He had stopped walking, trying to remember, and Pete was watching him with an unreadable expression that seemed almost sympathetic, in contrast to his previous hostility. “It must be strange,” Pete said. “Not knowing who you are.”

Hex struggled to keep hold of the memory, but it dissolved again into the blurry recesses of his mind. He felt almost queasy, and realized belatedly that the strange sensation was shame. “I wasn’t a very good person, was I?” he asked quietly.

Pete looked surprised. “No,” he said after a moment. “Not really.”

“Maybe it’s better I don’t remember,” Hex said. “Maybe I should just start over.”

Pete’s expression grew hard again. “Do you really think that’s how it works? You forget about all the bad things you did, and they just go away? The people you hurt still remember. They have to—” Abruptly, Pete stopped, as if he’d thought better of what he had been about to say. “Get moving,” he said gruffly. “We have a long way to go.”

The blue field gave way to rolling hills of flowers that moved like waves even though there was no wind, stretching all the way to the horizon on either side. In front of them loomed an immense black forest, with trees so tall that even at a distance Hex had to tilt his head all the way back to see where their inky tips speared the blue sky. As they drew closer, he saw that the trees grew so closely together they almost resembled a wall. The forest had an unmistakable air of menace—and they were unmistakably headed directly for it. “You want us to go in there?” Hex asked, trying to keep his voice casual, and though Pete’s back was to him he could hear the sneer in Pete’s response.

“Don’t like it? Too bad.” After that, Hex resolved not to ask any more questions. His situation was bad enough without giving Pete any more opportunities to make him feel like a fool.

Suddenly, an earsplitting howl echoed across the sea of flowers, and Hex saw half a dozen jagged black shapes bounding toward them through the blossoms at a terrifying speed—wolves, he thought, but like no wolves he had ever seen. They were twice as big, and from their brindled backs sprouted huge, leathery black bat wings that flapped madly as the animals raced toward them. Every so often one of the wolves would give its wings a tremendous pump, propelling itself several feet into the air and hurtling even more quickly toward them. “Wolves! Run,” Pete yelled, and took off for the forest. Hex didn’t need to be told twice. His throat closed up in terror as he ran after Pete. But the wolves were gaining on them; they would never make the forest in time. Pete risked a glance backward and stumbled. Hex, unable to stop his momentum, thumped into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Pete cursed aloud, and then the first of the wolves was upon them. Pete threw up his arms. A crackling curtain of purple energy sprang up behind them. The wolf skidded to a halt, but too late: it crashed into Pete’s magical wall and yelped frantically as its fur caught fire. Pete scrambled to his feet, dragging Hex up with him. The other wolves had stopped, eyeing the wall of magic warily, but one of them was already trying to push through, and Hex saw in horror that rather than burning its snout, the wall was beginning to give. “That’s not going to hold them,” Pete gasped. “Come on.”

Hex was pretty sure he had never run so hard in his life—of course, he couldn’t remember, but it didn’t seem likely. Behind him, he heard a triumphant yip, and knew one of the wolves must have broken through Pete’s spell. He put his head down and pumped his legs harder. “Almost there,” Pete said at his side. Dimly, Hex realized that Pete had slowed down to match his pace. And then the wall of trees reared up before them, and Hex nearly crashed into one of the enormous trunks before Pete grabbed his arm and pushed him at a narrow opening between two trees. Up close, the forest was more like a fortress. The huge trees loomed over them, sinister and forbidding, like an army of conjoined soldiers forming a hermetically sealed barricade. Hex struggled to squeeze through the trees. The wolves had reached them; Pete held them off with crackling sparks of magic, but they were so close Hex could smell their awful, meaty breath and see the serrated edges of their huge fangs as they snarled. One leapt through the magical barrier, yowling but undeterred as its fur caught fire, and Hex hurled a rock at the wolf with all his might, hitting it squarely on the nose. It jumped back, growling. “Go!” Pete yelled, giving him one final shove, and with that Hex popped through the wall of trees and tumbled to the ground on the far side. Pete heaved himself through the opening after him, landing on top of him as the trunks snapped together like a door slamming. First one, then several more disappointed howls rose up on the other side of the wall. Hex lay where he had fallen, gasping for breath. They had done it. They were safe.

Something sharp jabbed him in the neck and he looked up. A monkey loomed over him, dressed incongruously in a velvet jacket and neatly tailored velvet pants. A small, red velvet fez with an ostentatious black tassel sat at a rakish angle on its head, and a pair of pince-nez was perched on the end of its nose. The sight was so ridiculous that Hex would have laughed. Except the monkey was holding a very serious-looking spear, and the business end of the spear was shoved up against Hex’s throat. Hex turned his head just enough to look for Pete; maybe he had some idea what was going on. But Pete had vanished as if into thin air, leaving him alone with a crazed overdressed monkey on the verge of impaling him.

“Who the hell,” the monkey said, “are you?”