St Paul’s Cathedral, London

“Well met!” the little girl seethed as Noah and Weyland finally came to a halt before her. She’d pulled them to the altar where, in the rosy glow cast through the stained glass windows of the cathedral by the approaching fire, Noah stood only because Weyland had her by the shoulders.

Otherwise, exhausted, and so totally drained emotionally, physically and magically, Noah would have slumped to the floor.

“You think yourself so clever,” said Catling. She was still in the form that Noah had last seen her, a beautiful black-curled little girl with porcelain skin and dark blue eyes, garbed in a black dress with a tight bodice and a full skirt that rustled about her like the flames in the streets outside.

“You think to outwit me,” the girl continued, and took a step towards Weyland and Noah.

Her eyes, blue a moment before, now reflected red and angry with the light filtering through the windows.

Noah struggled to stand upright, and Weyland’s hands tightened on her shoulders.

“You and I,” Noah said in a voice surprisingly strong, “shall indeed meet within this place, but we both know that now is not the time.”

Catling hissed, but Noah continued.

“I no longer dance to your merry jig, Catling. I will control the dancing floor, and the patterns that it weaves. Not you.”

“You couldn’t control the death of a cockroach, weakling,” said Catling. “Look at you! You’d fall if it were not for the hands of your companion in hell.”

“I have a lover,” said Noah quietly. “He makes me whole. What do you have save—”

“I have your destruction in my hands,” said Catling, “and I intend to wield it as I want.” Her right hand suddenly jerked up, and in response the fire in the streets outside roared.

The windows flamed as the fire leapt into the sky.

There came a light pattering on the lead roof high above them, as if the rats who lived between its joists had decided to flee.

“The roof is afire,” said Catling conversationally. “We’re all going to burn.”

Noah and Weyland tried to take a step backwards, but neither could move.

Catling’s smile became a rictus of triumph. “You must know where we are,” she said. “We stand high above that ancient labyrinth that Genvissa and Brutus carved into the summit of Og’s Hill. Where they gave birth to me. They were good creatures. Precious. Reliable. Obedient. You? You’re nothing. I wish I had never bothered with you. I wish I had never thought to use you. But never mind, for we stand over the dark heart of the labyrinth, and surely you both know what that means.”

Noah again turned her eyes to Weyland, and they were agonised.

We stand over the dark heart of the labyrinth.

“Trapped,” whispered Catling. “Trapped by the Troy Game. Unable to find your way out. Your powers as Mistress of the Labyrinth and as Eaving shall not aid you here, Noah. You’re all Darkwitch; that’s all that counts, and that’s all that will eventually destroy you.”

“You arrogant piece of nonsense,” Weyland said. “Destroy Noah and you destroy any hope you have of being completed! You may be able to manipulate Ringwalker, but he’s useless to you without Noah!”

“When did I say I was going to destroy Noah?” Catling said. “I just need you both in my dark heart. There’s something there I need to show you.”

There came a dim roar from high above, and all three involuntarily lifted their eyes.

Ragged lines of fire, glowing red, had zigzagged across the wooden struts supporting the lead roof.

The roof groaned, and something hot and foul smelling splattered to the floor just to the left of Noah.

She jumped, and Weyland cursed. “Let her go, you fool! If she dies in here, with you, then—”

“No one is going to die!” Catling hissed. “We’re just all going to suffer a little. I’m going to teach you a lesson, Noah, and I want to make sure you will remember it well.”

Another globule of molten lead dropped down from the roof. It was much larger than the last, and much closer, and it spattered over Noah’s gown.

The material, weakened and dried by three days of the heat of the fire, burst instantly into flame.

Noah shrieked, and Weyland beat at the flames with his hands, but he could do nothing, and within a moment Noah was enveloped within a pillar of fire.

Five or six more globules, as large as buckets, spattered down from the roof, striking all three struggling forms far below.

All three glowed, and then Catling and Weyland burst into fire, to complement Noah’s already burning form.

Welcome to the dark heart of the labyrinth, Catling whispered as they burned. Do you feel at home yet, Darkwitch?