He had no idea what had just happened. For all his efforts, Geordie’s disappearance had nothing to do with anything he’d done. He’d needed the clear picture in Geordie’s mind and that had never come. But nevertheless, he’d certainly felt that closed world of Jilly’s open long enough to pull the fiddler in, slamming closed before he had the chance to follow himself. They hadn’t found this dog crow named Joe, but now it was no longer necessary. Geordie was with Jilly and . . . and . . .

And nothing, he realized.

So long as Jilly believed in her brother’s authority, he would remain all-powerful. And Geordie wouldn’t be allowed the time to convince her otherwise. As soon as he appeared, the brother would cast him out of the world once more. Or worse.

Timony sighed.

What were the times coming to? Bogans and a green-bree killing a doonie who’d never done them a lick of harm. Buffalo gathering to lay ruin to the world of both fairy and men. A literal world held inside the mind of a young woman.

None of it was right. And there was nothing he could do about any of it. He couldn’t even help Lizzie, and that was a responsibility he was unable to shirk. She might not accept the truth of it, but that still didn’t change the fact that he owed her his life and had no choice in the matter. He had to help her. He couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—give up until he had proof that she was dead, however long that would take. And then he would see that retribution was paid, and paid in full.

But he wasn’t ready to give up hope just yet. If Geordie had gotten through, then the opportunity might arise for him to cross over as well.

He would wait.

Doonies were patient. He could wait forever.

He would keep his senses open to any change in that strange hidden world, but he wouldn’t remain idle.

He sat on the sand and shaped the outline of a dagger with his finger.

“What do you think?” he asked the sand. “Would you care for a change in life? I need weapons, and my, but would you would make a fine blade. Sharp and sleek. So dangerous.”

He moved his hands upon the sand as he spoke, cajoling the sand to take the new shape. When the first blade was done, he began anew, making another.

Doonies had a knack for knife-throwing—something the bogans and their green-bree would have discovered if they hadn’t caught him unawares. If the opportunity arose, Jilly’s brother would not be so fortunate. This time Timony would be prepared and ready. Give him half a chance and the brother would find his chest decorated with the knives this beach was so kindly providing for him.