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“A living cage.”

“Awhat?”

“You want to me to explain — right now?” Montrose threw up his hands in frustration. His razor-sharp claws flashed in the glow of scions. “Seriously?”

“Maybe not,” she murmured, staring at her friend.

Walking underneath the cage, she turned full-circle. No door, which meant no key. No rope attached to the top of the living cage, which meant no way to cut him down. From what she could see, the cage grew directly from the branch above it.

“Okay.” Truly pursed her lips. “Well…”

“Get me down,” Montrose said, clawing at the vines.

His fist smashed through the barrier.

Another twisting, wooden bar grew in its place, repairing instantaneously.

Montrose threw another punch.

“Stop it, Rosy. You’ll never get out that way,” she said, following the branch to the trunk. Scion crawled around its base, surrounding the tree beyond the monoliths standing at the edges of the brick patio. “Give me a second to figure it out.”

He growled at her.

Truly ignored him and listened to the forest instead. The scuttle of scions sank beneath the wave of concentration. The woodland hummed. She tapped into the whisper, into the vibration beyond the monoliths, aligning herself with the presence she sensed beyond the clearing. Preternatural heat invaded her veins. Simmering. Bubbling. Burning through her as intuition spiked. Her senses opened. Her focus narrowed and…

There.Right there.The spirit who protected Weeping Hollow — invisible to the naked eye, but perceptible to her — stood beyond the monoliths, watching her, waiting for an introduction.

Using instinct as her guide, Truly hit one knee and bowed her head. Carried by an ancient knowing, words spilled into her mind and, all of a sudden, she knew what to say.

“Spirit of the Hollow,” she said, her tone respectful. “I am Truly, Master of Doors, Protector of theEcotone.”

Light taps traced her temples. A warm drift brushed across the tops of her cheekbones. Perception unlocked, creating a channel inside her mind. A buzzing hum slipped through the fissure. A low voice echoed inside her head as mind-meld took hold.“Welcome, Truly, Master of Doors, Protector of the Ecotone.”

“Ancient one,”she murmured.“I have a request.”

“Ask.”

“Release my friend.”

“No.”

“I need him,”she said.“I need him to do what must be done.”

“You took the other.”

She frowned at the painted bricks underfoot.“Westvane?”

A rasping sound rolled in from edge of the clearing.

Fine hairs stood up on the back of her neck. Keeping head bowed, Truly peeked over her shoulder. In nothing but a blanket and bare feet, Westvane stood five feet behind her. Althoughstandingmight be too optimistic a term. Pale-faced and sweating, he looked ready to fall over. The idiot. He was healing, but still injured. No way should he be running around in the woods.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” she asked softly, struggling to maintain her mental connection with the Hollow.

He swayed on his feet. “Truly, are you —”

“I’m fine. You are not.” She glared at him, worried he really might fall over. How could she want to rip his head off and be concerned about his welfare at the same time? A conundrum. An annoying one that required further investigation but…

Another time. Right now, she had bigger fish to fry.