That was creepy. He hadn’t told anybody their names.

“Hi.” He didn’t know where to look. “Thanks for seeing us.”

“You’re welcome,” the voice said. “Why have you come here?”

I guess he doesn’t know everything.

“We’d like to ask for your help with something.”

“What would you like me to help you with?”

Showtime. He wondered if the fixer was even human, or some kind of spirit like Warren, or worse. Julia was doing her thousand-yard stare, a million miles away.

“Well, we’ve just come from another world. From Fillory. Which as it turns out is a real place. You probably knew that.” Ahem. Start again. “We didn’t mean to leave—it was kind of an accident—and we want to go back there.”

“I see.” Pause. “And why would I want to help you with that?”

“Maybe I can help you too. Maybe we can help each other.”

“Oh, I doubt that, Quentin.” The voice dropped an octave. “I doubt that very much.”

“Okay.” Quentin looked behind him. “Right, look, where are you?”

He was starting to feel painfully aware of how vulnerable they were. He didn’t have much of an exit strategy. And the fixer shouldn’t have known their names. Maybe Warren had called ahead. That wasn’t a comforting thought.

“I know who you are, Quentin. There are circles in which you are not a very popular man. Some people think you abandoned this world. Your own world.”

“All right. I wouldn’t say abandoned, but okay.”

“And then Fillory abandoned you. Poor little rich king. It doesn’t seem like anyone wants you, Quentin.”

“You can look at it like that if you want. If we can just get back to Fillory everything will be fine. Or at any rate it’s not your problem, is it?”

“I will be the judge of what is and is not my problem.”

The back of Quentin’s neck prickled. He and the fixer weren’t getting off to a roaring start. He weighed the advantages of laying on some basic defensive magic. Prudent, but it might spook the fixer into trying a preemptive strike. He shot Julia a glance, but she was barely following.

“All right. I’m just here to do business.”

“Look in the bowl.”

Looking in the silver bowl at this juncture seemed like a bad idea. Quentin stood up.

“Listen. If you can’t help us, fine. We’ll go. But if you can help us, give us a price. We’ll pay it.”

“Oh, but I don’t have to give you anything at all. I did not invite you here, and I will decide when you can go. Look in the bowl.”

Now there was steel in that high, whispery voice.

“Look in the bowl.”

This was going south fast. It felt all wrong. He took Julia’s arm and pulled her to her feet.

“We’re leaving,” he said. “Now.”