" 'S all bollocks, innit?" hollered Sammy. "Who cares why the wendigo wants Greydawn? He wouldn't be here if she hadn't gone and vanished; neither would Dog. And things are gonna keep on going all to shit until we get Greydawn back. So you" a finger stabbed towards Jess "stop thinking about your mortgage, and you" pointing at Mr Roding "get some deodorant, and you" swerving round towards Edna "cut out the soppy spirit-hugging shite, okay!"

If Gretel's sheer size had commanded silence, now there was something in the sight of a goblin in a green hoodie bouncing up and down like a deranged jack-in-the-box that required, if not respect, then intense consideration. The room considered.

Sharon cleared her throat, and in a calmer voice concluded, "The thing is, we're all in the shit if the city wall doesn't get sealed again. So it seems we need to find Greydawn, get her back doing her stuff, whatever that is, release all the spirits what have been stolen by Burns and Stoke, however they did that, and get this wendigo dude to leave town, however we're gonna do that."

"Don't forget the builders," Rhys put in. "I don't think they're very nice either."

"And if they're coming for the Friendlies," added Edna, "they'll probably come for us."

"Yeah, and we've got a Facebook group!" offered Jess. "I mean, they could look at that and find us! What if they damage the upholstery?"

"It's a private Facebook group though," said Rhys. "I'm sure there's nothing to be alarmed about."

All eyes turned to Sharon, just to make sure of that.

"Well... thing is... when you say private..."

Rhys felt his heart sink.

This time the silence was absolute as her words settled over the room like a glacier. Then Sharon beamed. It was a surprising accompaniment, Rhys felt, to an announcement that should properly have come from a qualified undertaker.

"Now," she went on, "before everyone gets worked up, I just gotta say that we're probably okay! I mean, I know there's these four killer builders what have been murdering their way across London and that. But they've still got a job to do, and that job is all about finding Greydawn. And, let's face it, they're gonna need a shaman, and maybe the Friendlies, to do it, because they're not getting nowhere by themselves. So, really, killing us seems dead thick.

"Also, it seems to me that the whole thing with these killer builders and that is that people don't notice them because they're dressed in these yellow fluorescent jackets and that, and let's face it, no one ever notices anyone what's wearing a yellow fluorescent jacket. And" she took a deep breath as she reached the pinnacle of her argument "if I was like, a killer builder and I didn't want to be seen, the last place I'd want to be is in a meeting full of vampires, trolls, goblins, witches, wizards and shamans."

She finished speaking.

Eyes flickered, but otherwise the meeting was motionless. It was as if the assembled members were afraid that the slightest motion might attracted attention from unseen sources.

Then: "Arseholes," exclaimed a voice.

"Wank," offered another.

"Total..."

"... balls," concluded the fourth.

It occurred to Rhys, as he turned to see the four men who'd spoken, that they'd been there all along, but somehow he'd failed to notice.

Chapter 69.

Be Loving to Your Pets The Midnight Mayor is hunting.

This is something he's got quite good at, learning to read the signs in the streets. A smear of paint on the wall, a single mitten left on the spike of a fence, a cigarette butt stubbed out on the side of a bus shelter, a plastic bag shoved into the paper slot of a recycling bin. Sometimes it's just people mucking about; sometimes it's a sign of something truer, hidden just beneath the surface.

Tonight he hunts a hunter.

His phone rings.

"Help me!" the voice wails. "For God's sake, help me!"

"It's okay," he says. "I know you're scared, and quite right too, but you're doing fine. Don't look backhe wants you to look back. Come to Exmouth Market."

"He's going to kill me!"

"Don't lookhe wants you to look. Come to me."

He hangs up and waits. This too is something he's got very good atmastering the art of being a grey silence in the moving night.

"Come on," he whispers to the empty air. "Walkies."

Chapter 70.

Family Is Everything Rhys wanted to say that they "shimmered into existence". But, thinking about it, the four killer builders in their fluorescent jackets had been so much a part of the room's furniture that not only he, but everyone else, had failed to notice them.

Except perhaps the goblin shaman and his apprentice, who were, after all, seers of the hidden truths and thus should probably get these things right?

One said, "Uh..."

One said, "Bloody hell!"

One said, "Tits."

One said, "Here to fix your radiator!"

Sharon said, "Hi there! Welcome to Magicals Anonymous! I'm Sharon..."

"Hello, Sharon," offered Jess instinctively. Eyes turned to her in disbelief. She shrugged. "What?"

"... and I'm wondering if you gentlemen have any issues you wish to discuss?"

A stumped silence. Then: "Issues?"

"What..."

"... fucking..."

"... issues?"

"Tits!"

"Balls!"

"Pigs!"

"Wank?"

"We're the..."

"... greatest killers..."

"... the world has ever known!"

"Why the fuck would we..."

"... have fucking issues?"

"Babe."

"Chick."

"Darlin'."

"Sweetheart."

Magicals Anonymous was now in the nearest thing to chaos that a well-mannered self-help group could achieve. People were trying to scurry out of the way, their chairs knocked back, or they were staring with the frozen fear of a hedgehog considering a cement truck heading its way. It was also a remarkably quiet chaos, as no one wanted to draw too much attention to themself.

This left Sharon clear to face the builders. And to tell them, "Well, I'm just saying that sometimes it's about offering redemption as well as retribution, and that, I mean, like, being open-minded and saying, you guys may be total psychopaths and that may be what you do, but perhaps you had a difficult upbringing? Then again, you did kill Derek, high priest of the Friendlies, and bury him alive in concrete, which some people would say is kind of beyond the realms of counselling."

"Yeah, but..."

"... he wasn't telling us what we..."

"... wanted to know, yeah?"

"We had to..."

"... get our answers..."

"Arses!"

"... and our answers..."

"... led us to you."

"Really?" Somehow, in all the turmoil, Sharon was still standing on her plastic chair, and now, as she digested this information, she radiated warmth and general encouragement. "And why, specifically, do you think we're connected to Greydawn? Why Magicals Anonymous?"

The builders shrugged: one gave a great shoulder-lift of a gesture, another a crooked lurch of his shoulders, a third rolled his arms slightly back, the last stuck his elbows out. But there was no mistaking the unity of purpose, thought and meaning in their movements.

"Cos you gave shelter to the Friendlies," one said, indicating Edna.

"Cos you broke into Burns and Stoke," one added, tugging at his trousers, which had sagged to reveal his bum crack.

"Cos you got conspiring with the Midnight Mayor."

"Cos you're the only shaman in town..."

"Bitch."

"Slut."

"Babes."

"... and that makes you Greydawn's friend..."

"... but our enemy."

"So, yeah, you see..."

"... it's nothing personal."

"Though you got a great arse."

"It's cash..."

"Taxman bastards!"

"... in hand."

"Job done."

Sally shuffled in the rafters overhead; Sammy the goblin's eyes glowed with malicious glee at unpleasant imaginings only he could see. Sharon nodded, considering everything the builders had said.

"So," she concluded, "is your beef just with me or with all of Magicals Anonymous?"

Another shrug rippled through the four men.

"Know what," one said.

"End of the day," another concluded.

"You gotta be thorough..."