Running, I fumbled for my vial of saltwater. I bit through the top and soaked my amulet. It flickered and went out. Ivy’s would turn and stay red. The road was less than a mile. The gatehouse was three. The city was thirty. How long would it take Ivy to get here?

“How fast can you fly, Jenks?” I panted between foot strikes.

“Pretty damn fast, Rache.”

I stuck to the paths until I reached the garden wall. A dog bayed as I climbed over it. Another answered. Shit.

Breathing in time with my strides, I ran over the manicured lawn and into that eerie wood. The sound of the dogs fell behind me. The wall was giving them trouble. They’d have to go around. Maybe I could do this. “Jenks,” I panted as my legs began to protest. “How long have I been running?”

“Five minutes.”

God, help me, I silently pleaded, feeling my legs begin to ache. It felt like twice that.

Jenks flew ahead, pixy dust sifting from him to show me the way. The silent pillars of dark trees loomed and vanished. My feet thumped rhythmically. My lungs ached and my side hurt. If I lived through this, I promised myself I was going to run five miles a day.

The calling of the dogs shifted. Though faint, their voices sang sweeter, truer, promising they’d soon be with me. It struck like a goad. I dug deeper, finding the will to keep to my pace.

I ran, pushing my heavy legs up and down. My hair stuck to my face. Thorns and brambles ripped my clothes and hands. The horns and dogs grew closer. I fixed my gaze on Jenks as he flew before me. A fire started in my lungs, growing to consume my chest. To stop would mean my death.

The stream was an unexpected oasis. I fell into the water and came up gasping. Lungs heaving, I pushed the water from my face so I could breathe. The pounding of my heart tried to outdo the hoarse sound of my breathing. The trees held a frightened hush. I was prey, and everything in the forest was silently watching, glad it wasn’t them.

My breath rasped at the sound of the dogs. They were closer. A horn blew, pulling fear through me. I didn’t know which sound was worse.

“Get up, Rachel!” Jenks urged, glowing like a will-o’-the-wisp. “Go down the stream.”

I scrambled up, lurching into a slogging run in the shallows. The water would slow me down, but it would slow the dogs down, too. It would only be a matter of time before Trent would split the pack to search both sides of the stream. I wasn’t going to get out of this one.

The pitch of the dogs singing faltered. I surged out onto the bank in a panic. They had lost the scent. They were right behind me. Visions of being torn apart by dogs spurred me on though my legs could hardly move. Trent would paint his forehead with my blood. Jonathan would save a lock of my hair in his top dresser drawer. I should have told Trent I hadn’t sent that demon. Would he have believed me? He wouldn’t now.