There was no time for major preparations. All he had was a pocketful of salt and his small iron knife. As weapons with which to enter the Faerie Realms, they were pitifully insufficient.

But he had done more with less for Georgiana. He could do the same again.

The paths through faerie that could be entered through Pemberley were far too familiar, for reasons he preferred not to think of. The important part was that Wickham knew these paths too, better than he knew any others unless he had changed more deeply than Darcy knew.

If he needed a place to hide, he would come here.

The first step through was almost possible to mistake for a failure. The same neatly tended trees on a wide lawn stood around him.

But there was music on the breeze, and he knew how this worked.

In the distance, he could see the circle of lightning struck trees, a smear of blackness against the sky. The last time Darcy and Wickham had met on these paths, the fight had been there. Wickham's hungry power would linger there. He might have been drawn back.

His voice was only tolerable, but he started to hum anyway. It kept his thoughts clearer as began the long walk.

He was halfway there before he realized he was humming the same song Elizabeth had taken over at their dance.

The trees were woven together, dead limbs still locked together in a charred embrace. Darcy ducked and weaved his way through the sharp reach. Leaving blood here would be unwise in the extreme.

As soon as he stepped into the circle, the music vanished. Wickham would allow no other power here.

Darcy's song held no power that he knew of, but he stopped it all the same.

He had been right. His quarry was here.

Wickham was different here than he was in the outside world. The void in his eyes spread through to cracks in his skin, bending light and gravity towards him. He had been kneeling by one of the trees, but he spun in a defensive crouch when he felt Darcy's presence.

Darcy ignored the pull of his power and focused on the girl leaned up against the tree Wickham had been in front of. Miss Lydia's face was flushed and her eyes were vacant, but she was alive at least. Her pout and sulkily crossed arms seemed very out of place in the already charged air. A small bag that probably contained her luggage was slumped beside her.

"Darcy," Wickham said with a strained smile. "You're here quicker than expected."

"It's been weeks," Darcy said mildly. The letter could not possibly have arrived any quicker than that. From the looks of things, though, it hadn't been nearly that long here. "The realm's not helping you any more, is it? You've asked for too much and not given enough back."

Wickham's smile was savage. "Oh, I'm going to give something back. Just as soon as that pretty changeling of yours stops hiding in the shadows and steps into the light. Elizabeth!" he called out. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

"She's not here," Darcy said evenly.

"Of course she's here, how else did you get in?"

Darcy wasn't sure if Wickham's ignorance was amusing or appalling.

Lydia had brightened. "Lizzy's here? I want to tell her all about our adventure."

Wickham's smile grew strained. "Later, darling. Eat your breakfast."

Lydia's pout returned. She hurled away the apple he must have given her, fresh and red and faerie perfect. "I can't," she sulked. "I already told you. Lizzy made me promise. She's gotten dreadfully strange since she saw you at Rosings," she informed Darcy. "She pestered us until we promised all sorts of strange things."

"I'm sure your sister wouldn't mind just the once," Wickham said through gritted teeth.

Considering that if Lydia ate faerie fruit she'd never be able to eat anything else, Darcy rather thought she would and said so. He started edging forward as he talked. If he could just get close enough . . .

Wickham ignored him. "What's one little promise?" he wheedled.

"Quite a lot when it's to one of the fey," Darcy said sharply. "You can feel it, can't you, Lydia? It's important."

She bit her lip, glancing between them.

Darcy pressed his advantage and edged closer. "What else did she make you promise?"

"She made me promise to wear this, only it's not even pretty, so I tucked it away - " Lydia pulled a small necklace out of her luggage and waved it carelessly.

Judging by the way Wickham flinched back, it was iron.

In the instant of Wickham's distraction, Darcy lunged forward. Wickham's own gravitational pull gave him speed.

And the small iron knife he always carried with him buried itself in Wickham's throat.

Wickham's eyes went wide. Lydia screamed.

Darcy yanked the knife back out. Wickham's whole body was shuddering, the void spreading through the cracks and pulling everything it could reach in after it. Darcy held the knife up as a pitiful ward and threw half his salt at it as he dashed for the screaming girl. He grabbed her wrist and tugged her after him. They had to get out of here.

"Where are we?" she demanded. "What happened?" Her wrist jerked in his grip. "Is that blood?"

"Keep running," he ordered. He didn't dare to look back. He could hear the trees cracking as they were pulled forward. Wickham wouldn't die quietly.

Free from the circle, the music had started up again. It was frantic now. Pounding. He could feel it tearing at his mind, and it would be so easy to just let go and follow it. They didn't really have to return to the faerie circle right away.

A furious song rose in counterpoint, demanding that they run towards it. His eyes were irresistibly drawn back in the direction of the faerie circle he'd come in through.

Elizabeth was running from it towards them, her skirt once again six inches deep in mud for the sake of a sister. Her eyes blazed with the same furious light as her song.

It went against every instinct he had to run emtoward/em an angry fey, but they were out of better options, and this was Elizabeth.

There was something dangerous with that thinking, but there was something even more dangerous behind them, so Darcy kept running and forcing Lydia to run too.

They met Elizabeth halfway, and she immediately turned and began to run with them, still holding off the danger with song. All three of them stumbled to a halt just outside the faerie circle.

"Why are we stopping?" Lydia demanded hysterically.

"This is our way out," Darcy said. His eyes cut to Elizabeth, who had stopped a little farther away than they had and was casting a longing look behind them.

Like called to like, and from a certain point of view, this was the place she belonged.

"Miss Elizabeth," he said, just a touch of sharpness in his voice.

Her gaze snapped back to his, and she nodded tightly before stepping forward.

It was important that they step through together so that they emerged at the same time. Darcy offered his hand before it occurred to him that it would be more appropriate for her to take her sister's free one. By then, however, Elizabeth had grasped his anyway, and there was no time.

They stepped through.

The sun suggested it was past noon. He just hoped it was past noon on the same day they had left.

"Oh," Lydia said faintly. Then she fainted.

Darcy just managed to get his hands free to catch her. He lowered her slowly against a tree and winced at the resemblance to the scene he had walked in on.

"She'll be fine," he assured Elizabeth. "She's just had a rather large shock."

"She's not alone," Elizabeth said sharply. "My note was not intended to send you off alone, Mr. Darcy!"

"I am sorry that your sister's rescue was not to your taste," he said stiffly.

She deflated somewhat. "That is not at all what I meant. I am very grateful, Mr. Darcy, truly. I was merely worried when I learned what you had done. I would not like to be responsible for your loss."

"There was no time to waste. I could not let her be trapped there. It is a terrible fate for any innocent, and I had no wish to see you grieved. Aside from any moral obligation, I have . . . grown very fond of you, against my better judgement."

Elizabeth laughed. "A breathtaking compliment indeed!"

The offense implicit in the statement occurred to him, and he stumbled to find a way to fix it. "Not, of course - I did not mean - "

"Peace, Mr. Darcy. After today, I think I rather grasp your point."

It suddenly occurred to him that Elizabeth was at Pemberley, something that should have been impossible. He frowned. "How did you get in?"

"Your sister was very worried," Elizabeth informed him. "I managed to talk her into letting me help."

"Ah."

Elizabeth had drifted closer, and now she knelt down beside him to better check on her sister. Her cheeks were still flushed and her eyes bright with exertion and power. He was suddenly very aware of just how close she was.

"You are not the only one who has grown fond against their better judgement," she admitted quietly leaning forward, a breath away from touch.

Darcy froze.

Elizabeth stilled as well and leaned back, her cheeks flushing darker with embarrassment. "Forgive me, Mr. Darcy. I can't imagine what came over me."

"It's been a disordered morning," he offered and put a bit more space between them.

It was several more moments before he could tear his eyes away from her inviting lips and those laughing eyes. Fondness was one thing. This infatuation was another thing entirely.

It would pass, he told himself firmly.

He ignored the small voice that said it had shown no sign of fading yet.