Doug’s scream becomes muffled and distant. In a faint corner of my mind, I feel him hurl himself against the tree’s roots. I strain to hold on as long as I can, only letting go when I reach the fence at the farthest corner of the park. I’ll be hard to track by scent in the rain. Doug doesn’t have the staff with him—he can’t see where I’m going.

I cross the road at Crooms Hill, orienting myself by the street signs as the rain blows sideways. Sleet pelts my face, and the wind is nearly intolerable. It must be late. Every store window is dark, and I have no money for a cab. I don’t know how long I manage to walk before I spot the orange peaks of a flame ahead.

Teeth chattering, I wander toward it. The smoke billowing from the fire in the barrel smells like burning trash, but I’m drawn to the promise of its warmth.

Other smells reach my nose, and I stop short.

Charred wood . . . dead leaves . . . damp hay.

Autumn.

I take a cautious step backward . . . right into him.

The Autumn’s hand snakes around my throat, his gloved fingers digging in. I can’t get any air. I grasp out for a root, but there’s pavement below me and brick walls tower above me on either side of the street.

“Nasty night for a stroll, Spring.” I choke, seeing stars as he pushes aside my hair. “Where’s your transmitter, girl? Or are you one of those free-range Seasons we’ve all been hearing about?”

He shouldn’t be here. Not in this region. Not at this time of year.

He must be a rogue. And if he was on the run because he was loyal to Michael, that doesn’t bode well for me.

I rake my heel down the Autumn’s shin, cutting off his scream when I throw my elbow into his ribs. I scramble out of his grip, but he catches me by the hair and holds me over the edge of the barrel, my face dangerously close to the fire. “I recognize you. You’re the Spring who started the rebellion. Guess you haven’t heard the news. Gaia is gone. No more natural law. No more boundaries. No more regions or territories. Nothing to keep us from taking what we want.” The flame whooshes up with a show of sparks.

“I don’t want your magic or your territory.” My eyes water and I choke on a lungful of smoke. “Let me go.” I reach back for his hand where it’s buried in my hair. This cold weather favors him, but if I can just touch him . . .

The Autumn laughs. “You’re forgetting who holds the power here.”