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	Elayra did her best to focus on the blurry memories that remained of Ghent Madrail. Light blue light surrounded her. A sensation between falling and floating made her stomach flip, her hair drifting lazily around her head as swirls of white spiraled about her. She reached out to touch one of the spirals, her long sleeve a shock of color in the pastel path between worlds, but it coiled away.
	She gasped when whispers akin to those at the tree-wall began, and a pinprick of bright light slowly grew larger in front of her:

[center][i] “A house divided against itself cannot stand.”
“It is not the truth that matters, but victory!”
“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.”
“We are the change that we seek.”[/i][/center]
	The light burst from its small circle, and encompassed her in a blinding flash. She raised an arm to shield her eyes, only to shout as her body tumbled forward. She tried to catch herself, but she hit rough stone with a [i]splash[/i], her arms scraping against the concrete.
	Swiftly, Elayra opened her eyes, jumped to her feet from the puddle she had landed in, and drew her sword and dagger, brandishing them in front of her as she took in her surroundings.
	She stood in an alleyway, a couple of the windows on either side barred. Tall lamps evenly lining the left side illuminated the alley with an unfamiliar light and reflected off wet concrete and pockets of puddles. The fresh scent of a recent rain mingled with the foul, foreign smells of gasoline and exhaust. Seeing no immediate threats, Elayra lowered her weapons and quickly moved from where she stood, not wanting to be flattened by Drust when he came through.
	She spun around to watch for her guardian, her tall boots sloshing in the puddle and the front of her dress soaked. A gentle glowing oval shimmered on the stones of a brick wall covered in graffiti.
	Elayra waited. And waited.
	“Come on, Drust,” Elayra breathed, watching the portal intensely. [i][u]Please[/u] make it through,[/i] she added desperately, holding her breath.
	Another moment passed, Elayra’s grip on her weapons tightening nervously.
	The portal swirled, and, with another flash of brilliant light, Drust tumbled through. Unlike Elayra, he landed neatly on his feet and simultaneously drew his katana. His eyes frantically darted around the alleyway, even glancing toward the gray, cloudy sky.
	Apparently satisfied they were safe, Drust slowly lowered his sword. His gaze fell to Elayra, and a wild grin spread over his face, the color of his eyes making the expression look sinister.
	“It seems we’ve made it.” Drust placed the tip of his katana on the concrete and leaned on the white leather-wrapped hilt.
	Elayra could not help but partially mimic the White Knight’s expression as their feat of world-jumping sunk in. She glanced behind him as the open portal closed into a thin, iridescent line just visible in the gloom.
	Her triumphant smile faded. “We have no idea how big this place is. How are we going to find Ghent?” She looked back to Drust.
	“Do you honestly think I’d drag us here without a plan?”
	“But you [i]do[/i] have a plan, then?”
	“And to think I was worried you trusted me too much,” he said with a hint of sarcasm. The tip of his blade scraped unpleasantly against the concrete as he lifted it.
	Elayra stumbled away and raised her saber as the tip of his katana came dangerously close to her. 
	“Your necklace.” He used the blade to point to the chain draped around her neck, its pendant hidden beneath her collar. “It’s more than a pointless heirloom. There is a magic even the Curse can’t impede; there’s a connection between that gem and the race that helped create it and the Seal.”
	“The--”
	“It’s not important right now!” Drust’s neck twitched. 
	Elayra glared at him, hating not knowing, but nodded.
	“Think on the boy, and once we’re close, it,” he nodded jerkily toward the chain and twisted his sword in emphasis, “will let us know.”
	She sheathed her weapons and pulled the pendant from beneath her shirt. She fingered the ruby-like heart-shaped stone and the bright blue rose at its center. Two metal swords crisscrossed through the heart, one with a gold blade and silver hilt, and the other its inverse. The chain connected at the pummels, one sporting a small sun and the other a crescent moon.
	“Close your eyes,” Drust lowered his blade, “and focus on what you want it to do.”
	Elayra glanced between him and his sword warily. 
	He smirked almost approvingly, then sheathed his katana with a flourish.
	Satisfied she would hear in time to counter if he removed it in a lapse of reason, she took a deep breath, gripped the pendant tighter, and closed her eyes.
	[i]Ghent. I need to find Ghent Madrail. I need [u]you[/u] to find him.[/i]
	Her eyes snapped open when a gentle heat radiated from the pendant and seeped into her palm. She opened her hand, revealing the pendant. It glowed for a short moment, then the light faded, taking with it the warmth.
	“We’re not close enough to him.” Drust reached up with both gloved hands and pulled the hood of his cape free from where his carefully placed pack trapped it against his back. He let it fall over his head, casting his alabaster face in shadow.
	“Then what’re we waiting for?” Elayra strode toward the end of the alleyway, a hand resting on her sword’s handle.
	She stood as close to one of the alley’s buildings as she could, Drust beside her. She glanced down the empty road, taking in the strange streets and sidewalks. It all looked so smooth, so even. Though in slight disrepair, compared to the crumbling structures and cracked, uneven walkways strewn through Wonderland, it was the picture of perfection.
	Elayra glanced over her shoulder at Drust, then stepped out onto the sidewalk, her gaze as cautious as her movements. Not wanting to forget the placement of their way back home, she turned to get a look at the buildings around the alleyway.
	A large window with books and a “Closed” sign on display took up one corner, another sign above the door reading, “Frank’s Book Barn.” On the other side of the alley, a light glowed from the storefront, a blinking purple sign telling any passerby to “Hava Java.”
	Wondering what a “java” was, Elayra turned to head down the street.
	A car roared by wetly. Elayra hissed, and she and Drust drew their weapons as the car passed, one of its taillights blinking a second before it recklessly turned down another street.
	The two shared a glance.
	Here, they would be fish on land, gasping for air and praying they could flop back into the water unscathed.
	“Be prepared for anything,” Drust muttered with another exceptionally forceful spasm that made his neck crack.
	“And always expect the worst,” Elayra finished for him, reluctantly sheathing her weapons.
	Drust placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression steely, then took the lead down the sidewalk and into the depths of the unknown.

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	“This is impossible!” Elayra groaned. Defeated, hungry, and worn both mentally and physically from the trying day, she leaned one of the trees planted decoratively about the well-manicured lawn surrounding what looked like a large wooden training area. The sun had set, leaving only the electric lamps to light the world.
	They had wandered aimlessly through the town for well over an hour. It was bizarre to her, seeing even just the handful of [i]normal[/i] people out after a rain, none armed. None looking over their shoulders for fear something foul lurked nearby. Most of them had taken pause as the two passed, one man brave enough to ask if there was a convention in town.
	She glanced up, hoping to at least see the familiar sight of stars, but the city lights had chased away all but the brightest and most daring.
	“Doesn’t matter.” Drust’s head twitched crossly with his own fatigue and frustration.
	Elayra snorted. “For all we know, he could’ve left town by now! We could be [i]leagues[/i] away!”
	Drust turned to her with a threatening glare. “It. Doesn’t. [i]Matter.[/i]” He stepped closer to her with each word, the black lines in his eyes and on his face throbbing.
	Forgetting the well-pruned tree behind her, her backpack pressed against it, making her scowl. She raised an arm across her chest to keep him at least a foot from her. 
	“We’ll search all night if we have to!” He pressed against her arm, his gaze boring into hers, teetering unnervingly close to a snapping point.
	She snorted a laugh in disagreement. “I’d say you’re mad, but that pretty much goes without saying!” She realized her unthinking mistake the moment the baiting comment left her weary lips. Her face formed a wide-eyed expression that said, ‘Oh, [i]crap.[/I]’ “Drust, I’m sorry! I didn’t--”
	But it was too late.
	The colors of the Curse consumed his pupils, and her apology cut off in a strangled choke as he gripped her throat faster than she could defend. With uncanny strength, he lifted her so her head was level with his, his fingers digging painfully into her neck.
	Elayra desperately tried to inhale, one hand attempting to pry off his vice-like grip, silently rebuking herself for not holding her tongue with him in such an already distressed state.
	“Disrespectful little brat, aren’t you?” Drust cocked his head, a gravely undertone in his now cruel voice.
	Gritting her teeth, Elayra swiftly drew her dagger and swiped it at him, forcing him to release her and hop away. She fell to the ground, coughing and gasping for breath, but wasted no time in straightening and shedding her pack and bow with practiced speed, her stance defensive. 
	“We’re both tired, Drust,” she began cautiously, not daring to look from his vindictive snarl and hoping her tired body would hold up against his Curse-enforced strength. “It’s been a long day. We haven’t traveled that far that fast in, well, ever. We need to get rest. And some food.”
	Drust's head twitched. “Disrespectful [i]and[/i] demanding. Wonder what your mother would think.”
	Elayra exhaled heavily, her mouth slightly agape, his comment taking its desired effect. “How [i]dare[/i] you!” she hissed through her teeth. A burst of adrenaline running through her, she lunged for him.
	He avoided her first attack, then gripped her arm firmly as she readied for a second. 
	She inhaled sharply through her nose as he twisted her arm, her body following the motion to keep it from snapping as he took her dagger from her. 
	He easily drew her back into him, tightly gripping her around the waist with one hand and draping the other across her chest so the sinuous blade of her dagger pressed between her neck and shoulder. 
	She held her breath, teeth clenched and gaze toward the sky as she waited to feel the familiar sting of the blade, but it didn’t come. She looked down as he dropped the dagger and instead fingered the pendant around her neck. The heart had begun to glow.
	Drust hastily released her.
	She spun to face him. His face was hard, but his eyes were as normal as they would get. 
	Movement near the structure caught both their attentions. They moved almost as one so a tree mostly hid them. Elayra leaned heavily against the trunk as they watched a dark-haired boy about her age chase a rather mangy-looking cat to the structure and try to climb the slide to get to it, his back to them.
	“By the Queen!” Drust breathed, his head above hers. “He’s the spitting image of Hatter.”
	“I’ll take your word for it,” she offered tonelessly, absently rubbing the sore spots on her neck.
	He placed a gentle, unsure hand on her shoulder. “Elayra...”
	“I know.” She glanced up to him, his expression conflicted. “Me too.” Her eyebrows rose in a mix of mockery and pity when the boy slipped and landed in a mud puddle. “You’re [i]sure[/i] that’s Hatter’s son?”
	“The evidence points to it.”
	“I’ll be back, then.” With that, Elayra sprinted toward the wooden structure as the boy shouted at the cat.
	Without a word, she leapt over the boy and onto the slide. Taking no time to wonder at the feel of the slide’s material, she bounded up it in a few nimble strides. Though one of her shoes slipped on the wet plastic near the top, she gripped the wooden bar suspended over it, and grabbed the hissing cat by the scruff of his neck with her free hand before he could flee. She quickly looked him over, instinctively checking for any sign it belonged to the Red Queen, but even the cats here showed no such symptoms.
	“I [i]hate[/i] cats,” she grumbled with a scowl, then carefully slid back down the slide, still standing. She jumped from the slide, avoiding the mud puddle, then offered the struggling animal to the boy.
	“Is this beast yours, Ghent Madrail?” she asked, taking a chance at calling him by name.