Giants were immortal.

Of course, immortality meant lots of things. He had, for instance, killed a Sidhe—supposedly undying—by putting a silver bullet into his brain. He’d ended others the same way.

Even if a creature couldn’t die on its own, there was always a way to help them along.

Everything had a weakness. For Sidhe, it was iron and silver. One could behead a vampire or pierce their hearts. Demons were vulnerable to magic.

Jack had never asked what would neutralise Salia—it had seemed rude. Therefore, he had no idea if she’d survive being roasted extra-crispy.

The arrows whistled as they flew. They thudded into her chest, each flaring as the fire singed her skin. She yelped.

Flames sprouted on her toga, licking up as it grew. Jack started toward her.

“Again!” Father Joshua’s command boomed through the fields.

Salia clenched her fists, gritting her teeth as her shoulders slumped. She hissed.

Then she dived into the lake.

A tremendous splash echoed as she settled, her back still above the surface. She sighed.

The water rose and undulated, creating a tsunami that rushed out from her landing. Jack gawked. Its shadow darkened his vision, looming over them all.

He tried to run.

It crashed down and claimed him anyway.

***

With its signature sound, the HARDON appeared within a thicket of trees. Lydia staggered out, groaning. Why couldn’t it be made from something more comfortable, like a car or a hot tub?

The others followed her out into a clearing surrounded by trees. These formed a thick canopy, which blocked the sun and left it dim and eerie. It smelled of earth and leaves and mud. The air clung to her skin, here, sweat already forming on her forehead. A pleasant melody brushed against her ears from above—chirping. Birds.

She couldn’t make out much detail, but the light was brighter from one side, so she strode over there. As she approached, she noticed a path. Studying it, she saw thinning trees, then open grassland and rolling hills. Dawn had barely broken, by the look of things.

Already, the air felt lighter. It was still warm, but fresher and less oppressive.

She turned back to her companions, pointing over her shoulder. “I found a way out. Is this the right place?”

“Hmm…” Dr. Wen fiddled with a bulky device, slapping its side. “Well, it appears we’ve arrived at the correct temporal coordinates—”

“Answer my question before you start talking about temporal anything,” said Lydia.

“Sorry, guys,” said Hannah, wiping her lips, “but aren’t we forgetting something important? Like what the hell just happened?” She gestured toward the HARDON. “Is that thing stable?”

Dr. Wen tapped his gadget. “Yes, well, I imagine we hit a temporal—”

“What did I just tell you?” said Lydia.

“No, but it’s required to explain the—”

She glared, her hands on her hips.

He sighed. “Put simply, I don’t think she’s quite a hundred percent yet.”

“Your time machine is a ‘she’ now?” she said, her eyebrows raised.

“Well…” Dr. Wen fingered his chin. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“You suppose?” said Hannah. “Are you assuming your phonebox’s gender?”

“I, ah…” His mouth hung open for a beat. “What?”

“It could be non-binary,” said Lydia.

Hannah strolled back to the HARDON and stroked it. “Or genderfluid.”

“You fools!” said Dr. Wen, pointing at them. “Since the beginning of history, all ships have been women.” He wandered over and patted the HARDON. “This is my timeship, which is a form of ship, ergo woman.”

“But how do you know?” asked Lydia.

“Yeah,” said Hannah, “who decided?”

“Look,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I’m a time-traveller, so trust me on this, okay?”

Hannah crossed her arms. “Isn’t this still your first trip?”

“Ah, well…”

“And how many times has your ship malfunctioned?” Lydia mirrored Hannah’s pose. It felt good to be a team again. “You’re a rather awful excuse for a time-traveller, I must say.”

“Two people have died already,” said Hannah, her tone fierce. “Three if we don’t find Jack and bring him home.”

“Yes, I understand!” Dr. Wen gesticulated. “This is all my fault, so please, let me keep my word and make this right.”

“Go on,” said Lydia.

He studied his device and pointed past Lydia. “Well, it appears that out there should be some hills, and over those is where your friend landed.”

“He’s not actually my friend…” She trailed off when Hannah glowered at her.

“Regardless,” said Dr. Wen, “that would be the place to start looking.” Tilting his head, he held the device sideways before him. “Ah.”

“Ah?” said Hannah.

“Remember when I said ‘correct temporal coordinates’?”

“I remember.”

“Seems there was a small mishap.”

Lydia growled. “How small?”

Looking away, he shrugged. “Three weeks, give or take.”

Hot anger threatened to burst through her veins, her breaths becoming ragged. How incompetent could one man possibly be? How stupid?

“I’ll go and look,” she said, stomping away. When she reached a point of thinner canopy, she ascended through it, taking in a lush vista full of green and flowers. The hills rose tall, blocking her view, so she willed herself further up.

She couldn’t afford any more bumbling. In the future, she’d assumed that having a time machine meant they could pick Jack up five minutes after he landed. Trusting the mad scientist’s invention hadn’t been the greatest idea.

No more playing around—she had to save him. Perhaps she had larger concerns. There was her plan to co-opt the Blackwell family, and the need to make Blackpool see her as their protector. But even if it was only one person, it still meant something.

Besides, how could she appear cool and benevolent without her crazy-shit magnet?

Hannah had been wrong. She took this seriously, and God help anybody who got in her way. She’d have to mend that fence later, it seemed, but for now her top priority was different.

Plus, the more she looked at Dr. Wen, the more she wanted to turn his skull into a snooker ball.

The hills’ peaks came level with her. Almost. She could almost see over them, and then they could pick up his trail.

“Lydia!” Hannah’s cry echoed from beneath. “It’s happening again!”

Her gaze snapping back, she heard the HARDON’s characteristic screech. Oh, hell no.

Twisting her body, she rocketed back toward the phonebox. Green overwhelmed her vision as she crashed through the leaves, branches jabbing her. Once she broke through, she saw the open door and Hannah’s tight expression, beckoning her in. Hannah stuck out her arm.

She sped up. Almost there. Her hand was inches from Hannah’s.

The door slammed shut.

***

Jack rose, coughing, and held his neck. He felt like he’d been tossed into a washing machine. His muscles ached, and forward seemed to actually be sideways, water dripping from every part of him. His clothes felt ten times heavier.

Still, he didn’t think he’d been carried that far. The surroundings were the same, but everything was a bit further away. A few men twitched on the floor nearby.

Salia.

Gathering himself, he sprinted back, mud squelching beneath his feet. On his way, he passed a couple more downed villagers.

Served them right.

He found Salia hugging her knees next to the shore.

“I didn’t mean to,” she said, hiding her face.

“I know,” said Jack. “They were trying to waste us, though, so I reckon you did good.” Wringing his shirt out, he gave a sympathetic smile. “Apart from the bit where you got me too.”

She peeked at him and giggled. “I’m sorry. But you do look really funny all wet.”

He wrung water from his beard. “Shut up.”

“Oh, gag,” said Razor.

Growling inwardly, he thought, And again, what is your problem? Why were you so keen on me saving her if you were just gonna keep being like this?

“When have I ever had a problem with us cutting things? And besides, what would you have done to yourself if you’d failed?”

“Jack!”

He caught Salia’s gaze. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“Wow,” she said, pouting, “you really do get lost in thought a lot, don’t you?”

“I—I guess, yeah.”

“I’m especially fond of your honesty here.”

Shut up!

“Well, there are better times for it.” Salia huffed. “What do you think we should do next?”

He glanced around at the field of stirring villagers. They were scattered, but close enough to regroup quickly. There was no sign of Joshua or the archers.

Safe enough.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Jack, motioning over his shoulder. “Before the Peasant Brigade wakes up.”

She nodded. “Okay. Where?”

“Back to the beanstalk, for now. We can figure out the rest there.”

“I understand,” she said, pushing herself back to her feet. Stretching, she jerked some of the moisture from herself, spraying him.

He grimaced.

“You know,” she said, “this will go much quicker if you let me carry you.”

“No objections,” he said, holding his arms toward her. “Beam me up.”

“For crying out loud.”

She plucked him into her warm grasp. With a sigh, he relaxed.

Tension exploded when she let go. She’d moved him, of course, but the issue was where. Soft flesh pressed into him from all sides, up to his armpits. His cheeks threatened to combust.

“Uh, Salia?” he muttered. “Why am I in your cleavage?”

“It’s the easiest and safest place to carry you,” she said. “Please try not to poke, though—it’s uncomfortable.”

“Oh, you’re uncomfortable?”

Razor cackled.

Clenching his jaw, he shut his eyes. If he couldn’t see it, it wasn’t happening. He could pretend he wasn’t being cradled by a giant’s bosom.

Not into it, by it.

“Do you really need to put the readers through this?”

I didn’t choose to come here!

“You came already? Dirty boy.”

Biting his lip, he allowed his muscles to ease. It wouldn’t end anytime soon. So, all he could do was accept it. Practicality was the only reason, anyway—she probably had no idea what his problem was.

She ran back the way they came, each step like an Olympian's leap. It took a couple hours, but they made the hills, Salia clearing them in one stride.

Immediately starting up the beanstalk, she frowned in concentration. It was like she couldn’t get back up fast enough.

“Damn it,” she said, voice trembling. “I really thought this time would be different.” The sky grew closer.

Jack shook his head. “Nah, I’m sorry. I was wrong. You were better off up top, away from people and their torches and pitchforks.”

“No.” She stopped, removing one hand and leaning aside. This revealed the landscape. Greens and browns and spots of other colours swirled together, creating an eclectic canvas. The falling sun painted the sky orange. Expanding beyond the horizon, trees and fields stood stalwart, buzzing with life. Even the village looked bright.

“You were right,” she said. “It’s so lovely, and this is only part of it.” Resetting herself, she resumed climbing. “Besides, they can’t all be like that, right? You’re not.”

He scratched his beard. “Yeah, right…”

Wait.

The village’s brightness moved. On second look, it wasn’t brightness, but a pale red glow inching toward them.

“Uh,” he said, pointing, “that’s bad.”

Glancing back, her grip loosened. “Are they… coming for us?”

“Go. Climb!”

She nodded, heaving them upward. They made good time, getting further than he’d managed in a week; although she was huge, her speed was ridiculous. What did this woman put on her Weetabix?

Moreover, could he use said Weetabix as a life raft?

“Always the important questions.”

He edged out from her chest, scrabbling up her shoulder to check behind them. Everything below was tiny. The hills looked like pimples, the trees like spots on paper, as though someone had flicked a paintbrush.

The village was no more than an anthill. Below them, the glow had become an insect, almost microscopic.

Poking her face, he said, “Stop.”

She did, furrowing her brow. “What is it?”

Muffled shouting sounded from the bottom.

His stomach jumped into his throat. “We need to get down. Now.”

“Why?” Her speech grew higher and harsher. “We’re already—”

The beanstalk jolted.

He eyed her. “That’s why.”