I have to get to Sophie, she panicked.

But how? Sophie had too much of a head start—

Reaper meowed again, still fixed on the painting, as if whatever answers she was looking for were inside its frame.

What hadn’t she seen?

She put her nose closer to the canvas, her fingers running across the oily surface . . . until they stopped.

The empty anvil from which she’d drawn Excalibur was tucked beneath the canopy of Mr. Deauville’s book shop, far away from the action of the war.

Reaper growled, urging her on.

Of course, Agatha thought.

The School Master had enchanted the sword to hide it in Sader’s painting . . .

Which meant he had to enchant the anvil too.

And if he enchanted the anvil . . . then maybe . . .

Heart rattling, Agatha slowly slid her right hand through the tight, wet surface of the painting until she watched her fingers appear in the painting . . .

She felt the cold, hard metal of the real anvil under her palm.

Her hand wasn’t just inside the painting. Her hand was in Gavaldon.

A portal.

Reaper curled around her leg, ensuring he’d be along for the ride. Agatha smiled down sadly.

“Thanks for helping me, Reap,” she whispered, prying him off. “I’ll be back for you when it’s safe. I promise.”

As her cat whimpered, Agatha grabbed the anvil tighter and pulled herself headfirst into the painting. Her whole body was swallowed into hot, wet darkness, before her face poked through another tight, wet barrier and into cold night air. Still levitating horizontally, Agatha grabbed hold of the anvil with her second hand and yanked the rest of herself through the portal wall, the heel of her last clump popping out before she collapsed onto sooty cobblestones.

When Agatha raised her head, the first thing she saw was hordes of screaming villagers fleeing for cover. Trapped in the stampede, Agatha rolled like a log under Mr. Deauville’s awning, just missing being trampled, before she ducked behind the anvil. Peeking over it, she could see people of Gavaldon cramming into the church, shuttering themselves in shops, and chaining themselves in cottages. Once upon a time, she’d witnessed the same scenes as parents tried to protect their children from the School Master. Now, it wasn’t just the children they were hiding from him.

Agatha rose from behind the anvil, gazing out at the Woods, a half mile away.

It was exactly as she’d seen in Sader’s painting. Flames streaked through the distant trees, illuminating legions of zombie villains as they battled old heroes and students out of the Woods, backing them towards an invisible barrier that separated the forest from Gavaldon. From inside the town, Agatha couldn’t see the enchanted shield the way she’d seen it inside the Woods. She only knew it was there because an ogre slammed a stymph out of nearby trees, sending it whizzing into the shield and ricocheting to the ground, toppling the young rider on its spine.