"Hold on!" Nassar snarled. Grace threw her arms around his neck and they shot straight up, into the sky. Wind rushed at her. The pain vanished. She looked down and almost screamed – the car was far below.

"Don't panic."

The flesh of Nassar's neck crawled under her fingers, growing thicker. She turned to him and saw a sea of feathers and high above huge raptor jaws armed with crocodile teeth. Her arms shook with the strain of her dead weight.

"It's okay," the monster reassured her in Nassar's voice.

Her hold gave. For a precious second, Grace clung to the feathers, but her fingers slipped. She dropped like a stone. Her throat constricted. She cried out and choked as a huge claw snapped closed about her stomach.

"Grace?" The feathered monster bent his neck. A round green eye glared at her.

She sucked the air into her lungs and finally breathed. "Your definition of okay has problems."

The wind muffled her voice.

"What?" he bellowed.

"I said, your definition of okay has problems!"

The ground rolled past them, impossibly far. She clenched her hands on the enormous scaly talons gripping her. "Is there any chance that this could be a dream?!"

"I'm afraid not!"

Her heart hammered so hard, she was worried it would jump out of her chest. "What was it?"

"Clan Roar – our opponents in the game. Or one of their agents, to be exact. They're not dumb enough to attack you directly. Once the game is scheduled, all hostilities between the participants must cease. Interference of this sort is forbidden."

"What about Lilian?"

"She can take care of herself."

Grace shivered. "Why would they be attacking me in the first place?"

"You're my defense. If they kill you, I'll have to withdraw from the game."

"That sounds ridiculous! You're the revenant and I can't even defend myself."

"I'll explain everything later. We're beyond their range now and we'll arrive soon. Try to relax!"

She was clutched in the talons of a monstrous creature, who was really a man trying to rescue her from a magical attack by flying hundred of feet above solid ground. Relax. Right. "I serve a madman," she muttered.

Far beyond the fields, an empty piece of the horizon shimmered and drained down, revealing a dark spire. Tower Dreoch, Uncle Gerald had called it. He'd said the Dreochs lived in a castle. She thought he'd exaggerated.

Nassar careened, turning, and headed to the tower.

* * *

They circled the tower once, before Nassar dived to a balcony and dropped her into a waiting group of people below. Hands caught her and she was gently lowered to the ground.

In the overcast sky, Nassar swung upward and swooped down. The group parted. A dark-skinned woman grasped Grace by her waist and pulled her aside with the ease one picked up a child.

Nassar dove down. His huge talons skidded on the balcony and he tumbled into the room beyond. Feathers swirled. He staggered up. "Leave us."

People fled past her. In a moment the room was empty.

Grace hugged herself. Up there, in the evening sky, the cold air had chilled her so thoroughly, even her bones felt iced over. Her teeth still chattered. She stepped to the double doors and shut them, blocking off the balcony and the draft with it.

The large rectangular room was simply but elegantly furnished: a table with some chairs, a wide bed with a gauzy blue canopy, a bookcase, some old, solidly built chairs before the fireplace. A couple of electric table lamps radiated soft yellow light. An oriental silk rug covered the floor.

Nassar slumped in front of the fireplace. Bright orange flames threw highlights on his feathers, making them almost golden in the front. His feathers seemed shorter. His jaws no longer protruded quite as much.

Grace crossed the carpet and stood before the fire, soaking in the warmth. It all seemed so dream-like. Unreal.

"This will be your room for the next couple of days," he said.

"You have no idea how strange this is to me," she murmured.

His smart eyes studied her. "Tell me about it?"

"In my world people don't turn into... into this." She indicated him with her hand. His feathers definitely were shorter now. He'd shrunk a little. "People don't fly unless they have a glider or some sort of metal contraption with an engine designed to help them. Nobody tries to murder someone through magic. Nobody has mysterious castles masquerading as empty fields."

A careful knock interrupted her.

"It's your room," Nassar murmured.

"Come in," she called.

A man entered, pushing a small trolley with a teakettle, two cups, a dish of sugar, a ewer of cream, and a platter with assorted cookies. As he passed her, she saw a short sword in a sheath at his waist. "Your sister suggested tea, sir."

"Very thoughtful of her."

The man left the trolley, smiled at her, and departed.

Grace poured two cups of tea.

"I suppose in your world people don't drink tea either?" he asked.

"We drink tea," she said with a sigh. "We just don't always have servants armed with swords to bring it. Cream?"

"Sugar and lemon, please." Nassar had returned to his normal size. The feathers were mere fur now, and his face was bare and completely human.

"What's happening with your feathers?"

"I'm consuming them to replenish some of my energy. Transformations such as this are difficult even for me." He sank into a chair, took a cup from her with furry fingers, and sipped from it. "Perfect. Thank you."