It wasn’t going to happen. Every time his howls turned pained, I winced; every time he hissed at me, I had to fight the urge to stop and struggle for breath. He needed me to do this. I needed me to do this. The fact that right now, he didn’t want me to, was irrelevant.
The pixies spun and twisted through the air around us, the chiming of their wings urging us on. Still, it was a relief when the meadow gave way to the strange trees that grew around Shadowed Hills, and an even greater relief when the trees dropped away, replaced by the manicured hedges marking the edges of the grounds. I stopped where I was, turning to the nearest of the pixies—it was purple, and far enough away that I couldn’t make out details, although I assumed it was Lilac.
“Do you know Sir Etienne?” I asked. “Tall, dark hair, Tuatha de Dannan. Can you find him and bring him here?”
Chiming loudly, the pixie bobbed affirmation in the air and darted away. Two of the remaining four followed her, leaving Quentin and me with two chiming sentries circling above us.
Quentin looked at my bloody hands, and then at my face, before asking, “Are you okay?”
This time, I let the laughter, unsteady and brittle as it was, free. “I don’t know,” I said. “Right now, I really don’t know. Every time I think this is going to be over, it throws me another curve ball.”
He was opening his mouth to answer when the air rippled and a portal opened, revealing Etienne, Lilac standing on his shoulder, holding his earlobe in one hand and pointing imperiously with the other.
“October,” he began. “When a pixie broke in and started ordering me around, I should have known you were the—” He stopped as his eyes finally finished taking in the scene in front of him: the blood, the cages, the animals where there should have been people, even the shape of my ears and the shade of my hair. The color drained from his face. “Oh, root and branch, what happened?”
“Amandine happened.” Even the things she hadn’t done directly were still her fault. “We need help. Please. Can you take us somewhere safe, and bring Jin?”
Jin was a healer. Jin would know what to do.
Jin would save them.
Etienne nodded, stepping through the portal without hesitation. It closed behind him. He turned, waving his arm in an arch through the air, and a new portal opened, this time showing one of Luna’s enclosed gardens. It was a beautiful pastel symphony of orchids and gently curling ferns, with no visible doors; even the ceiling was an eggshell dome, undimpled and unbroken. Tybalt and Jazz wouldn’t be able to escape without accessing their own magic, and hence their humanity.
“Will this do?” he asked.
“Yes,” I breathed. Quentin and I followed him through into the sweetly scented garden air, our precious cargo still clutched tightly in our hands.
Once the portal was closed, I turned back to Etienne and repeated, “Please, bring Jin.” I paused. “And . . . and May. She should be here.” Maybe she would be able to do what I couldn’t, and coax Jazz back into her human form. Even if she couldn’t, she should be here. I wanted my family. All of it.
Etienne nodded and turned, hands already moving, to step through another portal. Lilac jumped off his shoulder at the last moment, staying behind.
Jazz beat her wings against the bars of her cage and croaked her misery and anger over her confinement. Blood stained the thorns. I winced.
“Lilac, if we let Jazz out of her cage, will you follow her and make sure we know where she is?” I hated to keep Jazz confined one second longer than I needed to, but I couldn’t risk losing her. The garden was small and enclosed, but ravens are smart, and if she got away, we’d never get her back. At the same time, I wasn’t going to let her injure herself.
Lilac chimed assent.
I turned to Quentin. “Let her out.”
He nodded, keeping any objections to himself. Gingerly, he set the cage down on the garden path and removed his jacket, giving Jazz a clear route to freedom.
Seconds ticked by before, cautiously, a raven’s shaggy black head peeked out the broken doors. Once she was sure that no one was going to lunge for her, Jazz walked slowly out into the open. She ruffled her feathers. She stretched her wings. Finally, she launched herself into the air, wings beating hard, and flew toward the stained glass dome of the ceiling. Finding no exits there, she circled the garden twice before landing atop a marble statue of a dancing Silene, feathers puffed out to make her seem larger, and watched us suspiciously. Lilac perched on a nearby bush, glowing bright enough that we wouldn’t lose sight of her.
That was one down. I walked to the nearest bench and set Tybalt’s cage down on it before kneeling on the path and peering through the bars. Tybalt, crammed into the corner, fur standing on end and whiskers flat, looked back at me with no understanding in his eyes.
It would have been enough to break my heart, if I hadn’t felt already broken. “I’m going to let you out before you cut yourself worse,” I said. “I know you’re going to run away, and I promise not to be angry about that. I don’t know if you can reach the Shadow Roads or not, but please, if you can, don’t. Stay here. Stay with me. Let us help you.”
Tybalt pressed his ears down against his head and hissed.
It was a small thing to take my iron knife and slice through the front of his cage, creating a hole big enough for him to escape through. It seemed like the biggest thing in the world. At least while he’d been captive, he’d been with me. Now, I knew, he was going to run, because he was a wild thing, and that’s what wild things do. I also knew that I didn’t have a choice. He deserved his freedom as much as anyone. He deserved a chance.
When I moved aside, Tybalt erupted from the cage like a shot, vanishing into the dense ferns on the other side of the path. I dropped my face into my hands, and felt a hand settle on my shoulder as Quentin moved into position behind me, offering what comfort he could from sheer proximity. I wanted to cry. I didn’t dare. If I allowed myself to start, I was never going to stop, and that wouldn’t end well for anyone.
A door slammed. “Toby!”
I turned. May was running toward me, arms already open. Sylvester was following at a more sedate pace, but still hurrying, and Jin was coming down the path after him, slowed by her short legs, her wings buzzing frantically as she hurried to keep up.
Then May slammed into me, her arms locking tight around my upper body. She buried her face against my shoulder, whispering, “You came back. You came back. I wasn’t sure you were going to.”
“As fast as I could,” I said. “I got there and back by the light of a candle.” Only I hadn’t, because Simon still had our candle: he had taken it with him when he lost his own way. Maybe it would burn forever now, unable to ever guide him home.
May sniffled, pushing me away. She plucked at a lock of my hair. “This is different.”