“Stay here,” he says. With that, he turns and disappears into the Everwoods.

For several seconds, all I hear are my own ragged breaths. My eyes scan the darkness until I see the slumped form of Nero.

I make a small sound, forcing myself up. Every muscle protests.

I told you not to move, Memnon chastises down our bond. He must’ve sensed my pain.

I’m the one who gets to be bossy, I say, dragging myself to my familiar.

I let out a shaky sob when I see the state he’s in. Despite my earlier magic, my panther’s wounds are still open and still sluggishly bleeding. I can sense oily magic churning inside him. Whatever curses they placed on him, they haven’t evaporated away yet.

Memnon! I all but cry out down our bond. Come back. I…I think I’m losing Nero.

“Bind the flesh. Mend what has been torn and broken. Heal the wounds within. Make Nero whole once more.” I incant the spell for the third time since I fell to my familiar’s side, pouring my heart and what’s left of my magic into it. The pale orange plumes of my power sink into his body just as they have the last two times.

His wounds heal for a few moments before my spell gets no further. I want to scream, but the sound keeps getting trapped beneath this knot of fear in my throat.

The forest has gone unnervingly quiet. It’s just me and my helpless grief. I’m losing my familiar, and there’s nothing I can do.

I pet Nero softly, my touch light. “Though the pain exists, you shall no longer feel it,” I whisper.

My panther nudges my hand, his body relaxing just a touch. I begin to sob then, bowing my head over him.

“I’m sorry, so sorry, Nero. I never meant for this to happen.” I should’ve been more cautious with him. It’s easy enough for me to be brave in the face of threats, but my familiar is another matter altogether. He’s a true weakness of mine, and the witches who attacked him know that.

Yasmin knows that. I cry a little harder, even as my vision darkens at the edges and a shiver racks my body.

Memnon’s strong, warm hand falls to my shoulder. “Save your tears, little witch. You are not losing anyone tonight.”

I glance up at him, my heart giving a hopeful stutter, as the sorcerer scoops up an unconscious Nero and settles the big cat over his shoulder.

I’m about to stand when Memnon bends down and scoops me up in his other arm.

“If you think I’m going to let you walk in the state you’re in, you better start revisiting those old memories of ours,” he says, striding into the forest.

I lean my head tiredly on his shoulder, not bothering to fight him or revisit those old memories.

Thank you for coming, I say down our bond. Distantly I’m aware that I must be in bad shape to be, of all things, thanking Memnon.

Memnon’s mood darkens. I got here too late.

Maybe for the battle, I say, but not for me and Nero.

My gaze drifts to my panther’s dark form. At least I hope so.

Will he be okay? I ask. I’m holding my breath, terrified of Memnon’s answer.

The sorcerer glances down at me, his eyes no longer glowing. “Ferox didn’t survive the Roman arena and the many battles on the steppe only to be cut down by a few hasty curses. He has your magic running through his veins, sustaining him when his own body cannot. He will be okay, little witch. I swear it.”

The last of my tension leaves me.

I’m holding you to that, est xsaya, I whisper down our bond.

Memnon stiffens at the title, then tightens his hold on me.

It must be incredibly difficult to carry both me and Nero, but Memnon doesn’t complain and doesn’t slow as he moves through the woods.

I stare into the darkness, wondering about the witches who attacked my familiar. Surely the wards activated at curfew would’ve caught their identities.

For a few seconds, I’m hopeful that the coven might be able to deal with these threats all on its own. But then I remember the persecution tunnels running beneath the campus. I doubt they were warded, and it’s likely the witches who attacked Nero used those to get to the woods unnoticed.

In the distance, a forlorn howl goes up, and I remember all over again how the evening started.

The wolves never came. I thought after I heard those earlier howls that they might. Instead, I had to fend off Nero’s attackers on my own, mere hours after the wolves pledged their loyalty. I don’t know why that wounds me. It really shouldn’t. At the end of the day, I am not a shifter, I am a witch, and no amount of friendship changes that.

Memnon enters Last Rites, Henbane’s cemetery. It still bears a few remnants of our Samhain gathering—a melted candle here and there, a few scattered flowers lovingly left on tombstones, an empty potion vial someone left behind.

The sorcerer moves between the headstones, making his way to a particularly large crypt with the phases of the moon carved into its façade.

“What are we doing here?” I ask.

Memnon gives me a curious look. “I thought you would’ve remembered how we used to travel, est amage.”

“By horse?” I say, confounded.

He gives me a secretive smile. “By ley line.”

The dreaded ley line. I almost forgot.

Memnon steps up to the massive crypt and releases his power, forcing the stone doorway to open. The slab swings inward, scraping against the ground as it goes.

Of course the portal entrance onto a ley line couldn’t be out in the open. Of course we have to go inside a tomb to access it.

While ley lines stretch across the entire world, you can’t open these magical roads just anywhere. There are portals onto them, and almost all these portals are located in sacrosanct places like temples and churches, stone circles and cemeteries.

Memnon moves to enter the crypt.

“Wait,” I caution. “It might be warded.” Then again, it might be too late if Memnon already crossed it once to get here.

“There was a partially disintegrated ward when I arrived,” the sorcerer says, “but I broke what was left of it. There’s nothing else barring our way.”

With that, Memnon carries me and Nero inside. Once we enter, candles light, and they reveal a chamber bare of coffins and urns, bones and plaques. Aside from the candles themselves, there’s nothing in here at all except for a thin column of space that seems to bend the light a little differently. The ley line entrance.

“Have you traveled along one of these in this life?” Memnon asks.

I shake my head against him.

“Then hold on tight.”

I wrap my arms around Memnon’s neck, ignoring the way the movement tugs at my wounds.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I breathe.

With that, he steps through.

I nearly vomit as my surroundings smear together. The tunnel bends and warps the dark forest around us, the outside world rushing past as Memnon walks along the ley line. These magical roads are little wrinkles in reality, areas where space and time don’t follow normal rules. It means you can cross the world—you can even cross into other worlds—in seconds. Unfortunately, you can also get lost on these roads.

Fae are masters at crossing them, humans not so much. I never truly learned how to travel them as Roxilana. Instead, I bargained with the magic of these ley lines, giving it gifts in exchange for its assistance. Memnon, on the other hand, did learn. Eislyn taught him.

I hold on tightly to Memnon, breathing slowly so I don’t retch.

He only takes a handful of steps before exiting the ley line. Our blurred surroundings sharpen into more shadowy forest that looks identical to the Everwoods.

“Where are we?”