Big Dan cheered along with the rest of them, but he, at least, knew this wasn’t over. Lairds knew what the queen had wanted with him and his boys, but whatever it was, this had just made it worse. By the time the guard came back with reinforcements, he planned to be long gone from this place. This place? He’d quit the pluiking city itself and make himself scarce for as long as it took for all of this to blow over. Just step off into the between and—

Except then he heard the drums.

They were faint, lying just under the raucous cheers and shouts of the bogans seeing old Gathen off in proper style. But Big Dan could hear them all the same.

He looked around, past the crowd that surrounded him, but there was nothing to see. Only the empty lots and abandoned buildings of the Tombs.

That was when he realized that the drumming came from the between.

He shook his head, realizing what that meant.

For it to be so loud . . .

He had himself a look, peeking through the veil that hid this world from the lands that lay between it and the otherworld, and near shat his pants from what he saw.

“Away!” he cried. “Away!”

Those closest to him heard and looked confused.

“Turn your pluiking eyes into the between!” he shouted.

They did, one after another, the word spreading like a wave through the crowd. And once they’d looked, there was no more talk of brave battle, of showing the pluiking green-brees and court both that they meant business.

The crowd fled to a bogan, scattering in all directions.

Moments later, there was only Gathen’s pyre in that empty lot of weeds and rubble, burning hard and bright as it sent a streak of black smoke trailing high up into the sky.

Honey

It was good now, she thought. Smells were deep here. Pure. Like the inside of a thing, not just what was on the fur. Game was plentiful.

And there were no men.

Up in the mountains, the air was cool under the drooping boughs of the Ponderosa pines. Lower down, here among the cacti and desert shrubs, it got cool at night, but the days were gloriously warm. The view was open and wide, and there were quail and doves to give warning if her own senses should miss the approach of danger—unlikely as that might be.

Motionless under a mesquite tree at the top of a dry wash, the pit bull was invisible, her honey-blonde fur blending in with the washed-out dirt, stones and cross-hatch of branch shadows. She lay with her forepaws stretched out in front of her and watched a small pack of pups playing with each other in the loose sand at the bottom of the wash below.