The walls appeared to be solid. While Gabriel was not the one subject to visions—nor even the out-of-body experiences Ricky had with the hound—he was taking nothing at face value. He’d circled the room twice now, methodically searching for a hidden door. That was not merely a desperate and foolish hope, but a very real likelihood, because otherwise, the room had no exit. Which didn’t make sense. There seemed little point in constructing a room without a door. Which was exactly what it looked like, solid walls with no hint of a depression where a door had been plastered over.

He’d tried breaking through the plaster, with both fist and elbow. That had won him nothing more than throbbing pain. Which was vexing, both the pain and the fact he’d been unable to break through. Proper plaster should give under the right amount of pressure.

He considered his options, positioned himself, and drew his foot back for a kick—

The only thing you’re going to break is your foot.

Gabriel grumbled at the sound of Gwynn’s voice.

I couldn’t help earlier. Anything I know, you know.

Gabriel tapped at the plaster, looking for a weak spot.

This isn’t your battle, Gabriel. Your war, yes. Your battle? No. This is hers. You know that.

Yes, he did understand that, because of the simple fact he’d been placed in this damn room. The knight had been moved off the chessboard. Set aside while the real showdown began.

Or, perhaps, not so much a knight as a pawn.

Yes, almost certainly a pawn. Not swept clear of the board but moved to where he could be useful. Useful to the sluagh. A captive pawn.

He kept tapping.

Gwynn’s sigh rippled through his mind. Gabriel ignored it.

You can’t help her. You know that.

More tapping. Was that spot…? No.

Do you trust her, Gabriel?

Absolutely.

Then trust she’ll get you out of here. Trust she’ll win her battle. In the meantime, take this. If nothing else, it might calm you down.

Something slid through him, almost like a warm breeze. Then it was a warm breeze, and he was kneeling on a blanket in a meadow.

No, not him. Gwynn. He realized that as soon as he saw Matilda crouched beside him, taking cheese from a basket, as she laid out a picnic.

They were alone in the meadow, the sun blazing, a soft breeze tickling past, a hummingbird chasing the smell of spring wildflowers.

Matilda set out the last slice. She pulled back, as if to grab something else from the basket, and he reached for some of that cheese, not because he was particularly hungry, but because it would make her laugh. She would laugh and swat his hand and tell him to wait, her eyes dancing—