A small shape detached itself from the darkness and a pair of eyes gleamed at her from beneath a scraggle of black hair in the light from the doorway.

Flower gave the figure her best reassuring smile. "Hello."

The figure moved closer and looked up at her as though searching for something. She wore so many shades of black she looked like a shadow herself.

"Are you Mudface?" Flower was disconcerted by the attention.

The girl nodded, then tugged on her hand. "Come on."

Flower allowed herself to be led towards the fire, but when the girl stopped in front of a giant pumpkin house where fires burned in jagged eyes cut into the walls, she refused to move any further.

Mudface let go of her hand and shrugged. "You can stay out here in the dark," she said. "Or you can come in. I made you a bed."

Flower moved closer to the pumpkin. Nothing bad happened. It was just a big pumpkin. She ducked through the doorway.

Inside, the sparse furniture was draped with faded black cloth. A vase holding a bunch of withered flowers graced a shelf over a little mud stove. The skull of some horned animal hung over the door. A little further away was a short bed draped in black blankets. Nearby on the floor a thick fur, also draped in black blankets, looked very inviting after so many weeks of sleeping under trees in the cold.

Flower stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, quite sure this was unusual for a Bloomin Fairy.

Mudface stoked up the fire and stirred a pot that was heating over it. "I saved you this." She ladled liquid from the pot into a bowl.

"Thank you." Flower accepted the food. Vegetable soup. She was so hungry she could have sworn it was the best thing she ever tasted. She tried not to gulp it.

"Your bed there." Mudface pointed her to the fur on the floor, then went and sat on the other bed, watching every bite she ate.

Flower finished, washed her bowl in a basin of water and set it aside, keenly aware she was still under that intense scrutiny. She sat on the bed and returned Mudface's stare.

Mudface lifted a corner of her shirt and pointed to a livid scar on her ribs. "I was dead for a week."

"Huh?" Flower glanced at the door and wondered if she should just make a run for it.

"You were only dead for a few hours." Mudface pointed at her arm.

Flower glanced at the ugly fetch wound. "Oh! I understand, you were bitten by a fetch too?"

Mudface nodded. "Lord of the Gourd said I haven't been the same since."

Flower glanced askance at the gloomy decorations. "What were you like before?"

Mudface shrugged. "Them."

Flower leaned forward to see her companion better. It was hard to make out much in the dim light, around all that knotted hair, but she seemed very young, perhaps not more than twenty. "Have there been many fetch attacks?"

"Only me. And now you." Mudface tilted her head. "Will you be my friend?"

"Of course I will!" Flower smiled, this time in spite of herself. "I would be honoured."

"Maybe one day I'll let you read my book." Mudface settled onto her bed, rolled herself up in black blankets and within moments was fast asleep.

Flower sat for a while watching her, mystified. She was definitely like no fairy she'd ever encountered. She was, however, infinitely better company than Fitz Falls, even with her creepy little pumpkin house.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

As though the absence had made him stronger, the Tormentor's return tore Nikifor's newfound clarity to shreds. He was taller. Grimmer. Every gesture more menacing. He paced up and down the room behind Fitz, ranting and raving, but didn't come close. Even so, Nikifor could hear little of anything over the sound of his voice. He didn't even know how he came to be kneeling in the centre of the room while Fitz walked in circles around him, mumbling under his breath and scattering white powder over the floor.

The Tormentor made a violent gesture, fist closed, a quick, downward slash. "How are you doing it?" he raged. "How does a pathetic, miserable toad like you fight me? How did you break the connection for so long? You forced my hand once before, will you do it again? Do I have to have you killed to be free of you?"

Nikifor looked at the scar on his wrist. Just a faint mark, a reminder of a past that still lay beyond his grasp. It didn't throb or hurt. The skin didn't melt before his eyes.

The Tormentor pointed at him. His lip curled back and he hurled his words as accusations. "Your key is gone."

"Yes," Nikifor said. "The key is gone."

Then just like that, the Tormentor was gone too.

He drew in a deep, ragged breath. Fitz crouched in front of him and waved a hand in front of his eyes. "Nikifor? Are you with me?"

Nikifor focused on the deep lines furrowing the bearded face. Reality. Clarity. The moment of madness had passed, he'd defeated it because now he knew. "He was using my key," he said. "He was using it to follow me!"

Fitz winced. "You don't have to shout."

"I'm sorry," Nikifor said in a much quieter voice. "It's the curse."

"What is this curse, exactly?"

"They, ah, cursed me bombastic."

Fitz shook his head and made a funny snorting noise. Nikifor could have sworn he was laughing. "Trust the Freakin Fairies."

Nikifor studied the rough circle of salt surrounding them. "What did you do?"

"A very basic protection." Fitz wrapped a hand around his beard and gently tugged on it. "I'm surprised it worked so quickly. You seem quite recovered."

"The Tormentor is gone." Nikifor whispered the words, afraid to speak louder in case the shadow heard and returned. "He was angry with me for getting rid of my key. But he'll be back."

"This key," Fitz said. "This is what you use to inspire humans?"

"It is our connection between Shadow and Dream, yes."

"Then why did you get rid of it? How will you continue to be a muse?"

The shame flooded back. Nikifor buried his face in his hands. "I am the worst, most miserable, most destructive muse in Shadow."

"Hardly."

He looked at Fitz over his hands. The words he hadn't spoken to anyone, not even Flowereven though she knewtore from him. "I drove my writer insane because I could not stay off the vibe. He took a gun and he shot himself in the head. I murdered him."

Fitz, for a moment, looked grey and old. The lines around his eyes deepened. "Then perhaps you were right to throw away this key."

"The king will not understand. He will be angry." Nikifor dropped his hands, amazed at himself. Flower had told him when they left Shadow City he couldn't trust anyone, but there was something about Fitz he did trust, even with muse business.

"Forget the king." Fitz stood up and left the circle, motioning for Nikifor to stay where he was. "Tell me about this Tormentor."

"He is tall." Nikifor closed his eyes. If talking summoned the spectre, he did not want to see. "And always in shadow, and-" he shuddered. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Then let's talk about this." Fitz turned away from him and shrugged off his shirt.

Nikifor stared. There on the man's back was a huge tattoo: a black, sharp, thick, nine-pointed star. He looked from the tattoo to his wrist. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I." Fitz put his shirt back on and sat down. "Why would this Tormentor brand you with our symbol?"

"Our symbol? Whose symbol?"

Fitz regarded him steadily. "The Invisible Army. Surely you know who we are."

"You areyou are" Nikifor stiffened. "You are enemies of the king!"

"Exactly." Fitz seemed unperturbed.

Nikifor felt just the opposite. He rose to his feet, panic welling. Flower had been right. They had to leave. "I must not be here! I must not listen to you!"

"Sit."

He sat down again, but his hands trembled. Flower would want him to leave. The king would want him to leave, but the shadowed, troubled look in the forest person's eyes held him as fast as his own curiosity. The Invisible Army might all be dissidents, rebels, disloyal troublemakers, but something about Fitz Falls was so much more.

"Things have changed," Fitz said. "Shadow is in the grip of a tyrant and you are hunted. Dark times make for strange allies, Muse. I want to know why you were branded with the symbol of the Invisible Army."

"Weakness is disloyalty." The words dropped from his lips automatically, a mantra repeated so often it had been seared into his soul.

"What is that? You said it before."

"It's what he said when he branded me." Nikifor looked at his wrist again, fearful, but the scar remained pale pink and lifeless. "The memories comes in flashes and then go. I did somethingno. No, it wasn't that. She did something, and I did not stop her. I was punished."

"She?" the question was soft, intrigued.

"The fairy with the long hair." Nikifor paused, lost in his own tangled thoughts. "Hippy Ishtar. She told me it was my destiny to kill the king. But she was wrong, wasn't she? How could she say something like that?" He looked at Fitz. "I must be kept from the king. I must not go with Flower to find him."

"She really intends to seek out the king?"

"She fears he has met with some ill fate, along with the other muses." Nikifor shook his head. "I don't understand what's going on in Shadow. I don't understand anything."

"In time I think you will." Fitz stood up. "Is the Tormentor here?"

"He is gone."

"Good. Then sleep." Fitz pointed at the bed. "I must send a message. Tomorrow we'll talk with Flower about the Freakin Fairies." With that, he left.

Nikifor walked out of the circle of salt and laid on the bed. His legs hung over the end, but he was asleep in seconds.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

Flower awoke from a broken and troubled sleep to find herself alone in the spooky giant pumpkin. She stretched her aching joints and looked around with concern at the black curtains, the black rug on the floor, the black blankets. The bleached skull over the door was about as cheery as a three week old pile of ash, and the dead flowers stuffed into a cracked glass vase were frankly depressing.

She got up and did her best to comb her hair into some semblance of neatness using only her fingers before she ended up looking like a Bloomin Fairy herself, then brushed down the Freakin Fairy clothes she'd been living in. She looked ridiculous, but there was no help for it.

She ducked out of the doorway and squinted at the bright, sunny day outside. At least it was more cheerful than Mudface's taste in decor. This was the first she'd seen of the village in daylight. The nearby giant pumpkin houses looked vastly more friendly than Mudface's. The doors and windows were nice, predictable squares decorated with bright orange and pink flowers spilling out of overgrown pots.

Where the village ended, a sea of broad-leafed green crops started. Here and there a knot of hair bobbed above the leaves. The greenery shifted and trembled, a movement that could be followed by a wave of lighter green as the leaves flipped up and then settled. She followed the progress of the movement all the way to the edge, where a gaggle of Bloomin Fairies tumbled out, yelling at the tops of their voices.

All the fairies were in their teens or younger, and they were only yelling one word: weirdo. The taunts were directed at a figure walking slowly in their midst; Mudface was like a gloomy little streak of night amidst a pack of jumping fools, paying her persecutors not the least bit of attention. She had a book and a piece of charcoal in her hands and was thoroughly absorbed with both.

A red-headed fairy knocked the book out of her hands. "Weirdo weirdo weirdo!" he yelled. The rest of the pack renewed their shouts.

Mudface bent down to pick up the book. The redhead pushed her, sending her tumbling headlong into the grass.

That was just too much. Flower strode over there, picked up fairies by their knotted hair and lifted them aside until she reached the centre. She folded her arms and glared around. "What do you lot think you're doing?"

The Bloomin Fairies stared back at her with wide, astonished eyes.

"Well?" Flower's voice rose. "You should be ashamed of yourselves! Is this how you treat each other all the time?"

A few began to shuffle and sidle away, but the redhead kicked a rock and gave a sullen reply. "No. Only her."

"Yeah," said a dark-haired fairy next to him. "Cos she's a weirdo! She was dead, just like you!"

There was a collective indrawn breath to begin the chant all over again.

"Oh really?" Flower scowled at all of them. "Well I'm also a giant freakin muse and if the lot of you don't scat, I'm going to take to every single one of you with a comb and a pair of scissors and make you all look respectable!"

The fairies scattered in every direction.

Flower crouched down, picked up Mudface's book and brushed the dirt off the binding, which was covered in thick, ragged patches of soft black fabric. The paper inside the book was thick and textured. She wondered if Mudface had cobbled it together from scraps on her own, like these fairies did with their clothes.

Mudface picked herself up off the ground. If she was upset, she didn't show it. At least, her glower was no different this morning than it had been last night.

Flower held out the book. "Are you alright?"