Ainsel felt the change in the air before she opened her eyes. The air in Artemisia, Washington was heavy and fresh, even in the autumn. It was the air of a land gloriously, defiantly alive.

But she’d fallen through a hole between worlds and the air here was so dry her throat instantly felt parched. She’d landed awkwardly on her head and shoulder, because she hadn’t really expected to go anywhere, except maybe into the blackness that consumed her past. All she’d wanted to do was get away.

She opened her eyes, shifting her weight to take the pressure off her bruised shoulder. She was on a barren, broken plain jagged with rust-colored rocks. The sky was pink: not the pink of bubblegum and prom dresses, but a red that had been defeated by time and cruelty. The sun was low in the sky, with a puffy silver cloud looming large just above it.

The dust and dryness was too much. A coughing spasm wracked Ainsel. She curled up, then sat up as her body tried to overcome the atmosphere of the new world. The coughs shook her body until she thought she was going to vomit up her lungs. But they faded at last, leaving her trembling and bleary-eyed.

She wasn’t the only thing trembling. The ground was shaking gently, small rocks dancing across the ground. Wide-eyed, she flattened herself against the vibrating land until it, too, stopped coughing.

For a long moment, everything was still. Just as she wondered if she’d survive standing up and looking around, somebody fell out of the sky.

They landed beside her with a grunt that transitioned into an enraged growl. Ainsel scrambled away. It was Remy. He’d come after her, and he was angry.

But he hadn’t been prepared for the fall, either. And he too followed up his arrival with a coughing bout.

Ainsel decided to put some distance between the two of them while he was distracted. Light-footed, she darted across the broken landscape. She’d lost her slip-on shoes at some point. The rocky ground wasn’t pleasant underfoot, like sand or grass, but her feet were tough and she moved fast.

As Remy’s coughing faded, the landscape once again started shaking. She staggered, then stilled, dropping down to the ground again. The second tremor filled her with a deep foreboding. It wasn’t right that the world shook like this. It reminded her of a horse twitching its skin to dislodge insects.

She scanned the horizon, looking for any end to the broken plain. It went on apparently endlessly in all directions but one, where tumbled stone suggested a skyline that might be ruins, or even the outskirts of an old city. The only problem was that it was directly on the other side of Remy.

He climbed to his feet. He was even bigger than she remembered, and his form rippled strangely. He was changing, she realized. His expression was twisted and furious. His fists clenched.

Ainsel started running again. Away from the possible city, but it couldn’t be helped. If she got enough of a lead maybe she could circle around. Or maybe there was something in this direction, toward the setting sun. She wouldn’t find out unless she went there.

Remy shouted wordlessly. She risked a look back. He was pursuing her, and he was barely recognizable as human. He wasn’t falling behind, either.

At least he wasn’t catching up. Well, she could run for quite a while. Maybe while she was running she could work out what to do once she stopped.

Something exploded out of the landscape ahead of her. Pulverized rock and dust sprayed everywhere as a monster much, much larger than Remy lifted itself from the ground.

Ainsel stopped so abruptly she lost her balance. Staring in horror, she scrambled sideways, trying to see if there was a way around the monster. It had pinchers and segments and dozens of clawed legs, like a centipede. But it had wings that unfurled as well: vast and demonic. And on its head, right between the insect eyes was a circle of pearly, twisted horns.

The sight sent Ainsel fumbling for blackness again. She didn’t want to be here, she couldn’t face it—

But this time there was no fraying hole in the world to escape through. This time there was nothing except the old sun in the faded red sky, the monstrous demon centipede looming over her and the furred, fanged death coming up behind her.

No! She’d survived this long and she’d keep surviving. She pushed herself to her feet again.

An arm bowled her over as Remy shot past her and leapt on the demon centipede. Even in his monstrous shape, it dwarfed him, but his six inch claws dug into the overlapping chitin segments. As he pulled a section away from the monster’s flesh, it screamed and flailed at him, snapping at him with a double set of pincers around its round mouth.

He snarled, dodged, and smacked one of the pincers so hard it dangled loosely. Then he went back to tearing up the centipede’s body.

Ainsel crouched down and watched. She ought to keep running, but Remy hadn’t attacked her. Maybe he was just fighting the monster before chasing her down—but suddenly he wasn’t the scariest thing around anymore.

She remembered, too, Tyler, and the tension between Tyler and Remy. There was more there to be discovered. She wanted to know what was going on.

The centipede’s circle of pearly horns flashed brightly and Remy staggered, his eyes squeezed shut. His shape flickered sickeningly. He crouched down and then leapt for the creature’s wings: an impossible leap that he nonetheless made. His clawed fingers dug into the webbing between the wing spines and dragged down, but he used his momentum to scramble on the monster’s back.

It dropped to the ground, legs clawing up the ground. It was going to burrow again and Ainsel shouted a warning. Remy ran up the centipede’s back to its head but a wing spine slammed into him, slashing down his body and knocking him off. As he fell, he twisted and caught the pincher he’d damaged before. For a moment he dangled, swinging, while rusty dust clouded around him. Then the centipede contorted and two of the fragile-looking legs grabbed Remy. The circle of horns flashed again and Remy screamed, flailing at thin air as if attacking something only he could see.

The centipede awkwardly threw Remy away from it. He landed like a cat, on all fours and taut as stretched wire. A sound, half whine, half howl, broke from him and he curled in on himself.

Ainsel was more afraid of the centipede than she could ever remember being afraid of anything. It wasn’t just that it was a huge demonic insect monster in an alien world, although that was certainly part of it. It represented something from deep below the darkness in her mind. That flashing crown of horns filled her with terror and shame.

A hero would run between Remy and the monster. But as the centipede shook itself and rubbed its head with its legs, all Ainsel could do was creep over to him with the vague intention of pulling his body away.

He shuddered and rolled over before she could reach him. His eyes opened: slitted, feral, angry. His gaze met her own and she froze. Then he smiled, a panting, nightmarish smile, and pulled the centipede’s pincher out from under him. He’d yanked it off entirely when the centipede pulled him away. It curved, wickedly sharp, with a dripping gland attached to the base.

Remy’s legs curled under him and then he launched himself at the centipede. Silently, he went straight to the centipede’s torso and climbed it once again, bounding with an impossible energy. Ichor spurted, smearing across the carapace. Then Remy once again reached the centipede’s head. He grabbed one of the horns and howled in agony. But instead of letting go, he drove the centipede’s own pincher into the base of the crown.

The centipede contorted in agony, once again flinging Remy away. This time the shudders only got worse after it was free of him. It spasmed, tearing up the ground. The cloud of dust thickened as it tried to descend back to the depths it had emerged from. The ground trembled as the centipede died.

Ainsel swallowed and skittered over to Remy’s prone form. The hand he’d used to grasp the crown of horns was seared shiny and white, while his other arm was visibly broken. His breath was rapid and shallow, and his eyes, while open, were glazed with pain.

He bared his teeth as she knelt beside him. “At least I took it with me,” he rasped. “Keep running, pretty girl.”

Ainsel eyed his injured hands, then put both her hands on his chest and pushed her healing through them, first to sense what was wrong. She could feel all his injuries: broken ribs, the burned arm and the broken arm, a fractured pelvis, a handful of awful gashes—and worse things, too. He had his own healing magic, but it was being overwhelmed by the lethal poison from the centipede’s pincher. And she could feel the madness infecting his mind, too, a savagery she could barely identify or understand.

He twisted at her touch, then stilled. “Good,” she whispered. “Don’t hurt yourself further.” Taking a deep breath, she pushed her own healing power into his body. It spread like white light through his body’s systems, surging against the poison: surging, and falling back again. She pushed harder, and he groaned. But it didn’t matter. Her magic wasn’t enough.

Ainsel’s hands balled into fists. What was the point of having healing magic if she couldn’t save a life? Her healing touch had always been limited, but now, when she really needed it, it seemed absolutely useless.

She remembered the last time that her healing touch had failed her. Tyler had been pulling her along by her hand, and he’d looked back at her and said, “Really? The hand?”

But what else could she do? How could she send her magic into somebody if she didn’t touch them? She ran her hands up his chest to his shoulders and met his unexpectedly clear gaze.

“It’s all right,” Remy croaked. The monstrousness was fading from his form and features as he returned to the boy who’d followed her through school. He twitched the fingers on his broken arm. “Just stay…” he breathed. “Stay until I’m gone, then go back to running.”