“Eureka!” cheered Dr. Wen.

“Usually,” said Lizzie, surveying the HARDON, “someone who’s actually been doin’ some work says that.”

The scientist shrugged. “Yes, well, I’ve always wanted to say it, and Violet stole the opportunity last time…” He trailed off, sighing as he looked at his feet.

“Whatever!” said Hannah. She strode over to Dr. Wen—standing and stroking his still-blackened phone box—and stuck out her chin. “If it works now, can you find out where it sent Jack?”

“Of course!” Ducking inside, he started fiddling with the console. “Won’t be a jiffy.”

Lizzie scanned the room. Hannah tapped her foot next to the time machine, while Dr. Wen played around inside, making excitable noises—understandable, she thought, given the girl’s attachment to Jack. His disappearance seemed to have frayed her every nerve, turning her into an almost different person.

Amanda and Rooney, a white bandage wrapping his forehead, slumped against each other by the front door, heads bobbing. They’d busted their asses over the past two days—without sleep—and probably lacked the energy to keep their eyes open.

They were excellent scientists, but they didn’t have the endurance granted to her after being press-ganged into Seelie military service.

Lydia lay on a couch, snoring softly. Family rivalry be damned, she’d enjoyed teaching the woman how to work runes.

Even if the moment she grasped the basics had been the moment the HARDON’s complexity had curled her brain into knots.

Smoke had poured from her ears before giving up.

“Eureka two!” yelled Dr. Wen, emerging.

“Don’t tell me,” said Lizzie, “if ye get tae seven, it turns into a giant robot?”

Silence. Nobody appreciated a good anime reference anymore—if Jack had been there, he would have responded with an, “ey-oh,” to really drive it home. She sighed.

They needed to get him back.

“Okay,” said Dr. Wen, grimacing. “According to the console, it appears your friend has landed in medieval Scotland.”

Hannah’s eyes widened. “You mean the dark ages?”

“It would appear so, yes.”

“Then let’s no’ wait any longer,” said Lizzie. Craning her head, she looked down at Lydia, sleeping peacefully with arms folded on her chest. She kicked the back of the sofa, hoping to jostle her.

Instead, she got the sound of tearing fabric as she ripped a hole in it.

Hannah stared at her.

Brushing it aside, Lizzie leaned over and slapped Lydia lightly in the face.

The woman stirred, raising her hands defensively and moaning. “But mother, I don’t want to wear heels…”

Lizzie slapped her again.

She curled up, whimpering. “But they hurt even more than this…”

Palming her face, Lizzie shook her head, then dropped her hand. “Wake the fuck up, ye daft coo!”

Lydia shuddered awake, snapping to a sitting position and turning to Lizzie with lidded eyes. “Is it done already?”

“Aye, so get your arse in gear.” She turned to Amanda and Rooney, dozing against the wall. “You two, get up.”

“I’m not going,” said Rooney, eyes still shut.

“Rooney…” Lizzie glared at him, splicing venom into her tone. She understood his anxieties, but that was no excuse to abandon a friend.

Shaking his head, the lanky Sidhe rose to his feet. “Haven’t you been listening to me? Just by stepping foot in the past, we risk causing irreparable damage to the time stream! One of us sneezes, then we come back and suddenly, Hitler won the war. Armageddon actually succeeded. Blue Eyes White Dragon is one of the Kanto starters.”

Hannah knit her brows. “One of those seems out of place.”

Amanda grumbled sleepily. “If Jack is in the past, then shouldn’t he have already changed something?”

“That’s even worse,” said Rooney, gesticulating. “If nothing’s changed, it means a time loop, and nothing’s harder to break than a time loop.”

“Except maybe your chastity,” muttered Amanda.

His nostrils flared. “Shut up! What’s with the sudden change in your character, anyway?”

“I could say the same thing.”

“People have layers. And isn’t your bottom one just a big black rubbery thing?”

“That’s racist.”

Hannah growled. “This is a waste of time.”

“Agreed,” said Lydia. “The readers can only stand so much padding.”

“That’s not it!” She shot a glare at Rooney. “I guess we know who Jack’s real friends are here.” With that, she ducked into the HARDON, followed by Dr. Wen and Lydia.

Lizzie narrowed her eyes. Had the girl always been that assertive? Oh well. Like Rooney said, people had layers. She glanced at Amanda, still slumped against the door.

“And you?” she said.

The doppelganger waved a hand, refusing eye contact. “I don’t really know your friend, and that thing looks tiny, and I have nightmares about being trapped in the past. Plus it would feel weird inserting myself into a HARDON when it’s meant to be the other way around.”

“Seriously,” said Rooney, “what the Hell happened to your personality?”

Exhaling, Lizzie shrugged. “I suppose someone needs to stay and protect the notes. Jus’ make sure Rooney doesnae burn ‘em—we might still need ‘em.”

She nodded. “Yes boss.”

Lizzie entered the time machine, squeezing between Hannah and the wall like the London Underground at rush hour.

Dr. Wen struggled to work the console, and Lydia growled.

“Elbow my boob again and I’ll reduce you to ashes,” she said.

“If you do that,” he said, “you won’t be able to work the HARDON.”

With a flick of his finger, the phone box dematerialised.

***

“What are you talking about?” said Angus, brow furrowed. “That’s just Lou, the other traveller.”

Jack rolled his shoulders, drinking in the newfound warmth. Even with a breeze rolling through the open shutters—dragging with it the smell of dust and manure—the warmth of the far wall’s hearth seeped through his clammy skin.

Next to it, a farmer sat being swindled by the Devil. Both had turned to face the newcomers, Satan’s brow raised in interest. The farmer—Ronan, presumably—had a long face drenched in sweat, and wore an expression of pure disbelief.

Jack’s eye twitched. “Lou. Lou what, Cypher?”

Angus made a face. “How’d you know that?”

“You’re taking the piss,” said Jack. “That’s the most Devilish name I’ve ever heard!”

“Don’t be rude. He’s the same as you—passed all the trials, dresses weird, talks weird.”

He’d have to take Angus’ word for it; to his eyes, the fallen one was naked.

“You’re seriously telling me you don’t see this?” said Jack. “He looks like he got stripped off and spray-painted by the popular kids on his way home from school!”

The barman, a tall man with greasy hair and fat hands, glowered at him.

“What’s a school?” said Angus.

Jack rubbed his forehead. “You people are fucking hopeless.”

Razor. Is this you?

“It is. I bestow upon you the ability to see through all illusions.”

Then how come I couldn’t see through Lea’s?

“There’s a very good reason for that.”

Which is?

“I have no idea.”

He resisted the urge to tear his hair out. Why can’t you tell me these things beforehand?

“You’d know everything if you read my runes.”

I can’t read runes!

“And why is that my problem?”

Whatever. Some fucking soul partner.

Satan stood, walking over to Jack and sticking out a hand. “Good morning, fellow traveller. May I ask your name?”

Jack stared at the proffered limb. “Jack.”

“That is a magnificent sword at your waist, Jack. May I see it?”

He drew Razor, holding her up threateningly. Satan ignored this, cooing over the blade as he stroked her back. A breathy sigh rang out in his head.

Are you enjoying this?

“Beautiful,” said Satan.

“See, he gets it.”

“Yeah,” said Jack, sucking his teeth. “To tell the truth, the Lady of the Lake offered me hers, but I had to turn it down.”

Angus’ jaw dropped. “You dare tell such a lie?”

“Whoever made this,” said Satan, “was remarkably stupid.”

Jack blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I take it back.”

The demon prince eyed the blade closely, stroking his chin. “Yes, very stupid indeed. I have never seen a sword of this variety before, but it is clear the forging method would be painstaking, likely to make up for low-quality iron. This material, however, is better than anything I’ve ever seen. Hence, stupid.”

Stammering, Jack sheathed her as she huffed in his mind, hot affront bathing his ribs. “Whatever, she’s still the best sword a guy could have!”

“Aw. Thank you.”

He didn’t mean it, but he couldn’t let the prince of freaking darkness mouth off like that.

“Do you enjoy being electrocuted?”

“Perhaps.” Satan nodded. “It is strange—though I have never seen it before, your sword gives me a familiar feeling. Have we met?”

“Nope,” said Jack, turning toward the table by the hearth. Ronan sat there, head in his hands, muttering darkly about his wife and non-existent chances of survival.

Well, where there was gambling, Jack would excel. It ran in his blood, and he was one of the best there was.

“Are you sure about that? Because I’ve been in your memories, and—”

Shut up.

“I’m just saying—”

Shut up.

Jack clapped his hand on Ronan’s shoulder, heart twisting. Being cheated was a horrible feeling—he knew it intimately. And with Lucifer himself being involved, there had to be cheating. No-one was that good at games. Especially with dice, which always had an element of luck.

The farmer turned to Jack with teary eyes, and the pain in his chest intensified.

“That game you were playing,” said Jack. “Teach me the rules, then we’ll play. If I win, I want everything you won from Ronan.” Should he make the stakes even higher? It couldn’t hurt. “Plus, you’ll show your true face!”

Satan smirked, and Jack flared. Did the bastard think he was bluffing? “Very well,” he said. “But that is a large bet, requiring something of equal value against it. What will I receive upon victory?”

Unhooking her from his waist, Jack slammed Razor on the table. “This.”

A gasp pierced his brain. “You can’t bet me!”

Don’t worry. His teeth grit. We won’t lose.

“It’s not enough,” said Satan. “Ronan here lost a bevy of jewels, gold, and land to me. One mere sword cannot match that.”

“Okay, take me out and let’s slash this bastard already!” Her voice was rough.

Jack sighed. “In that case…” He locked eyes with the Devil, who still smirked. “I’ll wager my soul!”

Everyone gasped, except Satan, whose cheeks broke into a lipless grin that reminded him of a school trip to Stonehenge.

“Interesting,” he said. “And what would I do with a soul?”

“Don’t fuck with me,” said Jack. “My sword breaks all the illusions of the world.”

“Is that so?” He gestured to the seat Ronan had yet to vacate. “Then let the game begin.”