Red Coat, perhaps worried that two unarmed men might in fact overpower him, moved his chair closer to the door and threw up a shield spell between them. Then he smirked at Peter through it.
“So. Can’t cast anymore.”
Peter said nothing. What did it matter? What did anything matter?
The wizard sniggered again. “Explains a lot.”
Peter closed his eyes, holding Beatrix tighter.
“Not part of the elite now, so you want to stick it to the rest of us.”
Would Morse kill her as soon as the test was over?
“You’re a loser, Blackwell. A losertypic,though that’s redundant, isn’t it?”
Beside him, Martinelli shifted and put an arm around his shoulders. A quiet, powerful show of support. As Red Coatblathered on, Peter let out a ragged breath and whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“I know. Me too.”
Peter’s eyes itched with tears he refused to let out.
Martinelli leaned closer. “Any bright ideas?”
“No,” he said miserably.
“It’s OK, boss.” A second passed, then another. “Look, you’re still the best friend I’ve ever had.”
The sound that escaped from Peter’s throat was perilously close to a sob. “My God, how bad were yourotherfriends?”
Martinelli twitched with silent laughter.
“Hey!” Red Coat jumped to his feet. “Stop that! No talking! You—to your cot,” he barked at Martinelli. “You”—gesturing at Peter—“move yours to the other side of the room and put her on it.”
They did what he said. Peter’s cot was too small for two, so he carried over a chair and sat beside Beatrix, holding her hand, awaiting their deaths. Time slipped by, more of it than it would take to correct and test the weapon.
Then—abruptly—he opened his eyes and discovered he was in his own bed. He stared at the familiar walls of his room, heart racing, and saw Beatrix sitting up beside him.
“Oh,” he gasped, pulling her close. “I had theworstnightmare you could ever …”
He trailed off. There was no forest papered on the walls, no fairy lights. He looked at the bed. It was the one he’d sold just before their wedding to get the maple specimen.
They were in a bedroom that no longer existed. He could hardly believe what it meant. “Are we—is this?—?”
“I think so,” Beatrix said. Her voice trembled.
He tried to tell himself it was a miracle they’d landed in dreamside and he should be grateful. But it felt like a blow to the face. To think for one moment that none of what happened had been real, only to have it foisted back on him…
“Did they separate the three of us?” Beatrix asked. “Peter! Did they?” she said urgently when he couldn’t get the answer out fast enough.
“No, we’re all in the same room.”
“I’ve got reds in my undershirt. Three of them.” She gripped his arms. “Invisible. Sewn into the front, near the top. Did Morse find them?”
“No,” he said, hope surging as the outlines of a plan came to him.
But dreamside could cut out on them at any moment. He had to prioritize. “Listen: Morse gave you a sleeping draft. He told Red Coat to dose you again as soon as you show signs of waking. Try not to. Just lie there with your eyes closed and knit something up, if you can.”
Beatrix nodded. Then he made himself tell her the rest—that he’d handed over what Morse wanted. That Morse had another transmitter.
