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bodily inventory that thankfully ended with everything where it should be. He had no wounds, either. Not ones she could see, anyway.
    “It worked!” she crowed, as loud as Peter Pan. “Something I wrote finally turned out the way I wanted it to!”
    “Ye kept me from fadin’ t’ nothin’,” he said. “And fer that, I owe ye my thanks.”
    The kiss wasn’t unexpected, but the moment his lips touched hers, Bertie realized something was still not quite as it should be. Nate’s mouth, the rough linen of his shirt, the solid weight of his chest under her hands … everything was slightly askew, reminding her of an ill-fitted costume. Pulling away from him, she put a hand over the scrimshaw. “You’re still not properly you.”
    “I’m wearin’ yer memories o’ me like a second skin.” He tilted his head to the side, as though testing muscles newly strung. “Ye did well, though I feel a bit taller than before.”
    Now she could see the small differences she’d wrought, the details she’d neglected. Beyond angry with herself for conjuring only the illusion of him, Bertie spat curses upon the ground.
    Nate stepped back, giving her temper a wide berth. “Mrs. Edith would wash yer mouth out wi’ soap, if she could hear ye.”
    “I don’t give a fig for Mrs. Edith right now.” Bertie went to kick something and realized they stood in a tightly focused spotlight. Slowly it expanded to include a tiny circle of stones, streamers of red and orange ribbon snapping to life within. Immense roots crept over the ground, the tangled tresses of a captured dryad. Bark-clad legs and gnarled torsos formed the trunks of ancient trees, their branches reaching through the darkness to form a massive canopy.
    Nate’s breath caught at the sight of the trees. “Do ye know this place?”
    “Yes.”
    The last time I stood in a grove such as this, Ariel had torn all the pages from The Book, the Théâtre was falling down about our ears, and I used the trees to keep the ceiling from crumbling in upon us.
    She’d conjured an exact duplicate of that set, and once again she drew strength from the ancient grove. A few minutes more, the branches might be her own arms, able to protect her and Nate both from time and tide.
    “I want ye t’ promise me somethin’, Bertie.” The softly voiced words drew her attention away from the forest’s foliage.
    She turned to face him, thankful she didn’t have to lie about this. “Nothing happened with Ariel.”
    Nothing too bad, at any rate.
    The stern look he gave her was exactly as she’d remembered.
    Of course I got that bit right.
    “I can’t deal wi’ him as I’d like.” Nate’s right hand reached for a sword she’d forgotten to give him. “Until that changes, I want ye t’ promise me ye won’t go lookin’ for Sedna.”
    “Can’t exactly go looking for her here, can I?” Bertie thought she’d neatly skirted the issue, but that only led to another bit of difficulty.
    “An’ how will ye get back t’ th’ caravan?”
    “You can’t think I’m going back without you.” Not phrased as a question, Bertie’s words came out flat, the edges sharp, a dare to contradict her.
    “Stow yer weapons, lass, ye won’t cut me wi’ that tone.” Nate’s arms encircled her, pulling her against a reassuringly solid chest. “Th’ longer ye tarry, th’ harder it will be t’ get back.”
    “And how do you know that?”
    “Th’ same way I know how t’ find th’ North Star.” Putting a hand over hers, he raised it to gesture at a sky devoid of light. “Ye don’t belong here.”
    “Neither do you!” He was a page torn from her own book, held maddeningly just out of reach in the hand of a goddess.
    “Go.” As though it pained him, Nate released her. The gentle shove that followed put her within inches of the spotlight’s edge. “I’ll keep.”
    “I won’t leave you here—”
    “Ye will!” He pushed her out of the light then, and everything beyond was the same brittle