Raj’s eyes remained narrowed as he watched my slow self-examination. He was frightened but hiding it well; I hoped my own fear was as well concealed. I doubted it.

“Oberon’s balls,” I muttered, and flinched from the sound of my own thin, too-high voice. How did I miss that before? Easy: the Luidaeg made me. “Luidaeg, what did you do?” The answer to that was pretty easy, too. I just didn’t want to think about it.

Blind Michael was a child’s terror. The Luidaeg said that there were three ways to reach him, that one would kill me and that one was hidden . . . but the third way had to be open to children of all races and types, or he wouldn’t be able to take them. She’d done what I asked. She’d found a way to get me into Blind Michael’s lands. It just didn’t come with full disclosure. Silently, I resolved to kick her ass after I got home and she’d given me back my real body. Assuming I made it home in the first place.

Raj’s eyes widened and he looked around wildly, like he expected the Luidaeg to appear and make things worse than they already were. “Why are you calling her?” The royalty was gone; suddenly, he was just a frightened teenage boy with no way home.

“Because she’s the one who did this to me. I think she thought she was helping. ‘You can get there and back by the light of a candle.’”I kept talking, too angry to stop. “Why don’t people ever say things the way they mean them? ‘You can get there, but if you lose that candle you’re screwed, and by the way, you’re going to have to be nine. Hope that’s not a problem.’ ”

“What?”

“Hang on . . . sorry.” I sighed, forcing myself to calm down. “Let’s try this again. Tybalt really did send me. I’m here to rescue you. The Luidaeg turned me into a kid so I could get on the road, but if you’ll just trust me, I—”

He stared at me. “You’re insane! You’re working for Him!” It was clear from his tone of voice that he wasn’t talking about Tybalt.

“No, I’m not! It’s just that—”

“They took Helen, and you didn’t stop them!” His voice was getting louder. I glanced around, wondering how far sound carried on the plains. “You’re already His! You want to take me back! Well you can’t! I won’t go!” He turned toward the forest and took off running.

“Raj, wait!” I bolted after him, and I might have caught him—panic is a great motivation—but he had an advantage I didn’t. The air shimmered around him, and I was suddenly chasing a half-grown Abyssinian. Four feet are more stable than two and faster over short distances. His lead was increasing rapidly.

And far behind us, the hunting horns began to sound.

Raj reached the edge of the wood and leaped, vanishing into the trees. I followed him without a pause. Better the forest than the Hunt. The day had started badly and kept getting worse, and now here I was, nine years old and alone in a dark forest with Huntsmen on one side and the unknown on the other, and nothing but a candle to light my way.

Some days it really doesn’t pay to get out of bed.

TEN

BRANCHES SNATCHED AT MY HAIR as the trees closed around me, blocking my view of the plains. I ducked away from them, walking deeper into the wood. It didn’t seem like the smart choice—going deeper into the dark, foreboding forest so rarely is—but if I’d wanted the smart choice, I wouldn’t have come to Blind Michael’s lands in the first place. At least my fae blood gives me pretty good night vision—between that and the glow of my candle, I was able to see well enough not to fall. The candle’s flame was burning a steady blue, which I chose to interpret as a good thing. It turned orange when the Hunt was nearby, and if I was lucky, it might keep acting as an early warning system. Frankly, I needed the help.

I continued to pick my way through the trees, trying to avoid the rocks and trailing roots that turned the already uneven ground into a maze of obstacles. Branches kept snarling in my hair, pulling me to sudden, unexpected stops, and my patience was running out. I was bruised, scratched, and frightened, and in an incredibly bad mood to boot. I was also no closer to my goal. The Hunt came from the mountains and rode back the same way. I didn’t know where the boundaries of Blind Michael’s lands were drawn, but the geography seemed to be at least semilinear. I wouldn’t find the kids by walking away from them.

The forest was far from silent. Owls hooted in the distance, and small creatures rustled through the underbrush, rattling the leaves. The faint chorus almost made me feel better—you’re not likely to find many monsters in a place where there’s still wildlife. Of course, that could just mean nothing in this forest was harmless, but I was trying not to think about that. Vampire bunnies did not appeal. It seemed to be getting darker as I walked, the glow of my candle nearly vanishing into the shadows. The sounds around me faded out as well, getting softer and softer until they were gone. I didn’t like that at all. If King Kong came bursting out of the bushes, I was going to be pissed. Swallowing hard, I continued to walk.

No giant apes appeared. Instead, the trees opened up into a clearing. I stopped, leaning forward as I tried to catch my breath. I’d forgotten how much longer distances were to a child. My legs hurt, my knees hurt, and all I wanted was the chance to curl up somewhere and sleep it off. And there was no way in hell that was going to happen.

Something snapped in the brush. I straightened, eyes flicking automatically to my candle, which was still burning a serene blue. That might mean I wasn’t in danger, but it could also mean the spell only reacted to Blind Michael’s Hunters, and I didn’t want to take that chance. Whirling, I darted across the clearing to a hollow, half-rotten tree, dropped to my knees, and squirmed inside. It was surprisingly easy to wedge myself there; I’d forgotten how small I was. Then I waited, half holding my breath, to see what would happen next.

The snap was repeated, followed by rustling that continued for several minutes. I stayed frozen in my hiding place, managing not to scream as a figure stepped out of the trees directly ahead of me. My candle was still burning blue. Swell. Either whoever it was wasn’t a danger, or I couldn’t count on the candle to act as an early warning system. Watching whoever it was approach, I didn’t have a clue which it was.

The figure was thin and hooded, its outline obscured by an ankle-length cloak. It held a lantern in one hand; the light filled the clearing with a dim white glow. It drifted to a stop, raising the lantern to head height. One hand was lifted in a beckoning gesture. A branch swung toward it, stopping as it brushed the outstretched fingers.