With a patronising chuckle, Lydia clambered to her feet, her insides alight with the craving for violence.

“Well, well,” she said, focusing on moulding the air around her as she stepped forward. “You’re the last person I expected to see here. Did they finally get sick of you crying about all of that nonsense like ‘social housing’ and ‘protecting the people’?”

Off to the side, Jack squinted. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

The impact had knocked her ten feet, landing in front of the parked Choo-chooin. The beaten earth yard spread fifteen feet on either side, ending at waist-high wooden fences that were more of a warning than anything else.

She could feel the intricate spellwork pressing on her as she stomped forward. To get over the gate they had passed through a barrier designed to fry anyone the caster deemed an enemy into charcoal, and there were runic arrays everywhere.

The woman had an arsenal at her fingertips. It had been over a decade, but she was still as dangerous as she'd always been.

Elizabeth had pushed past the group on the doorstep, ignoring them as she pointed a rapidly forming icicle at Lydia, her dressing gown fluttering in the breeze. “I got myself oot. And I really, really hoped I’d never have to see your disgustin’ face again.”

Elizabeth sent her stalactite barreling at her, quicker than she was able to think. Like she’d thought, the wards enhanced her magic, making it impossible to defend against without proper preparation.

When they’d been kids, Elizabeth five years her senior, that ice had been the only thing to freeze the suns she made in her hand.

Flailing, Lydia sent a blast of compressed air into the icicle. It shattered into tiny shards, creating a snowfall twinkling in the deep moonlight.

She flung another blast at Elizabeth, but she twisted and flipped in the air, planting a hand and springing back to her feet. She waved a hand, and the fences started glowing.

The McCann and Blackwell families had a complicated relationship. 

Back in the days when breeding animals for food was considered a revolutionary idea, they had first met: the English Blackwells, and the Scottish McCanns, respectively the most powerful in their regions.

In those days, magic wasn’t really understood, and so people had considered them prophets, or gods, or in some cases hunted them as demons. Those enemies were, of course, easily vanquished, thus proving the superiority of magic to the people - and affirming it within the magi.

The thing about power, however, is that it’s addictive. Once a person gains one dominion, they suddenly think to themselves ‘but what if I had more?’ and seek opportunities to enrich themselves.

Even if this person wishes to share the spoils, they will not share with everyone. If they did, each would get next to nothing, so there must be a limit; should this person meet another with power seeking the same things, there would inevitably be conflict. Why share with strangers? What if we run out? What if they take it all?

It was an enduring hatred, then, born of one’s very existence being a threat to the other (akin to the relationship between oil companies and the ozone layer) and it ran just as strong in the new generation.

Dark clouds gathered above them, the smell of ozone and thick humidity attacking her, and she gulped.

Her insides decided to practice their Macarena when a thick lightning bolt scorched the ground where she had been standing. Her body had been moving as soon as she noticed the clouds.

Grinning, she decided to test the waters. With Elizabeth bearing down on her, she raised an arm and sent her flying back in the direction she had come, impacting her to the wall with a thump.

Revenge was a dish best served with property damage.

Lord Lost leaned in at Jack’s side. “Is it always like this?”

Jack sighed. “Pretty much.”

Folding all of his arms, Lord Lost said, “I should have gone with Antibody and Platelet.”

Snarling, Elizabeth rose to her feet, disappearing in a shower of sparks.

Lydia snapped round, ducking under Elizabeth’s punch. She reached out, grabbing her legs and straightening, flipping the woman over her back.

Pivoting, Lydia leapt on top of Elizabeth, straddling her. “So you left?” A sharp slap rang across the yard. “When did that happen?”

Elizabeth caught the next strike, pulling her arm free and forcing Lydia to her back. She sat up, her weight on the smaller woman’s chest. “Aboot ten years ago, try to keep up. So how’s Jess?”

A dull throb enveloped her jaw as Elizabeth punched her. On the next strike, she weaved her head aside, wrapping an arm around her neck and contorting so she was on her back. “She’s getting better! There was a bit of an incident with some vampires, though.” She squeezed Elizabeth’s throat, relishing in the choking sound.

“Och, I heard aboot that,” said Elizabeth, struggling to her feet with a grip on Lydia’s arm. “How come you’ve stayed here, then?” She pushed her hips back, flipping Lydia over her head.

Her spine moved, the cartilage in her ribs begging her to stop breathing. “Because mother wouldn’t come here even if it was the only place left.” Panting, she rolled away from a kick, coming to her feet. “And you?”

“Same, pretty much.” Her breathing ragged, Elizabeth charged at her with a tackle. “Nae pryin’ eyes tellin’ me what to dae, or wear, or think.”

Smirking, Lydia stepped aside. “Well, good for you. Will you give up yet?”

Licking blood from her lips, Elizabeth growled. “But we’ve only just started.”

The two came together in a cloud of frost and fire, bolts of various types of energy shooting off into the night.

Watching from the doorstep, Hannah tittered. “Is this a fight or a reunion?”

Jack’s eye twitched. “I think it’s both.”

“Should we stop them?”

Jack pointed to the scene, where both women had devolved to smacking each other with fists cloaked in either fire or ice. “Do you wanna get in the middle of that?”

Her veins burned hot enough to melt diamond, a laugh crawling up her throat. Clenching her fist, she surged at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth did the same. Their arms whistling through the air, they met each other’s gazes, before being blocked by a fleshy squelch.

Pus oozed from the cracks in Lord Lost’s skin, and she retched; it was if he was held between their dripping fists, his already deformed skull mulched further by their blows.

Gagging, Elizabeth staggered back.

She felt a fleeting solidarity; the contents of her stomach had decided they didn’t like it there.

“What the fuck are you?” said Elizabeth, blanching.

Coughing, Lord Lost raised two hands to his face. “I am Lord Lost.”

“That’s a fuckin’ stupid name.”

“You’re very rude, do you know?” said Lord Lost, frowning. 

Her nose twitched. “Well, excuse me! It’s no’ like I’ve just been dragged oot me bed at stupid o’clock, physically assaulted-”

“You started it,” said Lydia, hands on her hips.

Jack palmed his face. “Why are you such a child?”

“-and to top it all off-” Her cheeks burned crimson as she looked around, nostrils flaring, and finally noticed the giant turtle sitting in her driveway. “What the fuck is that thing?!”

“Choo-chooin,” said Jack. “He’s my ride.”

With a flat expression, she plodded over to the turtle, examining him with narrow eyes. “What is this, Fae or somethin’?” She started stroking his neck. “This is ridiculous. Turtles don’t actually get this-”

Clamping her mouth shut, she squealed.

Her hand was locked in Choo-chooin’s jaws.

“Yeah,” said Hannah, “that means he likes you.”

***

They had relocated to the living room, which was a warm and cosy affair decorated with muted blues and greens. There was a real fireplace, the mantel covered in trophies and certificates and pictures of Lizzie with various people.

Jack picked one up as the others finished explaining. It was the two of them, three years before, when they had gone to Wales for training. She had made him climb the same mountain three times. The mountain was in the background, along with a field full of sheep. Lizzie’s smile was wide and bright; his was smaller, and more strained.

She had never told him that she had been part of the Circle. It had been almost ten years, but for all the time they’d spent together, neither had ever talked about their past. Neither had asked, either.

He didn’t know what to think.

“So you’re lost?” said Lizzie, sitting in the corner of a plush red two-seater. She was addressing Lord Lost, who was hovering in front of the fireplace, facing her. To his right was a sofa seating Hannah, Popcorn, and Lydia.

To his left was a grandfather clock that filled Jack with wonder just being close, as though he could feel satisfaction brushing against his skin.

“Lord Lost, thank you,” he said. “I earned my title.”

Lydia snorted. “What was the achievement name, ‘I accidentally walked five hundred miles’?”

“Those are amateur numbers. A Baronet Lost, at best.”

Pursing her lips, Hannah said, “so what if they walk five hundred more, are they a Baron?”

“That’s a special rank called ‘Proclaimer’.”

Exhaling sharply, Lizzie said, “whatever! Ye need a Gate to get home, but the kid over here-” She gestured at Popcorn - “has nae idea what he’s daein'.”

Popcorn sulked. “I thought it was a gift.”

She sighed. “It don’t mean anythin’ if ye cannae control it. Right noo, any Gate y'open could lead y'into deep space somewhere. And Lydia’s absolutely useless.”

Flushing, Lydia glared at her. “Like opening a Gate is something you can do alone, anyway! Why should I participate when my minions will be doing it?”

Lizzie shook her head. “Ye’ve no’ changed, have ye?”

She harrumphed. “Why would one wish to change perfection?”

“Anyway,” said Hannah, her tone exasperated, “can you help?”

Lizzie gave her a blank look. “Hoo long have you been here?”

She bristled. “The entire time! I told you my name, and everything!”

Touching her chin, Lizzie said, “oh, aye. What was it, again?”

“Hannah! I’m Jack’s assistant, Hannah!”

She blinked. “Oh, you poor thing. Did he trick ye? Promise to colour y’in?”

“Shut up and get to the point!” Jack interjected, shaking his fist.

Throwing her arms up, she said, “aye, and what would that be? Where’s this guy even come from? He don’t look like any demon I’ve ever seen.”

“The multiverse is too vast for any of us to comprehend,” said Lord Lost, adopting a contemplative expression. “I am immortal, and I have wandered for millennia, yet still I have seen so little. The suffering of mortal beings becomes tedious, after long enough, and gives way only to the yearning for universal truth.”

Popcorn stammered. “But why leave if you couldn’t find your way home?”

“I miss my home, of course - but even once I have returned, I will soon leave again. Even if I risk never returning, the trueness of freedom lies in what you do with it.”

Lizzie smiled. “In that case, let’s get you the fuck oot my hoose.” She gestured to her right. “See that clock?”

He knew it.

Replacing the photo, he strode over, taking in the sight. It was tall and thick, made of dark hardwood and polished to a shine. The face was plain and massive, and ornate carvings decorated the door.

He reached out a hand, but stopped himself.

Behind him, Hannah’s brow wrinkled. “This seems familiar.”

A drop of sweat trickled down Jack’s forehead. He turned to Lizzie. “We’re not gonna step out into a world where the air’s made of heroin, right?”

Lizzie shrugged. “Walk in and find oot. I bought that thing at an auction a couple of months ago; haven’t had the chance to try it yet.”

Turning back, he laid his palm on the handle. He opened the clock.

Rather than a wooden bowel featuring a chime, it was like a tunnel, dark and narrow with a light at the end.

With consternation, he stepped through, a strange buzzing sensation washing over him.

He took a deep breath.

The sofas. The fireplace. The bay window with light blue curtains.

“Why is it the same room?!”