Camille groaned and leaned against a handy boulder. Maybe she should have waited for the husks to accompany her. Maybe she should have yelled. She could have confronted Rowena about their mutual fears, could have listed the ways they could help each other, but her pride had been screaming at her to leave, and so she’d done so, and now she was probably halfway down the mountain, and Rowena had no doubt forgotten her.

  She wished she could summon Sydney with a thought.

  A stab of guilt wandered through her. Only thinking of Sydney at the first sign of danger? She deserved to walk home.

  With a huge sigh, Camille pushed off the rock and wiped her cheeks. What was done was done. At least the path didn’t branch. She only wished it wasn’t carved into the mountain instead of running along the surface. The sides of the paths rose like miniature cliffs, so high she couldn’t see anything but a small stretch of the path ahead and behind before the curve hid the rest.

  Camille started walking again, feet dragging this time. No matter what she should have done or said, she wasn’t going back. Rowena said there was a village in the foothills, so Camille would begin her real journey there. She had a bit of money, and if someone was willing to take her to Kingston, she could get more once she arrived. Or maybe, unlike Rowena, someone in the village would be kind and offer a discount. If they knew Rowena at all, maybe they’d be sympathetic toward someone who wanted to get away from her.

  A rattling sound drew her attention to her right, and a pebble bounced down from above, sending other rocks skittering down the side of the trail.

  She glanced up but saw nothing except a bird high in the sky. She wasn’t an expert on birds, but she didn’t think they dropped rocks on people. Something was moving atop the rock wall.

  Camille paused, listening. When no other sound came, she started walking again, faster this time. Her brain began conjuring all the animals that could be slinking along up there, like wildcats, bears, large lizards. There was an island to the north of Arnvild where lizards grew larger than hounds and had acid-laced saliva, and some of the large cats on the plains of Zania had teeth as long as a person’s hand.

  “Stop it,” Camille muttered. This wasn’t any island, and it certainly wasn’t the plains of Zania. She cursed the fact that being well-read could be a bad thing; she had too many candidates for her imagination to choose from.

  Another pebble skittered, and she heard the rasping sound of a footstep on stone. Seeing nothing, she called, “Who’s there?” hoping for a stray villager or a husk or Rowena herself, someone to yell at.

  No one answered. She started walking backward down the trail, hoping a squirrel or something would appear and make her feel foolish. Foolish was better than dead.

  But her mind ignored that thought and recited unwelcome facts. Some bears and big cats would retreat if faced with aggression. Her heart pounded at the very idea, and a ringing noise began in one ear.

  Other animals would grow bored if a person played dead. Camille barely contained a humorless bark. She couldn’t lie still while an animal sniffed her, nudged her, maybe took a nibble. She shuddered and turned, preparing to run, but the intelligent part of her brain roared from underneath her chattering panic.

  No matter what, never run.

  Camille took a shuddering breath. To run from a predator was to invite a chase. And she wouldn’t be able to outrun anything determined. She began walking backward again, her pace sedate. If something was stalking her, it would eventually grow bored and wander off.

  Or attack.

  A high-pitched noise came softly from her mouth, something between a tiny shriek and a giggle, the many parts of her vying for control, and none of them was happy. Sweat dribbled into her eyes, and she wiped it with the back of a shaking hand. Her eyeballs throbbed in time with her pulse, making the landscape wobble. She trailed her right hand along the outside wall to keep from running into it, but she stumbled over rocks and shards of shale.

  Something dark leaped from one side of the path to the other, a shadowy shape that disappeared over the lip of the wall as quickly as it had appeared.

  Camille froze, her breath hitching painfully. She darted to the other side of the trail and searched the top of the wall. “What was it, what was it?” she whispered. She tried to focus on what she’d seen, but the emotional part of her was screaming in her head, and only fear was keeping her from screaming aloud. The primitive part of her brain said if she didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, the thing stalking her wouldn’t know she was here.

  “Stupid,” she whispered, forcing herself to breathe slower. It knew she was there. “Think.”

  A leaping shadow. No, there had been things to see even though it moved fast. Fur, dark brown, and with a certain shagginess that didn’t put her in mind of a cat.

  A bear? No, wrong shape. “Think harder.” When the creature had leaped, its forelegs had been extended, but there’d been something about them that bothered her.

  They weren’t legs.

  She remembered the bend of the back legs, the definite knees, and those in front, though extended as if to catch the thing, had the look of hands.

  “A…person?” Anger began to seep through the fear. Oh, if this was a person scaring the daylights out of her, she was going to give them a good kicking; she didn’t care who they were.

  But the fur?

  A hermit? “No,” she said softly, walking again. Living in the wilderness didn’t make someone capable of sprouting fur. Was this some other experiment of Rowena’s?

  Oh, if that was so, and she survived this, she was definitely marching back up the mountain and giving Rowena a thorough kicking, that was for certain.

  She picked up speed, debating about whether to make a dash for Rowena’s door or continue on her way down. Whatever was stalking her was between her and the relative safety of Rowena’s domain. Maybe it would be content to scare Camille down the mountain, out of its territory.

  Something peeped over the wall, a flat-featured face sporting fur everywhere but its eyeballs. She couldn’t make out any kind of expression before it was gone again.

  Her rational brain gave her a flash from childhood of many happy afternoons spent with her favorite book, Miss Elspeth Fogerty’s Myths and Tales of Magical Creatures. She’d read the words enough to memorize them, but it was the illustrations that kept her coming back, including one of a mountain-dwelling primate that had disappeared into legend.

  “A yeti?” she said, louder than she meant to. She clapped a hand over her mouth. An old legend living on a witch’s mountain? “How?”

  It had to be Rowena’s doing. Camille continued creeping. Her rational brain reminded her that even if she’d solved the mystery, she still had a lot to fear. Yetis hadn’t been known as the friendliest of creatures, but the facts humanity remembered about them wouldn’t fill a teacup. Terrain: mountains. Personality: aggressive. But Miss Fogerty had spiced up her work with a lovely little story about how one expedition had found a hut made of human bones, the yeti’s hideaway.

  “Stupid Elspeth Fogerty,” Camille said. She hadn’t taken another step when the furred shape dropped to the path with barely a whisper of sound.

  Camille froze, fascinated and terrified and suddenly needing the water closet. The yeti stood upright like a human, but the sheer amount of shaggy, tangled hair made it seem far bulkier than a person could be. The eyes shone like obsidian chips, and the lips parted in a snarl, framing long, sharp canines.

  Camille’s scream burst out, and she scrambled back. When something leaped on top of the yeti from behind, Camille’s scream curdled to a yelp, and she fled down the path, not caring what was happening as long as she no longer had to stare into a collection of killer teeth.

  She heard a cry behind her. A yeti might be better than whatever was brave or foolhardy enough to tackle a yeti. Better not to worry, to shut up her brain and run. And thought soon became lost in the air burning in her chest, the stitch growing in her side, and the flashes of red that streaked across her vision. Dimly, she could hear the warnings of her rational brain. Exertion plus elevation did not mix well. Anything could catch her if she passed out.

  She made herself slow, casting glances over her shoulder but seeing nothing. She tried to jog and watch behind her, resulting in a mad half dance that made her feel as if she was stumbling down the mountain rather than walking. When she heard another sound, she squeaked and picked up the pace again.

  When the giant spider leaped in front of her, she almost didn’t believe it. As tall as her waist, it skittered toward her, and she backpedaled until she ran into something else.

  She screamed as she whirled, trying to keep an eye on both the giant spider and whatever had caught her. This would make an incredible story if she lived to tell it.

  Skinny arms covered in paper-like skin thrust her to the side, and she cried out again as she focused on the face of the thing that had shoved her. It had hollow cheeks with that same parchment skin, sunken white eyes, and hair that had fallen out in clumps, some of it taking flaps of skin and exposing swaths of gray skull.

  Her rational brain almost gave up, no doubt exhausted from continually pulling her back from the edge of madness. It gave one final cry of, “Husk,” and Camille stifled another yelp as the husk moved in front of her, facing down the spider.

  Husks. They had to be there to help her. She didn’t know whether to laugh or weep. When something else grabbed her arm, she thought another shriek might be in order, but her throat hurt, and those streaks of red in her vision had turned to blobs of black; she could feel unconsciousness calling. She spun again, raising a hand. If fear couldn’t keep her awake any longer, maybe anger could.

  Rowena ducked under her swing. She cursed and scowled. “Bloody woman, I’m trying to help you.”

  “What?” Camille turned as the spider made a sharp squeal. The husk grappled with it and had two of its legs in an unarguable grip.

  “Come on. Didn’t you hear me calling you?” Rowena yelled.

  Exhaustion tipped fully into anger, and Camille bared her teeth. “I’m sorry. I was too busy with the spider and the yeti and whatever the fuck else you have on this cursed mountain.” Her abused throat rebelled and collapsed around the last word, cutting off her voice.

  Rowena caught her arm as she staggered. “Here now. It’s all right. Come back inside.” She glanced past Camille and flinched. “Come on now. It’ll be all right.”

  Camille’s anger fled before the soothing tone and the concern in Rowena’s eyes. She let herself be led; she wouldn’t give in to fear again. Anger could retreat—that was fine—but she still had her pride. Whatever happened, she would…not…cry.

  The loss of adrenaline won over pride, and she wrapped an arm around Rowena’s waist and wept into her shoulder. She babbled in a voice that kept fading to a whisper, and Rowena stiffened before murmuring comforting nonsense.

  Before they went far, Camille straightened. “Yeti?” she managed.

  Rowena hesitated before shaking her head, the concerned look still in place; her arm had snaked around Camille’s shoulders. “Taken care of.”

  At the moment, Camille didn’t care how. She gave in to her deluge of emotions and didn’t curse the tears as they came again. It was enough to be safe and heading away from danger while in the arms of someone powerful.

  Her rational brain agreed. She would get answers later, oh yes. And if she didn’t like them, there was always kicking.

  * * *

  Rowena tried to ignore her pounding heart. The taste of the air and the feel of the breeze were almost enough to make her forget that Camille was pressed close, sobbing her eyes out.

  Was it wrong to feel guilty and fortunate at the same time? It had been a long time since anyone had pressed themselves close to her for an extended period. Except Ember, and she didn’t count. Not like this. But why did it have to be in the bloody outdoors?

  When she’d first dug this trench, she worried that it had been a waste of time as she could have built a road on the surface of the mountain. But she didn’t want visitors seeing how far they’d come or be able to see the dangers she’d planted, so the trench seemed like a good idea. Now, it was a further blessing. She could only see a ribbon of sky above her with white clouds scudding across, but it still seemed desperately open, the clouds too high, the space in between threatening to suck her up.

  The world seemed to tilt, and vertigo slashed through her mind, making everything topsy-turvy.

  “What’s wrong?” Camille asked, her voice deeper and breathier from crying and screaming. “Are you hurt? Did the yeti get you?”

  Surprise rallied Rowena for a moment. Trust Camille to know what a yeti was when the rest of the world had probably forgotten. The thought reminded her that the other husk might have had trouble holding the thing back. The yeti could have torn the husk to shreds and be lumbering toward them now.

  “There’s an escape tunnel,” Rowena said through gritted teeth. It had its own dangers, but few compared to the yeti, and if the spiders were up on the surface, maybe they’d abandoned the tunnels below.

  She should have checked on her traps and creatures more often.

  She headed for a smear of dark gray clay that looked as out of place on this mountain as a pickle in a jar of strawberry jam, though no one had ever spotted it. She freed herself and ran her hands along the base of the wall where the clay had been laid over the rock.

  Camille’s fingers dug into her shoulder. “Something’s coming.”

  Rowena took her word for it, unable to hear over the tinny sound in her ears, unable to feel much besides the desire to curl up into a ball. Her breath was coming faster. She closed her eyes and focused, searching for the latch that held the tunnel door closed.

  “It doesn’t sound like a husk,” Camille said.

  No, husks never sounded like anything, just soft footfalls. Rowena couldn’t even listen for that. The thought that she soon might be inside, away from the terrors of a world trying to gobble her up, spurred her to search faster. Camille’s fingers dug in painfully, bringing her much needed anger back. She snarled. She’d evaded knights and bounty hunters and angry, misinformed mobs. She was not going to be beaten by the buggery afternoon air.

  “Rowena.” Camille’s voice was something between a whisper and a squeak. The breeze gusted past, making Rowena’s stomach plummet even before she processed the rank scent of unwashed fur and musk.

  “We have to run,” Camille said, and her touch disappeared.

  Rowena thrust an arm out blindly, grabbing Camille’s dress. She couldn’t open her bile-flooded mouth to explain that she’d almost found the latch. She opened her eyes for one brief moment and saw a shadow turning a corner on the trail above.

  “Let go, let go,” Camille cried. The fabric threatened to slip from Rowena’s grasp, but she tightened her grip. If Camille ran away, she’d have to do so without her skirt; luckily, she halted. Rowena caught the edge of her fingernail on the latch, pulling at it with sharp, immediate pain.

  The yeti charged as Rowena crowed. Camille screamed harshly with her shattered voice.

  Rowena grabbed the latch and yanked. The smear of clay shuddered.

  Then stopped.

  “No.” Rowena straightened and pounded on it. She should have checked. By all that was good and decent, she should have—

  Camille slammed into her. “Come on!” She gripped Rowena as if ready to pull her into a run, but the secret door shuddered under the impact, and Rowena fell forward into the dark passage. She heard a breathless cry as Camille staggered after her, then another little shriek.

  Camille moved, her knee digging in to Rowena’s back, making her cry out. Camille gripped the shoulder of Rowena’s dress—including a handful of hair—and yanked her farther into the passage.

  Rowena cried out again and tried to twist away. “What do you bloody well think—” She turned enough to see that the way out was still open. The yeti kneeled outside, too big to fit, with one long arm frantically pawing inside. If not for Camille, he would have caught them.

  Rowena dug in her bag. She’d memorized all the little pockets years ago. On the inside, third down from the left, she drew out a tiny bottle that held dragonfly wings, popped the cork from the top with her thumb, and blew across it.

  A wing lifted, and its surface shimmered briefly as it caught the light. Rowena tapped into her life force, bringing out just a touch for the easiest of spells. The wing contained the essence of precision movement, and Rowena added her life force into that, letting her move a small object that was too far away to touch if she knew precisely where it was. She wasn’t likely to forget the lever’s location again.

  The yeti yelped as the rock wall rumbled and swung toward it. It shuffled away, its roar cut short as the door slammed shut.

  After a few minutes of doing nothing but breathing, Rowena dipped into her bag again and pulled out a bit of phosphorescent fungus. Its glow had long since extinguished along with its life, but Rowena threaded part of her life force through it, and the glow sprang up again, picking out the rough-hewn walls of the tunnel.

  Walls and ceiling and rocky floor, all spaced so that someone could walk upright but single-file. Rowena let the closeness surround her, comfort her. It was so much safer than the gaping openness outdoors.

  “Where is this?” Camille’s eyes seemed as big as saucers as she stared at where the tunnel continued into lightlessness.

  “It’s a secret tunnel that leads to the proper exit and entrance to the mountain.”

  “The proper exit.” Her voice was calm, almost emotionless.

  “Yes.” Rowena cleared her throat. “I should have mentioned. I just thought that since you’d been looking around… Well, I forgot about the front door, you see. Surely, you’ve done that? Where I grew up in the country, no one used front doors at all. We always used the back, at our own house or at a friend’s or relative’s. My mother used to say that only the bloody tax man used the front door, so…”

  Camille was still staring at nothing. Too many scares had probably overloaded her system, and she hadn’t quite snapped out of it. Rowena went through her spells, searching for something that would help, but although she knew some spells to treat wounds, nothing would aid a person’s mind.