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An ancient church, an equally old pub, and a few quaint cottages combine to create the sort of scene an American tourist would have spent their lifesavings to glimpse upon. I ignore both the view and the “go slow” signs, and floor the car to the end of the narrow, winding road, where Thornber Manor stands in splendid isolation. I screech to a halt in the long, pebbled driveway, kicking up a spray of rubble. It’s not that I want to make a scene, exactly. I just don’t have enough spare mental energy for attempting to be subtle.

I turn off the engine, cutting the music, and swing myself out of the vehicle. I walk up to the arched front door, with my open-toed sandals crunching satisfactorily on the stones.

There’s a suitably gothic-looking skull in place of a doorknocker. I stand there for a moment, hand raised a few inches from the unsubtle piece of decoration.

Eventually, I summon up the courage to knock. The sound reverberates down the hall and echoes back to me, lingering far longer than it should. Impossible to tell whether the effect is caused by centuries-old magic, modern technology, or something in between.

One of the Thornber acolytes opens the door. After that display, I’d almost expected a hunched-over butler, but he’s one of the gang I’ve seen in court and around town. He’s around my age, dressed in tight black jeans, an even tighter white sleeveless tank top, and Havaianas sandals. He’s holding a bottle of beer and staring at me in confusion through his aviators.

“Are you here for the BBQ? Aren’t you that lawyer?”

Great. I’ve walked into a Thornber summer party. An audience is exactly what I don’t need.

“I’m here to talk to your boss.” My words sound stilted and awkward, but I can’t bring myself to say his name.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” the door-opener replies.

“Please just tell him I want to speak to him.”

I consider trying to exert some mental influence. This guy doesn’t look wildly powerful. But the last thing I want is to try, fail, and really get things off on the wrong foot.

“What’s your name again?”

I took a deep breath. “Tell him it’s Sadie Sadler.”

His fists clench. “Okay, there’s no way in hell I’m leaving you unaccompanied.”

“Well, there’s no wayI’mleaving without seeing the person I came here to see. And that certainly isn’t you.”

He glances away just long enough to call over to a companion. “Mike, get Mr Thornber. It’s that bloody lawyer. Or the Sadler girl. Apparently, they’re one and the same now.”

“Come on, Jamie,” Mike replies, leaning out from the house’s dark interior. He’s dressed identically. “Mr Thornber’s not exactly in the habit of standing on his doorstep chatting to people. They come to him.”

“I’m not being held responsible for inviting her in if she brings the house down around her, or for sending her away if the boss feels like speaking to her.”

“Fine.” Mike’s footsteps recede towards the back of the house, leaving Jamie and me to stare at each other in silence.

Two minutes later, Gabriel appears out of thin air. In stark contrast to Jamie and Mike, he’s wearing a white linen suit.

“Far be it for you to have to walk the five minutes from your back garden to your front door,” I say.

It’s stupid to provoke him when I need to get on his good side, insofar as he has one, but it’s a point of principle.

“Sadie Sadler. On my own doorstep, dressed up in a pretty summer dress, and using her real name. To what do we owe this honour?”

“I want to talk to you. Alone,” I reply.

“I’m in the middle of hosting a party for fifty of my closest friends. Mostly to celebrate your brother’s impending conviction. But an opportunity to ‘talk to you alone’ sounds far too good to refuse.”

“Can we go inside? Find somewhere quiet?” I ask. “I wasn’t expecting all these people.”

“Nikki, search her for weapons,” he replies, ignoring me for a moment and speaking into the ether.

There’s no sign of Nikki, but presumably they have some sort of telepathic connection set up in order for her to best perform her role as lieutenant.

I stiffen at the indignity, but it’s not unreasonable. I’d considered bringing a knife, just as a precaution, but I’m not exactly a great fighter. And it risked giving quite the wrong impression.

Nikki appears in place and proceeds to frisk me. She’s thorough, but professional, and doesn’t say a word. I stare Gabriel down while he watches in silence.