 
Still Alice

Tiana Reeves-Sullivan

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2018 Tiana Reeves-Sullivan

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Chapter One

Alice was in trouble.

She knew this much, because that was what usually happened to people who were caught stealing jewellery from high-end jewellery stores; they got in trouble. And boy, oh boy, had Alice been caught.

As she bolted down the street, she clasped the bracelet firmly in her hand; in for a penny, in for a pound after all. The police officer trailed behind her. He wasn't as fast as Alice, but he was determined.

It had been her bad luck that the officer has walked into the store just as she slipped the silver chain into the pocket of her denim shorts. Even more unlucky was the 3-year-old snitch who witnessed this, and loudly exclaimed that if she was getting free stuff, well then he wanted free stuff as well.

And so a chase ensued.

Rounding a corner, Alice glanced back. The officer was on his radio, barking a description of her appearance. He was gradually falling behind, his breathing laboured. With little thought, Alice took him down an alley, knocked through a group of confused seniors, took a right and doubled back.

She knew the city well, a result of spending too much time with Reggie, cruising around the streets in his commodore and throwing barrages of eggs at random houses. It also meant she knew that the police station was only a couple of blocks away, and while not the most responsive force in the world, she had only around 10 minutes to get out of the area before she was playing chicken with 3 or 4 police officers.

Another glance back, and the police officer wasn't in view. Alice slowed her pace and ducked into a small café. The waitress behind the counter smiled at her, waiting expectantly.

"Have you got toilets?" Alice asked.

The waitress scowled. "Toilets are for diners only."

"I'll get a large flat white, takeaway."

"Do you want sugar?" the waitress asked as she grabbed a coffee cup.

"Two."

The waitress watched Alice for a few seconds, suspicious. She pointed to a door next to the counter. "Toilets are in there."

Twenty minutes later, Alice was walking towards the old abattoir on the edge of town, bracelet on her wrist, coffee in her hands. The coffee warmed her up, and it wasn't half bad, either. A good thing, considering the waitress charged Alice almost $7 for it. Probably charged her for the toilet paper.

Reggie was leaning against the building, his eyes following her approach. "Well?" he asked when she was close. "How did you go?"

Alice flashed her wrist at him. "Bruised, battered and scarred, but successful. Also, I'm keeping it."

He scoffed. "You are not?"

Saying nothing, Alice continued to drink her coffee. Silence was the best policy in this situation, not that Reggie would kick up much of a fuss.

"You're joking! Don't you know how much that's worth?"

"Indeed I do," said Alice, "Considering it was I who snatched it from under the eyes of the watchful shopkeeper, risking life and limb to bring to you this wonderfu-"

"Alright, alright, I get it already," Reggie scoffed. He offered her a flat stare.

There was no point in him arguing with her; going into battle with Alice was going into a battle you'd already lost. Once she made a decision, that was that. She'd always been like that, stubborn and argumentative. But that was what Reggie liked about her. Well, sometimes.

He sighed, stretched, and scratched the back of his head. "Do you want a lift home?"

"Sure."

"Alright, get in then."

It was a short drive to Alice's, on the border of the city, not quite close enough for the house to be worth too much, but not far enough out for it to be cheap, either. They were silent for the trip, partially due to the fact that Reggie had the music up too loud for any sort of conversation to take place, and partially because Alice was busy trying to pretend she didn't exist; Reggie's car was loud and bright, enough to turn heads and catch the attention of any law enforcement personnel who might be in the vicinity.

And so the duration of their trip consisted of Reggie screaming obscenities in time with the music, and Alice melting into the leather interior as best she could. Only when they pulled into her street did Reggie cut the music and Alice emerge like a gopher. As they exited the car, Reggie lit up a smoke, offering one to her.

"No thanks. I'm not ready to die just yet."

More likely than not it would be her mother who killed her for smoking, rather than the smokes themselves.

"Can I come in?" he asked curiously.

Alice raised an eyebrow. "And meet my parents?"

"Well... no."

"There's your question answered, then, isn't it?"

He flashed a mischievous grin. "What if I climb in through your window?"

"How romantic." Alice glanced up and down the street, checking to see if there were any cops around. The one who'd been chasing her was unfamiliar, so she was hoping he didn't recognise or get an accurate description of her. It wouldn't be the first time the police had come knocking for her.

"You used to love it," Reggie whined. "You did think it was romantic."

Alice raised an eyebrow. "That was before someone called the police one night and said there was someone trying to break into our house." It was also before we broke up, she thought.

"Ah."

As close of friends as they were, they weren't relationship material for each other. The romantic relationship that had grown between them was brief, destructive, and violent. They would thieve and torment, terrorising the city and anyone who got in the way. Their relationship was like shooting a gun; it went off with a bang, then ended suddenly, leaving a trail of devastation in its wake.

"Mum's probably having a heart attack, wondering where I am," she said, in an effort to break the silence.

"You're asking me to leave?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Well, okay. Sure. Cya later, then." He stamped out his cigarette on the pavement. "Probably won't be tomorrow, though," he mused.

Alice narrowed her eyes. That was never a good sign. "Why? What are you up to?"

"You'd know if you'd been listening to me earlier," he told her, as though it was her fault.

Alice's brows knitted together in suspicion, but she didn't push the subject. Sometimes it was better not knowing. "Stay out of trouble, then."

"Ah, you know me," Reggie said. He pulled the door open. "Catcha." He got in, revved the engine, and took off, leaving Alice glaring after him.

Once he was gone, Alice headed up the stairs to the front door, to find it locked. Strange, because there was usually always someone home; her mum didn't work, and her dad should have finished by now. They must have gone out shopping or something.

Alice didn't think too much of it as she let herself in, grabbed an apple from the kitchen and headed to her bedroom. She closed the door behind her, slipped her shoes off and was just about to pull her jacket off when she noticed a face staring at her in the mirror.

She jumped, crying out in alarm as she tripped over her shoes and landed painfully on her rear.

The man sitting on her bed didn't seem bothered. His face was passive, and he sat there watching her with his hands folded in his lap, as though waiting for her to speak.

A thousand thoughts ran through her mind as she tried to sort them into a coherent idea. Was he a murderer? A rapist? A robber? There was nothing in the house to suggest that someone had broken in, so how had he gotten in? Why, oh why hadn't she let Reggie in the house?

"Who the hell are you? What are you doing in here? How did you get in? Get out!"

He raised a dark eyebrow. "Would you like me to get out, or should I answer your questions?" There was the faintest trace of amusement in his voice.

Alice blinked. She paced her breathing. "What do you want?"

"Well, one would assume that I'm waiting for you as I am, after all, in your bedroom," he told her, glancing around the room with curiosity.

"Who are you?"

"Quinn."

"Quinn?" With furrowed eyebrows, Alice slowly found her feet.

"That's what I said."

She fumbled around in her back pocket for her phone. "What do you want with me, then?"

Quinn shrugged, as though even he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing there. He continued to watch her, though his dark eyes were unmoving. Finally, he rolled his shoulders, pulled a pipe out of his pocket and lit it. "Do you mind?" he asked, blowing a plume of smoke in the air before Alice could protest.

She just stared at him as she tried to subtly pull her phone out without drawing attention to it. She went to answer, but he cut her off.

"Not that it matters anyway. Emotions are simply a product of, well... anyway, it doesn't matter, just as it doesn't matter to you who you stole that pretty bracelet of your from," he added. "I've been wondering; did you steal the phone as well, or did you actually pay for that?" His eyebrows shot up.

Her grip on her phone loosened, then faltered altogether. "I still don't know who you are, or what you want."

The obvious explanation would be that he was a cop, or private detective, or something. Hired by someone she'd upset at some point. But Alice wasn't convinced it was that simple. There was something, odd, about him. Something that told her he wasn't here to arrest her.

Quinn stood and walked over to the window, smoke trailing in his wake like a ribbon. "No, I don't suppose you would remember me. It's been a while. I know you, of course. National Cross Country champion, five years running. A delinquent..."

"I beg your pardon? I don't even know you. What right do you have-"

Quinn ignored her. "Please, try not to think of me as some sort of stalker. Just think of me as someone who knows absolutely everything about you, but is in no way whatsoever a creep who has been following you around for some time now." He flashed a smile, obviously thinking he was being endearing.

Was he for real? There was obviously something seriously wrong with him if he didn't want her to think of him as a stalker, because that was exactly what he was beginning to sound like. She tried to assess her options. She could run – the logical choice – or she could stay and hope her parents arrived home soon. Or, she could attack him. Not that she was good at fighting, but her bravado was slowly coming back.

"Can I ask you a question, Alice? If you had been caught today, and the police told you they would let you off if you gave them the name of your friend, would you? Or would you remain loyal to him?"

Despite herself, Alice found herself wondering what she would do in that situation. If it got her out of jail time, would she rat on Reggie? She didn't want to go to jail, and Reggie had been before, already had a nice record. But what would he do to her if he found out? Probably something horrible, she figured, and that wasn't worth worming her way out of jail time. In any case, she didn't want to. Reggie was her friend, after all. But still, was he worth going to jail for?

"Yes, that's what I thought," Quinn noted, as though he knew what she was thinking. "Loyalty, Alice, is something of a puzzle. But more on that later. There are more pressing matters at hand. Please don't touch that."

Alice dropped the cricket bat she'd been holding on to. It hit the floor with a soft thud.

Quinn smiled. "I'm not going to hurt you, Alice. Quite the opposite, in fact. I'm here to protect you. Think of me as a... a guardian angel." His smile widened.

For a moment, every word Alice knew slipped away from her. Every phrase, every comeback. She blinked, her mouth hanging open slightly in dumb shock. "What?"

"Do you know who you are?"

Alice scoffed. "That's a stupid question. Of course I do. Now I don't know who you are or what you want, but if you don't leave I'll call the police," she threatened, her voice firm.

"No you won't," Quinn said. He sat back down at the foot of her bed. The pipe was gone. "You don't particularly like them, and they don't particularly like you." Fishing around in his pockets, he pulled out a thin chain with a pendant on the end. It was a deep red ruby, cut into the shape of a tear. Very thin wisps of sliver circled around the ruby in a light embrace, attaching it to the chain. It had an air about it that unsettled Alice.

Wordlessly, Quinn held the necklace out to her, who just stared at it. She made no move to take it from him. He dangled it slightly, the pendant swinging from side to side. "Take it," he commanded.

Alice hesitated. Was it a trap? If she leaned over there and took it, was he going to grab her? Kill her? What a nice way for her to die; murdered by a man as he offered her jewellery. How romantically tragic. And if he was giving it to her? What then? Reggie would ask questions that she just didn't want to answer, and even if she sold it, that was a lot of money to explain away; one didn't just happen to have an expensive necklace one day. The cops would think she stole it; Quinn would undoubtedly be straight down to the police station with a similar story. Then she'd be in a whole world of trouble.

Quinn was whispering to himself; softly muttering something she couldn't quite hear. She strained to listen, but couldn't make sense of him.

"Why are you giving that to me?" she asked.

"Because it's yours," Quinn simply said. He obviously thought that would be the end of it.

Alice couldn't help it; a sarcastic laugh escaped her lips. "Right, and the moment I take it, you'll be straight down to the cops with your bleeding heart, telling them the story of how you were ambushed by a young girl. You already know everything else. You've been stalking me, haven't you?" She checked him up and down. He looked like he had a bit of money in the bank. "Are you some sort of sugar daddy?"

Quinn stared at her. His brown eyes twinkled in amusement. "Would you like a sugar daddy?"

"I don't have time for you or your creepiness, old man. You picked the wrong house, and you picked the wrong person. Now get out." She was feeling brave, reckless. She picked the cricket bat off the ground, holding it firmly. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and her body quivered, but she wasn't about to back down.

She didn't want to hurt him, but she was more than willing if need be. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she did want to hurt him. Here he was, in her bedroom, most likely trying to get her trust so he could kidnap her and sell her into slavery or something, and she was expected to trust him. Not a chance.

Sighing, Quinn also stood. His eyes were framed with dark circles, as though he hadn't slept for days. "I've already told you, Alice; I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to protect you."

"Protect me from what?"

Not a second after she spoke, the window vibrated, cracked, and then shattered. Alice saw a dark shadow, then she was thrown back with a surprised scream. She crashed into her dresser, Quinn hovering over her. He thrust the necklace into her chest.

"Put it on," he said as he straightened. There was urgency in his voice, cracking through his calm composure.

The dark shadow Alice saw turned out to be a small, fat man with short arms and legs. He was dressed in – Alice couldn't believe it – a shabby set of robes underneath a cloak that looked at least as old as its wearer. It was full of holes where moths had chewed through the material, and Alice could smell the stale mould of it from the opposite side of the room. In one hand he carried a small dagger; the other was curled slightly, like claws on a bird, with a small, deep purple ball of flames in the centre.

Alice didn't have a chance to ask why the short, fat man was holding a ball of purple flames in his hands. As she opened her mouth, he hurled it at her, and she screamed again.

Her bravado was gone. She could barely contend with normal people who fought with fists and feet and occasionally teeth. There was no way she was going to hold her own against whoever these people were. These people who wore robes and threw fire.

The purple ball was inches away from her face when it froze, midair, then disappeared with a puff of smoke. Quinn, still standing next to her, conjured a ball of light out of nowhere, hurling at the man, who barely managed to dodge it. The light exploded into the wall, leaving a large scorch mark the size of a dinner plate. Quinn threw another two, then charged.

The man was able to dodge the two new balls, and they both hit the wall, but was tackled to the ground by Quinn, fists flying. He caught the man twice in the jaw before the man managed to throw him off, slashing with the dagger.

The blade sliced across Quinn's arm, but he didn't even register it as he grabbed the man's arm. He twisted it until there was a snap, accompanied by a scream. The dagger fell from the man's grasp as he swore and cursed. He tried to conjure another flame with his free arm, but Quinn grabbed that, too, in a silent threat to break it.

Still holding the man's arms, Quinn threw him into the wall with inhuman strength. He knelt down, picked up the dagger, and approached the man.

"Who sent you?" Quinn asked, pressing the blade to the man's throat.

He spat in Quinn's face, and was rewarded with a fist to the nose. Blood spurted out his nostrils, soaking into the light cream carpet like spilt wine.

"Who?"

"They did not give... a name," the man stuttered. As he looked up at Quinn there was recognition in his eyes. "I won't tell the likes of you."

Quinn wasn't in the mood for it. He plunged the dagger into the man's knee, and screams filled the room.

"Stop it!" Alice screamed, but she didn't make a move to break them up. No way was she going to get involved. But if they weren't quiet, it would attract the neighbours, and the last thing she needed was the police at the door asking questions. "Someone'll hear you!"

The two men barely looked at her, too busy sizing each other up, though it was obvious Quinn had the upper hand.

"Give me a name, and I'll make this as easy for you as possible."

The man shook his head. He was breathing in short gasps now, sweat dripping from his forehead despite the cold. His wheezing reminded Alice of the cop who had been chasing her earlier that day. She almost felt sorry for the man, but caught herself. He did just try to kill her, after all.

Quinn sighed. "Very well..." He aimed the dagger over the other knee, carefully angling it at the middle.

"No! Wait!"

Quinn waited, albeit impatiently. His face was set in a murderous glare.

"I seem to remember that he did give a name. It was a funny name, though. Could have been fake for all I know," he said. When it was apparent Quinn still wanted the name, he went on. "Betelgeuse, it was. Dempsy, for the surname."

If Quinn thought it was a fake name, or even funny in the slightest, he gave no indication of such. "Where did you meet him?"

The man let out a heavy breath. "The Rune," he said. "Where you meet everybody."

Quinn nodded in agreement. "And what did you get out of it?" he asked.

"Money. And power. More power than you could imagine." The man grinned maliciously, showing uneven, blood-stained teeth.

A dark eyebrow shot up in disbelief. "If it's more power than I could possibly imagine, then it probably doesn't exist. No matter." Without another word, Quinn took the dagger and drove it into the man's heart.

Alice didn't scream; any scream that she had caught in her throat as she stared in horror at Quinn murdering a man in her bedroom. The man exhaled, fell limp, and then his body burst into flames.

He was dead. In her room. There was a dead man in her room and she'd just witnessed the murder. In 17 years she'd never done anything as bad this. She'd stolen, abused, damaged property, and even gone so far as to hold someone up with a pocketknife once. But that was to stop Reggie from being arrested and she hadn't hurt the person and she most definitely had never killed anyone and now there was a body, on fire, in front of her.

She didn't even have time to properly register the flames. Within a second they were gone, and all that was left was a body pile of ash, roughly in the shape of a short, fat body.

Quinn kicked the ash pile and it collapsed. He turned to Alice. "Do you see what I mean now?" he asked.

"All I saw," Alice began when she found her voice. "Was a man burst in through my window, after you, by the way, and start throwing fire. Purple fire. Then you killed him! You're going to get me killed!" She screeched.

"He wasn't after me," Quinn told her. "He was after you."

"Why? Why on earth would he be after me? I'm fairly certain I'd remember if I stole something off someone like that."

It was true. She'd never seen the man before in her life, and even when she was out thieving, was careful not to upset anyone who stood out too much or looked to dangerous. And this man would have stood out like a whale in a shopping mall.

"Well he's after you because you're a witch."

The effect his words had on her were the same as if he'd told her she was a long-lost princess. She snorted, coughed, and clapped her hand over her mouth to hold back the laughter.

"I'm sorry?"

"You're a witch," Quinn repeated nonchalantly. He sat himself back down on the bed, brushing ash off his clothes. "A very powerful one, to be precise."

When Alice was ten, she read the first Harry Potter book. Like many other kids, she was very excited to receive her letter in the mail. But September came and went, no letter arrived, and the Hogwarts Express chugged off without her on it.

That was seven years ago.

Alice certainly did not believe in magic anymore, and she certainly still wasn't waiting for a letter to tell her she was a witch. "Look, you obviously have some kind of mental problem, so I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt here and say it's a phase you're going through," she told him.

Quinn's eyebrows raised in amusement, the corners of his mouth lifting. "You still don't believe me?"

"I believed in magic when I was ten, when I was young and dumb. Please leave my house."

Amazingly – unbelievably – Quinn bowed low. "Of course. I'll be in touch," he promised, as though he was interviewing her for a job.

"Please don't."

And then, right in front of Alice's unbelieving eyes, he began to shrink. Feathers sprouted through his clothes, his fingers retracted into his hands as his arms turned into wings. His mouth was stretching out, turning yellow until it formed a large, hooked beak and in Quinn's place was a large golden eagle, hovering in midair, watching her with that same stupid smug look.

The eagle tipped its beak at her, then turned around and soared out the broken window. Alice's stomach was still churning at the sight of watching a full-grown man turn into an eagle. She slipped back down to the ground, nauseous and scared and confused.

Magic was real.

She tried to push the thought out of her mind, but after what she'd seen, there was only one other explanation, and she was certain she wasn't going mad.

Her room was a complete mess. Shattered glass was sprinkled under the gaping hole that was her window; three large scorch marks adorned her wall, just above her bed; a pile of ash that used to be a man was rubbing into the floor under the scorch marks and there was a giant blood stain on her carpet. She'd knocked over the chair to her desk at some point, and the contents of the desk were scattered all over the floor. How was she supposed to explain this to her parents?

She'd have to think of something, and fast, because just as she was about to start cleaning up some of the mess, she heard the high-pitched creak of the front door opening, and her mum's voice rang out through the house. "Alice! Are you home?"

Chapter Two

"So, there was a bird in here?"

Alice chewed her lip, shrugged, and leant casually against the wall. It was the first lie that came to her. "The main thing is that it's gone now," she assured them.

Her mum blinked in astonishment. Beside her, Alice's dad frowned at the room. She sincerely hoped he didn't find the scorch marks on the wall, along with the bloodstain on the carpet that was buried underneath a pile of clothes. That would be difficult to explain, if not impossible. His face was steadily turning red, like it did whenever he was angry, as he tried to make sense of the situation before him.

"You smashed a window because there was a bird in your room?" The way he said it, the very thought of breaking a window in a mad dash to get a bird out of your bedroom was as bad as mowing an old lady down with your car because she was too slow with getting out of your way. In his eyes it probably was.

Often it seemed the Alice's father loved the house more than he loved his family. Nothing was ever out of place, everything was clean and pristine and the moment something wasn't, all hell broke lose and her father turned into the house hulk.

"I didn't mean to," Alice insisted.

Maybe it would have been easier to just tell them the truth. That a man – who turned himself into an eagle – broke into her room and killed another man who threw purple fire from his hand. How would he feel if he knew someone had been murdered in his precious house? And even if they didn't believe her, they'd probably think she was crazy and let her off the hook.

Her father was thinking. His brow knitted together, and his bottom lip stuck out over the top in strained concentration. He sniffed the air like a dog. "You've been smoking." It wasn't a question.

Alice froze. Never mind the dead ash body, or the broken window, or the scorch marks on the walls, of course he'd be able to smell the smoke in the room from when Quinn lit a pipe. And of course they'd have to assume it was her who'd smoked it, because who else could it possibly be? She waited for the explosion.

"Alice, you're seventeen years old! I told you, didn't I? Back when the police came knocking on my door, at my house to arrest you for some stupid thievery charge, I told you what would happen if there was any more trouble! I didn't want to do this, but you leave me no choice. You are grounded, young lady."

It pained him more than it pained her; Alice could easily enough sneak out of the house, and no one would stop her. But for her father to ground her in his precious house? That was something. Even so, she'd have to tread carefully if she didn't want to be kicked out.

"You can't ground me!" Alice exclaimed.

"I'm your father, and so long as you are under my roof you'll do as you're told. And don't expect I've forgotten about this," he motioned violently at the shattered window. "You'll be finding the money to have it repaired and until you do I wipe my hands of it."

"But it's cold!"

"Then freeze."

"Where am I going to find the money?"

"Get a job."

"Mum?!" Alice pleaded.

Her mum raised her arms in surrender, whether because she didn't want to pick sides, or she just couldn't be bothered. "Listen to your father."

"It's apparent we can't trust you," her father grumbled. "You're grounded until you move out. Now hand over your phone." He held his hand out, expecting her to do just that.

Alice was defiant. If he wanted her phone, he could pry it off her cold, dead body. She needed it to keep in touch with Reggie, and maybe in case some other psycho magical being showed up and she needed help. This time, however, her mother was on her side.

"Oh, for Christ sake, Rowan, let her keep her phone. What if there's an emergency?"

Alice's parents glared at each other for a moment in a silent battle for dominance. Her father finally yielded. "Fine," he grumbled. "But you're not to go anywhere unless it's school, work, or with your mother or I. Understand?"

Alice clenched her jaw, hating the both of them. She didn't work, and she didn't go to school. "Whatever."

They left her there, fuming about the injustice of it all, even though there was nothing she could do. She couldn't exactly tell them the truth; it wouldn't go down well with either of them. And she couldn't openly defy them unless she wanted to end up on the streets.

Alice closed the door behind them and fell onto her bed. She tried not to dwell on the fact that a man had just claimed she was a witch. The necklace he'd left with her felt warm in her pocket. She pulled it out.

The ruby was glowing. It radiated enough heat that, even though she was holding it at a distance, was warm on her face. Alice just stared at it. How was it glowing? Was it some sort of communication device to let someone know where she was? Maybe it was a small bomb.

The thought struck her and the next moment she threw it across the room and scrambled as far back as she could. If it was a bomb, it couldn't possibly be too strong. It wouldn't get her from here. But then, stranger things had happened. It was entirely feasible to assume that an exploding gem could blow her whole house up.

Alice laughed. At least she wouldn't have to fix the window. She glanced over at it. It was still glowing.

If it wasn't a bomb, and it was a communication device, how did it work? Was it talking to her, or was there someone on the other end, using it to... to what? To find her? Track her down like an animal?

Quinn had told her the man he killed was there for her. What if there were others, using it to track her down? The necklace would lead them right to her, to her house, to her parents.

Alice hurried over to the necklace, picked it up and was about to hurl it out the window when she hesitated. She clenched it in her fist.

It was a necklace. There was no such thing as magic and she wouldn't be the sucker that fell for the cheap tricks conjured up by some man. He was probably outside, waiting for her to toss it so he could pick it up, and find something else to scare her with. No doubt he got a kick out of scaring girls.

Woe for him, then. Alice wasn't scared. Whatever tricks he'd use to put on the show didn't convince her. Granted, they were good, and they'd gotten her into a lot of trouble, but she wasn't fooled.

She pocketed the necklace. He'd get a right shock when she took it down town to pawn it off. If it was real, anyhow. Alice wasn't a professional when it came to gemstones, and didn't have the slightest clue how to tell whether or not it was a fake. It could be worthless, but it could also be worth a lot. She'd find out soon enough.

Besides, a little fresh air would help clear her head, and maybe someone would blow her house and parents up while she was away.

She checked to make sure her parents were downstairs, and slipped out the window.

The pawn shop was a small, dodgy building on the corner of a derelict street. Most of the stuff was junk, broken and unwanted, and the owner was a perfect example of this. He was toothless, with a dirty grin that scared young children away, and long, filthy fingernails that tapped against the counter whenever there was a customer in, as though he hoped they'd leave sooner if he kept at it. He sneered at Alice as she approached.

"Can I help you?" the rhythmic tap of his fingernails was off-putting.

She pulled the necklace out of her pocket. "I'm looking to sell this," she told him, placing it on the counter. He snatched it up to inspect. "How much for it?"

The owner held the pendant close. He turned it this way and that, tapped it on the counter and flicked it. "Where did you get it from?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion. He grabbed a small magnifying glass, first holding it near the jewel, then moving it back to his eye as though zooming in and out.

Alice hesitated. "I... it was my grandmothers," she lied. "She left it to me when she died." Not exactly her best lie, considering people don't usually pawn off their dead relatives' jewellery. "We weren't close."

He glared at her, perhaps thinking along the same lines, but didn't say anything. He took a moment to inspect the chain, as well, before speaking. "I'll give you ten bucks," he finally decided.

"That's all?" She tried to hide her disappointment.

The man scowled at her. "It's fake. You're lucky I'm willing to buy it in the first place. Unless you want to try your luck somewhere else."

Alice frowned. She'd hoped to get a bit more than that but, then again, she wasn't losing out either way. What did she care if she only got $10 out of it? She was about to speak when a familiar voice came from behind her.

"I'll think you'll find that it is real; it's certainly worth a lot more than $10."

Quinn was a lot taller than Alice originally thought. In fact, he was probably among the tallest people she'd met. He towered over her, strong and menacing, as he glared at the shop owner. He'd easily be bordering on seven foot.

"Are you calling me a liar?" the owner asked, sizing Quinn up. He must have decided Quinn was too much too big for him to get into a real argument with, because he shrank back down. "Who are you?"

"Yes," Quinn told him. "I think you'll also find that I'm the owner." The two men shared a mutual glare at Alice. "The girl just can't seem to keep her hands to herself."

So that was his game, after all. Alice sighed. Another trip to the cop shop it was.

Cursing and swearing, the owner tossed the necklace to Quinn, who caught it deftly. "I'll have no part with buying stolen goods, girl, you hear me? Don't you come back here!"

Alice scowled from Quinn to the shop owner. Now they were both ganging up on her, and she hadn't even done anything wrong. She should have known Quinn would claim she'd stolen it. Today was not her day.

"And yet you were practically stealing it from her with that ridiculous price. Shame on you."

The owner flushed. "Shame on me for stealing a stolen item from the stealer?"

Alice cocked an eyebrow in confusion.

"I'd hate to know what else you've swindled off unsuspecting victims," Quinn muttered.

"It's only my job," the man defended. "You make it sound like it's a horrible crime."

"But it is a horrible crime! Happens to the best of us, you know." There was a hint of emotion in Quinn's voice, as though he might have been 'the best of us'. He must have noticed it, because he grabbed Alice by the shoulder, bid the owner a good day, and guided her out of the store.

"I'm not entirely sure what you hoped to gain by selling this, Alice, but it certainly wasn't money."

Alice slipped out of his grip, annoyed. "I'm not sure who you are, or who you think you are, but your little show wasn't in the least funny. You got me grounded for life," she snapped. He started walking and, despite herself, she fell in step with him.

Quinn shrugged, guiltless as ever. "Maybe you'll keep out of trouble," he mused.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"An excellent point. So am I, and so is the necklace I gave you. Do you know what that means, Alice?"

"No," she grumbled.

"Absolutely nothing. Apart from nearly being tricked into selling a piece of jewellery for less than one five-hundredth of its worth, you've been in no trouble whatsoever."

So it was worth a lot of money. Alice stored that information in the back of her mind. That amount of money would set her up for a while. "Do you own much jewellery?"

They were wandering through the city, towards the large abandoned church that Alice used to attend when she was younger. She didn't hold much in the way of faith these days, and the building burnt down years ago. Its charred remains stood as a testament of life after death.

"I don't have any jewellery, actually," he told her. "It's really a girl thing. Which reminds me; this is yours. Please don't try to sell it again." He held out the necklace.

Alice took it from him and slipped it back into her pocket. "Where are we going?"

"This way," Quinn answered. "Well, I'm going this way. You're following me." He offered her a smoke, then lit his own.

"I want to know why you've been stalking me," she told him.

He ignored her. "I don't claim to be a role model," he said as he lit her smoke for her. "So if you find yourself looking to me as one, I strongly suggest against it. Better people than you have died because they thought of me as a role model."

"Better people?" Alice seriously doubted she would ever see Quinn as a role model.

"Yes. Others. Who are dead," he explained. "They weren't into mischief like you are, though. So your chosen unsavoury profession may actually be useful. You'd probably be smart enough to not charge headfirst into battle against a five-headed warlock."

"I wasn't very good at it," Alice admitted. If she didn't have Reggie, she'd have already been arrested more times than she cared to admit. In fact, she'd probably be in jail for the long haul.

"Oh. So then you're practically useless."

Alice scowled at him. They fell silent for a while, blowing clouds of smoke into the air, before she spoke again. "A five-headed warlock?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Very nasty, he was. We had to sever all five heads before he actually died, and even that was a challenge."

"You're joking, right?"

"Of course I am! He only had two heads. If he had five, we'd have left it to the professionals."

Alice bit her lip. "I'm still not sure I believe you. Actually, I'm probably going crazy."

She was only half joking. Warlocks and shapeshifters and robed men with fire were all a bit too much to take in, and yet she still found herself trailing after Quinn, because a small part of her wanted to belong to that world. A larger part of her also wanted to find out if someone really was trying to kill her.

"It's a lot to take in, but I assure you it's all quite real. Here we are."

They stopped in front of the old church. It was just as Alice remembered it; weary, proud and looming. The brickwork was dark, crumbling in places, and a feeble tower shot into the sky. Small, arched windows dotted the building, the remaining tinted glass letting no light in or out. Alice used to be scared of going to church, because she thought the building would eat her. Even more so since the fire that killed three people, including her priest.

Quinn led the way, striding into the doors of the church as though he was supposed to be there.

The place had been gutted, a casualty of the fire. The room was empty; no rows of seats, no stage at the end of the room. In place of the cross that used to hang above the stage was a symbol, like two figure eights, one vertical and one horizontal, joined together in the centre with a ten armed star. Underneath the symbol was a hole in the wall, where a set of stairs – that definitely had not been there ten years ago – lead down into the darkness.

"Um..?" Alice trailed off. Were they going to go down those stairs?

"Yes?" Quinn didn't pause to inspect the room as Alice had. He kept walking, towards the stairs to nowhere, on a mission.

Alice caught up with him. "You don't want me to go down there, do you?" she asked.

"Why not? 'Tis the grand stairs of the Council of Ten," Quinn proudly told her.

"They don't look very proud," she grumbled.

"Yes, well, they're old. Around ten years, in fact. I believe they were installed just after the fire. And a grand job Nikolai did with that, too."

Alice froze, her legs suddenly heavy. "That fire was you?"

"No. It was Nikolai."

"Why?"

"The Council of Ten needed a new Council Chambers."

"So they just burned the church down?"

"Nikolai burned the church down, Alice, weren't you listening?"

"My priest died in that fire!" Alice felt bile rising in her throat.

"Indeed? Was he a good person?"

"I hated him."

"So what's the problem? Shall we?"

Speechless, Alice followed after Quinn as he led the way down the stairs. He was simply too passive about people dying. In fact, he seemed to relish the idea. For all she knew, she would be next.

The moment her foot touched the first step, Alice was plunged in to darkness. She gasped, went to rush forward, and tripped. She went tumbling down the stairs, hitting her arms and legs and head against the cold cement, before she hit the bottom with an oof, and all the breath rushed out of her.

Her head spun, and her vision was blurred, but she was able to make out a dark shape in front of her, and heard Quinn's deep voice as he laughed.

When she could see again, Quinn was standing next to her, looking down at her with a grin. "Mind the step," he told her, holding a hand out.

Alice grudgingly let him help her to her feet as her vision righted itself. "You did that on purpose."

"I figured it would knock some of the prudishness out of you."

"Well it didn't." Alice brushed herself off and glanced around.

They were in a foyer that was a lot prouder than the stairs. The floors were a gleaming green and white marble, and the walls had been chiselled out of rock in a rough fashion. The roof was dotted with chandeliers. The dark shape she saw earlier was a polished wooden desk, and a stunned woman stood behind it, staring at Alice.

"Ah, Margret," Quinn enthused, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the woman was staring. Or maybe he just didn't care. "This is Alice. Evidently she's never been here before."

Margret didn't say anything.

"Can you tell the council I'm here? I'd like to see them, if they'd have me."

"O...of course," Margret stuttered. "I won't be a moment."

With a final glance at Alice, she hurried off, leaving the two of them alone. "Where are we?" Alice asked, looking around. The room was eerily beautiful, and there was an air about it that she couldn't quite put her finger on. It made her uneasy.

"Haven't you been listening to anything I've said? We're in the Council Chambers."

"Why was she staring at me?"

Quinn gave her a funny look. "You fell down the stairs, Alice. Of course she was staring at you. No one's ever made quite an entrance before."

"Oh..."

"Goodness me. You know, for a thief, you're not very coordinated," Quinn told her.

"I already told you, I'm not a very good thief," she snapped.

Quinn cocked his head. "Then why do it?"

Alice shrugged. She wasn't about to get into a conversation about her habits with him. They were none of his business and, frankly, she didn't need another person to judge her; her parents did enough of that.

Margret returned now, smiling. "Mr Harpington? The Council of Ten will see you now," she told him.

"Marvellous."

Alice and Quinn followed Margret as she led them down a long hall and directed them into the room at the end. Quinn went in first, and Alice trailed after him, unsure if she would be welcome.

The door closed behind her.

"Quinn Harpington. It's been a while."

A lone man stood beside a marble throne, peering down at them behind round glasses. He pushed them up the bridge of his nose, and they slipped back down. He pushed them up again. All in all, he was a rather unimpressive man. Alice wondered where the rest of the council was.

"About a year, I'd wager, Bob," Quinn replied, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"It's Robert to you, Mr Harpington. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Robert's voice contained no warmth, but it wasn't unkind, either. It was neutral.

"I'd like to introduce Alice," Quinn began. He pushed Alice forward. "She's a witch."

Robert squinted through his glasses, which had fallen back down. His eyes lit up ever-so-slightly. "Is that so?"

"Earlier today she was attacked by a member of the Gentlemen's Club," Quinn said.

Alice glanced at Quinn. "Gentlemen's Club?" she hissed. The Gentlemen's Club sent someone to kill her? Really? Or was it simply code for something?

He kicked her. "Quiet."

"Did he give a reason as to why?"

"He gave a name. A man called Betelgeuse."

Robert hummed, and sat down on the throne. He scratched his chin thoughtfully, pushing his glasses back up again. "I'll admit, I've never heard of him."

"I'll admit, I haven't, either."

"So what is it you want? And this girl..." Robert motioned to Alice. "What skills does she have?" He appeared genuinely curious as he waited expectantly.

Alice blinked. Skills? What kind of skills did he mean? Was he talking about normal, everyday skills like maths and English and science? Or did he mean magic, like the ability to turn into an eagle? Either way, she wasn't the sharpest in any of those areas. Quinn seemed to have thought of this as well, because he didn't hesitate.

"She's a master thief, you know," he insisted.

"I am not!"

"Modest, too. She'd never admit it, but she has the ability to bend light. She can make any object she desires invisible," Quinn went on cheerfully. He was thoroughly enjoying himself.

Robert appeared visibly impressed, and Alice was horrified. If he wanted her to make anything invisible he'd know Quinn was lying, and then what would happen? Would they be arrested? That was all Alice needed.

"She's a witch, after all," Robert said, as though that settled that matter.

"How old is she?"

Quinn hesitated. He turned to Alice for help. So there was something he didn't know about her.

"I'm... seventeen," she mumbled.

"And you've already gone through the awakening? Impossible," Robert decided. "And impressive."

Alice didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything. Any moment now, Robert was going to ask her to make Quinn invisible, or conjure up a hat so that she could pull a rabbit out of it and make that invisible, and he would know they were lying.

Quinn didn't seem bothered, as he ploughed on. "Yes, but in spite of young Alice's amazing abilities, someone tried to kill her. No doubt they'll try again, and probably again if I don't stop them first." There was a pride in his voice that told Alice he was truly serious about keeping her alive from... whatever tried to kill her.

Robert frowned, seemingly unsure of what it was Quinn was getting at. Alice was in the same boat as him. "And how might I help you? Shall I give you my blessing?"

"Oh, I'm not here about that," Quinn told him. "I just thought you'd wonder about the girl if I didn't mention her; she simply followed me here. No, I'm here to tell you that Elise Fairbourne has been bootlegging dragons again."

Robert swore, violently. It was the first sign of emotion he'd displayed. His eyes flashed and from a desk against the wall several sheets of paper went flying.

"I must say, they're rather convincing replicas," Quinn went on, perhaps trying to lessen the severity of the situation.

"The conviction of them is none of my concern," Robert snapped. "This is a direct violation of Clause 1785. A direct violation. I'm terribly sorry, Quinn, but I am afraid I'll have to end this meeting. Good luck with... avenging the girl's attempted murder."

He waved them off, and they left, Alice still reeling with information and questions. She was desperately trying to decide which to ask first. "Bootlegging dragons?" she decided on.

"Oh, yes. Elise Fairbourne is perhaps the best bootlegger in the world."

She couldn't tell if Quinn was being serious or not. "But... dragons don't exist..."

"So? We're talking about Elise Fairbourne, Alice, not some grumpy old man in a pawn shop. She could bootleg you if she really wanted to. And of course dragons exist. They're just mostly extinct in our world. Actually, Bob's from a world full of dragons. He's quite famous there, from what I remember."

Alice decided not to comment on that. The world certainly didn't need another one of her running around. "I thought we were going to see the Council of Ten, emphasis on the Ten."

Quinn was unfazed. "We did."

They reached the foyer, where Margret was shuffling through papers. She didn't even acknowledge them as they went back up the stairs. Alice did her best to not trip as she was plunged into darkness, and arrived on the other side unscathed.

"There was one man," she pointed out. "One man."

Quinn didn't seem to understand the issue. He was dumbfounded. "Well, what did you expect?"

"Oh, I don't know. A council of ten, maybe."

For a moment, Quinn just stared at her. Then he burst out laughing. "It's not called the Council of Ten because there are ten members. Goodness me."

"Why is it called the Council of Ten, then?" Alice pressed, thinking that it was perfectly acceptable to assume the Council of Ten should have, at the very least, ten members.

"Well, Council of One doesn't sound too intimidating, does it now?"

Alice raised a sceptic eyebrow, but Quinn didn't bat an eyelid. He was serious. They'd given a single man the title 'the Council of Ten', because he didn't sound very intimidating on his own.

"The Gentlemen's Club?" she asked.

"The Gentlemen's Club is a club of gentlemen," Quinn explained.

"I never would have guessed."

"They're assassins."

"Of course they are..." Alice trailed off. "Someone hired an assassin to kill me?"

"Well, technically you can't be assassinated unless you're someone. And you're no one, Alice." She scowled at this. "You're practically nameless. Which means we must ask ourselves why someone would bother to hire an assassin to not assassinate but kill a girl who is all but nameless. Because hiring them isn't cheap."

"Maybe I'm actually someone," Alice suggested.

Quinn chuckled. "If you were someone, Alice, I'd know all about you."

Alice's face fell flat. "You do know all about me."

"And I know you're not someone but no one. Next question."

Alice still wanted to know more about the Gentlemen's Club, but it was obvious Quinn wouldn't answer, so she moved to the next subject. "Okay. What's Clause 1785 then?"

Quinn lit up a smoke. "'The bootlegging of any earthly or unearthly substance may be punishable by death. This includes, but is not limited to; humans; dragons; objects; demons; antidemons; religious figures; foods; drinks; any other thing in existence that one is able to see and touch'," he recited.

"They have a Clause for that?"

"More than one, Alice. You see, people are funny. Some will not abide by the rules of a certain Clause because it is an odd number. Others only believe Clauses that fall under a multiple of five are bound by law. Sometimes it's both; others, something completely different. I once knew a man who believed a Clause that wasn't a multiple of one hundred was evil, but he wouldn't abide by a Clause that didn't end in a one."

"But... multiples of one hundred are even numbers..."

"Exactly."

"What happened to him?"

"We tried to arrest him, but couldn't, because he believed it was a direct violation of his rights, of which he didn't have. In the end we dusted him."

"Dusted him?"

"Killed him," Quinn explained.

"You killed him?" Alice didn't know why she was surprised at this point, but she was.

Quinn shrugged. "Well, since he didn't believe in any of the Clauses, in his eyes it was perfectly legal for us to do so."

Alice stared at him dubiously. He was definitely mentally ill or something. No one in their right mind would be so passive about killing others.

"That's... you can't just go around killing people! What's wrong with you?"

"Why not?" Quinn asked, unfazed.

Alice threw her arms up in exasperation. "Because it's illegal! And it's both morally and ethically wrong," she stressed. She couldn't believe she was having this conversation with an adult.

"Believe what you will, child. We're in my world, now."

Chapter Three

"What are we going to do, then?"

They were headed down a street Alice didn't know, which was rare for her. She was walking fast to keep up with Quinn, who didn't seem to be paying her much attention at all. He pulled a set of car keys out of his pocket.

"Hmm? Oh, you're still here, are you? Well, we are not going to do anything. I am going to the Rune to see what I can find out about this Mr Betelgeuse. You are still following me," Quinn curtly told her. "To be honest," he went on, "I thought you would have disappeared by now."

"Why would you think that?" Alice asked. She wanted to know more about the Gentleman's Club, and magic, and being a witch, and why someone was trying to kill her. Of course she was still here. They turned into a parking lot, and Quinn started mumbling to himself again.

"Because you're so insistent that magic isn't real, perhaps? Or maybe because you think I'm some sort of stalker. Ah, there it is."

Quinn walked up to a car, pressing a button on his key that prompted it to beep and light up. Alice just stared, because of all the ridiculous cars in the world, this was the worst.

If Reggie were here, he would certainly be proud of it. Bright green with – she could hardly believe it – yellow rims the colour of a lollypop lady's reflective jacket. Alice couldn't deny it was a nice car, being a Porsche, but that didn't stop her from trying. The colours were abhorrent.

"What is it with men and horrid cars?" Alice asked.

Quinn blinked. He looked at the car, then to Alice, then back to the car. Scandal crossed his face. "What's wrong with it?" he asked, offended.

"It's green."

"I'm afraid I don't understand what the problem is. The colour ensures I never lose it."

Huffing, Alice did a quick scan of the parking lot to make sure no one she knew was watching her get into a bright green, yellow-rimmed car, then she slipped in the passenger seat.

"What do you think you're doing?" Quinn asked as he hopped in the driver side. He sounded mildly curious, as though he didn't actually care that she was still there.

"I'm coming with you."

"That's not a very good idea." He started the car. It was nice and quiet, probably the most inconspicuous part about it. "You don't even know me. I might kidnap you. I could murder you."

"But you're not going to, are you?"

Quinn shrugged. "I haven't really decided yet," he admitted. They rolled out of the parking lot and took off down the street. "I'm not entirely sure if it's worth it."

"I can't tell if you're being serious or not. Anyway, aside from my amazing ability to make things invisible, there's not much I can do, so it probably isn't. But I guess a master thief such as myself would just be being modest."

Quinn offered her a wry grin. "I was wondering when you were going to bring that up," he said, not sounding sorry in the least. "Don't take it personally; Robert enjoys a promising upcoming magician. Besides, with the right training and perseverance, you would be able to bend light."

"Really?"

"Probably not. I'm not even sure it's possible, even for a witch." He frowned, thinking. "But, then again, I'm not a witch, so I wouldn't exactly know. Why aren't you wearing the necklace I gave you?"

"Because I don't want to. And what are you, exactly?"

"I'm a shapeshifter," Quinn told her, still frowning slightly. "Of course, I know my fair share of magic, but I-"

Alice cut him off. "A shapeshifter? What kind of things can you turn into? Can you teach me how to shapeshift?"

She'd love to be able to change into different animals and objects. It would be so simple to hide. And fun, to boot. Oh, the mischief she would get up to.

"All kinds of things."

"Does it have to be, like, alive?" Alice pressed.

"Of course not. I mean, it's obviously easier to turn into something with a heartbeat, but I wouldn't be a very good shapeshifter if I couldn't turn into a beer mug, now would I?"

Alice frowned at him, but he was waiting for her to answer. "Uh... no?"

"That's exactly right."

"You can teach me, though, can't you?"

"Goodness, Alice. You're a witch. Isn't that enough?" Quinn gave her a pointed look that clearly said he thought it should be.

"Of course it isn't. Besides, I haven't done any magic. You keep calling me a witch, but I still haven't turned anyone into a toad, or, or turned water into wine or anything like that."

Quinn shrugged. "You'll learn," he told her with a smile. "You'll certainly be able to do much more than simply turning people into toads. Besides, turning water into wine isn't something we bother spending our time on."

The Rune, it turned out, was a small pub in the centre of Sundry, one of the bordering suburbs of the city. It was dark and smoky inside, with only two dirty windows and a tiny light in the middle of the ceiling to light the room up.

The pub was packed with people. Some of them looked normal, like the kind of people Alice would run into on the street. Most of them didn't.

There was a group of men in the corner, each of them covered in thick fur. They were talking in low barks, with the occasional growl. A few tables away, a man glared at them. He was a deep shade of purple, as though his whole body was covered in one large bruise. A trickle of blood ran down the corner of his mouth. On the other side of the pub was a real, living two-headed woman. Both heads had abnormally long necks, and they were arguing with each other. At the counter, a tall, elderly man with a long beard and pointy hat was talking to a cat in a series of meows. There was even a group of men in a booth, dressed in robes and smoking pipes. Members of the Gentlemen's Club, Alice assumed, inching closer to Quinn.

Not one of the patrons batted an eyelid when Quinn entered the bar, holding the door open for her. The moment Alice placed a foot over the threshold, however, the building fell silent, and every single set of eyes fell upon her, as though she'd just announced they were all under arrest. She froze, then glanced up at Quinn who looked suspiciously as though he'd just remembered something important.

"What did I do?" Alice asked.

From the corner, the purple man hissed. More blood trickled from his mouth.

"I may have forgotten a rather vital piece of information that would have served you well before you stepped in the bar," Quinn shamelessly admitted.

"And that is?"

"Well, it's just... a lot of us folk don't really like witches. I'd even go as far as to say they loathe them, and would kill them at the first chance they got."

Alice felt something tug at her heart. Was it fear? She was in a pub full of seemingly magical people who hated her. It was definitely fear. No curiosity as to why they hated her, just sheer, pure terror. "And you didn't think to tell me this before you bought me here?"

"I didn't bring you here!" Quinn defended. "You came here of your own free will."

"I assumed it was going to be safe!"

"Never assume, Alice!"

Alice was about to retort when she noticed a man walking towards them. He was shaved bald, with tattoos covering his head, neck and arms like a tight-fitting hoodie. His blue eyes were narrowed slightly. He was, to say the least, rather attractive. She tried not to dwell on that too much. After all, he probably had it in for her as well.

"Can I help you?" He had a thick, Scottish accent. He turned to Alice, and she felt her face redden. "Witches are not welcome here," he said softly, as though the decision wasn't exactly one he was happy with, but still one he was required to enforce.

"Why not?" Quinn asked.

The bartender didn't even glance at him, his blue eyes piercing Alice's. She looked away, uncomfortable. "They're bad for business."

"I'm in denial," Alice assured him.

Quinn put a hand on her shoulder, as though worried she would suddenly attack. "I'm looking for someone," he told the bartender. "A man named Betelgeuse. Do you know him?"

"Aye, I might know him. But then again, I might not. What do you want him for?"

"He's an old friend."

"If he were an old friend, you wouldn't be here looking for him, would you?"

Alice felt there was some sort of inside knowledge or joke that she wasn't privy to, and she resisted the urge to ask.

Quinn rolled his eyes with a sigh. "Fine. I'm going to find him, and maybe I'll kill him. Maybe I won't; I haven't really decided yet. You know exactly why I want him," he added irritably. "So shall we skip the chat and get to the point?"

The bartender eyed him suspiciously. Then his gaze fell back onto Alice. She shifted uncomfortably. He turned back to Quinn. "I'm sorry, but I cannot help; you have nothing of value to me."

"Mutual dislike for the man?" Quinn suggested.

" I have no love for the man myself, but it's not worth my life to tell you where he is."

If he was worried someone would hear him, he didn't show it. In fact, there seemed to be a general murmur of agreement run through the pub, as though everyone knew where he was, but none of them were willing to risk their lives to tell.

Scratching his chin, Quinn lit up a smoke, in spite of the 'no smoking' sign that stood out clearly on the wall behind them. "Might you know someone who would find it worth their life?"

The bartender shrugged. "Try a graveyard." He clicked his fingers together and the tip of Quinn's smoke sizzled and went out. Quinn scowled. "Next time you bring her in here, I'm afraid I can't be responsible for what might happen to her."

Alice blinked, too late realising he was talking about her. Before she was able to protest, Quinn was dragging her out of the dark bar and back into the sunlight, where he promptly relit his smoke and told her to get in the car.

"What's he got against witches?" Alice asked when they were back on the road. She folded her arms across her chest in a huff. "What do all of them have against witches?"

"Well, traditionally witches aren't very nice people," Quinn told her matter-of-factly. "That's why there were so many witch burnings back in the day, and not many wizard burnings, or shapeshifter burnings. That and no one would ever admit the fork they'd been using for the past year suddenly turned into a human and walked off. So it's pretty safe to say no one really likes witches. Of course, Hamish being the exception. I don't think he really likes anyone. Hamish was the bartender you were eyeing off, by the way."

"I wasn't eyeing him off! And I wasn't a part of any of that," Alice complained, blushing furiously.

"No, but your great-great-grandmother probably was, and that's all that matters to most people."

"My great-great-grandmother was a witch?"

Quinn took a left turn, narrowly avoiding running over an elderly lady. He didn't seem fazed as the woman toppled over, her walking stick flying and glasses askew.

"Well, it's a hereditary trait. Like brown eyes and blonde hair. I mean, sure, sometimes it skips a generation or two, but it generally runs in families. Actually, it definitely runs in families. Yes, I'm sure she went out like most of the others; at the stake."

Alice sank into her seat. Witches, in her family? Witchburning? It was all a bit too much. "You make it sound so casual."

"Well it was. It was sort of a weekly thing. Someone found a witch, we'd all get together for a Sunday barbeque and cook potatoes in the ashes of her feet while she screamed," Quinn cheerfully told her. The cheer in his voice was strained, as though he was harbouring some hidden emotion, but it was there nonetheless.

Alice threw up a little in her mouth. "That's horrible! Is that where we're going? To burn me while you cook potatoes and talk about football?"

It was only then Alice realised the car wasn't moving. "And if you'll kindly look to your left, you'll notice we're at your house," Quinn said.

Alice looked. They were indeed parked out front of her house. She flushed and unbuckled her seatbelt. "Thanks," she mumbled.

Quinn nodded. "The thing about witches, Alice, is that despite all the rubbish you've read or seen in movies, there's never actually been a good witch," he explained. There was a hint of emotion in his voice that Alice couldn't quite put her finger on. "And the witches that have been around usually cause a lot of trouble and pain."

"I'm not like that," Alice assured him, getting out of the car. She closed the door, and Quinn wound the window down.

He gave her a pointed look. "You're a thief. Not only are you causing trouble, but every item you steal is money lost, and that causes a certain kind of pain."

"Oh..." Alice trailed off. She'd never thought of it that way, but now that she was, she realised he was right. And she didn't like the feeling of it at all. "Yeah, I guess."

"Anyway, what are you doing tonight?" Quinn asked.

"Um... sleeping, I guess?" Alice replied. Was he going to ask her on a date or something? That would just be too creepy, and not only because he was too old.

Quinn nodded. "A perfectly normal thing to be doing of a night, unless of course you're a vampire. I'm going to follow up on the information the lovely bartender gave us. Would you like to join me?"

A frown spread across Alice's face. The only 'information' he'd given them was to check a graveyard. Not very useful at all. Unless of course it was code for something. Alice shrugged nonchalantly, trying not to let on that she was curious. "Sure, why not?"

"Excellent. I'll pick you up at exactly midnight. Wear old, preferably dark clothes."

Alice nodded. "No worries. Where exactly are we going?"

"To the graveyard," Quinn enthused. "We're going to be exhuming." He sounded positively excited.

Alice opened her mouth to ask him if he was serious, and to inform him that she absolutely would not be digging up any dead bodies, but the bright green Porsche was already disappearing around the corner.

Midnight rolled around. And then it passed. So did 1 o'clock. By the time 2 o'clock rolled up, Alice turned around, cold and annoyed and feeling stupid, and began to climb back up the side of her house – with much difficulty – and was about to slip into the window when she heard a car pull up.

A muscle in her jaw twitched as she turned to see Quinn, a shameless grin on his face, waving at her from inside his conspicuous vehicle. Alice could have kicked him.

She climbed back down the side of her house, falling the last few steps as she lost her footing, and stormed over to the car. She tore the passenger door open. "You said midnight!" she hissed, barrelling in the car and slamming the door with ferocity. She hoped it broke.

Quinn shrugged unapologetically. "I got caught up. You weren't waiting too long, I hope."

"Two hours! How do you get caught up for two hours?"

"At least it wasn't two days."

Alice rolled her eyes, and they fell into silence as Quinn drove out of the city, past the fake, paddockless farmhouses that scattered the surrounding suburbs, and into the graveyard. Alice looked out the window at the graves as they drove in. "You weren't serious about digging up bodies, were you?" she asked nervously. That was a hefty prison sentence at best. Plus, she didn't fancy the idea of it in the first place.

"Of course I was," Quinn replied as he lit up a smoke. "What did you expect? Code? No, we are here to dig up a body and ask it about Betelgeuse, and that is exactly what we will do." He pulled up in the car park, taking three spots up, and hopped out. Alice followed suit.

"There's just one problem with that," she told him.

"What's that?"

Alice toyed with the possibility that he was joking, but the look on his face gave nothing away.

"They're dead bodies. They won't answer any questions we ask because they're dead."

Quinn busied himself with pulling a pair of shovels out of the boot. "Alice, my dear, what is it that I keep telling you? We have magic, girl. Magic. If we want to ask a dead body a question, we can be damned sure it will answer us. All one has to do it bring it back to life for an hour or so."

He handed her a shovel, and cheerfully led the way into the graveyard, puffing great clouds of smoke and whistling as he did. The night made it more eerie than it really was, and the headstones cast long shadows on the ground.

"You can bring dead bodies back to life?" Alice asked, trying to keep her mind off thoughts of being eaten by zombies. Magic was getting weirder the more she learned.

Quinn stopped whistling. He hesitated. "Well, no," he admitted. "But I know someone who can, and that's all that matters!"

They stopped in front of a grave that didn't appear to have been visited in a while. There were no flowers, and the date on the headstone indicated that George Turnbull had passed away 14 years previously, having suffered a severe allergic reaction to headlice. The headstone was chipped in places, and a large crack ran down the middle like a lightning bolt.

"This looks like a good one," Quinn chirped. He drove his shovel deep into the soil. "Shall we?"

Alice felt sick. Reluctantly but obediently, she tightened her grip on her shovel, and began to help dig up the grave. How many years bad luck was it supposed to be? Never mind bad luck, what about evil spirits? George Turnbull probably wouldn't be too happy if he knew he was being dug up, 14 years after his death.

If Alice believed in magic – and she still wasn't sure she did – then she certainly believed in ghosts and spirits, both good and bad. And she certainly believed they might haunt her for life.

On top of that, how could they be sure Mr Turnbull's corpse would know anything about the Betelgeuse? Was he some sort of magic? A friend of Quinn's, maybe?

"Um... Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you know Mr, uh, Turnbull?" she asked.

"Not at all, Alice. Why?"

"Was he magical?"

Quinn shook his head. "If he was any sort of magic, he certainly wouldn't be buried here. He wouldn't be buried at all, in fact. He'd have burst into flames the moment he died, and turned to ash."

Alice started. Undoubtedly it was another of his jokes. "Does that happen to all magical folk?"

"Yes – well, in theory. When we die, magic still flows through our bodies. Can you imagine what would happen if a normal, non-magical person happened upon one of us? Clause 5137 states that when we die, our bodies will be turned to ash. Of course, if you don't follow odd Clauses, or Clauses that end with the number seven, or start with five, or-"

Alice cut him off. "You won't turn to ash. I get it."

Quinn beamed. "You're learning."

They both fell silent again, before something else sprang to Alice's mind. "Why don't you just use magic to dig the body up?" she asked.

"Because that would defeat the purpose of bringing shovels. And it's in direction violation of about five Clauses."

"It's illegal to dig a body up with magic, but not illegal to dig one up with shovels?" Alice asked in disbelief.

"That's exactly right. The magical community has no need for shovels, so why would they write a clause about one? Now hurry up and dig."

Quinn was struggling to drag the decomposing coffin to his car. Every time he grabbed it, bits of mouldy, rotten wood broke off into his hands, and he wasn't yet desperate enough to grab the corpse itself. Alice, several feet away, was having no part of it. The stench of death and rot invaded her nostrils, making her gag.

"You could at least push," Quinn grumbled.

"No. I won't, I'm not touching it. This was your idea," Alice retorted. She was holding both the shovels gingerly. One of them had given her multiple, painful splinters, and in the dark she still hadn't gotten them out.

"But this is your area of expertise!"

"I am not a grave robber!" Alice snapped irritably.

"Grave robber, thief. It's that same thing, really."

Alice glowered at him. She was cold and hungry, and Quinn's smart remarks were doing nothing besides infuriate her even more.

"Fine, I'll do it. You just keep that vampire at bay, will you?"

"What?"

Alice spun around to see the same deep purple man from the Rune standing by a headstone, running a bony finger across it. His eyes were dark and he was dressed in what appeared to be rags. He ran his tongue across his lips. "It's been a while since I saw a witch," he hissed.

"Uh... Quinn!"

Quinn didn't reply, and Alice took a step back as the vampire took one forward, his eyes glowing with bloodlust. What did she do? Did she run? Why wasn't Quinn helping? Was he trying to get her killed?

"And now, I'm going to kill you."

Before Alice even had time to think, the vampire lunged. She cried out as he collided with her, knocking her to the ground. Both shovels slipped out of her hands. His teeth sunk deep into her neck, and she screamed, batting at him with her fists. He didn't let go.

Alice reached her hand out. Her fingers brushed against the handle of one of the shovels, and she closed them around it, bringing it between them. With all her force she pushed up, and the vampire let go and jumped up. She swung the shovel at him, and he darted out of the way.

Quinn was still dragging the coffin to his car, uncaring of what was going on. If anything, he was taking his time.

Alice got to her feet, holding the shovel in front of her like a weapon. Her heart was thudding in her chest, and her neck burned. Was she going to turn into a vampire? She pushed the thought out of her mind. Spending the rest of her life as a purple, bloodsucking corpse didn't really appeal to her.

The vampire stalked from side to side, taking slow, deliberate steps. Blood dripped from his mouth like a rabid dog. He licked at the drops running down his chin. "I can taste the poison in your blood, witch."

He lunged again, but Alice was ready. She swung, and the shovel buried itself deep into the side of his head. He yelled in pain and surprise, grabbed the handle, wrenching it out of Alice's hands and threw it. It cracked against a headstone, snapping in two.

Deep red, almost black, blood poured out of the gashing wound on the vampire's head. His top lip curled into a snarl, and he settled into a crouch as the broken skin stretched back together and healed, leaving no hint of a scar.

Wide-eyed and afraid, Alice stepped back. "Quinn!"

Quinn was still moving the coffin. He didn't even look up. "You'll be fine. Stake him with a bit of wood."

A horrible sound escaped the vampire's throat. He was laughing. "I'm going to kill you, witch, and there's nothing you can do about it."

Alice looked to her side, where the shovel was snapped in two. She looked back at the vampire. He was unnaturally still, his eyes fixed on her.

Were they as fast as in the movies? As strong? He certainly didn't look like he was either of these, but who was she to judge? She'd only have one chance, and if she messed it up at all, she was dead.

Alice made the first move. She feigned moving to the left, and the vampire took the bait, leaping where he expected her to be. Then she ran, straight for the handle. It was mere footsteps away.

A rock caught her foot, and she tripped, reaching wildly for the handle just as the vampire regained his posture and landed heavily on her. He straddled her, flipped her onto her back and bared his bloody teeth.

As he bent in to bite her again, Alice thrust upwards into his chest, and the broken end of the handle broke through the skin with a spurt of blood, and drove right into his heart.

He didn't burst into flames, as Alice expected. He didn't turn to ash, either. His limp, dead body just fell down on her like a doll, crushing her.

Gasping, Alice pushed the body off with difficulty, and struggled to her feet. Quinn, having finally succeeded in getting the coffin into the boot of his car, sauntered over.

He raised an eyebrow and admired the body. "You didn't die," he quipped.

Alice glared at him. "No thanks to you." She brushed dirt and grot out of her hair as best she could.

"You need to learn these things, Alice, and what better way than with first-hand experience?"

She turned her attention back to the body. "He didn't burst into flames."

"No. He didn't." There was no surprise in Quinn's voice.

"Why?"

"Because he's a vampire, Alice," Quinn told her, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "He's not magical; he's simply a walking, talking, blood-sucking corpse. And now he's only the latter."

"What are we supposed to do with him, then?"

"Well, I'm sure Mr Turnbull won't mind if we fill his grave back up."

Alice turned her back on him and headed back to the car. "You can do it."

Chapter Four

Quinn's friend lived in the same street as Reggie. In fact, Alice would go as far as to say he lived directly next door to Reggie, which was unnerving for her because the only person she could recall ever living in number 7 was a creepy old man with no teeth, who made disgusting sucking noises like a plunger in a toilet whenever he saw her.

As they approached the door, Alice nervously glanced around. Reggie's sleeping habits were not to be envied, and there was a high chance he was still awake. His orange commodore sat proudly in the driveway.

"Quinn, if Reggie spots me at his neighbours with a strange man, he's likely to call everyone he knows and storm the place."

Quinn looked offended. "Strange man?" he asked, glancing around for the so-called 'strange man'.

"You drive a green Porsche."

"There's nothing strange about that. I notice your friend drives an orange commodore. Isn't that a bit like the pot calling the kettle black?" he pointed out as he admired the vehicle.

He knocked twice on the white door, then stepped back, fixing his imaginary tie.

"It's not my car," Alice hissed. She would never own such a horrid vehicle.

"Well, he'll just have to deal with the fact that you're a witch, and at least a quarter of the world's population wants to see you burn at the stake, and that I, your humble, attractive guardian angel happens to be a strange man, won't he?"

"Humble?"

"Well, humble-ish. And I did save your life, you know."

"Then you left me to the mercy of a vampire," Alice pointed out. She was still getting shivers from it. Never again did she want to see another vampire.

The house remained silent, and Quinn knocked again, frowning. "He is rather deaf," he said, more to himself than Alice.

"You're not even listening, are you?"

"Alice, there was no danger of him actually killing you. Well, maybe there was a tiny chance, but I had absolute faith in you. The only way a vampire would ever kill a witch is if she were sleeping. Were you sleeping?"

"That's not the-"

Quinn patiently cut her off. "Were you sleeping, Alice?"

Alice scowled. "No."

"Then there was nothing to worry about, was there? Now, if it had been the full moon, and you were attacked by a werewolf, that would have been different," Quinn told her.

"Oh, you would have come to my rescue then, if there was a great, dirty wolf man trying to kill me?"

Quinn laughed. "Goodness, no. I would have ran, fast, away from the werewolf. Contrary to popular belief, vampires aren't very strong. Werewolves on a full moon, though, are pretty much invincible."

The door swung open, and Reggie's creepy old toothless neighbour stood facing the both of them. He sneered in disgust when he saw Quinn, but his face lit up when his gaze fell upon Alice. His cheeks hollowed, lips puckered, and he started making that horrible sound, just like someone was trying to unblock a toilet.

"Josef," Quinn greeted, completely ignoring the sounds. "I'm guessing you've met Alice before."

Josef rubbed his hands over each other, reminding Alice of a praying mantis. "Yes, yes Josef has met the girl, a pretty girl. But you are not a pretty girl." His voice was laced with disappointment.

"No, I'm not, I'm an attractive male, but I'm with a pretty girl. I have a favour to ask of you, actually." Quinn shoved Alice out of the way, and Josef's gaze followed. "I need to talk to someone, only he's dead."

Josef snapped his attention to Quinn, glaring suspiciously. "He wants Josef to bring the dead back, he does, it is very difficult, it is."

"I know that," Quinn grumped. He shuffled his feet impatiently. "That's why we're here."

Josef didn't say or do anything for a while. He just stood there, glaring silently at Quinn. Finally, he stepped back in way of invitation. Alice had a distinct feeling the only reason he did was because of her. "Where is the body then, where is it?"

Quinn's mood instantly changed as he perked up. "In the boot of my car," he cheerfully announced. "May I?"

"Yes, yes. In the garage it must go. Normal people cannot see it, no they cannot. Josef will get into trouble, yes he will." He disappeared in the house, and the next moment the garage door was rolling up, very loudly. "Come in, pretty girl, come in."

Alice turned to Quinn, horrified. Quinn just shrugged. "He really is a nice guy," he assured her, shoving her in the door. "He's just a bit funny, is all."

He walked back to his car, leaving Alice in Josef's house. She inched down the hall, cautious and worried Josef would leap out of the shadows any moment. She reached the living room without incident, and found Josef sitting by a crackling fire, watching her. His eyes were large, like bugs eyes, and he blinked about half as much as a normal person.

"The pretty girl does not like Josef, no she does not. Josef knows, yes he does. He knows the pretty girl, she is a witch, she is," he muttered, more to himself than her.

Alice wasn't sure if she was supposed to say anything, so she kept silent. He was really starting to creep her out. Any moment now, he would kill her and hang her head on the wall like a prized deer. She instinctively looked to the walls for the heads of other victims. They were bare.

"Josef wonders what a pretty girls wants a dead body for. Witchcraft."

"No! No, it's not for that. We want to ask him a question, is all," Alice assured him. She was cautious, unsure of how much she was allowed to tell him.

"Just one question? Josef brings the dead to life for one question, does he?" He didn't look upset or annoyed, but Alice didn't want to lose her chance to see a dead body bought back to life. As sickening as it was.

"Maybe a few."

"A few questions, Josef does not mind. Very well." He stood up and beckoned her to follow.

They went through the kitchen and into the garage, where Quinn was busy trying to pull what was left of the coffin out of the boot. Alice caught sight of a bony hand, held together by bits of rotted skin and sinew. She resisted the urge to vomit, reminding herself that it was for a good reason. Sort of.

"Josef does not need the body out of the boot, he does not."

Quinn immediately stopped struggling, relief flooding his face, and dropped the rotten wood in his hand. "Alrighty then, show us your worst."

Nodding, Josef rolled up his sleeves to reveal unusually muscled arms, and approached the boot. He clamped his hands together, bowed his head and started muttering in a language Alice didn't know. His voice rose and fell in volume as he went.

They stood there for a few minutes and, as far as Alice could see, nothing was happening. Not even a bony finger twitched. She felt a bit stupid. Was this all a joke or something? The two of them were probably laughing at her for believing a dead body could actually be reanimated.

Just as Alice was about to leave, convinced she was being played, Josef slowly pulled his hands apart to reveal a small, bright light that looked like he was holding a white star. As his hands moved further apart, the star grew, until it was as big as a basketball. It lit the whole garage up, almost appearing alive as it glimmered in the room.

Sweat poured from Josef, and his face was strained and pale, as though the skin had been stretched to fit over his skull. A muscle in his neck twitched. His arms were shaking, threatening to fall under the weight of gravity. And they did.

The star dropped, crashing silently into the boot. Light spilled out like it was a wave of glowing water, pouring onto the ground. It was like watching a move on mute. The bony hand that Alice was watching clenched into a fist, and the light stopped where it was, before rolling back in on itself, up and into the boot.

Josef stumbled back, panting. "Is done. Josef has given life for an hour," he told them. He turned and struggled back into the house, holding the wall for support.

Quinn watched him go, then turned his attention back to the boot of his car. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Mr Turnbull?"

Slowly, awkwardly, the skeleton pulled itself into a sitting position. Even in life, it didn't look much better. Half of its skull was bare, and the other half was covered in rotting, stinking skin. His jaw hung limply, ready to fall off at the drop of a hat, and mother nature spared no expense when she completely obliterated one arm and half his ribcage.

"Who are you?" it breathed. His voice was little more than a whisper, and every word seemed to cause him pain.

"My name is Quinn, and this is Alice. We'd like to ask you a question, if that's alright," Quinn chirped.

Mr Turnbull was motionless for a few moments. Then he gasped. "But, I'm dead."

"Yes you are. Thanks to our friend, however, you're not as dead as you used to be."

Alice cringed as Mr Turnbull moved, and his bone joints cracked and ground against each other. The smell was almost too much for her. Quinn didn't seem to be bothered by it at all.

"I don't suppose I could see my wife?" the skeleton asked thoughtfully, as he inspected what was left of his hand.

Alice raised an eyebrow. In his state, he probably shouldn't be seeing anyone. He'd cause mass hysteria on the streets.

"Considering the state of you, I daresay one good look would finish her off," Quinn bluntly replied.

The skeleton slumped. "Oh. What do you want, then?"

Quinn straightened his imaginary tie. "We're looking for someone, actually. A man called Betelgeuse, have you heard of him?"

Mr Turnbull tried nodding, but his jaw cracked at the movement, and ended up swinging loosely from one side, held to his skull by a bit of rotted skin. He grabbed it, clicked it back in place, and tested it out, to make sure it wasn't going to fall again.

"Yes," he finally said. "Of course I have heard of Betelgeuse. He is the self-proclaimed master of the dead. Which is untrue. We already have a Mistress of the Dead. But Betelgeuse has promised us what the Mistress would never allow."

"And what's that?" Quinn asked. "Life?"

The skeleton didn't answer. He was completely motionless, like a statue, and Alice thought he was frozen. Then he let out a raspy wheeze, and his skull turned from Quinn to Alice. "I cannot see."

Quinn didn't press for information on the promise, and ignored the last comment. "What about Betelgeuse?"

"He has been stealing the dead so that he can build an army," Mr Turnbull told them, deciding that, at least, was a question he could answer.

Quinn, for reasons unknown, was looking very impressed, as though he thought using dead bodies for an army was a brilliant idea. Alice was seriously beginning to doubt his life choices.

"An army for what?" she asked. She was thinking of zombies. Shambling, bumbling, flesh-eating zombies like in the movies.

"An army for the end of the world."

They left Mr Turnbull's corpse at Josef's, because Alice refused to take him back to the graveyard, and because Josef wanted to keep him.

Quinn drove in silence, and Alice knew he was thinking. She was thinking, too. An army of dead for the end of the world? Even in a 'normal person' world, that didn't sound good. Was it going to be an army of zombies? How big was it? How big was it going to be for the end of the bloody world? And just when, exactly, was the world going to end?

Alice resisted the urge to ask Quinn. He probably would answer properly, with a definitive date and all, and she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know the answer.

He dropped her off at home, promising to visit when he knew more, and drove off. By the time Alice climbed back in her window and into bed, it was just after six, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned for the next hour, until her mum came banging on her door, telling her to get ready for school.

Alice groaned. She'd spent the night digging up – and talking to – a corpse, but did that mean she got a pass from school? No. Of course it didn't. The only thing it would get her if her parents ever found out was a one way trip to the mental asylum.

Of course, that didn't necessarily mean she would show up. Ideally, she would just skip and spend the day in the city. But she finally decided that, after what she'd just witnessed, a normal, boring day at school was exactly what she needed.

She dragged herself out of bed, clumsily dressed in her school uniform, and was about to head down to the kitchen when she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. It took all her self-control not to scream out.

The bite on her neck was still there. Of course it was, because bites didn't just disappear, but it looked worse. It was red and swollen and sore; it looked infected. Dried blood coated her neck, and she rushed into the bathroom to clean it off.

But no amount of scrubbing would wipe away the bite, and Alice hastily stuck a few bandaids over it before she trudged downstairs.

A vampire. She had been bitten by a vampire. And it didn't even have fangs! The purple thing she staked in the graveyard was nowhere near similar to any of the vampires from TV. Not even close. Even more concerning than that was what would happen to her.

Was she going to turn into a vampire? How long would it take? Where would she be when it happened? Alice couldn't bear the thought of turning into a purple monster halfway through her maths class.

Her mum was in the kitchen, mulling over a steaming cup. She frowned when she saw Alice.

"Alice, why are there bandaids on your neck?"

"Uh... I cut myself on a piece of glass yesterday," she lied. In for a penny, in for a pound. If she was going to be grounded for a smashed window that was not her fault, she was going to milk it for all it was worth."On your neck?"

"You know me," Alice replied, trying to look innocent.

"Well show me, dear." Her mum tried to pry the bandaids off.

Alice batted her hands away. "It's fine. It's nothing bad, mum. I just didn't want to get blood on my uniform."

Her mum stared at her for a moment, shrugged, and went back to her coffee. "Your father's going to get some quotes to fix your window," she offhandedly noted.

"I thought he said I had to pay for it," Alice grumbled.

"He changed his mind. He wants it fixed sooner rather than later," her mum explained. "He's going on his business trip today, so he wants to know it'll be fixed while he's away."

Blinking, Alice frowned. Her father was going on a business trip? Since when? She didn't recall being informed of this. She really needed to pay more attention to her parents. "How long is he going for?" she asked.

"A week at the least. Maybe two." Her mum told her. "You know, Alice, I'm here for you, if you ever need to talk."

Alice smiled. She doubted her mum would want to hear about Quinn and Mr Turnbull, or that vampire she staked a few hours ago. "I know, mum."

"I just want you to trust me, dear."

"I do trust you."

"Good. Because I am your mother, and I do know best. Now go on, off to school."

"But I want to say goodbye to dad first."

Her mum gave her a sharp look. "Honey, your father isn't leaving until 11."

"But-"

"No buts, Alice. Off you go."

Alice scowled. She didn't want to leave without saying goodbye; she hadn't even talked to her father since he grounded her. But it seemed she had no choice. Grabbing her bag, she gave her mum a quick kiss on the cheek, then left.

Millie watched her daughter leave. When she was sure Alice was gone, she held out her hand, and her coffee mug zoomed into it as though on an invisible string. She took a sip. Perfect, like her.

Soon, she hoped, she would be able to tell Alice the truth of what she was – what they both were. With any luck, she would be able to force her daughter's powers to surface, instead of waiting a few years. After that, the two of them could go around doing... well, doing whatever they wanted. There would be no one to tell them what to do.

Alice was already beginning to show her true nature. Stealing and causing mischief were only tiny things compared to what her daughter would become, but they were a start. Millie was going to make absolute certain that her daughter became just like her.

A noise behind her caught her attention. Rowan shuffled into the kitchen, running a hand through his messy hair while the other clutched an undone tie around his neck. He smiled when he saw his wife, making him nearly irresistible. Regrettably, Millie did just that. She had things to do, and her love for him had run its course.

"Good morning, beautiful," he greeted, kissing her.

"Morning." Millie flashed him her best smile. "I told Alice we'd fix that window for her."

Rowan scowled, fiddling with his tie. "What? Why? Bloody hell, Millie, if she doesn't take responsibility for these things, she'll never learn, will she?" He yelled in frustration when he failed to fix up his tie, and threw it on the ground. "Now I have to get quotes."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that," Millie calmly assured him. She bent down to pick up the tie, wrapping it delicately around her fingers. "I've already got it covered."

Her husband snorted. "Oh really?"

"Mhm. A friend of mine fixes windows, but he uses special glass. She certainly won't be breaking this window. Or sneaking out of it."

"Special glass?" Rowan asked, bewildered. "You mean bulletproof glass?"

"You could say that." A wicked smile formed on Millie's lips.

Rowan frowned. "You don't think that's a little... extreme? And costly?"

"Absolutely not. Only the best for my daughter. And you won't have to worry about it, not while you're on your business trip," Millie assured him.

If Rowan wasn't confused before, he certainly was now. His brow knitted together as he tried to make sense of the situation. "I'm not going on a business trip, honey. What are you talking about?"

Millie smiled at him. She hung the tie around his neck and pulled him into her, their lips pressing lightly together. "You are now." She reached a hand to his hair and her fingers curled into a fist.

Rowan stood there for a moment, bewildered. Then something inside of him tore. There was a moment of blinding pain, but he didn't even have time to scream as the life left him.

His body dropped in a heap, eyes blindly staring, mouth open.

Millie knelt next to her dead husband. "Have fun on your business trip, my dear. A shame you couldn't be here to see our daughter's awakening. But I'll make sure I keep her safe."
Chapter Five

When Alice finished school, a normal, boring full day of school, she stepped outside to a flurry of whispers. There was something interesting happening, which by default required everyone's attention. Several people were completely motionless, while everyone else was walking significantly slower than usual. Only a few uninterested students were still walking at their normal pace, pushing through the slow moving masses to get home.

Not wanting to be left out, Alice elbowed her way through the crowd to find out what all the commotion was about. She couldn't help it; she was curious. She wished she wasn't.

Parked on the side of the road, shamelessly blowing large smoke billows while young children and their parents walked past and winking at the high school girls, was Quinn. He was leaning against his green Porsche, either oblivious on uncaring of the fact that he was drawing far more attention than was necessary.

Alice ducked her head, hoping he didn't spot her, and began walking in the opposite direction. If only she could get around the street without anyone noticing, then she could run.

"Hey! Alice! Over here."

It was amazing how fast the attention of five hundred odd students could change. They all turned from staring at Quinn and his car to staring at a mortified Alice, who was trying her best to not exist. It wasn't working too well.

"Do you know him?" the girl closest to her whispered.

"He's a distant cousin," Alice seethed. She turned on her heel and marched up to Quinn, who was looking exceptionally pleased with himself, spotting her in a crowd of five hundred.

"You'll be glad to know..." he began.

Alice cut him off furiously. "What are you doing here, at my school?"

"Well I'm visiting you, of course."

"You can't just show up here!" Alice hissed.

Quinn showed no hint of remorse. "Well, shall we then?" He motioned for her to get in the car.

Blushing furiously at all the attention, Alice tore the door open, got in, and slammed it shut. Quinn was slightly calmer, but then again he didn't have to come back here. "You know Alice, I have the feeling you were trying to break the door."

"I was."

"Oh."

When they were on the road, he tried again. "You'll be pleased to know that I've found him," he told her. He was clearly pleased with himself. He was always pleased with himself.

"Found who?" Alice snapped.

Quinn gave her a funny look. "Betelgeuse," he said. "Who else?"

"Right, so where are we going?" Alice asked. She didn't care about Betelgeuse. This was supposed to be a normal, boring day, and Quinn had managed to ruin that.

She'd gone to school, sat through six torturous hours of teachers droning on about things she could care less about, and she'd been about to go home and complete the homework she'd gotten received those classes when he'd showed up and completely destroyed the boring normality that had been her entire day. In other words, she sat through a day of education for nothing.

"We're going to meet with him, of course."

"We... what? Are you insane! He wants me dead, Quinn. George Turnbull dead! We can't just go talk to him! He tried to kill me!"

Quinn, calm as ever, simply shrugged. "We can, and we will. We'll go in there and tell him you're a good witch, and that if he would kindly stop sending people to kill you, that would be great. It would be a shame if I was forced to kill the whole Gentlemen's Club."

Alice sighed. "Do you have any idea how stupid you sound? And you said witches are evil."

"Because they are evil. Even the good ones were evil. They thoroughly enjoyed causing pain."

Shaking her head, Alice sunk into her seat. "You're an idiot, and I don't want to visit Betelgeuse. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever. Take me home."

Quinn took the next right. "Sooner or later, you're going to have to meet him. Wouldn't you rather it be sooner?"

"No," Alice grumbled. "I'd like to hold off meeting the man who was so desperate to kill me he sent an assassin to do the job, thank you very much."

"You don't want to know why he was trying to have you killed?"

"If he wanted me dead that bad he'd have sent someone good."

"The Gentlemen's Club is a club of the best assassins in the world," Quinn proudly recited. "I should know; I used to be one."

Alice raised an eyebrow, and sat up in her seat. This was news. And not especially the good kind. "So how do I know you won't kill me, then?"

"Because the mark of a good assassin is how well and fast he can kill someone, not how easily he can befriend a girl. If I was trying to kill you, I would have done it when you were stealing those smokes. At least then I could have framed that man who was chasing you," Quinn explained.

"You mean the cop?"

"Is that what they're called?"

"Don't you have them?" Alice asked curiously. A world without police was beginning to sound like a good world indeed. Maybe this magic thing wasn't so bad, after all.

Quinn shook his head. "No; we have CEF. But never mind that, what about Betelgeuse? Just because I killed the first, doesn't mean he's going to give up. Anyway, do you have any idea how much I paid for that information?"

"I don't care," Alice groaned. "I don't want to meet him. I don't want to go through the whole 'please don't kill me' thing. I just want to go home and pretend none of you exist."

"Well thanks," Quinn grumbled. "Aren't you curious about all this end of the world stuff? Who knows, Betelgeuse might be the good guy," he mused.

"And I'm the evil one?"

He grinned. "That's exactly right."

Wilson's shoes clacked loudly on the marble floor as he walked. They were women's shoes, but he didn't care. Sleek and thigh-high, they wrapped tightly around his legs, his leather pants tucked into neatly them. They very much suited him. He pushed his hair out of his face, and focused on the sound. He liked to be heard before he was seen, and these shoes made a good point of doing just that.

The corridors were empty. They were the only part of the building he liked. Quiet, bare and winding, every sound echoed throughout. It wasn't like that in any of the other rooms. Not even the library that was always bristling with people, who all insisted on reading as loud as was humanly possible. In those rooms, Wilson was seen before he was heard, and he didn't like that at all.

He reached the grand hall, where a bony man was standing by the door, guarding it. He was already on alert, having heard Wilson approaching. When Wilson came into view, he straightened up, like he'd been jabbed with a needle. "Mr Wilson sir," he stuttered.

Wilson scrunched his nose up in disgust at the man, who was old enough to be his father. "And you are?"

"I'm Randall, sir."

Randall looked positively impressed, even though nothing impressing had happened. He smiled, but his smile faltered when he saw the look on Wilson's face, and he shrank back into the wall.

"What do you do?" Wilson asked, glancing the man up and down.

"Me? Oh, I'm just a sorcerer, sir. Nothing special."

"So it would seem."

Wilson flicked his hand, and Randall went flying. He slammed into the wall with a loud crack, and landed in a heap, unconscious. At a curl of his fingers, a wisp of black rose from Randall's open mouth. It floated through the air to Wilson, who caught it in his hand.

"You may serve me, yet," he said. He breathed in, and the wisp was sucked into his nose.

A burst of flames rose from Randall's body, then it collapsed into a heap of ashes. Wilson paid it no heed. He relaxed, letting the power of Randall's soul absorb into him. He could feel himself becoming stronger.

The door of the hall swung open, and Wilson stormed in. There were already several people in there, sitting around a table, silently eying each other in a silent battle for domination. They all turned when Wilson entered.

"Ah, Wilson!" A jovial man boomed. His five chins wobbled, and his cheeks swallowed up his eyes as he grinned. "We were just beginning to wonder when you would show up, my boy."

Wilson sneered at being called 'boy'. He was no more a boy than anyone else at the table. "Thank you, Augustus. I've been busy," He told the man. He took a seat at the head of the table. "Well? What news?" He didn't bother with greetings. Greetings were for people he liked, not the people who worked under him.

A thin, sickly-looking woman was the first to speak. "It would appear that Betelgeuse is beginning to form an army," she said, her voice high and raspy. "This I have been told by multiple corpses." Once, she had been a beautiful woman. High cheekbones, a proud nose and sculpted lips. Now she was beginning to look like a corpse herself.

The table burst into a series of murmurs. Wilson waited patiently for them to die down before he spoke. "And where is he?" he asked.

The woman shook her head. "This I do not know," she admitted. "The corpses have been tight-lipped about the whole thing, which concerns me deeply."

"It concerns all of us, Sacrim," Augustus told her. "You're a Lady of the Dead, after all. Even more, you're the Mistress of the Dead. Now we must ask ourselves, why would a bunch of corpses be keeping secrets from their mistress? Hmm? Nothing good, at the very least."

At the end of the table, a man hissed. His bruised skin was poorly hidden beneath a dark hood, and his greasy hair fell lank around his face. "Maybe they've moved on from your poison, Sacrim. Maybe someone offered them something more than death."

Sacrim's glared was deadly. "Like what?"

"I'll tell you, but only if you tell me what happened to my fledgling," the vampire said.

Sacrim sighed in annocance. Augustus rolled his eyes. Wilson, however, leaned forward in his chair. "What are you talking about, Lucas?"

The vampire inclined his head. "My fledgling went missing last night. He was at the Rune, but no one has seen him since. Not alive, anyway. We found him at the cemetery, staked in the heart and buried in a recently emptied grave. Hamish won't tell me anything. The Scot's got this thing about privacy. But the Mistress of Dead here should know all about it."

Wilson looked to Sacrim. "Well?"

She huffed, as though she thought there were more important things to be talking about. "He said it was a girl. A witch, to be exact. Came into the Rune with a man asking about Betelgeuse. He found them at the graveyard that night, digging up a corpse. The corpse, my child," she emphasized, her cold eyes on Lucas, "has not been accounted for. He told me she was too young to have gone through the awakening, so he figured he'd kill her before she did. I guess that didn't work out for him, now did it?" She looked pointedly at Lucas, as though it was his fault.

"The witch, what was her name?" Wilson asked.

"He didn't say."

"The man?"

"He didn't tell me that, either. He's distraught, Wilson. Death does that to one."

Wilson narrowed his eyes. "He died once before. One more time won't matter. Find out who this witch is. Find her and bring her to me. I want to know why she was looking for Betelgeuse. We cannot have a witch running rampant with him while we're stuck here like leeches on a cow!"

Augustus chuckled, that annoy chuckle that drove Wilson up the wall. "What would you have us do, Wilson?" he asked.

Wilson stood so suddenly that his chair toppled back. He strode away from the table to a bench, where there was a platter full of drinks. He seized the platter, letting the glasses fall to the ground with successive smashes.

"I want a witch," he began. "And I want her, in shackles, right there!" He pointed to a spot on the ground, and a light shot out of his finger. It left a dark scorch mark on the white marble. "And I want Betelgeuse's head on this platter!" With a resounding clang, Wilson slammed the platter on the table, causing everyone besides Lucas to jump.

"Are there any questions?" Wilson spat, his glare running down the table, threatening someone to ask.

A man who had been silent up to this point nervously raised his hand. He shrank under the weight of Wilson's heated glare.

"What?"

"When we get the witch," he whispered the word, as though saying it too loudly would cause something horrible to happen. "What's going to happen to her?"

"She'll join us," Wilson told him. "And if she doesn't, we'll burn her."

The man nodded and fell silent.

Sacrim glanced down the table, making sure no one else was going to speak, before she spoke up. "Betelgeuse has been stealing my corpses, therefore I'd like the pleasure of cutting off his head."

"Fine," Wilson nodded. "Lucas, Augustus. Find the witch and bring her to me. Alive," he added, because Lucas's eyes were beginning to darken.

"Most certainly," Augustus promised. "I'll be sure to keep him under wraps."

"Good. I don't want any mistakes. You have three days."

Alice stood in the corner of her room, feeling more than a little awkward as she watched the small army of men arranging glass panes and swearing at each other every time one of the panes was nearly dropped. If she didn't know any better, she'd think they didn't know what they were doing.

There was more glass on the ground than she remembered – evidence that they'd broken plenty of panes already – and they looked incredibly baffled by the glass and the window frame and tools.

But her dad had obviously thought they were the best for the job, and hired them before he went off on his business trip. He'd flip out if he saw just how incompetent they really were.

Alice grew bored of watch the men struggle, and went to find something to eat. Her mum was in the kitchen, leant over the newspaper, a steaming mug beside her. She was never without her coffee, Alice noted. She looked up when Alice came in.

"How are they going with the window?" she asked.

"They're useless," Alice informed her. "I'm pretty sure they don't even know what they're doing. They were the best dad could find?"

"They were the cheapest your father could find."

"Figures," Alice mumbled.

Her mum turned her attention back to the newspaper.

"When's dad getting back?" Alice asked suddenly. She grabbed a dinner roll and picked at it.

There was a slight hesitation. "A couple of weeks, why?"

Alice watched her mum carefully. "How many is a couple?" His business trips were rarely longer than a week, the longest being a fortnight.

"Two or three. I can't remember exactly, dear. I'll give him a call later, okay?"

"I'll call him now." Alice placed the roll on the bench and was halfway to the phone when she felt a hand on her arm, forcing her to stop. "Mum, what-"

"Your father's very busy, Alice. This is an important business trip for him, and you calling is only going to add to his stress. Now I will call him later. Go and do your homework." Her grip on Alice's arm was tight, painful. There was a look in her eyes that Alice hadn't seen before, and it scared her.

"I don't have any," Alice told her, trying to pry her mum's hand away with no success. It was like trying to bend steel.

"Nonsense. You're a seventeen-year-old student. Of course you have homework. Now go."

"Mum, you're hurting my arm. And I don't have any homework."

Anger flashed in her mother's eyes, and she raised her hand and struck Alice across the cheek. "Now!"

Alice stumbled. She was too shocked to feel any pain. Blood trickled down her cheek from a small cut caused by her mother's fingernails. Tears stung her eyes. Too late she gasped.

"Oh, Alice..."

For a moment, neither of them moved. Alice was still registering what happened. Then she wrenched her arm out of her mum's grasp and bolted out of the house.

"Alice! Alice, come back here now!"

Alice ignored her. She kept running, out of her street, through the park, past the store her and Reggie had nicked several movies from once, into the city and away from home. Only when she was sure she hadn't been followed did she slow to a walk.

People were staring at her, at the blood on her face, but she didn't care. She ignored the strange looks. She wiped her cheek and kept going. She was still trying to overcome the shock of what just happened. Still trying to comprehend.

Her mum hit her.

Her mum never hit anyone. She never threatened or warned or even raised her voice. That was her dad, and even he would never ever raise a hand against her, or anyone else for that matter. But what was that?

Alice touched her cheek to make sure she hadn't imagined it. It was stinging, and she removed her fingers to see blood on them.

Why?

Had she finally snapped, after years of having a delinquent of a daughter? Was it her fault, or did the anger stem from a problem in her parents' relationship? Alice was sure her father hadn't mentioned a business trip before her mother sprung it on her that morning. Were they getting divorced? Were they already divorced? Was that also Alice's fault?

"Hey! Watch it!"

Alice was so lost in thought she walked straight into another girl. She vaguely recognised the girl from school, but no name sprang to mind.

"Are you blind?" the girl snapped.

"No," Alice replied with a scowl. "Are you?"

"I'm not the one walking into people."

"You're not the one getting out of their way, either."

The girl sneered. "You think you're funny?"

"I do actually."

"Keep going and I'll smash your face in."

Alice looked the girl up and down. She was at least twice her size. Not fat, just taller and significantly more muscular. She looked like she knew her way around a fistfight. Alice, for her part, knew nothing about fighting. The only time she'd ever been stupid enough to get into a fight, she had it handed to her.

But she was feeling stupid and reckless. She wanted to hit something. So she balled a fist and threw the first punch, knowing it was probably the only one she'd throw.

The girl recoiled as Alice's fist hit her on the side of the nose. There was a crack, and blood started pouring. Alice groaned as pain shot through her wrist, but she didn't have time to ponder it; the girl grabbed her by the hair, jerking her neck back, and started hitting her in the face and neck and chest.

Alice yanked her head down, tearing a large clump of hair out as she rammed her head into the girl's stomach like a charging bull. They toppled over, Alice on top, ready to deal as much damage as she could.

The girl threw her hands into Alice's face, clawing at her with sharp nails. A small crowd was gathering, yelling and cheering and telling them to stop. There was a flash of a camera.

Alice focused all of her hate and rage and upset on the girl, ready to give her a beating for what her mother had done. If she caused a lot of damage, what did it matter? Why did she care?

Grabbing the girl's head, Alice slammed it into the cement. The girl screamed, prompting Alice to do it again. Then she was being hauled up by someone, and the girl took the chance to lunge at her, raining punches down.

Alice landed on her back, and the girl kicked her in the ribs. Alice felt one break, and she screamed in pain. Lashing out, she caught the girl in the ankle, bringing her to her knees.

Before Alice could get up, the girl was grabbing her hair, pulling her into a sitting position. She threw her elbow into Alice's face, got to her feet, and kneed her in the jaw.

The taste of blood filled Alice's mouth. She choked, stumbling as she tried to stand. She'd barely gotten to her knees when the girl seized her shirt and dragged her across the footpath.

Alice fought against the grip, burying her nails deep into the girl's skin. The fight was going the way she expected, but not the way she wanted.

"You're dead, bitch."

Alice was able to see where she'd been dragged just in time to throw her hands up to take the blow as she was slammed face-first into the wall. When she felt herself being pulled back, she lashed out with her nails, catching a fistful of hair.

She yanked feeling strands of blonde hair snapping, and the girl let out a scream. Her hold on Alice faltered as she tried to save her hair. Alice took the opportunity to head butt the girl in her already broken nose, then knee her in the stomach.

There was a part in the crowd, and Alice saw several police running towards her. She spat a mouthful of blood onto the footpath, gave the girl a final kick just for good measure, and bolted. The crowd parted for her, and the cops took chase.

Alice barely got around the corner when one of them caught her, lifting her off her feet as she yelled and kicked wildly.

He tried to cuff her, but she threw her head back into his face, and he let go with a grunt. Alice was running again. She slipped through an alleyway, her lungs burning. She wouldn't be able to outrun them this time, not as injured as she was. She was already losing moment as the pain intensified.

There were two cops behind her, shouting and yelling instructions in their radios. Their voices were growing louder. They were gaining on her.

Alice's whole body was aching, and she tried not to think about being dragged into cell, kicking and screaming. Maybe before, but now? After she'd killed a vampire and watched a corpse be bought back to life. She wouldn't be able to live with herself.

That's when she spotted it. Distinctively green, with bright yellow rims and tinted windows. How many people in the world owned a car like that?

Alice was betting on just the one, as she threw herself across the road, narrowly avoiding being run over. She almost tore the door off as she jumped in. The car sped off before she'd even closed the door.

Quinn was trying to watch both her and the road at the same time. He almost ran someone over, though, so he settled on watching the road. "Were you attacked?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Alice slumped in the seat, panting and resisting the urge to scream. "Not exactly," she admitted through clenched teeth.

Quinn raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I may have been the attacker."

He swore. "One would think, after last night, that you would stay out of trouble, girl. You'll get yourself killed before Betelgeuse even has the chance."

"At least it'll be my decision then, right?"

Quinn didn't answer. He was pulling into a garage, clicking buttons on a remote that turned lights on and operated roller doors.

"Where are we?" Alice asked. "Is this your house?"

"I'm the legal owner, but I don't live here," Quinn told her. He lit up a smoke, and offered Alice another.

They got out of the car, and he led her into the house. It was furnished with the bare essentials; couch, TV, coffee table. The dining room contained a small table that seated four. There were no photos or ornaments, nothing of sentimental value.

Quinn took her into the living room and instructed her to sit on the couch. She obliged, watching as he left the room, then reappeared moments later with a first-aid kit in his hands. With the smoke dangling from his lips, he looked like someone who Alice definitely did not want anywhere near her wounds.

"What?" he asked, because Alice was staring.

Alice shrugged. "Well I would've thought, with all the magic, that you'd just... you know... wave your hands and fix it," she admitted.

Quinn burst out in laughter. "Use magic to heal? Magic?" He dropped the first-aid kit to hold his sides as he laughed, tears streaming down his face. His smoke fell onto the carpet, burning hole in it.

When he'd calmed down, he spoke. "Magic is used for destruction, Alice. It's a method of change and destruction. You can't use magic to fix a cut or mend broken bone. Okay, well you can," he said. "But it's very difficult. No, that's best left to the Gypsies, and people who spend their whole life practicing it." He pulled a cotton bud out of the kit along with some peroxide, and began dabbing at Alice's face.

"But Josef..."

"...was using magic to temporarily reanimate a corpse for an hour or so. It's much easier to reanimate a corpse than it is to heal a broken nose, believe it or not, and you saw how much it took out of him. He's probably still recovering. There's temporary magic, and permanent magic, Alice. It's a lot easier to do something temporarily than permanently."

Alice fell silent. That was a disappointment, if nothing else. She would have loved to learn how to mend a broken bone with a click of her fingers, or seal up a deep cut just by passing her hand over the area. She winced as Quinn passed the cotton bud over one of the more serious cuts.

"What happened, anyway?" Quinn asked.

"I got in a fight."

"I can see that, Alice. Why did you get into a fight?"

Alice hesitated. She didn't particularly want to tell him about what happened with her mother. She didn't want him to know how much she'd enjoyed the fight, either. Watching the other girl scream as Alice banged her head against the cement had opened up a part of Alice that she didn't know she possessed. She'd wanted to bury her nails into the girl's eyes, just to see what would happen. Just to see if her eyes were liquid or jelly.

"I don't know," Alice lied. "We just did."

If Quinn thought she was lying, he didn't say anything. "Well, keep out of trouble," he warned. "While it would be incredibly fun to laugh at you from the other side of bars, I don't want to go to the trouble of having to break you out."

Alice forced a smile. She cast her mind back to what Quinn had said last night. Witches enjoy hurting people. Was she really a witch? And if she was, how much worse was she going to get?

Chapter Six

The Rune was exactly as Augustus remembered it; too loud, too smoky, and too crowded. He and Lucas elbowed their way to the bar, where Hamish was busy wiping a glass. The bartender pointedly ignored them.

Augustus waited for a moment. When the bartender continued to ignore them, he loudly cleared his throat.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" Hamish asked. He didn't so much as glance in their direction as he obsessively wiped a spot on the glass.

Lucas went to speak, but Augustus put a hand on his shoulder. The vampire was hot-headed at the best of times, and he didn't want to lose the opportunity. "Perhaps," Augustus said. "We're looking for someone." He tried to ignore that fact that Hamish knew full well why they were there. He needed finesse for this. And patience.

"Well good for you."

"There's been talk of witch around town. Apparently, she was here." Augustus was watching for any change in Hamish's face. A nervous gesture, pale face, eyes flickering. The Scot was unnervingly calm.

While knowing all about Hamish, Augustus had never met the man before. He didn't know how the Scot worked, what made him tick, and what made him sing. He needed to tread carefully if he wanted any information.

"Aye, she was," Hamish told them. "And now she's not. The girl's none of my concern, so I don't know why you're here."

Lucas hissed angrily. He lunged forward, seizing the front of Hamish's shirt, and pulled the Scot close. The glass Hamish was cleaning slipped from his hand and shattered on the ground. The bar fell silent as the two glared at each other.

"Lucas!" Augustus warned.

"She killed my fledgling," Lucas spat. "So you'll tell us what you know."

"Again, it didn't happen here, so it's none of my concern. I suggest the two of you leave. Now." Hamish was as calm as ever, but Augustus saw the flash of anger in his eyes, gone so quick he could have imagined it.

Lucas ignored him. "Don't think I won't kill you, boy."

"Call me boy again, and I'll bury you with your precious fledgling."

"That's enough," Augustus snapped. The bar was still silent, watching the commotion, and he was getting nervous. It wasn't wise to pick fights with Hamish, this much he knew. He turned to the Scot. "She was with a man. We just need his name," he tried.

Hamish grabbed Lucas's hand and squeezed it tightly until the vampire finally let him go. He stepped back, straightened his shirt, cracked his neck and scowled at the broken glass on the floor. He regained his calm composure.

"I don't know who he was," Hamish told them. He knelt down to pick up the largest pieces of the broken glass.

Lucas scoffed. "The master of knowledge, not knowing something? A lie at best."

Hamish straightened. He threw the shards in a bin. "Fine. I do know him, but I won't be telling you. Until you have the authority to come in here and demand anything from me, you'll get nothing."

"Do you take bribes?" Augustus asked, because it was worth a try and he didn't have anything else to bargain with. They were losing this battle.

"You have nothing of interest to me."

"How about threats?" Lucas hissed. He ran his tongue across his teeth. "Do you take those?"

"No."

The Scot was finally beginning to lose his calm. There was only so much he could take, and he did not appreciate being threatened in his own home. The air was cooling, and the room seemed to dim. The whites of Hamish's eyes were swirling with grey, slowly turning black. Wanting to avoid an argument, he placed a hand on Lucas's shoulder.

"Very well. I can see you've nothing to give us. We'll leave. Lucas? Let's go."

The vampire wasn't listening. "You'll regret this."

In the corner of the room, a shadow lunged, causing the patrons of the table closest to cry out in alarm as they scrambled to get away. Then the shadow shrank back.

Augustus seized Lucas and tore him away from the bar. Hamish's eyes were black, and Augustus didn't want to wait around, considering they were the ones who'd managed to anger him – well, Lucas was. He simply had the bad luck of being stuck with the vampire.

"Are you an idiot?" Augustus snapped when they were safely out of the bar.

Lucas wrenched himself out of Augustus's grasp. "We don't have time to play games, and he knows where we can find her. I don't care if we upset him."

"You will. There's a reason anyone can walk into that pub and be sure they won't be murdered. He's a cambion, Lucas. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you what that is."

"One parent was human; the other was demon, so what? That makes him weak. A half-breed," the vampire spat.

Augustus scrunched his nose up in disgust. Of all the beings Wilson could have sent with him, he chose Lucas. Careless, hot-heated, idiot Lucas, who was more interested in getting revenge for his fledgling than he was staying alive. He would have been better off alone. At least then he might have had a chance with Hamish.

"He's a Nightmare."

"Something we agree on. A brat and a fool-"

"No, Lucas; he's a Nightmare."

Lucas blinked, only just comprehending what Augustus told him. "Oh."

"And you had the gall to antagonize him."

Augustus was hoping to finally knock some sense into the vampire. He was hoping Lucas would realise just how close they had come to a catastrophe, and would settle down.

He was very disappointed, because a grin formed on the vampire's face and he rubbed his hands together. "I did indeed. I'm a vampire, Augustus. And vampires do not feel fear."

"That would be a fool, Lucas," Augustus snapped.

Lucas was about to reply when a voice spoke. "You're searching for the witch?"

A young man with bright red eyes and two spiralling horns protruding from his curly black hair was walking towards them. Behind him, his tail whipped around lazily. "I can help you find her."

"Who are you?" Augustus asked, suspicious.

"My name is Caius. Would you like my help, or not?" He eyed Lucas, who was glaring at him.

"Depends. The man that was with her?"

"A shapeshifter. Quinn Harpington. He's no one special," Caius told them.

"I don't know of him," Augustus admitted, as though that clarified things.

Lucas spat. "I have. He used to be a member of the Gentleman's Club. Was good at it, too. He's killed vampires. Lots of vampires."

"And even more demons," Caius added. "Which doesn't bode well for me. If he's got himself a witch, it doesn't bode well for any of us."

Augustus frowned, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Nothing special, you say? He sounds rather special to me." If the girl had him at her side, she would be particularly difficult to get to. They'd have to kill Mr Harpington, as well.

"Do you want my help, or not?"

Augustus considered Caius's offer for a moment. "What do you get out of it?" he asked. "We find the witch, kill this Quinn, and you get... what?"

Caius grinned. "We don't need to kill Quinn. Doubt we'd even be able to, anyway. I know where to find her."

"How?" Lucas asked.

"The Gentlemen's Club," Caius told him. "One of them was sent to her house, and they never returned. It took some persuading, but I managed to talk it out of them."

"I have to admit, that sounds rather ominous," Augustus said. "Well, why are we standing around?"

When Alice arrived home, she expected at least some sort of apology. She was sorely disappointed. Her mother fussed over her for about an hour, recounting all the horrible thoughts that had gone through her head, ranging from Alice never coming back home, to Alice ending up dead in the street. Not once, though, did she apologise. In fact, after her mother was done fussing, the whole event turned out to be Alice's fault.

"I rang your father," her mother told her over dinner. "He said it was a three week trip."

"I'm surprised you had time to call, with all the worrying you did," Alice grumbled. She wondered what her father was doing that was going to take three weeks. Hopefully something worth it. She couldn't put up with her mother for too much longer.

Her mother was suddenly very serious. "Alice, you can't go running off like that. I was worried about you. I didn't know where you were or what happened. Look at the state of you! What happened?"

Alice couldn't deny she was a mess. Quinn, it seemed, possessed little to no first-aid skills, which had resulted in a half-mummified Alice. He stuck bandaids on every single open wound he could find, wrapped both her hands in bandages up to the elbows, insisted on wrapping her chest, too, and then tried to wrap thick bandages over her left eye, which was steadily swelling to an impressive size. Alice could barely see out of it. Her nose was broken, her jaw clicked every time she opened it, and there was a ringing in her ear that wouldn't go away. She could still taste blood in her mouth.

Fortunately, Quinn had informed her that she wasn't going to be turning in a vampire any time soon. Or ever, for that matter; she was a witch, and witches couldn't turn into vampires. No magical being could.

Alice shrugged. "Got into a fight."

"You can't fight, Alice."

Alice didn't need her mum to tell her that. She'd fared terribly. Despite all the damage, though, she could still feel the sting on her face where her mum struck her. Angrily, she pushed her plate away. "I'm going to bed," she announced.

"You've barely eaten anything."

"I'm not hungry." She left her mother there and went to her room, angry and annoyed and upset.

If she really was a witch – and Quinn and every other magical being was convinced of it – how come nothing magical ever happened when she needed it to? Why didn't her mum turn into a toad before hitting her? How did that girl get any punches in? How come she was arrested all those months back for breaking into the bottle shop and stealing alcohol, but Reggie was never even spotted? If she possessed any magical abilities whatsoever, surely they would have surfaced during any of those moments.

Grumbling, Alice went over to her window and tried to wrench it open. It was stuck.

She swore, and pulled harder. Nothing. The window didn't even budge. She inspected it in case there was something she'd missed. A lock or latch. But there wasn't, and she spent five unsuccessful minutes trying to open the window before giving up.

Her father had hired idiots, and now, she couldn't sneak out of the house through her window.

Alice fell back onto her bed. More than once over the past day she had found herself wondering if she'd imagined it all. Quinn, the vampire, Josef. She tried to imagine a world of magic and demons, but couldn't. Her, a witch?

As if to prove her point, Alice raised her hand, and imagined a large fireball in her palm. Nothing happened. She didn't know how magic worked. Were there incantations? Did she need a magical object? Both? Mental pictures of people walking around in robes, waving wands and saying things bounced around in her head.

No, she told herself. This isn't Harry Potter.

Her phone went off, and she checked it. It was a message from Reggie. 'heard u got into trouble 2day.'

Alice frowned. How did he know? 'says who?' she sent back. She was tempted to call him, and tell him that she had, in fact, gotten into a lot of trouble over the past couple of days, but she seriously doubted he would believe her.

'i no people. what happened? whose ass do i need to kick?'

'it was just a fight, no biggie.'

'u sure?'

'yeah.'

'well, catch up 2morro then.'

'sounds good.'

Alice let Reggie arrange the time and place. She didn't care, so long as it was somewhere away from home, and any magical place she knew. She was still angry and annoyed, and didn't want to see her mother or Quinn tomorrow. Maybe, hopefully, tomorrow would be a normal day.

She dug her hands in her pockets, and her fingers hit something solid. It was the necklace Quinn had given her. She pulled it out of her pocket.

It was still unnaturally warm and it was again glowing, like it had done the previous day. Alice resolved to ask Quinn about it the next time she saw him. Surely it wasn't supposed to do that? But, then again, if it was magical, maybe it was. Alice almost laughed at the thought.

She turned it in her palm, searching for any distinguishing features; initials, a number. There were none.

She tucked the necklace under her pillow. Until she knew with absolute certainty what it was, there was no way it was going around her neck. If she knew Quinn – and she didn't – then it was probably dangerous. She didn't put it past him, considering he himself was dangerous.

Reggie whistled low when he saw Alice. He couldn't help it; she was a mess. "Damn, Alice. When you get into a fight you're supposed to go one-on-one, not one-on-ten. You know that, right?"

"Thanks for the tip," Alice replied, rolling her eyes. Her left eye was completely swollen shut, and her whole face was puffy. Everything ached. "What?"

"How did it happen?"

"It just did," Alice shrugged. "You know. Stuff happens."

Reggie was still staring. He blinked, grabbing her face and moving it from side to side. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it without a word. For a while, he stood there, then he shrugged, whipped out a pack of smokes and lit two up. He handed one to Alice. "There are at least two things in this world that you are not capable of, Alice."

Alice took a long drag on her smoke. "And they are?"

"You're not capable of a flawless heist, and you suck at fighting," he told her. "You're not just bad at it; you absolutely suck at it." He started walking, and Alice kept in line with him. "The point of fighting is to hit the other person more than they hit you."

"I did," she promised

"And does she look worse than you?"

"I should certainly hope so. Well, the back of her head probably does. Shit." Alice ducked behind Reggie, trying to hide herself from view as Mr Summers, her neighbour, absentmindedly walked past. He didn't even notice her.

Reggie gave her a funny look. She shrugged.

"I'm sort of grounded." Her mum thought she was at school. Alice wanted to keep it that way.

"For what?" Reggie asked.

For almost being killed by a man who smashed through my window, and then turned to ash and left me to take the blame, Alice thought bitterly. "For smoking. If mum finds out I'm not at school, she'll shoot me. Or hit me again."

"She probably already knows, and besides, you're eighteen. They can't ground you!"

"I'm seventeen, Reggie."

"You're seventeen. They can't ground you!"

"They can, they will, and they have," Alice grumbled.

Reggie slung an arm over her shoulder, and guided her through the street. "Well, I know just the thing to cheer you up."

"Is it illegal?"

"No it's not."

"Will I have to hit anyone?"

"Considering that's illegal, no."

"Then what is it?"

"Ta da!"

Alice glanced at the building in front of them. It was a small cafe. She scrunched her nose up. "You're taking me out for lunch?"

"When you sound surprised like that, it makes me feel like a horrible person."

"I can't go in there," Alice told him. "People will stare at me."

He marched her in the door. "Jealousy is natural, Alice. You should be flattered."

"That people are jealous of my swollen, bruised and bloody face?"

Reggie looked at her. He hesitated. "Your inner beauty outshines the slight, uh, blemish on your face," he concluded.

"Smooth."

"I thought so, too." They sat at a far table, next to the window.

"That was sarcasm, Reggie."

"I figured."

The waitress arrived to take their orders, then. She tried – unsuccessfully – not to stare, but every few seconds her gaze would wander to Alice, and a question would hang on the end of her tongue. She wasn't the only one, though.

A jovial man at the other end of the cafe was watching her. Next to him was a young man with dark eyes and curly black hair. He was slouched back in his chair, talking to the other man. He glanced over once, saw Alice was looking, and turned away with a frown. The other man looked away, too. He leaned across the table and started speaking to Curly.

Alice sighed. She was beginning to regret the fight, sort of. At the time, it was a good idea, but the result of that fight was drawing attention to her, and she didn't like it one bit. Not to mention it was painful.

Reggie was talking avidly about his car, and less avidly about his job that he'd almost been fired from the previous day. "I mean, it wasn't even my fault," he was saying. "Well, okay, I did hit the guy, but he started it. He shouldn't have mocked my cooking abilities."

Alice snorted, only half listening. "You punched someone on the job?"

"Well... yeah," he admitted.

"And you don't think you should be fired for it?"

Reggie thought about it for a moment. "Not really, no," he decided.

Alice raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you're even alive."

"You know me; I'm too cool to die. And at least I have a job."

"Don't start. I already get that from my parents."

The waitress arrived with their food and drinks, still staring at Alice's face concern. She shot a nervous look at Reggie, smiled weakly, and left.

While they were eating, Alice was keenly aware of the two men she'd noticed earlier. Neither of them was looking at her, but they hadn't ordered anything, not even a drink, and were still deep in conversation. Alice was glad when her and Reggie finally finished, and left the cafe.

Reggie footed the bill, obvious proof that he was feeling bad for her and her messed up face, and they were halfway down the street when he suddenly stopped.

"What's wrong?" Alice asked, instinctively glancing around. Were they being followed? The men were nowhere in sight.

Reggie frowned. "I dunno," he admitted. He held his arm up, turning it this way and that as though only just seeing it for the first time. "Feels funny."

As far as Alice could see, his arm looked normal. A normal, human arm, the same as it had always been.

Then, suddenly, there was a sickening crack, and a splintered, bloody bone tore through the skin on Reggie's forearm. He gasped. His wrist fell, flopping around uselessly, with no bone to hold it up.

Bile rose in Alice's throat. Reggie, too shocked to scream or cry or do anything, just stood there, staring. Another gasp escaped his lips.

"Oh dear, Caius. Was that really necessary?"

Alice span. The two men from the cafe were walking towards them. The young man was changing. The irises of his dark eyes swirled with colour until they settled on a bright, burning red. Horns were spiralling from his head, poking out of his curls. She was certain she saw a tail whipping around behind him. The jovial man still looked human, but Alice was under no delusions. And she was under no delusions as to what they wanted.

"Oops."

She grabbed Reggie by the arm and pushed him back. He stumbled over his feet, fell and hit his splintered arm on the ground. He yelled in pain, swore, and cradled it to his chest, trying to find his feet. Tears filled his eyes as he struggled to hold them back.

"I must apologize on Caius's behalf," the jovial man told her, ignoring Reggie. "He has no manners. My name is Augustus." He bowed slightly, as though trying to prove he possessed more manners than his partner.

"What did you do to me?" Reggie cried, finally finding his voice.

"I snapped the arm in your bone," Caius told him lazily. "Like a twig."

"What? How?"

"Enough. You, girl, come with us, and I'll spare your friend. I'll even fix his arm for you," Caius promised. Then, "well, maybe."

Alice stepped back, shaking her head. Where was Quinn now? Why wasn't he here to save her? "You're lying. I won't come with you."

Caius raised his hand, procuring a large fireball. It danced lightly in his palm. "Then you'll die."

He threw the fireball. Alice felt an invisible force tug at her arm and she tumbled sideways to the ground, the fireball whizzing past her head and extinguishing midair. Augustus seized Caius's arm as he summoned another fireball, and it shot off in the opposite direction, hitting the wall in a plume of smoke and flame.

"No! We need her," Augustus hissed.

Alice was certain she wasn't supposed to know as much, but now she did, and she was more than willing to use it to her advantage. She pulled Reggie to his feet, who was grimacing in pain and watching the two men cautiously. He tried to push Alice behind him, to no avail.

"Leave us alone," Alice told them, hugging Reggie's good arm tightly, ready to run. She didn't know if he was strong enough to run, but she'd drag him if need be.

Caius smirked. "Or you'll do what, exactly?"

Alice thought quick. What would she do? Run? Scream? Threaten to do something terrible and painful, and hope they took the threat seriously because she didn't actually have any magical abilities?

"I'll boil your blood," she told them, sounding more confident than she felt. "Until it melts you from the inside out. You can't kill me, but I can kill you." For emphasis, she raised a hand menacingly.

If they were after her, it was surely because she was a witch. That was her advantage.

The smirk on Caius's face fell. Augustus paled, and Reggie hissed beside her.

"What are you doing, Alice?"

She kicked him, and he fell silent.

Caius made a face. He rubbed his chin in thought and inspected her. "You know what I think? I think you're bluffing. You can't do any magic yet, can you? You're too young."

It was Alice's turn to pale. So much for that idea. At the sight of her face, Caius's lit up with glee.

"I didn't think so. Look here, girl. I guess I can't kill you, but I can kill your boyfriend. And I can cause you as much pain as my tiny black heart desires." He clenched his fist.

Behind her, Reggie screamed. He dropped to his knees, grasping his head with one hand, the other still cradled to his chest. Alice stared in horror. He writhed on the ground in pain, even though there was nothing touching him, nothing that looked like it would cause him pain.

"Reggie! What are you doing to him?"

"I'm boiling his blood," Caius told her. "But you can't do this, can you?"

"Stop it! Stop!"

Caius ignored her, and Augustus didn't seem too concerned. In fact, he didn't even seem to notice.

Alice launched herself at Caius, surprising him, and he fell backwards to the ground as she threw her fist into his nose. He threw her off with seemingly no effort, grabbing her by the arm and lifting her off the ground. Her feet dangled a few inches from the cement.

"When the time comes, I'm going to enjoy killing you, witch." A gust of wind hit her in the stomach and she went flying through the air, slamming into Reggie, who was struggling to his feet, sweaty and pale.

Coughing, Alice crawled off Reggie, and managed to stand on shaky feet. She took a step forward but went flying again, smashing into the side of a building with bone-rattling force, and landing in a heap. He was too strong for her.

"Caius, enough."

Footsteps approached Alice, and a strong hand pulled her up. Augustus shook her to make sure she was conscious – and alive. "Let's go."

"I'm not done yet," Caius said. He was walking towards Reggie with slow, deliberate steps, arm extended, fire dancing in his palm. "I've always wondered what it felt like to be burned alive."

"Don't," Alice whimpered. "Reggie!"

Reggie was struggling to get to his feet, but he was dazed and weak, and fell back down. His face was determined, but there was also fear there. Fear that terrified Alice.

Reggie was the strong one. He didn't know fear; he only knew how to be tough and strong and brave. But they were dealing with forces neither of them understood, or could hope to compete with.

"Don't! Make him stop!" Alice screamed at Augustus, but the large man just shrugged.

"I don't care about the boy," Augustus replied.

Alice struggled against his grip, but he was stronger than he looked. "Will you care about him if I tear your eyes out of your head? I swear to God I'll gouge them out the first chance I get!"

Augustus chuckled, his cheerful disposition not to be rattled. "Then I'll make sure you don't get the chance."

Caius was standing over Reggie who, credit given, glared back with hatred and anger. He spat at Caius, and was rewarded with a boot to the face.

Alice felt something stirring inside her. It was the same feeling she'd felt the previous day when she'd gotten into that fight. Raw, pure hate. A burning desire to cause pain. It was stronger than the previous day, though, and it was beginning to overwhelm Alice's other senses, seeping into her blood and bones like a fast-acting disease.

She didn't know what it would do, or what it was, really, but she released the hate. It consumed her entire being. All she wanted to do was to hurt and main and kill. Everyone. Anyone. She forgot all about Reggie as the hate strengthened her. She turned to Augustus first. The smell of magic was strong on him. It coursed through his veins like the hate did hers.

"You should have done what I asked," she hissed, staring into the deep blue of his gaze.

There was a moment's confusion in Augustus' face, followed by amusement.

And then his eyes exploded in his head.

Augustus screamed, falling to his knees. The amusement was gone. He grasped at his empty eye sockets, a mess of blood and juices, and screamed louder.

Caius froze, the fireball set to fly out of his hand, as he stared from Alice to Augustus, trying to figure out what was going on. He faltered, glanced at Reggie, and then hurled the fireball at her.

Alice sidestepped the fiery ball with ease. She twisted her hand to the side, and the footpath cracked. A piece of the cement shot at Caius, and he barely managed to move out of the way as it flew past, grazing his face. He swore.

"I should've killed you, witch," he spat. A line of blood trickled down his cheek. He took a final look at Augustus, who was still screaming and weeping, and took off.

Another piece of cement shot at him, but it missed, smashing into the wall of a building, and Caius disappeared around the corner.

Alice considered chasing after him, but hesitated. Reggie was bleeding on the ground, staring at her in fear. Behind her, Augustus was weeping after she caused her eyes to explode in his head. And she didn't know how she'd done it. All she knew was a great desire to cause him pain, a great sadistic hate that was already beginning to dissipate.

She took a step in Reggie's direction, but he stumbled back fearfully.

"Reggie," she said softly. "It's me. It's Alice."

His eyes were wide, his pale face slick with sweat. Blood coated the front of his shirt. "What are you?"
Chapter Seven

"Are you sure about this?"

Alice looked at the door of Josef's house, then at Reggie, who was still pale and bleeding, his face slick with sweat. "No," she admitted. "But we've got no other choice."

She knocked on the door before Reggie had a chance to argue. They waited a few minutes before Josef answered the door. He immediately made the sucking noise at the sight of Alice, and she figured that meant he would help.

"Uh, Josef. Hi," Alice mumbled. "This is my friend, Reggie. He's your... what are you doing?"

Josef had seized Reggie's arm, and was carefully inspecting it. "Painful, looks painful. Josef will fix for pretty girl." He pulled Reggie out of her grasp and inside, and Alice followed.

Reggie was still reeling over her revelation, and he was still scared. Brave, funny Reggie who had once saved her from being beaten and mugged was scared. That terrified Alice, because she was half the reason for it. She didn't want people to be afraid of her, least of all her friends. She didn't know what she would do without Reggie.

"Sit, sit." Josef motioned to the couch, and Alice and Reggie sat. "Will fix. Josef will fix."

He left the room, and Reggie glanced nervously at Alice. His usually messy black hair was plastered to his pale face, and his grey eyes had taken on a dull hue. "Of all the people..?"

She shrugged. "He's the only one I know. I watched him bring a corpse back to life, Reggie, I'm sure he can fix your arm."

"He did what now?"

"Bought a corpse back to life. Just for a little bit..."

A hysterical laugh came from Reggie. Alice wondered if he was going mad, or if that was just his way of dealing with the knowledge of the existence of magic. She put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump.

"You'll be okay, Reggie," she promised.

He didn't answer.

Josef returned, a wooden box in his arms. He placed it on the table and opened the lid. It was full of strange plants and vials with different liquids and powders in them and a set of dangerous looking tools. There was an assortment of small jars containing bugs and maggots and spiders. He grabbed a knife from the tool set. Reggie's eyes widened at the sight.

"I don't want that anywhere near me," he said.

Josef handed him a white flower. "Eat."

Reggie stared at the flower suspiciously. He looked at Alice, who shrugged and prayed it wasn't poisonous or permanently damaging. Reggie popped it in his mouth, chewed a few times, and swallowed.

The effect was instantaneous. Reggie's eyes rolled into the back of his head, showing the whites, and he slumped back into the couch, head lolling.

"Reggie... What did you do to him?" Alice screamed.

Josef held a hand up. "Is sleeping. No pain for boy. Easy for Josef."

Alice turned back to Reggie. His chest rose and fall, and he was beginning to snore. She breathed out, relieved. For a horrible moment she thought Josef had killed him. But then, it probably would be easier for the both of them.

"Josef must pull the arm off, he must, and fix it back on." He reached for Reggie's arm, the knife in his hand glinting menacingly.

Alice's eyes went wide. She almost told him not to worry about it, and that she would take him to a hospital, but she stopped herself. In her moment of hesitation, Josef grabbed Reggie by the wrist, and drove the knife into the open wound. In a single swipe, he severed the hand, wrist and half of Reggie's forearm from the other half. There was no blood, which Alice supposed was a side effect of the flower. He placed the severed half on the coffee table.

Alice stared at it. She couldn't help herself. The hand was moving. The fingers crawled like legs across the table as the arm apparently tried to make a break for it. Josef caught it as it was about to jump from the table, and held it out to Alice. "Pretty girl must hold or will run away."

Wide-eyed and disgusted, Alice took the arm. It squirmed in her hands like a struggling fish, trying to slip out of her grasp. She held it as far away from herself as possible.

"Why is it moving?" she asked, alarmed.

Josef was peppering various powders on the stump of Reggie's arm, and used a clamp-looking tool to rearrange the bone. He was effective in his method, but none too gentle. "Is using flower to keep alive. Arm will rot otherwise."

Reggie's arm gave Alice the finger. She huffed, affronted.

When Josef had fixed the bones in Reggie's arm, he put all the powders back, and pulled out a larger, opaque bottle. He pulled the stopper and shook it on the arm.

Dozens of small, white, worm-like creatures scrambled over his arm, up to the severed end where they settled into the muscle and bone, grasping with tiny clawed feet. Some of them curled around the arteries and veins.

"Are they maggots?" Alice exclaimed, watching them as they settled.

Josef held his hand out for the other half of Reggie's arm. She handed it to him.

"Yes," told her. He held the squirming arm to its counterpart, severed end to severed end. The maggots, sensing the other part, latched onto the arm one-by-one, burrowing into it. The two parts joined together, leaving a thin, red mark running all around the arm like a band. The arm fell still, having been reattached to its body.

"Special maggots," Josef confirmed.

Alice was still staring. He'd just cut her best friend's arm off, then reattached it with the help of maggots. Maggots. That was something one didn't see every day. She was still trying to comprehend it.

"When... when will he wake up?"

"When the pain is gone," Josef told her simply. He wrapped a bandage around Reggie's arm, then went about packing up his kit.

"Thank you."

"No thanks from pretty girl." He held a vial full of clear liquid to her. "For eye. And face. And cuts. Bones and cuts still take long to heal, but will hurt less."

Alice smiled at him. "Thank you again."

Wilson paced the halls impatiently. The door he was pacing in front of remained closed, but he could still hear Augustus's screams as they worked on the man to try and give him his sight back. Or some of it, at least.

Lucas was leaning against the wall, sulking. He hadn't been there to try and catch the girl, because it was daytime. In his mind, that was why they failed. They should have waited for him. Instead, Augustus had teamed up with a warlock. An unstable, demon warlock. Wilson huffed angrily.

The warlock, according to Augustus, angered the girl, and she was able to access powers before her awakening. That in itself was a bad sign. She could force the awakening, have it before she was meant to. At the age she was, she shouldn't be awakening.

Wilson swore. "A warlock? Why did you get in bed with a warlock!" he raged.

Lucas wasn't bothered. "Because he knew where to find the girl. You were the one who wanted us to find her."

"And bring her to me. Not to show her powers she didn't know she had. She's unstable, Lucas, and apparently we just tried to kill her and her boyfriend! Do you honestly think she'll fight with us now?"

"The warlock tried to kill the boy, not us."

"The warlock was with you! That's all she knows! We could have had power, Lucas!"

Lucas straightened himself importantly. "We can still have power, Wilson. She didn't see me. And she doesn't need to know Augustus is one of us. Let me find her and bring her in. I'll get some fledglings and use them as bait. They attack her, I swoop in and save her life..." he shrugged. "I'll be her hero."

Wilson narrowed his eyes. He didn't trust the vampire, and it was a stupid idea. Lucas wanted her dead, after all. But he couldn't think of anything else, so he nodded. He needed that witch while she was still a girl, still impressionable. "Fine. If she dies, so do you."

"So, how exactly did he do it?"

Reggie was inspecting his arm. There was barely even a scar left from where the bone had split the skin, let alone from where Josef had cut his arm off. According to Reggie there was no pain at all.

"Well he just, sort of... cut your arm off and reattached it with the help of, uh, maggots..." Alice trailed off. It was disgusting. Even in a hundred years, it would still be the most disgusting thing she'd ever seen. She was glad it wasn't her.

There was a moment of quiet as Reggie absorbed what Alice said. "Seriously?" he asked.

"I am dead serious."

"Cool. I have magical maggots in me! And my arm was really moving around by itself?"

"It really was. It gave me the finger."

"I love magic," Reggie sighed. A goofy grin spread across his face. Evidently, his fear of it was gone. "And you, you're a witch, right?"

"Apparently."

"Awesome."

"It's not awesome, Reggie," Alice snapped. She glanced at the street sign she was standing under. "Wrong street."

They were trying to find the Rune. She didn't particularly like the place, but if Hamish knew everything, he'd know where Quinn was. The shapeshifter wasn't at his house, and Alice really needed to find him.

Hamish hadn't told her and Quinn where to find Betelgeuse, but that was because he knew they weren't actually friends. He'd seen her with Quinn, knew they were, so it wouldn't hurt at all to tell them where he was. Surely he wouldn't object to that. It was all Alice had to go by.

Behind her, Reggie was still swooning over the new information Alice had given him. He, at the very least, seemed to think magic was a Godsend.

"This is the street," Alice said after a while.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she ignored it. The only person ringing her would be her mother. Alice would deal with that later.

Reggie looked down the street, then at Alice. "Don't you think you should answer that? Your mum's probably having a heart attack."

Alice smiled grimly. She didn't need him to tell her how dead she was when she finally got home. Twenty-seven missed calls and as many texts from her mother was proof enough. She figured a few more hours wouldn't hurt.

"Come on. We need to find Quinn."

The Rune looked like any normal house. In fact, Alice had a suspicion that it was a house. Well, the top storeys, at least. The bottom was definitely a pub. They reached the door, and Alice twisted the handle. It was locked.

Frowning, she tried again.

Nothing.

Reggie raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure we've got the right building?" he asked.

"Yes. It's this one, I know it is."

"Pub's probably not open, then."

Alice gave him a look. "It's three in the afternoon, Reggie. What kind of pub isn't open at three in the afternoon?"

"The kind of pub where vampires get together for a round of Bloody Marys?"

Alice pretended not to hear his terrible joke as she tried the door again.

"Maybe we should knock."

"No Reggie, we shou-"

Reggie knocked heavily on the door.

"Or we can knock," she grumbled.

They waited for a moment before the door swung open to a bedraggled Hamish. If anything, he was more attractive when half asleep. His blue eyes narrowed at the sight of Alice, and then even more when he spotted Reggie. He folded his bare arms over his chest.

"What do you want?" he asked, stifling a yawn.

"You know where Quinn is," Alice said. She blushed as his gaze fell back on her.

"Aye, I do."

"Where?"

"I won't tell you. You're trouble, witch, and I don't want to be a part of it." Hamish went to close the door, but Reggie stuck his foot in it.

The two sized each other up. Hamish was taller and older and looked dangerous, but Reggie was stockier and was dangerous. Although, Hamish also had magic on his side.

"If you know where he is, tell us now," Reggie demanded firmly.

Hamish completely ignored him. He ran a hand over his shaved head. "I don't know what you're doing with this boy, but unless you want him dead I suggest you get rid of him," he said to Alice.

"He's not my dog."

"Could've fooled me."

Reggie glared at the Scot.

"Can we at least come in?" Alice asked. With any luck, Quinn was actually in the pub.

The look on Hamish's face said otherwise. In fact, he looked shocked at the request. "Come in?" he echoed. "No, you cannot come into my house."

"It's a pub."

"Aye, but only when it's a pub, otherwise it's my house, and to be honest, you're not welcome in either. Now I'm jacked, so if you don't mind..."

"Fine; when is it a pub, then?"

"Jacked?" Reggie piped up, curious.

Hamish sneered at him, then turned back to Alice. "Did you hear what I just said?"

Alice set her jaw stubbornly. "I heard you, and I chose to ignore you."

"You're a stubborn girl."

"You would know."

Hamish glared. Alice glared back. His eyes searched her face, scouring every inch of it, and her heart raced. The blue of them seemed to shimmer and change. When he finally scoffed, it stopped, and Alice blinked.

"What did you do?" she asked.

"I didn't do anything," Hamish insisted. When it was obvious she didn't believe him, he went on. "Fine. I read you. I don't know how you noticed, but there's nothing you can do about it now."

Reggie gave him a funny look. "You 'read' her?" he asked, confused.

Alice was just as lost as he was. Did he read her mind? That would be embarrassing. "What do you mean?"

Shrugging, as though he wasn't sure either, Hamish stood back to allow them inside.

"Why the sudden change of heart?" Alice mocked.

"I'll change it again if you don't hurry up."

Alice went in first, Reggie trailing after her under Hamish's hard glare. Hamish closed the door behind them after a quick scan of the street.

The pub felt like a different place when it was empty. It looked the same, but there was a different feel about it, as though the absence of magical patrons allowed it to have its own being.

Hamish walked past her, slipped behind the bar and pulled out a pad and pen. He scribbled something on it, tore the piece off and held it out to Alice. She went to take it, thinking that it was all too easy, when he snatched it just out of her grasp.

"I'll give you this," he told her. "But I want something, first."

Alice almost laughed. Almost. "Is that how easy it is?"

"No. Not everyone has something I want," Hamish said. "In fact, it's very rare that someone has something I want. I'm a hard man to please. You just happened to be lucky."

Alice folded her arms over her chest. She wasn't entirely sure what she would have that Hamish wanted. "What do you want, then?" she asked.

"That pretty little necklace in your pocket." He cocked his head to the side slightly, his twinkling eyes on hers.

"Why?" Alice pulled the necklace out of her pocket. She'd almost forgotten it was there. "Why do you want it?"

"I take it you don't know what it is, then. Or what it does."

She looked at it. There was nothing special about its appearance, besides it being worth a lot of money, nor had it really done anything. "What does it do?" she wondered, not for the first time.

"That's not how this works, witchy. Do you want to know where Quinn Harpington is, or do you want to know what the necklace does?"

The necklace swung from side to side. It was pretty, she couldn't deny, but she would never wear it. She had no use for it. Quinn never did tell her what it was for, so it couldn't be too important. There was no reason for her to think too much about it. She held the necklace out for Hamish, who raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Quinn," she said, as Hamish took the necklace from her and slipped it in his pocket. "Where is he?"

Millie paced the kitchen. She grabbed her mobile and pressed redial. The familiar tone reached her ears. After a few seconds, it rang out. She swore.

It had been idiocy on her part, she knew. To honestly believe Alice was going to school. Millie shouldn't have let her out of the house. And now she waited.

The back door and all the windows were sealed; they wouldn't open unless Millie commanded it. But that also meant she couldn't leave through them. If she sealed the front door, she wouldn't be able to get out of the house, either. Not unless she unsealed and resealed all of the doors and windows, every time. And that took a lot of energy. Energy she couldn't afford to waste.

She tried one more time to call Alice, even though she knew it was useless. Where was she? Was she out with friends? Or had something happened to her?

Whispers were circling. They had been for a while. Betelgeuse was raising an army. Wilson was searching for Betelgeuse. And someone had been paying the Gentlemen's Club a lot of money to kill witches. Brutally, hastily. They weren't being burnt on the stake as was tradition – as much as Millie hated to admit it – they were just killing them in every way, in any way they could.

Millie couldn't hide for much longer; she was too infamous for that. They hadn't come for her yet, hadn't been able to find her, but it wouldn't be long now. Millie could wait no longer. And Alice, her poor Alice... she wouldn't understand, had no idea what she was. Whoever was killing the witches would kill her even as she insisted she was a normal human.

Millie wasn't going to let that happen. Anyone who laid a hand on her daughter would die, slowly and horribly. She'd kill everyone if that's what it took. Her husband's death was unfortunate, but necessary. She told herself that every hour.

He had died so that her daughter could live. That's all there was to it. A father's sacrifice to his only child.

And that would all go to waste if someone found Alice before Millie did.

Picking her phone up again, Millie hit redial. She knew Alice wouldn't answer; if she refused the first thirty-odd times, she wasn't going to answer now. And if – god forbid – the worst had happened, she wouldn't be there to answer it.

When the tone rang out, Millie dumped the phone on the table, poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat down on the couch. If Alice was dead, then at least she would only have herself to worry about. Her daughter was second on her list but, really, she was the only one who mattered.
Chapter Eight

Quinn's house – his other house, to be exact – looked as though it had survived more fires than was possible, and no one had bothered to fix it. The brickwork was crumbling, the window frames blackened and peeling and the glass in most of them missing altogether. Alice was surprised when she came upon a front door, cracked and pathetic as it was. She wasn't expecting the house to have one.

She knocked, and as she did the door swung open under the pressure. Both her and Reggie stared into the hall. A set of stairs led to the second storey, and several doorways led off into rooms. It certainly didn't look like the kind of place people lived but Alice wasn't one to judge, not after visiting the Council of Ten.

"Quinn?" Alice called softly. There was no reply.

"I really don't think anyone lives here, Alice."

Alice glanced down at the piece of paper Hamish had given her. The address on it was this one. "Hamish said he's here, so this is where we'll find him."

Her trust in him was limited, but she was putting it to faith that he wouldn't scam her.

Reggie sighed heavily, but pushed past her to step in the house. There was a flash of light, a yell, and Reggie fell through the floor with a loud crash. Bits of wood and dust rained down on him as he shielded his head as best he could.

"Reggie!"

"Alice!" Reggie yelled.

"Alice?" Quinn walked out from one of the rooms, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, spatula in one hand and a tea-towel in the other. His hair looked as though he'd tried to shove it all back but failed, and it stuck up here and there, like some sort of cartoon character.

Alice couldn't help it. She tried to hold in a laugh, and ended up snorting, which in turn reduced her into a hysterical fit of laughter. Her legs failed her and she fell to the ground, while Quinn stared in confusion and Reggie called for help.

Alice was sent to the dining room to calm down while Quinn fetched Reggie out of his basement, all the while grumbling about his floor and threatening to bill Reggie for the repairs. When inside the house, it took on a whole new image. It looked, for lack of a better explanation, like a home. It was full of warm colours and well-worn furniture. The walls were dotted with photos of Quinn and people Alice didn't recognise. The kitchen was stacked with food, both canned and fresh, and a small bookcase in the corner featured well-loved books. It was neat, but a thin layer of dust settled on everything, and a half-finished cup of tea sat forgotten on the coffee table.

"What are you doing here?" Quinn asked when Reggie was safely on the first floor.

"Looking for you," Alice replied.

"I never would have guessed. How did you find me? No one knows I live here." He looked Reggie up and down, as though he'd never seen another male before. "Are you the boy with the Orange commodore?"

Reggie blinked. "Ye-"

"No, he's not," Alice cut him off before he could finish, because she didn't want them getting into a conversation about cars. "I- we were attacked today."

Quinn checked the two of them. "You look fine to me. Even better, actually; your face is healing already."

"Josef had to cut Reggie's arm off and fix it back on with maggots. It was disgusting."

Reggie nodded enthusiastically. "And Alice exploded a guy's eyes in his head."

Alice kicked him viciously, but it was too late; Quinn had heard him.

"You did what?" Quinn gave her a sharp look. "How, when? Who were these people?"

"I don't know who they were," Alice admitted. "But they aren't with the man from the other day; they wanted me alive. The fat man did, anyway. The other one didn't really care."

"Did you catch their names?"

"The fat one's name was Augustus."

Quinn swore.

"The other one was Caius."

Quinn was silent.

"He had horns and a tail."

Quinn swore again. "Are you sure?" he asked, running his fingers through his hair.

"I'm sure, Quinn. I'm surer than sure. Do you know them?"

"I know of Augustus," Quinn told her. "And I know what the other man is, but I've never heard of Caius. You said you blinded one of them?" Quinn questioned, glancing at Reggie.

Alice dropped her head. "Yes."

"Which one?"

"The fat one," Reggie pitched in.

Quinn sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He won't soon forget it," he warned. "The next time you see him he won't be so nice. Augustus is a powerful sorcerer. A sorcerer of the elements."

"What does that mean?" Reggie asked.

"It means he controls the elements!" Quinn snapped impatiently. "And you gouged his eyes out instead of the other man's."

Alice glared. "I warned him I would. It was an accident, but I warned him. And I didn't gouge them out; they exploded," she said, as though it would make a difference. "Besides, I scared them off."

"They'll be back," Quinn groaned. "I can't believe this. The other guy, Caius, sounds like a demon warlock, and they're especially hard to kill. It would have been fine if you'd gouged his eyes out. Never mind that, how did you do it, Alice?"

"I'm not really sure," Alice told him. She tried to think. She'd been angry, very angry. She'd hated him for being willing to let Reggie die. Instead of keeping her hate in check, though, she'd let it take her over. In short, she'd become a monster. "I don't remember," she lied.

"Do you know how magic works?" Quinn asked.

Alice shrugged, and turned to Reggie for help. He gave her a 'do you seriously think I'd know?' look.

"Emotion," Quinn said. He sat in a chair, bringing the tips of his fingers together like an old storyteller. "The stronger an emotion is, the stronger the magic. Different kinds of emotions warrant different kinds of magic. It's almost as hard to master your emotions as it is to master a certain kind of magic, which is why the magical community is so small. You can master every kind of magic there is, but unless you're in the right state of mind, you can't use them. Josef, for instance, learned healing magic. If he's angry or upset or amused or happy, he can't use that magic."

"What emotion do you need to feel to heal someone?" Reggie asked.

"Love," Quinn said simply, his gaze far away.

Reggie looked at Alice, smirking and waggling his eyebrows. She sneered at him.

"That's why it's a difficult magic to learn and use. Love can also be dangerous. Most magical beings shape their emotions around the magic they wish to learn. Some, however, are forced to shape the magic they learn around their emotions. Witches," he stared pointedly at Alice. "Are an example of this. They primarily use hate, because they're full of it. On the same token, it's a lot easier for them to use their magic than others, because they were born for it."

"But why?" Alice asked. If she was entirely honest with herself, she was feeling rather placid. No hate at all. And if she thought of Hamish, well... that was the opposite of hate.

"Because they're witches."

"They're witches because they're full of hate?"

"No, they're full of hate because they're witches. If it were the other way round there'd be a lot of witches indeed."

Alice scowled. "What if I want to learn healing magic?"

Quinn chuckled. "Impossible," he said, shaking his head.

"Why is it impossible?"

"Because you're a witch, Alice. You're too hateful to learn something that requires so much love." His words contained no malice; simply a matter-of-fact tone.

"You're saying I can't love?"

Quinn smiled sadly at her. "That's exactly what I'm saying. You may love someone for a while, but eventually the hate will overwhelm that love. Most witches end up with an intense hate for the world, and they on rampages. And then we kill them. It's a sad, horrible truth."

"And in return the world hates them?"

The look on Quinn's face told her everything. Alice slumped in the couch, her mind reeling. If he was right, everyone she cared about would eventually turn into another person she hated. Her parents, Reggie, her friends. She could probably cut to the chase and forget about relationships. Even if she had children one day... Would she end up hating them, too? She didn't have long to think, though, because Quinn was talking again.

"If someone wants you alive, they probably want to use you and your powers. They'll fill you with hate for someone and, due to your nature, that hate will grow until you feel the desire to find them and kill them. Providing your hate for the ones trying to use you doesn't flourish before that, of course. Some witches keep their hate in check by staying away from people, but it's easy to set them off."

Reggie leaned forward. "And when she's killed whoever they want her to kill?" he asked thoughtfully. "Then what happens?"

Quinn shrugged. "I don't know. They might kill her," Alice flinched. "They might have her kill others or they might kiss her feet and call her a goddess."

"So what do we do?" Reggie asked.

"We find out who's trying to capture her. After we find out why Betelgeuse wants her dead so badly, of course. With any luck we can strike a bargain with one of the two, or maybe both, and then we can focus on more important matters like making sure her hate doesn't spiral out of control."

"You know, I really hate it when people talk about me like I'm not here," Alice told them. She glowered at the two.

"I like to think it makes you feel as though we're talking about a different Alice, and that you don't have the potential to massacre everyone because you hate them all for no justifiable reason. The fact that you've already used magic is concerning; you shouldn't have any powers yet. Being young, your emotions are out of whack by default."

"About that," Alice began. "Why not? What's the awakening that everyone keeps saying about?"

Quinn draped the tea towel over his shoulder and got to his feet. "It's when someone magical becomes aware of it, basically."

Alice frowned. "That sounds stupid. What if you grow up knowing you're magical?"

"Then you know you're magical, but you're not aware. You know it works by using emotions, but you're not able to harness that emotion to use magic. There's a difference between feeling anger and using anger to create magic. Remember that, Alice.

"Usually the awakening happens around twenty-two, but that can vary. Occasionally someone younger is able to harness their emotions when they're feeling very strongly about something, and that will bring about an awakening, but that's not too common. Some magical people and creatures are able to use magic from puberty. Very rarely they're born able to use magic. That's always a nightmare."

"What's the awakening like?"

Quinn shrugged. "It's nothing special. You may have already gone through it by now. You won't know until the next time you use magic. Or try to, anyway. If you can't use it, you haven't gone through the awakening."

"Oh."

"I told you, it's nothing special. Now, I'm hungry, so excuse me."

Robert was sitting in his chair, trying to think of too many things and solve too many problems at the same time, when the door swung open.

Margret was standing in the shadow of the doorway. She reminded Robert of his wife, Sally, only not as beautiful, and less than half as intelligent. "Pardon me, sir, but there's a man who says it's important to speak to you," she said. Her gaze was nervous, as though she wasn't sure if it was alright to disturb him or not.

"Send him in," Robert told her. Anything to take his mind off work.

She nodded, ushered a small man in and closed the door behind him. Robert stared curiously at the man. For all intents and purposes, he was a dwarf. He would barely reach up to Robert's waist, and as he walked he waddled, his short stumpy legs visibly struggling with the strain of it. It wasn't Robert's place to judge on appearance, though. He wasn't exactly a male model.

"Robert," the man squeaked. He stopped a few feet shy of Robert, a smile on his face.

As far as dwarves went, he was rather attractive. He had green eyes and brown hair. His nose was small and his lips fat. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a turtleneck.

"I'm afraid I don't know who you are," Robert admitted.

The dwarf smiled. "Well you've had no reason to until now," he said. "I have a suggestion, actually."

"Oh?" Robert's interest peaked, and he leaned forward in his chair. He was always open to new suggestions and challenges.

"Concerning witches."

"What about them?"

"They're dangerous, Robert, as you know. I don't feel comfortable with them running rampant like stray cats, hurting people because they like it," the dwarf told him.

Robert was silent. There was more; there was always more. He didn't particularly favour witches himself, but he didn't hate them, either. He was the Council of Ten and, as such, it was his job to be fair and kind to all manner of creatures, no matter how much he disliked them. He was, to put it simply, unbiased.

He had friends, of course, and while he was out on social terms, he could be as biased as he damn well pleased. But when he was here, sitting in this chair, it all washed away. Every opinion, every ideal was soaked out of him, and he became a slave to the law. All his decisions were made based on one Clause or another. He didn't have the ability to break a clause in this chair, even if he wanted to.

"They should be dealt with," the dwarf continued. "As the Council of Ten, it is your job to protect the magical community. Witches are a threat to that community."

Robert waved him off. "Witches are a part of that community," he rectified. "There are Clauses that protect them, just like any other magical being."

"Then write a new Clause. Override the old ones."

"I will not. It is a direct violation of their rights, and I simply won't do it. You're excused."

But the dwarf wasn't listening. He clicked his fingers, and a shadowy figure appeared out of the air. Robert jumped.

"This is a ghost, if you were wondering," the dwarf told him. "And he's here to possess you."

Robert leapt up from his chair, and began making hand motions. Before he could conjure anything, the ghost flew forward, and Robert felt a horrible feeling, as though there was wind inside of him, and he could feel it blowing the blood through his veins. It made him dizzy.

Then he felt nothing. No wind, no pain, not even a tickle. His whole body was numb. He tried to move his body, but it wouldn't respond. He tried to speak, but nothing came out of his mouth. It was bliss and horror at the same time.

"I think a new Clause is in order, don't you? It's been a while since I've seen a witch-burning."

Robert's body nodded against his will. It started moving, even though Robert couldn't feel anything. It approached the desk, sat down, and pulled a piece of paper and a quill from the top drawer.

His hand started writing.

Robert screamed at it to stop. He screamed and fought and swore, but it did nothing, because his body didn't respond to him anymore, and it was all he could do to watch as the body wrote out a new Clause, signed it and held it over the candle to burn.

The paper burned fast and bright. When the last bit was ash, the new Clause would come into effect. And, Robert thought with horror, a whole world of trouble would begin.

Hamish had been getting ready to open the pub when the new Clause came to him. The piece of paper floated down towards him, and he snatched it out of the air.

What now? There hadn't been a new Clause in a long time. Eight years, to be exact. Hamish remembered that clearly. He knew everything, after all.

He read through the Clause. Then, because he was certain he'd misread, he read it again. He swore and tore the paper up in a fury. The pieces went into the bin. He scanned through his most recent memories. Robert and Betelgeuse. The possession. It has happened, and he hadn't noticed it because he was too distracted. Too distracted by the stupid necklace around his neck.

There was a knock at the door. Hamish ignored it. He was too busy. Busy packing. Busy sealing all the entrances into his house. Busy letting the emotion he kept tightly sealed in his mind out, and letting it take over him, all of him.

He was going to need it.

The paper appeared out of nowhere. Caius watched it, letting it fall to the ground, before he bent down to pick it up.

A Clause? He snorted. Robert wasn't known to write Clauses. It was probably something stupid, something useless.

As his eyes scanned over it, though, a grin spread across his face, and his eyes turned red and horns sprouted from his head and a tail from his tailbone. He laughed. He kissed the paper several times before shoving it into his pocket too keep as a memento.

Then he went to find Hamish.

Millie stared at the blank screen of the television. She'd been staring at it for well over an hour now, not being able to find the motivation to actually turn it on.

Her husband was dead. She'd killed him. Because she could. What had she done? Why had she done it? She loved Rowan. That's why she married him.

You didn't love him, she told herself. You married him because you were pregnant.

Yes. That was the truth. After years of promising herself she would never have children, would never be so cruel that she would run the risk of having a daughter who would be like her, she found herself pregnant. And that cruel part of herself decided to keep it. Just to see if it was a girl. If it was a witch. To see if she could raise a monster.

She couldn't raise the child alone, though. That was why she married Rowan. To help raise the same child who was now missing. Maybe even dead.

Millie didn't care as much as she should have. There were Clauses in place, specifically to protect witches.

It was then she noticed a piece of paper floating down. She snatched it from the air irritably, and read the new Clause.

She felt sick. What was this? How was this possible? Robert wouldn't dare. She needed to find Alice, now. She needed to get her daughter back and seal them in.

Millie was halfway to the front door when she froze. If Alice was out there, she was probably already dead. If Millie went out there, she would probably die as well.

She stood in front of the door, held the three middle fingers of her right hand straight, and swiped down. A translucent sheen spread across the door, sealing it. Then it disappeared.

She sat back down in front of the television with a cup of coffee and waited.

The smell of cooking meat filled the kitchen. Quinn breathed it in as he flipped a burger. He was, if he said so himself, a rather good cook. He'd even go as far to say he'd have been a five-star chef if he wasn't magical. It was, in fact, a childhood dream of his. He fancied himself a bit of a Gordon Ramsey.

The three burgers sizzled away in the pan. One for him, one for the boy, and one for Alice.

Alice.

The thought of her made him sick and weak. It made him angry and sad and filled him with a strange sense of love and hate, a desire to protect her and an instinct to kill her. He was well aware of exactly what she was, of who she was. What she was going to become. He'd seen it before. He knew how it worked.

It was only little things at the moment. The fight with the girl. Causing Augustus's eyes to explode in his head. The man deserved it, and it had been an accident, so Quinn couldn't really judge her on that, but it happened, and it would get worse. Soon she wouldn't be doing things by accident. And she wouldn't be doing them to save lives; she'd be doing it because she wanted to.

There was no stopping it.

And so, for his part, Quinn was going to do everything in his power to do just that. He didn't know how, but he knew he would try. For Tasha, he would try.

Quinn dumped the cooked burgers on plates, complete with salad and cheese and homemade sauce. God, he was a good cook. He grabbed the two for the kids and delivered them dutifully. A chef and a waiter.

He didn't notice the paper at first. It floated down into the bench, landing neatly next to his plate. It was only when he went to pick the plate up that he noticed it.

The words burned into his mind. He didn't even pick it up, or lean down to see it, because they burned through his eyes and into his mind.

'Anyone who is found to be under the following circumstances shall be tried at the stake; a practising witch; a former practicing witch; an accomplice or anyone found to be aiding a witch. It is an offence to not turn oneself in. Anyone who suspects witchcraft is required to apprehend the suspect and bring them to justice. Failure to do so is an offence punishable by death. All other Clauses relating to witches are now redundant. –Robert Karson, Council of Ten; Hero of the Weshforth.'

Quinn stood there for a while. How many people knew he knew Alice? How many people knew him? And where he lived? There was only one person he knew of. The master of knowledge.

But Hamish never gave any information unless there was something in it for him. Scores of magical creature were probably marching to the Scot's house by now, demanding information. Threatening his life in exchange. He wondered if the Scot thought his life was worth giving away the information.

Never mind the Scot; was his life worth it? He could hear Alice and Reggie, talking to each other as they ate. Laughing about something. How much more laughter did Alice have in her? Was Quinn willing to risk his life for that? For a girl who still didn't understand that she was going to become a monster?

He looked from the plate of food, to the piece of paper. The words of the Clause still burned into him. Magic coursed through his fingers. Reaching a hand out, he grabbed the plate. With his other, he blasted the Clause into oblivion. Alice smiled at him when he entered the dining room.

Quinn smiled back.

Chapter Nine

The first knock came barely ten minutes after the Clause. Hamish ignored it. He would not be bullied into giving out information, regardless of whether or not it was the law.

He was curious to know who would be the first, and besides that, he didn't particularly want to leave his pub. Would it be Lucas, who was still trying to find – and kill – Alice? Or Augustus, who would now look for revenge? It could be any number of officials, wanting a list of every witch and her accomplice. He didn't know, because the seals placed around the building were blocking ho knowledge of the outside world. The moment one of them was broken, every happening in the world in the last twenty minutes would flood into him. Painfully, instantly.

Hamish wandered into the spare bedroom, where he kept everything personal and sentimental to him. He ignored the knocking as he gathered his most precious items and shoved them in his pockets. Photos, necklaces, stupid little knick knacks. He was more sentimental than he cared to admit. The things he couldn't carry, that weren't as important to him, went into the old fireplace.

They were all things that could potentially lead to a person Hamish cared about, and there were too many people who would use others to try and manipulate him. He couldn't risk it.

He grabbed a box of matches and struck one. The flame danced on the end of the stick. Hamish sighed heavily and threw it into the pile of books, letters and photographs. It caught with a whoosh and, with a final glance, Hamish turned his back and left the room, leaving it to burn.

The necklace that had belonged to Alice hung heavily around his neck. He was shocked that she didn't know what it was, or what it did, but then again Quinn was never one to sit down and explain anything. Fortunate for him, then, that she thought it was useless.

Hamish stretched, listening as whoever was at his door pounded on it again. From the wall of his living room he took a twenty inch blade. Magic coursed through it like blood through veins. He sheathed it, praying he wouldn't have to use it. A stupid thought; the moment he denied them information they'd try and apprehend him. He refused to be apprehended.

"Hamish! I know you're in there!"

So it was Lucas, the vampire.

"Tell us where the girl is, and we'll leave you alone."

Hamish didn't bother to grace them with an answer, whoever 'they' were. A vampire would never break through the seals. So he sat, and waited.

There was a loud bang, and Lucas swore. "I'll break your damn neck, you Scottish prick!"

It fell silent, and Hamish wandered over to the window. Lucas and several other vampires were leaving, obviously knowing they'd never get in. He watched them go with mild curiosity, then settled back down.

After here, he wasn't entirely sure where he would go. He was loathe to leave his pub in the first place, but if he stayed, he would probably die. Quinn Harpington's house was a nice possibility. Quinn needed him, and Alice was there as well. At the moment, it was also the only possibility. He couldn't figure anyone else would help him.

It wasn't long before there was a loud crash, and he was back on his feet again. It couldn't possibly be the vampire. He searched through the newest knowledge as it rushed to his mind in a moment of blinding pain that sent him to his knees. It was a warlock; Caius. Hamish took the blade and went to find them.

The window in the downstairs kitchen was being barraged with bright bolts of lightning. The seal was already beginning to weaken – Hamish gave it ten minutes at the most. That was if he was lucky.

He considered running, but quickly decided against it, at least until Caius knew how dangerous he was. That would scare some of them off, keep those who would attack him to a minimum. The others he would just have to deal with.

With the blade in one hand, Hamish dug into his mind for the one emotion he would need – fear. It rolled in the back of his mind like waves. Everything within him screamed not to let it out. He forced himself to ignore it as he felt the seal of the window fail.

A bolt of lightning crashed through the glass, and Caius leapt through, tail cutting through the air. His red eyes burned into the darkness like fire.

He smirked when he saw Hamish. "Your time's up, Scotty."

Hamish let the fear take him over. He fought with himself to keep it uncontained. His breathing was becoming erratic. He was terrified, but held his composure. "What does a demon warlock fear?"

"Nothing," Caius told him.

"Everybody's afraid of something." Hamish was trying to keep him distracted, if only for a little while, so he could have a chance to read the warlock.

Caius must have figured it out, though, because he clicked his fingers, and Hamish barely had time to move as a white hot bolt of lightning struck where he had been standing. He felt the searing heat as he ducked behind the couch.

"We're not playing hide and seek, Hamish."

Hamish drew the blade from its sheath. Using his fear, he gathered up the shadows and called them to the blade. The moment he stood, a ball of fire came hurtling towards him. He deflected it with a slash of his blade.

The warlock raised an eyebrow at the sight of the blade. "For a man who knows everything, you're pretty stupid. A knife? Really?"

Hamish grinned. "Watch out for shadows; they bite."

Behind Caius, the shadows were stirring and taking shapes. A two-headed dog with teeth as sharp as daggers growled at him, while a creature with twisted limbs and dripping hair moved to him with slow, clicking movements.

Caius yelled, throwing fireball after fireball at the creatures, and Hamish lunged. He slashed at the warlock's stomach, but Caius leapt out of the way as he hurled a large ball of energy at the Scot. It hit Hamish, taking him off his feet and slamming him into the wall.

The shadow dog leapt at Caius, tearing at the warlock's arm. Anger coursing through him, he seized one of the throats, and it snapped. The head fell limp, and the other turned to him, unaffected.

Hamish got to his feet, and started walking toward Caius, still fighting the fear inside him. It had been easier than he thought. He expected more of a fight, more power, more people. Instead, he got this. The others were still ages away. He raised the blade above him, letting the magic in it course to the tip. Caius snarled at him, trying to fight the dog and the creature, which held him in a firm grip, its featureless face swaying slightly.

Something hurtled through the window, slamming into Hamish and sending him crashing into the coffee table. It broke under the weight as teeth sunk into his neck. Swearing, Hamish drove the blade through Lucas's neck.

How did they manage to sneak up on him? Hamish's last knowledge of the vampire was when he was leaving with his fledglings. Lucas had gotten around the corner. Then... nothing. His knowledge of them was gone. He almost smiled; a false memory. They were learning.

The vampire hissed and leapt to his feet. Blood poured out of both sides of his neck, the flow gradually slowing until the wounds were completely healed. His fledglings stood in the shadow of the window.

Hamish glanced at the blade. It was useless against vampires. Caius threw the shadow creature off him, making a show of setting it alight until the creature melted away, and the shadows were just that; they slunk back to where they belonged. Hamish sheathed his weapon. He tucked it in the back of his belt and broke off a wooden leg from his coffee table.

Lucas laughed. "You're gonna kill us? With part of a coffee table?"

"Aye, I will," Hamish retorted. He glanced at the leg and shrugged. "Any wood is good wood."

The vampire jerked his head, and the two fledglings stepped forward. The first one went straight for him, and Hamish was easily able to avoid him. The other grabbed his wrist and snapped it back, attempting to pry the stake from him.

Hamish kicked out, throwing the fledgling back. He grabbed the other one and drove the stake deep into her heart. Her eyes went wide, then she fell.

The other fledgling was easy. He conjured another creature from the shadows, with too many arms and too many eyes. It held the fledgling tight as Hamish strode over and staked him in the heart.

As he turned to Lucas and Caius, a gust of wind hit him, sending him crashing through the wall and into the empty pub.

Head spinning, Hamish tried to stand. He was too dizzy, and fell back over. Groaning, he summoned the shadows, and the room was plunged into darkness. There were footsteps, then they stopped.

Lucas's voice carried through the room. "Hiding, are we? Ready to give up?"

Hamish struggled to his knees. His heart was pounding in his chest, threatening to explode. The other two couldn't see, but neither could he. And the fear that was in him was getting too much. He needed to get out before he caged it again.

Blindly, he felt around. His hand hit a chair, and it scraped against the ground. Swearing to himself, he manoeuvred around it as best he could and kept crawling, waving his hands ahead of him like a blind man. The footsteps of Lucas and Caius resumed.

"We just want the witch, Hamish. Tell us where she is and we'll leave."

There was a load crash as one of the two walked into a table. A string of curses followed. They were on the other side of the room, well away from Hamish.

His hand hit the bar, and he followed it down the room. As soon as he reached the door to the stairs he could run. He got to his feet and a hand closed around his throat, slamming him into the wall.

"Gotcha."

There was a crack, and pain shot through Hamish's leg. He forced himself to hold back a scream.

"Just in case you were thinking of running," Caius told him.

"You're a fool if you think that'll stop me," Hamish spat. He drew the blade and slashed blindly.

Caius screamed, dropping him, and Hamish shot through the door, stumbling on his broken leg. Pain tore through him. He staggered up the stairs, stopping at the first window he came across. Grimacing, he broke the seal, fell out the window, and resealed it.

Fear still coursed through him. He let it go and it flowed to the back of his mind, settling down like an old memory.

He tumbled on the ground, weakened from the use of magic. Panting, he stowed the blade away, grabbed a strong, large stick, and started hobbling away. It hadn't exactly gone as he'd planned, but there was nothing could do about it now. The fear that was all of his senses had all but ebbed away.

As he rounded the corner, he spotted a group of officials at his door, knocking to come in. They were not there to help him, that much he knew.

Sighing, he kept walking, making a beeline toward the house of Quinn Harpington.

"Let me get my head around this..." Wilson trailed off, lost in thought. He was still trying to comprehend what he'd just been told, still trying to figure out how others were so useless. "There were four of you, against Hamish McKinley? Right? Four against one. And he got away."

Lucas nodded. A smarter man than him might have flinched under Wilson's gaze. "He's stronger than we thought."

Wilson sucked in air. "I don't care how strong he is! You tried to kill him, and you couldn't even get one bit of information from him. Your friend, who's bleeding out over there, tried to kill the witch, and you bring him back here. I want her alive, Lucas. Do you understand the concept of alive?"

"I know what it means."

Wilson wanted to slap him. The urge was almost too great to resist. "Then why do you insist on trying to kill everyone! You can't even get that right! You're incompetent, and you're a waste of my time. Get out of my sight," he spat. "And find Augustus."

He stormed off, angry and annoyed. The witch was still roaming free – now more likely to die with the new Clause passed – and there was still no dwarf head on that platter. He cursed. Betelgeuse was probably the one who had the Clause passed. Robert was too righteous to do it of his own accord.

Sacrim insisted she was getting closer to finding Betelgeuse, but as far as he knew she was nowhere. What corpses she still had loyal to her knew nothing, and the rest refused to talk. They were dead, so she couldn't torture them for information, and there was no other way of getting it out of them. She was at a standstill.

Hamish would know where to find Betelgeuse, but after Lucas's stuff up, there was no way they'd get their hands on him. Wilson didn't particularly fancy having to go after either of them himself, but it was becoming more and more apparent he would probably have to.

There was a young girl waiting by the door of the great hall when he reached it. She smiled when she saw him. "Wilson. I've been looking for you."

Morgan was a pretty girl in her own right, but she often tried to accentuate her beauty with makeup and suggestive clothing. It annoyed Wilson tremendously, and today was no exception.

Her eyes were rimmed with black, and her lashes were too long to be natural. Her shirt was low enough and jeans tight enough to leave nothing to the imagination. She always seemed as though she was trying to impress Wilson, which didn't work. It would never work, because Wilson didn't like her.

"Morgan," he grumbled. "What do you want?"

"I have a message from Thomas. He says it's urgent." She held out an envelope, and he snatched it from her.

He tore the envelope open and unfolded the paper inside it as he walked into the hall. Morgan followed closely, trying to read over his shoulder.

The chatter that had filled the hall died down the moment Wilson entered. There was a sudden scraping of chairs as everyone who was standing took their seats.

Wilson took his place at the head of the table, still reading through the letter. He didn't look up until he was finished.

Morgan sat on his left. He scowled, because she shouldn't be in the room in the first place, but didn't say anything. He did a quick headcount to make sure everyone was there.

"I'm sure I don't need to explain to you why we're here," he snarled.

A woman halfway down the table leaned in. She had a sour look about her, as though she didn't want to be there. Wilson could sympathise with her, because he didn't want to be here, either. "Don't play games with us, Wilson. This Clause spells the death for me and my sisters. What are we going to do about it?"

Wilson smiled at the witch. There was no warmth behind his smile. "How long have I been saying it? Robert is a problem. Betelgeuse is a problem. Anyone and everyone who would follow in their belief is a problem. I've been saying it for years, and yet no one listened to me." He waved the letter in front of him. "Instructions," he informed them. "From Thomas."

At the name, everyone leaned forward, alert.

"Betelgeuse is not our priority anymore." He spat the words out, as though it pained him to have to say them. "Our society is now a safe haven for witches, provided they are willing to join our cause."

A hush fell over the room. Wilson decided it best not to mention he was still after a witch of his own. One they could handle, but if there were too many they could overthrow his leadership, sabotage everything. Thomas, apparently, didn't think along the same lines. It was not a wise decision, not in the least. But what choice did they have?

"Is that... wise?"

Wilson looked for the speaker. Horton was a smart man, even he had to admit it. "It's what Thomas has requested," Wilson told him. "So it's what we'll do."

Quinn watched Alice through the tinted windows of his car as she crossed the road to her house. He almost jumped out after her and called her back, but restrained himself.

In consideration of her best interests, Quinn hadn't told her about the new Clause. It would only send her emotions even more out of control, and he didn't need that. She would become suspicious of him, and that wouldn't do either of them any good. In any case, none of them knew where she lived. The only person, besides him, who did was Hamish. The Rune was his next destination.

Alice stalled at the door – it was locked. Quinn hesitated, his hand on the door handle. He watched as Alice knocked, said something, and the door swung open to the sight of a woman who could only be her mother; they shared the same orange curls that were as distinctive as his car.

They exchanged words, then the two of them disappeared in the house. Satisfied she was safe, Quinn started his car and drove off. It only took him a few minutes to reach the Rune, but he knew something was wrong the moment he pulled over.

A tall, muscled man stood out front of the building, his back unnaturally straight. He was unmoving, but Quinn sensed he was watching for anything worth the effort of moving.

Quinn cleared his throat, rubbed his hands together, and lit up a smoke. He rolled his shoulders and checked his hair. He got out of the car and approached the man, smiling. The man didn't return the smile.

"You can't go in there," the man brusquely told him.

Quinn put on his best look of confusion. "Why not?" he asked. He glanced at his imaginary watch and straightened his imaginary tie. "I'm thirsty and it's past opening time."

The man blocked Quinn's way. "It's a crime scene."

"Oh? I love crime. What kind of crime?"

"The kind that doesn't concern you." The man gave him a once-over, raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"But I need to speak with the owner."

"Well you can't."

"His name's Hamish."

"Turn around, and go back to your... car."

"He's Scottish."

"I don't care what he is! He's not here. There's no one here."

Quinn pointed at the members of the CEF who were scouring the place. "It's apparent that there are people here."

"None of them are the man you're looking for. Now turn around and leave."

"Then what's the crime?"

The man's face was steadily turning purple. "What's your name?"

"Uh... Peter?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"I'm telling you, of course."

The man scowled at him. "Peter who?"

"Parker."

The scowl vanished, and turned into a look of utter disbelief. "You're Spiderman?"

Quinn shrugged. "Should I not be?"

"Well, Spiderman, what happened here is none of your business. And I'm going to have to ask you to come with me." The man made a move for Quinn, but Quinn stepped back.

"Why?"

"Because I think you're lying."

Quinn was already reaching in himself for energy. The man shot a binding spell at him, but Quinn was too fast.

His limbs tingled and burned as they shrunk in on themselves and reformed. Feathers sprouted from every pore and his mouth shot out and turned yellow as it formed a hooked beak.

Even in the magical community, shape shifting was rare. It required undivided concentration and an intense feeling of curiosity, which was more than most people possessed. So it was no surprise when the man stumbled back in shock, his binding spell hitting Quinn's car and wrapping it in thin, glowing binds.

Quinn the eagle beat his wings, giving his car a final longing look, and took off. He soared over the city, searching for his street. The world looked a lot different from the sky. It took him a considerable time to locate his house, and he transformed back at the doorstep. He unlocked the door and went inside.

Hamish was sitting in the lounge, elbows on his knees, his face twisted in pain. He didn't even look up as Quinn arrived.

"I was looking for you," Quinn grumped, annoyed at the time he'd just wasted, and the car he'd just lost, when apparently all he needed to do was wait for the Scot to come to him.

Hamish gave him a pained smile. "Well here I am." He clasped his hands together, leaning forward as though he was praying. "This Clause is going to start a war."

"Alice? Have you told anyone about her?" Quinn asked. The small talk could wait until after he knew.

"Why is she so important to you?"

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Why do you ask questions when you already know the answers?"

The Scotsman shrugged, and finally looked up. His eyes were still black as he fought for control over his emotions. "To make it seem as though there's still some human in me. And to protect those who make mistakes. The problem with having knowledge, Quinn, is knowing what to share, and what to keep to yourself. If I give someone the location of one witch, I have to do the same for everyone else. But if I told someone the circumstances in which the new Clause came into being, I might have to tell everyone, and the problem might be fixed."

Quinn sat in the chair opposite Hamish. "You know why it was signed." It wasn't a question.

"Aye."

"Are you going to tell me, or are you going to play Mr Mysterious?"

A smile played on the Scot's lips. The black in his eyes was slowly beginning to change. Flecks of blue and white swirled in with the darkness until his eyes were back to normal, and he appeared genuinely amused. "If I had a dollar for every time I heard that."

"You bought it up."

"I did, aye. Robert didn't write that Clause. Well, he did, but it wasn't him. Betelgeuse used a ghost to possess him. The Council of Ten is under his control now."

Quinn chewed his lip thoughtfully as he digested the new information. "So, it's easy fixed, then."

"Is it?"

"Once the officials find out Robert's been possessed..."

"Oh, and who's going to tell him?" Hamish asked, cutting Quinn off. His face was serious. "I am an aider and abettor of witches, and you are an aider and abettor of both. They'll kill the both of us on sight."

"Since when did I aid and abet you?" Quinn retorted.

"I don't know, ask the official at my house who had an encounter with Spiderman," Hamish scoffed. "Your luck to pick a comic book hero."

"Oh."

"There's really only one person who owns a bright green Porsche, so it was pretty easy for them to track it back to you. Where is Alice, anyway?"

Quinn almost didn't answer; why should he, when the Scot already knew where she was? "I took her home. If I told her about the Clause it would only worry her."

"With good reason. And you told the boy everything, as well."

For a moment, Quinn didn't know what to say. How did Hamish know about Reggie? A stupid question – of course Hamish knew – but why did he find it important to bring up? Then it clicked, and Quinn laughed and swore at the same time. "I should have figured she went to you to find out where I lived."

"Well if anyone knew, it was me," Hamish clarified.

Quinn narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Hamish didn't just give away information like candy. And what did Alice have that he would want? "So what did you get out of it?"

The Scot smiled knowingly, then stretched out one of his legs. He winced. "Broken," he confirmed, because Quinn was glaring. "And what I got out of the bargain is really none of your business. I do, however, have a bit of information that you might find useful."

"Really? And what is it?"

"Oh, no. It doesn't work like that; you know that, Quinn. I need a fully functioning leg before I tell you anything."

Scoffing, Quinn stood up and left the lounge room. "I doubt I can do anything with the information, anyway," he said.

He was halfway up the stairs when Hamish called out. "It concerns your witch, Quinn. It could even be a matter of life and death."

Quinn didn't want to care. He didn't want to give Hamish the satisfaction of knowing how far he would go for Alice.

But, of course, the Scotsman probably already knew, so he turned on his heel and stormed back into the lounge. "If I don't think it's any good, or if it's something I already know, I'll break both your legs."
Chapter Ten

Alice sat quietly in her room, staring out the window as a mother walked by on the other side of the street, pushing a pram and trying to keep an eye on the two children who were running circles around her.

Was she magical? Were her two children destined to throw flaming balls of fire, or heal wounds, or change into different creatures? Would the little girl turn into a monster, like everyone was sure Alice would? Or would she grow a flourish?

Barely a few days had passed since Alice found out what she was, and even though she'd come to terms with it and accepted her condition, she was still have trouble believing it. Despite everything she'd seen, she was still trying to convince herself that magic was real. It was absurd. She felt crazy.

There was a knock at her bedroom door, and her mum walked in. Alice didn't look up at her. She didn't care what her mum had to say these days. While her face was healing at twice the normal speed, she could swear there was a bruise in the shape of a hand on her cheek.

"Dinner's ready."

"So?"

"I called three times," her mum told her.

"I'm not hungry," Alice lied. Her stomach gave a loud rumble, but she refused to let food be the excuse for her mother getting back on her good side.

When Alice arrived back home, her mother's concern for her wellbeing had been unsettlingly low. Instead of asking where Alice had been for the past several hours, her mum confined her to her room, and told her she wasn't to leave the house.

"You haven't eaten since you got home," her mum pointed out.

"Because I haven't been hungry since I got home. Funny how that works," Alice snapped.

Her mother glared. "Fine. If you're going to be like that, you can go hungry. Don't even think about leaving this room."

"I'm calling dad," Alice informed her. He was strict and could be cold, but he wasn't one to strike his daughter, and he'd be shocked to find her mother had.

"Leave him alone. He's got enough to worry about without you complaining about the injustices of a world that doesn't revolve around you, Alice. Don't be surprised if he doesn't answer."

She stormed off in a huff, and Alice watched her go before she pulled out her phone, and dialled her father's mobile. It rang out.

Annoyed, Alice left a message and tried to remember where he was staying; surely they'd be able to get a hold of him. It was only then she realised her mum never told her.

She swore. With one hand, she made rude gestures, and with the other she called her father's work number. It answered on the first ring.

"Rowan Rosny's office, may I take a message?"

"I was wondering if you were able to give me a number to contact him," Alice said. She tried to keep her patience.

"Mr Rosny is unwell at the moment, but I can pass on your message for him."

Alice blinked. A horrible sinking feeling filled her. "Unwell? He's on a business trip."

The woman on the other end hesitated. "I can assure you Mr Rosny is not on a business trip. He's taken time off work with the flu. His wife called the other day to let us know. Can I take your name?"

"Oh. Thanks." Alice ended the call before the woman could ask any more questions. She stared blankly at the phone.

Her mother said he was on a business trip. But the woman on the phone said he'd taken sick leave. What was going on? Was her mother hiding something? A divorce, maybe? Or was it simply a case of the woman on the other end of the phone being misinformed? It could be something completely different to either of those theories.

She didn't know why, but that horrible feeling just wouldn't leave her. This wasn't a case of misinformation, or a divorce. No, her mother was hiding something from her. Something big. Something Alice felt she didn't want to know.

Alice found her mum in the kitchen, standing over the stove, putting the final touches in dinner, whatever it was. She turned when she heard Alice, her eyes flashing.

"I thought I told you-"

"I talked to dad," Alice lied, cutting her off. She watched her mother coldly. "He's really enjoying his business trip."

Her mum stared stonily back. There was no hint of emotion in her eyes. "Don't lie to me, Alice."

"About which part? Talking to him, or his business trip?"

There was no answer. For the first time in her life, Alice was afraid of her mother. She took a hesitant step back. Something was wrong. Something was seriously wrong.

"Where is he?" Alice asked. Her eyes flicked to the door, and she readied herself to run. "What did you do?"

For a moment, it looked like her mum was going to cry. Then she sighed, straightened herself, and faced Alice. "Rowan's not coming back."

"Why?"

Alice backed into the doorframe as her mum approached. "Because I... I killed him, Alice."

"You... what?" Alice's legs went weak, and as she stumbled back into the dining room they failed her altogether. She caught the dining table, steadying herself. "What are you talking about?"

"I had to, Alice. I couldn't tell him what I, what we really are. I have to protect us," her mother explained.

"Protect us?" Alice crawled back, trying to stand, trying to understand everything her mum was saying. "You're a witch?" she managed. Her father, dead? No. she couldn't believe it. She wouldn't believe it.

Surprise flitted across her mum's face, and Alice realised she didn't know. She didn't know that Alice knew about any of it. Her one advantage was now gone. Alice berated herself.

"You know? How..." her mum's eyes widened. "They found you," she breathed. "They'll come for us, Alice. Do they know where we live?"

Alice was thinking fast. What did she do? How did she get out? Was she in danger? Quinn's face flashed in her mind. It smiled wickedly as it told her it was her guardian angel. Jokingly, carefree. And hopefully serious. "They will come for me," she lied. She didn't know if he would, if he'd care. Why should he, anyway?

Her mum's face set. "Let them try. They won't get hands on either of us. I'll kill anyone who tries," she calmly promised. "I'll kill every last one of them."

Finally, Alice managed to stand. "You won't," she said. "I won't let you."

"So you'll just stand by a let them kill us?"

"My friends would never kill me!" Alice screamed. She wanted to hit her mother, to lash out and hurt her. But she knew she wasn't strong enough.

"Friends..?" her mother trailed off, her face going slack as though she wasn't sure what friends were. "Alice, dear, we don't have friends. We're witches." She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket, holding it out, and Alice took it.

It was a Clause. Alice frowned as she read it. "Tried at the stake..." she muttered.

"Burned to death, in other words," her mother translated.

Alice didn't answer; she knew what it meant.

"Accomplices... Quinn!" Alice let the paper fall as she bounded to the door.

He'd aided her, which made him an accomplice. According to the Clause, anyone found to be an accomplice of a witch would be tried at the stake. His life was in danger! Alice needed to warn him.

She fell on the door, twisting the handle and trying to pull it open. It wouldn't budge. Just like her window, it appeared to be nothing more than an ornament.

"You can't open it." Her mum walked up behind her. "I've sealed it. I've sealed all the entrances to the house."

Alice rammed her shoulder into the door, refusing to give up. "I have to find Quinn! I have to warn him."

"If he's any sort of magical, he'll already know," her mother told her, matter-of-factly. Her voice was calm but firm. She wrapped a hand around Alice's arm and pulled her away from the door. "I have to get in touch with the others. You're not leaving this house."

There were tears in Alice's eyes. "You can't keep me here. I have to find Quinn, he can help us," she insisted.

Alice didn't know why she said 'us'. There was only a tiny part of her that wanted to help her mum. The rest of her was filling with an intense anger, a hate of some sort. Her mother, this woman, had murdered her father. And now she was pretending like nothing happened. No remorse.

Alice was being dragged away from the entrance hall, up the stairs two at a time, even as she fought uselessly to break her mum's grip. She grabbed at her mum's hair and yanked, hard.

"Ow! Alice, stop this!" her mum wrenched Alice's hand from her hair, nearly snapping her wrist.

Alice still struggled. "He's a friend!" she insisted, hoping she was right. That was what she was relying on now; hope. The hope that Quinn would come for her.

"He's not your friend. He only wants to use you. And now this Clause has passed, the only thing on his mind will be killing you before anyone else finds out he used to be your... 'friend'."

Her mum shoved her into her bedroom. "The moment you step out of this house, someone will kill you. I can't let that happen." She closed the door, and a few seconds later a thin, see-through sheen engulfed it. The sheen disappeared.

Alice rushed to the door, trying to open it. Nothing. It was sealed with magic. "Let me out!"

She let out a sob and fell back onto her bed. Her mum was a witch. Quinn forgot to mention that possibility when he told her about witch genetics. He mentioned her great-great-grandmother, but not her actual mother. Never mentioned the possibility that her witch of a mother might kill her father in cold blood.

He was dead.

Gone.

Just like that. He was there one day, and just, gone the next.

Was it a quick death, as painless as possible? How much had her mother enjoyed it? Would anyone miss him?

There were probably only three people in the world knew he was dead; her mother, her, and Hamish. How long did Hamish keep that information to himself? He was under no obligation to tell her, but was his decision to keep the knowledge to himself a selfish one, or did he believe that, by not telling Alice, he was doing the right thing?

Alice stared hopelessly at the ceiling, tears falling freely. How was she supposed to get out of this?

Betelgeuse glared at the man in front of him. Being a dwarf, he probably didn't look too menacing, but the man was nervous nonetheless.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't tell you anything about what happened here."

"What's your name?" Betelgeuse asked. He loathed talking to people when he didn't know their names. It was rude, to say the least.

"Andrew, sir."

Betelgeuse nodded, taking a mental note of the name. "Okay, Andrew. Instead of you telling me what happened, I'll tell you."

Andrew opened his mouth, perhaps to say it didn't really work that way, but Betelgeuse kept talking.

"You came here to detain Hamish McKinley, but when you arrived, he was dead and his attackers in the wind."

"I've already told you, I can't discuss the details of a crime scene with pedestrians," Andrew repeated, slightly agitated.

Betelgeuse sighed. "Hamish, dead. Who would have thought? Can I see the body?"

Andrew looked affronted. "I beg your pardon?"

"He was a close friend of mine."

"He's not dead," Andrew snapped.

"So he escaped?"

Andrew was furious with himself. "It's none of your business, dwarf."

It was as though Andrew flicked a small switch in Betelgeuse's head, like a light being turned on. Up until now, he had been quite calm, and had said nothing of insult. But if there was one thing Betelgeuse hated, it was having his differences pointed out.

He was a dwarf, yes, but he'd been a dwarf his whole life, and was constantly reminded of the fact, as though others thought he might somehow forget that fact. The days when someone didn't call him a dwarf or a midget or a hobbit were rare, but they were good days. Evidently, today was not one of those days.

"I don't appreciate being called names by someone who can't even do his job properly. So tell me, spotty, how long ago did Hamish McKinley escape?"

If Andrew wasn't offended before, he certainly was now. He glared at Betelgeuse with intense hatred as he reached at his side for his weapon. The dwarf didn't even flinch.

"I'll tell you one more time, dwarf, you have no bu-"

His speech was cut off as he let out a scream. Scars were spreading across his body, thin white dents in his skin, or thick, ugly bumps that reached inches across. His left eyed swelled as a large scar formed over his eyebrow, stretching down to his chin. Pain shot through his body with each new scar, sending him to his knees. They covered his whole body, the skin puckering together.

"Jealously, Andrew, is a fun emotion to work with when it comes to magic," Betelgeuse hissed. "Most people think it's useless, because you can't really use it to kill anyone. I quite like it myself." He didn't need to kneel to be face-to-face with Andrew. He simply stood next to the man who was on his knees. "Now, tell me everything you know about this incident, or you're going to be covered in ugly scars for the rest of your life."

Andrew sobbed. He held his hands out in front of him. Scars of all shapes and sizes covered them, knotting and twisting together like tree roots. He tried to clench them, but couldn't; the scars prevented him from properly making a fist.

"Please, I only just got here."

Betelgeuse scoffed. "So did I. What do you know?"

"Someone attacked him before we arrived. I don't know who; they got away. And a shapeshifter came looking for McKinley not too long ago. His name was Quinn Harpington. That's all I know."

So Betelgeuse's suspicions were right. Quinn Harpington. He sneered. The witch-lover and the nightmare were working together. That was the last thing he needed. Of course, if the Gentlemen's Club did their job properly, there wouldn't be a problem.

"How do I find him?" Betelgeuse asked.

Andrew shook his head. "I don't know. Please." His hands reached out to Betelgeuse, who sidestepped them with ease. "I've told you everything I know."

"And I thank you for that."

"You said you'd fix me," Andrew weeped.

Betelgeuse bit his lip in mock thought. "No, I don't believe I did. I said you would stay like this if you didn't tell me. I never said anything about what would happen if you did."

"Please..."

"It's a becoming look for you, Andrew. I suggest next time you simply give me what I ask for."

He left Andrew laying there sobbing, and waddled off in search of Quinn Harpington.

Alice screamed. She was angry and upset and wanted out. Her chair was broken, shattered into pieces after a good half an hour of bashing it into the window. A drawer of her dresser had recently joined it. Her bedside lamp, alarm clock and the guitar she never learned to play were also unfortunate casualties. The window remained unharmed. She threw a pillow, just for good measure. It did nothing.

Her mother was somewhere in the house, ignoring her. She'd taken Alice's phone some time ago now. There was no one she could call, no one she could beg for help.

The news of her father's death was still trying to sink in. Her mother – no, Millie – had admitted to killing him, but Alice was still trying to come to terms with that. She wasn't sure if she believed it; maybe it was just some sick joke that Millie told her.

It was hard for her to imagine never seeing him again. Even if she'd never really gotten along with him, he was her father. Him yelling at her for ten consecutive minutes would be missed. His scowl and his stupid eyebrows. She'd miss all of that.

She was crying again, and angrily wiped the tears away. She didn't want any of this. Quinn and Hamish and the Council of Ten and Betelgeuse could all shove their magic where they would. And, sure, Alice wasn't the most well-behaved daughter in the world, but she could change that. She could be the daughter her parents so dearly wanted.

All she wanted was her family. Her father, grumpy and always working, and her mother, with her kind heart and bright smile. This woman, this monster, was not her mother.

There was a tap at her window.

An eagle was hovering, just outside, watching her with yellow eyes.

Alice wiped her eyes, staring curiously at the large bird. Was on earth was it doing? It tapped on the window again with its break, screeching.

Then it clicked.

"Quinn!"

She could almost see the flat look on Quinn's face as she rushed to the window. She smiled at him; she knew he would come. The smile was short-lived, however. "I can't get out," she told him, unsure if he would even hear her, or understand. She made a show of attempting to open the window, and gave it a kick to prove her point, jarring her leg in the process.

The eagle flew away, and Alice watched as it transformed back into Quinn, landing neatly next to a waiting Hamish. Alice's heart leapt; they were both coming for her!

The two spoke briefly, Hamish looking up and nodding to acknowledge Alice. She raised her hand, moving her fingers in a kind of half-wave, before letting it fall to her side as doubts began to rush through her. How were they going to get her out? Why was Hamish there? He didn't really seem to like her much.

The Clause came to mind. Were they going to kill her?

Alice berated herself for even thinking it. Quinn wouldn't do that to her. Her faith in Hamish was limited, but she trusted Quinn. She trusted his motives, and if they included Hamish, well, she trusted him as well.

When she glanced back out the window, they were gone. There was a knock at the front door. It wasn't a soft knock, either; it was the knock of someone who was coming in, one way or another.

Pressing her ear to the door, Alice listened for conversation, or even movement. She could hear nothing.

Then an explosion rocked the house. It was quickly followed by her mother's angry screams and Quinn's raised voice. There were bangs and crashes, yells and threats. Footsteps ascended the stairs, and Alice hurried away from the door.

Bursting into the house was a plan, but she seriously thought there could have been a better, easier, less conspicuous way.

A moment later there was another explosion, and a section of her wall shattered into a million pieces, the force of it knocking her over. Hamish stood in the hole, watching her.

"You..." Alice trailed off, staring at the gaping hole. "How did..?"

"Hurry up," Hamish snapped, glancing over his shoulder. "Your dear mother's going crazy."

"She killed my dad..." Alice breathed.

Hamish knelt next to her, his eyes softening. "We can worry about that later."

He helped her to her feet, and they were halfway down the stairs when Millie blocked their way. Hamish swore.

"Get away from her," Millie told him.

The walls seemed to be moving, shifting and rolling in on themselves. Then, Hamish flew into the wall, as though being pulled by an invisible rope. A gaping hole opened in the wall and it engulfed him, the wallpaper reaching out to itself, joining back together.

Alice gasped, stumbling back. She could hear Hamish cursing from inside the wall, banging to try and get out.

"Let's go, Alice." Millie raised her palm at the section of the wall where Hamish was. "These men are dead."

She sensed the magic before it even happened. "No!" Alice lunged, colliding with Millie. They tumbled down the stairs, Alice on top, trying to gain the upper hand.

The spell that was meant to tear Hamish and the wall into a thousand pieces missed, and the section of wall next to him exploded instead, sending wood and plaster flying.

Alice grabbed the sides of Millie's face, slamming her head into the ground. Millie raised her hand and flicked it to the right. Alice was thrown off her, slamming into the wall with enough force to send waves of pain through her body. She hit the ground with a thud.

Hamish emerged from the wall, slightly disgruntled, and used the distraction to summon a creature from the shadows. Millie scoffed at it.

"We're taking Alice," Hamish told her. "I'd prefer to do that without any bloodshed, but that's entirely up to you."

"You're not taking my daughter anywhere," Millie hissed. She went to attack him, but the shadow creature lunged, and she hurtled a knife at it. The knife went straight through.

Alice struggled to her feet. She watched as Millie fought with the shadow creature, throwing object after object at it, to no effect. Finally, she exploded it. The shadow expanded into a mushroom-like cloud, then sank back to the ground and slithered off to its right place.

A fireball hurtled through the air toward Millie and she ducked it, only to be knocked down by a mangy dog with a broken leg.

Hamish took the opportunity. He hauled Alice to her feet. "Let's go!" he yelled. His eyes were black – whites and all – and he looked terrified.

They skirted around Millie and the dog, down the hall and out the gaping hole in the kitchen wall where the fridge used to be.

"Where's Quinn?" Alice asked when they were a safe distance away. She looked around for him, but the street was empty. "Where did he go?"

Hamish rolled his shoulders back, cracking the bones in them as he grimaced. He cracked his neck, then his knuckles. His eyes were slowly changing back to normal. He ignored the question. "Come on."

He grabbed her by the arm and started pulling her away from the house, but Alice dug her heels firmly in the ground. "Where is he?"

"Take a guess."

From inside the house came a whimper of pain.

"He's the dog?"

Hamish shrugged as though it was no big deal. "It's not easy taking something from a witch. We needed to keep her busy so we could get you out."

"You used Quinn as a diversion?"

The Scot was unapologetic. "You're welcome, by the way."

Alice went to run back inside, but he held her firmly. "What do you think you're doing? If she catches you again, this was a waste of my time and Quinn's. I'm not going back in there."

"Then stay out here," Alice hissed. "I trust Quinn, not you." She ripped her arm from his grasp and ran back to find Quinn. She heard Hamish swear, but he didn't move an inch.

In the lounge, Millie was bearing down on a motionless Quinn, who was human again. A trickle of blood ran down his forehead and his leg was sticking out at a funny angle. Any furniture in the lounge room was completely obliterated.

"Leave him alone!" Alice screamed. She tried to reach for the hatred in her, to utilize it, but she couldn't quite harness it. She was defenceless.

Millie turned to her, shock plastered over her face. A knife hovered in the air, held up by Millie's hate.

"Alice... honey..."

"Don't call me that," Alice spat.

A wicked smile spread across Millie's face. "Why not? Because of what happened to your father? That's who we are, Alice. It's what we do. You can't escape it; you can only embrace it."

Alice shook her head defiantly. "Not me," she declared. "I won't be like that."

She didn't know if she could not be who she was supposed to be, but she was going to try. She would learn to heal people, not hurt them. No way was she going to end up like her mother.

"Fine," Millie snapped. "I can see my own daughter's been poisoned against me. These people will bring you nothing but trouble, cause you nothing but pain, Alice. They'll introduce you to monsters and expect you to fight alongside them before turning against you."

"I've already met a monster," Alice told her.

"Oh really? And just what did it look like?"

Alice's eyes narrowed to slits. "She walked on two legs, and called herself a mother even as she murdered her own husband."

Something in the air changed. Millie's top lip curled to reveal her teeth, and she took a step forward. "I did that for your own good!" she screeched. Something flew from her palm, rippling through the air. It hit Alice in the chest and sent her flying back into the floor lamp with a crash. Alice groaned.

"If you won't come with me, you can die with him!"

A sheen wrapped itself around Millie, like the one that had covered Alice's door earlier. It was an exact replica of her body, down to the last hair. Her eyes flashed. Then her body burst into flames.

A surprised scream left Alice's throat as the flames dances bright and hot. They leapt from Millie's body to the broken couch, catching on the floor and the closest walls. It was spreading faster than Alice could track, and the heat was like standing in a furnace.

Alice rushed over to Quinn, who was still unconscious. She shook him by the shoulders. "Quinn! Get up!"

The flames were closing in, and Alice gave Quinn a final shake before getting up and trying to drag him along the ground. He was too heavy for her, though, and she barely moved him an inch before collapsing to her knees.

It was hopeless. If Alice wanted to live, she would have to leave him there to burn. Would he really mind? He probably expected it anyway. That would have been his great plan. To get himself killed while trying to save a girl he barely knew.

Alice was halfway across the room when she stopped. Sweat ran down her face, and he skin was burning. Smoke was clogging her throat. She turned back to where Quinn's motionless body lay.

If he expected her to leave him there to die, it was only because she was a witch. Only because that's what a witch would do. And Alice wouldn't be that.

Smoke burned her eyes and choked her up, but Alice dropped to her knees and crawled back to Quinn. She slapped his face, trying to wake him up, then, failing that, grabbed his leg and tried to drag him. The flames were dangerously close now; Alice could feel them on her face.

She almost laughed at the situation; here she was, going to die trying to save Quinn, because she didn't want to be like all the other witches. She refused to turn into the person everyone said she would.

Tears pricked her eyes and she coughed violently until her head spun. Her vision faded in and out.

At least she would die with a clear conscience. When she arrived at the pearly gates of heaven, or wherever it was witches went, she could confidently say she died doing something good. Would that be enough to save her soul?

A hand touched her shoulder, gently pushing her away from Quinn. Without any visible effort, Hamish hauled Quinn up, slung his arm over his shoulders, and kicked Alice, indicating she needed to get up and get out, now.

Alice obliged. She stumbled, half blind, and found her way to the kitchen, where smoke was billowing out the hole in the wall. She tripped, but a strong arm caught her around the waist and guided her out of the house.

The fresh air was like a bucket of icy water to Alice's face. She breathed it in deeply, still coughing and spluttering. Hamish dumped Quinn on the road, setting Alice down with slightly more grace. He was covered in sweat and blood and smoke, and breathed heavily as he wiped his brow.

Wheezing, Alice fought to stay conscious. "You said you wouldn't come back in," she muttered.

The house was fully alight now, the street filling with people. It crackled merrily, the flames reaching high. Someone draped a blanket over Alice's shoulders, asking if she was alright and informing her the fire brigade was on the way, before melting back into the crowd.

"I'm not one to let a bonny girl burn alive," Hamish admitted, sending heat rushing to Alice's cheeks. He picked Quinn up again. "But I will leave you to the mercy of your neighbours."

"What am I supposed to say?" Alice asked. "My crazy witch mother set the place on fire?"

Hamish shrugged. "Tell them what you want. Just make sure it's not the truth."

Chapter Eleven

Reggie knew about the fire before anyone told him. He didn't know how, or why, he just knew. Maybe there was a sixth sense buried deep inside him. Maybe it was magic. Or maybe, because of everything that had happened in the past day or so, it just seemed logical. Whatever the reason, Reggie knew something was wrong.

And so, halfway through dinner with his mum and grandparents, he pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. His mum looked horrified, motioning for him to sit back down. His grandparents, old and deaf and blind, didn't even notice as he left the room without a word, hopped in his commodore, and sped off toward Alice's.

The smoke was tall and thick, and he could see it ages before he even turned into the street. There were several fire engines, police cars and an ambulance. The fire was still raging.

Reggie felt sick as he drove closer. What happened? Where was Alice?

A large crowd blocked the road, forcing Reggie to pull over and walk, pushing through them until he reached Alice's house. Or what was left of it. Only the frame and a few lucky walls stood.

He scanned the crowd, spotting Alice within seconds. She was deep in conversation with a police officer, her eyes red and swollen, tears coating her cheeks.

Reggie made his way to her, shoving indignant people out of his way. When she spotted him, she let out a squeal. "Reggie!"

She leapt into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. Reggie hugged her back. "What happened?" he murmured. "Are you alright?" Alice nodded into him.

Reggie ran his fingers through Alice's curls, holding her back a bit to make sure she wasn't hurt. When he was satisfied, he hugged her back to him. He eyed the disgruntled cop who obviously didn't think it was the time or place to be embracing someone. Reggie looked around. Where was her mum?

"Excuse me, Miss Rosny. I understand this is difficult for you, but I need to know what happened."

Alice glanced up at the officer from Reggie's arms. "I already told you; I don't remember. It just spread really fast."

"Witnesses have said a man pulled you out of the fire."

"I don't know who he was."

"They said he also pulled another man out."

"Maybe he was the one who started it."

The cop scowled. "I can't help you unless you tell me the truth," he said.

"I've told you everything I know."

It was clear he didn't believe a word Alice was saying, but he kept silent as he walked over to his car and pulled out his radio.

"What happened?" Reggie asked when he was gone.

Alice continued to watch the officer, making sure his back was turned. "I want to go."

"But-"

"Now. Before he comes back."

Reggie only hesitated for a moment. Then he tightened his grip around her and guided her back through the crowd. They reached his car and were off before anyone could stop them.

Reggie glanced over at Alice. "Where are we going?"

Alice sunk low into the seat. "Quinn's," she told him.

Reggie nodded and changed course accordingly. "The fire..?"

"It was Millie."

"Millie? Wait... your mum?"

Alice hissed. "My mum would never do that.

"I thought Millie was your mum?"

Groaning, Alice gave him a look.

"Oh... Right. I get it now."

They fell silent. Reggie pulled out a packet of smokes and offered one to Alice. She gratefully took one. Before long, the car was full of smoke.

Reggie was lost in thought. Millie was always a nice woman. Why on earth would she set her own house on fire? Unless...

"She's a witch."

Alice nodded. "Yeah."

"Damn."

They fell silent as Reggie drove through the suburbs.

"How did you find out?" Alice asked a few minutes later as they pulled into Quinn's driveway.

Reggie lifted his shoulder and dropped it again in a kind of half-shrug. "I don't know. I just knew, so I came. Sounds stupid, doesn't it?"

They both got out of the car, and Alice tried her best to smile at him. "Stupid? In a world full of magic?"

"Yeah, good point."

Alice knocked on the door, and it was answered by Hamish. His eyes lingered on Reggie for a while, annoyance flashing in them, but he let both of them in. "He's not awake yet."

"That's okay. I can wait. It's not exactly like I have anywhere else to go," Alice replied.

Quinn had been roughly dumped on the couch, his wrist wrapped in enough bandages to cover Alice's whole body. She glanced at Hamish, who was standing in the doorway, arms folded over his chest, watching her closely. "Your handiwork?"

He shrugged self-consciously. "Josef wouldn't help us, and I'm not exactly a lover."

"What's your emotion?"

Hamish didn't answer right away. He readjusted his weight uncomfortably, as though it wasn't a subject he wanted to talk about. The necklace that had once belonged to Alice was barely visible at his neck, shrouded by his grey sweater. "Fear," he finally told her.

"Is it very powerful?" Reggie asked, curiosity betraying him.

The look on Hamish's face was murderous. "Keep asking stupid questions and maybe you'll find out."

There was a mischievous grin on Reggie's face. "If you use fear to do magic, that basically means you're a coward, doesn't it?"

"A coward?" Hamish seethed.

Reggie smirked. "A big word for you, isn't it? I suppose, you don't have to be particularly intelligent to run a bar."

"Guys, that's enough," Alice told them. She didn't want to have to pick a side, or break up a fight.

They ignored her.

"Intelligent's a big word for a burger flipper. You're over-qualified, boy."

"I guess that makes two of us."

"Don't lump me in with you; I own my establishment," Hamish snapped. "Nothing I own is stolen."

Reggie sneered. He would have spat at Hamish's feet if he wasn't in Quinn's house. "Say that again, and I'll steal a few years from you."

Hamish laughed. "If you can hit me, even once, I might consider apologising."

"We really don't want that," Alice piped.

The two boys glared at each other. Reggie threw his fist at Hamish's face, but the Scot grabbed his wrist and threw him to the ground with ease.

"Stop it!"

From the ground, Reggie let out a war cry, leapt to his feet and tried again. Hamish caught his fist, kneed him in the stomach and threw him down a second time. The Scot didn't even look as though he was trying.

"This isn't the human world, boy. There's not one person in my world who's weaker than you are. You should go home before you get yourself killed," Hamish told him.

"Don't call me boy," Reggie spat.

"Then don't call me a coward."

Reggie jumped to his feet, ready for another go. Hamish looked bored, sighing. The slightest look of uncertainty crossed his Reggie's face, then he made a move. The Scot readied himself, but Alice stepped between the two, placed a hand on their chests and pushed them away from each other with as much force as she could.

"Enough!" she screamed.

Amazingly, impossibly, they listened. Reggie grumbled, Hamish said something in Gaelic, and from the couch, Quinn stirred with a groan. His dark eyes went from Hamish to Reggie, before falling on her.

"Have I missed something?" he asked, running a hand over his head.

"Only the battle of testosterone," Alice assured him.

Quinn chuckled as he sat up. "What a shame. I know I would have won." He frowned, trying to remember what happened. "How's your house?" he queried.

"Burnt to a crisp."

"Wonderful. And your mother?"

"I don't know," Alice admitted. "She was in the house, she set herself on fire."

"She'd not dead."

They all turned to Hamish, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

"What do you mean?" Alice asked.

"She sealed herself before starting the fire. There's no way it would have killed her," he explained.

Alice dropped her head. "So she's still out there?"

"Aye. She is."

Alice listened quietly, trying to ward off thoughts of her mother and father and everything else that had happened, as Quinn, Hamish and Reggie moved onto a discussion about cars and, more specifically, which four wheeled vehicle was the absolute best.

According to Reggie, you would never find a car as perfect as his custom-built, self-painted commodore. It was also – as Hamish cheerfully pointed out – the only thing Reggie owned that he actually paid for.

Quinn insisted his Porsche, with is green and yellow exterior, was ten times the car Reggie's was, and Hamish disagreed again.

For her part, Alice thought they were all mad – they were cars. Nothing more, nothing less. She was holding her tongue, though, because the first time she'd mentioned they were 'just cars' she thought at least one of them would murder her, if not all.

She left them to argue and set about wandering Quinn's house, trying to find anything distinctly magical. For a magical person, however, everything appeared disappointingly normal. There was even an average, made-for-humans vacuum cleaner that looked as though it had run its course.

Disheartened, Alice wandered through the hall, room for room, until she came into the room at the end of the hall. It was apparent the room hadn't been used in a long while.

There were several bookshelves, bursting with books. A desk under the window sported a mess of faded paper, what appeared to be a miniature sundial and a bare necklace stand. There was a two-person couch and cushy chair pushed up against the opposite wall, and an intricately patterned rug in the centre of the room.

A thick layer of dust covered everything. It swirled visibly through the air, threatening to make Alice sneeze. The open curtains were faded, mould creeping up from the bottom. As Alice ran her finger across the book spines, she struggled to read the titles.

She stopped at a book, catching sight of the title. It was bluntly named. 'How to Love; A Witches Guide'. Curious, Alice pulled it out and flipped it open to a random page, expecting to find some soppy romance story.

Instead, she found spells. One per page, with an intricate list of ingredients. It was, to say the least, exactly how Alice expected witches to act. With recipes and ingredients, cackling over a cauldron as they made a potion that turned people into toads.

Alice almost shoved the book in her jacket and took it with her. It might come in handy at some point. Quinn wouldn't miss it, and even if he did, what did she care? He'd get over it. Why did he need a witch's book, anyway?

She hesitated. There was a reason the room hadn't been entered in a while. Was it sacred, or cursed? Or both? It might have been something different altogether. She gave a book a final longing glance, then replaced it and went back down to the living room, where the three men were still arguing.

As she sat down, she caught Hamish's eye. He gave her a knowing look. He knew exactly what that room was, knew she almost stole the book. Suddenly ashamed, she dropped her head. Quinn had done nothing but help her, even given her a place to stay, and she almost stole from him.

"What do you think, Alice?"

Alice blinked. Quinn and Reggie were both staring expectantly at her.

"Um... About what?"

"Whose car is better? Mine or his?" Reggie asked, pointing at Quinn.

It wasn't a question Alive wanted to answer. But she did. "I think they're the two ugliest cars that were ever on this earth," she told them.

Both men looked unforgivably insulted. Hamish, on the other hand, laughed. It was a sound Alice wished she could hear every day, at least once. He definitely didn't laugh often enough.

"At least someone other than me has good taste."

Quinn scowled. "There's nothing wrong with my car."

"Or mine," Reggie added defiantly.

"Well, when you consider it doesn't even start," Hamish mused.

"It does start!" Reggie protested.

The Scot shook his head. The amusement was gone from his face. "Not anymore." He gave Quinn a look, and then both men were on their feet, alert.

"What is it?" Alice asked, alarmed. She glanced at Reggie, but he was just as confused.

Quinn grabbed Reggie roughly by the shoulder and shoved him towards the door. "Up the stairs. Alice," he motioned for her to go as well.

She trailed after him, nervous. "What's wrong?"

There was a smash from the living room, and Alice jumped. Quinn grabbed her by the arm and pushed her to the stairs. "Go," he commanded. "Now!"

Reggie was already halfway up the stairs. Alice bolted after him, Quinn a few steps behind. The thump of a body came from the living room. Alice hoped it wasn't Hamish.

The three of them made it to the second floor landing, but there was somebody already waiting.

Too late Hamish cried a warning. The man down the hall raised a glowing palm. His eyes were fixed on Alice.

Light shot out, and an invisible force threw Alice and Reggie out of the way. The ball of light barely missed them.

An eagle that was too large for the hall flew past, gouging at the man's face with its sharp talons. He swiped at it, missed, then shot an icy spike, which lodged into the eagle's wing and shot it into the ceiling. The eagle began shifting and changing, shattering the icicle. In its place, a disgruntled Quinn thumped feet-first to the floor, landing neatly and rubbing his bleeding arm. His broken leg barely seemed to bother him.

"Save yourself the pain, Quinn," the man snarled. "We don't want you."

Reggie growled. He'd crawled over to Alice, trying to usher her down the stairs. She batted him away. "What do you want with me?" she asked.

The man set his sight on her. "We want you dead," he said simply. "As per our contract. One way or another, you will die. Along with anyone else who gets in the way."

Alice almost sighed. Betelgeuse really, really wanted her dead. What had she done that was so bad? Besides existing, of course. Apparently that in itself warranted attempted murders.

Before anyone was able to resister it, Reggie launched himself at the man, pulling a blade from its sheath. Alice didn't have time to wonder where it had come from. He swung the blade clumsily, slicing through shirt and skin as the man failed to get away in time.

Beside Alice, Quinn swore. He made to move, but was forced back by a large wall of ice that appeared from thin air. They could see the distorted image of Reggie and the man through the ice, Reggie swinging the blade left and right, and the man ducking and dodging and tying not to get hit. He moved his arm sharply to the left, and Reggie was thrown into the wall. A barrage of hailstones assaulted him.

"Reggie!" Alice made to move forward, but Quinn caught her around the waist and threw her back down. "Stay here," he said.

A bright light shot from his palm, melting a large hole through the ice. He formed another healthy sized one as he stared the man down. "Tell Nikolai to give this one up," he insisted.

The man shook his head. "We've been paid well to kill the Red Witch. Too well to give up."

Alice shrank into the shadows. Red Witch? Why was he calling her that? Why did Betelgeuse want her dead so badly? It occurred to her that Hamish would know the reason why. On the same token, however, if he was going to tell her, he would have already done so. Unless he wanted something for the information.

"If you're not going to give up, I'll just have to kill you as well," Quinn replied. He flung the light.

It was met in midair by a stream of ice, sending sparks and shards of ice flying. Quinn shot another ball of light, then leapt, transforming in midair. The light missed, but the wolf collided with the man, snarling, and they tumbled to the ground. Quinn the wolf wasted no time in clamping his jaws around the man's neck, sinking his teeth deep into the exposed flesh.

There was a crack, followed by a horrible wet choking sound. Blood spurted from the teeth pricks in the man's neck, spraying Quinn's muzzle and face. He jerked around, trying to throw Quinn off, then he fell still. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the body burst into flames and turned to ash in a blink.

Reggie stared on in horror as Quinn changed back, wiping his bloody face with his sleeve. Alice was caught between awe and disgust.

There were footsteps and Hamish appeared. One of his eyes was turning a brilliant shade of purple, and there was a small cut on his face. He glared exclusively at Reggie.

"Obviously," he began, prying the blade from Reggie's hands. "You're a lot more stupid than you look."

"I was wondering what orifice he pulled that from," Quinn piped up, still wiping blood from his face. He knelt down next to the ash pile, rifling through the pockets of the clothes left behind.

Reggie was defiant. "I wasn't exactly going to fight him with my hands," he snapped.

"Of course not. So you just take my blade, and I have to fight with my hands."

"The last time I noticed, you had magic on your side," Reggie countered. He got to his feet, wiping the ice off his shirt.

"You shouldn't even be here," Hamish snapped. "You're useless, you can't do magic, and you're more likely to get us all killed than you are to save any one of us."

"Really guys, just stop it," Alice told them. "It's done. And none of us are dead."

No thanks to her, she thought. It wouldn't be Reggie that got them all killed, it would be her. She didn't want their deaths on her hands. She didn't want anyone's death on her hands. But then, it was too late for her father, too late for this man and the one that burst into her room. After all, they were just doing their jobs, right?

"And for that, we're lucky," Quinn said. He, too, was glaring hotly at Reggie. "Don't try anything stupid like that again."

"Oh, so you're allowed to be the hero, but I have to sit back and watch, right?" Reggie snapped. "I was there for her long before either of you two! You think you can just show up with your magic tricks and that's that? If you think I'll just leave her with you then you're seriously delusional."

"You are going to die, boy," Hamish seethed. "We don't need you, and neither does Alice."

That was the final straw for Reggie. He yelled and launched himself at Hamish, knocking the shocked Scot to the ground. The blade went flying, and landed next to Alice. Hamish threw Reggie off, and they both got to their feet, ready to strike.

Quinn went to step in, but Alice put both palms on his chest and roughly shoved him back. He wasn't getting involved in this one. Reggie was here because of her, and she was going to settle this, one way or another.

She picked the blade up. For someone who couldn't steal to save her life, she possessed an impeccable aim. She hurled the blade through the air and with a thud it buried itself deep into the wall, cutting the air between Hamish and Reggie.

Both of them froze.

"That. Is. Enough!" Alice screamed.

The three men were staring at her in complete and utter shock. Even Hamish, who would know just how excellent her aim was, couldn't seem to find any words. The blade was mere centimetres away from his face.

"Reggie's here because I need him here, because I want him here and because I trust him more than I trust either of you. I didn't ask either of you to help me, so if you don't want to die, then go!"

She was vaguely aware that her and Reggie would probably have to be the ones who left, but neither Quinn nor Hamish moved. She glanced from one to the other.

"I didn't ask for any of this," she told them. "I don't need you lot fighting, too."

"None of us want this," Hamish assured her, his eyes dark. "But the fact of the matter is this idiot is going to get himself killed. And us too if he doesn't pull his head out."

Wrenching his blade out of the wall, Hamish threw Reggie one last dirty look before he thundered back down the stairs. Quinn followed after him, not looking at anyone. "Figure something out," he told Alice.

Elise Fairbourne leaned against the stone wall of her cell. She sighed heavily. How anyone could have such rotten luck was beyond her, but here she was, in gaol for bootlegging. Again.

The Colosseum wasn't a particularly horrible place to spend her time – she was, after all, fed three times a day – but that didn't help to blunt her desire to be anywhere else.

In the cell next to her, a woman hissed. "Oi. You're the bootlegger, yeah?"

The bootlegger. That's all she was these days. As far as Elise was concerned, the duplication and replication of things was nothing less than an art. It took years of persistence and failed attempts for her to get where she was today. Of course, the Council of Ten didn't see it that way.

She scrambled to the wall, pressing up against it. "Yes. Why?"

A slight hesitation. "You got the new Clause, right?" the voice asked.

"I'm not a witch!" Elise snapped, a little louder than she intended.

"No, no; that's not what I meant. It's just... I am."

The two women shared a moment of silence. "I'm sorry," Elise told her. And she was.

She didn't know how or why this Clause came into place, but she knew it was wrong. And she knew it was going to do more bad than good if it wasn't rectified soon. Elise knew her fair share of witches – or witches who would get as good as they could, anyway – but she also knew her fair share of the bad ones. They were not a force to be trifled. And the ones that survived this purge would not soon forget it.

The witch was speaking again, her voice desperate. "I don't want you to feel sorry for me."

"What do you want?"

"My life. I don't want to die."

Elise dipped her head. Life. What was life to her, when she created it so freely out of clay and paint and magic? Why should she care about the death of one, when plenty others died every day? Why was it her heart went out to this witch, who she didn't know, and probably never would?

"I can't help you," Elise said. The words burned her throat.

"But you can!" the woman pleaded. "Make a copy of me. Please help me!" She was sobbing now, and Elise felt a pang of guilt, even though she'd done nothing wrong.

"I don't have the clay," Elise told her. "Or the paint, or the magic. I can't do anything in here." As much as it pained her, it was true; her skills were useless in here.

The woman didn't answer. Elise could hear her bawling, chanting in a language she didn't know, praying for her life.

From a few stories up, there was a commotion. One of the guards was opening a cell. Elise couldn't see him, but she could hear everything. The whole gaol could hear it.

"Prisoner 1547D. You're accused of witchcraft. We all know what that means."

There was a scream. "No! I have rights! I demand a trial!"

"You have no rights," the guard spat. "Not anymore. And this is your trial."

He laughed, and the next moment a woman flew past Elise's window, hurtling through toward the ground as she screamed. She stopped in midair, inches before she hit the ground, and two more guards marched up to her, pulled her to her feet and dragged her onto a platform.

Colton Gaol was nicknamed the Colosseum because it was shaped like one; there were ten stories, each accommodating up to 5000 prisoners. Three of the four walls in each cell was thick cement, infused with magic and curses; the fourth was made up of bars, and it faced the round courtyard, where they ate, exercised, and occasionally witnessed an execution. Despite its size and the distance, Elise could clearly see the courtyard.

Fifty-thousand or so prisoners now crowded to the bars of their cells, watching as the wailing woman was tied to a stake. Four more guards arrived carrying stacks of wood. They arranged them carefully at her feet. A fifth soaked the wood in oil.

From somewhere in the gaol a prisoner spoke. "Burn her!" he screamed. "Burn."

One of the guards stepped onto the platform, a burning torch in his hand. "If you're a witch, don't think you won't end up here," he bellowed, his accent thick. "If your friend is a witch, and you protect her, or help her, or forget to tell us where she is, don't think you won't end up here."

"Burn. Burn." Several voices joined the first. One of them banged against the bars of his cell to help keep a rhythm.

"If we suspect you're aiding a witch, and you fight us, don't think you won't end up here."

"Burn. Burn. Burn."

The guard took a step closer to the screaming woman, the torch in his hand burning brightly. Around him, the chanting grew louder and louder, until the majority of the prisoners were chanting and banging their feet against the bars.

"Burn. Burn. Burn."

Elise didn't join in the chanting, but she didn't move away from the bars, either. Like everyone else, she watched as the guard lowered the torch, and the oiled wood went up with a whoosh. She couldn't help but watch.

The witched screamed louder, fighting against the chains that were holding her. She writhed and shrieked as the flames licked her body, melting the skin off like wax.

Still, the inmates chanted. The woman's screams rose in the air with the thick black smoke, ringing in Elise's ears and steadily growing.

In the cell next to her, the woman was crying. Elise could only just head it over the chanting and wailing and roar of the fire. Then, quite suddenly, it stopped.

Somehow, despite having no proof, Elise knew she was dead. Killed herself before the guards could haul her out into the round courtyard and burn her alive while the inmates chanted. She felt guilty, even though she'd done no wrong. How many more would take their own lives? How many would stand and fight? There were more than a few witches in the Colosseum.

Down in the fire, the witch's screams faltered, and the inmates who had been silent until now began to yell.

Chapter Twelve

"You want me to what?"

Quinn sat opposite her, his back straight and his clasped hands folded in his lap. His face was deadly serious. Hamish was standing, his body tensed, but his face calm as still water. Beside her, Reggie picked at the dirt underneath his nails, sulking and keeping quiet.

There was still some tension in the air from the previous day's argument but, for the most part, the three men had managed to settle their differences. They hadn't acted out, at any stage.

"We need her. Anyway, it'll be easy enough," Quinn told them.

"Ehm, not so much," Hamish corrected. "Elise Fairbourne is in gaol."

It was just getting better and better. As though kidnapping wasn't difficult enough, now the person they were kidnapping was locked away.

Quinn appeared surprised. "What's she doing in there?"

"She's in there because you told Robert Karson that she was bootlegging dragons."

"Well she was!"

"This is your fault," Alice snapped.

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Enough!" The room darkened, as the lights dimmed, and horrible monsters formed in the shadows, before Hamish regained his focus, and the room returned to normal.

Alice stared at him. What was he afraid of?

"I don't see what the problem is," Quinn admitted, when they were all calm. "You're a thief..."

"And I'm terrible at it!"

"...and so is Reggie," Quinn finished, as though that would be the end of it.

"It's not stealing if it's a person," Reggie piped up, speaking for the first time. "It's called kidnapping, and it's illegal. And I don't see why I would do anything for you."

"Reggie..." Alice warned.

"Stealing is illegal," Hamish snapped.

"Well kidnapping is more illegal."

"Don't forget you'll be breaking and entering, aiding and abetting, resisting arrest and possibly assaulting," Quinn cheerfully reminded them. He seemed to be at peace with the fact that the two of them might die. Especially Reggie.

Alice glared at him. Like she needed reminding. "I'm not doing it," she said. "If you want it done, you can do it yourself."

"That's not a good idea," Hamish told her. "She doesn't like Quinn, and I'm not exactly the most trustworthy person in the world."

"But you expect us to trust you?"

"Aye."

Alice looked to Quinn for help, but he just shrugged. "We need her."

"For what?"

"A favour."

"What favour?"

"Well, we don't need a favour yet. But we might one day. And that's why we need her now."

Reggie was frowning to himself, mumbling under his breath. "So this... Colosseum place is a prison?"

"Aye," Hamish answered curtly.

"And the woman you want us to break out of prison is in there because you ratted her out for pirating?" Reggie stared pointedly at Quinn, who appeared at a loss.

"She's not a pirate, Reggie, she's a bootlegger. And I didn't 'rat her out', I informed the Council of Ten that she was doing something that happened to be in direct violation of at least thirty Clauses," he stressed.

Reggie's face fell flat, and he sighed. "You dobbed her in to the cops."

"Never mind any of that." Alice scowled at the two. "If I decide that maybe, possibly, I'll do this, and Reggie decides that maybe, possibly, he'll help, there's still the problem that you want us to break into a magical prison that holds 50,000 magical prisoners. Reggie doesn't even have a pinch of magic in him. And I'm a witch!"

"Ah, you'll be fine."

"We're children!"

Quinn was unfazed. "We need her."

"Well maybe you should have thought about that before you sold her out to the cops," Reggie growled.

"Elise Fairbourne is the best bootlegger ever known."

"Are we going to need dragons, or something?" Alice asked sarcastically.

From the corner of the room, Hamish stirred. "Are you going to do it, or not?" he asked, bored.

Sighing, Alice glanced at Reggie. She fought to resist telling Hamish that yes, she would do it because he asked so kindly, and because he was so irresistibly good-looking.

"Or are you too scared?" Hamish finished, his blue eyes fix on Reggie.

And that pretty much settled it.

A muscle in Reggie's jaw twitched. "You wish," he spat. "When are we leaving?"

"Reggie!" Alice cried.

"Alice?" Quinn asked. He was watching her. They all were. Hamish raised his eyebrows ever-so-slightly, and his eyes twinkled, as though he knew what she was thinking. Maybe he did. Finally, she caved.

She ground her teeth together. "Fine," she agreed. "But when I die, you'll be the first person I haunt."

There was something about causing others pain that Betelgeuse enjoyed. He didn't really know why, or what, but it was something. Maybe it was the thought of them suffering, and not him for once. Some unconscious part of him wanted others to understand what it was like to be ridiculed and hurt even though they'd done nothing to deserve it in the first place.

Betelgeuse didn't know, and he didn't care. Right now the only thing that mattered was pain. Not his pain of course. But someone's.

He waddled through the manor, one room at a time, looking for someone to torture. His maid was an ugly girl, with a spotty face and too much hair in the wrong places. She was nice enough, though, and he had a bit of sympathy for her, so he let her be.

His butler was no good; the man was so old a gust of wind would probably finish him off and he was an exceptional butler. In the paddocks were several hundred corpses, but they didn't even register pain these days.

They were just that at the moment – corpses – but Betelgeuse only needed to click his fingers and they would come to life. He didn't need them alive yet, so he didn't click his fingers.

The cooks were always good to him – they hadn't poisoned him, after all, and his chauffeur wouldn't be driving him anywhere dead.

So Betelgeuse left them all to their jobs and went to the basement, where Sacrim, the Mistress of the Dead, was shackled to the wall. She hung limply in her chains, unconscious. Her knees touched the floor so that she was more Betelgeuse's height.

Tall and thin, Sacrim was once a beautiful woman. That was before her husband died, and she fell into despair. She started using sad magic, practising when she was at her lowest. After a while she became known as the Mistress of the Dead, unable to let go of her life, but unwilling to let her husband truly pass. The rumour went she was trying to find a way to bring him back.

Betelgeuse had assumed she would be the one who came for him, seeing as she was more in touch with the dead than anyone else, and he was the one taking them. He was rarely wrong.

"Sacrim."

The woman stirred. She raised her head, weary and tired. Her pale face was made paler by the dark rings that circled her grey eyes. They were shadows from lack of sleep, or bruises, or both.

"You're awake. Wonderful. I'd like to ask you some questions."

Sacrim spat at him with what energy she had left. "I'll tell you nothing."

"That's just fine by me. More fun," he replied.

Betelgeuse placed his palm flat on Sacrim's face. He felt the jealousy churning in him. He directed the energy to his palm, and it heated up. The sensation was pleasantly warm to him, but Sacrim began to moan as it burned her skin. She tried to turn her head, but Betelgeuse held his palm firmly in place.

When he removed his hand, an angry red welt the exact shape of it was plastered on her face. Her skin was peeling, and small beads of blood were beginning to form where the skin had split. Sacrim grimaced in pain, but that only made it worse.

"How is Wilson these days?" Betelgeuse asked when he was satisfied she was in a considerable amount of pain.

Sacrim didn't answer. She was clenching her teeth, holding back a scream as more and more layers of skin peeled off from the unwavering heat. Blood was welling in the bottom of the handprint, dripping out where it overflowed. It looked as though the handprint was crying.

"More importantly, where is he?" Betelgeuse pressed.

Still no answer. Sacrim was being insufferably stubborn.

Betelgeuse sighed. He took a step back. "It must be annoying, kneeling down all day," he noted. "Let's get you on your feet."

He focused his attention on the bones in her legs. The names, the shapes. Where they were and where he wanted them to be. With his right hand, he pushed up.

Amid the snapping of bones, Sacrim screamed. The lower part of her left leg was receding into her thigh. The knee caved, folding in on itself as her calf was swallowed up by her upper leg. Soon, all that was visible of her lower leg was her foot and ankle. The rest was tucked up inside her now bloated thigh, which looked like a pair of wide trousers.

Sweat rolled down Sacrim's face as she whimpered. She was, if possible, even paler than she had been before. The circles under her eyes were like black on white. Her breath came out in gasps.

Betelgeuse admired his handiwork, though he could feel the strain of the magic; his breathing was becoming laboured. "You're barely any taller than me, now," he told her, smiling. "We just need to fix the other leg." He extended his hand.

"No! Please," Sacrim begged. "Please..."

Betelgeuse froze, his hand wavering in midair. "Tell me where Wilson is. That witchlover is more than I can handle. He's probably got them flocking from all corners of the earth," Betelgeuse snapped.

Slowly, painfully, Sacrim shook her head. "He doesn't have any," she told him. "The witches... they're not..." she coughed, gagged, and vomited bile on the ground. Betelgeuse scoffed in disgust. "They're not coming."

"What do you mean they're not coming? I bet the moment that Clause was passed, he made some sort of bargain with them. He gives them safety, they give him loyalty, right?"

Sacrim nodded weakly.

"So why aren't they flocking?"

Very slowly, Sacrim's head moved from side to side. Betelgeuse couldn't tell if she was shaking her head, or if it was just swaying.

"I don't know," the woman told him, tears rolling down her face. Please... I don't... know..."

For a moment more, Betelgeuse watched. She didn't seem to be in a state where she could successfully lie, however, so he took her word for it. Even if it didn't help him in the least. In fact, it was one more thing he needed to worry about. If the witches weren't allying with Wilson, what was?

"So you don't know where the witches are. That's fine; I believe you. But you do know where Wilson is."

With the last of her energy, Sacrim worked up a mouthful of saliva. She spat at Betelgeuse, hitting him on his shirt.

He wiped it off. "I guess I'll be fixing that other leg after all."

"Right," Quinn chirped, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. "When you get in there, what's the first thing you do?"

A cigarette hung from his mouth, burning brightly. He was looking incredibly cheerful for someone who was about to send two children to their almost-certain deaths.

"Don't get killed?" Reggie asked.

"Or caught," Alice suggested.

"Or arrested," Reggie added.

Quinn considered all three suggestions. "Yeah, pretty much. Ah, anything else..?" He glanced up at Hamish.

"Aye. It'll be easy getting in. The magic used to protect the place means they don't have too many guards. Getting out is the problem. The place is surrounded by barriers that remove magic; not even the guards can use it. That means they won't know you're a witch, and they won't know he's human. But it also means they'll know about it the second you break her out. They'll know where you are, and they'll flock to you."

"Great," Alice muttered.

"If you can get out of the gaol, they won't chase you any further," Hamish added.

Reggie raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean 'if'? You're pretty cocky for a man who isn't about to risk life and limb for some bootlegger woman."

"Why won't they chase us?" Alice asked, wanting to avoid another argument.

Hamish was glowering at Reggie, but he still answered. "Because it's not their job." He turned to look at her. "Their job description is to mind the prisoners inside the gaol. The moment a prisoner leaves, he's CEF's problem. And, because the gaol refuses to acknowledge a breakout as a breakout until the prisoner has actually left the Colosseum, they won't automatically inform them."

Reggie blinked. "What's the CEF?"

"Clause Enforcement Force," Hamish explained.

"Also known as the Inutile," Quinn added, blowing a mouthful of smoke out.

Hamish nodded. "Aye, because they're bloody useless."

"So pretty much, we're safe when we get out of the Colosseum," Reggie translated.

"Probably."

"In theory."

"We're just assuming here," Quinn said. "So you'll probably die." He stretched and yawned. "Just make sure you get Elise out before that."

Quinn butted the stub of his smoke out in the ashtray next to him, and promptly lit up another one.

"Where is this place, anyway?" Reggie asked.

The two men didn't seem to hear him. Hamish was busying himself with cleaning his precious blade, and Quinn made a show of clearing his throat. Reggie and Alice glanced at each other doubtfully.

Alice spoke up. "Well?"

"It's in, uh, Japan," Quinn mumbled.

Alice's mouth fell open. There was no way she'd heard him right, because she could have sworn he said Japan. How on earth were they supposed to get to Japan? She didn't even have a passport.

"I'm sorry; did you just say it was in Japan?" she asked.

"Yes. Sort of. Technically, it's under Japan."

Reggie whistled low. "An underground gaol. Cool."

"Not cool," Alice corrected. "And in any case, how are we supposed to get to Japan?"

Quinn and Hamish shared a grin. An evil kind of grin that made Alice regret ever meeting either of them. "Well," Hamish began. "We have just the thing for that."

In twenty years time, Alice would still have trouble believing in magic. Especially considering her and Reggie used what looked suspiciously like an Abacus to get to Japan.

One moment, she was standing in Quinn's living room like an idiot, holding onto an end of the tool. Then, quite suddenly, her and Reggie were in the middle of Tokyo, still holding onto the tool like idiots, while people parted around them and pretended they were part of the scenery.

Alice tucked the Abacus into her backpack, nervously looking around. Hamish told them to find a store called Koruton Shoppu, which was Japanese for Colton Shop. According to his calculations, they should have landed right next to it. The store next to her, however, was not Koruton Shoppu.

All around them were stores, labelled in writing Alice didn't understand, and translated in words that didn't help much. None of them said Koruton Shoppu.

"Where are we?" Reggie asked.

Alice shrugged. "We should ask someone for help," she suggested, glancing at the people passing them.

"In English?"

"It's worth a try."

Reggie stepped away from her, and gave her a look that said 'go on, then'.

Biting her lip, Alice pulled a young woman up. "Um, excuse me. We're looking for the Koruton Shoppu."

The woman gave her a funny look. "Nani? Wakarimasen."

"Oh... You don't speak English."

"Nihon-go o hanashimasu ka?" the woman asked.

"Uh..." Alice trailed off.

Reggie grabbed Alice by the arm and started dragging her away. "Never mind. Thanks though," he hollered. "Guten tag!"

The woman was still speaking to them in Japanese, unaware they were gone.

"This is Japan, Alice. We can't expect everyone to speak English."

"We can't expect them to speak German, either."

Reggie rolled his eyes. He lit up a cigarette. "What was that place called again?" he asked.

"Koruton Shoppu," Alice told him.

"Well, what does it look like then?"

"How should I know?"

They walked along the footpath, checking the names of the shops they passed. None of them were the right one.

"It's a bit strange, don't you think?" he asked.

Alice smiled at a passing woman, nodding her head as the woman gave her a slight bow. "What is?" she asked.

"Well, an underground prison, for a start. But then there's the fact that the entrance is in the middle of Tokyo. I mean, that's a tad ridiculous, even for magic."

"Don't complain to me about it. I didn't put it here," Alice grumbled. She stopped, and Reggie almost walked into her. "There it is."

Alice was originally expecting a large building with thick, armoured doors and a pair of guards every few feet. Instead, she was faced with a shabby little store jammed in between MacDonald's and a high-end clothes store, with filthy windows and a door that was almost falling off its hinges. In rusty iron letters it read 'Koruton Shoppu'. Next to that, running vertically, were several Japanese symbols.

Reggie glanced sceptically at the store. "This is it?" he doubtfully asked.

"This is it."

"This is the grand entrance to the gaol where fifty thousand of the world's most dangerous magical criminals are kept?"

"Yep."

They glanced at each other doubtfully, then entered the store.

The inside was much like the outside; shabby, squishy, and nothing like Alice expected. A short, fat man stood behind the counter. He was almost bald, apart from the horseshoe ring of hair that circled the back and sides of his head. He glared up when they entered, as though he didn't actually want customers.

"Irasshaimase," he greeted mechanically.

"Erm... hi," Alice said.

"Oh, English," the man replied, just as unenthusiastically. "What do you want?"

Alice's eyebrow shot into the air. For a worker, he was quite rude. She glanced around for some indication of a gaol. "What do you actually sell here?" she asked. Was there a magic word or something? A magical handshake?

"Clocks."

In the whole store, there wasn't a single clock. The man didn't even have a wristwatch. He eyed the two suspiciously.

"Right... well, we've obviously come to the wrong place." Alice grabbed Reggie's arm to leave.

"What are you looking for?"

"The Colosseum," Reggie told him.

The man's face broke into a grin. It was a weary, but genuine smile. "Ah, why didn't you say so? Come! It's this way! I haven't had visitors like you in ages," he explained. "You know, 'magical' people." He tapped his nose mysteriously and winked.

He led them through a door at the back of the store, and directed them to a set of stairs. Alice, who had a fleeting image of the last time she descended a set of stairs into the magical world, let Reggie go first.

The foyer of the gaol wasn't any more guarded than the store. Two men sat in what looked like a giant telephone booth, with a desk attached to one side. One of the men was asleep, and the other was too busy reading a magazine to notice them. He didn't even glance up when Reggie jumped up and down and waved his arms.

"This is gonna be easy," Reggie said.

They kept walking down the hall. The hall itself was one continuous circle, and it went around the whole building. The prisoner's cells were on the inside of it, and all the other rooms were on the outside. It was the same for each level.

"How do we know which cell this Elise woman's in?" Reggie asked.

"They'd have it written down somewhere," Alice replied.

As they walked around the hall, Alice became more and more aware of just how few guards there were. Besides the two in the foyer, they hadn't come across any. It both relieved and unnerved her at the same time.

If they weren't patrolling the gaol, where were they all? What were they doing that was more important than making sure none of the prisoners escaped? Or were they everywhere, and Alice just couldn't see them? They probably already knew she and Reggie were here, and what they were doing. What horrible things did they have planned, then? Did they make some sort of bargain with Hamish and Quinn? Sold them out for a dime?

She pushed the thoughts out of her mind. They would get her nowhere.

Alice was just beginning to wonder if they should have asked for help at the foyer when she realised Reggie was no longer next to her. She turned on her heel and backtracked, to find him standing in front of a door.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

He just pointed at the door, grinning.

In bold, white letters were the words 'Prisoner Archives'. Underneath it was written again in various other languages.

"Go on," Reggie prompted. "Say it."

Alice rolled her eyes. "Good job, Reggie."

He beamed, turned the door handle, and fell sideways into the room with a surprised shout as the door swung open. Alice stared after him, before she tentatively approached the door.

Reggie was laying on the ground, groaning. He'd been flung a fair way into the room. He rubbed his head and got to his feet, swaying slightly. "What was that?" he asked.

"Security methods," Alice suggested. She took a step forward.

The moment her foot moved over the threshold, she felt an invisible force grab her around the middle and fling her into the room. She hit the wall headfirst, hard, and landed on the floor with a thump.

Head spinning and vision blurred, Alice tried to stand, with no success. Touching where her head hit the wall, she found she was bleeding. A concussion. Just what she needed.

"Damn. Alice, you alright?" Reggie's voice was far away. He put a hand on her shoulder.

She nodded absentmindedly. "Just find Elise Fairbourne," she commanded. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, yeah, hang on."

She heard heavy footsteps, then the opening of a drawer. There was rustling as Reggie went through the folders.

"Farrow. Fahey. No, too far... Fahl. Fahrner. Fair. Fairbairn. Fairbourne!" He tore the folder out of the drawer. "Arrested for the illegal bootlegging of dragons and other otherworldly creatures. Sentence: Life. Prison I.D. number: 0874G."

"So she's prisoner 874 on the G-Floor," Alice clarified, proud of herself for figuring as much out.

Reggie helped her to her feet. "Yep. That's 7 stories down."

"Wish us luck."

"We're probably gonna die."

They left the archive room, Reggie still holding Elise's folder. The hall was still empty. Alice mentioned this to Reggie, but he didn't seem to care as much as she did as they found a spiralling staircase and went down it. The other floors they passed were just as deserted.

When they reached the G-Floor they found the first signs of life.

Two guards were dragging a woman from her cell, yelling at her in mixed English and Japanese. In the cell next to that one, a guard was pulling a body by the legs. Alice's hand flew to her mouth as she choked back vomit. Reggie pulled her back into the shadows, placing a finger to his lips. Be quiet.

She would have slapped him and told him that was exactly what she was trying to do, but that would defeat the point.

"Get off me! She killed herself, I didn't do anything!" the woman was screaming. She fought against the men holding her, but they were too strong, and easily subdued her. They dragged her down the hall, away from Reggie and Alice.

"It's off to the stake with you," one of the men told her, causing the woman to scream louder.

"You can't do this!"

When she couldn't hear the woman's screams anymore, Alice stepped out of the shadow of the staircase.

"What do you think happened?" Reggie whispered, watching the hallway in case they came back.

Alice didn't answer him; she was too busy staring at the door of the cell the screaming woman had come from. She swore at the bright red numbers on the door.

Of course it would work out this way. Nothing ever really went right when Alice was concerned.

Reggie stepped up to get a look at the cell door. He groaned.

0874G.

"That's our bootlegger," she breathed. "They're gonna burn her at the stake."

Chapter Thirteen

Wilson stared down the table. It was empty, apart from him, but there should have been at least one more person there. Unfortunately, the Mistress of the Dead hadn't shown in days. She was either missing, dead, hiding from him, or a combination of the three. He was trying to figure out which one it was.

Her whereabouts and state of health didn't concern him, but the thought that she might have betrayed him did. Who did she go to? What did she tell them? Everything Wilson was working for would be ruined if Betelgeuse knew where he was. The imp had a knack for sabotaging his work that was enviable. Every time Wilson tried to retaliate, the imp would disappear, just like that. But this, what he was planning now, would not be ruined.

Thomas didn't know what Wilson was planning. Thomas was just as likely to stop him as Betelgeuse, as much as the two hated each other. And Betelgeuse wasn't entirely sure what Wilson had up his sleeve, either, but liked to be prepared for 'maybes' and 'might happens'.

In fact, there was only one person who really knew what Wilson was planning, and he didn't see much these days.

Augustus was still upset and angry about his eyes. He wasn't to be blamed, though; it would be rather difficult having sight all your life, only to have it removed in an instant by a girl who didn't even know what she was doing. That had been enough to change Augustus from his usual, jovial self into a man who hated the world. It was regrettable, because Wilson rather enjoyed the older man's cheerful demeanour.

Stepping out of his seat and away from the table, Wilson checked the room. There was still no witch, and still no head on a platter. He detested bare rooms. He left the hall and went to find Augustus.

The older man wasn't too difficult to find. He spent his days in his room, trying to perfect the art of using magic without sight. It was surprisingly difficult. Not only because it was hard to maintain a sense of calm when you were still mourning the loss of your eyes, but because one needed to see to be able to aim the direction of their magic.

Magic was a very precise thing, contrary to what the movies showed. You needed to see or know exactly where you wanted your magic to be, and that required sight. Or, at the very least, keen senses.

Lacking that ability, Augustus had set the building on fire three times, sent tornadoes through the corridor on no less than eight occasions, and summoned a tree in the middle of his room. He wasn't doing too well.

Currently, he was trying to make it rain. He sat in the centre of his bed mumbling – a new habit of his – and rotating his hands in small circles. Thick bandages were wrapped around his empty sockets. He'd so far managed a light shower in the corner of the room.

"Augustus."

The older man stopped immediately, the rain halting. His head moved blindly, trying to find the source of the sound. "Wilson?"

Wilson nodded, then remembering Augustus couldn't see him, said, "Yeah."

Augustus sighed. "It's hopeless," he spat. "I can't do this without my eyes." His voice had a bitterness to it that Wilson wasn't used to.

"We might be able to give you your sight back," Wilson told him. He watched as Augustus straightened, and his ears seemed to twitch.

"How? We've already tried once, haven't we?"

"Magic, Augustus. It's what we do, and what use would we be if we couldn't give someone his eyes back?"

Augustus smiled. "Yes, of course." His smile slowly faded. "But then, I've been thinking..." he trailed off.

"Thinking what?" Wilson asked.

"Perhaps I am a better person without my sight. My weary eyes have already seen too much. They've seen the truth of this world, and it isn't a pretty one. They've seen murder and rape and discrimination. They've witnessed horrors that no eyes should have to see. Now I don't have to see any of that," Augustus told him. He held his hands in front of his face, as though he was looking at them. "The girl has done me a kindness."

Wilson just stared. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to think. Blindness, in his eyes, was a curse. Of course Augustus was right; you couldn't see all the atrocities of the world if you were blind. But you couldn't see anything else, either. You couldn't spot your enemies in a crowd of cardboard cut-outs. You couldn't see as someone loyal to you shook someone else's hand in front of you. You couldn't cast magic properly. And Wilson had no use of someone who couldn't use their magic.

He held his tongue on that matter, but only because Augustus was the only person he didn't mind being around. "If you don't want your sight back, then by all means. You might not have to see the things you don't want to, but you can't see the things that you do. Think about it, Augustus."

He left, furious. This girl, this witch had lost him his best man, and she probably didn't even know how. She was powerful and dangerous. He needed her now, before she spiralled out of control.

Taking a left, he stormed into the room where Caius was staying. The warlock had caused him nothing but annoyance, but maybe he could be of some use.

The door slammed into the wall, and Caius shot up from his bed. His red eyes rested on Wilson. "Never heard of knocking?" he grumbled.

Wilson's eyes narrowed. "I don't have the patience for you," he snapped. "Where are your warlock friends?"

Caius stretched, apparently having the patience Wilson didn't. "What makes you think I have any?" he challenged.

"I know you do. I want to talk to them."

A laugh escaped the warlock's lips. "So you can convince them to fight for you? Shove off. Our purpose is to the eradication of witches. I know you're trying to coax them all here to get them to fight for you. Our goals are too different; you'll receive no help from the warlock community."

"I need them if I'm to achieve my goal. After that, you can eradicate them to your heart's content."

Caius watched him for a moment, trying to figure out if he was telling the truth or not. He must have decided he was, because he nodded. "Fine. I'll tell them. But don't expect an army."

Alice and Reggie stole through the hall, trying to catch up with Elise and the guards before it was too late. Reggie was still swearing and cursing. Alice kept reminding herself that neither Quinn nor Hamish would let her forget it if they failed. That was the only thing that kept her from turning around and going back.

Aside from not even knowing where the guards had taken her, Alice was still trying to figure out how they were supposed to actually get her. Did they just charge right in and hope for the best? Or should they take a more subtle approach, and try and strangle the guards? They could always wait until Elise was strung up, and attempt to cut her loose and run for it.

Alice didn't like any of the options. Each seemed as hopeless as the next. Reggie, on the other hand, was in high spirits, as though everything was going exactly as he planned.

They spotted the guards and a now placid Elise around the hall. She'd given up fighting them, and was slumped down and they each dragged her by an arm. Reggie rubbed his hands together.

"Neither of them are very big," he whispered, sizing the two guards up. "So I'll take the biggest, and you take the other one. Right?"

"But..."

Reggie was already ahead of her, bent low and running towards them. Alice hesitated – the guard would probably kill her long before she would even have a chance – then took off after Reggie. He was going to go high, try and get his around the guard's neck, but Alice spotted something that caused her to speed up, ahead of Reggie.

At the waist of both guards was something that looked like a taser – it wasn't, because anyone who could use magic would have something better than a taser to subdue prisoners – but whatever it was, Alice wanted it. If she could figure out how to use it, they were laughing.

When she was a few feet away, she said a quick prayer and lunged. The guard toppled over, her on top as she wildly grabbed for the weapon. Reggie, who hadn't been expecting it, cried out in surprise.

The other guard hovered between Alice and Reggie, trying to decide who was going to be more trouble. He whipped his weapon out, whirled it above his head. A blinding line of light shot out of it, coiling and extending. He bought it down, aimed at Reggie. It missed Reggie by half an inch, hitting the wall and falling limply to the ground like a whip.

Alice glanced at the one in her hand. There was no button or switch on it. She didn't even know which end was the dangerous one. She kicked the guard she'd attacked in the groin to keep him down for a second longer as she poked and prodded the contraption in confusion. They couldn't make it easy.

Following the other guard's lead, she whirled it around her head. Nothing happened. Swearing, she tried again, with no success. Maybe it only worked for the guards – that'd be just her luck.

The guard picked himself up, and bore down on her. He said something in Japanese. When she didn't reply, he spoke again, this time in English. "Give that here, girl. You will hurt someone."

"Sorry, no hablo Ingles," she told him. A third time she whirled the device over her head, thinking she would probably die if it didn't work. And Hamish and Quinn would never let her cold, dead self live it down. They'd stand over her grave day and night just to laugh at her. In fact, Hamish was likely already laughing at her.

A light shot from the end, and she bought it down. The guard jumped out of the way and the light hit the ground, sending sparks flying. Alice flicked it to the side, sending it into the guard. It burned through his clothes as he was sent flying. The smell of charred flesh assaulted her nostrils.

So that was how it worked, then.

The other guard abandoned his attack on Reggie, who was standing well away after seeing what the light did. Alice flicked her whip at the same time as the guard, and the two lines of light crashed together in a show of sparks that danced in the air like fireworks.

Elise was on her rear, watching with a mixture of fear and awe. Her hands were still shackled behind her back, and her puffy face was wet with tears.

"Reggie!" Alice yelled. "Get her out!"

He hesitated between staying to help Alice, and getting Elise out. The wasn't much he could do in the way of fighting – he'd just get in the way, and he knew it. But he didn't want to leave Alice.

"Go!" Alice shouted. "Now!"

Reluctantly, Reggie hauled Elise off the ground and shoved her away from the fray. He looked back one last time, and took off.

The guard cracked his whip at Alice, and she retaliated, too late as it burned into her leg, sending her to her knees. She threw herself out of the way as the light came crashing down where she had been, and flicked hers at him. It missed him by inches, and she staggered to her feet.

Grimacing in pain, Alice readied herself in a half-crouch, trying to anticipate the guard's next move. He struck first, and she retaliated in kind.

Sparks flew as they fought, whips cracking back and forth. Twice Alice was almost too late blocking, but she gave what she got, nearly wrapping the scalding light around his neck several times. She was backed into the wall, ducked as the whip cracked into the cold cement, and gave hers a flick.

It wrapped around the guard's ankle, burning through his trousers and deep into his skin. He screamed and Alice tugged, taking him off his feet. The whip fell from his hand, and the line of light was extinguished.

Alice grinned. He was down, groaning in pain and clutching his ankle. She was going to wrap it around his neck, just in case he got up again, but the weapon in her hand had other ideas.

The danger gone, her light whip disappeared in a wisp of smoke. Annoyed, she seized the other device from the ground and ran. An alarm that she hadn't noticed before was echoing through the halls like a giant foghorn. There was shouting and heavy footsteps. As Alice reached the stairwell, three guards rounded the hall in the opposite direction.

They all stopped at the sight of her, in various states of confusion. Alice tightened her grip on the two devices in her hands.

Could she take them all? She had two of the whips, but each of the guards also had one, and they knew how to use them. She just needed to make it to the stairwell before they did.

One of the guards moved his hand an inch, and everything unfroze.

Alice bounded into the stairwell, taking the stairs two at a time. The guards took chase, filling the stairwell with shouts and the clang of metal on metal and a thousand footsteps.

She couldn't tell how close or far they were, and the moment she looked over her shoulder to check, she tripped. The devices in her hands went flying as she threw her arms out to break her fall.

As she struggled back to her feet, an arm caught her by the collar. Alice threw her elbow back and was rewarded with a grunt. The grip on her shirt failed, and she took off again, stopping only to pick up the devices. She didn't look back.

She reached the top of the stairwell, slipped through the waiting arms of a guard, and sprinted down the hall. Unless she tripped again, they would never catch her.

The hall that had been empty on their way in was now packed with guards. The devices in Alice's hands lit up, light spilling out into two long whips. She flicked them wildly at the guards, not caring if they were hurt or killed. If anything, she wanted to hurt them. She'd kill them if it came down to it. They were, after all, trying to catch and kill her, even if they didn't know it yet.

The guards parted to avoid the whips. Those who were too slow ended up with a burnt face, or their shirts melted into their skin.

Alice spotted the exit, and put on a final burst of speed to reach it. One of the guards stepped out to stop her, his face determined. He raised the whip in his hand and cracked it at her at the same time Alice flicked hers, wrapping it around his wrist.

She could smell the dead skin before she felt the pain. It spread across her cheek until her whole face was racked with white-hot pain, and a light shot through her eye, before the vision in it went black. She gasped in shot, coming to a sudden halt.

With her other whip, Alice wrapped it tightly around his neck. He screamed, choked, then fell to the ground as the life left him. For a few more seconds, he jerked around, grabbing at the whip with his hands in a feeble attempt to pry it away. Then he stopped moving, his eyes rolling back in his head.

For a moment, the world seemed to freeze as Alice stared at the dead body with a strange sense of accomplishment. She just killed a man, and it was easy. Easy enough to do again. She eyed the other guards off. Just a small flick of her wrist, and she could kill them, too. She could kill them all. It was so easy.

Then she came to her senses, and the warm feeling inside her was replaced with raw, sickening horror. Was that how Millie had felt when she killed Alice's father? Powerful? Great?

The light of a whip cracked past her face, returning her to earth. She retaliated, striking the man in the stomach, and bolted, out of the gaol, through the store where the confused shop-owner was watching her with wild eyes, and into the street.

Reggie and Elise were there. Relief spread across Reggie's face when he spotted her. She walked up to the two of them, pressing the back of her hand to her cheek. It was bleeding. Her thigh was burning, and she still couldn't see out her left eye. Pain shot through it like a knife. It was not a good sign.

"Jesus..."

"I'm fine, Reggie," Alice lied. She tried not to think about the dead guard. The life she'd just taken as easily as if she were taking a packet of smokes.

Elise stared wildly between the two, her eyes wide. "Who are you people?" she asked. "Why did you get me out of there?"

"Well, to the second question, we don't know," Reggie informed her. "To the first; we're your rescue party."

Her face fell flat. "Rescue party..? What do you want from me?"

"A simple thanks would be nice," Reggie grumbled.

Despite the pain, Alice smiled at him. "Come on; let's go home."

Chapter Fourteen

As it turned out, Elise didn't know it was Quinn who'd gotten her arrested. She sat in the corner of his lounge room, pretending not to exist and refusing to say anything. She hadn't even thanked them for saving her life, and almost dying in the process. Of course, Reggie was the only one who seemed too bothered by it.

Hamish was hovering over Alice, trying his best to patch up her face and leg. He wasn't a very good doctor, and he kept giving her funny looks. He knew what she'd done, probably knew all about the guard she'd killed. His wife, his family. How many children he had and what school they attended. Thanks to her, they would grow up without a father.

Alice vaguely wondered if Hamish also knew her regret. Did the Master of all Knowledge know she still felt nauseous because of what she'd done? Did he know she could still see the man as he fell to his knees and the light of his life left his eyes? Could Hamish truly understand the fear Alice saw in the man's eyes as he realised he was going to die, and that that would haunt her for the rest of her life? The fact that she'd enjoyed it, even if only for a split second, sent chills through her. Did Hamish know that?

Or did he just think she was a cold-blooded killer, like everyone else? He probably expected the same from her as the rest of the world; one day she would come to hate everything, and would become a reckonable force with little to no allegiance with anyone. She would burn houses to the ground and murder people in their sleep.

"What is it, then?"

Hamish's blue eyes were focused intently on her. He'd finished dabbing antiseptic cream on her wounds and patched them up. He'd done as much as he could for her eye, but she still couldn't see out of it, and they couldn't risk visiting Josef.

"What?"

"You're thinking about something, and it's bothering you," he said.

Alice shifted under his piercing gaze. "You already know what I was thinking."

"I'm not a mindreader," Hamish defended, shaking his head. "I know facts, not thoughts, or feelings, or desires. My knowledge is limited to events that have happened in the physical world."

For that, Alice was grateful. It would be incredibly embarrassing for her if Hamish knew all the things she thought of him. But it also meant he didn't know how she felt about killing the guard.

"So you know what I did." It wasn't a question.

"Aye."

"But you don't know how I feel about it?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, and sat in the chair behind him, facing her. "I would if read you. Otherwise I can only guess."

"So guess."

His eyes narrowed slightly, and his gaze intensified, as though he was trying to find a word in a jumble of letters. The insides of his brows dipped and knitted together.

"I think you're upset," he decided. "Upset about what happened, and that you enjoyed it at the time. Nothing a bottle of whiskey won't fix."

The corners of Alice's mouth tugged upwards. "Right. Because whiskey makes everything better."

"Aye, it does. Unfortunately, I left my stock at the pub, so we won't be getting it any time soon. The place is still crawling with Inutile. And witch-hunters." He sighed, as though being away from his pub and his alcohol was causing him pain.

"It must be nice, knowing everything," Alice told him.

He snorted. His eyes met hers. "It's the worst thing you could imagine. Knowing things about people, things they can't even remember. Things from hundreds of thousands of years ago that no one knows, because it's not even in the history books. I can tell you what you ate for breakfast every single day of your life. I know exactly how many people die each year, and where, and why. Before their families. Even the ones who are never found, who no one cares about. My head's like an overstuffed pillow. Half the stuff I don't want to know. My mother died of cancer, you know," he added lightly, as though it was someone else's mother, not his.

Alice dipped her head. "I'm sorry."

"I knew she had it before she did. I knew it was terminal before she did because I knew the outcome of the tests the moment they were done. And I couldn't even tell her. It was weeks after she found out that she told me. Weeks I tried my best to avoid her because if she saw me crying she'd know I knew."

Alice was silent. She didn't know what to say or how to say it. How horrible would it be to find out something like that, before the person themselves did? That was one thing she hadn't considered. Knowing every bad thing that ever happened. But you'd also know the good things, as well. You'd know why someone was the way they were; you could help them. Surely that would outweigh the bad?

"Aside from that, and having to know when to divulge what you know and when not to, I guess it's not that bad," Hamish concluded. "I don't make decisions on a whim, Alice. If there's something I don't tell you, it's because I made the decision not to."

Alice considered this. "When the guards were dragging Elise out of the cell, she said something about 'she killed herself'," she said. "What was she talking about?"

Hamish didn't look at her. For a moment, Alice thought he wasn't going to answer her, either, but then he spoke. "The woman in the cell next to hers killed herself."

"Why?"

"She was a witch. A lot of the prisoners in the Colosseum were witches," he explained.

Alice frowned. "What do you mean, 'were'?" She had a horrible feeling she already knew the answer.

"Gaol doesn't give them a get-out-of-stake-free pass, Alice. The guards took them into the circle courtyard and burned them, one at a time. That was if they'd hadn't killed themselves already. There's still a fair few left," he added. "They're planning something big."

Alice's stomach lurched. She suddenly didn't feel so bad about killing the guard. He'd probably already killed plenty of innocent women. Well, innocent-ish.

"Something big?" she questioned.

Hamish just shrugged. "Try not to worry too much about it; we'll keep you safe," he promised.

"What makes you so trustworthy? Or Quinn? How do I know you're not going to kill me?"

Hamish grinned. "If I was going to kill you, I would have done it years ago. And if Quinn wanted you dead, he wouldn't be trying so hard to keep you alive."

"Is he? Sending me into the world's largest prison is a funny way of showing affection."

Hamish grinned. His shoulders lifted and dropped in a lazy shrug. "You're alive, aren't you?"

"Barely."

"That's the spirit."

Alice scowled as Hamish busied himself with food. Like Quinn, he was a rather good cook; something his mum had apparently taught him. He dumped a packet of mince in a pan, threw a tea towel over his shoulder, and began slicing vegetables with startling accuracy.

As she watched, she couldn't help but wonder why, of all the places in the world, Hamish came to them. As grateful and happy as she was for it, why didn't he give her up, along with every other witch in the world? Surely his mum, who taught him so much about the world, would have explained to him the ethics of abiding by the law? The distinction between right and wrong?

That in itself was debatable, Alice realised. Was 'right' strictly adhering to laws, and doing everything by the book? Or was it knowing when to follow authority, and when to fight it? If Hamish had abided by the new Clause, she would be dead by now. It was only because he didn't that she was alive. So perhaps it was less a question of law, and more a question of morals.

Alice laughed at herself. How long before the distinction between right and wrong blurred for her? How long could she fight it? Weeks, months? Or days? She could already feel herself slipping, not caring about the wellbeing of others.

Quinn walked in then, rousing her from her stupor. He did a quick sweep of the food Hamish was cooking. "Don't forget Elise," he noted.

Hamish ignored him.

Quinn turned to Alice, his face set. She braced herself for whatever was coming next, because he would never give her a look like that unless there was something to follow. "Reggie," he declared.

Confused, Alice tilted her head slightly. "What about him?" she asked.

"You need to get rid of him; send him home, before he gets himself killed." There was a note in Quinn's voice that told Alice he'd very much enjoyed having to say that. Behind him, Hamish smirked. The two men had obviously discussed this beforehand.

Alice glared at the two of them. "What if I don't want him to leave?"

In truth, she wasn't so sure anymore if he was doing any good being here. Quinn and Hamish were right; he was going to get himself killed. He was outmatched and weak. But Alice didn't really want him to leave. Not now, when she needed him the most.

"Then I will have to manhandle him out of my house," Quinn told her seriously.

"Aye, and I'll help."

"Is this a testosterone thing, or are you two just jealous?" Alice snapped. "He's the only person in this house I trust, so if you want him gone, then I am too."

Quinn didn't even bat an eyelid, as though he'd been expecting her to say just that. He probably was. Probably rehearsed the whole thing in the mirror until he could say it in just the right octave. "I guess, he is your friend," he mused.

Alice glowered. "That's right."

"And I'm sure you'll be able to live with the guilt of his death when he dies because he couldn't protect himself, and none of us could get to him in time."

"Why, are we going to do something dangerous?" Alice joked.

The look on the two men's faces said everything. "What happened?"

"Betelgeuse has been asking around," Hamish told her.

"For me?" It was nothing new; he'd been searching for her for a while now.

He shook his head, and pointed a thumb at himself to indicate he was the culprit. "I've got all the knowledge. He's on the right trail, which means we're gonna have to leave. And soon."

"Reggie will have to go home," Quinn added. "Because if his parents report him as missing, we'll have your authority chasing us as well. We don't need or want that."

"But..."

"His parents are already a bit worried," Hamish continued. "You, on the other hand, are coming with us."

"Why?" Alice snapped. "Why should I go with you?"

"Because anyone you're with is put in danger. They've already pitched stakes with our names on them, so it's fine with us."

Alice hesitated. Both Quinn and Hamish were shamelessly staring. She sighed. "Fine; I'll tell him after dinner, but he's not going to like it."

"Well?"

Betelgeuse rubbed his pudgy hands together in anticipation. He was almost there, had almost found the woman he'd been hunting for years. No, not a woman; a witch.

The girl on the floor trembled fearfully. He didn't remember her name, just knew that she had the information he needed. She was a relative of a friend of a friend, or something along those lines. Someone's kid was friends with a kid whose mother dated a man who knew a woman. Betelgeuse didn't know; he didn't care.

"I don't know where he is!" she squeaked. "I don't know him!"

Terror rolled off her. She cowered on the ground, hands over her head and knees pulled tight to her body. Her whole body trembled.

"You're lying," Betelgeuse accused. "His name is Quinn Harpington. Dark eyes, greying brown hair. Tall."

She was obviously lying; she had to be. Otherwise all his searching was for nothing. Sure, he'd only been hunting for Quinn, who was with Hamish, for a day or so, but that was beside the point. That was a day where he could have been doing something else.

The girl shook her head. Mascara streaked her cheeks."I don't know who you're talking about," she insisted.

"Fine," Betelgeuse snapped. He pointed the gun at her. "Then I have no use for you."

The problem with trying to get information off regular people was that you could only use regular people methods to threaten them, unless you were going to kill them. Betelgeuse, as much as he liked to torture people who annoyed him, was never really one for murdering. Not regular people. Not poor girls who didn't know why they were being killed, and Betelgeuse didn't have the time to sit down and coach her on magic so that he later might be able to justify to himself why he murdered her.

He pressed down lightly on the trigger.

"No! Wait!" the girl screamed. "A friend of mine was saying about a man she met, it sounds like him."

Betelgeuse raised an eyebrow. Finally, some progress. "A man she met?"

Despite her fear, the girl's cheeks reddened. "A man she slept with."

Quinn, the lady's man. Betelgeuse should have figured it would come down to that. "Oh. Well, where is she?"

"You won't hurt her?" the girl asked, her voice quivering.

"Cross my heart," he told her, sighing in irritation.

The girl scribbled an address down on a piece of paper and handed it to him. Her hands were shaking so much he could barely read it. "Now that wasn't very difficult, was it?"

She shook her head.

"Will your friend give me the same amount of trouble you did?"

"No! I mean... I don't know. Please, I don't know."

Sighing heavily, Betelgeuse flicked the safety on the gun and shoved it back in his pocket. "You're not going to call her, are you? Because I'd hate to have to come back here. All the stairs have put an awful cramp in my poor legs."

"I won't say anything," the girl gushed. "I won't, I promise. Please don't kill me."

"I have no reason to," Betelgeuse assured her. "Yet."

Dinner was a quiet event. Partly because Elise's silent presence encouraged the rest of them to be quiet, and partly because Quinn and Hamish were waiting for Alice to give the news, and Alice was trying to put it off.

Reggie had figured something was up, but as he didn't know what, he kept quiet. Sooner or later, one of them would tell him. He ate his spaghetti – which was actually quite nice, considering a pub owner cooked it – and kept his head down, occasionally glancing at Alice to see if she was ready to speak.

When everyone was finished, Hamish and Quinn retreated to the kitchen via some silent mutual agreement; Elise mumbled something about the TV and disappeared into the living room. Reggie turned to Alice.

"What?" he asked. She was looking at him funny. "What did I do now?"

She cleared her throat, and stared him dead in the eye. "You need to go home, Reggie."

It took him a moment to process what she'd said. Something in him broke. It wasn't his heart, but it was something close to it. Maybe the small section of him that held his love for Alice. His mouth opened and closed several times before any sound actually came out. "I... what?"

She offered him a sad smile. "It's just not safe for you here," she told him.

"Says who?" Reggie snapped. "You, or them?" He spat the last word, as though Quinn and Hamish didn't even deserve the title of 'them'. And they didn't. They were poisoning her mind, turning her against him.

"I wouldn't be saying this if I didn't agree with it," Alice countered. "You can't do magic, Reggie. You'll just get yourself killed; I don't want you to die."

"I don't want you to die, either. Face it," he said, straightening defiantly. "You need me to keep you safe."

Alice couldn't help the smile that crept across her face. She wanted to tell him he could stay, and that they'd figure it out, but the cold truth of Quinn's words were there. She couldn't live with the guilt of his death. And in this world of magic, Reggie would need more protection than she did. As much as it pained her to admit it, he was a burden.

"I need you safe, Reggie. At home."

"Fine," he snapped. "You want me to go? I'll go." He stood up so abruptly that Alice jumped.

"Quinn can give you a-"

"I know the way," he snarled.

He didn't even say goodbye as he stormed out of the house, angry and upset. He didn't care that Alice was just as upset, or that it was for his own good. If she didn't want him around anymore, didn't need him, then fine.

He kicked the door viciously on the way out.

She was like a sister to him, and he was the older brother who scared all the boys away. Obviously she could take care of herself now, and didn't need an older brother. Whatever. He never wanted a sister, anyway.

Reggie was halfway down the street when he realised he left his smokes behind. He swore, stopping in the middle of the road.

Normally, he wouldn't care, but it was a full packet, and no way was he going to let Quinn get his hands on them. He refused to admit it was because of Alice.

Grudgingly, he walked back. As he reached the mailbox of Quinn's house, he stopped himself. Maybe he would go back in there and stay. Whatever Alice said. Whatever Quinn or bloody Hamish said. He didn't care what those two thought of him, anyway. They had nothing on him. He'd go in there and tell them what for. That's what he'd do.

He took a step forward.

Quinn's house exploded. The force took Reggie off his feet and sent him flying back to the other side of the street. Bits of wood and glass and brick cut his face and hands. Part of a kettle flew past him. A cushion from the couch lay in the middle of the road, the stuffing on the outside. The house lay in ruins.

Reggie just stared at it. He only looked away to scan the ground for bodies – or parts of bodies. He couldn't find any. He didn't see Alice. Where was Alice?

"No... Alice..? Alice!"

He made to run into the house, but an arm caught him securely around the waist, holding him back. "It's too late, son," a rough voice told him. "There's nothing you can do."

Reggie struggled against the grip, but the man was too strong, and he slumped his body. Tears fell freely. He didn't care. There was no way Alice would have survived that.

"Alice, did you say?" a voice asked.

A small man was standing next to him. Reggie barely registered that he was half the size of a normal man. Any other time it would amuse him, but not now. "Did you see her?" he asked hopefully. "She was in the house."

The dwarf shook his head sadly. "No, I'm sorry. It's just, I thought a man lived there..." he trailed off.

"How many people were in the house?" someone else asked. She held a phone to her ear.

The street, empty moments before, now crawled with people.

"Thre- four," Reggie managed, remembering Elise. His voice was choked, a sob catching in his throat. They'd gone to all that trouble to break her out of gaol, and now look. She was dead, along with Alice. Alice.

"I'm terribly sorry," the dwarf told him. "Such a shame. It must have been a horrible accident." He waddled off, still shaking his head and mumbling to himself.

Reggie watched him go with poorly hidden interest. There was something in the dwarf's voice that piqued his interest. It was a genuine regret.

"Do you know him?" the man holding him asked.

"No," Reggie admitted. "But I think I'd like to." He roughly shoved the man, apologising, and with a final look at the destroyed house, followed after the dwarf.

Chapter Fifteen

Augustus stumbled blindly through the halls, his intentions to 'sneak' through them utterly destroyed as he kicked over yet another potted plant. It hit the ground with an almighty crash. He went tumbling down after it.

Swearing and cursing, Augustus kept on his mission, hands held in front of him and waving wildly from side to side. He was thankful it was night – at least, he thought it was night – otherwise the hall would be teeming with people. At night he only needed to worry about those he woke with his incessantly loud walking, and innumerable incidents with indoor potted plants. Whoever invented the idea of growing plants inside was on Augustus's list of people to kill.

With his fingers he brushed against the wall, lightly dragging them until they found air. He turned the corner. If his sense of direction was right – and it probably wasn't – he should come across the library any moment now. He couldn't read Braille at all, but that didn't stop him from trying. Books were his joy – well, they used to be, back when he could see. Now they were just another challenge.

The door for the library never came, though. Instead, Augustus heard hushed voices, rousing his curiosity. He abandoned his search for books, and instead focused on being as silent as he possibly could as he approached the voices. When he was close enough to hear them, he stopped. If nothing else, he could tell they were in a different room.

"If Betelgeuse wants a war, he'll get one!" It was Wilson.

"Yes, well that's all well and good, but what are we going to do about Robert?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

"Karson has done his service to the magical community, but now he's nothing more than a stallion with a broken leg." Wilson's voice was cold and harsh. There were few occasions when Augustus heard it like that, and they never ended well.

"What do you mean to do?"

"Do you know what happens to a horse with a broken leg?"

It was rhetorical, but the other person answered anyhow.

"They... uh... put it down?"

"Exactly."

Augustus's stomach dropped to his ankles. Wilson was going to kill Robert. He meant to destroy the Council of Ten. Not only would it likely cause anarchy, but with no one to govern the magical community, it would spill out into the human world. The Clauses that kept magical beings from revealing themselves to the rest of humanity would be ignored, along with the newest Clause which, Augustus assumed, was the reason for this.

While the new Clause was certainly causing a lot of trouble, Augustus didn't believe Robert had a hand in it. Robert was too goodly, too fair to be able to pass such a Clause on his own.

Wilson and the other man were still talking, discussing the how and when of what was going to be done. Augustus stood and listened. In the endless darkness that was his life, listening was all he could do.

He'd always stood by Wilson and the boy's crazy ideas. Rarely did Augustus speak out against him; he harboured some queer respect for the boy. But this was too far.

He was about to barge in there, guns blazing, when he was stopped by his disability. What could he do? He had no eyes, and could barely use magic anymore. If anything though, Robert needed to be warned.

Augustus turned his tail and awkwardly stumbled away from the room.

How was he going to warn Robert? He couldn't even find his way to the library, let alone into the Council of Ten.

As he shambled back to his room, he tripped over several more times, broke a few more pot plants, cursed Alice a bit, and a crazy, impossible idea came to him.

Who better to do what he needed to do than the person who made it impossible for him to do it in the first place? Sure, little Alice was probably on par with him when it came to using magic, but at least she had her eyes.

And just like that, his plan fell into place. All he needed to do was find her.

Alice coughed, dust and smoke choking her. She tried to take a breath, but inhaled a cloud of debris, burning her lungs. Hamish was draped over her, unconscious, covering her like a blanket. She squirmed under him, but he didn't move; he was too heavy.

She coughed again, trying to gather the pictures in her mind into a cohesive memory.

She was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Hamish was talking to her, arms folded, informing her with annoyance that Reggie had turned around and was coming back. And that she'd better set him straight.

Then, out of the blue, he lunged at her, yelling for Quinn. That was when her world exploded. The sheer force and volume of the sound of it caused her ears to ring, and her head rattled painfully and her sight burst into an array of white and stars. She was vaguely aware of Hamish casting a spell, presumably to lessen the impact as the explosion threw them about the room like a giant tumbler. Her last thought was of Reggie.

How lucky for him, that she'd convinced him to leave. How unlucky, that he would watch the moment she died. Poor Reggie. When would anything ever go his way?

Then her vision went black and the ringing in her ears faded. She woke to the sound of sirens and the heat of fire as it sweated her skin.

The steady beating of Hamish's heart told Alice he was still alive, blissfully unaware that he was crushing her. She elbowed his chest, trying to wiggle out from underneath him. "Hamish," she croaked. "Get up."

Hamish stirred, his shaved head moving first, then the rest of his body following. In a flash, he was in a sitting position, rubbing any particularly sore parts of his body as he assessed the situation. His eyes were alert, swivelling around in his head.

"Bloody hell. Quinn!" he yelled. He turned to Alice. "Are you alright?"

She nodded numbly. "Did you know?" she asked.

If she offended him with her question, he didn't show it. "Not until too late," he admitted. "I knew he was coming, but I didn't know what he was going to do. He must have thought I knew, and that I'd leave."

A rat crawled over a broken brick, its tiny nose and whiskers quivering.

Alice scrunched her nose up in disgust when she spotted the filthy rodent; apparently, even those in the magical world had rat problems. She wiped her ash-covered face.

As it saw them, is ran over with a loud squeak. Hamish caught it by the tail and lifted it into the air. Its legs scrambled around madly and it squealed in protest.

"You couldn't have picked something slightly more adorable?" Hamish asked the rat. It gave an indignant squeak. "Aye, alright. Here; take him." He held the rat out for Alice.

"I don't want the thing!" she screeched, batting at it as it screamed at her.

Hamish raised an eyebrow. "It's Quinn," he informed her.

Alice stared at the rat. It did have Quinn's dark eyes, and its fur was the same peppered brown as his haid. "Oh... sorry Quinn," she told the rat, holding her hands out.

On closer inspection, Alice noticed a small gash running down his side, and the funny angle that his leg stuck out on. She cupped his small body lightly, afraid to cause any more damage.

"We need to get out of here before someone finds us," Hamish said. He was in a low crouch, pushing bits of wood and brick and furniture out of his way.

"What about Elise?" Alice asked, searching the rubble. If was difficult with only one eye.

Hamish shook his head. "She's gone," he told her. "She got out of the rubble and bolted. But she'll be fine."

"And how are we supposed to get out?"

Hamish shoved a large brick out of his way and crawled into the space he'd made. "Just follow behind me."

"And if you get crushed?" Alice joked nervously.

The whole place was like a minefield. It creaked and crackled, threatening to collapse at any moment. She didn't want to be in it when it did.

"Then don't follow me," he replied seriously.

They made their way through the rubble slowly, avoiding the small spots that had caught on fire. Every now and then, Quinn would give a loud squeak, and Hamish would stop just before the rubble above them would cave in.

Alice was feeling very claustrophobic. The rubble seemed to be closing in on her even as she moved through it. Her throat was constricted, and she struggled to breathe. It was all too close, too tight. The dust and smoke clogged up her airways. She needed to get out.

There was a loud boom and the debris in front of Alice collapsed. She screamed, throwing her hands over her head as brick and dust and plaster rained down on her, putting a barrier between her and Hamish. She instinctively curled her legs to her chest, and a large section of the room thundered down where they had just been.

A terrified squeak escaped her lips.

When the world was quiet again she slowly raised her head. Hamish was muttering to himself, carefully moving the rubble that separated them. "You alright?" he asked.

Alice didn't know whether to nod or shake her head. All she knew was that she wanted to get out before she suffocated. Eventually she nodded.

Hamish raised his hand, beckoning her forward with his fingers. "Come on," he encouraged.

Alice didn't want to move. Her limbs froze up. If she moved, the whole thing might collapse, or she might get stuck. She couldn't move. But she couldn't stay there, either.

Hands and arms stinging, Alice cautiously crawled forward, listening to the sounds of the fire and the destroyed house. A crackling caused her to freeze. She glanced above her. As she did, another pile of debris crashed down.

Hamish's hand closed around her arm and he yanked her to him, almost tearing her arm out of the socket. He shoved her in front of him. "Go!" he yelled.

Alice didn't have time to object. She crawled through the rubble, trying to find a way out. Hamish was shouting at her heels, Quinn barely visible ahead of her. All around were the sounds of the remaining pillars of the house collapsing. Choking and blinded by the dust, Alice pushed forward, shoving brick and glass and plaster out of her way, refusing to let the fear overwhelm her. Her nails were torn and her hands cut and scraped, but she kept pushing.

There was a light ahead of her. It was tiny and far away, but Alice still managed to spot it, and she changed course. She didn't know if Hamish was still behind her; she was too scared to care, too terrified of being crushed to death to have any concern for his wellbeing.

The light grew in size as Alice neared it, now carelessly throwing rubble out of her way. Something caught on her arm and she felt a sharp pain as it tore down to her elbow. Blocking the pain out, Alice kept moving.

She burst into the backyard, covered in soot and coughing. Quinn was several tiny steps ahead of her, his whiskers quivering. Behind her, Hamish squeezed out of the gap, his face black and bleeding. As he did, the gap collapsed in on itself with a final cloud of dust and smoke.

"Bloody hell," he breathed. "Alright?"

"Well, we're alive," Alice said.

Nodding, Hamish got to his feet. He helped Alice up, too, and she gently cupped Quinn in her hands. "Come on," he said. "We can't stay here."

Alice glanced back at the destroyed house. It was still burning brightly, the fire high and hot.

"They should have put most of the fire out by now," she observed. "It's all still burning."

Hamish shook his head. "This isn't normal fire, Alice. This is magic. They won't put that out with hoses and water. Come on." He grabbed her by the arm and guided her out of the backyard, through the backyard of another house, and into the street across from Quinn's.

Quinn himself was still shivering in Alice's hands. "Um... you can change back now, Quinn," she told him.

He didn't even acknowledge her. Alice raised a questioning eyebrow to Hamish.

"He can't," the Scot informed her. "He's injured and weak. And easier to fix like that. Take him into the vet, he'll be fine."

Alice wasn't sure if he was being serious or not. She bit her bottom lip as she watched Hamish. He wasn't smiling or laughing or looking anything but his usual, calm self. "That was a joke, right?" she asked.

"Aye, of course it was."

She sighed in relief. She'd feel horrible – and stupid – taking Quinn to the vet's. She had a distinct feeling that Quinn wouldn't really appreciate it, either.

"He's not worth the money," the Scot explained.

She scowled. So that was why. "What are we supposed to do, then?"

"Leave his leg; you can't do anything for that. Bathe the wound on his side in salt water or something."

Alice was walking fast to keep up with him. Her whole body hurt, from the newly acquired gash on her arm to the deep burn across her face that the guard had given her back in the Colosseum, to a headache that mercilessly throbbed behind her blind eye.

"How are we going to get salt water? And where are we supposed to go?"

Alice didn't like the look of the grin on Hamish's face. He knew something she didn't, which was a given, and he was both looking incredibly proud and very grim.

"Don't worry; you're going to love it," he assured her. "Now let's go."

Half an hour later, they showed up at the doorstep of a large two-storey house. Hamish bother to didn't knock as he pushed the door open and strode in. Alice followed behind him, Quinn in hand.

"Whose house is this?" she asked, looking around. It was old but tidy, and there was a familiar feel about the place that made Alice feel uneasy. She could sense traces of magic in the air.

Hamish didn't answer. He casually twirled his blade around in his hand like a pinwheel as he scanned the room as though looking for something.

Alice hadn't realised he managed to grab it, in amongst the chaos of a burning house.

"Hamish?"

"Hmm?"

"Whose house is this?" she repeated. Quinn twitched in her hands.

The Scot glanced in a room to see if it was empty, then waved them in. "I can't tell you that, Alice."

"Why not?"

"Bloody hell. After all this time we've spent together, you still don't trust me?"

Alice didn't even hesitate. "No."

"And I thought we were friends."

The room might have been the living room, but with the amount of bookcases and books it looked more like a miniature library. Alice could barely move without tripping over a stack of books or almost knocking over a bookcase. In the end, she just stood awkwardly in the doorway as Hamish made his way through the room and disappeared through another doorway. She was much too clumsy to find her way through there, and with only one eye, her balance was off.

Quinn looked up at her with his dark eyes and gave a squeak.

"Don't look at me like that," she told him. "I can't get through there."

He squeaked again, prompting Alice to roll her eyes and step into the room. A noise from above stopped her. She turned around and started upstairs, ignoring the sharp nip on the finger from Quinn.

She took the stairs two at a time, pausing when she reached the landing.

From one of the rooms came the sound of something – or someone – hitting the floor. Alice cautiously approached the first door as Quinn batted his tail against her palm in warning. She shoved him in her jacket pocket, much to his chagrin.

She swung the door open to find a room that, aside from furniture, was empty. The next three rooms were empty as well. At the fourth door, Alice pressed her ear firmly to the wood. There was definitely someone in there.

Heart beating wildly, Alice turned the handle and swung the door open.

There in the centre of the floor was a large man with bandages wrapped around his face, covering eyes. He rubbed his ankle and cursed to himself as he tried to stand up. There was a large tree in the centre of the room, that looked as if it had grown up out of the floorboards.He hadn't noticed there was someone there.

Alice stared. Her mouth opened and closed several times, unable to produce sound. Quinn poked his head out of her pocket, saw the man, and disappeared again.

"You!"

Augustus froze, midstep. His head swung around wildly. "Who's there?" he asked. There was fear and vulnerability in his voice, and Alice pushed away her empathy for him. He was no friend of hers.

"You live here?" she asked.

He hesitated, then a smile formed and he chuckled. "Is that you, Alice?" he said. "I was right, then. Hamish was with you. It must have hurt his pride for him to bring you here."

Alice took a step back. What was he talking about? Was this a trap? Hamish bought her here, and he would have known Augustus was waiting. Did Hamish sell her out? She readied herself for a fight.

"Don't worry, Alice," Augustus told her. "I'm not going to kill you. I can't even find you; how do you propose I would kill you?"

"What do you want, then?"

Augustus tried to step toward her, but tripped over his feet. He stopped moving. "It may not seem like it, but you actually did me a kindness when you took me eyes; I don't have to witness the evils of the world anymore. It does, however, have its setbacks. I can't really use magic now, because I can't see. And, assuming there was a plot to assassinate the Council of Ten, well I wouldn't be able to do anything about that, now would I?"

At this, Alice thought she felt Quinn perk up in her pocket slightly. He stopped wiggling, at the very least.

"A plot?" Alice asked. "By who?"

"I can give you the details," Augustus told her. "But you must promise me something, first."

"Like what?"

"That you will stop it. The Council of Ten must not fall."

Alice narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "You want me to stop it? I can't just stroll in there," she snapped. "I'm a witch, remember."

"If Robert dies, the magical community will fall into chaos. Normal people will find out about us, normal people will die because of us. We can't let that happen. The only people who know anything about it and are willing to stop it happen to be the only people who no one will listen to."

Quinn was again becoming restless in Alice's pocket. If he was in his human form and able to talk, Alice knew he would be shooting questions at Augustus. She also knew without any doubt in her mind that Quinn would barge down to the Council Chambers and kill anyone who dared lay a hand on Robert.

She put a hand over the squirming rat to calm him. "Tell me everything you know."

Nikolai was a difficult man to get a hold of. Wilson knew this from experience. The general place one went to meet a member of the Gentlemen's Club was at the Rune, but with Hamish McKinley gone, presumed dead, the pub was closed and the building was empty.

It was by luck, then, that he happened upon a vampire who knew how to find the elusive Russian. With a little persuasion, Wilson was given an address to a large apartment building in the middle of the city. Nikolai didn't live there, they said, but a member did, and that was the next best thing.

Wilson stood out the front of the apartment, apprehension filling him. He couldn't help but thinking it was the least gentlemanly-looking building he'd ever seen. And that was saying something.

Putting his doubts behind him, Wilson entered the building. The interior showed no visible improvement. Where was the style, the sophistication?

The member lived on the fourth floor, number 8. Wilson knocked on the dirty, once-white door, grimacing. The building was a disgusting, germ-filled shell.

A young woman with short, spiky blonde hair answered. She narrowed her eyes at the sight of him. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm looking for Brett Wilkins."

She gave him a once-over. "You are?"

"Are you Brett Wilkins?" Wilson asked, agitated. She had no right asking him any questions.

"I am, actually."

Wilson blinked. He checked the address on the paper, the name, and the girl in front of him.

"I was told you were a member of the Gentlemen's Club," he said, unsure.

She waved him inside, closing the door behind him. "You were told right. It's not exactly conventional, a woman in the Gentlemen's Club, but here I am."

"Here you are," Wilson agreed, because he couldn't exactly disagree.

The inside of her apartment was neither gentlemanly nor old-fashioned. It was very neat and modern, all blacks and whites and the occasional shade of grey. Everything was in a place which was its place. Wilson couldn't find a fault with the contrasted apartment. Even the cat was black. It rubbed against his legs, meowing affectionately, before sprinting off.

Wilson looked at Brett in disbelief. This woman was a member of the Gentlemen's Club? "You're definitely a member?" he asked again, just to be sure. No need to be asking favours of the wrong people.

She nodded. "Nikolai himself invited me," she assured him.

The name was enough for him. Any random person wouldn't know the name Nikolai. "I have a job for the club," he said, even though it was obviously the only reason he would be here.

Brett held up a finger. She wandered into the kitchen, pulled a sheet of paper out of the top drawer, and handed it to Wilson, along with a pen. "Fill this out," she commanded. "We'll get around to it."

"I need it done soon," Wilson told her as he read through the contract. He signed his name, 'Wilson Dempsy', with a flourish, then went back and filled out everything else.

Handing the pen back to Brett, he held onto the contract. She raised an eyebrow.

"How long will it take?" he asked.

Brett shrugged. "Depends how many other contracts we have. And how high the bounty is set, of course," she added.

Wilson had assumed as much. "Half a million."

Brett's eyes looked like they were about to fall out of her head. "That's a high bounty," she admitted. She took the contract Wilson offered her and read the name. She cleared her throat awkwardly. "You sure know how to pick 'em."

"Can you do it?" Wilson asked. They were the best, after all, and if they couldn't do it, no one could.

Brett shot him a glare, still suspicious. "Can you pay us?"

"I wouldn't be here if I couldn't. You'll get your money once it's done."

For a second more, Brett watched him. Then she folded the contract it half and pocketed it. "I'll let Nikolai know at once."

"Good. Make sure it gets done," Wilson snapped.

He gave her an obligatory nod, then left the apartment. Half a million was a high bounty. And truth be told, he couldn't afford it. But what could the Gentlemen's Club do? They couldn't unkill, and they couldn't lay a hand on Wilson, either.

Once it was done, it was done, and the Gentlemen's Club wouldn't see a cent for it.

Betelgeuse was mentally kicking himself. How could he have possibly stuffed up that bad? The witch was in there, and so was a now likely dead Hamish. Sure, he didn't need both of them. But he needed one or the other. Now they were both dead. Maybe it was bad information. Maybe he had been so sure of himself that he'd botched it.

Whatever it was, he would make sure it didn't happen again.

As he walked through the streets, he was vaguely aware that he was being followed. The boy in question possessed little to no magical abilities, so Betelgeuse wasn't worried about the danger. He was, however, curious to know what the boy knew.

He'd been a friend of Alice's, apparently. But how close? How much did he know about her? Betelgeuse needed to know, and that was the only reason he didn't shake the idiot boy off.

He kept his pace, through the suburbs and back alleys and small parks, looking suspicious enough so the boy didn't lose interest, but not so suspicious that he'd arouse the interest of others. It was a long way home, especially walking, but if Betelgeuse had taken off in his car, the boy would never have been able to keep up.

When he finally rounded into his street, he sped up. Behind him, the boy sped up, too. He slipped in through the opening gates, making sure to open them just wide enough for the boy to slip in before he pushed the button and closed them again.

Only then did he stop.

"Magic is a very precise art, boy. Did you know that?" He turned to the boy, who was rooted on the spot. "What's your name?"

The boy raised his chin defiantly. "Reggie," he said. "You blew Quinn's house up; you killed Alice." I wasn't a question.

Betelgeuse gave a shrug. "I won't deny that I'm responsible for the demolition of the house, but I have no guarantee that any of them are dead. Did you see the bodies? Neither did I."

Reggie was still glaring. "Why? What did she ever do to you?"

"Nothing," Betelgeuse admitted. "In fact, I've never met the girl. But you have, which means I have some questions for you."

"I'm going to kill you," Reggie swore. He spat at Betelgeuse.

"Stubbornness will only cause you pain," Betelgeuse told him. He splayed his fingers, and a loud crack filled the air.

Reggie fell to the ground. He didn't feel any pain, didn't feel as his body hit the dirt. He tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't move. He couldn't feel them. His arms were the same. Where there should have been a tinge of pain in the steadily bleeding cut on his arm, there was a great sense of nothing, as though it was someone else's body, not his.

Betelgeuse waddled up to him. He admired the boy's courage. Or perhaps it was simply stupidity. Either way, he admired it. "Just in case you try and run away from me," he said.

"What did you do?" Reggie croaked from the ground.

"I severed your spinal cord," the dwarf told him. "I can fix it, of course, but only if you help me."

Reggie's lip curled, still defiant. "You may as well just kill me."

"But that would be no fun. Where are my manners? Please, come inside." The dwarf waved his hand at his house, beaming. Then he pretended to notice Reggie on the ground for the first time, and his face fell. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry; I forgot. I'll send someone for you in the morning."

With a flourish and a sickening smile, he turned his back on Reggie and waddled to his house. He paused halfway. "It's supposed to rain tonight; try not to drown." And then he kept going.

Chapter Sixteen

Alice woke to the smell of bacon. She stretched, then groaned in pain as her body responded to the movement. She felt as though she was covered in a huge, tender bruise that throbbed even if she tried to think. Sleeping on the couch probably hadn't helped, but no way was she going to take Augustus's bed. Not even after the eighth time he'd offered.

Content to just lay there, she let her mind wander over the events on the past few days. They seemed so surreal, like they were something she'd seen in a movie or read in a book. Alice wished they'd happened in a book, and not to her. How nice it would be for her to wake up in her own bed, with her father yelling at her to get up, and her mother dishing up a plate of pancakes. That seemed so many years ago now. Those days were gone, but the reality wasn't.

Instead, she woke up to pain and the crackling and sizzling of bacon. She woke up to two men she'd have never met if she was a normal human being. In exchange for her mother and father, Alice got Quinn and Hamish. Dumb and dumber. But it was too late to go back now.

Finally mustering the motivation to get up, Alice went to find someone. Hamish was in the kitchen cooking while Quinn, still too weak to change back into a human, grudgingly nibbled on a purposely burnt piece. Augustus was nowhere to be seen.

Taking a seat at the counter, Alice made her presence known by clearing her throat. Quinn squeaked at her, and Hamish dumped a plate in front of her, nearly flattening Quinn in the process.

Apparently, they'd had a limited argument the previous night about whether or not Alice should help Robert. Limited because Quinn couldn't speak, and Hamish could just seal him in a plastic container. She still didn't know who was on what side, or who had won – though she supposed Hamish had.

There was a loud crash, followed by a string of swear words. "That'll be Augustus," Alice commented, getting out of her seat.

Hamish put a hand on her shoulder and forced her back down, gentle but firm. "Eat," he said, leaving the kitchen. He reappeared with Augustus at his side.

For a while, no one spoke. Hamish was busy filling plates, Augustus was busy trying to find the edge of the bench from his seat, and Quinn was busy being a rat. Alice waited until Hamish was finished cooking and leaned against the counter with his own loaded plate before she spoke.

"How... how am I supposed to do this?" she asked.

She was still unsure of getting in there without being killed on the spot. In the Colosseum, the magic had shielded who she really was, but the defensive mechanisms in the Council Chambers were different. Much, much different.

Hamish chewed a piece of bacon thoughtfully. "We're not sure if you'll be doing anything, yet."

Augustus's head shot up. Evidentially, he was listening. "That was my bargain," he said. "If I told her everything-"

Hamish cut her off. "Alice might have promised to help Robert, but I didn't promise I'd let her."

"You can't stop me from going," Alice pointed out.

Hamish looked at her as though she was an idiot. "You'll do whatever I tell you, kid. In case it slipped your notice, I am currently the only one here who can use any form of magic, making me the strongest out of the lot of us, which means you'll all do as I say. Quinn's a rat, Augustus is blind, and you're half blind and half dead. I know you're thinking about sneaking out, so don't bother."

Alice scowled; she was indeed thinking about sneaking off while Hamish was sleeping. Even if he did know everything, he couldn't be consciously aware of that knowledge while he was sleeping. Maybe she could tie him up or something.

"You," Hamish continued, looking at her. "Are going to stay here and look after these two buffoons. I will be going to try and stop his old buddy from destroying us all. Got it?"

"That's-" Alice began.

"Shut it," Hamish snapped.

She shut her mouth.

"Does anyone besides Alice have any problems?"

Quinn exploded into a series of squeaks, apparently not agreeing with the plan at all. He was promptly ignored. "Augustus?"

The blind man sat silently, pondering. "I have a book in my library, Alice, that you might find useful," he finally said. "It's written by a woman called Temperance Fougler. The Language of Emotion."

"What's it about?" Alice asked curiously.

"Ms Fougler was the youngest magical being ever found. She could use her love and joy to create magic at the age of 12. Her book might motivate you to use, and possibly control, your hate. Of course, you may find it a challenge just to find."

Alice glanced at Hamish, unsure of the gesture, but he just shrugged. "Take him," he said, jerking his head toward Quinn. "He might be able to help you find it. It'll be all he's good for."

Nodding, Alice scooped an indignant Quinn up and hurried to the library, Robert and the Council of Ten forgotten.

Maybe she could control her hate, and maybe even her love. Instead of being a dangerous killing machine as everyone expected, she could learn to heal wounds. She could be like Josef, only not half as creepy.

She dumped Quinn on one of the many bookcases and they began to search. There were so many books, and none of them were in any sort of order that Alice recognised. They might have been in chronological order, or order of preference, but she doubted it; there were simply too many to bother.

It was well over an hour later before she heard Quinn give a loud squeak, and she rushed over to find him with his front paws resting on a large, leather-bound book. The golden letters on the front were faded, but not so much that you couldn't read them anymore.

Alice put Quinn on her shoulder and grabbed the book. It was heavier than it looked. She found an empty chair and sat in it, flipping the book open to the first page. The paper was old and thin, and felt like an autumn leaf after it had fallen off the tree.

Excited and nervous, Alice began to read. She wanted to control her emotions, be someone no one expected her to be. Maybe she could get other witches to do the same. She could change the nature of witches, and the way they were viewed by society.

From her shoulder, Quinn gave a faint squeak, as though he knew what she was thinking.

Robert watched as his body stepped up to the staked woman and dropped the burning torch on the oiled sticks at her feet. He couldn't even apologise to her; his mouth didn't work for him these days.

It was still a foreign feeling for him, watching his body do things that he couldn't control. Things that he would never be able to forgive himself for.

The witchburnings were one of them.

He watched as the witch screamed and writhed, a sound that had already assaulted his ears too many times in these past few days. The smell of burnt, dead flesh would never leave his clothes, and the names of the dead were etched into his mind.

He'd forgotten how many he'd killed already.

Robert tried to look away, but he couldn't; his eyes weren't his anymore. He couldn't even close them. He was trapped in his own body, with nothing to do but watch as horrors and atrocities were committed in his name. If he ever got out of this, he promised, he would go home. He would step down from the Council of Ten and go to his home, in his dimension.

A young man stepped up to him. "Are you sure this is alright?" he asked.

A voice that was Robert's spoke words he would never say. "If you've got a problem with it, I suggest you join her."

The man fell silent and merged back in with the crowd, watching as the fire extinguished a life before his eyes.

Robert couldn't even have himself thrown off the Council; when a corrupt leader took to the throne, the magic in it would cast them out itself.

But Robert wasn't a corrupt person; his heart was true and his intentions fair. Even now that was the truth. This was his body and it was his will that kept him on that throne. The ghost that was controlling him was a different being altogether. It worked as itself to control him. It left his mind intact so that the throne couldn't distinguish it.

And Robert remained the Council of Ten.

His body started moving, out of the room and through the building. He didn't know where he was going; like a movie, he could only watch and see what happened.

He found himself in the throne room. His hand picked up a pen, grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled a sentence. A series of names followed, more people who were to be condemned to death.

'Arrest Warrant.

The following beings are hereby wanted for arrest by the CEF for failing to comply with the new Clause. Should they be found, they must be apprehended. Necessary force is authorised.

Dimitri Aleksandrov; Nikolai Aleksandrov; Keith Armstrong; Libby Barnes; Wilson Dempsy; Elise Fairbourne; Cody Fallon; Quinn Harpington; Noah Irwin; Hamish McKinley; Thomas Peters; Dalton Rosbottom; Allison Russell; Adrian Thomas; Gabriel Young.

-By order of Robert Karson. Council of Ten; Hero of the Weshforth.'

When the warrant was scribbled down, Robert's hand picked it up and held it over the merrily burning candle. He watched sadly as the paper burned, and the ashes rose into the air, a message of death and pain.

More deaths to more innocent people. They'd done nothing wrong besides follow their moral hearts instead of the Clause that advocated death.

If his body was ever returned to him before he died, he would put a stop to this. He would put certain Clauses in place to make sure this could never happen again. He would find Betelgeuse and kill him. After that, he would go home to the Weshforth, and forget about this place. Until then, he would have to suffer.

As his body left the throne room, he mentally sighed. This was a right mess they were in, and it was only going to get worse.

Reggie woke slowly. It took him a while to gather his bearings. Groaning, he glanced around the room he was in. It was a cell, and he'd been shackled to the wall. His body from the neck down was still numb, still refusing to obey him, still refusing to feel pain.

His breathing was laboured, and he fought to keep himself from hyperventilating. You're not a girl, he told himself. Stop acting like one. Being scared is for girls.

But he just couldn't figure how he was supposed to get out of this one, and he was scared. Alice was dead – she was caught in an explosion, for God's sake – and he was chained to a wall and paralysed by a dwarf. How on earth was he going to do anything with four limbs that hung from him like limp noodles?

His hair was still damp, the last remaining proof of him almost drowning the previous night, and it dripped into his eyes, annoyingly so.

On top of that, he needed a smoke.

Footsteps alerted him someone was coming. The door opposite him swung open, and the dwarf waddled in. "You're awake," he stated. "And I've forgotten my manners; my name is Betelgeuse."

"Good to know," Reggie spat. "Now let me out of here."

Betelgeuse rubbed his hands together. "Oh, I can't do that. I still need you. Did you sleep well last night? Didn't have any troubles with the rain, I hope."

"I nearly drowned, you dumbarse dwarf!"

"Please don't call me that."

"What, dwarf?"

"Yes," Betelgeuse said. "I don't appreciate it and I'd hate to cause you more pain than is necessary."

"Try your worst, dwarf," Reggie seethed. He spat the last word, filling it with as much hate and malice he could muster.

Betelgeuse sighed. He flicked his wrist down. A gash appeared in Reggie's leg, blood spurting out. He felt nothing. A grin almost formed, but he kept it down. This was the worst the dwarf could do? Was he really that thick?

The bleeding stopped on Betelgeuse's command. He cocked his head to the side. "I almost forgot," he began. "You can't feel anything, can you? I'll have to fix that."

Reggie's eyes widened slightly. A tingling sensation spread through his body. He wiggled his fingers and toes. He could move again! Now all he needed to do was get out of the shackles.

The joyous feeling was soon replaced with intense, burning pain, like fire through his veins. It started in his head, spreading through him until there was no part of him that wasn't in pain. The stinging from the gash on his leg was lost, overwhelmed by the agony of fire in his blood.

He gritted his teeth, telling himself he would stay silent. The technique only lasted a few seconds, and Reggie screamed. The pain throbbed through him with each heartbeat, as though he was repeatedly having each bone in his body broken. It engulfed his senses, and soon all he could smell was the stench of pain, and his screams burned his eardrums and the taste of blood filled his mouth.

After what felt like forever, the pain slowly ebbed away. "How was that?" Betelgeuse asked. "Are we still cocky?"

Reggie worked up a mouthful of saliva. "I'm gonna burn you alive," he hissed, spitting.

Not exactly his smartest move, but Reggie wasn't about to give the dwarf any satisfaction. He was scared, and pretty sure he'd probably die, but if that was the case he may as well go out fighting. In theory. Defiance until the end.

Betelgeuse sighed. "I see. Well now that I've got you warmed up, let's begin."

Curling his hands into fists, Reggie braced himself for the pain.

In his rat form, Quinn could hear a lot better than Alice, even if he couldn't tell her what he heard because she didn't speak rat.

He knew, for instance, that Hamish was leaving for the Council Chambers. He also knew that it was a stupid idea. The latter was recently formed knowledge from the warrant that had just floated down to him. Alice, too enthralled in the book, didn't notice.

And he needed her to notice it. If Hamish reached the Council Chambers, he would be arrested on sight; for all his knowledge, he was still too proud to do things practically. But if Alice reached them, he hoped he would be able to guide her through the back entrance, keep her safe, save Robert, and get her out again. Then they would both be safe, everybody would live to see the morning, and it would be fine. Well, he hoped as much.

As Quinn watched Alice read, however, he didn't think it would work out at all. She was doing a brilliant job at reading and an even better one at ignoring him.

He hated to admit it, but Hamish was more use than he was at the moment.

"Alice!" he yelled. It came out as a high squeak.

She didn't even look up. He knew she heard him, because her head tilted ever-so-slightly, but she continued reading.

"For the love of... Alice!"

Turning the page, Alice simply shushed him.

He scowled. Just because he was a rat now, didn't mean she was excused from listening to him; he was still older than her, after all. It wasn't his fault that he would have been crushed by the upstairs bathtub if he didn't transform into a something very small, and it wasn't his fault he was too injured to change back.

Seizing the paper in his mouth, he awkwardly made his way to Alice. It was difficult because he wasn't used to being a rat, and his left leg was broken, which was always a hindrance.

He made it to her though, crawling up her leg and feeling ridiculously perverted, and dumping the warrant in the centre of the open book.

Alice scowled and grabbed it. "I'm trying to read," she snapped at him.

Quinn rolled his eyes. Yes, she was trying to read now, but when she found out that Hamish was walking into his own arrest, she'd probably throw the book in the rubbish on her way out.

Forty-three years of life had taught Quinn a fair bit about love. While the two didn't exactly fit the criteria, they were drawn together by their mutual sense of isolation, even if Alice still didn't recognise it. They were both at the mercy of emotions they could barely control so, naturally, they were drawn to each other. It was all very romantic.

As far as Quinn was concerned, that was probably the only reason Hamish was helping them. Quinn's reasons were slightly more personal. Alice didn't need to know the motives of either of them.

Quinn half expected her to jump up out of her seat and rush off to save the day, but he was wrong. With Alice, he always seemed to be wrong.

"Where did you get this?" she asked. She turned the paper in her hands, as though trying to deduce its origin and validity.

Quinn began to speak, but she cut him off.

"I don't speak rat, Quinn."

So much for that question. He tore the paper from her hands, dropped it on the book and stood directly above Hamish's name. For a smart girl, she could be incredibly stupid. And this was one of those times.

"What, do you want me to arrest him or something?"

He couldn't believe anyone could be so slow. By the time Alice figured it out – if she ever did – Hamish would be in the Colosseum, Robert would be dead, and the other half of the magical community would be after her head. Assuming she ever did click.

Just as Quinn was beginning to think everything was lost, something finally clicked, and Alice shot up out of her seat, almost sending him flying.

"If Hamish reaches the Council Chambers, he'll be arrested!"

Quinn gave her a flat look. Of course he would be. That was, after all, the whole point of an arrest warrant.

"Shut up," she told him, seizing him in one hand and hurrying out of the room.

Augustus was sitting in the dining room, either unable or unwilling to get up. He tilted his head when he heard her enter, even if he couldn't see anything.

"Augustus, where's-"

"How was the book?" he asked, cutting her off.

She ignored the question. "Hamish," she firmly told him. "Where's Hamish?"

"He left a few minutes ago," Augustus informed her.

Quinn tried to settle himself in Alice's pocket, but she grabbed him and dumped him on the table even as he protested.

"You stay here," she said. "You'll only get hurt." She grabbed the two whips from the bench before she left.

Quinn yelled in protest, but he was unable to get down from the bench. This wasn't exactly how he'd planned the whole thing; he was almost certain he was somewhat involved in his plans, and keeping everyone alive in the process. Alice would be slaughtered.

Next to him, Augustus let out a sigh. "I really don't mind," he said, more to himself than to Quinn. "But sometimes it would be nice to have my sight back. You're still too weak to change back, I gather. I understand the pain of being weak."

Still trying to find a way off the bench, Quinn wasn't paying him too much attention. Of course he was too weak to change back. If he possessed any sort of strength, he'd be right after Alice, probably even stopping her. But his leg was still broken, his side still burned with every breath and at least one of his ribs was fractured, maybe even broken.

"As long as they can get to Robert in time."

It was a long drop from the bench to the ground. Quinn considered making the jump, but the only thing he would achieve from it was a lot of pain and broken bones, if not death. No, that wouldn't work.

"It's a shame Alice left," Augustus continued. "I didn't always agree with everything Wilson did. Killing Robert is one of those things. But I am still loyal to him. It's just a shame that I'll have to catch Alice again."

Quinn froze. It was then he realised just how powerless he was, stuck as a rat, too weak to change into anything moderately dangerous. He glanced up at Augustus who, while still obviously blind, had a funny look about him.

"We don't want to hurt Alice, Quinn; we want to help her. And in exchange, we want her to help us. Is that too much to ask?"

The last thing Quinn saw was the round rim of a dark green bowl. Then it closed over him and he was engulfed by darkness.

Chapter Seventeen

Everything was going completely to hell. That was the only way Hamish could think of it.

He was on his way to try and save the man who had just written an arrest warrant for him; Alice was on her way to getting herself killed by following after him; Reggie was no better off, the fool he was; and Quinn... Well Quinn was a kidnapped rat trapped in a box.

And that was barely the tip of the iceberg.

Stupidly, Hamish hoped he would be able to stop the man Wilson had sent from killing Robert, and get out of the Council Chambers without getting caught before Alice could reach him. But she was too close and too fast. Quinn obviously hadn't reckoned on her leaving him on the island bench, so he couldn't try and explain to her the importance of stealth.

Hamish stopped a block away from the Council Chambers, waiting. It wasn't long before Alice burst around the corner. She would have kept going without even noticing him there if he didn't seize her around the waist and pull her into a boarded doorway.

"Get- Hamish!" She was clearly relieved to see him.

Hamish didn't share such enthusiasm. "You," he said, teeth gritted. "Are a fool."

"They sent out an arrest warrant for you," she told him.

He resisted the urge to slap her for her stupidity. "Aye, I know. I know everything. If you were gonna be as stupid as to come after me, why didn't you at least bring Quinn with you?"

Alice was taken aback. "He's a rat. What use is he?"

As much as Hamish wanted to agree that Quinn was useless, he didn't, because now he was even more useless than he was before. "Augustus took him."

"What?"

"He meant to take you, but you took off after me before he could. So he settled with the rat you stranded on the island counter."

Alice dipped her head, ashamed and annoyed and feeling stupid. How could she leave him behind like that? After her first meeting with Augustus, how could she even think of trusting him? "We have to go get him," she said.

"We have to save Robert."

"But-"

"Quinn is nowhere near as important as Robert. He'll be fine, anyway. They don't want him dead. Now, if you're coming, you do exactly as I say. Got it?"

Alice went to speak, but thought better of it and clenched her teeth. She nodded.

Hamish held his hand out. "The whips," he demanded.

"I might need them," Alice countered. She handed them over anyway.

"No you won't. You can't use them properly, and we don't want to kill anyone." His voice was a lot harsher than he'd intended. He started walking, and Alice fell in step beside him.

She thought back to the guard she'd killed at the Colosseum. Why did he feel the need to bring that up? "What if they're trying to kill us?" she asked. "Are we supposed to just let them?"

"See, this is why I left you behind."

"What, to be kidnapped?" Alice spat bitterly.

"I didn't know about that," Hamish defended.

He was used to being accused of just letting things happen, of knowing something bad was eminent but not doing anything about it. And, for the most part, the accusations were justified. But not this time. He should have trusted his gut, yes, but that wasn't how he worked.

The disbelief in Alice's face was apparent. "You know everything!"

"He didn't plan it beforehand, so I didn't know. I told you, Alice, I'm not a mindreader. I can't tell you about a car crash before it happens"

Alice glared at him.

"I don't really care what you believe," he finally told her, annoyance clear in his voice. "So if you want to go on thinking I tried to set you up, go ahead. If you want to kill me, I wish you the best of luck. But I'm finished with this conversation."

He picked up his pace, knowing Alice wouldn't try such a thing. She was determined and suspicious, but still smart enough to know she would never be able to best him.

She kept in step with him, her bright eyes boring into him like screws. He did his best to ignore it.

They reached the familiar church with no problems. It was only when they stepped inside the old building were they faced with the first obstacle.

Ten well-armed, well-trained men stood around the entrance to the council chambers. They watched Hamish and Alice enter, their heads moving in unison, but they didn't move.

Hamish sighed, as though it was really a minor annoyance. And to him, it was just that. "Permission to enter," he asked sarcastically.

"Do you have a name?"

"Hamish McKinley. And this girl here," he grabbed Alice by the arm and shook her. "She's a witch."

"What are you doing?" Alice hissed, horrified. If there was a way for Hamish to make absolute certain they would both be killed before they even reached the Council Chambers, this was it.

As one, each of the men grabbed the weapons at their sides. The one who spoke was looking at the two suspiciously. He seemed unsure, like maybe he didn't believe Hamish.

Like maybe it was a trap.

He motioned to the man on his left, who took several steps forward.

"You both have warrants for arrest," the man said. "Surrender now, and come peacefully."

Hamish had no such plan. "I know what I'll do," he decided happily. "If I can guess your name, will you let us go? Three guesses and out? Is it Rumplestiltskin?"

The man gave him a funny look. He glanced back at his superior, who raised an eyebrow. "No," he finally said.

"Okay then... What if I guess your wife's name? Mary's an old-fashioned name, but I like it better than Wilhelmina. I mean, most five year old girls can't even say the name Wilhelmina. I know your daughter can't, Phil. Poor girl, can't even pronounce her own name."

The man, Phil, was paler than a sheet, his eyes wide and afraid. Even Alice was having trouble believing Hamish would use someone's family against them. Hamish, of all people.

As she watched, though, Hamish's eyes were steadily turning black, the paler Phil went. Was it possible to feed off other's emotions to strengthen your magic? Alice had never really considered the possibility before but as she watched, Hamish seemed to grow, and the shadows in the room darkened.

Phil turned back to his superior, whose face was steadily swelling, bright red and sweaty.

"Now, if you'll excuse us." Hamish took a step forward. Phil stepped aside to let him through.

His superior didn't. "Take one more step, and I'll have you."

Hamish's eyes were swirling with black, like dye swirling in water. The shadows were moving, shapes forming and faltering, creatures straining to escape from them like an animal caught in a net. The remaining men faltered at the sight, unsure about attacking.

Alice took a step closer to Hamish. She didn't want to get caught by any of the creatures, and they seemed to be keeping their distance from him. Her breathing was heavy and her palms were beginning to sweat. Fear welled in her.

Out of the shadows, something with a thousand tentacles leapt out. It grabbed one of the men as he screamed, and pulled him into the shadows, its tentacles snaking around his arms and legs and neck.

The other men readied themselves. One of them activated his weapon, and shot a blinding line of lightening at the shadow that was sneaking up on him. The lightening went straight through the shadow, harmless, but still it melted back into the darkness, replaced just a quickly by another.

Phil was backed up against a wall, his face contorted in fear as a beautiful shadow woman approached him, her hair whipping in the non-existent wind. She grabbed each side of his face and pressed her lips to his. He struck out with his hands, but they went straight through her as she lifted him up and threw him.

The superior managed to get a break from the shadows and, not realising something resembling a dog was sneaking up on him, shot a bolt of lightning directly at Hamish.

"Hamish!" Alice rammed into him, the bolt missing her by a hair's breadth as they hit the ground.

In the moment of distraction, Hamish swore as the shadows retreated back to their rightful places. Six of the ten men were motionless.

The superior glanced around at his unconscious men, before turning back to Hamish. "You're a Nightmare," he realised.

Grunting, Hamish picked himself up from the ground, helping Alice up, too. "Aye," he grumbled. "And I'm not so easy to catch."

The superior gave a nod, and the three remaining men stepped forward, weapons out. From behind him, Hamish pulled out his blade.

"I guess I can play fair," he decided.

Four bolts of lightning shot at him. His blade flashed through the air, deflecting them in turn. He gathered a handful of shadows in his palm and threw them.

They formed into a large spider with more legs than Alice could count, and hit one of the men in the face. He yelled, clawing at it with his nails. It sunk its fangs deep into his cheek, and his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed.

Hamish ducked as a ball of fire flew past his head, returning the blow with a shadowy fireball of his own, skilfully hitting the mark. The man screamed as it burned his face, spreading down his torso and limbs. But as the fire burnt out and disappeared, there were no marks.

A shadow crept up behind the third man, grabbing his legs and pulling him back. It weightlessly swung him, and his head cracked into the wall, knocking him out.

Behind her, Alice could feel something stirring. She glanced back to see a large, shadowy creature crawling toward her. It had no eyes or nose or ears; instead a large gaping hole covered its head as it made loud sucking sounds that reminded her of Josef.

Twelve legs cracked and groaned on each side of its body as it approached. The limbs kept breaking and falling off, but were replaced just as quickly. Its whole body was covered in thick, black pus that dripped onto the ground. Alice fell backwards. Her breath hitched. "Hamish?"

Hamish was still tackling the last man as the superior watched. He wasn't keeping control of the shadows anymore, she realised. And he wouldn't be able to call it off.

The creature reached out a rotting leg, the talons on the end of it menacingly sharp. Alice crawled backwards as it struck. The talons barely missed her leg, hitting the ground and shattering as they did. They were replaced in an instant.

It bent all of its legs and jumped, landing on Alice and pinning her down with ten of its twelve legs. One of them buried itself into her arm, and she screamed as pain shot through her. The two remaining legs hovered around her face, as though deciding the best place to strike. The sucking was replaced by clicking sounds, like someone clicking their tongue. It inspected her face.

"Hamish!"

The creature struck, its legs driving down to her face. Then, it exploded soundlessly, forming into a large cloud of shadow. For a moment it hovered in the air, then the shadows slowly floated away from her, forming into a silhouette of the broken chandelier on the roof.

Alice gasped, her breath shaky. She looked around for Hamish. He was standing next to the superior, who was motionless on the ground. His eyes were back to normal, and he was watching her carefully. A significantly sized bruise was forming on his cheek.

"What... was that?" Alice asked. She stood up slowly. Her legs felt like jelly, and her heart was still thumping.

"A shadow," Hamish said. "Made up of fear. It can't physically hurt you, or kill you," he assured her. "Well, it probably could kill you."

He was still watching her, his eyes sad and his face pale. "Next time you're going to do something like that, at least warn me," Alice grumbled.

"Sorry," he said. "It's the best method of attack I've got, with the lowest mortality rate. Would've gotten all of them if he didn't break my concentration." Hamish gave the superior a heavy kick. "Oh well. They're down now. Let's go."

Alice gave the men a final glance before she hurried after Hamish, down the stairs and into the Council Chambers.

Wilson stared into the box with poorly hidden disappointment. Fortunately, the only other person in the room was blind. He would have given Augustus some slack considering he was blind, but this was just ridiculous.

"This is a rat," he said. "Why do I have a rat?"

"Because he's not a real rat," Augustus assured him, pleased with himself.

"Then what is it?"

"Quinn Harpington."

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "The last I checked, Quinn Harpington was a man."

"And a shapeshifter," Augustus pointed out.

"So you, a blind man, mean to tell me that his particular rat happens to be Quinn Harpington?"

Augustus shifted uncomfortably. He scratched at his unshaven chin. "Well... yeah."

"Very well," Wilson said. He secured the lid back on the box, not because he didn't want 'Quinn Harpington' to escape, but because he didn't want a filthy rat running around the place. He already had enough vermin to deal with. "What am I supposed to do with him, then?"

Obviously this was the part Augusts was waiting for. "He's associated with Alice and Hamish McKinley," the man told him. "They know we've got him, so it's only a matter of time before they come looking."

Wilson thought about that. Yes, it would be a good plan. If they actually had Quinn Harpington, and not just a half dead rat. He couldn't blame Augustus though; it was difficult to be competent when you didn't have eyes. At the very least, he could humour the poor man.

"Fine," Wilson said. "I'll lock him up, make sure he doesn't escape. You've done well, Augustus."

"Thank you," Augustus replied. He left, slowly and loudly, and Wilson called for Morgan.

The girl smiled sweetly when she entered. She was dressed proactively, as was her custom, and the black around her eyes gave him the impression of a racoon. "You wanted me?" she asked.

Wilson held out the box for her.

A perfectly plucked eyebrow shot up. "A gift for me?"

"You flatter yourself," Wilson snapped. "Too often."

Morgan took the box and lifted the lid. She squealed at the sight of the rat, almost dropping it, box and all. "What am I supposed to do with this?" she asked, scandalised.

"Get rid of it."

Nose wrinkled in disgust, Morgan held the box at arm's length. "You want me to kill it?"

"Feed it to the dogs."

Nodding, Morgan left, carefully making sure not to get the box too close. She didn't want the filthy rodent touching her. How disgusting.

Once outside she made a beeline for the dog cage. Seven vicious Dobermans barked at her arrival, all fighting to get the closest.

Morgan opened the cage gate very slightly, and slipped the box in. She closed and locked the gate as the dogs tore the box to shreds.

Satisfied that the rodent was absolutely dead, she began walking back to the manor, thinking of Wilson and his perfect perfectness. Obviously he didn't know how she felt about him; if he did he'd act on it. How could he not love her, after all? She was a rare beauty indeed.

She was almost at the door when she saw a small body fly past. How the rat had gotten away from the dogs was a mystery to her; they were seven of the most vicious beast she'd ever laid eyes upon. But as she watched, the very alive rodent shot through the grass, onto the patio and into the manor.

A small gasp escaped Morgan's lips. Wilson was going to kill her.

The foyer of the Council Chambers was empty, which was strange to begin with. When Alice asked Hamish about it, he simply told her to shut up and follow him. So she did.

They came across no one in the halls. It was as though they had all left. Alice didn't know all the ins and outs of the Council Chambers, but she was certain they should have run into at least one person. Just as she was beginning to convince herself the place was empty, she heard low voices.

She looked at Hamish, silently asking if Robert was in there. He nodded. Alice hesitantly took a step forward.

"Do we go in?" she whispered.

Hamish shook his head, raising a hand. "Wait," he whispered back.

An idea came to Alice, and she didn't know why she hadn't thought of it before. In fact, she almost slapped herself for not thinking of it before. "Why did we come in here to stop them from killing Robert?" she asked. "Why didn't you catch them before they got here?"

"Because Robert needs to know someone's actively trying to kill him. Killing this guy won't stop more from being sent, and we won't always be here to protect him. Someone else will need to do that."

"Makes sense," Alice decided.

Hamish suddenly swore, then burst into the room. Alarmed, Alice took a moment longer to jump into action. She rushed in after Hamish.

A man was straddling Robert, knife raised in his hands. He bought it down as Hamish sent a ball of writhing shadow flying. It hit the man in the side and sent him into the wall.

Robert got clumsily to his feet, dazed. He looked from the man to Hamish and Alice like it was a tennis match. His upper lip curled when he spotted Alice, and he immediately recognised her from their first meeting.

"Sorry, Robert," Hamish said. He raised his palm at the same time as Robert, his ball of shadow colliding with Robert's ice bullet.

Before they could have another go, the man joined in the fray. He hurled his knife at Robert, who was paying too much attention to Hamish to notice.

Alice ran at Robert, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back. The knife whistled past him and thudded into the wall, burying itself deeply. Robert used the opportunity to grab her around the neck as Hamish slashed his blade at the would-be assassin.

The man dodged Hamish's swipes with ease, grabbed the Scot's arm and twisted it back until it broke. He threw Hamish to the ground with a firm boot to the head and turned his attention back to Alice and Robert.

Still not fully comprehending the situation, Robert tightened his chokehold around Alice's neck. "I'll kill her," he said.

The man shrugged. "So kill her. I've no idea who she is."

"She's a witch," Robert spat. "You're here because you're a witchlover, aren't you?"

The man raised an eyebrow. "I'm here because I've been hired to kill you," he announced. "I don't care for witches; these two certainly aren't my friends." As if to prove his point, he gave Hamish a hearty kick in the ribs. Hamish grunted.

Alice could feel the hate welling up in her. She didn't fight it as it grew; she was going to use it. She didn't know how, but all she knew was that the only way she, Hamish and Robert were going to get out alive was if she killed him.

"I'm warning you now, boy," Robert growled. His grip so was tight Alice couldn't breathe. She clawed at him, but he didn't seem to notice.

The man shrugged. "I've already told you; she's not with me. She's too young to use magic anyway." He picked Hamish's blade up from the ground, and aimed it at Hamish's neck.

Alice needed to kill him, and now. But how?

Then it came to her. The knife in the wall. She knew what to do, how to do it. It was so easy, so obvious, that she berated herself for not realising it before.

He didn't get a chance to kill Hamish. With her hate consuming her, Alice felt for the knife that was embedded in the wall. Too young to use magic? Too young to kill? Well she'd done both, and she would do both again. She yanked the knife out and sent it whistling through the air at the man.

The knife buried itself in his throat, the force of it sending him into the wall. He choked, his hand grabbing at the knife, but it was already too late; the damage was done. His body dropped to the ground, blood gushing from the wound like water from a tap. The blade fell from his loose fingers, clanging loudly on the ground as his body slumped over, falling limp.

Alice sensed the life leaving him more than she saw it. She felt his soul squeeze out of his body and rise into the air like smoke. Then it was gone. She stared at the body. How many was that now? Two. She'd kill two people in the space of few days. And, sickening as it was, she felt powerful, fearsome. She wanted to do it again.

There were heavy footsteps, and two dozen men and women squeezed through the doorway. They stared at the scene before them. Hamish stirred slightly on the ground, groaning quietly.

Alice considered killing them and making a break for it. She took hold of the hate. It was easy now; she'd gone through the awakening. She didn't know how or why she knew, but she did. She could use her hate to do magic if she wanted, whenever she wanted to. How powerful was she now? Time to find out.

The group made a rough, unsure line, staring at the mess as though they were walking into a bakery and instead happened upon this.

As she was about to send one of the men flying, she stopped herself. Why should they die? They'd done nothing to her. Control yourself, Alice. Control. Begrudgingly, she let go of the anger.

"Robert, what happened?" someone asked.

Robert's grip on Alice was firm. She didn't try and fight him as she let the hate ebb away.

"That man tried to kill me," Robert told them, pointed to the corpse. "These two saved me." He said the last part as though the very words pained him, but Alice thought she saw a flash of gratitude in his eyes.

One of the men narrowed his eyes at her. "But she's a witch."

"She is," Robert said. "And she must be dealt with. Lock her up, make sure she doesn't escape."

Alice felt sick. She'd just saved his life, and he still wanted her dead. Maybe she should have fought him off and ran. It was stupid for her to even bother with saving him in the first place.

"And him?" a woman asked, kneeling next to Hamish.

Robert shrugged. "He's not a witch," he said simply.

"He was with a witch," someone else pointed out. "Is he wanted?"

Robert shook Alice roughly. "What's his name, witch?"

"Jeremy," she lied. "Jeremy Adams."

"There's no warrant for him," Robert said. "Fix him up and send him on his way." He handed Alice to one of the men. "We'll burn her at dawn."

Chapter Eighteen

Alice couldn't believe it had come down to this. To her, locked in a cell, waiting to die. Not that she would have been better off staying with Quinn and Augustus. It didn't really seem there was anywhere she could have been where she'd have been safe.

She paced the cell, half searching for a way out, half knowing there was none. Even if there was, she'd never make it out of the Council Chambers. They'd kill her on sight.

Alice missed Reggie. She missed Hamish and, dare she say it, she missed Quinn. Even her father would be a welcome sight. If he was still alive.

Since she found out, Alice hadn't really had time to mourn him. They were never close, but he was still her father, and he didn't deserve to die the way he did.

But that didn't matter anymore. Soon enough Alice would be joining him in death.

Maybe it wasn't so bad. Alice didn't know what death was like – she should have asked George Turnbull – but surely it wasn't horrible?

There was a rattling at the door. Alice inhaled deeply. It couldn't be time yet; it wasn't dawn. Or were they taking her early so it all ran on time or something?

A bored-looking guard stuck his head in. "You've got a visitor," he said. He stepped aside and Hamish walked in, his face severe.

"You got two minutes," the guard snapped, slamming the door behind him.

Alice raised an eyebrow. "How did you get in?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Robert was willing to let me see you, what with you saving his life and everything."

Sighing, Alice leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. "I don't suppose you're here to get me out?" she asked.

The wry smile on Hamish's face more than answered her question for her, and she sighed again. "It's impossible," he explained. "I'm sorry." He genuinely looked sorry.

Alice tried her best to look passive as she shrugged her shoulders. "Rather now than later, right? Before I go around killing everyone." Tears prickled her eyes.

She sort of meant it, but she sort of didn't. Given the chance, she wouldn't have been like that; she wouldn't be the type to murder her husband. But that opportunity wasn't there anymore. Not now.

Hamish sat, crossing his legs over each other and folding his hands in his lap. "Do you know why Quinn's always been so insistent on helping you?" he asked.

"You know I don't."

"He was married once," Hamish told her. "To a witch."

Alice blinked. She knew Quinn had a slight soft spot for her, but she never would have thought he'd been married to a witch!

"Natasha. She was a good witch. The first true good witch. She spent a lot of time and effort keeping her emotions in check, and she did. But there were a lot of people who didn't believe a witch could possess any sort of good. So they killed her."

"I didn't know," Alice breathed. Her heart went out to Quinn. That was the reason he was helping her, then. Because he believed she could be like his wife. That was why there was a room in his house that hadn't been used in years. It was hers.

"He has faith in you," Hamish said. "So do I."

Despite herself, Alice smiled. "Couldn't have told me that earlier?"

"If you tell Quinn I told you that story, I'll kill you."

"It's not like I'll be able to," Alice pointed out.

Hamish went to say something else when the guard rapped on the door and pulled it open. "Let's go; time's up," he snapped.

They both got to their feet. To her complete and utter shock, Hamish grabbed her and pulled her into a tight hug. "Do you trust me?" he whispered.

Alice stared into his bright blue eyes. Did she trust him? Did she have faith that he would save her, and not leave her to burn? "No."

"That's the spirit." Alice could hear the amusement in his voice.

He slipped something over her neck, and Alice felt a strange but welcome calm spread through her body. It was the most peaceful she had ever felt. She glanced down to see the necklace that Quinn gave her.

"I believe this is yours," Hamish told her. "It used to belong to Natasha, so don't ever let Quinn know I had it."

Alice looked at him. "I thought that was your price for helping me find Quinn?"

"Aye, it was."

"Why are you giving it back to me?"

"It helps with your emotions. It'll keep you calm. You'll need it more than I will."

With a light kiss on her forehead, Hamish gave her a final look, his eyes sad. Then he disappeared out the door.

"Wait..." Alice trailed off. He was leaving her. Why was he leaving her?

She leapt up and ran to the door, pounding on it. She didn't want to die. She didn't want to be burnt alive. "Hamish? Hamish!"

The necklace around her neck glowed bright, radiating heat. She could feel rays of calm emanating from it. Her heart beat slowed to a steady pace. It wasn't so bad, she figured. If she died now, she would have to worry about it later.

No. No, what was she thinking? She was 17. Too young to die. She needed to find Quinn and apologise to Reggie and tell Hamish he was possibly the most attractive person she'd ever seen and thank Josef at least one more time. She needed to find her mother and hurt her, maybe even kill her. There were too many things she needed to do for her to die.

She grabbed at the door, scraping her fingernails against it until they tore and bled, banging with her fists until the skin split. She pounded with her fists until the skin broke and screamed until her voice was hoarse and didn't work anymore. She would not resign herself to her fate.

Blood ran down her arms, dripping from the elbows. Alice's whole body ached and burned as she rammed her side into the door, kicked at it and prayed to gods she did and didn't know. No one came for her. No magic shot from her palms and the door didn't burst open.

"Hamish! Ham..." She slid to the ground, sobbing.

There was nothing for it. She was going to die. Hamish wasn't going to help her. She should have given Robert his name. If anything, that would have made her feel a bit better about dying. But only a bit.

Closing her eyes, Alice hugged her knees to her, crying herself into an uneasy sleep.

Hamish felt a twang of regret as he took the stairs two at a time and was greeted by the sun. He knew he shouldn't have felt guilty, because he was doing everything he possibly could. But he did. He missed the orange-headed girl already, and she shouldn't have been arrested like that, or sentenced to death, or any of the other horrible things. Those things happened, though, and he couldn't change that. There were things he needed to do, people he needed to see, and lives to ruin.

No time for regrets, then.

The church was cleared of the mess that he'd left, the men gone and any blood cleaned. Only a young boy with shaggy blonde hair lingered, his eyes searching Hamish for a moment before he disappeared through a window.

Hamish didn't pay the boy much attention. He knew where he was going, and he didn't have much time to get there.

It took Hamish the better part of an hour to reach his destination. The place in question was a petite Victorian-style house with an elegant white door and matching windows. As was his custom, Hamish didn't bother to knock as he entered, strolling down the hall as though he was supposed to be there. The woman in the large dining room seemed to think otherwise.

Her eyes widened at the sight of him, and she screamed. "Get out! Get. Out!"

Hamish ducked, narrowly avoiding a paint-slathered palette as it flew past his head and hit the wall. Evidently, Elise Fairbourne was not happy to see him.

"I see you're in a good mood," Hamish noted.

She sneered at him. "You and your friends are going to get me killed. You know that, right? I was safe in that gaol! Ever since you lot broke me out I've been exploded, and accused of aiding witches!"

"You were in there for the long haul," Hamish snapped. "You know that. Don't pretend you were content there." His eyes searched the room, taking in the sculptures, some nearly finished, others barely started.

He knew they were all there, of course, but it was one thing to see them through someone else's eyes, and another entirely to see them through his own. The skill and precision needed was something Hamish doubted even he could do.

"What do you want, then?" Elise demanded.

"A favour," Hamish replied. His gaze snapped back to her. She shifted under it, uncomfortable.

"What kind of favour? What do I owe you?"

Shrugging, Hamish picked a paint-free part of the wall and leaned against it. "Well, we saved your life, for a start."

"If I remember correctly, it was two children who saved me," Elise muttered. "A human boy, and an inept witch."

"Oh, so that's what she was? You obviously don't know much, then," Hamish mused. "I need a sculpture." He cocked his head to the side as he waited.

Elise's eyes narrowed. She moved to the side, as though worried he was going to steal one. "Why? What are you going to do with it?"

Hamish ignored the question. "It needs to be as lifelike as possible. Outside and inside."

At this, Elise's eyes nearly disappeared completely in the frown of her brow. "What are you going to do with it?" Then she straightened, and her eyes went wide. "You're not going to give it to Josef, are you? He's been trying for years to get a sculpture and dissect it."

Chuckling, Hamish shook his head. "No. But if you need persuasion, I can give you a very accurate description of the witch in the cell next to yours."

Elise was definitely interested now. She tried, and failed, to hide her curiosity. "Do you have a preference as to what it looks like?"

"Will you do it, or not?"

Slowly Elise nodded. "I'll do it. Just let me know what you want."

She turned and pulled a small grey cube from one of the many drawers stacked against the wall. She dropped it on a dinner table-sized circle on the ground, pulled a glass bottle and container of powder out of more drawers. She poured a dash of liquid on the cube first, then sprinkled some power over that and stepped back.

The grey cube began expanding in front of their eyes. It shot upwards and outwards until it was a large rectangle, just larger than Hamish. From a table, Elise grabbed a large sculpting knife. She turned to Hamish.

"Well? What do you need?"

Wilson stalked through the building like a predator. Robert was still alive, his plan to have to man assassinated foiled by the girl he was trying to catch. And now she was going to die.

The door opened, and Thomas walked in. Wilson tried to compose himself. It had been a long time since he saw Thomas. The man was no less attractive than he had been then.

"Well, what news, then?" Thomas snapped.

If others thought Wilson was bad, they obviously hadn't met Thomas. "The Council of Ten has Alice," Wilson told him. "They'll burn her as soon as they can."

"And her mother?" Thomas pressed. "Where is she?"

Wilson almost shrugged, but stopped himself at a glare from Thomas. "We don't know," he admitted. "She disappeared after the fire."

Placing his thumb and forefinger on his temples, Thomas massaged in small circles. He breathed slowly and deeply. "So you lost both of them?"

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Wilson took a step back. "Yes. I'm sorry."

Thomas's face was steadily turning red. "Sorry? You're useless!"

He lashed out, and suddenly Wilson went flying back. He slammed into the wall with a grunt.

"You're an incompetent fool! Your cockiness is what brought me here in the first place!"

Picking himself up, Wilson gingerly rubbed his hip. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

Thomas's eyes were like daggers. "I want you to find her! Do you understand me?"

"Yes sir." Wilson bowed low, his gaze tracking Thomas's feet as they turned and left the room. Only when he was gone did Wilson stand again.

He sighed. This was more difficult than expected. He rolled his shoulders and neck, then left the room after Thomas. As he did, he saw the thick brown tail of a rat disappearing around the corner.

Betelgeuse was in a very good mood. He walked through the Council Chamber halls, whistling a merry tune and thinking of all the horrible things he could do to Reggie when he got back.

The first of those things would be him telling the boy that Alice was, without a doubt in the world, dead. Maybe he'd gather a box of her ashes just to blow in the boy's face. That would be fun.

He passed several people, tipping his oversized hat to each of them. Some of them gave him strange looks. Some nodded in response. Most ignored him. Betelgeuse didn't care; he was much too happy to be offended.

Robert was in the throne room, just sitting and staring off into space. He inclined his head when Betelgeuse walked in.

"I wasn't sure if you'd make it," Robert admitted.

Betelgeuse smiled. "I wouldn't miss the Council of Ten's first witchburning in a hundred years for anything," he replied. "How is the girl?"

Robert gave him a funny look. "How do you suspect she is?"

"I'd suspect she was in tears, begging to be released. Unless, of course, there was some sort of rescue party waiting for her. In that case, I suspect she'd be unusually quiet. Which is it?"

"Well, to be honest, I'm surprised you didn't hear the screams when you came in," Robert admitted. "She's already been tied to the stake, and there are at least fifty people in the room; I can assure you she won't be getting away any time soon."

"She's already at the stake?" Betelgeuse asked.

"We like to be prepared. It's not quite dawn yet, so we'll-"

"Why wait? Let's burn the witch now and be done with it."

Robert blinked, slightly unsure. Then he shrugged to himself. "I see no reason to wait," he decided.

He got to his feet, and the two men made their way to the cavernous Justice room. Most of the seats around the walls were filled. In the centre of the room was Alice, sobbing and slumped at the stake. Bundles of oiled wood surrounded her feet. She didn't look up as they entered.

Robert put a hand up to silence the room. "We are here to witness the death sentencing of Alice Rosny, who has been accused of witchcraft."

An uproar spread across the room. Robert waited for it to quieten down before he continued.

"She had been found guilty, and will be sentenced accordingly."

From a metal bowl of oil, Robert pulled a torch. He lit the end.

Betelgeuse watched, his excitement growing, as Robert approached Alice, the fiery torch quivering in his hand. A hush fell over the crowd.

"I sentence you to death," he said. The torch dropped from his hand.

The effect was instant. As the fire of the torch hit the oiled wood, flames shot up from the air, burning hot and hungry.

Alice screamed as they licked at her skin, turning her clothes to ash. She squirmed against the stake, trying to get away from the burning flames, but the chains held her tight.

The flames leapt up at her, searing her hair, melting her skin. Smoke clogged her throat, choking her. Her screams rose into the air, high-pitched and echoing.

Betelgeuse laced his fingers together, watching Alice and the room around her – it wasn't too late for someone to bust in and save her; she was still alive.

But no help came. Alice's screams weakened, and what once was her was now a blackened crisp that vaguely resembled the human body. The last scream left her lips, and then nothing could be heard besides the roar of the fire.

"Another one down," Robert said.

Betelgeuse nodded. "There're still plenty more to go."

He turned on his heel, satisfied that Alice was dead, and left the room. He couldn't deny the boy in his basement news of his friend's death.

Twenty minutes later, Betelgeuse rolled into his driveway. He barely parked the car before leaping out of it and hurrying down to the basement. He was wasting no time in getting the news out.

Reggie was hanging limply from the wall. He was covered in blood and bruises.

Rubbing his hands together, Betelgeuse clapped loudly until the boy stirred. "You're awake!" he exclaimed, as though surprised.

Reggie didn't have it in him to reply.

"I have some news for you. Would you like to hear it?"

"Does it include you dying painfully?" Reggie asked bitterly.

"It includes a painful death, but not mine," Betelgeuse said joyfully.

"So kill me then."

"Not yours, either."

Reggie gave him a funny look. It was apparent he wasn't going to catch on any time soon, if at all.

"Not very bright I see," Betelgeuse observed. "Very well; I'll tell you." He paused for effect. "Alice is dead."

The boy barely even moved. He didn't say anything.

"Well, don't you care? She was your friend, after all."

"I don't believe you," Reggie said simply. "If she was dead, you wouldn't need me."

"What makes you think that? I watched her burn to death at the stake."

"Because you got what you wanted."

Betelgeuse frowned. Then he burst out laughing. "You think I've been after Alice all this time?" he asked. "Is that what it is?"

Reggie raised his head ever-so-slightly. "If you're not after Alice, what do you want? Why do you want me?"

But Betelgeuse was still too amused to answer him. "So everyone thinks I've been after Alice," he mused. "How interesting. I wondered why she suddenly went from having no knowledge of the magical world to having Quinn Harpington and Hamish McKinley at her side. Curious. But no; I'm not after Alice."

"Then who?"

Betelgeuse looked at him seriously. "Her mother," he said. "The old Clauses might have protected Millie in the past, but I won't forgive the Red witch for what she's done. One way or another, I will find her, and I will kill her."

It was Reggie's turn to laugh. The laugh was so real, so out of place that Betelgeuse took a shocked step back.

"Why are you laughing?" Betelgeuse asked. He didn't like it when things happened that he didn't expect. "Stop it."

"You want Alice's mother?" Reggie asked.

"I do," Betelgeuse replied, still suspicious.

The boy laughed again. "Not as smart as you think then, are you?"

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Because if you're telling the truth, then you just watched the only person who knows anything about her die. And you couldn't even be bothered to stop it."

Elise Fairbourne stared in admiration at the clay carving in front of her. It was absolutely perfect – of course it was, considering she'd been the one to carve it. Everything Elise did was nothing short of perfection.

Even so, she wasn't sure if it was right. The carving was of a woman, with curly black hair and bright brown eyes. Her wide smile was accentuated with dimples, and her button nose had the slighted tint of red on the tip.

Did the witch in the cell next to her actually look like this?

Elise didn't know; she didn't care. This was the witch as she remembered, and as Hamish described. Curly black hair, light brown eyes, button nose and a wide mouth. Slightly fat. That was how Hamish had described her, and this was what Elise had come up with.

She dipped her paintbrush in the red, swirling it around slightly, and lightly painted on the woman's lips, as though she was putting lipstick on a real person. Then she painted the nails, and was done.

Dropping the paintbrush in the sink, she grabbed a small, jewel-encrusted box from the bench. She opened it and grabbed a handful of the glimmering powder that was inside.

Standing in front of the carving, Elise held her palm out and blew. The powder shimmered in the air, swirling around the carving. It was sucked up through the nostrils and in the mouth and tear ducts and ears.

For a half second, nothing happened. Then the carving blinked. The smile faltered and widened again, as though testing the mouth. The fingers moved, then the hands, arms and shoulders. Two legs kicked up at the knees.

The carving stood.

"What's your name?" Elise asked it. She hadn't asked Hamish the name of the witch. She wanted the carving to choose its own.

The carved looked at her, still adjusting to life. It opened its mouth, but nothing came out. It tried again. "Lilith," it decided. "My name is Lilith."

Elise smiled. "You are a female."

Lilith nodded, accepting the identity as her own. "What is your name?" she asked.

"Elise."

"It is my pleasure. Who are you?"

"A friend," Elise told her. "I'm a friend."

There was a noise outside. Elise's head snapped up. "Stay here," she told Lilith, before sprinting outside.

Hamish was getting out of an old, battered car. There was a hooded figure getting out of the passenger side.

"Well?" Elise asked, impatiently.

Hamish brushed his trousers absentmindedly. "How did your sculpture go?" he countered.

"Don't ask stupid questions," Elise snapped. "It went perfectly, of course."

"Then why are you asking questions?"

The figure next to Hamish removed their hood. Red hair fell around her face as Alice stood there, grinning from ear to ear. "Quinn told me you could do a perfect bootlegging of me if you really wanted. I never really doubted him."

Elise gasped, choking back a sob. "You're alive!" she managed. "You're actually alive!"

"Of course I'm alive," Alice defended. "I had complete faith in Hamish."

Hamish snorted. "Oh yeah. Complete faith. Absolute trust." He turned his attention back to Elise. "A life for a life; we'll be leaving you in peace now."

"I don't mind," Elise told him. "You'll be needing somewhere to stay, right?"

Alice shrugged. "You probably don't want me in your house. I seem to be a beacon for bad luck."

But Elise waved them in anyway. Alice went first, Hamish behind her. Elise closed the door behind them.

Lilith was waiting in the hall, watching Alice and Hamish with poorly hidden interest. "What is your name?" she asked.

Alice looked to Hamish, confused, then back to Lilith. "Uh, Alice."

"I am Lilith."

"Right."

Lilith shoved past Alice, and stood in front of Hamish. "What is your name?"

"Bartimus," Alice said jokingly before Hamish could answer.

"I am Lilith."

Hamish scowled at Alice. "Bartimus? Really?"

She shrugged.

Elise ushered them into the living room, offered them tea, and asked them how her Alice sculpture went.

"I don't know," Alice admitted. "I didn't really want to stick around and watch myself die."

She tried not to think about it. They'd waited until after the burning, so Hamish could sneak her out with the crowd, using some sort of magic to conceal her true nature. While Alice didn't see herself die, she certainly heard the screams. She heard the cheers and jeering of everyone else while the clone of her screamed and burned to death.

Alice felt sick every time she thought of it. Nauseas and scared. How long until they realised she was still alive? How long until they found her and killed her, again? The thought terrified her, as much as Hamish tried to convince her she would be fine.

"It went well," Hamish answered. "If anyone even bothers to look closely they'll find the ashes you filled it with."

"Good," Elise said. She frowned. "Though it's a shame to see one of my most detailed works to date go out that way," she added.

Hamish raised an eyebrow.

"Not that I would have refused," she defended.

Lilith walked awkwardly into the room, carrying a plate full of biscuits. She lowered it down to Alice, spilling a few in the process. "Alice," she offered.

Alice took a couple.

"I hope I didn't look like that when they dragged me to the stake," she commented.

Elise shook her head. "After about an hour they become... well, what they're supposed to be. Until then they're just sort of getting used to it."

Lilith held the platter out to Hamish. "Bartimus."

He scowled darkly at Alice, taking a handful of biscuits.

"So, what now then?" Elise asked.

"We need to find Quinn," Alice answered automatically.

"Aye," Hamish agreed. He didn't mention Reggie. Not because he didn't like the boy, and not because he hoped Betelgeuse would kill him. He just knew it would do Alice no good at the moment. There were more important things at hand, and knowing what happened to Reggie would only serve to turn her into the thing she didn't want to be. "We find Quinn."

"And then?" Elise pressed.

Alice shrugged. She turned to Hamish.

"And then we try not to get ourselves killed."

"Not yet, anyway."

Hamish smiled at Alice. "No. Not quite yet."

*****

A word from the author:

Thank you for reading my novel. I certainly hoped you enjoyed it. If so, please take the time to leave a note or review at your favourite ebook retailer?

