People disappeared in the Great Labyrinth, out in the deep maze where the Retrospective roamed. Wild demons hid between the alley walls like spiders waiting for the tingle of flies on their webs. The demons always welcomed fresh meat, and once they had picked the bones of their victims clean of flesh, they reserved the spirits as offerings to the lowest age of the Retrospective: Oldest Place, where Spiral, the Lord of the Genii, was said to feast upon the souls of the dead.

Out in the Great Labyrinth Clara had thought she would die – if not from an assassin's gun, then by the teeth and claws of wild demons. She had feared her soul was destined for the fire and poison of Oldest Place, and the endless hunger of the Genii Lord Spiral. She had given up hope of ever reaching the paradise of Mother Earth – until she had been kissed by a guardian angel.

By the time Clara left the alleyways, the rain was constant, humid and warm. She felt light-headed and disorientated. Exhaustion numbed the burning in her leg muscles, and nauseating pangs of hunger griped at her stomach. Her throat was parched and cracked; her feet were bare and bleeding.

She entered a wide and square courtyard where two stubby pillars of stone rose from the floor like broken fangs. On the far side of the courtyard, the high boundary wall loomed over her. A hundred feet tall, sheer and impossible to scale, the boundary wall surrounded Labrys Town entirely, and kept it segregated from the Great Labyrinth, protected it from the Retrospective. From where she was, there appeared no way through to the civilised sanctuary on the other side. Clara tried to steady her breathing and gain some focus.

She looked around the courtyard, then focused on the two stubby pillars positioned barely ten feet apart. Clara had learned enough about the old days to know that at one time the pillars had connected to form a tall archway. Forty years ago, long before she was born, this courtyard had been a checkpoint, and the archway had been a portal that led to the doorways of the Great Labyrinth through which the denizens journeyed to the Houses of the Aelfir.

There were many such checkpoints located around the boundary wall, but the entrances to them all had been sealed shut, back when the Genii War ended. Each of the portals had been broken, smashed, and all paths to the realms outside the Great Labyrinth had been destroyed.

Standing in the shadow of the boundary wall, Clara could just make out where the entrance to this courtyard had once been. The bricks were a lighter shade of black, forming a square – large enough for a tram to pass through. The tracks cut into the cobbles were rusty from disuse and disappeared beneath the wall that was undoubtedly solid and seemingly impassable.

As warm rain soaked her, a strange calm descended on Clara. She knew what she had to do next, though she could hardly fathom how she knew it.

Feeling almost as though her actions belonged to someone else, she stepped forwards and placed a hand against the wall where the former entranceway had been. Immediately, she felt heat against her palm that was at once alien yet familiar. Beneath her hand, the mortar between the bricks began to emit a dull purple glow that spread to form a maze-like pattern. Clara felt a vibration, as though mechanisms were turning deep within the brickwork. The purple glow receded and, with a low rumble, a section of the wall depressed and slid to one side, revealing a slim but open doorway.

Her skin prickled. She had heard rumours that there were secret entrances to the Great Labyrinth hidden in the boundary wall, but she had never thought they were true. Until now.

Clara licked her lips nervously and stepped through the opening.

She stood on a narrow path which ran along the boundary wall, skirting the backs of terraced buildings. Directly ahead of her, and crossing the path, the tramline continued along a fat alley that led out onto the streets of Labrys Town. The slim doorway rumbled shut behind Clara, showing no sign that it had ever been there. At last she felt in control of herself, as though she could breathe for the first time.

She turned her face up to the rain and closed her eyes.

The distant noise and scents of life stroked Clara's heightened senses: music and buzzing voices whispered in her ears; a vague stale and dank smell filled her nostrils. She had escaped the dangers of the Great Labyrinth's alleyways. She had been saved by an old woman – a stranger called Marney, a magicker, an empath – and her kiss had shown Clara an impossible way home. Though what home now meant was anyone's guess.

Body drenched and foot sore, she followed the alley ahead, happy to discover she had arrived in the northern part of Labrys Town. Clara took a furtive glance from the alley entrance to ensure the way was clear, and then stepped out onto the rain-soaked cobbles of Head Street.

She began walking, her footsteps uncertain. Above, the clouds parted to reveal the full orb of Ruby Moon. The night was still young. There were at least another few hours before Silver Moon would chase its sibling away with blue-grey light. Then the humidity would begin to freshen, grow cooler, colder, until the dawning sun brought the warmth of the day.

Head Street was divided by two shining tramlines. Along its pavements lampposts spilled violet light onto the ground. But like much of Labrys Town it was mostly asleep. The terraced stores and businesses were darkened, the lights of their signs dead for the night. On the opposite side of the street was the confined passage of Elder Lane which cut between a baker's and a confectioner's, and led to the back alleys. Clara stopped to stare down it.

The clouds obscured Ruby Moon once more, and the rain fell harder than before – heavy droplets that splashed upon the street and ran down Clara's face. She heard the rumble of an approaching tram, saw its lights cresting a rise, glaring through the downpour, heading towards her. Hiding in the gloom of a butcher's doorway, Clara was suddenly aware of how disgusting she smelt. Somehow it completed the night's misery. Her over-sized clothes were no better than rags. They were torn, soaked by rain that had only partly flushed away the blood encrusted in the thread – these clothes belonged to a dead man, a man she had slaughtered.

The taste of his blood still lingered in her mouth, the ghost of his screams echoed in her ears, yet she had never even known his name.

Lights glared. The rumbling reached a crescendo. The tram trundled by with sparks of purple thaumaturgy snapping from the power line above it. Clara saw a few nondescript passengers seated inside the carriage, and then the tram had gone.The power line swayed gently in its wake. Stillness returned. Breaking cover,she stepped out into the downpour and, quickly crossing Head Street, ducked into the gloom of Elder Lane.