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Clancy.
    She shrugged. This was his friend and his idea.
    “Have you any experience of working in a museum, Clancy?” Bryce called back.
    He might be okay shouting the length of the building, but she wasn’t. She trailed after him, winding through the maze of display tables, with Mark following her. “I’ve not worked in a museum, but I’ve had a couple of casual retail jobs.” She couldn’t see Bryce any longer. He’d gone behind the staircase. “Maybe I’m not the right person for this job.” The museum was intriguing and she had some ideas on re-arranging the displays, but judging by his present rude behavior, Bryce would be a nightmare to work for.
    She’d worked for the Collegium. One nightmare employer in a lifetime was enough. She stopped at the edge of the staircase.
    “How do you take your coffee?” Bryce asked. “It’s only instant, I’m afraid.”
    Oh. Oh, now she felt ashamed of her impatience. Perhaps Bryce wasn’t rude so much as socially awkward, as Mark had said. Shy. “Instant is fine, thank you. No milk or sugar.”
    The boiling of the kettle filled the silence. Clancy fidgeted. As oddly fascinating as the museum was, it couldn’t hold her attention. She was back with Mark’s story. Would Phoebe really have sold her soul to a demon?
    Yes . The answer resonated deep inside Clancy, coming from the teenager she’d been; observing everything, living on the fringe of the glamorous adult world. Phoebe had been self-absorbed and ambitious. But Clancy had thought the actress’s self-interest had included Mark. That somehow the woman had truly loved him.
    “Here’s your coffee.” Bryce pushed the hot mug into her hands.
    She hid a wince as she hastily re-adjusted her hold so that her fingers didn’t burn. “Thanks.”
    Mark juggled his mug, too, taking a sip before setting it down beside a display of old cellphones and detailed notes on radiation.
    Bryce reached back, picked up his own mug, and held it as casually as if the contents were chilled.
    Clancy’s eyes widened. The mug had to be insulated…
    “So, are you a sceptic?” Bryce asked.
    “Um…” And how am I meant to answer that? She didn’t simply believe in magic, she used it! That is, she used to use magic. “I guess I’m skeptical about alien abductions, things like that.”
    “Good, good.” Bryce nodded.
    “But I’m not an expert or anything,” she added. “I’d have a lot to learn.”
    “Mark could teach you.” Bryce glanced at Mark, and his look was almost a leer. “I’m sure he’d be only to eager to teach you…everything.”
    Definitely creepy. Clancy shuffled back a step, edging closer to Mark.
    “Bryce,” he began, then halted as the fluorescent ceiling lights flickered.
    Clancy had half a second to glimpse Bryce’s eyes flash red, then the official sceptic-in-residence lunged at her.
    She froze. All of her taekwondo training and, faced with an attack, she froze!
    Mark didn’t. He snatched up his mug and threw it at Bryce, scoring a direct hit on the man’s face. Not that Mark waited to see if his aim was true. He grabbed Clancy’s shoulder and hauled her behind him, sending her stumbling back toward the entrance. “Run!”
    Hot coffee dripping off his face, Bryce snarled. It had an inhuman, howling edge.
    Mark shoved the nearest table at Bryce, blocking him for an instant, turned and pushed Clancy with him out through the maze of displays to the front of the museum. Objects hurtled through the air: old cellphones, chunks of meteorite, anything Bryce could find to throw. And all the time, that infernal howling continued.
    As Clancy and Mark burst out of the front door of the museum, the howl became words. “Eat her heart, eat her heart. Take her soul!”
    Clancy spun around. Her soul? The Earth rumbled under her feet as her magic stirred to save her.
    Bryce ran at her. His face was a terrifying rictus of rage. He seemed to lock onto her, aware of nothing else. Not the pedestrians scattering,