A/N: Hello there, Abhorsen readers! Yes. I am back. This one I've been harbouring for a while but I promised myself I wouldn't publish until I finished Back to the Old Kingdom. Anyway only a few notes: this story starts in Ancelstierre not far from the wall, but far enough to be able to use modern technology and a little magic. Alrighty? Oh, and also the accent on one of the policemen is a little um... not so Old-Kingdom-ish so please forgive me.

The underground train sped along, moving with its perpetual haste, zipping in and out of the grubby stations with high-headed importance.

In the third carriage down from the driver in was crowded, and on that spring morning, most were hot and sticky.

None of them looked like they wanted to be there, and all sat or stood with a look of impatience.

A girl on the third row of seats in the carriage was the only person there sitting properly upright, and she did so with a sense of pride, her sharp, unblinking eyes watching all with quiet interest and sometimes disdain.

She was pleasant to look at: a hard square jaw that matched her sharp line of a mouth, but mismatched the full lips that had never been touched with a lipstick pen.

Her dark eyes were slightly slanted, though she was not of oriental ethnicity, she merely looked that way. Her dark hair hung dead straight to her chin and was pinned away from her face. The black of her hair suited the fairness of her pale skin, though it was not the deathly colour of the baby she repeatedly saw in her dream.

She was dressed in plain clothing, sharply cut to closely follow her neckline. The pale cotton vest that showed not the faintest hint of a collarbone, and the grey skirt was not of any fashion, reaching past her knees to leave an inch or so of bare, pale skin before it met the long, silver –grey stockings and then the tightly buckled shoes.

Over the vest was drooped the most expensive item the girl seemed to have: a pelt jacket that strapped hard across her body, making sure no unwanted hands could get in.

A tag around her neck read "Merinos, Fanar, 07326989."

But no one on the train could see that, as it was encased in plastic and tucked into her breast-band underneath all other clothing.

She looked nervous, her posture hinted that she was ready to bolt at any moment, but for the moment this characteristic was hidden in the pelt.

In fact, the clothing was the only reason she remained inconspicuous. Her whole body was tense, and were it not for her darkened glasses, many would have seen her eyes flick frantically to the over-crowded doors.

As they arrived at the next station the tube train became suddenly over crowded with people, there was a hiss as the doors slid open, and the few people already in the carriages gasped. The station was thick with people, all eyes wide with fear, their foreheads sweating, their screams becoming audible as the train stopped with a shudder.

As the doors opened all persons waiting for the train threw themselves in, screaming, and hurriedly shouting, wild noise that suddenly bombarded the train as people upon people fought to scramble on.

'What's going on?' someone yelled,

'I don't know!'

He swore, 'There's a murderer loose! He's killin' anyone in sight! Big! Black hair!' Someone thumped the windows as more people crowded in.

'Move it!' he yelled, hurried pushing his way to the door, 'C'mon, everyone on, please, get on, yeah, its gonna be a squash – but I need you all to move your asses! Come on, guys, keep moving!'

Anyone who bothered to look at the speaker only noticed the mauve uniform of the Uliscé police, and moved faster as they bustled onto the vehicle.

Most muttered, 'Shit!' and began to push their way harder onto the train.

No one noticed the dark haired girl slip between the squashed-in people and easily slip off the train and past the Uliscé policeman.

As the train driver finally emerged from his cabin at the front, he yelled, 'Fin' hell, Sir, this thing surely can't get them all off can it?'

'It better surely do!' The policeman snapped back, He held up his arms to three remaining people waiting hurriedly on the platform, looking desperately for a space they could crane themselves into. 'They'll be sharing your cabin, Sir, if it ain't too much to ask. We got a murderer here – can't say how many he's killed there's just – look go, alright! Move this train!'

'Yessir! The driver snapped to attention and clambered aboard with the three frightened looking passengers. He patted his dashboard, checked the map and started up the train. It groaned and wheezed before shuddering into action, huffing like an aged steam engine, much less the swift underground thing it was.

Anet, the policemen saluted it's decent down the tunnel and turned back to the frozen escalator that had been disabled minutes after the criminal had entered.

Anet became uncomfortably aware that he was alone in the station, and swiftly ascended the immobile escalator, flicking the catches on his weapon of choice: gun. Off safety, on silent.

The criminal, he had been told by the chief, who was covering somewhere else in the building, was armed and highly dangerous. The chief had painted that part vividly, though when it came to talking about what the criminal was actually armed with, the chief had become suddenly vague and distant, and though Anet had attempted to press the information from him, he could not discern what was so dangerous about a bandoleer which bore seven bells.

All Anet knew was that the guy was dangerous. And he had killed people. Hundreds, maybe thousands.

Anet turned the corner, stopping to look round at the abandoned newsagent, whose magazines lay in a flurried mess.

A sudden movement! Anet whirled around, his senses sharpened by the silence. Over sharpened even, he was getting close to jumpy and he calmed himself with deep breaths. Become jumpy and anyone- anyone could get hurt.

Breathing in, he focused his attention on the source of the movement and watched for it again, his eye to the visor of his gun.

His fingers nimbly caught the catch that loaded it with fresh bullets and he aimed at the abandoned shop's counter. He could of sworn he'd seen movement ther...

Cold metal bit into his neck. 'Don't move.'

A whisper, barely more, almost inaudible despite the eerie silence of the station. In his mind, Anet cursed himself violently. I didn't see! He couldn't have caught up with me – couldn't have snuck up that quickly.

The knife bit deeper, and in that second, Anet said his last prayer.

This? Really? This is how I die? But it came so quickly so... I didn't expect...

'Put the gun down, please,' the knife-holder ordered and Anet let his weapon clatter to the floor without question. He almost laughed. A polite criminal!

A black-clad toe emerged from behind his range of vision and pulled the gun away. The knife came away from his throat and he fell forward, choking, because he hadn't been breathing.

At last he turned around, wiping away blood from a shallow but long cut that ran across his Adam's apple, he looked up, and glared at his attacker.

A girl, not a man, held knife and gun in gloved hands. Her night-black hair was tucked neatly away from her face, and slanted midnight eyes surveyed him coldly.

His initial reaction was one of shock, for as he looked her down, he saw that the whisperer who had disarmed him looked to be no more than an eighteen year old school girl, possibly in her last year of sixth form. She looked on him a moment longer, before sheathing the thin dagger and tucking it back inside her thick pelt jacket. She sighed and raised the gun to her eye level, testing the balance and, almost carelessly, she aimed at a pillar behind Anet and shot.

Though it may have been a good thirty centimetres above his head, Anet cried out as he felt the bullet flurry his hair above his head.

The girl frowned, and then sighed again, disarming the gun and taking it carelessly apart, letting the individual bits clatter to the floor, save for the bullet holder, which she threw down the escalator. Each step it fell made Anet wince, and moreso as he heard it clatter to the tracks below them.

The girl sighed as Anet cowered under her stare and said impatiently, 'Oh get up, would you?'

He obeyed shaking and she glared down at him sharply. 'Never use a weapon which you are afraid of.' She said, her tone one of superiority.

'I'm not...'

She interrupted him with a bitter laugh and said, 'Of course you are. I saw the way you shook when I disarmed you, and how you jumped when I shot a metre or so over your -'

She stopped suddenly, and muttered, 'Sorry.'

Anet's mouth fell open. Sorry?!

'I'm not going t hurt you.' The girl said, in what she obviously thought was a re-assuring way.

She looked at him shyly. 'I just... have business here. I can't let the police get involved... Go down to the station and... catch the next train you see.'

Anet was shaking his head, fingers trembling, 'I'm sorry Ma'am, I can't let you do that.'

The girl sighed exasperatedly and stamped her foot.

'Honestly, are all you policemen brain-dead? Please will you just surrender and get out of my way?'

Anet shook his head, arms folded firmly across his chest and chin pulled out stubbornly.

'Ma'am, I just can't do that... I'd be fired for letting you go, by law I am now entitled – no, supposed to arrest you for threatening the police...I...'

But what else Anet was entitled to do by law was stopped short as the girl kicked him hard in the groin. He buckled instantly, a reflex, which sent him crumpling to the ground, and then fell to the unswept floor.

Calmly, the girl arranged her fingers to meet the pressure points and applied her strength.

Anet's world turned black around a pretty, pale face surrounded by thick black hair.