"Surprise."

Blinking stupidly, still in must-shoot-ape-man-in-order-to-quell-self-doubts-and-prove-to-Peregrine-that-I-really-am-a-hard-arse mode, the voice in Fields' head did not initially compute. However, the lithe, sinuous, winged creature that glided gracefully down to land on the roof of the car, its scaled hide a cascade of shimmering emerald-green in the portal-light, was hard to mistake. As was the baffled alarm of the interdimensional horde, as they backed away in panic.

"Graham! You came back!"

"Ah, Fields. Still as sharp as ever, I see. If only stating the obvious was a sport—you could go pro."

Fields' joy at the sight of a familiar face—or at least a familiar creature, which in the circumstances, was probably about the best he could hope for—was short-lived. "How about you bite me?"

"You know, you should probably think twice before saying something like that to an awesomely powerful, fire-breathing, man-eating dragon."

"Don't you mean an awesomely-powerful, fire-breathing, man-eating teddy-dragon?"

The serpentine beast's nostrils flared and emitted just the faintest of red glows. "What? You mean my little encounter with that great, dozy oaf over there? I can assure you I had the situation well in hand—Peregrine's intercession was purely incidental."

"Incidental? From what I heard, she saved your arse. Isn't that right, Peregrine?" He turned to his partner. "Er, Peregrine?"

The diminutive woman was completely motionless, and yet strangely, the preternatural stillness which enveloped her somehow managed to be even more intimidating than the brutality of her recent hyper-kinetic frenzy. For just a moment, Fields wondered why the laser-like focus of her glare was directed at the dragon's clawed feet—but only for a moment. As understanding dawned, he took a mortified, involuntary step back.

"Oh, Graham," he breathed. "What have you done?"

The great head tilted, the brow ridges furrowed. "What on this Earth do you mean? I—"

Peregrine couldn't fly—Fields knew that perfectly well. She was a woman of many surprising...tendencies. Proclivities. Talents, even. But flight? Not so much. Nonetheless, he had to admit that the manner in which she crossed the space between herself and Graham was a pretty serviceable imitation.

And while being forced to admit things, he'd probably also concede to being simultaneously, in equal parts, impressed and appalled by the crunching midair punch she proceeded to land right between the dragon's shocked, bulging eyes.

"You monumental BASTARD!" she howled, landing in a compact forward roll, before springing to her feet and back into the attack. "You scum-sucking VANDAL!"—a flying kick to the throat—"You lizard-brained MORON"—a head-butt to the ribs—"You evil, twisted, evil SAVAGE!"—two-fisted pummelling of every dragon-part she could reach from the bonnet of the car—"You're going down!"

In direct contravention of this statement, the dragon went up, his great wings unfurling to lift him unsteadily but safely out of harm's (and Peregrine's) way. Even via telepathy, he sounded shaken. "Peregrine, calm yourself."

"Calm myself? Calm myself? Come back down here and say that you great overgrown newt—I'll calm your sorry arse permanently! Just what the bloody hell do you think you're playing at?"

The stricken expression on the dragon's face was almost enough to make Fields feel sorry for the great beast. Almost, but not quite. Warily, it flew just a little higher.

"Well, I should have thought that was quite obvious. I've come to fetch you and Fields and the princess. While I may not understand how that portal works, I can most certainly sense how unstable it's becoming. And more than that, my other selves are reporting increasing ripples right across the multiverse. Something big is brewing, Peregrine, and I think it would serve us well to be a long way from whatever that something is. And as this new vessel of mine is somewhat problematic to ride, I brought along something a little more ridable. Is there a problem?"

In response to this question, Fields could have sworn that Peregrine literally vibrated. "A problem?" she yelled. "A problem? You just got ape-man goo all over Pearl's undercarriage, you big, flamey, lizard-faced knob-head! Why the hell didn't you pick Featherstone's car? I couldn't give a rat's arse if you scratched the crap out its paintwork and dropped it onto interdimensional freakazoid's heads."

"Oh, Peregrine"—just a hint of the entity's infuriating self-assurance had returned—"surely one of your primitive vehicles is no different to another?"

"What!" Her voice was now no more than a strangled, outraged yelp. "What!"

While seriously glad his enraged partner seemed to have mislaid her rocket-launcher somewhere along the way, Fields still feared blood was about to be shed (and was a little concerned for his own already diminished supply). Reaching up, he placed a cautious hand on her back.

"Peregrine—look, I'm sorry about Pearl. I really am. But right now, we've got"—he swallowed—"more important things to worry about. Graham meant well. You need to let it go."

For just a moment, as he felt Peregrine's back stiffen, Fields thought he may have gone too far. He just had time to contemplate the irony of being killed by his own partner while surrounded by a sea of monsters, when the tensed muscles under his hand relaxed. Peregrine glanced down at him.

"Let it go? This isn't that fairy tale, Fields. Ha! Nah, what I'm going to do is take all my rage, bundle it up and then stash it way, way down deep inside. Then I'm going to let it brew and bubble and seethe for a while—you know, so it can properly mature. Maybe for years, who knows? Then, one day, out of the blue, when everybody least expects it, probably at a time that's completely inappropriate, I'm going to let it all out." She smiled a smile that could cut glass. "Sound good?"

Slowly, Fields removed his hand. "Well—"

"Because you're right, of course." Peregrine jumped down from the bonnet. "We have got other things to worry about."

While relieved to see that she was seemingly back in calmer emotional waters, Fields didn't miss the pointed phrasing. It seemed the Pearl issue was delayed, not resolved. Well, I'll worry about that later—provided there is one. Let's see what we can do about that.

"Okay. Graham, if anything with the wrong number of legs, heads or chromosomes comes anywhere near us, roast its sorry arse. And if it hasn't got an arse, well then, use your discretion. Peregrine, you help Britney get Embers into Pearl. I'll go and see what's up Featherstone's butt."

"Just hold on a second there, sport." Peregrine punctuated each word with a jab to his chest. "Who died and made you the big cheese? I'll go and see Featherstone, and you can stay here to play nursemaid."

"Peregrine, we don't have time for this. Besides"—Fields spun on his heel and took off at a flat sprint in the direction of the control room, before turning to look back over his shoulder with a cheeky grin—"I called it!"

The look of stunned outrage on his partner's face was simultaneously one of the most gratifying and worrying sights he'd seen in a long while. And he wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when any further potential reaction was cut short by the sudden emergence of Britney's head, popping into view from behind her shelter.

"Aw, crap—it's a bloody dragon. Well, there goes the neighbourhood."