On Thursday morning, the druid's raven told Emery to continue waiting for more signs, and she told the raven to tell its master that she was leaving town in four days. When she came home from school that afternoon, Cathbad was sitting on the back deck, thankfully disguised in modern clothing. Emery caught sight of him on a deck chair when she went into the kitchen for a glass of water and had to do a double-take to recognize him; he wore long sweat pants and a hoodie, the hood of which he'd pulled over his matted hair. For a brief moment, she worried some stranger had wandered into her yard, but then she caught sight of the pointed chin and cheeks with which she'd become so familiar, the gray eyes shining as they looked up and saw her, as well.

Emery moved to attention, opening the door, hoping he hadn't caught her staring at him for too long. Tess had said she'd miss Cathbad once this was all over, and Emery, too, had to admit that she'd grown attached to the druid as well.

"What is the meaning of this?" was the first thing he said, jumping from his seat as if he'd been ready to do so for as long as he'd sat there. "How can you leave at such a time? Where is it you'll go?"

"Stop, stop! Come into the house, all right? It's kind of cold out here."

"I am fine. I feel no cold."

"Well I do, so hurry up."

They entered the house and sat at the kitchen counter. Emery shoved a sports drink at Cathbad. "This water is blue, Lady--is it safe?"

"Of course it's safe. Just drink it." Before he could reiterate his questions, she filled him in. "My parents are taking me and Deirdre to Florida, to see my other sister. We're leaving Monday, but we'll be back in two weeks."

Cathbad choked on the drink he'd taken, showering Emery, who tried to remain as stolid as possible. "Two weeks? I know not where Flo-ridda is, but the time is very long. What is the distance?"

"From here?" said Emery, dabbing her face with a nearby hand towel. "Well, we're flying, but by car, it'd be at least twenty-four hours."

"One could not walk there?"

"Definitely not. It'd take you months to walk there from here."

"In that case, we'd have to remain. None of us can travel so far from the point through which we arrived."

"Does that mean Evil can't follow me to the beach?"

Cathbad lowered his head. "No, I do not believe he could follow you that distance."

"That's good, then! I'll be safe, right? You won't have to worry about me." She paused, noted his drooping body language. "Cat, what is it? That's good, right? You guys won't have to try to protect me."

"The Red Branch cannot remain here for much longer, Emery. We cannot wait for your return and will not be here when you get back." He played with the plastic wrap around his drink.

Emery was confused. "You've never said anything about a time limit." Guilty hope glimmered in her.

"I do not know if there is a set time on your curse; however, I have sensed that the longer we who are not from here stay here, the weaker we become. I fear . . . I fear that if I keep the warriors in this place, they will begin to forget who they are and where we are from, as you have. Cearnach--" Cathbad bit his tongue, looked at something distant, then refocused on Emery. "Two days ago, Cearnach walked out of the camp."

"What!?"

"Fear not! Fear not. We--we found him. Please, Emery, sit. All is well. We found him. Or I should say, I found him. He was wandering along one of your long, hard paths, where many horseless chariots rush by at such speeds . . . Fortunately, I was able to divine his location before he attempted to cross the path, but when I did, he couldn't recall who I was or who he was, nothing at all. So I returned to the woods and sent him home." Cathbad took a deep breath and sighed it out. "He'd been here too long. Where we are from, suns and moons and light and dark flow continuously, weave a tapestry, whereas here, your days and hours are harsh; they are an unforgiving master, for you record them into blocks and place them on your walls." Emery was at a loss until he pointed to the huge dry-erase calendar hanging on the refrigerator. "Our forms do not respond well to such strictures. I blame myself for not realizing such a thing as forgetfulness would occur. So you see--the others are in danger the longer they stay, and I worry, too, that the magic I've used to bring them through has destabilized the very fabric between our world and this one, so that in all likelihood, they will fall prey to memory loss sooner than Cearnach."

"But what about you? You've been here longer than them--"

"Yes, though not consistently. I come and I go. As well, my endurance for such enchantments is surely greater than theirs, humble men-of-the-earth as they are."

Emery pondered all he'd told her, absent-mindedly kicked at the rungs of her bar stool. "Then when I get back, you'll all be gone?"

"That is likely."

"Will Evil be gone, too?"

"Only if we have vanquished him in your absence."

"And will you? Can you do that for me?"

Cathbad narrowed his eyes at her, clearly trying to follow her thinking. "Who can know? Evil may lie in wait for your return. But, Emery . . . my Lord Cuchulain--"

"Might not ever come back at all, right? Or might take years or months." She stood, unwilling to lie to Cathbad, who'd become her friend. "I have to tell you the truth, Cat. I am not going to go back with you guys. There's no way. Everything and everyone I love is here, whether it's real or not. This is what I know. I won't leave it for a total stranger."

For once, the druid was speechless, and yet his features didn't reveal surprise so much as dismay. It was almost as if he'd known she might say what she'd said and had, perhaps, been praying he was wrong. Now she'd said it, though, and she couldn't take back her words. But he puzzled her when, instead of growing angry or attempting to protest or cajole, he at last said quietly, "I understand, Lady, though I fear it will break him."

Emery had no idea what to reply. She could tell the man was upset, and she didn't like hurting him, but she couldn't alleviate his sadness by promising him anything, and she didn't see any purpose in trying to elaborate on her reasons. If anything, she felt Cathbad had accepted her words too easily. "So, does that mean you'll leave, now? Will you all go back?"

The druid got up from his stool and faced her with as much smile as he could muster. "We shall stay until you make your journey. We've promised to protect you in the face of Evil, and we would never go back on our word." He laughed rather bitterly. "My Lord would eviscerate us for far less."

Wincing, Emery could only wonder at the truth behind that comment, making mental note that if Cathbad had wanted to convince her to go with Cullen, he'd just sealed the deal on her "no." There wasn't much more to say after that; Cathbad was entirely dispirited, and Emery, knowing she was the cause of his depression, felt anything she said would be insensitive. She did truly regret that she was putting the druid in a difficult position; she didn't envy him breaking the news of her refusal to Cullen. If what he said of "his Lord" was true, the man might react violently, maybe even hurt whoever delivered the message. That could very well be the source of Cathbad's distress. But she couldn't let herself feel guilt. None of this had been her doing, and she wasn't going to make her decisions based on someone else's problems.

She opened the back door and let the druid exit before her. He was going to go back to the camp, but he'd seen his raven outside and wanted to speak with it. Emery watched him descend the stairs into the yard, where the gigantic bird was poking around in the crisping grass. Seeing Cathbad crouching by the she-shed drew a bit of emotion out in her; it seemed so long ago that she'd hidden him there, when all this craziness had begun, and yet hardly a few weeks had passed.

Suddenly, Cathbad drew up after a brief discourse with his bird, and Emery saw him look about purposefully, then move to the back of the yard, where the larger trees were. He placed his hands to their trunks, then withdrew and stared at his palms.

"Lady!" he cried, turning swiftly to her. "We must go." He began to approach her.

"Go? Where? Why?"

"To the camp."

"I'm not going anywhere with you. I've already told you."

"I do not wish to take you back," Cathbad said wearily, pleadingly, looking up at her from the bottom step while she stood at the top. "I merely wish to keep you safe."

Emery saw the sincerity in his eyes, heard it in his voice. "Am I not safe here?"

"Not anymore. The signs of Evil are strengthening. I fear he will attack within the next rise and set of the sun. My raven has told me the men are restless, for even they recognize the signs."

The girl frowned. "The plants are wilting . . ." She sighed. "It's just the changing seasons; don't you have seasons where you're from? Summer is moving into fall--"

"Feel the trees, Lady."

Rather than further question him, Emery descended the stairs and went to a couple smaller trees at the side of the yard. Glancing back at Cathbad, she then turned to the trunks and, as he'd asked, placed her hands flat on them. In spite of the chill in the atmosphere, she felt what he'd known she would: the trees were hot to the touch, as if something were heating them from within. She couldn't keep her skin in contact with the bark too long and snatched her hands back, curling her fingers.

"This is not all," Cathbad said when she turned to look at him, concerned. "They are beginning to redden. Observe." He pointed upward into the leaves.

While the grass and ground plants had begun to turn, most trees still held onto their leafy green foliage, so whatever Cathbad was pointing to, Emery couldn't at first see. She had to scoot right up under the trees, peer keenly upward, and after a moment, she noticed what he knew she would: the tips of the branches way above were . . . were glowing. It was difficult to make out at first, but the longer she stared, the more she was certain that yes, the ends of the branches were actually turning a sort of incandescent red, as if they were hot pokers being slowly warmed in a flame.

"I don't know how long the trees have been warming," Cathbad said, drawing up next to her and speaking in a low voice. "I have checked them frequently, and yet perhaps it has escaped my attention that Evil is closer to you, here, than to us at camp. I regret that I did not think of this, or I would have been here daily to examine them."

"Won't it just follow me, then? Out to the camp?"

"Perhaps," the druid noted. "But there are all of us to protect you, there." He gave her a mischievous grin. "If you would rather I bring the men here--"

"No! No. That's fine. I'll go with you. But for how long?"

"At least for the night, perhaps two. I do not doubt Evil will be upon us before long."

"All right. Just . . . just give me a few minutes, ok? You wait here. You can sit in the she-shed if you want, for old times' sake." She tried to give him a smile.

Emery went into her house and out away from the kitchen windows into the living room, where for a moment, she just stood, arms wrapped around herself, and closed her eyes. This was going somewhere she knew, instinctively, would get much worse. Perhaps it was that she'd already dealt with Dark and Death and knew the terror of them both; perhaps it was the uncertainty of what form Evil would ultimately take; or maybe it was that of all three, she knew in her heart that evil of any kind was uglier and more dangerous than darkness and death. She hadn't thought much of Cathbad's browning grass concerns, but the trees . . . that was definitely weird. She'd never seen anything like those red-hot branch tips, and there was something more sinister about them--quietly seething up there against the perfectly peaceful rest of the world--than in even the zombies she'd had to fight.

Catching sight of the wall of family photos, where her mother had displayed about twelve images from a photo shoot the family had done together a few years ago, Emery felt suddenly hollow. There were her parents, mother and father, her two sisters, and herself in all the poses typical of such projects: the three girls on their own, each girl alone with her mother, all the girls with their father, parents alone, sitting, standing, lying on the grass. Smiling faces in each of them, she and Deirdre and Neve, brunettes all, brown eyes sparkling and the park background shining with sun and green and blue. But the longer she looked at those photographs, the more Emery wondered whether she actually knew any of the people in them.

She'd never been particularly close with her mother, not like her other sisters had been. Her father she felt more devotion toward, but that might have been out of fear rather than love; the man was imposing and seemed present only when she was in trouble. Her sisters, though--didn't she love them? The photos said she did . . .

But if everything Cathbad had been trying to tell her was true, these people weren't her family. She was to them what Adam had been to his: an illusion. She was a false piece of this place, and these people were not her parents or her siblings. How was it possible that everything she thought she knew of them was some dream, some fiction written into her thoughts? And if they would so easily forget her when she left, could they ever really have cared about her at all?

The longer she stared, the more foreign the faces before her became. Did she even recall participating in that photo shoot? Come to think of it, she didn't. When had they done that, after all? And whose faces, exactly, laughed out at her from those canvases? They were familiar, and yet . . . this place, those people . . .

They were not hers--she . . . she wasn't right, here.

The moment she had the thought, Emery trembled, recalled her purpose, and hurried upstairs to her room. She threw together a bag of clothes and toiletries with a mind so clouded thunder rumbled distantly within it.

She hadn't really meant what she'd thought, what she'd felt downstairs. This was her family. She'd been a part of them for as long as she knew. And maybe she didn't feel some overpowering love for them when she really thought about it, but they did care for her, right? What sort of parents would whisk her away to Florida for two weeks out of concern, otherwise?

And besides, admitting what she'd just felt was accurate would mean admitting that maybe . . . maybe Cathbad was right, and if he was right, then maybe Cullen--

No. Red-hot-poker trees and a giant, antlered Evil were surely far easier to face.