The tubes were filled with thick red fluid the consistency of raspberry jam, and much as Christopher wanted to tell himself that it wasn’t blood, it was blood. His capacity for self-delusion had never been terribly high. If it had been, he might have been better at lying to his parents, and his life might have turned out very differently.

Jack had also taken the time to change her shirt, wipe the blood from her face, and put on a fresh pair of gloves. There was still a faintly disheveled air to her. It made Christopher nervous. Jack wasn’t supposed to be disheveled. Jack was supposed to be arrogant, immaculate, and utterly self-assured. She was falling apart more quickly than the rest of them realized—maybe more quickly than she realized. She was doing her best, though. That had to count for something.

It would, if they stood by her and made sure she got her happy ending. Whatever shape it took. “What do we do, Jack?” asked Christopher. “This is your world. Tell us what to do, and we’ll do it.”

“We can’t march on the village at night; that would be suicide, and without Dr. Bleak to harness the lightning, none of us would come back from that, which means no one would be able to fetch Cora and Kade back from the Drowned Gods,” said Jack. “I think Miss West would be quite cross if I got that many of her students killed.”

“If you got any of her students killed,” said Christopher. “Say it with me: Miss West would be pissed if you got any of her students killed.”

Jack waved a hand dismissively. “Death is a temporary setback. We can go to the village at dawn. The Master’s housekeeper, Mary, remembers me from when Jill and I first found our door. I believe she’ll let us into the castle if I ask nicely, and if I promise that she won’t be held responsible for the Master’s actions, should our side win. For now, tonight, I have another destination in mind. We need backup, and we need to recover our friends before something dire happens to them.”

“Define ‘dire,’” said Christopher.