"Frank." In stark contrast to his ranting of just moments ago, Radovic's voice had become very quiet.

"Yes, Dr Radovic?"

Cold eyes boring into the little group clustered on the hangar floor, the scientist replied without turning to look at his colleague. "I want you to summon something."

Featherstone visibly brightened. "Certainly, Doctor. Right away." He bustled over to a freestanding device—all buttons and dials, gauges and screens—to one side of the control room. "What would you like me to summon?"

Radovic appeared to consider the question before replying. "Something vicious," he grated. "Something terrifying." Leaning toward the window, a half-smile formed on his features. "Something lethal."

Featherstone hesitated, hands hovering over the controls. "Er...yes. Listen, Dr Radovic—about that. I've been thinking, and I can't help but feel that maybe—and this is just my opinion, of course—that maybe, just possibly, it might be a little bit wrong to, you know, hurt people. Or, well...kill them. It's not really what I intended, when I developed this method of inter-universal importation. When I discovered that my theories of cultural probabilistic resonance actually had a practical application, I hoped they would be utilised for the betterment of the human race. For pure, noble purposes."

"Ha! What, like banging princesses? Or abducting witches? Or mmpphh—"

Hand over her mouth, Fields leaned in close to Peregrine's ear. "How about," he hissed, "we don't interrupt the not-quite-so-bad guy while he's trying to talk the really bad guy out of killing us?"

"Frank, Frank, Frank." Shaking his head in mock exasperation, Radovic sauntered over to his younger colleague. "We've talked about this, my friend. You mustn't lose sight of the bigger picture."

"Yes, but—"

"We're so close now, Frank. So close, but we're not quite ready—not just yet. Those fools down there mustn't be allowed to interrupt our final preparations. And really, what are a few lives, anyway? What do they mean, in the grander scheme of things? Isn't the sacrifice of a few lives worth it, if the end result is a more enlightened, science-based world? A world of reason? A world of logic? And most importantly, a world with the right people in charge?"

"Yes, but you see, I'm not so sure—"

"Frank." Radovic's tone became stern. "Have I ever led you astray? In all the time we've worked together? When I supervised your PhD? When I supported your research, while everybody else thought you were crazy? When I took care of your little princess problems for you? When I installed tracking devices on those agents' cars, so that we'd be ready for them when they came? Have I ever given you any reason to doubt I have nothing but your best interests at heart? Or, for that matter, the world's best interests?"

"So, it was you who murdered the princesses." Unable to follow his own advice, Fields found the lawman inside him couldn't stay silent. "You're going down for that, Radovic. I'm bringing you in to face justice, no matter what it takes."

"Give him five minutes with me," Embers' voice was even colder than the glacial disdain on her features, "and he'll be begging to face justice."

"Ooh, count me in," cackled the witch. "Five minutes with me and he'll be begging for a belly-rub and wondering where his bone has gone. It's not a real lynching until you get witchy with it."

"And," growled Peregrine, her usually cheerful features now anything but, "you messed with Pearl. You crossed the line, Radovic. You're gonna pay, you egotistical, murderous, scheming, paintwork-smudging piece-of-shit."

The scientist glanced dismissively down at the group. "Yes, yes, very terrifying, I'm sure. Now, I suggest you all spend the last few minutes of your sorry lives contemplating just how worthless they've been, while my colleague and I continue this conversation in private." He flicked a switch, and the faint background hum from the speakers on the wall suddenly stopped, noticeable only now by its absence. And, although Radovic continued to speak, his arm around Featherstone's shoulders, his words were no longer audible to the motley cluster standing forlornly on the vast, bare expanse of the hangar floor.

Peregrine pulled Fields and Embers into a huddle. "Right," she whispered, "looks like no more monologuing. But we don't know if they're still listening, so let's keep it down. Now, what we need to do is..." She trailed off, as the level of wartiness in the huddle suddenly exceeded normal background levels, and turned to regard the face that had inserted itself between Fields' and Embers'.

"Count me in," said the witch. "I dunno who the bloody hell you lot are, but it's pretty obvious Mr Beardy Knob-Head and the chinless bloody wonder up there are the bad guys, ipso bloody facto, you lot must be the good guys. So, whatever you've got in mind, I'm in."

"But...but...you're a witch!" The bafflement on Embers' face was almost comical. "You're one of the bad guys. Or rather, girls. Er, people. You know what I mean. In any case, witches can't be good."

"Can't be good?" The witch sniffed. "Dunno how it is where you're from, girlie, but around my parts, witches can be good, bad or in-between—just like most folks. And, just like most folks, they're mostly good."

"And what about you?" asked Fields.

"Me? Oh, I'm one of the goodest. Although"—she gave Fields a lascivious wink—"in your case, I reckon I'd be willing to make an exception."

"Well," said Peregrine, "you have already taken out a bunch of inter-dimensional freaks, which is more than any of us can say. And we're not exactly flush with options here, either. Everyone happy to get back to a foursome? After all, Al did leave us with a vacancy."

Fields shrugged. Teaming up with (never mind being propositioned by) an inter-dimensional witch was so far down the day's list of weird as to barely register. "Fine by me. Embers?"

The princess opened her mouth. She closed it again. She looked around the huddle, from one face to another. She smiled. "Well, never let it be said I'm not an open-minded girl. Welcome to our little group. Now, as it would hardly be appropriate for us to go on referring to you as the witch, would you be so kind as to tell us your name, please?"

"Happy to, girlie. Although, like I said, 'the witch' has got a nice ring to it, so just you feel free to keep on calling me that. But the real name's Britney." She gave an elaborate curtsy. "Nice to meetcha."

This introduction was greeted with a moment of collective, silent reflection. Fields stifled a sigh. After all, what is there to say? Really?

"Alright," he whispered, with a nervous glance up at the control room, where Featherstone was now nodding in apparent agreement to whatever it was Radovic was telling him. "Now we've sorted out who's who, let's work on getting out of here alive. And taking those two smart-arses down before they summon up whatever new nasty surprise they have in mind for us. I've had more than enough surprises for one day."

"Oh, Eel," scolded Embers. "Don't be such a negative Nelly. Not everything they've summoned has been nasty, after all. Look at me. Look at the prince. Look at the witch."

They all looked.

Embers cleared her throat. "Ahem. My point is whatever next comes through that portal may not be all bad. It seems quite clear those fellows up there are not able to exactly specify the characteristics of whatever it is they summon. They wanted a wicked witch but received a good one. They wanted a brave prince but received an amorous one. They wanted swooning, compliant princesses but it would seem they received plucky, defiant ones. It's quite possible whatever they next summon may also be not quite as they expect. Whatever nature of creature it might be, perhaps we can use it to our advantage. Perhaps we can make an ally of it. Perhaps we can make it our friend. Perhaps—"

She was interrupted by a discordant, mechanical grinding coming from above, as the gloom in the hangar subtly brightened. A widening gap appeared in the lofty ceiling, allowing the late afternoon sun to stream in.

And, as the opening grew, the pulsating green light behind them grew along with it, brightening and thickening as it climbed remorselessly higher, reaching towards the blue sky above. The foursome on the hangar floor took an involuntary step back, as with an incandescent emerald flash, almost too bright to look at, something emerged from the portal. Something black. Something solid.

Something big.

It was a foot. A booted foot. A booted foot the size of a car, which crashed down onto the hangar floor with a resounding, ground-shaking boom.

"Or perhaps," continued Embers shakily, "it might step on us."