The field below was bordered by a thin footpath and then a long green meadow. Beyond that, a pale road. Alex raced toward it and swept lower, searching. There. A break in a hedge. And there. Tracks. A wrecked car. No sign of life, he thought, then stopped thinking it as the cold weight of that thought caused him to stall and waver dangerously in the air. He righted himself and mapped it out. If they walked in a straight diagonal, they should get to the car before too long.

He climbed again, partly trying to fix the location in his mind, but partly just luxuriating in his sense of flight, soaring and looping above the treetops. Something else caught his attention. Something moving farther along the road, away from the wreck: a gray figure.

With a surge of delight, Alex tore through the air to catch his grandfather. He appeared fine but tired. The old man must have heard him, because he turned. Alex swooped in and raised an arm to wave. The old man lifted his cane in reply, then, just as they were about embrace, dropped his Gladstone, leapt up and thwacked Alex square across the face.

Alex’s mind flashed deep, stinging black. He was sent spinning backward, blind, out of control. He crashed, reeling from shock and pain. Opening his watering eyes, he was bewildered to find himself kneeling at Harry’s feet. His brain was vibrating in his skull. He’d lost all contact with the flier. Harry grabbed his shoulders.

“Alex! You all right?”

“Uh, yeah. I saw my grandad, Harry. He’s okay. But I, uh. I forgot I wasn’t me. Hang on.”

He didn’t know if he could find the flier again. It was too far. The bridge he’d need to build was too long. He put that fear and worry into the effort, and, after a while, there it was, still the same bridge, still there. But he could see nothing but black.

Look, he thought, and sent look across.

Images came, faint, then clearer. Black spikes towered above him, jagged against the sky. Not black, green. He was lying on his back in long grass. Movement. His grandfather’s head appeared above the grass, not far away, moving stealthily, a giant hunting him, cane held ready to pulverize him. Alex sent an urgent up across. The old man swiped as he took flight, but he was already too high.

Alex called the flier back, reeling it in until the thing sat in his palm, wings shivering, amber eyes warm. Head dented.

“Alex, what did you do?” Harry said anxiously. “I don’t think you should—”

“We need to get a message to Grandad,” Alex said, suddenly aware he was breathing heavily. This had taken more out of him than he’d realized. “He’s going the wrong way. Have you got a pen?”