“We have to rescue them first. I have to go back,” said Ilyria, taking the map from Astrapi. As she began to roll it up, something caught her eye. She looked closely. At first, she thought it might be a smudge, but the line was clear not smudged. Then she thought it was a tracing, the faint ghost of a line left by the cartographer either when they were making this map or perhaps another with this one carelessly left underneath. Then, she knew. Excited, she scanned the map again. She found the ‘A’ in the top right corner of the map. “You said Benguzi is south, but this shows Benguzi as south-east?” Astrapi tilted his head in his questioning way, “What if this isn’t the real map?” “There is another map?” “Yes,” she said, “underneath this one. Imagine if the person who created the map of the lost cities wanted to keep it hidden, but they also wanted someone to find it.” “That doesn’t make sense,” said Astrapi. “Astrapi,” Ilyria tried not to let h

Ilyria clamped her hand over her mouth, trying not to call out to the man. He sounded so desperate, so afraid, she wanted to let him know he was not alone. But that voice inside her warned her to listen more closely. So, she did. She once more heard the man’s groan. But there was also something else underneath. She held her breath as she listened, trying to picture the silence as something physical, a curtain that only had to be pulled back. The man groaned again, and the whispers grew more excited. It was as if the whispers carried the sound of the man’s voice. That was it! Ilyria was certain the whisperers had replicated the sound and were trying to lure her away from the path she needed to take. Fumbling in the dark, she felt the walls around her. There was the path ahead, from which came the moans and the frightening whispers. And there was the path behind from which she had just come. There had to be an alternative. A path the whisperers did not want her to take.

Ilyria could not bear to look at the smoke billowing from the destroyed air fortress behind them so she stared at Astrapi instead, not even sure if she wanted to hear his response. She felt the pressure of Nicos’ hand on her arm. “Ilyria …” said Nicos. “Leave her,” said Astrapi and Ilyria was startled by what she saw. His face had transformed completely. His lips were thin and tight against his gums, his mouth bared in a snarl, his eyes were narrowed and had darkened to the color of a storm-whipped forest. He looked wild, like a creature not quite human. Not quite human. Later, Ilyria would remember this image of him, holding it in front of her to remind her of what he was and what he was not. Ilyria glanced at Nicos. He seemed neither offended nor surprised. He squeezed her arm before removing his hand. She knew that he was thinking only of Madame Skia. He knew they needed Astrapi’s help though at this moment Ilyria could not think why. “Why

Ilyria woke, gasping and fighting. She fell with a thud onto the hard floor and the pain brought her all the way out of the lost place where she had been. She sat up, rubbing her shoulder which had absorbed most of the force of the fall. Her heart sank as she saw the perfect pale smoothness of the walls around her and realized she was still in Yxat. Still separated from her friends. Behind her was a narrow ledge on which she had been lying. Dirk. He must have put her there but for now, to her relief, she was alone. She struggled to stand then had to sit down again almost immediately as the dizziness threatened to overwhelm her. She had to think. So she was still on Yxat. Would Astrapi have already transported the companions, as well as Nicos and Thassa away? Would he have left her? She recalled her last words to him. She had told him they did not want his help. Nicos had tried to stop her from saying it. She should have listened. Of course they needed his hel

Her nostrils were filled with a rancid odor of decay, her eyes blinded by the dark smoke. Ilyria dug frantically into her pocket, pulling out the Deluvian switchblade and flicking it open. She ripped it through the smoky air, her eyes squeezed shut, she slashed and turned, crying and screaming for her friends, hopeless that the knife would do anything to Zlo’s shifting form. She was shocked when the knife met resistance, but she leaned into it, her scream transforming into a shout of triumph. She had got him! She opened her eyes, even as she held fast to the knife determined it should do as much damage as possible. There was no more smoke though the rancid smell lingered. Dirk stood before her, clutching his belly, his hands on either side of hers. Her palm was fisted against his belly as though she had punched him. Perhaps that was why he looked up at her, confused. He was confused by the pain. The pain that had driven Zlo from his body. She pulled back her