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“But it didn’t last. He began to suffer weakness, and sadness. Now he is as you see him.”

“Why hasn’t he sought help, Annis?”

“He is proud. And he has many enemies who would be quick to try to take advantage of the situation, should the Winter King’s condition become known.”

“What can I do?”

“Do what he asks of you,” she said severely, her gaze sweeping over him like a beam of frosty light. “And be careful. There are ill winds blowing through this realm, Sonny. May they die down soon and not breed a tempest.”

H
ome. She was home.

Fennrys had done it. Gwynn had sent her home.

Back to New York City.
Sort of . . .

Kelley stood in the middle of a wide road—Park Avenue, maybe, although it was hard to tell—and gazed around the city streets at buildings with outlines softened and blurred, details obscured by greenery. Thick, lush vegetation covered the skyscrapers, climbing trellises of glass and steel. They reminded Kelley of pictures she’d seen of those jungle-covered cliffs in places like Hawaii, towers of rock thrusting hundreds of feet into the air like grasping, leafy fingers. To her left a crystalline waterfall tumbled down what had once been an office tower.

Overhead the skies rang with symphonies of birdsong, but down at street level, everything seemed deserted. Almost. Kelley had walked for about a half a block before she encountered the first of many “statues”—a couple holding hands, frozen in time. They looked like sculptures in a garden; ivy and moss had begun to creep over them, obscuring their features, trapping their feet forever, rooted to the crumbling pavement.

There were others—petrified, motionless as if they were chiseled from marble. A man in a suit on a bus bench. A newspaper seller. A young mother pushing a baby carriage that—Kelley noted with numb, detached horror—was lacking an occupant.

In its place grew a profusion of wildflowers.

A flash of movement out of the corner of her eye made Kelley turn in time to see a red fox darting into an overgrown bush, heavy with some kind of berry. Kelley heard a high-pitched giggle and saw, hiding behind the screen of bushes, the Faerie girl from Gwynn’s Court, Jenii, smiling widely at her. Kelley saw that there was blood staining the jagged points of her sharp teeth. Sharp, bright green teeth.

The four-leaf-clover charm at Kelley’s throat grew warm, and as she looked down, she saw that it had begun to sprout leaves. And more. Leaves and shoots, flowers and vines of all kinds flowed up her neck and across her shoulder. Winding down her arms, covering her torso and legs like a shimmering emerald gown. Until she stood there, a living topiary. The curling fronds of new ferns—crooked like beckoning fingers—unfurled from her shoulder blades, fanning out, filling the space behind her in place of Faerie wings. Her hair became corkscrewed, twisting in tendrils like the growth of new ivy, and the flesh of her hands and wrists shone pale and glistening like the translucent, curling skin of a white birch sapling. . . .

Suddenly, a shadow-black, old-fashioned carriage drawn by a monstrous dark horse came racing toward her. The air grew cold on Kelley’s leaf-clad limbs, and her feet were rooted to the ground. She could not move out of the way. She would be crushed.

She heard the Faerie girl Jenii laughing wildly.

Then she heard the bellowing of a king stag. From somewhere behind her, a white-green brilliant light washed through the street, and a white King Stag—the same magnificent creature that had once saved Kelley’s life—thundered past her, toward the careening carriage, antlered head lowered in its charge.

Kelley felt a sharp sting in the palm of her hand and, looking down, saw a single peach-colored rose burst into bloom, cupped in the cage of her fingers. As she gazed at it, it wilted and withered and fell away, leaving behind a pool of shining crimson blood. The blood evaporated, revealing scores of scars crisscrossing her palm.

The scars blazed with eldritch fire.

* * *

Kelley’s eyes snapped open.

So . . . not home, then.

Definitely not. Sheer curtains floated out like billowing sails through a set of open doors that led to a balcony. She lay in a sumptuous bed, underneath a silken coverlet and almost drowning in feather pillows.

Right. She remembered now—she had left Fenn to discuss passage with Gwynn and had retired to this chamber to wait, crawling into bed and dozing off.

She swung her feet stiffly to the floor and stood. The room tilted perilously for a moment but then settled down. Her head felt a little fuzzy—as though she were still partly trapped in her dream.

Looking around, Kelley saw that her clothes—torn and stained with grass and mud from her Central Park encounter, damp from her dunk in the Otherworld river—had been taken from her. The jeans and purple top were nowhere in sight. Kelley sighed. She wasn’t sure how much more of her roommate’s wardrobe she could get away with decimating before Tyff plotted revenge, swift and terrible. In place of her tattered apparel, someone had left a shimmering gown draped over a chair.

When a thorough investigation of the room revealed no hidden closets and left her no alternative but to wear the gown or go naked, Kelley reluctantly slipped into the dress.
Let’s see how long it takes before I can destroy this one,
she thought wryly.
At least it’s not Tyff’s. . . .

Turning this way and that in front of a long mirror, she had to admit it was lovely, and almost—thankfully not
quite
—as revealing as the one Jenii had worn. Kelley started briefly, remembering vaguely that the Faerie girl had put in an appearance in her dream, then shook her head. Already the images were fading, fleeing back into her deep subconscious.

She discovered that her shoulder bag was still there, resting on a low stool, and the strappy sandals she’d borrowed from Tyff had been cleaned of mud and were neatly placed on the floor by the bed.

“Kelley?”

She jumped at the sound of Fennrys’s voice, coming from the other side of the bedroom door. She moved to open it and waved him into the room.

“Hey—are you all right?”

“I guess,” Kelley muttered. She’d be better if her head would stop swimming.

“How do you feel?”

She looked down at the elaborate gown and tried to blink away the wooziness. “Like somebody spiked the punch at the formal.”

Fennrys laughed a little. “Serves you right for drinking Faerie drink on an empty stomach. Strong stuff, that.”

“I had the weirdest dream. . . .”

“Not surprised. Did I not tell you that Gwynn is known as the Lord of Dreams?”

“No, Fenn.” She smiled tightly. “You neglected to mention that little detail. You also might have given me a warning about the eighty-proof refreshments.”

“I thought your auntie would have told you all this stuff when you were a kid. My mistake.”

“No. Not your fault. I’m still not used to reading fairy tales as nonfiction.”

Fennrys subsided into silence, his gaze fixed upon her, and Kelley felt her cheeks redden. She felt practically naked in the flimsy dress.

“You look nice.”

“Um. Thanks.” She stopped herself from trying to cover bits of exposed skin with her hands. That would just be drawing attention to the obvious. She lowered herself carefully to sit on the stool and stuffed her feet into the sandals, fumbling with the buckles.

“So,” Fennrys said, clapping his hands together. “Good news!”

Kelley looked up to see him smiling brightly. She thought about it and realized he looked weird when he smiled. Uncomfortable. She chalked it up to the fact that he had so carefully cultivated his gruff, sneering facade that the muscles of his face simply weren’t used to the gesture. It just wound up coming off like a pained grimace.

She stood, slinging her bag across her body. She was anxious to get going. “What good news?” she asked.

“C’mon,” he said, turning on his heel and leading the way through the twisting corridors. “Gwynn has agreed to open a rift to send you home.”

“Us,” she corrected.

“Sorry?”

“Don’t you mean send us home?” Kelley asked.

“Oh . . . yeah.” Fennrys shrugged casually as he loped along. “Listen—I’m going to stick around here for a bit.”

“What?” Kelley gaped at him.

“I’ve got a few things to take care of.” There was that disconcerting smile again. “But don’t you worry—Gwynn has seen to it. He’s whipped up a rift that’ll set you right back down in New York. You’ll be all right. You don’t need me.”

“I was under the distinct impression that Sonny told you to
take care of me,
Mr. Wolf,” Kelley said, her tone mocking. She had to almost run to keep up with the Wolf’s overlong strides as he stalked down the deserted halls.

“He did,” he said. “I am.” Fennrys stopped, turned, and stared at her for a moment. The ghastly smile faded from his lips and he said, “Trust me.”

A
fter his visit to Auberon, Sonny went to his old chambers in the palace. He had barely stripped off his tattered clothes and climbed into his old bed before his body gave way to sheer exhaustion. He dropped instantly into a deep, utterly dreamless sleep.

In the morning he bathed and called for one of Auberon’s healers to be sent for. Sonny’s body was one entire mass of aches, and he realized he would be of no use to anyone if he didn’t start taking care of himself. After a thorough ministration of tonics, salves, bandaging, and a few extra stitches, the young Janus felt worlds better. At least he felt as though he could stand upright without tottering.

It was early afternoon when he finally made his way down to the stables. He was surprised—and not at all pleased—to see the Fennrys Wolf waiting for him, perched on a stool outside Lucky’s stall, and wrapped head to foot in a thick woolen cloak to ward off Winter’s chill.

“Where’s Kelley?” Sonny stalked toward him, his hands already knotting into fists. “Damn you, Wolf—”

“Home.” Fennrys raised a hand, forestalling Sonny’s angry questions. “She’s home, Irish. Safe and sound. Gwynn sent her there.”

“At what price?”

“She paid none!” Fennrys snapped. “Damnation. Auberon does tend to breed his household up suspicious, doesn’t he?” He sighed gustily with exasperation. “Do you know I was very nearly searched and manhandled on my way here from the main gate?”

“Very nearly?”

The Wolf grinned coldly. “Hard to manhandle a man who’s more than happy to break your hand.”

Sonny noticed that Fennrys was able to gesture with both his arms. The splint and sling were gone, and his injuries seemed to be fully, completely healed. It was a little surprising. With the extent of Fennrys’s injuries, it would have taken a generous amount of magick to have accomplished such a thing. Perhaps, Sonny thought, the Lord Gwynn ap Nudd was no longer quite so put out with his Viking changeling for leaving the shadow lands to join Auberon’s Janus Guard as he had once been.

“I can’t see why you’d be challenged in the Unseelie Court,” Sonny said. “You’re Janus.”

“Yeah, well.” Fennrys shrugged. “Some new staff since I was here last. Eager to make an impression, no doubt.”

“Why didn’t you go back with Kelley, Fennrys?” Sonny asked. “Now you’re stuck here unless you want to go begging for a doorway again.”

“I didn’t beg the first time. Gwynn’s not like
your
lord and master, Irish. He was more than happy to send Kelley on her way.” Fennrys turned from him, a broody darkness flashing in his eyes.

Sonny wondered just what had transpired between Kelley and Fennrys since he’d sent them away together, but there was also a large part of him that quite simply didn’t want to know. “So why
did
you stay?” he asked.

“Dunno.” Fennrys blew on his knuckles, trying to warm them. “Thought, y’know, maybe you could use my help. With the Hunt. What’s left of them.”

“You’re joking.
You
want to help
me
?”

“We’re brothers-in-arms, Sonny.” Fennrys stood and paced restlessly. “And, truth is, I’m bored out of my mind in Manhattan. Nothing to do there but jump at shadows and put up with Aaneel’s pompous yapping: ‘There’re cracks in the Gate! Remain vigilant! Protect the puny humans! Eek, a mouse!’ It’s tiresome.”

Sonny regarded him skeptically, but he knew one thing was true—Fennrys was nothing if not a man of action, and it was easy to see how a lack of ravening monsters to fight on a regular basis would grate on someone like him.

“What if the leprechaun goes after Kelley again?”

“Then there’re eleven other Janus there to take care of her, and I
told
her to stay away from the bloody park. She’s stubborn, not stupid. You should give her a little more credit.”

That stung. “Suit yourself,” he snapped. “My little sojourn here hasn’t exactly been a bundle of laughs, either, you know. Especially lately. The Wild Hunt? Now that only three of them are left, there’s not nearly as much havoc they can wreak. Mostly it’s all track and trap now. And that in itself is boring, dirty work.”

Fennrys didn’t say anything, just continued his restless pacing back and forth in front of the stalls. He reminded Sonny of a caged animal.

“On the other hand,” he said, relenting, “I suppose I
could
use a hand setting those traps.”

“Right.” Fennrys stopped in his tracks and blinked at Sonny. “The sooner you get done, the sooner you can get back to your Faerie princess, right?”

“Right. That’s the idea.”

“So it’s settled.” Fenn put out a hand, and Sonny clasped it and shook. “Now can we please get the hell out of here? Cold as a witch’s teat, it is.”

Sonny shook his head and signaled to the stable keeper. “A Northman with no tolerance for winter weather.”

“My people knew how to dress for the cold. It’s all about layers. And this cloak may be stylish, but the wind cuts right through it,” Fennrys said, tugging the wooly folds close around his throat.

“You’ve got that thing wrapped so far up under your chin, it looks like your head is resting on the back of a sheep,” Sonny said. “Mighty Viking prince, my arse!”

They finished saddling the horses, checked their gear, and mounted up. There was one place where Sonny needed to go before they headed back into the grim, dangerous regions of Mabh’s kingdom.

“Two dozen. Solid iron—purest Fae bane. And I can make more if you need them. Although, if you need them, you’re probably not in a position to come back and get them.” Gofannon barked out a harsh laugh and tossed the compact leather quivers full of crossbow bolts lightly onto the worktable as if they were full of feathers, not iron. Sonny noted that they made a satisfying clanking sound.

“Fennrys,” Gofannon greeted the Wolf as he stepped through the low door into the forge, trailing behind Sonny at some distance.

“Gofannon,” Fennrys answered, nodding, leaning on the door post and seeming impatient to get going.

“Didn’t know Sonny had Janus help on this little venture,” the smith rumbled. “I’m glad. Rough business.”

“Well, Irish can always use someone to keep a watch out for him. Make sure he doesn’t incur any more catastrophic curses than is absolutely necessary.”

“If I remember correctly,” Sonny muttered, inspecting the bolts before shouldering the quivers, “it was
your
suggestion that I use the Roan Horse to travel faster on Samhain Eve. And that’s when things went horribly awry, shall we say. So it’s really
your
fault.”

“I might have been joking.”

Sonny glanced up, mildly amused. He noticed that Fennrys was still standing beside the door and he hadn’t taken off his traveling cloak. The heavy wool was still swathed around his neck and shoulders, even though the heat of the forge had painted a sheen of sweat on the Janus’s brow.

“What?” Fennrys shifted uncomfortably as the other two men turned to stare at him. “Can we get going? No offense, Gof, old man, but I can think of a few other things I’d rather be doing right now. Like killing something. C’mon, Irish. Grab your little toy arrows and let’s get out of here.”

They left the forge and rode briskly, in silence, for what seemed like hours. Fennrys seemed content to simply follow Sonny’s lead for the time being. While Sonny didn’t exactly resent the company—in fact, he knew that he would probably need the help to finish his job—he’d spent so much time alone that he was, he had to admit, rusty at the simple art of conversation.

They crested a rise and saw the purple hills in the distance that marked the entrance to the shadowy Borderlands. Between there and where they were, the forest was, in places, on fire. The Hunt had been busy in his brief absence.

A deep anger flared in Sonny’s chest. He turned and looked over his shoulder at the other Janus. The expression of almost rabid anticipation on Fennrys’s face—the absolute spoiling for a fight—was a bit much for him.

“Now, you listen to me,” he said brusquely. “Don’t do anything stupid and get yourself killed.”

“Aw. You care.”

“Not about you I don’t. But this is my campaign, and all you’re there to do is watch my back. And
that’s
what you’ll bloody do. I expect you to watch my back, you hear?”

Fennrys snorted. “Don’t be such a baby. What—are you afraid to die or something?”

Sonny pulled Lucky up short and swung around to face Fennrys. “I’m not afraid to die. I just don’t want to die surprised. And I swear to all the gods, if the last thought that goes through my mind is
What the hell was that?
I will hunt you down in the afterlife and punch you in the face throughout eternity.”

Under the light of the moon, bloodlust shone in the Faerie huntress’s eyes. Her beautiful face, half hidden under her silver helmet, twisted with rage, and she struggled madly against the slender chain that held her fast, suspended between the gnarled trunks of two trees like a dragonfly caught in a spider’s web. The chain was strung with wicked iron barbs that bit deeply into her torso and arms where the plates of her armor had been torn away by the mad battle that had raged over half of the shadowed lands, but she barely seemed to notice. She was not used to being prey—only predator.

Sonny and Fennrys had already chased her and another hunter in a running fight all over hell’s half acre. Of course, Fenn’s discipline had lasted only so long, and eventually he had charged off headlong after the other hunter to engage in combat by himself—even after Sonny had strictly admonished him that they should stay together. The hunters were too dangerous, but of course Fennrys hadn’t listened. Sonny, for his part, had stuck to the plan. He had driven the huntress toward the trap the two Janus had set earlier.

And now, their trap sprung, Sonny dismounted from Lucky’s back and strode toward the huntress, the silver-bladed sword in his hand.

From somewhere in the distance, Sonny heard a snarl of rage and the sounds of fighting. Fennrys must have caught up with the other hunter. He ignored the sounds and moved in to finish the task at hand—the Wolf could take care of himself, damn him.

Only the cold iron of Sonny’s snare kept the Faerie huntress tangible. Moments before she had been nothing but a creature of smoke and fire on a rampaging wraith of a steed. The metal made her flesh and blood. But it could not make her warm. Her gaze was empty of everything save hunger and cold rage. Sonny averted his own eyes so that he would not have to look directly into the black depths of hers.

“Make an end of it then, changeling,” she snarled. “Finish it.”

The sweat ran down Sonny’s arm, making the grip of his blade slick. He tightened his fist. The Faerie stared down at him and, for the briefest of moments, her expression changed. The hollowness and the fury disappeared, replaced by a flood of grief and remorse.

“I beg you,” she whispered.

Sonny swallowed the horrible pain that always clawed up his throat from his heart in this moment. He gripped the glittering black jewel that hung from the cord around her neck and raised his blade to grant her request.

He heard another howl of pain. Closer this time.

Then the world exploded in a burst of red stars—and just before everything went absolutely, utterly black, Sonny’s last thought was
What the hell was that?