Katie stepped over to her, and leaned to whisper softly in her ear. Wander’s eyes shut. She let out a little sigh.

“Ah. I think . . . I think that name sounds familiar. Like a dream I once had. Thank you,” she said.

“We still need to go back to the Library and return the ink and quill. And there might be other holes in the Wending we caused, right? We need to—” Eleanor started. A hand settled on her shoulder, and Jack looked down at her with a fond, weary expression.

“Eleanor. There are many tasks left to perform. But I think your part in this Story is over.”

Katie walked over to where her satchel had fallen on the ground, next to the book of Eden Eld. She put the book inside with the ink and quill and settled it over her shoulder. “I’ll make sure that these get back to the Library,” she said.

“If you will bring me with you, my thread may help to mend any lingering tears,” Wander said. “And I would like to walk the worlds a little longer, I think.”

“Of course,” Katie said. “Now. It’s time for me to write a new tale for myself. And it’s time for you three to do the same. Goodbye, Eleanor. Otto. Pip. May your paths be smooth and your tales be happy ones.”

She bent and placed a kiss on Eleanor’s brow. It was cold, like the night air, and left a strange but not at all unpleasant sensation. Then she straightened up and turned, a road blooming beneath her feet. She and Wander stepped onto it, and disappeared.

Eleanor let out a breath. She swayed on her feet, and her father wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Wait,” she said. “Where are the hounds? The graveyard dog? We need to—we should—”

“Relax, kid,” the cat-of-ashes said, trotting out of the trees. She had a ragged feather sticking between her teeth and a smug expression on her face. The kitten-of-ashes bounded behind her, fur on end with excitement. “The hounds still belong to Katie. They took off to go find her. They’re not bad dogs, really. Neither is meathead there, once you get past the breath. He was just doing what he was told.” She nodded over her shoulder, and the massive form of the graveyard dog skulked into view, head hanging low.

“Sorry about trying to eat you,” he mumbled.

“I take it you aren’t bound to Mr. January anymore?” Otto asked.

The cat’s tail lashed. “Our deal ended the minute you sent him through that door.”

“What about the rattlebird?” Eleanor asked.

“Oh, that guy was awful,” the cat-of-ashes said. She spat the feather out, a rather undignified process. “Tasted awful, too.”

The graveyard dog gave a rolling, bone-quaking laugh.

“Prrow,” the kitten-of-ashes said. “Meow prow mew.” She looked very pleased with herself, preening.