Remy's location was a disused chapel, three miles outside a village whose name Lena didn't recognise, its windows boarded and its yard overgrown with the specific neglect of a building nobody had thought worth demolishing.
Two children stood in the yard.
A girl, perhaps seven, and a boy a little older — eight or nine, Lena thought, though as with all of Halloway's constructions the usual signs were difficult to read. They stood close together, not quite touching, the way children stand when they have learned, somewhere, that touching draws attention and attention is dangerous.
Remy was already crouched in front of them when Lena's car arrived.
She got out and felt it immediately — two convergences happening simultaneously, the field's threads working through both children at once, the
