I leave the dowsing rod with June. Lelia gives me a push that helps me reach the first branch. It takes a few more for me to find a rhythm. Reach, grab, step, breathe. Reach, grab, swing up, breathe. Rush is not the fastest climber, and I can’t wait. I strike out quickly, seizing branches in a sloppy but powerful grip. At first I don’t let myself think anything but up. Fear is one branch behind me, catching up fast.

“Danny!” Rush calls, but she doesn’t say anything about going back down.

I can’t wait. There is no more time to make this happen. The ravens will be gone soon, if they aren’t already.

I grab for the biggest, heartiest branch above me. The one that’s so thick I can scrape my whole body onto it, belly-first. Rush catches up to me, straddling a branch, both hands on a smaller branch above.

“Look out there.” She points away from the body of the tree. We’ve broken through into a layer of the world that most people never see. Needles and branches form a spidery sort of ground below us. Clouds above us, the color of smoky quartz, look touchable.

“Have you ever heard of astral projection?” Rush asks.

“Seriously?” I ask, my voice dropping several stories to the ground.

“Listen to me,” Rush says. “Listen and don’t lose the thread of my voice. I’m going to keep you safe. I’m going to keep your body here so the rest of you can wander. Can you do that?”

As Rush speaks, I imagine walking out on this branch, brushing lightly to the next tree. I think about branches dipping and skimming below my feet, and it’s almost like it’s happening. I test the air, and it’s not solid, but neither am I. This is the dream that little kids have about flying — not a hard rush of wings, but a simple floating.

“Find the ravens,” Rush says. “Find them and come back to me.”

I take a few steps like walking across an old, worn-out mattress. I don’t look down, because there’s no reason to. The world I need is laid out in front of me. There’s a dark smudge in the distance. The birds.

I arch my feet and strain forward. The air around me doesn’t rush and tug as I expect it to. It’s buoyant, with little swirls of motion. But somewhere behind all of this ease, I have a single fear, lurking.

Imogen.

She’s out there, and the closer we get, the more fear hits me, cold droplets running together.

“Find them quickly, Danny,” Rush says, and the rough confidence of her voice is rippled with worry. There is no real boundary between us right now, because our bodies aren’t standing in the way, and her fear floats into me.

Something is wrong.