I tried to make him see that millions of people owe their lives to him, that the Demonata would have taken over our world many centuries before this if not for his stubborn resistance. But he’s fallen into a dark state of mind. I think partly it’s because of my return. I’ve made him aware of all that he’s missed out on. If he’d allowed himself to be more human, he’d have had friends and family, and perhaps been much happier.

I’m sitting beneath the shade of a bony tree, trying to think of a way to ease Beranabus’s troubled mind. Someone coughs close by, disturbing me. I open my eyes and find Dervish standing there. “Mind if I sit down?”

I nudge over. When he’s sitting, he smiles awkwardly. We haven’t said much to each other since he recovered. I think he’s embarrassed—we’d had that big conversation prior to the attacks, but never had a chance to wrap it up.

“How are you getting on?” he asks.

“Not too bad.”

“It’s pretty boring here, huh?”

I shrug. “I’d rather this to the excitement of fighting demons.”

He strokes one of his newly grown spikes. “What do you think of the hair?”

“Some of the warriors in my time styled their hair like that,” I tell him.

“Yeah?” He looks proud.

“But they were all a lot younger than you.”

He pulls a face. “I started going bald early, so I had no choice other than adapt. But I never liked looking like the crown of an egg.”

“Baldness suits old men.”

“I’m not…” he starts to protest, then sighs. “No, you’re right, I am old. It happened while I wasn’t looking. Old, bald, dodgy heart, ignorant.”

“Ignorant?” I echo.

“The way I treated you,” he says softly. “I was an ignorant old man. If Billy or Grubbs had seen me acting that way, they’d have kicked me hard and told me to stop being an idiot.”

“You were upset,” I excuse him. “People do strange things when they lose a loved one.”

“I should have known better,” he grunts. “I would have been more sensitive a few years ago, but you don’t see things so clearly when you let yourself become a grumpy old fogey. I used to criticise Ma and Pa Spleen—Billy’s grandparents—for being cranky and small-minded. But I was turning into a carbon copy of them.” He shudders.

“Bill-E loved his grandparents regardless of their flaws,” I say. “He would have gone on loving and forgiving you too, no matter what.”

“How about you?” Dervish asks.

I frown uncomfortably. I should say something diplomatic, but I was reared to speak my mind. “I don’t love you. I hardly even know you.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Dervish says quickly. “I meant, can you forgive me? Can we be friends? Or will I always be the ogre who made you tell him stories about a dead boy for months on end?”

“You’ll always be an ogre,” I say seriously, then laugh at his expression. “I’m joking. Of course we can be friends.”

“We can start over?” he says eagerly. “Get to know each other properly?”

I nod and he sticks out a hand to shake on the deal.

“You know about my gift?” I say hesitantly.

“Yes. But I don’t care. You don’t hold things back from friends.”

I smile, then shyly shake his cool, wrinkled, welcome hand.

Kernel is off by himself, doggedly monitoring Juni’s position. The rest of us are duelling, practising our skills, learning. It’s difficult to define your magical limits. Magic is a mysterious, ever-shifting force. You can test yourself in certain ways on Earth, but you never know how far you can stretch until circumstances compel you to improvise.

Sharmila told me that when Kernel first came to this universe, Beranabus threw him at a flesh-eating tree to establish his magical potential. When his life came under threat. Kernel reacted and he fought free. If he’d been of lesser potential, he’d have perished. That’s a cruel way to test a person, but there’s no easy alternative. Magic is part of a harsh universe. Those who wish to channel its power must accept that.

Beranabus sends twin balls of fire shooting at Dervish and me. I turn the ball aimed at me into an icy mist, but Dervish isn’t as swift. He disperses the flames, but not before they singe his beard and redden his cheeks and lips.

“You’re slow,” Beranabus grunts while Dervish repairs the damage.

“So are you!” Sharmila shouts, hitting Beranabus with a burst of energy from behind. He shoots forward, yelling with surprise, and smashes into a tree, sending bones flying in all directions.

“That hurt,” Beranabus complains, staggering to his feet and rubbing the small of his back. He bends to pick some splinters out of his bare feet. We’ve all got rid of our shoes—they hinder the flow of magic.

“Be thankful I was not aiming to kill,” Sharmila says coolly. “We are all slower and weaker than before. It is the penalty of old age. No one can avoid it.”

“I’ve done better than most for a millennium and a half,” Beranabus growls.

“But time catches up with us all eventually, even you.”

Beranabus twists slowly left, then right, working the pain out of his back. “I suppose you’re right,” he grumbles. “I’ve known for a long time I’m not as quick or powerful as I once was.”

He waves a hand at Sharmila and her artificial legs snap apart. She collapses with a yelp of shock and pain.

“But there’s life in the old dog yet,” Beranabus shouts triumphantly, before guiltily hurrying to Sharmila’s side to fix the damage.

Kernel has kept himself distant, sitting in the open with his legs crossed, tinkering with the lights that only he can see, keeping tabs on Juni. Beranabus told me his bald assistant finds it hard to focus these days. Since he got his new eyes he’s been seeing patches of light which were invisible to him before. He can’t control the new patches and they distract him. He’s been trying to ignore them, but I often spot him scowling and cursing, waving an irritated hand at the air around him.

In the middle of another dry, lifeless afternoon, as the others are resting while I leap from tree to tree testing my powers of flight, Kernel uncrosses his legs and stands.

“She’s moving,” he says.

We’re by his side in seconds. His bright blue eyes are alive with flickering spots of light. He looks nervous.

“Where did she go?” Beranabus asks.

“Earth.”

“And Lord Loss?”

“He stayed in his own realm.”

“Can you tell where exactly she is?” Dervish asks.

“No.” He frowns. “I should be able to, but I can’t place it.”

“Is she close to Grubbs?” Dervish presses.

Kernel concentrates, then shakes his head.

“Well?” Sharmila asks Beranabus.

“Kernel and I will investigate. The rest of you stay here.”

“Nuts to that,” Dervish huffs.

“Don’t forget about your heart,” Beranabus says. “Or Sharmila’s legs. You’re a pair of wrecks on that world. Let us check the situation and report back. We won’t engage her if we can avoid it.”

“What about me?” I ask. “I can survive there.”

“Aye, but I’m asking you to wait. Please. Until we know more about what we’re walking into.” I don’t like it, but I know Beranabus worries about me. Better to go along with his wishes, so he can operate free of any distractions.

Kernel opens a window within minutes. It’s a white panel of light. I think I can smell the real world through it, but that’s just my nose playing tricks. Without saying anything, Kernel steps through, Beranabus half a step behind him.

“We’ll give them five minutes,” Dervish rumbles. “If they’re not back by then, we—” Beranabus sticks his head through the window, catching us by surprise. “It’s an area of magic,” he says. “Sharmila and Dervish will be fine there. Come on.”

He disappears again. We glance at each other uneasily, then file through one by one, back to the human universe, in search of the semi-human Juni Swan and a host of shadowy answers.