I got my wits about me enough to reach my other arm up and try to get a grasp on something, but my fingers were numb from cold, and the ice kept breaking off around me. Owen grabbed that wrist and managed to pull me a little farther out of the hole. The whole time, he mumbled under his breath, and I could feel the tingle of magic near me. A crowd gathered around us, and soon a couple of men helped Owen pull me up onto the ice. I turned around to see the hole where I’d fallen and caught only a glimpse of the hole freezing over again.

A muddle of voices asked variations on the “what just happened here?” question, only with lots more profanity, this being New York. My teeth were chattering so hard I could only hear bits and pieces. Next thing I knew, something heavy was being wrapped around me and I was being pulled to my feet. Then I felt my feet leaving the ground. My legs were still pretty numb, but I got the feeling they were draped over someone’s arm, and I was cradled against something warm and solid. The wind stirred around me, making me shiver even more, and I realized that whoever was carrying me was moving.

Soon I was deposited onto a bench, and I heard Owen’s voice barking out orders. “I need someone to bring a blanket and something hot to drink.” Then his face was very close to mine. “Katie?” he asked, looking tense and worried.

I tried to tell him I’d be fine, but my teeth were still chattering. He pulled something from around me—his coat, it turned out—then peeled my own wet coat off me. I tried to fight him because if I was this cold already, how would I feel without a coat on at all? He shushed me, though, murmuring so only I could hear, “I’ll take care of it, but the last thing you need is to be wrapped in a wet coat.” Sure enough, soon my clothes were dry and warm, and I felt much better. He put his dry coat back around me and set my soaking coat, which had ice crystals forming on it, aside on the bench. As the cold seeped away from my brain, I realized what he’d done. He’d managed to dry my clothes magically while still keeping my coat wet, and with his coat around me, nobody would notice that my clothes were dry. They’d only see the wet coat and assume I was still wet, so they’d never suspect anything funny—well, anything funnier than falling through ice that had a concrete slab under it. My Owen was really good at thinking logically in a crisis.

A moment later, someone draped a blanket around me, and Owen held a steaming paper cup to my lips. “Come on, drink,” he urged. It turned out to be hot cocoa, and that warmth going into me just about did the trick. Soon my hands had thawed enough for me to hold the cup myself. While I drank, Owen disappeared for a moment, then returned and knelt in front of me. It took me a second to realize he was pulling off my skates and putting my shoes on. My feet seemed to be the last parts of me that remained numb from the cold.

The people around us were still talking. “Must’ve been a sinkhole,” one voice said. “No way,” another replied. “Not that deep.” “Strangest thing I ever saw, and I seen a lot.” I felt the air around me stir, then turned to see Sam perched beside me on the back of the bench. He winked at me, then faced Owen, who gave him a quizzical look. Sam shook his head grimly, then took off again. He coasted in a spiraling pattern above the rink, looking for all the world like a buzzard circling a dead animal out in the country.

Someone wearing a park employee uniform joined us. Owen dealt with him, saying something about how I’d be okay, there must have just been a melted spot. The employee went out on the ice, others leading him to the place where not too long ago there had been a gaping hole full of icy water, but it was impossible to tell that anything had happened there. I almost felt sorry for the guy, who was probably going to have a hard time writing the report on this incident.

He returned and had more words with Owen. There were raised voices, and I wished I could concentrate enough to pay attention to what they were saying because Owen never raised his voice, not even when he was angry. He was one of those people who got quieter and calmer when he got mad, so this was unusual and probably well worth listening to. I did manage to hear him say quite firmly, “I need to get her home and warm. I don’t know what happened, but you don’t have to worry about us filing a complaint or suing. I don’t care about your paperwork. I just need to get her warm.”

Then he came back to me, sitting beside me on the bench. “Do you think you can walk?” he asked, his voice soft and gentle, more like his normal self.

“Yeah,” I managed to croak.

“Okay, then. Let’s go get a cab.”

He picked up my ice-covered coat, then helped me to my feet and walked with his arm around me toward the Fifth Avenue side of the park. Once we were away from the crowds, he said, “I’d try the magical teleportation thing again, but at this distance and with your magical immunity intact this time, I’m not sure I could do it, and even if I could, it would drain me completely. I’d rather be ready to face anything else that comes at us.”