsand showed enough promise to work in the field asan Arbiter. He was thirteen, and, an hour afterthey’d told him, they’d dislocated his soul and putthe chain around his neck, too tight then to take off.

He knew he’d screamed so much he was hoarseby the time the links were closed, but he knew itonly intellectually, like a memory of a scene in a playhe’d once watched.

With each successful year in the field under hismentor, a link was added until he was trusted tomanage the connection himself and actindependently. He had no idea where exactly in thecloister his soul was kept. Nor did he have any ideahow it was stored, how the reports he sent back wererecorded or how the Chapter Master was informed.But he didn’t need to know. He just got on with thejob and did his best to ignore how his soul leakedemotion into his reports.

The dislocation was ninety years ago. If he’d spentall that time in Mundanus he’d be a frail old mannow, if not dead. He’d have got married, hadchildren, grandchildren, maybe even great-grandchildren. Sometimes he looked at the people,the ones the Fae-touched so disparagingly called“mundanes”, and wondered what it was like to bethem, if only to try and understand and predict whatthe criminals would be interested in next. But he had

no regrets when he observed them. That wasimpossible.

Chain back around his neck, window closed, flatswept for any trace of his break-in, and he was onhis way to Judd Street. He kept an eye out for statuesthat could make valid connection points in case ofemergency. In Bath he knew every single statue,gargoyle and grotesque in a five-mile radius of thecity centre. His knowledge of London wasinsufficient for this case.

Case? That made it sound official, and it was farfrom that. He wondered where Montgomery was. Itwas rare for an Arbiter to ask for help, but to asksomeone from a different Chapter? That wasunheard of. For Montgomery to ask meant it wasserious. That, and the fact they’d collaborated on atough case in the Fifties, was what made him agree.That had only been an exchange of information,however, not trips to each other’s territories withoutofficial permission. It had prevented some of LadyRose’s puppets from getting a foothold in Bath andhe had found Montgomery to be reliable andthorough. Max wondered why Montgomery hadmissed the latest rendezvous.

Speculation was futile. Max had no means ofcontacting him outside the prearranged meetings.They didn’t use mobile phones, the Chapter couldn’tguarantee their security yet, and being in differentChapters meant they couldn’t coordinate as easily ashe would with a fellow Wessex Arbiter.

Instead, he turned his mind to the evidence. One

innocent could be lost to Exilium owing to poor luck,but to lose four in as many weeks? Montgomery wasright; there had to be a crooked Arbiter in the pay ofthe parasites for something so blatant to happen insuch a small geographical area. If Max’s suspicionswere correct the talent agency operating out of 191Judd Street was a front organisation for the LondonFae-touched. They were probably using it as a meansof drawing blonde men and women who fit a profileto a location where they could be kidnapped. Whyhadn’t the local Arbiters spotted the pattern?Perhaps the more pertinent question was: why werethey ignoring it?

Max couldn’t understand how corruption of thatmagnitude could even be possible. A dislocated soulprotected them not just from Fae magic but also fromtemptation, and the greed that fuelled corruption. Asfar as he knew, no Arbiter had ever beencompromised; that was one of the many reasonswhy the Fae and their puppets were so terrified ofthem.

He found a café a few doors down. It took him amoment to adjust to the new prices, then he ordereda coffee and settled down at one of the outside tableswith a newspaper. He wanted to watch the comingsand goings at number 191 whilst waiting forMontgomery. London was becoming morecontinental every year; he couldn’t remember thisstreet café culture from the last time he’d been there.But a lot had changed since the Fifties.

The disappearances were on a seven-day cycle,

and Miss Brooks had disappeared exactly one weekbefore. It was quarter to two in the afternoon, a goodtime to watch as all of the previous appointmentshad been for 2pm.

He didn’t have to wait long. A woman withhoney-blonde hair and extraordinarily long legs wastottering towards the agency’s door. He quicklyfished out his glasses. He’d almost forgotten aboutthem; it was the first time they’d been tested in thefield, and they were not part of his usual repertoire.

Through the glasses, she faded to the same grey aseverything around her. She hadn’t been charmed,and, interestingly, the agency frontage and thresholdhadn’t been glamoured either. It looked as if it wasstill a normal mundane office with no anchor for aNether property. That was good. If they wanted tokidnap her, they’d have to take her somewhere else.He put the glasses away. Wearing them too longmade him feel sick, and if anyone inspected themclosely they’d see the modifications.

There was a bounce to her step and a smile thatsuggested she’d had the same phone call as theprevious victims. All he had to do was wait.

It was unlikely they’d take her in broad daylight.They’d wait until dusk, first taking her to anotherlocation, probably a bar, before posting her throughto Exilium. By then he should have passed on hisfindings to Montgomery. If Montgomery didn’tshow, Max was on dodgy ground by not having alocal contact, but he hadn’t had time to resolve that.He would follow them to the temporary location

then call in to his Chapter Master if Montgomerydidn’t show up in the next half hour.

He was onto his second coffee when footstepsapproaching his chair made him twist round. Itwasn’t Montgomery, but he suspected the man wasanother Arbiter; there was a total lack of emotion onhis face and a slight bulge beneath his clothingwhere the soul chain would rest. Max didn’trecognise him and the stranger didn’t fit thedescription he’d been given of the suspected rat. Hewas dressed in a light jacket and jeans, much lessformal than the suit and raincoat Max wore inMundanus.

“Maximilian, of the Bath Chapter, Kingdom ofWessex?”

“Yes?”“Good afternoon. I’m Faulkner, London Camden

Chapter, Kingdom of Essex.”He pulled the top of his jacket down just enough

to reveal the chain and the Essex seal. Max nodded.“Thank you.”

“You’re a long way from home,” Faulkner said,sitting opposite him. “Waiting for Montgomery?”

Max nodded, uncertain how to play this. Faulknerhad every right to tell him to leave, and to report histrespass to his Chapter if he felt Max wasoverstepping the mark. Which he had been, for thelast seventy-two hours.

“He’s late,” he said.“He’s in custody,” Faulkner replied, raising a hand

to call the waiter. “Something’s gone horribly wrong

with him; he’s been causing all kinds of problemslately and now we think he’s been kidnappingpeople and trying to pin it on a colleague.”

It was a pathetic attempt at a lie. Montgomery wasas solid as Portland Stone. Max had heard that thereally old Arbiters could get a little frayed around theedges but then they retired to the cloister to train thenew recruits. Being closer to their soul again usuallycleared up any problems. Montgomery was tooyoung for it to be an issue anyway.

“Did he tell you I’d be here?”Faulkner ordered tea and then nodded after the

waiter left. “After he admitted he’d been struggling.It’s been tough in London lately; the Rosas arefeuding again. He got caught in the crossfire one toomany times. Smoke?”

Max shook his head. “Is my being here aproblem?”

Faulkner drew in a lungful of smoke and let it driftfrom his nostrils. “Not if you leave on the next trainand keep this under your hat.”

Max fingered the brim of his trilby, flicked a lookdown the street at the agency. The blonde was stillin there. “Is this your beat?”

“Yes. Did Montgomery tell you there was aproblem with the St Pancras Ward?” Max didn’treply, choosing to wait to hear what Faulkner had tosay. “There isn’t a problem any more. I’ve beenassigned to clean up his mess. My ward borders StPancras. There’s no need for you to stay.”

Max weighed up his choices. It didn’t take long;

there were only two: stay and make a fuss, orpretend to leave and watch. The former would crossa line and push Faulkner into reporting him. He’d beforcibly ejected from the city and achieve nothing.The latter would risk the blonde; he’d be too faraway to intervene, but his being thrown out ofLondon wasn’t going to help her either.

He stood, resolving to gather more information.The paperwork involved in a dispute with anotherChapter, especially one in a different Kingdom,wasn’t going to do anyone any good. He put on hishat and offered his hand to Faulkner who shook it.

“I hope everything gets sorted out withMontgomery,” Max said, for the sake of goodmanners.

“Have a safe journey home, Maximilian.”Faulkner attempted a smile but it always looked uglyon an Arbiter’s face.

BETWEEN TWO THORNSThe Split Worlds Iby Emma Newman

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