She stepped away from him, hands at her sides and head down. She shook her head. Even though her face was wet with tears, he noted that she looked reasonably calm and not yet desperate to leave the high-hedged closeness of the maze. Likely she had needed to cry about this for a long time. He patted her shoulder in reassurance.

“Is this really helping?” she asked quietly.

He gave her a small smile. “I think I understand what you’re asking. You’re not that afraid of walking the mazes. Perhaps what you need is to find out who’s really responsible for the boy’s death. I think we’re making some progress.”

He took her hand again and led her out of the maze. When they turned the last corner to the entrance, there was the Trickster standing outside, perhaps one meter from the threshold, with his back to them and his face to the labyrinth.

“A friend,” Chance murmured quickly to Miranda as they came out into the full light.

The Trickster turned around.

“Are you sure?” Miranda whispered.

The Trickster looked furious. He ignored Miranda and stared at Chance with a look that was ice, edge, deep contempt, and strangest of all, worry.

“What happened?” Chance demanded.

The Trickster gave an odd grimace. “Well, Chance, why don’t you tell me? You were there.”

“What?” Chance was so startled that his world actually flickered, the light dimming, then flaring, the edges of objects blurring, then reforming their lines with painful precision.

Miranda stepped away from both of them, staring wide-eyed at the scene.

The Trickster advanced on him. “You—were—there! I saw you! I spoke to you! You were in the middle of it!”

“Did I do anything . . . ?” Chance trailed off. Whether it had been his future or his past, he could not remember it, but he remembered an era when he was so full of a weary hatred against humankind that the idea of killing had not been that far from his mind.

The Trickster saw the panicked look and took pity on him. “You weren’t utterly vile, but if I could estimate from what I know of your lovely character and its development, I’d say that you were in the early period of your cerulean phase.”

Chance breathed again. Amazing how the somatic reflexes owned one after a time of being human, even when in a form for which oxygen was irrelevant.

“Well, tell me what happened. Tell me what I did,” he insisted.

With a small shake of the head and a rueful smile, the Trickster raised his hands defensively. “Not me. Besides, there’s no need.” He stood aside and made a mocking flourish. “Time to walk your own labyrinth.”

“Oh, please—” Chance began, but the Trickster cut him off.