Take the eyes out, Kaylin told her partner. We’ll hurry. She took a deep breath, prayed that the handle worked and the doorway wasn’t an actual portal, and reached out.

The handle of the door felt solid beneath her hand. She gripped it tightly, felt no magical blowback, and twisted the knob. The door, which should have swung open, dissolved instead; only the doorknob remained. That, and the oddly glowing frame.

“Yes,” Terrano said, although she hadn’t asked. “It’s a portal. Don’t let go of my hand.”

Kaylin nodded as Terrano pulled ahead, almost jerking her off her feet. She closed her eyes, which sometimes helped, and entered portal space.

She suspected, as lunch attempted to escape her stomach, that portals from one place in a building to another didn’t cause nausea because she remained in the same general space. She had very little hope that this portal would be like Hallionne portals, and indeed, it wasn’t.

“Just keep your eyes closed,” Terrano said.

She had tucked her chin, and her shoulders were curling toward what passed for ground. She didn’t need to see, given Terrano’s presence—and attempting to see what existed in portal space, as opposed to outlands space, never made things easier.

She felt the passage as if she were walking through molasses—or worse; the air felt heavy in her lungs, and her chest ached with the effort of drawing breath.

“We’re almost through,” Terrano said gently. He spoiled this act of kindness by adding, “I’d’ve been through to the other side ages ago if I didn’t have to drag you along. You can open your eyes but if you’re going to throw up, give me some warning.”

Kaylin opened her eyes slowly.

If she’d hoped that somehow, beyond the door, there would be actual geography, she was bitterly disappointed; she was standing, by Terrano’s side, in the outlands. Here and there light flickered sharply, as if it were lightning in distant, ground-level storm clouds.

She once again looked at Terrano; he was green, the green less vivid, less repulsive, than the green of the flower in the painting.

“Okay,” she said. “We’re here. We need to find a word.”

“No problem. I’ll follow you.”

That, an oddly familiar voice said, would be a waste of time—and I believe time is of the essence to you.

She turned to look in the direction of the voice, and saw nothing.

Terrano sighed. “I forgot about you.”

Apparently so did Lord Kaylin. As the words continued, they became deeper, the slight whir replaced by a rumble. Had she any doubt about whether or not this was the outlands, she lost it as Spike, invisible at the command of the High Halls, began to unfold.