“Well, that’s ominous,” Elliot whispered.

The lights flickered again. The door vibrated in its frame.

It was Ursula who finally moved. She snatched up a small velvet pouch from the desk and swept the charms—Helena’s and all—into it. Then they were following Elliot to the door, which was still propped open by the bat. The night beyond was a sliver of navy beckoning them from the room’s golden warmth, promising safety, but right before Elliot slipped through Adeline wrenched him back. There was a crack and the door slammed shut, slicing the bat in half.

“Shit,” said Elliot.

Ursula pushed open the door. It showed clearly to the other side of the room. The mill was gone. She closed it again and opened it again. Nothing. On the third try she paused.

“It’s…cold?” she said.

Kane grabbed the handle. It was frigid.

The light of the room waned, and a jitter ran up Kane’s arm. Adeline pointed to the bottom of the doors. “Snow,” she whispered, and sure enough a dusting of flakes seeped beneath the door on an icy draft.

“Hide!” hissed Elliot, but already they were stumbling over one another to stuff themselves behind the settee. A second later the door groaned open, and freezing air gushed into the room, kissing the nape of Kane’s neck. Kane watched from beneath the settee, stifling his frantic breaths as a flurry of snow revealed first the legs of a dog, then the dip of a silver chain, and finally human legs in thigh-high boots.

The door closed, shutting out the blizzard and trapping them inside.

Elliot’s eyes glowed gold as he worked up his invisibility magic, but Kane knew he couldn’t hide them all for long.

“I know I say this every time, Ms. Daisy, but that is the last time we visit Saas-Fee,” said Poesy as she unlatched the silver chain. “Next time I decide where we walk.”

Ms. Daisy growled. Kane felt a hand squeezing his calf. Adeline’s. Kane had been right. Ms. Daisy had been on a walk with Poesy this whole time, which meant the dog and the Dreadmare were not one and the same.

“Stop that. You love the loop around Belgrade.”

For the next few minutes they listened to Poesy walk about the room, shuffle things here and there. Tinkering with something. Then, quite calm, Poesy called out, “Would any of you like tea?”

No one moved.

“It’s no trouble, really,” she said. “I’m making some for myself—to warm up—and it’d be rude not to at least offer. I know Mr. Montgomery is inclined to decline, but I’m fairly positive Mr. Levi should like a cup. Ms. Bishop, Ms. Abernathy, one lump or several?”