You dare, came its slow whisper, and the crawling sensation stopped: Those hands and teeth fled from my skin. Strength flooded my limbs, washing through me like a cleansing, dark fire.

And then I was free, on my knees, vomiting into a fern. Cool air surrounded me, but the slow burn remained beneath my skin-power, skimming through me, making the hairs on my arms stand straight up. I closed my eyes, listening to that night fire, listening to its absence of light, which felt like another kind of star-falling, falling, inside me.

This is what waits, whispered the darkness. It is freedom.

And the hunger? I asked. Your hunger destroys.

Hunter. That is beautiful, too.

Dek and Mal chirped. I opened my eyes, vision blurred with tears. Zee knelt in front of me, so close his nose rubbed mine. Raw and Aaz were pressed on either side of him.

"Maxine," he rasped.

"What happened?" I croaked.

"Fell through a door." Tracker knelt, tilting back my head and peering into my eyes. "You hit another world."

"Dead world." I pushed his hands away but started coughing. "Dead Yorana were there."

"But not your man. He's not there."

Zee rammed his claws through a fern, agitated. "But came this way."

Yes, and some of his demons had fallen through that door, just like I had. And died there. I didn't want to think about the same thing happening to Grant. But maybe his ability to see fields of energy would save him. I'd felt a tingle, right before the fall-that had to be something that would alert him as well.

Oturu loomed. I turned, peering up at him. His mouth was set in a hard line, and the shadows beneath the brim of his hat were especially dark.

"Thank you," I said.

Tendrils of his hair reached for my hands. But before Oturu could touch me, Tracker placed himself between us-grabbing my waist and helping me rise.

"Be more careful," he said in a gruff voice, steering me away from the tall demon. "You might not survive the next drop."

I stared at him, remembering the a.s.sault of hands and teeth inside Oturu's cloak, wondering if that was what Tracker had to endure-and if so, how he could survive that impossible prison.

I looked back at Oturu, who stood perfectly still in the twilight shadows of the Labyrinth forest, watching us. Even his cloak did not move.

Raw tugged on my hand and pulled a bottle of water from his teddy-bear backpack-along with a small packet of M&M's. I took both, grateful. My throat still hurt from breathing the air on that planet. Aaz was hugging his own teddy bear, giving me a mournful look. I stopped, dropped into a crouch, and hugged him as tight as I could. I needed to, more badly than I could admit.

"It's okay," I said, feeling those mountain-crushing arms hug me back, very gently. Raw pushed close, as well. Zee leaned against us, ears pressed flat against his head, eyes squeezed shut. Dek and Mal licked his brow.

I glanced up, found Tracker watching with all the sharp scrutiny of a hawk.

"Excuse me," I said. "But we're having a moment."

The corner of his mouth twitched. He stepped onto a gnarled, ma.s.sive tree root, balancing there on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, and looked back down at us.

"It's good to have moments," he said, with what could have been menace-or wistfulness. "Life is nothing without them."

I don't know how long we walked, but the light never changed, and neither did the forest. And even though I was here, with the ground solid beneath my feet-even though I had fallen through another door-it was still difficult to imagine that this was the maze. A forest as the crossroad between here and there: a place of possibilities that was a world unto itself.

"The Labyrinth reflects the heart of its G.o.d," said Oturu, floating past me, tendrils of his hair stroking the deep, cavernous creases of tree bark, so large my hand could fit inside. I heard the high trill of a bird, but nothing answered that lonely call. "The G.o.d who is your father, Hunter."

I felt uneasy hearing him say that. My father was something I still hadn't dealt with. I didn't know how. But that hadn't stopped me from sending out a silent call to him from the first second I'd fallen into the Labyrinth. He hadn't answered. But then, I almost didn't expect him to. It was easier on me that way. Less disappointing.

"Did you ever meet him?" I asked.

Oturu tilted his chin toward me. His silence was long.

"We do not know," he said; and then, very softly, "Our embrace made you afraid."

I was wondering when he'd bring that up. "Who are they, inside you?"

His mouth tightened into a hard line. "We told you once, Hunter. We are the last of our kind."

"Yes," I said, gently. "I'm sorry. But what does that have to do with those creatures?"

"We are the last," he repeated, and I realized he wasn't just talking about himself. I stared, trying to make sense of it-but all I could think about were those hands and teeth on my skin. Lives, lost in darkness. Lives, hidden away. Who were they, and what? And how long had they been trapped inside the demon who floated beside me?

"But why are you . . . containing them?" I asked, confused-but also a little horrified.

"So they might live." Oturu's cloak flared, and I saw those faces and hands surging against the wall of darkness; fleeting glimpses, pressing out and receding. A gruesome dance. "Their worlds are gone. No others will sustain them. And so we are together, and together we hunt, and we are not alone."

Not alone. My heart broke for him. For all of us. Not alone.

How fundamental that was beginning to seem. From Aetar to demon, to human-all of us suffered from being alone. Solitude was different. Meditative, even. But loneliness . . . that was the curse and killer.

Zee made a low, growling sound. He was perched on the side of a tree, claws digging in like hooks. Moments later, Tracker appeared.

"Come on," he said. "There are dead demons up ahead."

More Yorana, but this time they hadn't died on another world. Their bodies had been tucked within the roots of a tree, half-covered in ferns. A quick burial, it seemed.

"Don't go near them," I told Tracker and Oturu. "They were sick."

"Clearly." Tracker kept a wide berth. "It's been years since I've seen their kind. I'd almost forgotten what they looked like."

"You fought them?"

"Briefly. The Wardens were created prior to the Reaper Kings being imprisoned on your ancestor. The Yorana were difficult because they could charm, make you feel relaxed, sluggish, with just a look. It was easier to kill them from a distance."

"Does this mean Grant is close?" I asked Zee.

Raw crept near the bodies, and his lips peeled back with disgust. Aaz prowled on the other side, head tilted, ears slick against his head. He made a chittering sound. Zee glanced at him and shook his head. "Old dead, not new. We came fast, but time already stretched. Week, maybe two, for Grant."

"A week ahead of us? Or two?" What a horrifying thought. I stared out at the forest, which was not a forest-hoping by some miracle I'd catch a glimpse of him.

And I did. Only it wasn't him. I saw movement far from us, between the trees. Only for a split second, but it was human-shaped, and that was alarming. Especially because it wasn't shaped like my husband. I'd know his shoulders anywhere.

"Zee," I said, noticing him looking at the same spot. For a moment I wasn't sure he would acknowledge me.

"Safe," he rasped, finally meeting my gaze. Oturu drifted in that direction, then went perfectly still.

"Yes," he said, then, "We should continue, Hunter."

Tracker barely glanced in that direction. "Like I said, life comes through those doors, sometimes by design, mostly by accident. But just in case it's an Aetar, I also don't think we should investigate."

I was sure it wasn't an Aetar. Not with the way Zee and Oturu had reacted. But I didn't have time to indulge my curiosity. I already attracted enough trouble without looking for more.

We kept on. Avoiding doors, listening to the sounds of the Labyrinth and its lost life. Lost ourselves, in the twilight. I entered a strange mental state-one part of my brain acutely aware of our surroundings-while the other half drifted. I thought about my mother so often that sometimes I felt as though she were at my side-and I'd look, half-expecting to see her, only to find a tree, or one of the boys giving me a curious look.

More dead Yorana appeared. Bodies, like breadcrumbs. No Shurik corpses, which puzzled me. But again, it began to feel like a routine. The monotony never changed. I felt no hunger, no real thirst. I forced myself to eat what Raw would put into my hands: little bits of trail bar and fruit, stored in his bulging backpack. But I ate because I thought I should, not because I felt any hollowness. I didn't see Tracker eat, either, even though I'd offer him food. He'd shake his head and glide into the shadows between the trees.

Grant occupied my thoughts, but after a time, I felt the distance grow too vast, and I had to pull away from thinking of him. I missed our bond, and it was easy to feel resentful that it was gone. That link between us, in this place, would have made all the difference.

I thought mostly, though, about being a mother. A mother like my mother. Or a mother that was wholly me, with all my terrible mistakes. Like deliberately bringing my unborn child into a dangerous place, risking her life and mine on a dream, a possibility-on love.

I finally understood why relationships couldn't last in my family-why no one married, no one stayed tied down-why strangers were better, cold and quick, and anonymous.

Love was too great a risk. Love was the destroyer. Love might kill us faster than any demon.

Or save us.

Zee held up his clawed hand-a sharp, urgent gesture-and muttered: "Listen."

I didn't hear anything, but I trusted Zee. I stood there, head tilted, relaxing into the silence. Sometimes it's easier to see a star when you're not looking directly at it. Stare just to the left, and the light will shine brighter.

It was the same here. I didn't focus, just stayed relaxed . . . and after a long minute of hushed waiting, I heard a high, sweet sound. A flute.

A very familiar flute. I knew that tone.

"Grant," I said, and took off running.

CHAPTER 28.

I remember my mother once asking, Is there anything in the world dumber than men?

I hadn't answered. I was only a kid. But if she had said that today, I would have agreed with her.

Grant, you fool.

That's what's strange about loving men. Really loving them. You love them even when their stupidity is so profound it could put out the world.

Which is not to say you don't have second thoughts.

I mean, seriously.

IT wasn't my husband. I found Jack instead.

He was nestled in the hollow of a ma.s.sive root system, playing a golden flute. He sounded just like Grant, except the melody had the weight of age on it, a melancholy spirit. A song, I suspected, that had not been heard by anyone for a very long time.

He had company. But it wasn't my husband who stood with him.

A unicorn rested at his feet.

It was smaller than a horse but no less shocking: pure white, the white of virgin snow, with a delicate back and trim muscles, and a long neck that supported an impossibly lovely, fine-boned head. A touch could have shattered that skull; it looked so delicate, even the weight of the horn spiraling from the center of its brow, gleaming like mother-of-pearl, seemed too much for it to bear.

Black eyes flicked from Jack to me. They were filled with so much naked intelligence, I immediately forgot the fantasy-and felt cold all over again.

"Sarai," I said, taking a guess. Only one Aetar I knew of had ever a.s.sumed the ident.i.ty of the creature in front of me-though the last time I'd seen her, she'd been a woman: the owner of an art gallery in Seattle, elegant and a.s.sured, who had spent just as many years as Jack on earth, being born again in different bodies. I'd liked her, then. Watched her human body die in my arms before I knew she was immortal. I was still troubled by that death, sometimes.

The unicorn inclined her head. Hunter.

Her voice was soft inside my thoughts. I stared a moment longer, then pulled my gaze to Jack.

My grandfather hadn't stopped playing when I ran into the clearing. His eyes met mine, briefly-before he closed them and turned his head. I bit my tongue. I bit it so hard I tasted blood and waited for the song to end. Around me, the boys gathered, crouched in the shadows, red eyes glittering.

The last note trailed away. In the silence, I said, "That's Grant's flute."

"Yes." Jack hefted the instrument in his hands, a bitter smile playing against his mouth. "He left it."

"Bulls.h.i.t," I said. "For him, it's a weapon."

"He needs few weapons now," replied my grandfather, unmoving from his perch. "I knew you would come, Maxine. But I wish you hadn't."

"No one gets what they want." I stepped forward and felt a tingle run down my spine. I was better now at spotting the entrances to other worlds, and there was one in front of me-a haze that was stronger, heavier, than other doors I'd encountered, and one that carried a sparkle-dusting motes of light. It didn't look or feel threatening-there was no warning sign. Just a tingle of cold dread, a strange and awful premonition.

Reconsider your actions, said Sarai, and there was no longer anything soft about that voice pushing through my mind. Jack has apprised me of what has happened on your world. This is not the answer.

"Then what is? Let everyone die?" I moved closer but stayed out of reach of her horn. "Why are you here, Sarai?"

A snort flared those delicate nostrils. Jack said, "She's the only one brave enough to meet you in the flesh. Most of the other Aetar are convinced you'll try to kill them."

"You told them I was coming."

We felt you inside the Labyrinth. Sarai tilted her head, staring at me with those bottomless eyes. We felt the Lightbringer and the demons. The Labyrinth is a tuning fork of energy, Hunter. One ripple, and it affects all who reside in the forest.

"I'm surprised you didn't try to kill Grant."

Jack looked down. "That is still the question, my dear. Your presence here just might trigger our own civil war. Long-brewing, I might add. Those who are done with the killing, who regret our brutality all those eons ago-"