Quentin opened her notebook, riffling through the pages. “Is this the corner of Portland and Colusa?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“This says she opened a door from here to…um. To Portland, Oregon. And then back again.” He raised his head, staring at me. “Can she do that?”

“You’ve heard the old stories. What do you think?”

He closed the book. “I think we need to find her.”

“Yeah. So do I.” I glanced at the sky. Our sweep of the street had taken almost twenty minutes. “I guess we’re going to be a little late to the Luidaeg’s. I’m not risking the bridge this close to dawn.”

Quentin looked relieved. “Good.”

I snorted and started the car again, hitting the gas harder as I angled up the hill toward Tilden Park. It’s a protected nature preserve, surprisingly wild for being so close to human habitation, and it’s full of secluded picnic areas where we could wait out the sunrise without being spotted.

The sky was turning rose and gold around the edges by the time I parked in the shadow of one of the old oak groves. Quentin and I didn’t discuss what we were going to do next; we just got out of the car, both of us heading as fast as we could for the shelter of the trees. If any early morning joggers wanted to park in this lot, they’d see the car, but they wouldn’t see us. Hopefully, that would give us time to put on human disguises, hide, or both before we got caught. The car was just out of sight when the sun came up, and the world came down.

“Not as bad as it used to be” doesn’t mean “pleasant.” The light knocked the air out of my lungs. I grabbed the nearest tree, clinging for dear life as I tried to avoid crumpling to the muddy path. Dimly, through my tears, I could see Quentin doing the same thing a few trees away. The ashy smell of broken illusions rose around us.

Dawn is difficult to describe. When I was little, I honestly thought I was dying every time the sun rose. I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Chelsea, whose mother couldn’t truly understand what she was going through or why she stopped breathing, like clockwork, every morning at sunrise. It’s the death of magic, the end of faerie time, and it hits us like a hammer.

Dawn passed quickly—dawn always passes—and we were fortunate: no joggers or pre-work dog walkers came down the path before we were able to straighten up, put our human faces back on, and make ourselves look halfway presentable.

“Well,” I said, with forced jocularity. “Ready to go and sit in rush hour traffic for the foreseeable future?”

Quentin looked at me mournfully. “Can we stop for food first? I’m starving.”

“You’re a teenage boy. You’re always starving.”

“That’s a good reason to feed me.”

I had to smile at that. “Drive-through okay?”

“After as much time as I’ve spent with you? Please. I didn’t expect anything better.”

We were still laughing as we walked out of the trees—as much a stress reaction as anything else. In addition to knocking down any small spells, the pressure of dawn tends to cause a massive fight-or-flight response, which is just cruel, since the pain of dawn makes both options impossible. The end result is a lot of extra adrenaline in the bloodstream, frequently followed by a massive collapse. There’s a reason most fae go to bed shortly after sunrise.

Our laughter died when the parking lot came into view. Quentin stopped dead. I took one more step forward, reaching back to press my palm against his chest. It was the clearest way I could tell him to stay where he was without actually speaking.

Then again, the creature stretched out on top of the car might have been enough to keep him from moving.

“Toby…”

“I see it.”

Whatever it was, it was the size of a cow, and looked like what you’d get if you somehow managed to cross a beaver and a crocodile, looked at the results, and decided what your new monster really needed was a bunch of extra teeth. Its eyes were closed, and its head was resting on its webbed forepaws. That was probably the only reason it hadn’t spotted us yet.

Keeping my hand against Quentin’s chest, I started backing him up. He went willingly. Once we were hidden by the trees, I stopped, dropping my hand. “That’s…new,” I said, slowly.

“What is it?”

“Big. Carnivorous, if the teeth are anything to go by. Big. On top of the car. Big. Possibly dangerous. Oh, and did I mention big?”

“I was starting to get the idea that it might be big, yeah,” said Quentin, peering around me. Fear made what might have been a sarcastic comment sound sincere. “What now?”

“I don’t know. Even if we wanted to ditch the car, we can’t get out of here without going past the thing.”

Quentin sounded suddenly hopeful as he asked, “Do you have your sword?”

“Yes.” He brightened. “It’s in the car.” He dimmed again. I continued, “Besides, even if I had my sword with me, I’m not going to attack something I’ve never seen before. What if it spits acid? Or grows new heads when you cut off the old one? Attacking mystery monsters is never a good idea.”

“Well, we can’t stay in the woods forever. We have things to do.”

“I’m aware.” I peeked around the trees, checking to be sure the monster was still on the car. It was. At least that meant we knew where it was. I retreated back to my position next to Quentin. “Keep an eye on the thing. Let me know if it moves.”

“What should I do if it tries to eat me?”

“Scream.” I pulled my cell phone from my jacket pocket, taking a few more steps into the cover of the trees before dialing the most useful number I could think of: Shadowed Hills. When it comes to getting rid of monsters, there’s no one better than my liege lord, Duke Sylvester Torquill.

The phone rang six times—enough that I was starting to worry that everyone had gone to bed—before someone picked up the other end. A bleary female voice said, “Hello?”

“Melly, hey.” Melly has been working at Shadowed Hills almost as long as the Duchy has existed. She’s also the mother of one of my childhood friends, a half-Hob changeling named Kerry. Nothing happens at Shadowed Hills without Melly knowing about it. “It’s Toby. Look, uh, sorry about calling this late. Is the Duke up?”