She picked left. That was the direction her house lay, if her house even existed in this world. She started walking. The leaves crunched noisily under her feet—there was absolutely no other sound in the empty woods.

No sound, that is, except for a faint humming. And then, a faint chugging.

It sounded like a train, coming from the direction that Zoe was walking towards. Zoe supposed that she shouldn't be surprised. But there was no station! She ran in the direction of the train. If she ran fast enough, she hoped, she could find a station before the train passed her.

She turned behind her and looked. There was a golden flash of light, and a trail of smoke was floating through the canopy. She continued to run. How was she running so fast? She would have been winded if she ran this fast in gym class.

The train was gaining ground behind her. It glided along the tracks as if they were made out of ice. It was an old-fashioned steam engine, painted deep black and covered in baroque gold and silver filigree. The train had five cars, each one painted perfect black and covered in gold and silver filligree, like the engine. She waved her arms at it as the train began to pass her.

Then there was a screeching sound, and orange and blue sparks shot out from the beautifully engraved wheels. The train jerked to a stop. Its last car was only a few yards ahead of Zoe.

All the doors to every car opened at once.

Zoe waited for some sign to approach, for a person to step out of the door and yell all aboard! But none came. The train stood still, its doors wide open. Small clusters of leaves, disturbed by the train's passing, fluttered gently to the ground.

She walked cautiously towards the last car. Its interior was covered in hardwood and more gold and silver patterns. The train had no windows, but through the door she could see that the walls were lined with mirrors.

There were no steps, so she had to pull herself up to get inside the door. She looked around her. She saw thousands of Zoes looking around in the mirrors' infinite reflections; the inside of the carraige looked far vaster than the outside suggested. A crystal chandelier lit the room from above, its light reflecting a thousand versions of itself. Below the mirrors were rows of booths, forward-facing like schoolbus seats. Except these booths looked to be made entirely out of gold and silver, the metals alternating in diagonal bands on each booth in a pattern that evoked zebras, or circus tents.

There was only one other person in this car, someone with wavy black hair wearing a small purple fez. Zoe could only see the top of his head above the back of his gold and silver booth.

The doors closed and the train jerked into motion. Zoe staggered backward and braced herself against one of the booths. She was surprised at how cold and heavy it felt.

She picked a booth on the opposite end of the car from the fez-wearing person to sit in. The seat was incredibly uncomfortable, and there was not very much leg room, even for her.

Was this better than being stranded in a forest? The hall-of-mirrors effect was beginning to disturb her. She looked straight ahead at the back of the booth. There was an elaborate mural engraved into the shiny alternating stripes of gold and silver. The mural pictured what looked like a queen, or perhaps an efeminate king, surrounded by winged angels, sitting on a huge throne made out of all sorts of apparently random things—trees, strange animals and monsters, flame, a meteor, a torn scroll. It was dizzying to look at.

Zoe put her bag against the mirrored wall and lay down sideways. She looked down at her lap so she wouldn't have to look at herself in the opposite mirror.

She noticed she was still holding the glass fulgurite. She turned it around in her hand. Unlike the perfectly smooth mirrors lining the walls, the fulgurite's glass was rough and flecked with sand and dirt. Zoe tried to scrape some off with her fingernail, but apparently the glass had melted around the particles. She decided not to fool around with the fulgurite—maybe those flecks of sand needed to be in their exact positions for the thing to work its magic. Magic? Could that explain what was happening to her? Zoe wondered.

Zoe carefully wrapped the fulgurite in one of her sweatshirts and put it in her backpack. As she did so, she noticed a new reflection in the mirrors. She was so on edge that she instinctively ducked down. Calming herself, she peeked out from behind her seat.

The man with the fez was looking back at her. But she couldn't see his face, because he was wearing a creepy-looking mask. The mask had three eyes, one in the middle of the forehead. Zoe could not tell if whoever was staring at her through mask had three eyes to fit. She shuddered.

The door to car opened. Zoe ducked back around her seat. She didn't see anyone enter the car. The door closed with a hiss and a click. She heard pattering footsteps down the isle, followed by a jangling sound.

Zoe wiped her forehead. The temperature in the car seemed to rise suddenly. Or—was it just getting more humid? The mirrors closest to the door were slightly foggy, and as the footsteps continued, the fogginess spread further down the car.

Zoe's stomatch sank. She felt even more vulnerable than before now. She had nowhere to run or hide. Why did she trust Grey? Was she insane?

She risked peeking out from behind her booth down the isle, and she saw the source of the footsteps.