She bounded into the passageway and loped along the magical path. The forest around her changed, and then she burst out the other side, into England. The guards on the other end were as clueless as the first. They watched her race through the encampment and did nothing to try to stop her.

She didn’t pause from her breakneck speed until she had put a few miles between her and the passageway. Then she slowed to a stop and changed back into her human form. She might be free from Avalon at last, but she also had no idea where she was.

In any case, there was no need for further strain. Walking along the shadowed forest until she cooled down, she reached for one of the Djinn she had bargained with, calling out telepathically, Jamael?

Enough time passed that she began to wonder if calling him would work. As far as the Djinn knew, she had no telepathy, and Jamael would not know what her telepathic voice sounded like.

Then a swirling tornado of energy appeared. It coalesced into the form of a tall, elegantly spare male, with nut-brown skin and darker chestnut hair flecked with gray at the temples. Jamael was a first-generation Djinn, and the Power in his shining, diamond-like eyes rocked her back a step.

His usual smile of greeting was missing. Gazing at her gravely, Jamael said, “You have been sorely missed, Sidonie. I see you have also undergone a great change.”

She tightened her jaw. She had done her crying back on the riverbank. “I have. How long have I been missing?”

“Two months,” he told her gently.

She flinched at the news. Morgan had said the time slippage wasn’t much, and from his perspective, she supposed he was right, but two months was still a shock. Rubbing at dry, tired eyes, she muttered, “It could have been worse.”

Jamael replied, “Yet clearly, whatever happened, it still could have been so much better.”

His compassion touched areas that felt raw from unhealed wounds. Pressing her lips together, she straightened her spine. “I want to call in that favor you owe me.”

“I’m honored to be of service.” He bowed. “What can I do for you?”

As much as she had longed to go home to New York, she wasn’t ready to. She needed a halfway house, somewhere she could come to terms with everything that had happened.

“I need somewhere to go,” she said. “Somewhere wild and windswept, with a lot of room to run. Somewhere I can just be for a while, where I can recover from—” She cut that sentence off without finishing it. “And I need a cell phone, so I can call my people. Also, I-I don’t have any money with me. Jamael, I don’t know how to condense what I need into one favor. Should I call on the other Djinn who owe me favors too?”

At that, he strode to her with hands outstretched. “My dear Sidonie, be at ease. Do not concern yourself with counting favors and managing obligations. You may use my favor to acquire everything you need. I will gladly help out of pleasure in knowing you are still alive and we have not lost your beautiful music.”

The Djinn were not usually known for such generosity. After everything, the relief in hearing his offer was staggering. Taking hold of his hands, she let Jamael sweep her away.

* * *

When Morgan left Sidonie in the great hall, the sense of betrayal burned like acid in his belly. The orders she gave him might have been well-intentioned, but they meant nothing—she only had to change her mind and rescind those original orders, and she would have him back on a leash again.

But at least he was free from Isabeau and her orders. That one thing impelled him forward.

Servants and guards raced through the castle, pulling priceless tapestries from the walls and carrying out furniture. Morgan caught sight of Harrow and strode to catch him by the shoulder.

The other Hound turned swiftly. “Morgan! I heard you were dead!”

“I’m not,” he said. “And the Hounds no longer work for the Queen. Find Johan, gather the others together, and go to Earth. I want you to wait for me at our encampment outside Shrewsbury. I have some business to take care of, then I’ll join you.”

His expression filling with curiosity, Harrow said, “Yes, sir.”

Harrow was one of the decent Hounds. He had once been an officer in the British army, and Morgan had always felt bad for forcing the transformation on him.

Morgan added telepathically, Don’t say a word to the others, but when I get there, we’re going to cull the ranks. Isabeau no longer controls what we do, and we’re going to live the way we’re meant to. The way we want.

Harrow’s eyes shone with sudden wetness. Do you mean I might be able to go home to my family?

Morgan tightened his fingers on Harrow’s shoulder. I mean exactly that, but we need to clean up our mess first. I’m not going to loose Hounds on the world who’ll be a danger to others. I hope you’ll help me.

Gladly, sir!

He watched Harrow race off. Then, cloaking himself to avoid unwanted attention, he went to the stables, which were half-evacuated already. His gelding had not yet been taken. The horse was restless and uneasy in his stall, but he came readily enough to Morgan’s familiar voice and touch.

Saddling him, Morgan rode to his cottage to collect his velvet bag of weapon spells. Nothing in the supply bag he had left on the roof of the inn mattered anymore, but the spelled jewels were too deadly to leave behind. Besides, they would come in handy.

Then he left both castle and town behind.

Riding through the rest of the night, he didn’t stop until midmorning, when he reached a valley thick with long grasses and overgrown with wildflowers. As the wind blew from the west, it caused the grass to ripple like waves on a sea.

Hobbling the gelding so it could rest and graze, he walked through the valley for the first time in centuries.

There were the ruins of a great castle that had once sat facing the morning sun. There had once been a large, thriving metropolis too, but now the only things left were the foundations of stone walls covered in moss and lichen and whispers of long-ago enchantments.

He spent the afternoon in the ruins, listening to the ghosts of magic while the lonely wind played with his hair. Some of the spells had been his. He remembered the banners and pageantry of a prosperous long-ago kingdom that had been built on principles of rule of law, justice, chivalry, bravery in battle, generosity in victory, and courtesy to women. It had been a good, fine dream, and he’d been proud to be a part of it.

He had not been there for its ending, although he should have been. He should have died along with the others, fighting for their kingdom and their homes, but he had been held captive somewhere else and forbidden to return.