From publisher blurb:
Non-euclidean geometries rise up, above and behind. Ahead you see London, but not as you remember it. The way back is lost, through some trickery of the light.
A figure ahead rants to themselves among the freshly laid snow. Your target! From the job that landed you in this hellish plane! He plays some curious drama of his own devising, judged by spirit hosts for sins of the season past, present and future.
His spectral eyes stare through you, oblivious… but what of the other ghostly players? They do not register your presence, yet… an aside glance? A momentary break in character? You cannot be sure, yet.
What part do you have to play in this most macabre carol?