“Will we hear you?”

“The way I scream, people in China will hear me. Just stay here, okay?”

“Ms. Daye?”

“Yes, Dare?” It was like trying to leave kindergart ners with a babysitter. If I was lucky, they’d run out of questions before the sun went down. Maybe.

“Here.” She pulled a knife out of her sleeve, offering it to me. I didn’t recognize the style of the blade, but if it was street legal, I’m a Kelpie. “In case you don’t scream fast enough.”

“Good idea,” I said. She looked almost disappointed by my reaction—she was still young enough for the rules against saying thank you to seem pointless. I winked, sliding the knife into my belt with the edge facing outward to keep me from cutting myself. She brightened, reading the unspoken gratitude in my eyes. She was pretty smart when she let herself be.

The taste of roses was rising in my throat again; the curse was going to backhand me soon, and they didn’t need to see that. I nodded a quick good-bye and turned, walking toward the museum. I heard the car doors slam behind me. Fine. As long as they didn’t wander too far or follow me, I didn’t care what they did. Maybe Manuel would pick the locks on the museum doors and show his sister something more culturally enriching than the latest shows on MTV.

To an onlooker, I would have looked like I was losing my mind as I walked down the path and through the motions to let me into Goldengreen. I circled a sundial three times, touching it at six, nine, and three o’clock, before kneeling, picking up a rock, and throwing it hard off the cliff. I waited for a moment after that, listening for the splash. The waves are a hundred feet down, and somehow I still expect to hear a splash. I never have.

The tall grass parted around me as I stepped off the path, brambles brushing my jeans without snagging hold. If that wasn’t proof of magic, nothing is. Unseen sprites whispered in my ears, daring me to turn, but I kept looking straight ahead. If I broke the pattern, I wouldn’t be able to find it for a month; the wards were too well constructed. The main route into the knowe ran through the middle of the museum, and the only other road I knew took at least an hour to finish. I didn’t have the time to waste.

Knowes are hidden because they have to be, and not just from mortal eyes. The fae are territorial by nature; we move around, but what’s ours is ours, and we’re willing to hold it against whatever comes. Most of Faerie’s civil wars have been fought over land. Evening was a Countess in name only, with title and lands but no subjects; there was no one to protect her knowe for her. She used her magic instead, wrapping her Court in layers of illusion, tucking the doors in shadows and the walls in the whisper of wind on the water. Which was all well and good, but it made getting inside difficult.

I waded through twenty feet of underbrush before a path appeared, unspooling through the weeds to end at the door of the battered supply shed shadowed by two enormous oak trees. Evening told me she’d planted those trees herself, a hundred years before I was born. She’d been coming this way for a long, long time.

The whispering faded as I walked toward the shed. Its job was done. There were more accessible entrances, but this was the way you took when you didn’t want anyone to see you coming. This was the hidden road. I put my hand on the doorknob, fingers tightening as a jolt of static grazed my skin. That was my last warning. If I went any farther, I was committed.

I opened the door.

It swung open on hinges that might as well have been greased, despite the rust caking them. Evening was never a world-class showman as the purebloods go, but these were her lands, and they worked by her rules . . . at least for now. The spells she’d woven so carefully would fade away until the doorway into Goldengreen lost its moorings and the shed became just another abandoned storage spot. Faerie would lose another foothold in the mortal world—but not yet. For the moment, the path could still lead me out of one reality and into another. Closing my eyes, I released the knob, and stepped through.

The door slammed behind me, already out of reach as distance rippled and distorted. The air was hot and cold at the same time, hard to breathe. This wasn’t a smooth and well-crafted door like the entrance to Shadowed Hills; this was a hole ripped between worlds, existing in both and neither at the same time.

A single step took me to the path’s end, and the human world dropped away like a bad dream. I opened my eyes, taking a deep breath of cleaner, preindustrial air as I squinted down the dimly lit hall. It was never totally dark in Goldengreen, but this was closer than I’d ever seen it. Evening must have turned off the lights when she left, and since she hadn’t come back, they hadn’t been turned back on. That was exactly what I didn’t need. Goldengreen’s illusions were almost legendary. In the darkness, those illusions would be harder to avoid, and that could be bad for both my sanity and my health. Knowes need to be cared for, and Goldengreen had just lost its keeper, which meant I couldn’t expect it to be in a good mood. Some people say it’s silly to personify the hills; I say I’d rather overpersonify than be wrong. I figure they’re less likely to kill me if they’re flattered.

Holding my hands out in front of me, I started walking down the hall. My hip hit the edge of a low marble table after only a few steps, and something crashed to the floor. I winced. Well, that was one less vase to break the next time I came. I kept walking, and the sound of my footsteps abruptly broadened, announcing my arrival in the knowe’s central courtyard. I allowed myself a small smile. There would probably be a way to turn the lights on from here, and once I could see, I could start looking for the door that fit my key.

I took three steps into the open, and froze.

Someone was breathing behind me.

Dropping a hand to the knife at my belt, I squinted into the shadows. Whoever it was had better attack quick, or they were going to find out just what a bad week I’d been having. My friends were getting shot at, there were bits of Doppelganger mashed into my living room carpet, and my former boss and maybe-lover had been forced to barter with the Luidaeg to keep me breathing. I was not in the mood to screw around.

The breathing changed after about five minutes of stillness, suddenly accompanied by a new sound: footsteps. I stayed where I was, and was rewarded by a figure coming slowly clear through the darkness. Whoever it was, it was male, and not much taller than I was.

Grabbing the knife from my belt, I lunged. It was a calculated risk: I was guessing that if the man on the other end of my impromptu tackle had a gun, I would have already been dead. Anyone wanting to shoot me passed up a flawless target when they ignored my entrance. If he didn’t have a gun, the odds were shifted in my favor. He might still be better armed, but people expecting to maintain the element of surprise aren’t usually ready for you to fight back. I’ve always preferred being the jumper.