Zoë studied the tree doubtfully. It was mostly dead, with only one small section of trunk with living branches. The rest of the tree was splintered stubs. One side of the tree had a hole shattered into it and the inside of the tree was hollow.

“It’ll be a tight fit,” Lucien said. “And there’s lots of crawling things. But if you get inside, I can pull away my sanctuary and they probably won’t see or smell you.”

Zoë made a decision. The tree wasn’t much bigger around than she was, but other than that, it was a good plan. “Let’s try it.”

Climbing into the tree was awkward. Her jeans caught on fungus, and something skittered under them, tiny legs moving on her ankle. It was tight around her hips, so tight that she wondered if she’d be trapped half in and half out. Lucien was watching her and her face flushed as she asked,“Uh, if I get stuck, can you kick this tree to pieces?”

“I can,” he said. “Are you stuck?”

Zoë thought about that and decided that if she wiggled and tugged her jeans down over the curve of her hips, she’d be fine. Just a few scratches, and she’d already seen Lucien heal those. She pulled out her phone and hunched her shoulders together, then ducked into the top half of the tree and peered out through a crack in the wood.

She felt ridiculous, like she was in one of those cartoons where the characters put on greenery and pretended to be a forest. And she was out of luck if the werewolves did find her: not quite stuck but certainly not escaping in a hurry. But Lucien was with her, and she’d wanted to do this.

“All right. I’m as hidden as I can be. Pull your magic away.”

Lucien moved so he was directly in her line of sight. “Watch me,” he commanded softly. “When you can no longer see me, make your calls. I will listen. When you’re done, I’ll extend the sanctuary again and help you out.”

Zoë nodded, fixing her gaze on Lucien: the beautiful curve of his jaw and ears and that strange bronze horn rising from his forehead. She stared so hard her eyes began to water. When she went to wipe away the tears, she realized she’d lost track of Lucien in the process. He hadn’t vanished. He’d just faded into the forest while standing still.

Zoë shook her head and turned so her voice would travel toward the thickest part of the tree, then called Kishar. When she didn’t pick up, she promptly dialed Andrea instead. She answered right away.

“Yes?”

“Hi, Andrea. Um, have you been in touch with Kishar about Ainsel?”

“You mean, did Kishar tell me that ingrate ran away? I always knew taking in a foster kid would be a mistake. I’m looking now to see if she stole anything before she went.”

“Uh… what?” Despite the familiar voice, Zoë felt like checking her phone to see if she’d dialed the right number.

“She ran away, right?” demanded Andrea.

“I… don’t think so. We were supposed to meet after school and she was really excited about it…”

“Poor girl. I see she’s duped you—hey!”

Kishar’s voice replaced Andrea’s, sounding strained. “Zoë? Did you find Ainsel in your dead spot?”

“I didn’t, I’m sorry.” Something scratching was invading the small of Zoë’s back.

“All right. Thank you for calling me.” She sighed and had a muffled exchange with Andrea.

“Kishar? I think something’s going on and Ainsel’s been dragged into it.”

“Something’s definitely going on,” muttered Kishar. “I don’t understand why Andrea suddenly hates Ainsel. It’s all wrong. Body-snatchers wrong.”

Zoë remembered how, a year or so ago, most of her and Ainsel’s friends had stopped talking to them. It hadn’t been abrupt. They’d just slowly drifted from hanging out together to making snide little remarks as she and Ainsel walked by. It seemed like the sort of unpleasant thing that just happened in high school. She’d always wondered if it had something to do with Tyler, since he’d moved to town around then and started spending lots of time with them. Then, she’d thought: jealousy.

Now, she thought: Tyler.

Her heart pounding against her ribcage, Zoë said, “Ask her if she’s seen Tyler lately.”

“What? Why? Is that punk involved? I will—”

“Just ask her, Kishar.”

More muffled conversation and then Kishar said, “She has. She’s sure he’s not involved. Of course, she’s also apparently sure that Ainsel has cleaned out our bank accounts and run off to prostitute herself, so I’m not sure I believe anything she says.” She dropped back into muttering again. “Maybe she’s drunk? But she’s usually such a friendly drunk…”

Her heart climbed her throat. “I don’t understand either, but… stay away from Tyler. Don’t… don’t even talk to him.”

Kishar’s voice sharpened. “What’s going on, Zoë?”

“I don’t know. Something unreal. You wouldn’t believe me. Tyler’s a liar, he’s got scary friends—” Zoë realized she was gabbling and stopped herself.

“I’d believe an awful lot right now.” Kishar’s voice was hard.

Zoë dragged in a breath and tasted the particles of moss loosened by her squirming. “We have to meet somewhere.”

“Are you at home? I can come over.”

“No… I don’t think it’s safe. Give me a minute.” Kishar waited while Zoë thought. “All right. You know my star-watching hill, right? Meet me on the east slope in an hour.”

With the dryness that Zoë had always liked about Kishar, she said, “All right, mystery girl. Any suggestions for what I should do with Andrea?”

Zoë bit her lip. “Bring her. I have a friend. Maybe he can help.”

“Great,” said Kishar, and Zoë couldn’t tell if she was sarcastic or not. “I’ll see you then. I hope Ainsel finds you in the meantime.” She hung up.

Zoë wiggled in the hollow tree for a moment. Then she called softly, “I’m done.” Nothing happened, and she wiggled more, turning around to once again peer through the large crack. The dim forest was serene around her. No wolves. No rustling. No insects buzzing. Nothing, not even a unicorn.

Her fingers curled into the edge of the hole. If she sprang forward all at once, she might be able to throw herself out of the tight tree trunk. She’d have scratches all over her hips, but better that than a wolf in the face. And if something had happened to Lucien, she needed a plan for getting out of here. Not just out of the tree trunk or the forest, either. Straight out of town. Because if she didn’t have Lucien, she had no idea how to face the nightmare her town had become. She was just a normal girl, with no ability to face down werewolves or creepy mind control. With Lucien, she had something but otherwise… the best she could hope for was somehow convincing the army to get involved. And fat chance of that. She wasn’t the kind of girl armies followed, either.

Her frustration and panic increasing, she started prying at the cracked tree with her fingers, trying to enlarge the hole. At first she didn’t realize her prying had become pounding, not until her hand started hurting. Then she froze, trying desperately to tell if she’d attracted attention. More attention, because surely there was already something out there in that eerie silence, watching her.

There was a thud on her left side, and then Lucien’s head poked into her line of sight. “I have you.”

Zoë jerked and slammed her head into the inside of the tree while Lucien continued speaking. “I’m sorry it takes so long to move the edges of the sanctuary. You were afraid.”

“I feel like I have plenty of reasons to be afraid, thank you very much,” said Zoë and started climbing out of the hollow. When she was done, she looked down at herself. Her arms and hips and stomach and shins were all a mass of tiny abrasions and scratches. Her jeans were okay, but her top was completely ruined. There was more blood than she expected, too, especially trickling down her back.

Lucien bumped her chest with his nose, then exhaled gently on her left hip. His warm breath tickled. When his horn slid over her skin, the warmth intensified. He nuzzled his way around to her back, brushed his horn over another wound, and her legs went wobbly.

She grabbed at his pale shoulder as he continued to investigate her scrapes. That horn was so heavy and sharp, and he was so large and strong, but every time he touched her, it was as light and gentle as a feather’s caress. It was impossible not to think about how amazing he was, and how dreamlike it felt when she was this close to him.

He lifted his head and stepped back, remaining just close enough for her to use him for support. “Do you feel better?”

Fuzzily, Zoë thought, Trick question. Cautiously she offered, “I don’t hurt anymore.”

Lucien flicked his ears. “I’m glad. Why did you tell your friends you’d meet them at the hill in an hour?”

Zoë tried for the casual answer. “Because we’re going to meet them at the hill in an hour. It’s pretty close, after all.”

Those beautiful ears went back. “Zoë, I can’t move my sanctuary that far. Not in an hour. Maybe not in a day.”

“Why not?”

“They’re slow, and I have to maintain it with a detailed picture in my mind. Sanctuaries are meant to be small, personal spaces that a creature knows very well. They’re not meant to cover entire forests—” He stopped abruptly, his eyes widening. “Oh.”

“What? What did you just think of?”

He shifted from one side to the other. “There’s somebody… a figure of legend, really… who lives in a mountain wood. It’s said he knows everybody who climbs his mountain, and I always wondered how that could be…”

“So it can be done,” said Zoë cheerfully. “And this isn’t even a mountain, it’s just a little hill. Just one side of a little hill.”

Lucien pawed the ground. “He’s had… centuries, I think.”

“So he’s old and slow.” Zoë gave him an encouraging smile.

He lowered his head, staring at the ground, his ears pricked forward. After a moment of thought, he jerked his head back up. “I’ll do it.”