The hinges indicated the door swung out. Gabriel heaved on it, and then hissed an involuntary gasp of pain.

“Here, let me,” Patrick said, which Gabriel did, but it was clear that whatever gifts a bòcan might possess, extraordinary strength was not one of them.

Gabriel backed up to the hole in the ceiling and circled the perimeter. “You’ll need to get on my shoulders,” Gabriel said.

“Not in the shape you’re in.”

“Shall I climb on yours, then?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just gave an impatient wave beckoning Patrick over. “The only exit is boarded over. Unless you can burrow under concrete, this is the answer.”

Gabriel positioned himself beside the heap of debris, laced his hands, and gritted his teeth. Patrick started to lift his foot. Then he said, “Wait.”

“We don’t have time—”

“Just hold on.”

Patrick closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As he exhaled, his glamour rippled, and Patrick’s true form appeared.

“Yes,” Patrick said. “It’s not quite as conventional as others, so let’s get this over with before anyone sees.”

Patrick’s bòcan form was indeed not conventionally human. Yet given the illustrations Gabriel had seen of hobgoblins, it wasn’t nearly as bizarre as it could have been. The biggest difference was his skin. Which was green. A light green, but definitely that color. His hair was longer, wilder, and also green, a dark shade that appeared black until the light hit it. He was taller than his human height. Slighter of build, too, so lean he seemed all ropy sinew. That was why he’d shifted—it was a lighter form, easily boosted onto Gabriel’s hands and then his shoulders.

Gabriel still felt the weight and winced at it, his battered body not quite up to this feat. But he gritted his teeth, and Patrick gripped the floor above and—

“No,” Gabriel said, backing up so fast that Patrick let out a “Cach!” and grabbed the ceiling edge, hanging there.

“Some warning, please?” Patrick’s glamour snapped back in place as he struggled to heave himself up. “At least give me a boost.”

“Get down. Now.”

“I’m almost—”

“I said get down.”

Patrick glanced at Gabriel’s expression and dropped to the floor. “What’s—?”

Gabriel motioned him to silence. A moment later, footsteps sounded. That hadn’t been what stopped him, though. No sound. No sight. Just a feeling, cold dread seeping through his veins.

They’re coming. The darkness. The unforgiven.

“Probably one of those damned dryads,” Patrick said.

“Helia was hurt.”

“There’s two of them.”

“Alexios won’t leave her if she’s hurt.”

“Unless that so-called injury was planned. This whole thing still smacks of a setup, Gabriel. Helia tried to attack you.”

No, she’d tried to shield him, but Gabriel wasn’t arguing with Patrick. Those footsteps were getting closer, and they sounded nothing like a dryad’s scamper.