In our haste, Pickman, on all four paws, lets most of us ride on his back. He carries poor Moggy in his mouth, and the zoog gives an indignant "What are you doing?!" as he dangles there. We run across the silt until we cross another grove.

I wrack my brain for ideas that I know will work, with no risk. Pickman can't carry us all forever. He's already running ragged.

There aren't any. Which means . . .

The whistle.

I slide it out of the pocket it's in. If I use it, it might give our location away. But something tells me, as I hear others coming, that we'll be caught if I do nothing.

I press it to my mouth, and I breathe into it. It makes a sound that almost startles Caramel off my shoulder, a shriek.

When I lower the whistle, Moongirl asks warily, "What did that do?"

"Good question. Hey Caramel, do you think cats will come down the mountain again?" Ahead, we're a long way from mountains.

"Mrah," she says.

"Darn it. Way to crush my hopes."

But when I look up, something does come down. Two somethings, these massive, gray flying creatures. They look like gargoyles at first, but they're slim and bony with long claws and blue tongues that flicker out like a komodo dragon's once they land. Their frilled faces are more like horses, and their eyes are black, wings leathery and webbed. Instead of feathers, they have glimmering gray scales.

Pickman abruptly stops, and we brace ourselves.

"Whoa," I say.

"Are you sure they're friendly?" Moongirl asks.

"Well." I scratch my head. "I don't think Randolph Carter would give me something that'd summon things that'd eat this. Probably."

Moggy chitters worriedly.

Pickman says, voice rumbling in his chest, "They're shantaks." The creatures Carter flew at the end of his journey, and what he used to escape Nyarlathotep.

"Which won't eat us, right?" I ask him.

"The odds are reasonably low," he says.

When we get down off him, we approach the shantaks. Since there are two, we split up. Moongirl and Caramel follow me, and Moggy toddles after Pickman. As we get near the shantak, which stares with a blank gaze, she slips her hand against my palm, and I hold it. Her skin is cold.

Moongirl struggles to get on the shantak. When I feel its side, the scales are weirdly slippery. I keep her from falling, and when she settles on it, she pulls me up. I settle in front of her. Her wedding flower crown is sideways on her head.

When the shantak takes flight, it doesn't announce it, and my stomach turns. Moongirl swerves to the left, but I catch her, and we cling to each other. Her head against my back, my hand clasping one of hers as she puts her arms aroung me. We bend low, and I press my free hand to the shiny basilisk scales of the creature. I try to look behind me. At Moongirl, at the others. Caramel, snug between us, jumps on one of my shoulders, and it's hard to look far back without getting motion sick.

As we fly, the too-big laurel on her head unravels and white petals fly out of her hair. Like an unraveling bandage, letting her breathe. As she gives a laugh, her silver hair flies in the wind. Her hand never leaves mine as we're in the air.

***

We approach the onyx castle of Kadath. The shantaks start to lower themselves in front of the building, as if it's beckoning them.

"Do you think the Great Ones are really here?" Moongirl asks.

"If they are," I say, walking near the double doors, "they're awful quiet."

As if hearing my voice, the onyx doors, whorled like the prison on the moon, creak slowly open.

We explore the many rooms of the castle. Bird cages, pianos, a series of tubes and vials that remind me of Cece. Bedrooms now dusty and cobwebbed.

It's empty, a shell. It feels like an inversion of the Palace of Seventy Delights. I wonder where the Great Ones are if Nyarlathotep dragged them back here.

The halls are wide and arched, but there are no flowers except for some shriveled in old, copper vases. Murals on the wall capture old cities entrapped in ice, flowers with hundreds of petals. Creatures with limbs like fungal tubes. We find a dining hall with plates of pomegranates, but the rinds have been completely stripped of seeds and art starting to blacken.

In one of the rooms, I find a smooth, concave dent in the wall, about the size of my hand. When I reach out, I touch it before I reach the empty spot, like it's actually convex and bulging outwards. Even when my eyes tell me it's not. Like the geometry's all wrong. Or maybe what I know about it is limited. I leave that room, a sour feeling in my belly. When I mention it, no one else notices it, but they agree there's something odd and uncomfortable in the air. Even for the castle where the Great Ones partied in revelry, this is a lonely place.

Here, in this kingdom of the mad, hedonistic Great Ones, I find no one. When a faint tremor vibrates under my feet, I stop. It fades.

Eventually, as we all explore one hall, Moongirl comes with me into one vast bedroom. She holds her arms close to her chest.

"Do you miss your dad?" I ask her. I know that you can miss people who haven't treated you well, feel guilt when you disappoint them.

"If there's anyone I'll miss, it's my baby brother, Zagreus."

I squeeze her hand. "Come on, let's lie down." I know I won't sleep, but it'll be good not to be on my feet.

She looks around the dim room, goes to the vanity and palms a golden hand mirror left on the intricate marble. "I'm unsure. If the Great Ones wander these halls . . ."

Something's not right. They're supposed to be here, with their own thrones. But the only throne room I found, with twelve chairs forming a crescent along the room, is empty.

This far, this close, I wonder if the sunset is real at all. Or if it's a fabled golden story that was never meant to be seen. Or maybe it never existed. But real and fiction aren't the same here.

Moongirl unfurls her hand from mine and presses it against my shoulder, eyes bright. At least we have each other for comfort.

I lie on the violet silk sheets of the king-sized bed, legs dangling on the side as I shut my eyes. I feel Moongirl lie beside me on her back, arm by mine. At first, I seize at the feeling of the mattress dimpling, but the knot in my chest loosens. And we sleep.

I dream. I'm standing in a world of mist and, when I tilt my head right, rainbows. I feel for walls, but there are none.

I'm not alone. When I turn, Moongirl is there, looking around. At first, she doesn't notice I'm there, too. But then her eyes meet mine. I'm relieved. We were napping together, and now we're here.

When I look ahead, I squint, seeing the suggestion of a bridge in all the white, cloudy nothing.

Moongirl gasps when the world around us changes, takes form, and we find ourselves on floral tiles. I look out ahead, heart in my throat.

The sunset city. With it's bubbling fountains and marble towers. With its rose-walls and golden crabapple trees and golden doors. The sun bathes the smooth tiles and parapets in pink.

Beautiful. Perfect. Empty.

"Where is this?" Moongirl breathes. "I've never felt anything like it." Felt, not seen. Because it's true that the colors I see are ones I've seen before; the rush of water is something I've heard before. But it's like my autumn daydreams on old playgrounds.

"This is it." Tears prickle my eyes. "Finally."

Everyone else stares in awe at the rose-gold city.

Here I am in the land of dreams, the Eternal Sunset Girl, waiting for a prince to kiss me, no matter what I want. Except here, there are no golden princes on silver horses. And I don't really feel like a girl.

Now, I'm drifting. Everywhere, nowhere. Things are uncertain, but I try to let myself live in that space without shame.

Moongirl has been staring out into space. Overwhelmed, maybe. I don't disturb her. Her hand is warm in mine. And then her trance breaks. We look at each other.

A glimmer in her eyes. Disbelief. Joy. Relief. And I lean my head on her shoulder. Even as a brave adventurer, it feels good to have support. To not always have to be the strong one.

Back in my old life, not being strong meant being told I deserved being hurt. If I were more confident, I wouldn't be a walking target, the teachers and counselors said. That was before I was even ten years old. And I wanted my chance, that one reason I would stop being abandoned and forgotten.

She leans and brushes a ghost of a kiss against my cheek. I think about making a joke about how warm the place has gotten, but I let it fall. Let us be sincere.

I meet her eyes. "You asked me what some of my foster parents did."

Her eyes brighten in sympathy. "You don't need to say."

"They hurt me in ways that made me doubt my worth. That made me hate my body, hate myself." I pause. "I wish I could say that's gone forever. But it's gotten better. I think I understand myself better now. I hope so."

I think of Ulthar. Lavinia, who was always kind. Cece. Cece, who saw my potential, didn't only look at me with pity or as a way to check "good person" off their checklist. Who brought me into this world of danger and miracles.

We're interrupted by music and footsteps. When we all look, we see a procession of Leng men in golden chitons with yellow laurels in their hair, open pomegranates hanging from their horns. They're holding a glittering palanquin made of colors that shift like water.

Worried, I get close to Moongirl, afraid we've been caught. Drums and flutes weave through the air, a clash of warm and shrill sounds that somehow, as I keep listening, make sense. They tug at my mind. Familiar. But I've never heard music like this.

The Leng men stop and set the carriage down. And from the rainbow curtains emerges a man, his face long and narrow, skin a deep brown. Eyes a strange gold. Flung behind him, a phantasmagorical cloak with colors I don't even recognize, thousands of them glimmering and changing like rotating an opal in the light.

Looming over even Pickman, he regards us all with an arched brow.

Nyarlathotep. The Crawling Chaos. One of the most powerful Outer Gods.

"You don't recognize me, Eileen?" he asks.

I frown, rubbing my forehead. Everything's fuzzy. "No."

Like when the statue changed to an amulet, a light emanates in front of me. Colors splitting and multiplying, like hundreds of different cells. Some I don't even know the names of. A hot ache in my nose, wetness. My nose is bleeding. The air bubbles, reality twitching and swelling.

When the light fades, a new figure stands before.

Wiping the blood off my face, my eyes widen. "Cece?"