It was all completely silent.

Suddenly the room began to vibrate, then shake. Spooked birds left their perches in tight bunches as the ceiling rained bits of plaster. She lost her balance and tumbled onto the grass. It was the same deep rumble she’d heard on the thirtieth floor, except now she was closer to the source. Was the Scourge some kind of stampede? She curled up in the soft grass and covered her ears, trying to remember if there had been any elephants.

A second later the silence returned and she opened her eyes. The tallest man she had ever seen was standing over her. He had messy white hair, pale wrinkly skin, and a scrawny neck that looked a bit too long. He was wearing a drab gray robe that hung loosely from his body and clung to his ankles.

He smiled gently and extended a hand. She ignored the slender fingers, pushed herself to her feet, and backed away from him.

“We’re glad to see you up and about, child,” he said. His eyes radiated a penetrating brilliance that seemed at odds with his soothing voice. “And we apologize about your less-than-warm welcome, but I’m afraid we had no choice.”

“What did you do to us? Where’s Ambrose?”

He took a step toward her and stretched out his hand again. “Come, you can see for yourself.”

She backed away once more. He nodded in understanding and folded his arms across his chest. Behind him, one of the brown furry beasts lumbered past, gave her a passing glance out of big black eyes, then bent to munch grass.

“The unpleasantness you experienced earlier was necessary to remove any implanted tracers.”

Mistletoe remembered the internal pulling sensation and rubbed her chest. “We were bugged?”

“He was bugged, of course. You were not, but we had to be sure.”

She nodded carefully. That explained how the cops had picked up Ambrose’s trail as soon as he hit the subcanopy streets. She wondered if that was why his escape from the UniCorp building had been so easy: Martin Truax had wanted him to run so his men could follow. Ambrose was the bait, but for whom? Jiri and Aunt Dita?

She composed her face into a blank mask and clenched a tight fist at her side. “Who are you? What is this place? Where’s Nelson?”

He furrowed his white eyebrows. “Nelson?”

“My scoot.”

“Ahh, yes. Listen, I know I’ve given you no reason to trust me, but if you’ll just follow, I promise to show you everything.”

Mistletoe bit her lip. She supposed that if he wanted to kill her, he would have done it already, and if he meant her harm, he could have had his chance while she slept. She nodded. “Okay. But don’t hold my hand. Ever.”

He laughed. “Can we perhaps shake just once? My name is Magnus. This place is my home. Your vehicle is intact.”

“No, we can’t. My name’s Mistletoe. Your home is friending weird, and Nelson better be safe.”