Inside the police building in the northern district of Labrys Town, Clara sat alone in an interrogation room. It was a cold room, intimidating – its floor, walls and ceiling all made of smooth grey stone. Clara faced a door that was closed and locked, and lacked windows. A single eye was fixed to the wall to her left. The milky fluid stirred gently inside it: a sure sign that the eye was active, watching Clara with a piercing stare.

She sat on an uncomfortable metal chair before a metal table. Her hands were in her lap, her wrists bound by thick cuffs, and rain water dripped from her ill-fitting clothes. On the opposite side of the table were two more chairs; these were made of wood with padded backs and seats. Deliberately set up like an unwanted guest, Clara kept her expression neutral for the eye on the wall, though she rubbed at the ache where the patrolwoman's baton had bruised her thigh.

She had only wanted to get her medicine, to change out of a dead man's clothes, and then to try and make sense of the last few nights' events. Instead, in the space of an hour, she had escaped the Great Labyrinth only to be caught by the police. Where was her mysterious guardian angel now?

Marney's kiss still tingled upon Clara's lips.

At least she had got as far as taking her medicine; at least she had some control over the inner monster ... for a while.

The door opened. A man and woman entered the interrogation room. The woman was street patrol. Stocky and broad, she carried her receptor helmet under one arm. Her hair was shaved close to the scalp, her eyes were dark and humourless. Clara recognised her scent – she was the one who had accosted her outside the Lazy House. The baton hung at the officer's waist, but she carried no gun.

The man, however, had a pistol holstered at his hip. His receding hair was slicked back, and he wore round glasses, the lenses of which were tinted enough to hide the colour of his eyes. The skin of his angular face was as tight and smooth as the press of his pristine uniform. He carried an air of authority, and Clara knew who he was: Captain Jeter, the head of the Labrys Town Police Force.

Clara clamped her jaw and squeezed her hands into fists in her lap. She had endured plenty of run-ins with the police in her time, but never had she gained the attention of the captain.

Jeter slipped Clara's medicine tin from his pocket and rattled the tablets inside before placing it on the table with a crisp snap. He then took a seat while the policewoman remained standing beside him.

'Peppercorn Clara,' he said. His voice was low, soft almost. 'You have quite the reputation.'

'So I hear,' Clara said as casually as she could.

Jeter offered a small, cold smile. The policewoman simply stared at Clara, almost certainly contemptuous of her profession.

Jeter tapped the medicine tin with a finger. 'Would you mind telling me what these tablets are for?'

'My prescription,' she said. 'I have ... seizures.'

'Really?' His tone was dry, unconvinced.

Clara looked up at the policewoman, and then back at the captain. She had to be careful. It was obvious that Jeter didn't known she was a changeling; if he did, she would already be as good as dead. But Charlie Hemlock had somehow discovered she was a magicker. It would probably only be a matter of time before Jeter did, too.

'The remains of a man were discovered,' the captain was saying, 'in a house on the east side of town. This man was a known associate of Charlie Hemlock, and he had been ... well, to say brutally murdered would be putting it mildly. And what remained of his body had been stripped naked, Clara.'

Jeter paused to make an obvious show of studying the over-sized clothes that Clara wore; the rips and tears and dark stains that decorated them. 'You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?'

'No,' she lied quickly, instinctively.

'Are you sure?' The captain's face was stony; his dark glasses like hollows in his face. 'You had no reason to run from the police?'

Clara shook her head and kept silent.

Jeter sighed. 'We know you were sold to Charlie Hemlock, and you've been missing for three days. But why sneak back to the Lazy House? Why not go straight to the nearest police station?'

There was no way Clara could answer that honestly. She stared down into her lap.

'Well?' Jeter snapped.

Clara flinched. 'I-I panicked, I suppose. I just wanted to be somewhere familiar.' It was mostly the truth, but even to her the words sounded unconvincing.

'I see.' Jeter looked up at the policewoman, who was still glaring at the prisoner.

'I'm easily bored, Clara,' Jeter continued. 'So let's try coming at this from a different angle. Fat Jacob sold you to Charlie Hemlock, but Hemlock has never been the brains behind any operation. So for whom was he buying you?'

'I don't know,' Clara said truthfully. 'He never told me who he was working for.'

'All right – I'll believe that for now. For what reason were you purchased?'

Clara opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Charlie Hemlock was a sick bastard. There was nothing he wouldn't dirty his hands with for money. But Jeter's question was a good one; Clara had never discovered the specific reason why he wanted her.

With a quick glance at the milky eye watching her from the grey wall, Clara shrugged at the police captain. 'Perhaps you should ask Fat Jacob.'

'I'll be sure to do that.' Jeter stared at her for a moment, and then he picked up the medicine tin, rattling it once more. 'So when did you last see Charlie Hemlock?' he asked.

Clara licked her lips. Her mouth began to work, but again she dared not answer.

'You whores should really learn when to help yourselves,' Jeter said with a sigh. 'I have a murder victim, Charlie Hemlock is as elusive as ever, and his mysterious employer has purchased a whore. You are the one link that connects them all, Clara, yet you really believe you can convince me that you know nothing?'

He leaned forwards and clenched his teeth. 'It's a ridiculous belief – especially as you were seen tonight, emerging from the Great Labyrinth.'

Clara's breath caught.

'I somehow doubt you managed to climb over the boundary wall, Clara. So it would seem that you have knowledge of these secret entranceways that are rumoured to exist. Tell me I'm wrong.

What was she supposed to say? That Hemlock somehow got her inside the Great Labyrinth? That she left him there at the mercy of an empath; that she only escaped because of magic? Clara desperately willed Marney's box of secrets to edge open in her mind and show her the way out of this mess. It didn't happen. From all directions, it seemed, she was in deep trouble.

Clara recoiled as Jeter slammed his hand down on the table.

'How did you get into the Great Labyrinth?' he shouted.

'Hemlock took me there,' Clara blurted. 'I don't know how. I-I got away from him. He's still there as far as I know. That's the truth.'

'Is it? Because I have to wonder, Clara – are you in league with demons?'

'What?'

'Did you feed Hemlock's soul to the Retrospective?'

'No!'

Jeter sat back in his chair and clucked his tongue. 'You're in serious trouble, Clara, and if you insist on telling me lies, then I shall have to draw my own conclusions.'

'I'm not in league with demons,' she whispered.

'Perhaps that's the truth.' Jeter slipped the medicine tin into his pocket, and then checked the time on his pocket watch. 'I should warn you,' he said, rising from his chair, 'I'm not the only one to take a personal interest in this case.'

Clara's throat tightened as Jeter pointed to the eye on the wall.

'The Resident is watching you.'

Clara's heartbeat quickened, but she dared not look at the eye. The Resident ... the governor of Labrys Town ...

'Think on that for a while,' Jeter said. 'Perhaps the promise of being taken to the Nightshade will loosen your tongue.'

The police captain turned and headed for the door. 'Lock her up,' he told the policewoman as he stepped out of the room; the woman took obvious relish in grabbing Clara and yanking her to her feet.