In a musty and cluttered living room, a middle-aged man sat in an armchair. At first Marney thought he was dead. But in the glow of Silver Moon that shone through a window, she could see his chest rising and falling in slow, sleeping breaths. His unshaven face was pale and coated with a sheen of sweat. His features twitched as though his dreams were bad. At his feet was a leather satchel. The flap was open and it was filled with Labyrinth pounds.

Marney and Denton kept a safe distance as Samuel passed the satchel back to them. Then he stood before the sleeping man, aiming his rifle at his face.

'Wake up,' he demanded, kicking the man's foot.

The man flinched and snorted, blinked open his eyes, and frowned at the barrel hovering before his face.

'Are you Chaney?' Samuel asked.

The man's gaze found the three people behind the rifle and he nodded vacantly.

Marney sensed emotions within the tavern landlord, but they were so vague it was almost as if they were fading in and out of existence. He smelt bad, too, with a hint of rotting vegetables.

She frowned at Denton beside her. Even though the old empath kept his troubled gaze firmly on Chaney, the sound of his voice filled her head.

Don't be alarmed, he said, I can sense it, too.

What does it mean, Denton?

I don't know yet, but while his emotions are phasing like this, we can't control him. Stay focused. Keep your distance.

'I know who you are,' Chaney said. His throat sounded dry. 'I suppose you had to come.'

Denton spoke next and his voice was kind. 'Tell us what happened here, Chaney.'

The landlord gave a hoarse chuckle that ended in a coughing fit. 'This happened,' he said, tapping a terracotta jar that sat on a table beside the armchair.

He didn't try to prevent Denton stepping forwards and taking the jar. The old empath stepped back to Marney's side, and she leant in for a look as he studied the artefact.

It was a simple looking thing, around the same size and shape as those used for jams and marmalades. It was empty, though evidence of a wax seal remained around the lip. It was plain and undecorated, but Marney didn't get much more of a look before Denton slipped the terracotta jar into his coat pocket.

Chaney took a shuddering breath. 'I didn't ask any questions. Carrick said he had some big sale going on and he'd make it worth my while if he could use my cellar as a meeting place. I don't know what was in the jar, but it's put a curse on me. I'm sick.'

His words were slightly slurred and he fought to keep his eyes open. Marney felt his emotions pulsing weakly, like a heart struggling to beat.

'Tell us what you know and we'll do all we can to help you,' Denton said, but Marney knew it was a lie.

'Help from you lot?' Chaney tried to give a weary chuckle; he seemed all too aware that his number had been up from the moment the Relic Guild disturbed his slumber.

He wiped sweat from his pale face. 'I don't know what to tell you. There was screaming. Never heard men scream like that before. Then it was quiet. Took me a while to pluck up enough courage to go down and see what had happened. Wish I hadn't now ... it was all so quiet ...' His head nodded back towards sleep.

Samuel kicked his foot again. 'What happened down there?'

Chaney's head snapped upright. 'Two were already nothing but bones. But Carrick – he'd gone mad. Like a bloody animal, he was. Three times I shot him, and he didn't go down until I took off the back of his head. What else could I do?'

'You defended yourself, as you had the right to,' Denton said softly, but his tone carried a subtle inflection that caused Marney to shiver; it was the tone of one addressing a dead man.

'Old Carrick still managed to take a chunk of me with him, though ...' With some effort, Chaney rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, exposing a crude wound on his arm from which dark lines spread out over his skin like black veins. 'Bit me like the animal he was.'

'Chaney, I need you to focus,' Denton said. 'Did Carrick tell you where the artefact came from?'

'Maybe.' Chaney shook his head, and Marney felt his emotions wane. 'It's hard to remember.'

'Did you see who was buying it?'

'I told you I can't remember,' Chaney hissed. 'Please help me. Whatever cursed Carrick is in me now. I can't control myself at times, I—'

A thump made the three Relic Guild agents tense. It came from the back of the room, behind a closed door. There was a second thump, and then silence resumed.

'Who else is here?' Samuel demanded.

'Oh,' Chaney said. 'That's Betsy – my bargirl. She was here when everything kicked off. I ... I think I bit her. She locked herself in the bedroom. Hasn't come out since.'

Can you sense anyone in that room, Marney? Denton thought to her.

No, she replied.

Neither can I.

Chaney groaned and his eyes rolled back in his head.

Samuel looked at the empaths over his shoulder. 'Move,' he whispered.

At that moment Marney felt Chaney's every emotion fall flat, and even the vaguest of pulse of feeling disappeared. The black veins that splintered out from his bite wound had now snaked up his neck, creeping up the side of his face. The smell of rotting vegetables grew more pronounced.

Denton grabbed Marney's arm, and they backed further away from the landlord. Samuel remained standing over him, coolly aiming his rifle.

Chaney's breathing was shallow. He grinned, revealing long white teeth in receding gums. 'I know what's supposed to happen now,' he said, and to Marney's senses, his voice carried the undercurrent of a scream. 'But you won't take me to the Nightshade. I'll have your throats first!'

Chaney leapt up from the armchair with a roar of fury.

Samuel pulled the trigger. The power stone flashed and the rifle spat.

With a rumble like distant thunder, the fire-bullet took the landlord in the chest. A hot wind whipped around the room as the magic began incinerating his body from the inside out with the intensity of a furnace. Within seconds, blistering, orangey-red flames reduced Chaney to ashes, bones and all. Dry heat and the smell of burnt flesh filled Marney's nostrils. She felt Denton's empathy helping her to control her panic.

The armchair was covered in scorch marks and ash. A patch of carpet was burning. Samuel stamped it out and waved smoke from the air.

At the back of the room, the banging began again at the bedroom door, more violently this time, and it was accompanied by a bestial grunting.

Samuel turned to Marney with a sneer. 'Sometimes, open aggression is the only option. You should remember that, too.' He then strode across the living room towards the bedroom.

'Samuel, wait!' Denton snapped.

As the banging continued, Samuel paused at the locked door. He looked back at the old empath with a harsh expression. 'What?'

'Chaney's illness has obviously spread,' Denton said firmly. 'Perhaps you should try to capture something for Hamir to study, something more substantial than a handful of ashes.'

Without a word, Samuel slid his rifle into its holster on his back and drew his revolver, thumbing the power stone. He leaned back and kicked the bedroom door open.

A second passed, which to Marney felt like an hour, and then a shadowy figure sprang from the room, lunging for Samuel with clawed fingers and long, gnashing teeth. With a flash of thaumaturgy and a low, hollow spitting sound, the revolver fired. A bitter wind moaned. The figure of a woman fell to the floor at Samuel's feet, frozen to ice.