THE UNDERGROUND PASSAGES WERE cold, dark and wet. Effie sighed as she followed Festus Grimm, holding a candle in one hand, and steadying her book-filled bag with the other. It seemed just typical of her life lately that she would have to escape on foot with all the healers rather than going to the Underworld with the cool mages or flying off on a broomstick with the glamorous witches.

Wasn’t she supposed to be special? And a leader? She hadn’t even managed to talk to Pelham, to apologize for running away from Truelove House. Not that he’d seemed that keen to catch up with her. Maybe he agreed with Rollo and Dr. Wiseacre that she was a galloglass and not to be trusted.

And now the Diberi were planning to kidnap her. Although once they found out she was virtually one of them maybe they’d change their minds. They wanted information about the Great Library, just like everyone else. But what did Effie actually know? Next to nothing. And she’d probably never be able to go there again anyway.

So let them kidnap her. At least then she might be able to take some of them out with her sword—the one that the Trueloves had given her and then said she wasn’t actually allowed to use.

Effie sighed once more. Louder than she intended. Then she realized that she was on her own in the passageway. When she was angry or upset she walked very fast, and it seemed she had overtaken Festus some time ago.

“Slow down,” said Festus to Effie, as he caught up with her. “The others are way behind. What’s wrong with you?”

Effie shrugged. “Life’s not always fair, is it?”

“Ha!” said Festus. “If you’d seen what I’ve seen . . .” He saw Effie’s face and then sighed as well. “No, it’s not always fair. But you’re the great hero traveler, able to go between worlds, even able to visit Dragon’s Green, I hear. I can’t imagine what would be wrong with you.”

“Oh, Festus. I think those days are over,” said Effie.

“Over?”

“Look, can I ask you something?”

“Yes, as long as you walk a tiny bit slower while you’re doing it.”

Effie tried her best to slow down, but it felt wrong, as if all the bits of her life she was running away from were going to catch her, and envelop her and . . .

“Are galloglasses always bad?” she asked Festus.

“What a question!” he said.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

“No, don’t. And don’t be in such a hurry to judge,” said Festus. “I’m glad you asked. No one ever does, you see. I assume you don’t know that I give counseling to young galloglasses before they’re ejected from the Otherworld?”