After breakfast the next morning, we check out of the motel. I pay an extra hundred dollars to take care of the mess the kid created in the bathroom.

Winston eyes the larger, fatter Egon with interest when we retrieve our mounts from the stables. I pat his shoulder reassuringly. God only knows how much larger the beast is going to get with regular meals.

The tanker truck and its security detail are gone from the parking lot. In its place are three battered SUVs, all lined up to fill their cars with precious gasoline.

To my displeasure, the Strikers are leaving at the same time, too. Two of them are mounted on Friesian stallions who are as tall in the shoulder as Winston; the other four are on criosphinxes. While not my first or even tenth choice for a mount, the criosphinxes have an imposing presence despite being shorter than Winston and the Friesians. A heavy ram's head sits atop a lion's body; massive, curling horns adorn each beast's head, the tips capped with steel. Two smaller horns protrude upwards from their brows. Interestingly enough, two of the criosphinxes have vestigial wings, like Egon.

There's variation in color with the beasts: two are golden, one has rosettes like a leopard, and the other is a dark, mahogany brown. Heavy armor covers their bodies, even their faces—although, with horns like that, I wonder why it's even necessary.

Striker Glaris pulls his Friesian next to me but stays out of reach. Wise, wise man.

"Where are you ladies headed?" he asks, yellow demon eyes staring at me from behind his black mask.

"None of your business," I reply, tugging up my veils as the dust begins to swirl. "Let's go, Kayleigh," I tell the girl, pressing a heel into Winston's side. The battle-elk obliges and turns his head towards the on-ramp.

"Nice to meet you!" she calls out, giving the Striker a little wave. "Thanks for dinner!"

"You're welcome ..." he replies, voice fading as Winston takes me away from the waystation.

"You're really not friendly, are you?" Kayleigh asks me as we head up the ramp.

I purse my lips behind the veils. "Nope."

"So, you don't like people, but you like Winston."

I look at her out of the corner of my eye. "Where are you going with this?"

The girl shrugs and smooths a section of her mare's mane with one hand. "That you're not as mean as you make yourself out to be."

God. I sigh and roll my eyes. "Listen, kid, we're not going to end this trip being best friends, okay? I'm just a mean, depressed bitch who wants to get the hell out of this ... hell."

Kayleigh's eyes light up as I unwittingly spill some personal information. "No," I snap, raising a finger. "No more questions. Ever. Got it?"

By the way she shrugs and smiles, I can tell that I've given the kid some unintentional ammunition; right now, she's trying to work out how to crack my armor. Good luck, kid, I think. Get in line behind the four guys who thought that they were going to be "the one" to melt Raine Barlow's cold, dark heart.

Fools, all of them.

Winston snorts and shakes his head, rolling one brown eye back to look at me. "Not you, too," I warn, shaking a finger at the battle-elk. Winston whuffs and turns his attention to the road ahead.

"On a dark, desert highway, cool wind in my hair ..."

Oh, God, the kid is singing.

I should've let the cockatrices kill me.

------------

A few days later, the highway simply ends in a massive crater. Although I'm prepared for the detour due to it being on the map, I'm not prepared for what I see. Having never traveled this far up the coast, I can only stare in open-mouthed wonder at what the Turning created.

A sign off to the right proclaiming how many more miles it is to the Redwood National and State Parks hangs precariously from one corner, several of the letters burnished off. It swings close to the edge of the giant crater. At any moment, it will break free and fall into the black pit.

Some intrepid souls have blocked off the crater with steel barricades and forged a path around it. I'm grateful for the barricades because my charge has decided to draw her mare close to the edge, dismount, and peer over it.

Water from the Big Lagoon on our left cascades into the crater's maw, throwing up a welcome mist. However, it also turns the dust on our clothes to muck.

"How far does it go?" Kayleigh asks as the enfield, now the size of a large tiger, stands on his hind legs and places his avian forepaws on the barrier. Hopefully, this is his final form, because he hasn't changed size in several days—not after polishing off the last of the cow femurs. At the very least, Egon keeps the cockatrices at bay.

Although I've heard the hideous bastards in the distance, they refuse to come close. A right old mongoose versus cobra situation.

I consult the map. The detour will take us deep into the Redwood Forest, which has its own brand of dangers lurking in the massive trees. It's not a trip that I'm looking forward to.

The crater itself is about four miles wide and five miles long. The detour will add an extra eight to ten miles to our journey. Ten miles could take us one day or five, depending on what we find in there: lindworms, questing beasts, and even Bigfoot himself have been reported in the past. Then there are creatures that have no myth or legend attached to them, just poor animals mutated by the Turning: spiders the size of small cars that spin webs twenty feet wide; squirrels as large as dogs and sporting fangs; giant birds that can carry off horses in their talons.

I've heard stories about Hunters who go into the Redwood Forest—those who go in alone have a tendency of not coming out. It appears that the key to survival is going in groups. Well, here I am with a twelve-year-old girl with dubious powers and an enfield who thinks that he's Beethoven the Saint Bernard. I'm pretty much screwed.

But that's not going to stop me from trying. Nothing that the Redwood Forest can throw at me will stop me from finishing the contract and claiming my payment.

I fold the map and put it away. "For several miles in both directions," I tell the kid. "Listen carefully, because I've never been through here before. I need you to pay attention to everything. No daydreaming, no throwing bones for the walking garbage disposal to fetch, got it?"

Kayleigh twists around to stare at me, one hand on Egon's back.

Taking her silence for agreement, I continue, "There are monsters in here that I've never faced, either. If you hear or see something, let me know immediately."

A gust of wind from the waterfalls catches her blue scarf and rips it off her head, revealing her pale, drawn face. Crying out, the girl whips around and reaches up, nearly tipping over the barrier. It happens so fast that I barely have time to react. But the enfield does—he grabs Kayleigh by the back of her shirt, yanking her away. The scarf trails from the tips of her fingers.

Of all the stupid ... ! "Next time," I growl, dismounting and stomping over to them as my heart thumps like a drum in my chest, "let it go. I've got extras."

Kayleigh slowly turns, clutching the scarf in both hands. Her lower lip quivers and her knuckles are white. "I—I'm sorry," she whispers, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

I sigh, ire cooling in the face of her distress. "It's okay," I hear myself saying. "Don't do it again." I'm even more surprised to watch my hand reach out and pat her awkwardly on the shoulder. What's wrong with me?

Egon shakes his head and turns to look over the barrier.

"Come on. We've got to get a move on. I don't want to be caught in the dark unprepared."

Kayleigh jogs after me, Egon at her heels. "What sort of monsters?" she asks. I've been training her on the crossbow in our downtime and the kid isn't a bad shot—when she can keep the weapon level. It's a big instrument, one that would knock back anyone without the proper training.

"Big ones," I reply, holding out my arms as an example. "Now, get back up on your horse."

She swings into the saddle without complaint. Shaking my head, I haul myself onto Winston's back and turn the battle-elk's head towards the road.

In another example of how the Turning has messed with the Earth, Ehtab's duststorm completely bypasses the forest. It gathers together in a tight ribbon, borne aloft by unnatural winds, and snakes its way down the coast. A hundred yards from where we stand, the dust storm inexplicably widens until everything I can see is once again covered in a fine layer.

How long has it been since I was outside without the constant shower of dust? Ten years ago, agents from the Orcus Institute ran our car off the road and took my parents. Having no use for me, they left me on the side of the road—and that's when the dust began to fall.

Still, I'll take the dust over the catalogue of unknown monsters lurking in the redwoods.