“How do we turn her back?” asked Oriell.

Athelstan blinked with his entire face. “How should I know?”

The owl’s head drooped. She hooted dolefully.

“Thank you for your time.” Oriell’s voice was tight. He left and began the long walk back to the dock. He could still find his mother’s friend, the veterinarian. Maybe he could help. As Arnica shifted her weight on Oriell’s shoulder, he knew she thought the same as he: it was hopeless. When the veterinarian had no answers, what then? He might send them to another, but no doctor could help with a curse such as this. So, what? Would Oriell return to Shallowdale? Return Arnica to the Aethela or keep her in his mother’s barn until she died? He hated to give up, but what else could he do? Frustrated, he kicked at a rusted piece of debris. It flew through an already-shattered window, breaking the remaining glass. Arnica startled. Oriell’s toe throbbed. It was useless.

“Hey!” Mila raced after them.

Oriell turned away from her too-easy smile and tattered jeans.

“Wait up!” the thief called again.

Oriell walked faster.

“I know how to save your friend!”

Oriell stopped. He didn’t turn but waited for Mila to catch up. She grinned. He stared.

“Well, maybe not know, exactly…”

Oriell resumed his trudge.

“…but I’ve got an idea.”

Oriell looked at Arnica, who “hmphed” in a shrug-like sort of way. What have we got to lose? She seemed to ask.

Mila brandished two maps. The first was a street map of the area around Upper Klamath. The second was a photocopy of a faded vellum artifact Oriell vaguely remembered noticing at Athelstan’s house.

“This is where the sorcerer’s supposed to be.” Mila waved the copied map. “Athelstan thinks that might be near Gold Hill. That’s only about eighty miles from here.”

Oriell gaped. Was she crazy? He couldn’t just go wandering all over the country. He had a life and school, and his parents would never let him go.

Seeing his hesitation, Mila stepped close. “You have to go,” she said. “It’s the only way to save your friend.”

“How would I even get there?” Oriell asked. “I don’t have a car.”

“There’s the bus,” Mila shrugged, “or we could walk. It wouldn’t take more than a couple days.”

“A couple days! My parents would kill me; wouldn’t yours?” For a second, Mila looked as if he’d slapped her. Oriell took in her quick eyes and tattered jeans, the scar on her lower lip and the missing tooth above it. “I’m an idiot,” he said.

“Well? If you go, I’m coming with you.”

Arnica “hmphed,” and it almost sounded approving.

“Well,” said Oriell, “I guess you’re coming.”