Chrestomanci Castle has lots of defenses. There's a solid wall around the grounds, with a very strong spell on it. There's a rubbery sort of spell that stops you spirit-traveling—that's had to be strengthened and repaired a lot since Christopher came to the castle, I've heard—and there are fifteen fearsome curses on the pentagram in the main hall. After the events of the day before, Gabriel and Mordecai spent several hours cobbling together something that would stop anyone getting in or out Meg's way. There are the damping spells all over to disrupt any big destructive workings, and spells like sensitive hairs that feel any magic being done at all.

But somehow nobody's ever set up any spells against a rope of knotted bed-sheets tossed out the window. So when I dropped to the lawn on Sunday night, there was no one to hear me softly cursing the bruises on my knees as I sat getting used to the dark, and nothing to stop me going where I wanted to go.

I wondered why we'd never tried going to the ruin in the dark. It was much easier, when I couldn't see. The smells around me still shifted confusingly, and the path under my feet was dirt one moment, and grass or gravel the next. But I told myself firmly that however much the grounds shuffled me around, the garden in the ruin wasn't moving. It couldn't; it was the center of the world. I ignored my surroundings and headed towards that.

So I didn't notice the person standing by the ruined wall until I was nearly on top of him. I almost translocated straight back to my room in a panic.

"I guess I can see why you're leaving," said Bernard softly. Mud caked his carpet slippers and the bottoms of his pajamas, his coat was buttoned wrong, and his hair stood up in even more directions than usual. I wanted to reach out and smooth away the unhappiness spoiling the clear, blunt lines of his face. "But couldn't you have said goodbye to us first? Did you think we would stop you?"

I blinked at him for a few seconds, trying to make sense of what he'd said. Then I got it. "Oh! You think I'm running off to join the Order!"

It was his turn to blink at me. "Aren't you? It sounded like a pretty good deal."

"Would you have gone?" I said. "If Meg had asked you?"

"Give me a comfortable bed and a good library and let me know where my next meal is coming from," Bernard laughed. "But that's me. What about you?"

I shrugged. "The worlds are wide," I said. "Someday I'll do something—I don't know what yet. Not stay at the castle for the rest of my life, that's for sure. But Meg—for someone who doesn't answer to anyone and goes where she will, she bends even less than Gabriel. I don't want to be like that."

"So what are you doing?" said Bernard.

"I'm on an errand for Christopher," I said. I took out the thing that I had in my pocket—even wrapped in two handkerchiefs, it was sticky to the touch and smelled of pine sap and burning. "He told me to do something with this. It's Master Dodd's heart."

Bernard made a face and recoiled. "What does he want you to do with it?"

"No," I laughed, "those were his instructions: 'Do something with this, Henrietta; I don't think it looks very decorative on top of my bureau.'"

"Huh," said Bernard. "If he didn't want it, why not give it to Gabriel?"

"Because. It isn't Chrestomanci business. It's Bardo business, and that makes it my legitimate business." I stared defiantly at Bernard, until I remembered: He'd always remembered I was from Tibet, and not some place over there in slanty-eyed land. He'd taken my warning about setting foot on Gang Rinpoche seriously, even if he did think religion was nonsense. He'd dragged me out of the way of horses. He thought I was amazing. "But you can help, if you want," I said.

We climbed the great staircase together—by touch, in the dark—and I held on to Bernard when he started to wobble. I let him lead when we got to the garden. He was better at that odd spirally navigation than me, even if spring did make him sneeze. And soon we stood on-and-not-on the peak of Gang Rinpoche again. I unwrapped Master Dodd's heart, and pulled out the knife.

"Bdud," I called. "Master of the demons of earth and sky, fire and water. Walker in space, lord of the lower world. Come to me."

He didn't do anything as ordinary as arriving. He was just there. He was missing his tall hat. Last time I'd seen him he was a small man, and now he was enormous. Beside him, the other demons clustered around—the nagas with their knives, even the great shaggy giants—looked like flies buzzing around a horse. I was grateful for Bernard, solid at my back.

"What do you want with me, White Priest?" said Master Dodd.

I couldn't deny the title. "I have something that once belonged to you," I told him. "I might give it back, if you answer me honestly."

"Ask," he said.

"What do you want with England?" I said.

"A thousand years ago," he said, "a priest and a lama flew to the peak of Gang Rinpoche."

"Everyone knows that," I said. "The troubles began when they started fighting."

"Our troubles began before that," said Master Dodd. "They banished us from the middle world! We could no longer hunt the children of Tibet!" He bared his teeth at me. "Your family found refuge in England. Why shouldn't mine? It is a deserted place, after all."

"I suppose savages like me hardly count," said Bernard.

I wished he hadn't drawn Master Dodd's attention. The demon rolled his eyes at Bernard. "You speak of prey, little enchanter. I speak of hunters."

"The difference isn't always that great. Remember? Christopher took the lower world away from you. But that wasn't all you were after—you were trying to claim England for your hunting ground, to move your lower world into line with the great forest." I held out his heart. "It was the great forest that Conrad smelled on your doors, wasn't it?"

"My heart!" he cried. "Give it to me!"

The heart burned in my hands, and felt so heavy I couldn't hold it. It tried to flow away like water, to vanish like the wind. I held onto it with all my strength, mine and Bernard's. "You can have it," I said, "if you relinquish all your claims to England for a thousand years. Swear!"

"Very well. I swear," he said, and I let go. The heart fell, and so did Master Dodd, and all of them, the nagas and the giants and the demons flying on their drums, down into the lower world.

"Do you really think they would have been able to keep snaring children, if you'd just kept the heart?" said Bernard, when they were gone.

I shrugged. "Better safe," I said. "In any case, the lower world is theirs. I had no more business holding onto it than Christopher did."

"So," said Bernard. "Let's go." He led the way, turning back into phase, into winter. We trudged through snowdrifts until they gave way to summer. Not an English summer; the air was too dry, and heavy with jasmine.

"You're not allergic to jasmine, are you?" I said.

Bernard sniffed. "I don't think so," he said.

There was a low limestone bench. I wasn't sure if it had been there the moment before, but I sat down on it anyway. Bernard sat next to me. We were quiet for a while. I'm not a fast talker, and I wasn't sure what I wanted to say.

"You knew exactly what you were doing, when you offered to owe Meg a favor, didn't you?" I said finally.

"It was the only thing I could think of, to help Christopher and Conrad and Flavian," he said. "I realize it was a bit stupid."

"Not unless caring about people is stupid," I said. "And I don't think it is. Not admitting you care can be a little stupid, maybe. But I've never claimed to be a genius."

Bernard said, "Well, I think you're—" but I didn't let him finish. I didn't really need to hear it, and I'm better at doing than talking, anyway. I put my arms around his neck and drew his face down, and opened my mouth against his. It was strange and slippery and messy, but on the whole I thought I liked it. One of Bernard's hands traced figures on my back—Greek letters or Hebrew letters, I didn't care. There we were, alone in the garden at the center of the world. Why shouldn't we find out what we could get?

Note: Those of you who have read The Pinhoe Egg will know what Master Dodd meant when he called England deserted. Henrietta and Bernard haven't, though.

Note the second: This is really the end. Thank you for reading, everybody! And thank you again to everyone who left reviews: Garagina, frangipaniflowers, Anbessete, FullMetal Muffins, and especially Aellepi and Readers-Section, whose constant comments encouraged me to finish the story. And super-duper extra thanks to my most excellent betas, murm and oranges-and-leather-boots. The story you just read is better than the story I sent them. Seriously.