“What the hell happened to you?” Hex asked, fury battling out fear in his chest and ultimately winning.

“What do you mean?” Pete asked breezily.

“After the wolves—you just left me there! I was practically attacked by those dreadful monkeys, and nearly taken prisoner—it was only my ability to think on my feet that kept me safe!”

Pete stared at him. “You’re already changing the story to suit yourself,” he said coolly. “Amazing. ‘Think on your feet’? Is that what you call what you did back there?”

Hex faltered. “Well, I—I mean, it’s true the little monkey was the one who helped me expose the chancellor as a charlatan and restore peace to the queendom, but I’m the one who was able to get through to the queen when no one else could. Doesn’t that count for something?” He resolutely avoided thinking about the hurt on Iris’s face when he’d claimed sole credit for exposing Quentin. He didn’t have time to worry about that now—he had to find out what the next test would be, and fast, before Pete disappeared again. “You yourself basically said I was a con man,” he added. “Maybe I’m just remembering who I am. You’re the one who won’t tell me anything except that I’m from somewhere that isn’t here and that it’s my job to help you save a place I don’t remember anything about. Why should I even want to do anything you ask of me?”

Pete sighed, and his harsh expression softened. “Look, I don’t like this any more than you do. But Oz has always had a complicated relationship with the Other Place. It took someone from there—Dorothy—to set Oz’s decline in motion. And we think it will take someone else from there to repair what she’s done to our country. Right now, you’re our only hope—assuming you remember who you are in time to stop her. And I know you don’t remember, but I promise, Oz is worth saving.”

“Our?” Hex asked.

Pete looked at him for a long time, mixed emotions playing on his usually impassive face. Finally, as if making a decision, he nodded. “I’m . . . helping the fairies, let’s just say. We’re fighting to make Oz the place it once was, before you—” He cut himself off. “Before everything changed.”

“Before I what?” Hex asked. “Why can’t you just tell me?”

Pete shook his head. “That’s not how it works. You have to remember—truly remember—who you are.”

Hex looked at the ground, where tiny golden flowers with smiling faces beamed up at him. One of them appeared to be humming some kind of catchy jingle under its breath. “Did I—did I care about Oz?” he asked hesitantly. “Can you at least tell me that much?”

“You cared about yourself,” Pete said. “As for Oz—only you can know that, once your memory has returned.”

“Did it seem like I cared about Oz, when you knew me—before?”

“I’ve already told you all I can,” Pete said curtly, and the stony-faced, inscrutable boy was back again. “You can ask me all the questions you want, but that’s not going to get you any real answers. Those you have to find on your own.”

“You’re leaving me again, aren’t you?” Hex said.

Pete smiled, though the grin didn’t quite reach his brilliant emerald eyes. “You catch on quick.”

“I still don’t even know what I’m being tested for.”

“The future of Oz,” Pete said. “No pressure. Like I said, so far, your score is pretty low.”

Hex thought of what he’d done to poor Iris and winced. If he’d known that his time with the monkeys had been a trial of some kind, would he have done anything differently? Iris’s hurt, heartbroken face flashed before him again, and he closed his eyes against the memory. “What happens if I fail?” Hex asked.

Pete shrugged. “We’ll throw you back in the poppy field, I guess. If you fail you’re of no use to anyone, let alone Oz. We don’t need cowards and cheats on our side. Dorothy has plenty of those if you want to throw your lot in with her.”

That name again. Dorothy. It rang the faintest of bells in his subconscious. Blue-and-white checks . . . something silver and glittering. Shoes, he thought suddenly. There had been shoes.

“I liked the poppy field,” Hex admitted. “That doesn’t seem much like punishment.”

“In that case,” Pete said calmly, “I guess we should just kill you.” It was impossible to tell if he was joking.

“Are you a fairy?” Hex asked quickly, hoping to change the subject. But Pete looked troubled.

“I’ve already told you more than I should,” he said. “The fairies sent me, and that’s all you need to know.”

“But how will I know when I’m being tested?”

Pete smiled like a cat with a cornered mouse. “Oh, believe me,” he said. “You’ll know.”

“How will I know where to go?” Hex asked, but Pete had already vanished in another flash of purple electricity.

Hex looked down at his battered shoes—the only thing, he realized, that he had that was left over from his life before, whatever that life had been. Just beyond his toes, he noticed for the first time a sandy path that led off into the dark woods. He was sure—well, almost sure—that the path hadn’t been there a moment ago. He looked up again; all around him, brambles and bracken had closed in. Their thick, waxy leaves waved eerily even though there was no wind, and huge, glossy black thorns sprouted from the branches, oozing a viscous slime that looked distinctly poisonous.