“And what happens when a god kills a god?” he asked, even as his memory dredged up Dacre’s words, spoken weeks ago. We are born with our appointed magic … but that never stopped us from wanting more and finding ways of taking it. The lorry came to a squeaky halt. Shane’s face resumed its cold indifference, but as he rose, he said, “You’re a writer. I’m sure you can imagine it, correspondent.”
