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“They don’t like magic-wielders?”

“No.” Approaching a tree, Azalea veered left around its trunk.

Truly went right, rejoining her on the other side. “But I’m a magic-wielder.”

“Not one Eblin considers a threat,” Azalea said, skirting a large boulder blocking the trail. “Your magic is drawn from theEcotone. It isn’t divisive. It seeks to heal, instead of divide. The magic you wield is powerful, but it’s also gentle and kind. You have the ability to knit worlds together.”

“And the Electi?”

“War mongers. Selfish and greedy.”

The path widened, then forked, becoming less rough underfoot.

Azalea walked to the right.

Stepping over the gnarled knuckle of a tree root, Truly stripped the elastic band from her hair. Focused on her companion, she raked the strand away from her face, retying her ponytail. “From what I’ve heard, the Electi don’t treat Assentas and Croppers well.”

“They never will,” she said. “Which is why the Mirror Kingdoms always have, and always will, need a Door Master. One who is human, not of this world, able —”

“To be objective and fair?”

“Precisely,” she murmured. “You may not govern here, but you have a voice. A strong one. You determined the health of our world. With theEcotoneopen, Azlandia is breathing again. The air smells sweeter. Things long dormant have begun to grow once more.”

“It’s been less than two days.”

Azalea’s mouth curved. “We move fast around here.”

“The speed of light moves slower,” Truly muttered, throwing her a sidelong look. “About my friends?”

“Dog with a bone.”

“What?”

“Dog with a bone,” Azalea repeated, shaking her head. “You need to let that go, Truly. Your companions are lost to you now.”

Her chest tightened.

“They’re not dead,” she said, refusing to believe it.

Azalea had to be lying. How she knew, Truly wasn’t sure, but with her intuition clanging, she made an educated guess. Weeping Hollow wanted to keep its secrets, and Azalea was here to ensure the spirit who called the forest home got what it wanted.

Truly, however, didn’t care what Weeping Hollow wanted. She needed her friends returned to her — hale and whole. She might not know Westvane well, but Montrose was a different story. Three months of him being a jerk. Three months of squabbling with him on the phone and inside Montrose & Brim. Three months of coming into her own after feeling lost for so long. All of which her grouchy gargoyle-of-an-ex-boss had allowed. In truth, Montrose had encouraged it — and her — every step of the way, cracking through her hard shell to drag her out into the real world. So…

Whether Azalea and the Hollow liked it or not, one thing must be made clear — she wasn’t leaving without Westvane and Montrose in tow.

“You should know something, Azalea,” Truly said, tone even and icy. Allowing fear to lead wouldn’t get her anywhere. Not here, inside a place where a forest spirit ruled. “About Westvane —”

“His kind is not welcome here.”

“I’d understand that if he were an Electi, but —”

“He is,” she said. “He has wings, commands magic and —”

“He’s also half-Assenta,” she said, using instinct as her guide to direct the thrust of her argument.

Azalea stopped walking. Her face paled in the moonlight. “He’s a hybrid?”

“Yes.”