"Believe me, I don't want to hang here, either. Either we get the Disney version of Faerie, with elves and tinkerbell pixies and who knows what sugary cuteness, or we get the wicked witch version, which is considerably more entertaining, but less healthy."

"Even the Summer Court isn't all sweetness and light. Bob, shut up. Which way?"

The skull turned mutely toward what seemed to be the westernmost side of the hill, and we descended down it.

"It's like a park," Thomas commented. "I mean, the grass should be over our knees. Or no, maybe like a good golf course."

"Harry," Michael said, quietly. "I'm getting a bad feeling."

The skin on my neck started to crawl, and I looked back to Michael, nodding. "Bob, which way out?"

Bob nodded ahead, as we rounded a stand of trees. An old, colonial-style covered bridge arched up over a ridiculously deep chasm. "There," Bob said. "That's the border. Where you're wanting isn't too far past that."

In the distance, came the notes of a hunting horn, dark and clear-and the baying of hounds.

"Run for the bridge," I snapped. Thomas sprinted beside me without apparent effort. I glanced at Michael, who had reversed his grip on the sword and held it pommel-first, the blade laying against his forearm as he ran. His face was twisted up in effort and pain, but he kept pace.

"Harry," Bob commented. "If it's all the same, you might want to run a bit faster. There's a hunt coming."

The horn belled again, backed up by the dolmens, and the cries of the pack rang out sharp and clear. Thomas whirled to look, running a few paces backward, before turning again. "I could have sworn they were miles away a moment ago."

"It's the Nevernever," I panted. "Distance, time. It's all fucked up here."

"Wow," Bob commented. "I hadn't realized that they grew hellhounds that big. And look, Harry, it's your godmother! Hi, Lea!"

If Bob had a body, he'd have been jumping up and down and waving his fingers at her. "Don't be so enthusiastic, Bob. If she catches me, I get to join the pack."

Bob's eyelights swung toward me and he gulped. "Oh," he said. "There's been a falling out, then. Or a falling further out, at any rate, since you weren't on such great terms to begin with."

"Something like that," I panted.

"Um. Run," Bob said. "Run faster. You really need to run faster, Harry."

My feet flew over the grass.

Thomas reached the bridge first, his feet thumping out onto it. Michael got there a pace later. With a broken rib and twenty years on me, he still outran me to that damn bridge. I've got to work out more.

"Made it!" I shouted, taking a last long step toward the bridge.