“I what?” The roaring in his ears had nearly drowned her out. At least he hoped the roaring was in his ears; he half thought he’d changed and given the pressure in his chest a voice. As Charlie seemed neither deaf nor singed, he congratulated himself on his self-control.

“You can go back to the UnderRealm.”

“The UnderRealm?” That was it. He could save her. Them. Save the family. “Not me, all of us. We can all go to the UnderRealm; the whole family.” Relief driving him up onto his feet, he walked to the edge of the roof and blew smoke at the pigeons across the alley.

“Sorry, Jack, but we can’t.” She was standing when he turned. Still wrapped in the quilt. Looking . . . resigned? “Not for any longer than the time between rituals. We’re too tied to the earth.”

“But if I’m a Gale . . .”

“And a dragon. And a sorcerer. You’re unique.”

“So are you.”

“No arguing. But unfortunately, this time, I’m not unique in a way that helps.” Her thumb rubbed across a worn piece of denim, and Jack could feel the charm from across the roof. It was male. He was pretty sure it was the only one on the quilt. It was a simple protection, nothing more than a generic stay safe, and he wondered if her father had made it. During his visit to Ontario, Jack had met Charlie’s mother but not her father, and Charlie never talked about him. Female dragons ate their mates, so Jack hadn’t given his absence much thought. His mother hadn’t eaten his father, but only because the sorcerer had slipped between worlds immediately after. She hadn’t been able to follow until Jack himself had laid out a blood path.

Dragons and Gales were more alike than he’d thought.

“Jack?” She grinned at him, the old Charlie back. “You having an epiphany?”

“Yeah, I guess. How could you tell?”

Her grin broadened. “I can smell the smoke.”

“Crap!” Ears hot, he ground out the bit of burning deck, then crouched to stroke the scorch mark out of the wood. “The Courts have sorcerers,” he said slowly, remembering protections he’d heard his uncles complain about. “Maybe they’d teach me.”

“Could they teach you enough in six months?”

Jack figured Charlie thought she was asking a—what did they call it?—rhetorical question because hope hadn’t returned to her voice. “So put me in the car and drive me back two years,” he said as he straightened. “I’ll catch up.”

“Jack . . .”

He spread his hands, scaled and clawed. “Dragon Prince, remember? I’m essentially immortal. What’s two years? And, since I’m here, I’m obviously not there. Hang on . . .” He didn’t exactly understand how it worked, but he suspected Charlie had no idea either. “. . . if you can take me back two years, then you can take me back . . .”