At the end of the Genii War there had been a mighty reckoning. No one knew why the Timewatcher abandoned the Labyrinth, but they said that, along with millions of Aelfir, the war had killed Her compassion. The retribution She vented upon Her enemies was as furious as it was merciless. For Spiral, the great and terrible instigator, She created a distant realm called Oldest Place, a prison of endless torment and suffering in which her gravest enemy was incarcerated for eternity. The Genii, those Thaumaturgists who had turned their backs upon their Mother to serve Spiral so loyally, were tossed screaming and writhing into the Nothing of Far and Deep, where their souls were lost forever to its primordial mists.

But it was reckoned the Timewatcher's greatest act of retribution was reserved for Spiral's armies, those Houses of the Aelfir who had joined the Genii in their malicious crusade.

The Timewatcher created a space, a gap between the fabric of existence and the emptiness of non-existence. Into this gap, she poured dead time, every second of every atrocity committed during the Genii War, and it became a vast realm of damnation, perversion, abomination. She called this place the Retrospective.

The renegade Aelfir were banished to the Retrospective, along with their lands. The decay of dead time corroded their realms into an uninhabitable wasteland. Their bodies were corrupted into the forms of hideous creatures, while their minds were torn and damaged beyond redemption. The hundreds of thousands of enemy Aelfir who had survived the war, whose Houses had once been great and wise, were reduced to nothing more than blood-thirsty animals, without a shadow of good or reason, left to scavenge upon each other in a landscape of poison and ashes.

There was no reprieve from the Retrospective, no chance of escape. Its doorway was set to drift aimlessly through the endless alleyways of the Great Labyrinth, as lost as the souls beyond it. It served as an example, a warning, an eternal deterrent for any denizen seeking passage to the Houses who had remained loyal to the Thaumaturgists and their Mother. The Labyrinth became a forbidden zone, and the cruelty and torture of the Retrospective bespoke a promise of what it meant to be an enemy of the Timewatcher.

Only the boundary wall kept the denizens safe from the Retrospective, and Clara shivered to recall the tales she had heard of the wild demons that dwelt within that damned House of dead time.

Under the bright glare of Silver Moon, the official tram of the Nightshade drove through the central district. It weaved through the main streets. The occasional purple spark of thaumaturgy snapped from the power line and flashed against its sleek black shell. Inside, Clara clutched the satchel of spell spheres in her lap with white-knuckled fingers. She fidgeted nervously beneath the violet light of a ceiling prism. Across from her, Samuel sat studying his spirit compass. He had not said a word since they had left the Nightshade's forecourt.

Clara had never seen a wild demon herself, but she had once had a client who claimed he had been attacked by one. His left leg was missing from just below the knee; three fingers on his right hand had been bitten off; and gouge marks and scars had decorated his body and face. Clara desperately tried not to think of what manner of monster could inflict such wounds.

Through the tram's tinted windows she watched the buildings and streetlamps passing by outside, along with a few denizens either making their way home or walking to work to begin an early morning shift. Mostly, the central district was quiet at this time.

Who drove the tram was a mystery. Clara had seen no driver, and the carriage ended at a smooth metal wall devoid of a door that might lead to a driver's compartment. But on that wall was an eye device. Public trams had no eyes fitted inside them, but the rheumy stare of the one fitted inside the Resident's tram made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Was someone watching them?

Judging by Samuel's composure, the tram was somehow in sync with his spirit compass, and they were headed in the right direction. But the right direction was leading them to Charlie Hemlock and a showdown with a wild demon of the Retrospective.

Deciding that breaking the silence was the best way to ease her nerves, she asked Samuel, 'Have you ever seen a Thaumaturgist?'

The old bounty hunter looked up from the compass and gave her a deep frown.

Clara added, 'I mean, back in the old days. They came to Labrys Town, didn't they?'

'Sometimes,' Samuel said. 'Other times denizens were taken to see them.'

'Like who? Relic Guild agents?'

Samuel paused for a moment. 'The Thaumaturgists are long gone, Clara, and I won't speak of them,' he said irritably. He returned his attention to the compass. 'Now let me concentrate.'

Clara didn't know why the compass demanded such attention, but she did know that Samuel was an easy man to dislike.

The old bounty hunter blew hot and cold, but always an air of arrogance surrounded him. It underlined his every word, his every action, as if his authority simply could not be challenged. But there was sadness too, something deep, something bitter. Clara suspected that Old Man Sam carried the weight of his experiences. She found him strange and uncomfortable company, and wished it was Van Bam travelling with her now.

Undeterred by Samuel's dismissiveness, she said, 'Have you ever left the Labyrinth, Samuel? Did you ever travel to the Houses of the Aelfir?'

This time, when Samuel looked up, he did not glare at Clara or seem irritated. He stared past her, as if into some distance beyond the tram's window, beyond the central district and the Great Labyrinth itself.

'Yes,' he said. It was a simple statement.

'What about now?' said Clara. 'Aren't there any doorways still open? You know, secret ones that normal denizens don't know about?'

'Clara ...' Samuel's voice was level as his eyes fixed onto hers. 'Just because we're agents of the Relic Guild, doesn't mean we have any special dispensation. The doorways of the Great Labyrinth are closed to all of us.'

'What about that portal outside the Nightshade?'

'It connects to the Aelfir directly and not to a doorway, Clara.' The hardness of his voice jolted her. 'The Timewatcher left it open so we didn't die. And it only goes one way. The Aelfir use that portal to send us provisions, but we can send nothing back, and no living thing can pass through. I doubt even Van Bam knows which House is on the other side. Be assured, no one gets into the Labyrinth, and no one gets out. Not ever.'

'Fabian Moor did.'

Samuel sucked air over his teeth, struggling to find patience. 'Marney has put all kinds of thoughts and questions into your head, child, but now is not the time for answers.'

There it was again – that odd mixture of arrogance and sadness. Clara sat back. Silence returned to the carriage, and the tram passed out of the central district and headed into the west side.

Clara had spent so long fearing her magic, scared of the day when the authorities would discover she was a magicker, or when the wolf freed itself of her control and ... killed someone ... Clara shook herself. Now the day she feared had arrived, she had been made to feel like her magic was to be celebrated, not condemned. She was no criminal, no out of control murderer, but part of some greater plan that she barely understood. Would she be required to kill again?

The effects of Marney's kiss still lingered inside her. It stripped away the fear, gave her courage and determination, and prepared her for the Relic Guild. She was beginning to feel that she had finally found a place where she might fit in. Samuel had been in Clara's position once; he too had learned there was a higher purpose for magickers in the Labyrinth. Why then was he being so intolerant of her?

As if pondering this very question himself, Samuel sighed and looked at her with a softer expression.

'Everything in its right place, Clara,' he said. 'I appreciate how confused you must be right now, but I think you understand what we're about to do, don't you?'

Clara felt a cold pang. 'Rescue Hemlock from a wild demon,' she whispered.

'Exactly. Focus on that. Save the questions for later. Take one step at a time.'

It wasn't long before the tram came to a stop. Samuel rose and slid open the door of the carriage. Clara followed him onto the street outside.