I turned to the mirror that I’d come somersaulting out of almost a week ago.

“Nox,” I said. My voice came out angrier than I meant it to. “Nox. I don’t know if you can see me. I don’t know if you’re listening. But I need you.”

There was no answer.

The hunt was already on when I woke up. From the tiny window in my room, I watched the monkeys circling the grounds. There were dozens of them in the air, swooping and diving. I couldn’t help realize that even though winged monkeys are controlled by magic, today they were tethered to long metal chains that fastened in thick collars at their necks and were being held from the ground by the Tin Soldiers, who just stood there looking up at their prisoners like they were flying kites at the beach. I guess with one runaway monkey, they didn’t want to take any chances that their magical power over the monkeys might be slipping.

They were searching for her.

I dressed slowly, feeling achy all over, and took an extra second to look at myself in the mirror. I half hoped that maybe Nox would appear there, but he didn’t. I kissed Star on the nose and tucked her away safely in her drawer. I think she was getting used to it, or at least had stopped trying to scratch her way out of it.

As I exited my room, I tried to inject a little extra pep in my step to make up for the worn-out feeling in my bones. Maybe I could borrow some of Jellia’s PermaSmile.

That reminded me. I had to get her keys back to her. I’d find a way to do it at breakfast. My stomach growled; apparently, starting a fire, overusing magic, and chopping the wings off a monkey made a girl extremely hungry.

Except, there was no breakfast: instead, the maid staff was lined up from one end of the hall to the other, no food in sight.

“What’s going on?” I asked Sindra, the maid next to me, as I joined the line.

“Surprise uniform inspection,” she replied. Sindra blinked her extra-long eyelashes and shrugged. She didn’t seem to have any clue that anything was up. Part of me envied her ignorance.

Jellia marched up and down the line, making sure everyone was in order for the inspection. Her scent was vastly improved; Dorothy must have finally let her take the mouse out of her pocket. She looked sharper than she had in days, but not quite chipper. Jellia knew something was up and it made her nervous.

When she passed me, I saw the tiniest look of alarm flit across her eyes. Her mouth, probably slathered with PermaSmile, didn’t move. My pulse raced as I tried to say calm. Had I missed something? Did I have one of Maude’s feathers stuck in my hair?

Jellia stepped toward me. She licked her thumb, and brusquely rubbed a spot behind my ear. A spot I couldn’t have seen in my mirror.

“Astrid,” she spoke quietly, without venom. “You’ve been slipping in your appearance lately. You’re really going to have to learn to be tidier.”

When she got close, I took the opportunity to slip Jellia’s keys back in her pocket. Her eyebrow arched at me—maybe she felt the tug against her smock—but she didn’t say anything more, just studied my face for a moment longer to make sure I was clean. I breathed a sigh of relief as she turned her back on me and continued her march down the line.

The clomping shuffle of metal against marble approached and then I knew for sure that this was no ordinary uniform inspection. Jellia stepped back and faced us. I felt the other girls tensing up at my side as they began to realize it wouldn’t be Jellia conducting the inspection.

Jellia cleared her throat. “Ladies, the Tin Woodman and his men are going to ask you some questions. Be honest and concise. As long as you tell the truth, no harm will come to you.”

I’d known this might happen, but I hadn’t expected it so quickly. I thought I’d have some time to prepare my story. I steeled myself, willing my heart to slow, willing my face to stay smiling and placid as the Tin Woodman came lurching into the room, all business. Jellia curtsied as he approached. The Tin Woodman didn’t acknowledge the gesture.

The Tin Woodman made quick work of the line, showing each of us a small picture of Maude and asking each of us about her whereabouts last night.

“Well, I don’t know if I recognize the funny little creature!” Sindra said, her turn right before mine. “It’s a monkey! They all look the same to me.”

I wanted to reach over and slap her. Of course, I didn’t. I didn’t even turn my head.

A moment later, the Tin Woodman shoved the picture in my face, and I realized that I didn’t have to lie about whether I recognized her. The drawing of Maude was nothing like the Maude I’d rescued the night before. Her fur was neatly combed, and her wings were folded behind her back. She had a pink bow in her hair and was wearing a little pair of green glasses. The little half smile on her face was knowing and shy at the same time.

I looked up at the Tin Woodman. I studied the seams that held his metal face together.

“I’ve never seen her,” I lied confidently, then tried to copy some of Sindra’s stupidity. “I don’t have any contact with the monkeys. They have lice.”

I remembered what I’d seen of the Tin Woodman in the magic picture in Dorothy’s parlor, mooning over the princess. I knew his weakness. It should’ve been like picturing him in his metal underwear, thinking about him writing bad love poetry to Dorothy in motor oil. At that moment, it didn’t make me feel much better. He lingered in front of me, taking longer than he had with the other girls.

“The last time this monkey was seen, she no longer had her fur,” the Tin Woodman said. “Or her wings. Use your imagination.”