“I didn’t know I was going to get anyone out of anywhere!” she protested. “I don’t even know where I’m going half the time! I just wind up there, and then people grab me, or try to stick me with needles, or tell me they’re my friends and don’t I want them to keep being my friends.” She spread her arms, gesturing to the landscape. “I don’t even know where we are now, but did you see those stars? This isn’t Earth! We’re not on Earth anymore!”

“Annwn,” said Tybalt. “Some call it the land of the dead. Some call it the land of the blessed. Many centuries ago, a part of Faerie called it home.”

Chelsea froze. “We’re in Fairyland?” she whispered.

“You’ve been in Fairyland for a while, Chelsea,” I said. “It has a lot of different parts. The Court of Cats, for one, and the Fire Kingdoms, for another.”

“Is that where all the lava came from?” she asked.

“We wouldn’t call that the Snow Kingdoms,” I said, earning another of her brief-lived smiles. “You’re opening doors deeper and deeper into Faerie, and you have to stop. It’s not safe for you. It’s not safe for anyone.”

“Is that why there’s no one else here?”

“Among other reasons,” said Tybalt.

“I can’t control where we go. Mostly I wind up in places I’ve already been, whether I want to go there or not. We could wind up right back where we were, with those people who were trying to hurt you before.” Her eyes widened again. “Why were they trying to hurt you? What did you do?”

Maeve preserve me from the mood swings of high-strung teenage girls. “We didn’t do anything,” I began. “We…”

“I pursued an association with a woman outside my Court, and some of my subjects took umbrage,” said Tybalt. I stopped talking. He continued, “It is an unfortunate truth of the Court of Cats that we do not, as a rule, play gently with one another. When I did not oblige their request to focus my attentions on them, and them alone, they decided the appropriate course of action would be to depose me, that I might be replaced with someone more agreeable.”

“They tried to kill you because you liked a girl?” asked Chelsea.

Tybalt looked toward me. “Yes,” he said mildly. “They did.”

I reddened. Turning my attention back to Chelsea, I said, “We need to get out of here. Please, can you at least try?”

“We could end up anywhere,” she said miserably. “Totally anywhere.”

I paused. Chelsea hadn’t been coming to find us, but she’d found us all the same, just when we needed a miracle to get us out of the situation alive. She’d managed to take us back to one of the only truly safe, empty places in Faerie. Annwn had no resident monsters, not since Oberon sealed the doors.

And Li Qin, back at Tamed Lightning, bent luck.

“Try,” I said.

Chelsea swallowed. Then she raised her hands, the smell of sycamore smoke and calla lilies gathering around her. When she spread her hands, a circle appeared, apparently cut out of the air. Through it, I could see the lawn at Tamed Lightning, complete with picnic tables and frothy white lace-o’-dreams growing in the grass where you would normally expect to find mortal clover.

“Thank Oberon,” I muttered. “Come on. You, too, Chelsea. There are some people here you should meet, and we can call your mother and let her know that you’re okay.” And I could go out to the car while she was still calm, and get some of Walther’s power-dampening solution before she could jump away again.

We’d found her. We needed to keep her if we possibly could.

Tybalt was first through the portal, largely because I shoved him. He gave me a look that was half amusement, half aggravated dignity and stepped onto the lawn on the other side. I followed. Once I was through, I turned to beckon to Chelsea.

“Come on,” I said.

“Okay,” she replied, and stepped through. I saw her step through. She entered the glowing circle just as Tybalt and I had.

Unlike the two of us, she didn’t emerge out the other side.

The portal remained open for a moment, showing the moon-washed fields of Annwn. In that moment, I smelled apples and snowdrops. Then the portal vanished, leaving us looking at the rear of the company’s main building.

“Well,” I said. “That didn’t work.” Riordan has her. Riordan has her again, and I can’t tell Tybalt, because he needs medical care, and he needs it fast…

“No,” said Tybalt. “It did not.” He grimaced. “Loath as I am to distract from the important business of resuming our wild goose chase, might we find some soap and water first? I need to wash these cuts before I run the risk of infection.”

“We’re finding you a first aid kit,” I said firmly, taking his arm. “Come on. I think there’s one in the cafeteria.” If there wasn’t, April would notice our arrival and come to find out what we were doing back. She could tell me where to find some bandages and antiseptic cream.

There are times I wish Faerie had more healers, or that my particular healing talents extended to people other than myself. Since I still can’t stand the sight of blood, I’m basically useless for anything more involved than smearing Neosporin on a scrape and calling it good.

Tybalt wasn’t quite staggering, but he was close. I tried to tighten my grip on his arm without being too obvious about it. He shot me a sharp look. “I am not going to drop dead on the lawn. It would be crass to die without at least saying hello first.”

“Oddly, not that reassured.” I kept pulling him along. “Samson tried to kill us.”

“Yes,” said Tybalt dryly. “I noticed.”

“No, I mean—he really tried to kill us. Both of us. Not just you, which would be forgivable under the Law.” Succession in the Court of Cats is often fatal. As a consequence, the Cait Sidhe are considered exempt from Oberon’s Law as long as they stick to killing each other. A Cait Sidhe killed by another of his or her kind isn’t considered a murder victim so much as, well…bad timing. If Samson had killed me, on the other hand…“Even if the Queen wanted to hand out fiefdoms and cookies, I’m pretty sure Sylvester would insist on something being done.”

“Among others, yes. You have a surprising number of willing noble patrons. Even so, you must understand…Samson allowed you to be brought into the line of fire not because he thought he could get away with it, but because he didn’t care.” Tybalt’s expression turned grave. “The intent was almost certainly to send us both running into the shadows, where our deaths would go unremarked—and my death would be less likely to reverse itself.” Seeing my bewilderment, he explained, “A King or Queen who dies on the Shadow Roads—not after falling off them, but truly on them—remains dead. The magic that restores us can’t find us in the dark.”