“The eyes of the owls in the hawthorn tree glimmer pale gold. There’s a flare of light, too, beneath the tree. A tall man in a snakeskin jacket has just lit a cigarette. In the match-light, his face is lean, dark, and familiar. ‘Hello again,’ he says. ‘This is a surprise. I suppose the Double-Edged brought you here to make a point? She won’t want any new Edge dyads in the world… do you have something to show me?'”