‘Is it helpful to say we’re on fire?’ Shan Yuan pointed at the rear of the vehicle.

Kai didn’t look round. Looking round wouldn’t help, and it would just distract him from his plan. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, trying to sound soothing. ‘Keep your head down. This will only take a moment.’

‘Kai, what are you – no!’

Shan Yuan threw his arms across his face as Kai swept the aircar round in a curve, aiming for the great oval window ahead of them. They crashed through in an explosion of glass and light.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

‘Can you pass through the circle?’ Irene said urgently. Normally she’d have given Catherine time to recover from such a traumatic experience, but Lord Guantes might return at any moment. Worse, Lady Guantes might show up. Not a talker, like her husband, she might go with a ‘just shoot everyone’ approach.

Catherine pulled herself together and took a careful step forward, hand extended. When her fingers touched the circle’s boundary she came to a stop, jerking her hand back. ‘No,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Did it feel as if you touched an invisible surface, or did it evoke feelings of pain or disgust?’ Might as well know the nature of her prison, Irene thought.

‘It felt maybe more like . . . a force field, and I felt a sort of buzzing. It was more . . . achy than painful. I suppose I could try running at it and see if I get through?’ Catherine was clearly doing her best, but the suggestion lacked enthusiasm.

‘We’ll save that for if we get desperate.’ She didn’t want to kill Catherine with a casual experiment. But what on earth could they try? ‘All right, Catherine. Did Lord and Lady Guantes say anything that might be useful in front of you, when they thought you were under their control? Anything about what’s going on?’

‘I think that circle is drawn in Alberich’s blood,’ Catherine said, demonstrating that she was capable of identifying the most important facts in an emergency. Irene resolved to give her a commendation for that later. She was further impressed as Catherine continued. ‘Lady Guantes has some sort of big set-up underneath this building, but I didn’t get to see much of it. The vaults beneath here are pretty deep – and extensive – apparently. There are guards down there and guards outside, though I haven’t been able to go outside. And I think we’re in Spain – well, a Spain anyway. We’re in the Sagrada Familia – I recognize the interior from those laptop reports. There are computers absolutely all over the place, which would also fit with this being the Guantes headquarters. Oh, and it’s currently –’ she checked her watch – ‘half past eleven at night. And something is going to happen at midnight. Lord Guantes said the ceremony, but Lady Guantes called it the overwrite.’

‘That gives us half an hour before that something happens,’ Irene said, forcing herself to stay calm. ‘Midnight. How very overdramatic. I suppose it matches the narrative of me being chained up in a cathedral.’ She sighed. ‘I think we should plan on leaving at least five minutes before that deadline.’

Catherine looked determined, but Irene noticed that her hands shook as she tried to master her fear. ‘So we’ve only got twenty-five minutes, then.’

Irene nodded. ‘All right. Now, walk round the circle – see if you can read any of the writing.’ She was having difficulty seeing behind her, due to those awkward chains. It would be great if there were some convenient To exit, break here sections.

‘It’s in the Language, right? I know the Language is supposed to read as if it’s in my own native language, but this doesn’t make sense.’ Catherine was behind Irene now, her steps quick on the stone floor. ‘It’s like reading a really archaic form of English, mixed with higher mathematics. I can read that it’s about binding and holding a prisoner – at least, I think that’s what it is, it wouldn’t make sense for it to be about tying knots. And . . . um.’

‘“Um” what?’ Irene demanded.

‘This bit is rather dramatic . . . the circle can only be unmade by the blood of the person who wrote it. That’s almost poetic.’

Irene took a deep breath. Her stomach was tight with panic again. She couldn’t yank her wrists loose from those chains. And she’d been trying, desperately. Even if she managed to dislocate her thumbs – she’d read the theory, but had never done it in practice – she didn’t think it would help. If only Alberich’s blood could break the circle, and his arrival meant her death or worse . . . then there was no way out. Her mind flinched away from that conclusion.

As a Fae, Catherine should be able to travel between worlds on her own – if she was strong enough. But every other Fae whom Irene had seen do this had been older, and had already chosen their private archetype.

Yet if Catherine could travel . . . Irene could tell the girl to run while there was still time, to reach Vale’s world and contact Sterrington – or even Silver. One of them would tell the Library what had happened. The Library could then safeguard itself against whatever might come knocking on its portals . . . dressed in Irene’s own skin.

Of course, that wouldn’t save Irene, but maybe it was time to make the least worst choice – how she hated that phrase – and accept the consequences.

‘Irene, what are we going to do?’ Catherine asked tentatively, clearly hoping for a positive reply. But even a Librarian couldn’t conjure hope where there was none.

Irene bowed her head, trying to muster the will to tell Catherine to go. Her gaze fell on the crumpled gloves that Catherine had dragged off her hands. It had seemed like such a triumph to break her free of Lord Guantes’ control. Now it just felt as if Irene had won a battle . . . but lost the war.

As she looked at the gloves, something clicked into place at the back of her mind. It wasn’t quite a full idea; it was the beginning of a chain of logic. She found herself approaching it carefully and by degrees, as though it were a wild animal and she didn’t want to frighten it away. The gloves had been symbolic. Here, deep within chaos, symbolism had power. Alberich was a Librarian, or at least had been, and Irene was also a Librarian. This made them metaphorical brother and sister, which meant that they were symbolically of the same blood . . .

‘Catherine! Do you have anything sharp on you?’

Catherine dashed back to face Irene, galvanized by Irene’s burst of energy. ‘No – I don’t think they trusted me that much.’ She paused, and her bare hands went up to touch her hair, which had been carefully pinned back into a tight bun. ‘Wait. Some of the hairpins she stuck in there felt sharp enough when they went in. Give me a moment.’

Irene watched impatiently as Catherine dismantled her hairstyle. A couple of dozen hair grips, a bun net, two lethal-looking silver-headed hairpins and two tortoiseshell combs. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Try rolling one of those hairpins across the circle. Let’s see if it will let it through.’

The hairpin skittered across the stone, undeterred by the circle. Irene nodded in satisfaction. ‘Good. Now move round to my right-hand side – that’s right – and slide the other hairpin towards my right hand.’