Her frond shivered against myriad worlds; lapping, tasting, testing. One of these worlds would give her the sustenance she needed to grow; to become what she was meant to be.

The first frond had come back shrivelled and stunted. Young as she was, she lacked the strength to extrude a third. For now, the second would have to do. If she chose unwisely, it too would wither and withdraw, and she’d be left to fade and die alone in the dark.

But how could she know which of these worlds was best for her? Her mind was not made to understand such places.

Perhaps she should narrow her search to those worlds that had been visited recently by others like her. Those who survived to maturity must have come up with systems to improve the chance of a successful extrusion. She could follow their scent; learn by example.

Oh, now this was interesting. This world showed definite promise. Her kind had been here, for sure. And what’s more, this scent trail was very much like her own. A close relative. Maybe even the one who had spawned her.

This would be her next world, she decided.

Now she needed to shape the frond into a form compatible with the world in which she would reside; one that would best ensure her survival and growth. It had to be durable—much tougher than the first frond—able to endure any hazards and hardships the world might throw at it.

The problem was she didn’t know what it meant to be strong in such a place; so very different from her world between worlds. She examined the thoughts and memories she’d drawn from the first frond. Maybe it would…

Ah! This form would do nicely! It matched the frond’s mental image of ‘troll,’ a creature known to be extremely resilient—able to quickly recover from even the most severe injuries. The new form had the same basic appendages as that of the first frond, but it was much, much larger. And much harder to kill.

The frond flitted across the membrane of the world, while she sought just the right spot to extrude it. She could sense extreme concentrations of power in certain locations, emanating from some very peculiar entities. Briefly, she considered having her frond take the form of one of these entities, before rejecting the idea. They had power, yes, but they didn’t appear to be able to move or do much of anything themselves. Better to extrude a more adaptable, resilient form right next to one of these entities, whereupon some of its power would be imprinted on her.

Each entity exuded a different flavour of power. Many gave access to what her frond thought of as ‘magic spells.’ It could certainly benefit from those. But then she came upon something even more intriguing: a source of knowledge. With the power of this entity at her disposal, her frond could peer across space and time, and learn things it otherwise would never learn. This was something that would always be useful, no matter where it may go.

Yes, knowledge would serve her well.

Everything was decided. It was time to begin. She pollinated the mind of the new frond with the thoughts and memories of the original. Then she pushed the frond up into the new world, and waited for it to bloom.

And bloom it did.

She gorged upon the bountiful light and magic of the new world; so much more nourishing than the first. The knowledge magic seemed to be affecting her as much as her frond, because she was beginning to understand these worlds and the strange creatures that dwelt within them.

Sometimes, her frond needed to be nudged in directions it would otherwise avoid. She made her will known with visual cues or surges of feeling that provoked impulsive, irrational acts. The path to long-term growth wasn’t always obvious or pleasant, especially for a creature who became tougher with each injury.

Another time, a more direct intervention was needed: an extraction and reinsertion into a different locale. And because she knew her frond valued the lives of those around it, she harnessed the chaos of its emergence to rescue them as well. This took a lot out of her, but it was a small price to pay for the continued wellbeing of her frond, and by extension, her own continued survival.

In return, her frond fed her ever more warmth and light—more than her first frond had brought her throughout the meagre span of her existence. It established bonds between her and other denizens of its world. Bonds she did not fully understand, but they seemed symbiotic in nature. In time, it even found a way to rejuvenate her first frond—the one that had nearly withered away.

One fateful moment, her frond called out to her in desperation—and she answered. She extruded it into a certain spot beneath one of the entities whose magic permeated the world, in the final moment before the entity’s destruction. The energies unleashed were immeasurable. Only by absorbing some of these energies into this world between worlds did she avert catastrophe. Even so, the frond shrivelled and almost broke off, and for a while, she was certain its brief time in the light was over.

Returning her gaze to the first frond, she decided it had to go back. All it needed was a fresh set of memories, retrieved from the moment of the second frond’s last extraction, and it was ready to return, though somewhat less than willing. With barely a thought as to where the frond would go, she followed an old, familiar scent trail, and shoved the frond back up into its own world.

Only then did she look back, and discover she had acted in haste. Even after all it had suffered, the second frond would regrow. Its resilience surpassed all bounds of reason.

And now there were two.

She hadn’t intended for this to happen so soon. Extruding two fronds at the same time was a terrible strain for one as young as she. Regardless, it was done. They were out there, and so they would remain, for as long as she could sustain them.

Two near-identical minds in very different bodies, on very different worlds. Separate lives stemming from a single set of memories. She would pollinate their minds with fresh memories each time they dipped into this world between worlds, but until that happened, they may not even be aware of each other’s existence.

What might become of them, she couldn’t begin to guess. But if one should come to a premature end, it would no longer be the end of her.

Meantime, she’d continue to nurture the third frond; her finest yet. It would be a while before this one was ready, but when the time came, it would be a sight to behold.

Saskia Wendle awoke with a gasp, clutching her armrest as the plane bucked and wobbled on its approach to the runway. The owner of the expansive belly spilling out of the adjacent seat offered her an amiable smile.

Months ago, she might have been a little repulsed by the prospect of being squashed up next to such a…robust specimen, but now she could empathise with the poor guy. She knew all too well what it was like to take up too much space. Although in her case, it hadn’t been flab spilling out of chairs and bumping into things, but spindly, muscular limbs ending in razor-sharp claws, attached to a body straight out of a Dungeons & Dragons monster manual.

The aircraft touched down with a sharp jolt. She pressed forward against her seatbelt as it roared to a near-standstill, then began its slow taxi toward the terminal. Last time she’d landed at this airport, she’d had a seizure on the final descent. The cabin staff had fussed over her as if she were dying, despite her groggy pleas that it was normal—that she had them all the time. She’d found herself being rushed out into a waiting ambulance, and by the time they’d given her the all-clear, she’d missed her connecting flight. Fun times.

Hopefully her seizures wouldn’t be coming back. She hadn’t had any over the past couple of weeks since her return to Earth, despite the fact that she’d arrived naked and alone near the summit of Mount Sesayung, and almost died of exposure and altitude sickness. If ever there was a situation that was going to trigger a seizure, it was that. The pains and disfigurements resulting from her old accident—as well as newer injuries sustained on Sesayung—had quickly faded, thanks to the enhanced regeneration she’d inherited from her last body. That body had been nigh-indestructible. Saskia couldn’t say the same for this one, but she’d survived a trial no ordinary human could have endured. Anyhow, whatever had gone wrong with her brain and caused her seizures, her regenerative power must have fixed that too. Hopefully.

After making her way through customs—a fraught process, given the precariousness of her situation; she’d been stranded in a foreign country with no money and no passport, so the customs officials were quite thorough with their interrogation—she stepped out into the arrival area, where…there she was! Alice Wendle stood anxiously by the gate, and…oh crap.

A gauntlet of cameras stood between them and the exit.

Her mum had warned her over the phone that this might happen. Saskia’s disappearance and presumed death had been newsworthy enough. More recently, the police had been questioning Alice on suspicion of murder, and that too had found its way to nosy reporters and amateur Internet sleuths. But when the dead girl had shown up alive and well in Nepal, months later, with a flock of clanswomen worshipping the very ground on which she stood, the story had gone viral.

Gotta put on a show for the cameras, thought Saskia as she swept toward her mum, arms outstretched. But as the warm, safe arms enfolded her, she once again became a little girl who just wanted her mummy, and the tears flowed freely.

“I’m so sorry for putting you through this, Mum,” she whispered.

“It’s okay, Sass,” murmured Alice, stroking her back. “Everything’s going to be okay. What say we get out of here? We’ve given the reporters their six o’clock reel.”

“You know it’s all digital now, right?” said Saskia. “They don’t use reels.”

Her mum chuckled and pulled her toward the door.

Journalists and bystanders peppered her with questions as she strode past. She blinked at them through blurry eyes, and tried to smile, but did not speak. What could she say? She was a bad liar, and it wasn’t as if anyone would believe the true story. Let them think she was just a runaway who had formed a weird cult following.

Of course, there was the rather glaring matter of her scars, or the lack thereof. It wouldn’t take an especially astute observer to spot the difference between her before and after photos. They’d come up with theories; fraud or elaborate hoax or fancy makeup or high-tech surgery. Right now, she couldn’t care less what they believed. She just wanted to go home.

The drive home felt incredibly surreal. Just weeks earlier, she’d been fighting in an apocalyptic battle; dwarves against elves, on a tree the size of a planet. And here she was, gazing out the car window at the quiet back streets of a city she’d lived in for most of her life; a place so safe it was almost nauseating. The biggest catastrophe most residents were likely to face today was a broken-down coffee machine.

It occurred to her that she could drive again. Or at least, she could once she found a doctor willing to vouch for her. She hadn’t driven in two and a half years.

Alice kept looking at her with a pensive expression, and she felt like she should say something, but she just couldn’t find the words.

Start with something simple. Something safe. “So how is Sean?”

Her mum frowned. “Who?”

“The guy you were dating when…”

“Oh. He didn’t work out.”

An awkward silence lingered. Oh god I suck at this.

It was early afternoon when they pulled into the driveway, but Saskia felt like curling up into bed and sleeping for a week. This was more than jet lag. It was…normalcy overload. She couldn’t deal with normal. Not after…

She sat at the kitchen counter while her mum whipped together a late lunch for them. Sighing, she began to speak. “I know you saw…something, when I…when what happened to me, happened. And the fact that my scars are gone—that’s a whole nother bundle of weird. But let me assure you, I’m not a creepy alien clone pretending to be your daughter.”

Alice chuckled. “Oh Sass, only you would bring up that possibility.”

“Just making sure. I am your daughter. The same person I have always been. But at the same time, there’s something about me that you don’t know. Something that has always been a part of me. Something I inherited from my father. Calbert Bitterbee.”

Her mum frowned. “Who?”

Saskia stared at her. “Calbert Bitterbee? The guy who knocked you up in Norway? Ring any bells?”

Alice’s expression shifted to one of bafflement. “I don’t know what you’re…”

“Are you serious?” said Saskia, unable to keep the shrill edge from her voice. “You were the one who told me about him! You showed me photos. Here, come see…”

Saskia raced to the cabinet where her mum kept all her old photos, and began flicking through them, until she found the ones featuring Alice’s trip to Norway. These, she sifted through more carefully, her frustration growing every second as she looked at beautiful mountains and fjords, and shots of her mother looking young and exuberant. But of her father, there was zilch.

She rounded on her mum. “What did you do to them?”

Alice blinked in confusion. “Do to what? Sass, what’s gotten into you?”

“The photos of my dad! They were in here! I swear I’m not making this up!”

“I believe you believe that,” said her mum.

“How very diplomatic of you,” said Saskia. “Look, how about this?” She ran to her room—which remained almost exactly as she’d left it, right down to the unmade bed—and pulled out her pencil and sketchpad from the bedside cabinet.

Sitting at the table, she began to sketch Calbert’s face from memory. It wasn’t hard. She’d seen him fairly recently in her dreams. Satisfied with his likeness, she held up the page for her mother to see. “This is Calbert. Do you remember him now?”

Her mum’s frown deepened. “Sass, what are you playing at?”

Letting out an exasperated grunt, Saskia shook the page. “You really can’t remember him at all?”

“Remember who?”

“Him!” Saskia stabbed at the page with her finger. Then her mouth fell open.

The page was empty.

“What the actual frock!?” Her gaze flitted about the room. “Oh yeah, hilarious, Dad. I know you’re doing this, somehow. I bet you’re laughing it up right now.”

A cool hand brushed her forehead.

“I think we’d better take you to the doctor,” said Alice.

“I’m not crazy!” Said every crazy person ever.

“No-one’s saying you’re crazy.” Her mum’s reassuring tone was somewhat belied by the lines of worry creasing her forehead. “You must have been under an awful lot of stress…”

“Stress doesn’t cause my drawings to erase themselves!” said Saskia. “Watch this, Mum. Keep your eye on the page while I draw it.” She put her pencil to the paper. “Are you watching?”

Her mum sighed. “Yeah, I’m watching.”

She began to sketch out the lines of Calbert’s face. As the image took form, Alice drew in a sharp breath.

“You recognise him now, don’t you?” said Saskia, not daring to take her eyes from the page.

“I…don’t know what came over me. How could I have forgotten…?”

The lines on the page began to ripple and smear. In moments, they were gone.

“There!” said Saskia. “You see?”

Her mum’s mouth hung open, in an almost exact duplicate of Saskia’s earlier expression. “I don’t understand. Is this a prank? Is that some special sort of paper?”

Saskia shook her head. “Just ordinary paper.”

“Then how…?”

“I’m not certain, but I think Calbert has some freaky ability to remove all evidence of his existence from the world. To erase himself from pages—and memories. You may not even remember this conversation tomorrow.”

“That sounds like…a pretty big stretch, Sass. I’m sure there must be a simpler explanation. Magnets or…”

Saskia gave her the look. “Magnets? Really, Mum?” She shook her head again. “This isn’t magnets, or anything else that can be explained by modern pseudoscience. Believe me. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. Been where I’ve been. Been what I’ve been. This is just the tip of an interdimensional iceberg of weird crap.”

“Language, Sass,” said Alice.

Saskia poked out her tongue. “This is…for lack of a better word, magic. There may be an underlying rational explanation for it all, but lets just call it magic for now. Calbert has it…and so do I.”

“Oh…kay,” said her mum. “I assume this has to do with your disappearance. And what happened in Nepal. Your vanishing scars.”

“Oh yeah, the regeneration! I know an easy way to prove this is real.” She dashed to the kitchen counter, pulled out a long knife and put it to her wrist.

“Wait, Sass!” said her mum. “There’s absolutely no need for that. This isn’t a movie. I don’t need to see geysers of blood and vanishing wounds to know you have some kind of healing magic. Your miraculous recovery is all the proof I need of that.”

Saskia put the knife down, raising her eyebrows. “What kinds of movies have you been watching?”

As they sat together, eating lunch, Saskia said, “You ready for the full story? Or the Cliff Notes version, at least. It’ll take days to tell you everything.”

“Of course, Sass,” said her mum. “I’m all ears.”

“Alright, here goes. But try to keep an open mind about what you’re about to hear, because it’s gonna sound so absurd, even I sometimes have trouble believing it.” Taking a deep breath, Saskia launched into her story.

“A troll!?” Alice let out a strangled laugh. “You know, I always thought you were a little troll.”

“Oh very funny, Mum. There was nothing little about me though…”

Saskia left out much of her story in this first brief telling. She just wasn’t ready to talk about some of the things she’d seen and done, or some of the things that had been done to her. Instead, she focussed on the parts that were most relevant to them now: her oracle abilities, her dream meetings with her father, and her discovery of her own true nature as a being that reached across space and between dimensions.

“So that’s how I ended up in Nepal,” she said. “Actually, I’m a bit hazy about the circumstances surrounding my departure from Arbor Mundi. There was a huge battle going on though, so it’s possible I…” She swallowed. “It’s possible I died there.”

“Oh Sass,” said her mum.

“Then again, I thought I might have died here too, when I awoke in that world, so who knows. I may never know, unless I can go back…”

“I can see from your face that you miss them; your friends from…that world.” Her mum spoke hesitantly, clearly having a hard time accepting the idea. “But don’t forget your friends on this one. Your family.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” said Saskia. “I missed you so much, Mum. Especially in those early months, when I was all alone.” She shook her head, determined not to tear up again. “Speaking of my friends…”

“I’ve been keeping in touch with all your friends on social media,” said Alice. “All the ones I know of, anyway. They all came to your…” She coughed. “Your funeral.”

Saskia shivered. Her friends and family had thought her dead all this time. And now she was going to have to face them. She’d reveal the truth to some of her closest friends—those who could keep a secret—but the rest were going to think she’d simply abandoned them; run off and joined a cult or something. Well technically she kinda had joined a cult—two cults, on two different worlds—but in both cases the cultists were really nice people.

“I’ll go see Fergus and Raji and Dave tomorrow,” she decided. “I wonder if they’ll give me my old job back.”

“Oh I wouldn’t worry about that,” said her mum. “They’ve been calling me non-stop asking when you’ll get back, and whether you’re still on the job market. Turns out your skills as an artist and voice actress are very much in demand. I told them you’ll consider their offer, but only if it includes a hefty pay raise.”

“Mum!”

“What? They weren’t paying you nearly enough before, and they’re rolling in money now.”

“Rolling in money? That can’t be right. I mean Raji had a bit of cash, but it was barely enough to cover our salaries.”

“That was before,” said Alice, arching her eyebrows.

‘Rolling in money’ turned out to be a bit of an overstatement, but following their first demo, Threadless Studios had attracted the interest of a wealthy investor, who had put down a big wad of cash in exchange for a non-controlling stake in the company. They’d moved to a new office in the CBD, and started hiring additional developers in the hopes of completing the project by early next year.

“He’s some kind of Russian oligarch, I think,” said Raji the next evening as they sat around a table at their favourite dining establishment. “Drives a Bentley and wears a swanky suit. Barely speaks a word of English. Honestly, I have no idea why he’d be interested in a tiny studio like us. But I’m not complaining. He’s been totally hands-off. We still have complete creative control. As long as we’re not spending his money holidaying in Honolulu, he’s cool with it.”

“Sounds almost too good to be true,” said Saskia. “You sure he’s not laundering money for the Russian mafia or something?”

“Now you’re beginning to sound like Dave,” said Raji. “Not everyone with money is a crook, you know.”

“Just most of them,” said Dave.

“I did my due diligence,” said Raji. “He’s been investing in local businesses for years, and there have been no complaints. As far as I can tell, he’s legit.”

“Okay, just checking,” said Saskia. “So I hear you’re looking for an artist.”

“We might be,” said Raji, grinning at her. “What are your qualifications?”

“I’ve killed people with my bare hands,” said Saskia. “I know where you live. Also, I know what you have in that green folder in your bag. Since when did you bother with employment contracts?”

Raji frowned. “How did you…?”

Saskia flashed him a wide, mysterious smile.

Dave rolled his eyes. “Oh for the love of…stop beating around the bush and give her the contract, dude.”

Raji sighed. “Fine. I suppose you might be up to the task.” He handed over the folder.

“The killing with your bare hands thing sealed the deal,” said Fergus. “We’ve a list of people who need to be…taken care of.”

She opened the folder, looked at the numbers, and felt her eyes going wide. “Wowsicles. This is close to an actual game artist’s salary.”

“I know, right?” said Fergus. “We can actually call this a job without having to use the word ‘kinda.’”

“Did you hire any other artists while I was…gone?” asked Saskia as she read over the fine print.

“Yeah, we’ve tried out a couple,” said Raji. “Danice is pretty good, but still getting up to speed. Your character and environment models and concept art though; people were raving about them.”

“That and your orc and troll voices,” said Fergus, grinning wolfishly at her.

“Oh god, don’t remind me.” Saskia put her palm to her forehead. “There’s so much I want to change about the troll model, especially. Make it more authentic.”

“More authentic?” said Fergus. “Met many trolls, have you?”

“Just a couple,” said Saskia.

“One of them’s sitting at the table,” said Dave.

“What?” squeaked Saskia, looking at him in alarm. Has mum been talking…?

“Ferg likes to troll our competitors’ public forums,” said Raji. “You’re looking at one seriously dedicated shitposter.”

“Oh,” said Saskia. “Bad Ferg.”

“Hey, it keeps them on their toes,” said Fergus.

Saskia stashed the folder away. “I’ll have my lawyer check over the fine print and get back to you.”

“You have a lawyer?” said Fergus.

“She means her mum,” said Raji.

“One scary lady,” said Fergus, giving an exaggerated shudder. He slapped his hands down on the table. “Now. With that out of the way, would you mind telling me who the feck you are and what you did with the old Sass?”

She held up her hands in mock surrender. “You got me. I’m a pod girl. The real Saskia is in a dumpster out back.”

“What he means is: what’s with the makeover?” said Raji, frowning. “You know you don’t need to hide your scars around us, right? I actually think they’re kinda badarse.”

Saskia gave a nervous chuckle. “About that. I’m not concealing them with fancy cosmetics. They really are gone.”

“Come to think of it, your voice is different too,” said Fergus. His eyes narrowed into an exaggerated squint. “Less orc and more…elf. Are you a pod girl?” His eyes widened, and he pushed back on his chair. “Because I’d be cool with it if you were. I, for one, welcome our evil clone overlords.”

“Hey, don’t be cloneist,” said Saskia. “Not all clones are evil. I happen to be a really nice clone.”

“Who can kill people with her bare hands,” said Raji.

Saskia smiled at her friends. It felt so strange, and yet so right to be back with them. She didn’t realise how much she’d missed this easy banter until now. If there was anyone she could trust with her secret, other than her mum, it was these guys. Plus, they’d work some of it out on their own with or without her help. They weren’t stupidiots. Most of the time.

“I know you all have questions,” she said. “I have something to tell you, and it’s big. You’re gonna have a hard time believing any of it—especially you, Dave—but I’m gonna tell you anyhow because you’re my friends and you deserve to know the truth about me. About where I’ve been these past months…” She glanced about the restaurant, spotting several pairs of eyes on her. “But not here. After dinner, once we’re away from nosey…uh, eyes and ears, I’ll tell you everything.”

Fergus scowled at her. “Feck, Sass. That was too cruel. Now I have the worst case of blue brains.”

“Patience, Ferg,” said Saskia. “Your mind will be blown soon enough.”

One of the waiters stood awkwardly by their table; a new guy who looked fresh out of high school. “You’re her, aren’t you? The miracle girl. I saw you on TV.”

Saskia tried and failed to keep her face blank. “I don’t know anything about that.”

Stepping up behind him, his colleague nudged him aside, flashed Saskia an apologetic smile, and took their order.

“Got an admirer there, Sass,” chuckled Raji.

She scowled. “Bog off!”

While they waited for their meal, Saskia idly brought up her minimap, glancing back and forth between it and the map on her phone. It could use a bit of tweaking, she decided. The current design worked well in the wilderness and low-tech villages, towns and cities of Arbor Mundi—and remote parts of the Himalayas. It was far less suited to this modern urban environment.

A few minutes later, she nodded, satisfied with her progress. Some of the colour and clutter had faded, replaced by cleanly marked and labelled streets and buildings.

“Looking for something, Sass?” asked Fergus, pointing at her phone map.

“What? Oh, it’s not that…”

Saskia faltered, once again focussing on the minimap. One thing that hadn’t changed much was the set of markers representing people and animals. They were still colour-coded by threat level, taking into account both intent and potential lethality. This city was pretty safe, so most of the markers were a neutral grey, with the occasional shady-looking person showing up as a yellow dot. Blue was the colour of friends and close allies. Raji and Fergus and Dave were blue. There was another blue marker across the street, which was a little odd. But that wasn’t what had drawn her attention.

What gave her pause was the red dot moving along the street toward them. Red means dead, she thought.

In that moment, old instincts took over; instincts honed over months spent living in a world whose inhabitants were out to get her.

“We need to get out of here,” she said, rising to her feet.

“But they haven’t served our meal yet,” said Raji.

“We can come back for them,” said Saskia. If there’s anything to come back to.

The red marker was just a quarter of a block away, and moving at a brisk walking speed. Too late to leave via the front door. It would be just metres away by then.

“Get into the kitchen. Now!” Saskia grabbed Fergus by the arm and hauled him out of his chair, sending it spinning. She shoved him toward the doorway and turned to the others.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” said Raji, jumping to his feet. Dave was doing likewise. “The fuck’s gotten into you, Sass?”

“No time!” she said, herding them through the doorway. “Go!”

Heavy footsteps sounded behind her as the red dot entered the cafe. A line of light appeared in the air, passing through her throat and into Dave’s retreating back. She dove forward, tackling him to the ground.

A loud pop filled the air. The shelf at the back of the kitchen exploded into splinters of wood and shattered china.

Someone screamed. A chef cast a panicked glance out the doorway, then took off toward the back door. Raji and Fergus sprinted after him.

Saskia rolled onto her feet, and out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the muzzle of a pistol. Another shot rang out. The floor tile at her feet cracked.

She slammed the door shut and planted her foot against it, watching with rising panic as the chef fumbled to unlatch the back door. The kitchen door shuddered against her foot. More shots, and two jagged holes appeared across the wood panel.

A violent shove knocked her sprawling. She found herself staring up at her would-be killer; a beefy, tattooed man in a pink polo shirt. Already, his pistol was swinging down to point at her chest.

Desperately, she rolled to the side, catching her legs in his. He fell forward, sprawling on top of her. Another loud pop sounded, and a glass cabinet exploded at her side. She reached for his gun, wrenching it sideways, managing to tear it from his grip.

The man’s forehead slammed into her chin, cracking the back of her head into the hard floor. The shock of it made her lose her own grip on the gun, and it skidded away from them both. Dazedly, she tried to push him off her, but it was no use. He was too strong. She may have been a troll on Arbor Mundi, but here she was just a skinny girl.

Out of the corner of the eye, she saw Dave picking up the fallen gun in trembling hands and pointing it at the guy. He pulled the trigger.

Click. Empty.

Fists rained down on her face, over and over, driving her head further into the tiles. She felt the sickening crunch of her nose caving in, and her teeth shattering. The room spun around her. Her attempt to jab at his throat may as well have been the feeble pawing of a clawless kitten, for all the good it did. She tried to spit at him, but only succeeded in dribbling blood over her own chin.

Dave ran at him, but with the flick of a wrist, the man sent him tumbling backward, where he cracked his head against the counter.

Meaty hands wrapped around her throat and squeezed. Splinters of bright light closed in around the edges of her vision. Sound receded into a mosquito whine.

And then, abruptly, impossibly, the pressure around her throat eased. Something warm and wet spilled onto her chest. She drew in a ragged, choking breath, and squirmed out from beneath her attacker. He lay face down in a spreading pool of his own blood, with the hilt of a kitchen knife sticking out of his back.

Standing over him was a tall, athletic-looking woman in a headscarf, with a bindi on her forehead. Saskia had never seen this woman before, but her clothes and general poise were very familiar.

“Thank you,” she wheezed up at her saviour.

The woman spoke in Lingya, the language of the people who had looked after Saskia in Nepal. “I do not deserve your thanks, Old One. I have failed you. Please forgive me.”

“Forgiven.” Slumping against the ruined counter, Saskia spat out a mouthful of broken teeth. “Minganha sent you, I presume?”

“Yes, Old One,” said the woman. She pulled a wad of tissues from her pocket and began to wipe some of the blood from Saskia’s face. “My name is Padhra. It would be my honour to guard your Earthly vessel for as long as you walk this foreign land.”

“Oh god,” said Fergus, poking his head through the now-open back door. “I’ll…uh…I’ll call an ambulance.”

Dave rose shakily to his feet, staring at Padhra. “What’s she saying? Who the hell is she? Who the hell is he?”

“It’s a very long story. And as for this guy…” Saskia looked at the body on the floor. “I have no idea who he is. But I suspect he knew about me.”