Fabian Moor stood inside his sterile cube of silver metal.

The cube had been constructed by thaumaturgy, and it had been Moor's safe haven since the end of what the humans called the Genii War. For forty years, he had sheltered inside it, hidden from those who did not know that a handful of Genii had survived the war against the Timewatcher; and its magic had suppressed his maddening need to feed on blood, which, in all other places, was the sole necessity for preserving his life. The long decades of isolation had at times threatened to drive Moor insane, but he had persevered, retained his sanity by never losing sight of the day when his undoubting faith and unwavering patience would be rewarded.

Now that reward was at hand and the purpose of the sterile cube of thaumaturgic metal was almost served.

Behind Moor, Mo Asajad focussed her attention on an empath who was slowly dying in the clutches of the serpentine tree that grew at the centre of the cube's silver floor. Lady Asajad, tall and stick-thin beneath a priest's cassock, long, straight black hair flowing down her back - she stood still, frozen, tense, watching the empath as keenly as a carrion bird circling a battlefield, searching for bloody spoils.

It wasn't that Moor didn't share his fellow Genii's fervent eagerness - high expectations had been placed on this human magicker called Marney. She was to reveal her secrets and fulfil the desires of the Genii. But if the isolation of the last four decades had taught Moor anything, it was the virtue of patience. Occasionally, one could do nothing but wait for events to happen as and when they were ready.

Leaving Asajad to her crow-like observations, Moor gazed out of a wall of the silver cube which he had cleared to shimmering air to reveal a silent and hostile view into a House of nightmare.

The Retrospective was such a huge and violent realm, home to countless monsters fighting each other in never-ending battles that raged across a scorched landscape beneath a hateful sky filled with poison and lightning. It had been the Timewatcher – a being supposedly the embodiment of benevolence and equality – who had created this place at the end of the Genii War. The monsters roaming the House of damnation had at one time been Aelfirian soldiers who had fought bravely alongside Lord Spiral and his Genii. The Retrospective was punishment for their choice, for their treachery, a prison in which dead time perverted their bodies and minds with ceaseless fury and blood-lust.

Moor had to wonder if the Timewatcher, while serving her brand of vengeful justice upon Spiral's armies, had ever paused to consider what the true implications of creating the Retrospective were. Across the scarred and beaten landscape, Moor could see innumerable beasts of every shade of nightmare fighting and killing, hacking and maiming, stabbing, slicing, biting and feeding upon each other. Lust, raw animal lust, revelling in lawless pandemonium. But if the wild demons could be tamed and united into one mighty army, they would form such an unbeatable force that even the Timewatcher's Thaumaturgists would tremble before them.

Moor quelled a surge of impatience.

The power to tame the wild demons was beyond the likes of Fabian Moor and Mo Asajad. Only Lord Spiral could achieve this. Only his mastery of thaumaturgy, which rivalled the power of the Timewatcher Herself, could command true unification within the Retrospective. But Lord Spiral was lost. At the end of the Genii War, the Timewatcher banished him to his very own prison realm, a House called Oldest Place, where he was to face his every act of betrayal in endless, repetitive waves of torture. It was said that only the Timewatcher knew where She had hidden Oldest Place, but Fabian Moor knew better . . .

He looked over his shoulder at the empath held aloft by the serpentine branches of the tree-like creature, brooded over by the ominous carrion bird that was Mo Asajad. Soon the empath would reveal the secret location of Oldest Place, and Lord Spiral would be freed. He would lead an unstoppable army of wild demons through the Houses of the Aelfir like a tempest of eternal fire that would blaze and grow until spreading to realms and dimensions far beyond the comprehension of lowly minds like that of the magicker. The Timewatcher would come to learn how blind She had been in creating the Retrospective.

Moor's eye was suddenly caught by an anomaly within the violent panorama. A lone demon stood mere paces away from the other side of the cube's wall of shimmering air. Apparently uninterested in the bestial warfare raging behind it, the monster was staring back at the Genii.

Broad, muscular, standing at least seven feet tall, this wild demon that didn't seem quite so . . . wild. Oh, it looked vicious enough: skin toned to the colour of corpses, arms and legs covered in gashes crudely stitched with thick twine and puckered into angry red lips. It wore a leather kilt, studded with sharp and rusty spikes, and a leather jerkin with a pointed hood covering the beast's head and face. On its feet it wore calf-length boots made from skin fresh enough to be still greasy with sweat and blood. And in its huge hands – hands with sinewy fingers tipped with cracked, black nails - it held a woodcutter's axe, a weapon that might have seemed mundane if not for the sheer enormity of its wickedly sharpened head.

Despite its appearance, Moor clearly detected a conscience within this demon's madness, buried and calculating.

In truth, this was not the first time Moor had observed the creature. The Genii and the demon had stared at each other in this way once before. On that occasion, the demon had attacked. It had run towards Moor, its huge woodcutter's axe raised and ready to cleave. Moor had easily repelled the attack with a simple burst of thaumaturgy that punched the demon to its back. When it jumped to its feet again, Moor expected a second assault. But the demon had hesitated and seemed to think twice about its actions. Instead, it had raised the axe above its head, performing a series of threatening gestures, as if to retain its pride in the face of a fight it recognised it couldn't win.

That act of pride had piqued Moor's curiosity. He had probed the demon's mind, wondering if there was more than just a spark of intelligence within its mindlessness. The Genii had been surprised to discover a strong awareness that bordered on personality. But the intrusion into its mind had confused the demon, shattering its resolve, and it had fled in fear.

Now the demon didn't run, didn't seem frightened, and made no threatening gestures. Moor gained the impression that this thing had been waiting for him to return. Did the demon remember the Aelf that it used to be? Did it recognise Moor as a Genii, one of Spiral's generals who had led the Aelfirian rebels in the war against the Timewatcher?

Intrigued, Moor reached out with his thaumaturgy, sent it through the wall of shimmering air to stroke the demon's senses. At first, he felt nothing but hate and rage, and the beast flinched, raising its axe defensively. Concerned the monster would again flee, Moor quickly latched onto the intelligence that was buried beneath layers of madness. He whispered to it.

Slowly, the demon lowered its axe. Moor was pleased to sense a pulse of inquisitiveness. He posed a question to the demon: was it still loyal to the Genii?

In answer, the demon dropped to one knee, heavily, clumsily. It laid its axe down upon the scorched earth and bowed its hooded head.

Moor's satisfaction came as a grim smile.

"Fabian!"

Asajad's voice carried its usual tone of disrespect, and Moor's smile of triumph quickly changed to a grimace of irritation.

"What?" he snapped.

"Stop playing with the monsters and look at this."

The serpentine tree was stirring.

Looking back into the Retrospective, Moor saw the demon had remained on its knee, head bowed. He let the beast know that he was pleased and pulsed a command into its being - look for me. He broke his connection with the demon and returned the wall of the cube to its solid silver state. As the Retrospective disappeared, Moor turned and moved to stand beside Asajad.

The strange, treelike creature was shuddering, which in turn caused its captive's body to spasm. Leathery branches coiled tighter around Marney's arms and legs, hoisting her higher into the air. The empath's eyes remained closed and not one sigh of discomfort escaped her dried and cracked lips.

Marney's head snapped back, neck muscles straining, and her mouth worked silently as if trying to articulate the pain and sensations. Moor knew that the tip of the leathery limb that had punctured the empath's lower back and coiled up around her spine was now drinking memories from Marney's mind, absorbing her life, draining her of everything she had ever been, of everything she knew.

The expression on Asajad's small, porcelain face was tight; her breathing was quick and hard, exhilarated.

The tree became more agitated.

Its roots writhed and twisted on the floor like a nest of snakes; its highest branches stabbed and slapped the silver ceiling. Marney began shaking, her entire body tense and vibrating. Her eyes fluttered open and rolled to white. A small gasp escaped Asajad; a single limb of the serpentine tree had stretched towards the Genii, pointing at them accusingly. Its tip swelled like an abscess, changing the leathery brown-green bark to a taut and angry red. But when the abscess burst, it was not with blood and pus. Instead, a thing of beauty was revealed.

A flower. Crimson petals unfurled like a hand reaching for salvation. Delicate florets in a vibrant yellow centre lay matted and heavy with clear nectar sugared sweet with the memories of an empath.

From the sleeve of her cassock, Asajad produced a small scalpel and offered it to Moor. He took it from her and stepped forwards. The flower quivered before him. He hooked it between his fingers, gently pulling the petals forward to expose the stem. With one careful but deft motion, Moor used the scalpel to cut the flower free. The stub bled a brownish sludge.

Moor stepped back with his prize nestled in his hand.

The outreaching branch dropped to the silver floor with a slap. The tree ceased all movement, and Marney hung limp in its grasp. The tree gave a sudden judder. With a wet sucking the branch that had coiled around the empath's spine slid out of her back, and hung flaccid, blood-smeared and glistening. And then the strange, serpentine tree entered its death throes.

At first, a creaking filled the air inside the silver cube. It quickly turned into a multitude of dull pops and cracks. The tree began steaming as every drop of moisture within it was superheated dry. The greens and browns of its bark turned a sun-baked, clay-like grey. Finally, the strange creature began to crack and crumble. As it collapsed into a pile of broken stone, its purpose served, the empath fell heavily to the floor, where she lay face down and motionless.

Moor stared at the ugly red hole in Marney's lower back, and then let the scalpel clatter down beside her. He cradled the crimson and yellow flower to his chest, and turned to his fellow Genii.

"The memories of an empath," Asajad whispered.

"In which lies the location of Oldest Place," Moor added.

Neither of them could hide their sense of euphoria.

The moment was interrupted by the wall behind the Genii changing from solid silver to pearlescent liquid to shimmering air. A view into a room within the Nightshade was revealed, along with the considerable form of Viktor Gadreel.

In contrast to Asajad's thin bird-like frame, Gadreel was thick and wide of shoulders, obese in body, beneath his cassock. Head bald and face heavy, smooth skin grew over the area where his left eye should have been; his right eye was full of intolerance. Gadreel stepped into the silver cube, his footfalls heavy. The hulking Genii was not pleased.

"Hamir is still unreachable," he said, his voice a rumble. "For the life of me, Fabian, I cannot break through to him."

The shine of Moor's elation dulled.

Hamir, the Resident's aide, the necromancer – he had gone into hiding when the Genii had taken control of LabrysTown, locking himself away in the very bowels of the Nightshade, in a room with a door that Asajad, and now Gadreel, simply could not open.

"And now Hagi tells me the denizens have failed," Gadreel continued. His one eye was full of hate. "The police that she sent after the Relic Guild were useless."

Moor's jaw clenched. To have this moment spoiled by mention of those petty magickers drove him to thoughts of murder. "The Relic Guild survived?"

Gadreel nodded, once. "They escaped the warehouse. Reports say they simply disappeared. Perhaps they found a doorway out of the Labyrinth, Fabian."

Moor drew a calming breath. "Impossible. No human could undo the Timewatcher's prerogative. And those magickers are certainly not skilled enough to create a portal themselves. The Relic Guild is still in LabrysTown, and they will be found-"

"Fabian . . ." Asajad's whisper was filled with irritation, but there was also an air of pleading which was not often heard from the Genii. "Forget the Relic Guild. Forget Hamir. We have what we need."

Gadreel's one eye narrowed as he looked at the empath lying face down on the floor amidst the dry and crumbled ruins of the serpentine tree. He then looked at Moor's hands held protectively to his chest.

"It is done?" he asked.

Moor answered his question by allowing him a glimpse of the crimson and yellow flower.

Gadreel licked his fat lips. "We are ready to free Lord Spiral?"

"Almost." The ghost of a smile returned to Moor's face. "The time is close, my friends. Come."

Moor strode away from Asajad, past Gadreel, and headed toward the room in the Nightshade on the other side of the silver cube.

"Wait," said Asajad. "What about her?"

Moor looked back at Marney. Her skin was grey and scarred; the wound on her lower back angry and weeping. He couldn't tell if she was still breathing or not. The empath, the filthy human lying naked, shamed and stripped of dignity, upon the floor - she too had served her purpose.

"Her mind has been erased," Moor said. "Her body is only the shell of who she once was."

"Then we leave the shell here to die?" Asajad said hopefully.

"If it isn't dead already." Moor gave a nod and gazed around at the silver walls that had served as his sanctuary for forty years, at the ruins of the strange tree-creature that had given the Genii everything, and then finally at the faces of Asajad and Gadreel.

"There is nothing here that we need now," Moor told them, holding the flower protectively. "And the Resident is waiting."