He went on a slow patrol of the city centre, stopping in coffee shops or pubs, both to check if he was being tailed, and to let himself relax, slowly extending his senses, trying to feel for anything. With so many people coming and going, and so many old places of power, it made everything blurry, a vague mist over and around everything, shadows of ancient power amidst the crowds of people, worn and faded.

He caught a spike of power, quickly muted, too quick to get any sense of distance. But it had had the same sort of feel as the woman; bright, painful light, illuminating and burning. He’d never felt anything like that – Courtessa’s flames burnt like, well, flame – painful and hot, but a useful tool, something that could be controlled and channelled, and prone to burning themselves out unless banked and maintained. This was something more primal, far more potent, and almost inhuman.

The church bells tolled, reminding him of Amy’s note. He pulled out the pamphlet, quickly reading it – all very vague and blandly reassuring, promising would-be followers that they could “unlock their inner potential”, “achieve their illuminated selves” and so forth. Could they have sent the woman? It was possible, but he didn’t really have anything else to go on.

Ever since two years ago, Amy had been desperate for something to do, plunging herself into the murky underworld of cults, associations, lodges and all sorts of other mumbo-jumbo, a scant handful of people with any actual competency, most of whom hadn’t realised that something had happened other than their few powers no longer worked. That, and she needed the money, churning out articles and stories for those willing to pay for investigations into arcane societies or quick articles to pad out occult magazines. How long had it been since they’d talked, more than a few perfunctory words on the phone, checking the other was still alive? It had been sunny but not warm back then, so… maybe spring? Or even the spring before then?

He waited until the chimes died down, then dialled the number. Probably another burner phone – at least he had an excuse for never staying in touch with her, her number changed every few days or weeks, making sure she couldn’t be tracked or tailed.

She answered almost immediately, speaking before he could. ‘You’re late!’

The last chime died away. She was still as hung-up on punctuality as ever, it seemed. He knew from past experience it wasn’t worth trying to justify himself, so just apologised. ‘Sorry. Stuff’s been crazy. How’s the street preaching going?’

‘Shit hours, crap pay, and the uniform is terrible. Decent food though. This lot are serious, though. There’s more here than just the usual bullshit, pervy “ancient masters” and getting old ladies to sell off their homes for overpriced vitamin pills. They’ve got power here, like nothing I’ve ever felt.’

‘Like a harsh, bright sun?’

She paused, then spoke, sounding disappointed. ‘OK, spill, what have you been doing?’

He filled her in on what had happened.

‘Shit, you think they were trying to get to her? How do they even know she’s there, it’s not like there’s many of us left, or that attended the ceremony. And even I can barely sense anything from that crypt, we made sure it was sealed damn well.’

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‘No idea. But what do you know?’

She took a deep breath, and he wished he had a notepad ready, knowing her penchant for rapid-fire information delivery. ‘It was a normal job – a richie’s daughter, suckered into some shiny cult, new age but an old con, very standard. Easy enough to get in, those setups always need a steady supply of grunts to throw money in, keep everything moving. The lower levels, and the middle-managers? All the usual – the desperate, the thrill-seekers, the druggies looking to get clean and get a different high, or those desperate for some special secret to make themselves special. But there’s a line between them and those at the top. Almost like they’re actual gods or something – we muddle along in the grit and dirt, and then, as a special treat, they descend from on high, bearing gifts and wisdom.’

‘So, mystery cult then? Doesn’t sound that strange.’

Her voice was worried. ‘Yeah, but they bought actual wisdom. I can barely remember most of it, but it helped me with a… personal issue. And no, I wasn’t drugged or doped. I ate nothing, drank nothing they supplied before going in. So unless they’re actually the cover for big pharma, that was legit. Could have been some damn good cold reading, or they somehow managed to get me with something, but I’m pretty sure it was legit. But that level of skill – unless someone faked their death, or has been hiding for decades, then it’s a new player. And there’s barely any juice for the current crop, so where are they getting it from?’

‘Sacrifices?’

‘There’s a few that go missing, but most I think just drop out, back to the street, another cult, dragged out by friends and family. Courtessa crunched the numbers once, because she’s scary like that, think it was something like a hundred dead to get a basic spell out. So I’d have to be missing a whole lot of bodies somewhere.’

‘Slow drain?’

‘What, a thousand people in coma beds, siphoned drop-by-drop? That’s a pretty major logistical undertaking, and you can bet the higher-ups wouldn’t be wiping any arses themselves, not when there’s a barrelful of worshipful flunkies around to do it for them. I’ve been looking into their records, and they’ve got a few temples and stuff, manor house out in the commuter belt, but nothing that could house that number of people.’

‘Any luck with the manor?’

‘The sanctum sanctorum? Hah, I wish! Keep volunteering for all the shitty jobs, getting worked and pushed up the ladder, but no bites. That’s upper-ranks only, not for some pissy pamphlet-pusher like me. So I’m stuck here until I can find something out. I should have asked for time and materials, but got cocky and it was cash-on-delivery, and it’s either I make rent, or I become a full-time cultist, so at least I get a bed and food!’

‘Just come crash at mine if you have to.’

‘Guess I don’t have to worry about waking up with less limbs than I went to bed with anymore, at least?’ He could hear distant commotion. ‘Shit, something’s kicking off, I’ve got to go round up my team. I’ll call you at 19-hundred – until then, there’s an address I want you to check. It’s a place we’re banned from going, so there’s got to be something there, but I can’t get the time to check it myself. Too far out to get in the unobserved time I’ve got!’

‘Sure, more than I’ve got.’

‘Place called the Broken Table. Used to cater to alchemists and masons, that sort of thing, but don’t think it ever came up in our investigations before, so I guess nothing ever happened there. Out on the City line, nearest stop’s Cyprus Park.’

‘Got it.’

There was another commotion, louder this time. ‘Shit, I’ve really got to go. Let me know what you find. And watch out for the woman in white – she’s the closest thing to a leader I’ve seen, and word is she wants you, or someone that looks a lot like you, found and gone.’

‘Sure. Watch out, Courtessa says that…’ The line went dead. Well, she’d managed to stay undercover so far, hopefully she’d be OK for a while longer. He settled up, then headed back onto the underground, praying it would be quieter, knowing he would be disappointed.