My vision greyed out for a moment, and when it came back I was on one knee. I tried to get back up and couldn’t.

  It was over.

  ‘Well,’ Richard said from a distance. ‘You certainly made that as difficult as possible.’

  I couldn’t answer. My breath was coming in short, quick gasps. I could just barely pull enough air into my lungs, but my heart was fluttering, beating in fits and starts. The only way I could keep it going was by using the fateweaver to push through the futures in which I stayed alive . . . except that using the fateweaver was making it worse.

  There was no way out.

  ‘What a pathetic ending,’ Richard said. He was still breathing hard and he looked hurt, but he could move and I couldn’t. He retracted the staff with a metallic shikk, then circled to put me between him and the wall; another tremor shook the keep and he paused until the floor had stopped quaking. ‘Killed by your own weapon.’

  The sovnya quivered in my hand; it wanted so badly to kill Richard, but he was staying out of reach. I stared daggers at him but there was nothing I could do.

  ‘I have to admit,’ Richard said, ‘after all the trouble you’ve caused, I’m tempted to make this slow and painful.’ He considered a moment, then shook his head. ‘No, one should stay practical about these things.’ He drew a second gun, a small holdout, and levelled it at me. Somehow it didn’t surprise me that he had two. ‘Die.’

  The gun cracked and I sent a thread of magic through the bullet ward. The very weakness of the focus saved me; its energy requirements were so low that I could still power it. The bullets glanced away.

  Richard paused, then sent a twisting line of black wires at my head. I changed my focus through the fateweaver, and twitched the sovnya. The wires curved in to strike the blade and were absorbed.

  ‘Really, Alex?’ Richard said. ‘You’re going to make me do this?’ He drew a knife.

  Richard walked forward. My eyes flicked past him, around the room, searching desperately for some advantage, some trick. There was nothing. Scatterings of rubble around the edges, the duelling ring under Richard’s feet, Anne lying behind him . . .

  Anne. Arachne’s dress.

  I levelled the sovnya at Richard, and as I did I reached out with my magic, channelling a thread of power into the imbued item behind.

  The dress responded instantly. Spells activated and began to work, weaving at lightning speed. I could recognise the signature of Arachne’s magic, tightly woven and subtle. The spell was enormously powerful, but so well-masked I could hardly sense it.

  Richard paused just out of my range. I could barely move; once he got inside the polearm’s reach, it would be over. I kept the sovnya pointed at him with my left arm, while with my right hand I drew my gun.

  Agony flooded my body and my vision went white. Richard could have killed me in that instant but I was still blocking his divination, and as my vision came back I saw that he’d used the time to put his shield back up. Black energy flickered where the gun was pointing, while with his other hand he held the knife point upwards. Its edge gleamed faintly in the light.

  I’d slumped the rest of the way to the floor, propped up on my side and one elbow. The sovnya trembled as I kept it and the gun levelled. Richard held the shield ready to block any shots, his stance wary.

  ‘You’re only making this harder on yourself,’ Richard told me. I saw his eyes flicker and knew he was calculating how to get close enough to cut my throat. Behind him, Arachne’s spell was working, repairing the damage to Anne’s mind, but it needed time. I saw Richard tense, about to move—

  Hermes blinked into existence right in front of me.

  Richard paused. Hermes crouched protectively in front of my body and gave a sharp, threatening bark.

  Richard gave the fox an exasperated look. ‘Oh, come on.’

  Richard took a step to the right. Hermes shifted to keep himself between Richard and me. Richard moved back to the left, and again Hermes mirrored him.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Alex,’ Richard said. ‘First you and your girlfriend, now you want me to kill your pet as well?’

  I didn’t answer. I was keeping up the optasia, forcing my lungs to breathe, training my weapons on Richard, and pushing the fateweaver to keep my heart just barely beating. It was straining me to my limit and I had nothing left to guard against an attack.

  But Richard didn’t know that. I saw his eyes flick between the sovnya and the gun and Hermes; none were a threat on their own but there was no easy way for him to kill me without leaving himself open. Hermes growled, his tail bushed up.

  Another quake shook the keep, and Richard staggered. The motion jolted my chest and white spots danced before my eyes. My muscles were trembling and it was all I could do to hold up my weapons.

  Behind Richard, Anne stirred.

  As the floor steadied, Anne rose. She came to her feet with a liquid flowing movement, like a shadow on the wall. I saw her gaze lock onto Richard; ahead of her, Richard recovered his balance and prepared to move.

  I looked up at Richard and smiled.

  Richard stared back at me, then understanding flashed in his eyes and he spun.

  Anne was sprinting, low to the ground, long legs carrying her across the duelling ring as they’d done so many times before. Richard’s arm came up, the magic of his jinn darkening into a black shield, a killing spell gathering at his palm.

  I levelled my gun at Richard’s back, the barrel trembling. It was hard to see but I put everything I had into the fateweaver, willing Richard’s death, and as I did I dropped the optasia and saw every future but one blink out.

  The trembling stopped.

  I fired.

  Richard grunted. His spell discharged, going wide; an instant later Anne slammed into him, hand coming up like a knife. Green light flickered, soft and deadly. Richard crumpled, leaving Anne standing over him, spots of his blood on her skin where they’d been flung by the bullet. She stared down at his body.

  For the first and last time, I reached out to Richard with the dreamstone. I searched for his mind and found nothing. Gone.

  It was over.

  I let out my breath and let myself fall.

  I heard a rush of footsteps and saw Anne kneeling over me, hair hanging down towards my face. She glanced up and down my body and worry sprang into her eyes. ‘Hold still.’

  You sound different, I told her through the dreamstone. I’d stopped breathing, but that didn’t seem important any more. My heart beat in fits and starts, on the edge of failing.

  ‘Well, you made sure of that, didn’t you?’ Green light glowed at the edges of my vision and I sensed Anne’s magic taking shape. ‘I’ve got a lot to say to you, but it can wait.’

  The pain was fading. I didn’t know whether it was Anne’s doing or not, but it felt wonderful. If you ever see Arachne again, I told Anne, tell her thank you.

  ‘Tell her yourself. All right, here we go.’

  I felt Anne’s magic take hold, working on my body. Scrapes and cuts healed, and the beating of my heart steadied, but it didn’t grow stronger.

  I lay peacefully on the stone, looking up at Anne. After all that had happened, it was nice to just watch her. Red-brown eyes flicked back and forth; a frown creased her forehead; her hair brushed my shoulder and she absently pushed it behind her ear. Your hair looks nice like that, I said.

  ‘That should have worked,’ Anne muttered. She tried again, her spell weaving through me.

  Can’t heal this, Anne. Anne’s healing works by speeding up the body’s natural regeneration, pouring energy into it to let it rebuild itself. But my heart and lungs were being transformed, not damaged. There was nothing to heal.

  Stop distracting me, Anne said. Her thoughts were focused, abstracted. She started work on a different type of spell, weaving it through her hand as it rested on my chest.

  It’s not your fault, I said. I felt warm and at peace. There was nothing to fight or be anxious about any more. How long since that had been true? I couldn’t even remember.

  I didn’t have the strength to keep using the fateweaver. I let go of the path where I stayed alive, letting the futures open freely.

  The futures didn’t open. The fateweaver kept working, doing it by itself. It’s not going to make a difference, you know, I told it. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised: the fateweaver was alive, just as I was, and it wanted to live too. It didn’t understand that it was killing me.

  Anne’s spell failed again. ‘Come on!’ she shouted. ‘Why won’t it work?’

  It’s okay, I told her. I knew this was coming. I raised my artificial arm – the only one I could still lift – and stroked her cheek gently. I couldn’t see very well but I could just make out her face. Glad I got to see you one last time.

  Realisation flashed in Anne’s eyes, followed by fear. ‘No!’ She stared down at me with a look of dawning helplessness. ‘You can’t do this! Not now!’

  I felt a cold nose poke against my left hand, and smiled slightly. Hermes. I did everything I set out to do, I told her. Now I get to die in the arms of the woman I love. Good way to go.

  The fateweaver was still holding me to a single future, but I was close enough now to make out the end. It was like riding a train to the end of the line. Beyond was an empty void, though it was white, not black. Had it always been that way?

  ‘There’s got to be something.’ I couldn’t make out Anne’s face any more, but I could hear her talking to herself, her voice quick and frantic. ‘Rebuild from another organ, no. Amputate . . . too late. Oxygen . . .’

  The shadow realm trembled and I heard the grinding crack of breaking stone, followed by a roar. The floor bucked and shook. You really should get out of here, I told Anne and Hermes.

  ‘Be quiet! It’s the fateweaver, I can’t heal you while it’s doing that. Have to make it part of the solution somehow . . .’

  You can’t save everyone this time. The end of the line was very close. But it’s okay. It doesn’t hurt any more. I’ve been pushing myself so long but it’s finally over.

  Anne said something I couldn’t hear.

  Now I can stop, I told her. I let the connection go.

  My heart beat one last time, then ceased. Feeling left my body, starting at the outskirts and drawing in. Sight and sound and touch drifted away, leaving only a white void. It was very peaceful.

  Dimly, as if from a great distance, I could make out Anne’s voice. ‘. . . no,’ she was saying, and there was something dark and furious in her voice. ‘You aren’t allowed to die. Not until . . .’ Then all sound was gone.

  The train reached the end of its tracks and plunged into a dazzling white sky.

  I felt as though I was racing through the clouds and into infinity. You know, I thought as my senses faded, all in all, that really wasn’t so bad.

  And then there was nothing at all.

  THE END

  of the Alex Verus series

  (Yes, this is really the end.)

  (There’s no need to be like that. You had plenty of warning. Alex went into that knowing what was going to happen, and you should have known too.)

  (Really, you can put the book down.)

  (You’re very persistent.)

  (Still here?

  I told you, Alex’s story is over.

  But it’s true, there are others.

  Very well. Where to begin . . . ?

  Three and a half weeks have passed.

  In London, the sun rises on a cool October morning.

  Somewhere in Camden Town is a street, fenced in by

  the canal and the train lines. On that street is a shop,

  with letters above the window that read Arcana

  Emporium. The door swings open . . .)

  Epilogue

  The bell above the door goes ding-ding.

  ‘I don’t sell spellbooks,’ I tell the guy at the counter. There are two others in the shop already: a teenage girl in a BTS T-shirt and the guy I’m talking to. The new arrival makes three, which is the busiest it’s been all morning. Slow day.

  ‘I mean, it doesn’t have to be a book,’ the guy tells me. He’s got messy hair and looks like a student. ‘You could send me something I could read on my phone.’

  ‘So you’re asking for an ebook with spells.’ The new girl’s Ji-yeong. I wasn’t expecting her today. She gives me a nod and goes to sit in the Emporium’s only chair.

  ‘Yeah. Do you have one?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But I mean, adepts have to write stuff down,’ the guy says. ‘I mean, sometimes they try a spell and it works and sometimes they try one and it doesn’t, so they’d keep records, right?’

  ‘That’s . . . not really how it works.’

  ‘I mean, I’d keep records. Like, I do that with my phone. The way I used to do it was that whenever I thought of something important, I’d stop and type it into a notes file. But then after I got my new phone I started doing video logs instead, so, and this was something I was thinking, if you wanted a really good record of your spells, you should video it. Because that way you’d get the movements too. You know, no one ever seems to think of stuff like that. I was thinking about that just yesterday.’

  I want to sigh and scrub my hands over my eyes. This never used to happen to Alex. After he said ‘no’ a couple of times they’d go away. Is it because I’m shorter? Because I’m a girl? Do I just look less intimidating?

  ‘Then you could share it,’ the guy is saying. ‘I’ve been thinking that could work really well. Because, you know, that’s how it works these days, right? You have to be putting yourself out there. I’ve been reading that social media guy, you know, the one who shares all the political stuff? Well, he was saying something about that and I saw it and I thought . . .’

  Maybe it’s how I’m dressed? Arachne did always say people see your clothes before they see the rest of you. Maybe I should wear something scarier-looking. What about that dress she made me for the Tiger’s Palace, the ‘evil queen from Snow White’ one? Though that’s a bit much if you’re going to be behind a counter all day . . .

  ‘. . . so that’d make sense, right?’

  Crap, I wasn’t listening. ‘So . . . you’re talking about some kind of record of the things you say and do to use magic.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

  ‘So something with spells in it that acts like a book.’

  The guy looks pleased. ‘Right.’

  ‘Right,’ I say. ‘I don’t sell spellbooks.’

  It takes way too long to get him out the door. After that, the BTS girl comes up to buy a crystal ball. Once she’s gone and I’m alone with Ji-yeong, I sigh, close my eyes, and lean my head against the wall.

  ‘That was a complete waste of time,’ Ji-yeong says.

  ‘Thank you, Captain Obvious.’

  ‘Why do you even listen to boys like that?’

  ‘Politeness, I suppose.’

  ‘They don’t seem important enough to be polite to,’ Ji-yeong says. ‘Actually, I don’t know why you’re running a shop at all.’

  I don’t feel like answering that. I open my eyes and push off the wall.

  ‘I mean, there are easier ways to earn money.’

  I don’t feel like answering that either.

  ‘And if you really wanted to keep it open, you could just hire someone.’

  ‘Why are you still in London anyway?’ I ask her. You have to push back with Ji-yeong or she’ll just keep going until you do. I don’t know whether it’s a Dark mage thing or whether it’s just her, but she seems really forward. ‘The first week, you said you were going back to Seoul.’

  Ji-yeong looks away.

  ‘Then you showed up again right after.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Ji-yeong says. She’s looking out the window at a woman wheeling a pram down the other side of the street.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Things,’ Ji-yeong said. She turns back to me. ‘Do you know if Landis is married?’

  I give her a look. ‘Seriously?’

  The bell goes ding-ding again, and three people come in one after the other. The first two are tourists, and they head over to the window displays. The third one’s something different.

  ‘Uh . . .’ the boy says. He’s in his late teens, light brown skin, sweating under a ski jacket. ‘Can you help me?’

  ‘Depends on the help,’ I tell him. The tourists are looking at the ritual daggers. Ji-yeong takes out her phone and starts reading.

  ‘You were . . .’ The boy glances around and lowers his voice. ‘You were at that battle, right?’

  ‘Not something I can really talk about.’

  ‘Right, okay, it’s just . . . There was a friend of mine, I think he might have been there.’

  Oh. I don’t ask which side he was on. The Council don’t recruit that young. ‘He was with the association?’

  The boy nods.

  ‘You sure he was one of the ones who went in?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘All right.’ I take the pad on the counter and write a name and number. ‘Call this guy and give him your friend’s name. The Council have been trying to put together a record of everyone who was there.’

  The boy starts to reach for the pad, then stops. ‘He’s Council?’

  I tear off the square of paper and hold it up. ‘It’s them or nothing.’

  He hesitates, then takes it. I make sure my curse doesn’t reach his fingers. He turns away.

  ‘Hey,’ I say, and wait for him to look back. I don’t really want to say it, but I feel like I should warn him. ‘If it’s been this long and you still haven’t heard from him . . . well, just bear in mind it might not be good news.’

  A shadow passes over the boy’s face. ‘I wish I’d been there.’

  ‘No,’ I tell him. ‘You don’t.’

  He leaves, but the memories don’t. Black tarpaulin bags, six feet long and lined up on the stone. Fear and gunfire in the castle haze. And the thing I brought home with me, the little white and blue cylinder waiting upstairs . . .