Quentin hits the dirt screaming, fists full of pine needles. Julia's notebook is gone and the silence says Eliot is too. Crude cabins stretch before him illuminated by crimson dawn and encircled by forest.
Moaning slices the silence, and he sprawls sideways, spotting Alice against a sign. Slathered across its "Entering Salem": a damp scarlet smiley face. Proctor's Ledge juts from the hill beyond, pricked with gallows.
Drips splatter Quentin's boots. Alice retrieves Julia's notebook from the mud.
Fumbling through Julia's jumbled desk the day before, he'd felt weightless discovering it, Julia's half-written thesis paper explaining Salem once sheltered Master Magicians-until their non-magical neighbors devised a way to neutralize and execute them. Her notes laid out a plan to steal that weapon from 1692 and bring it to the present-singlehandedly.
So where is she?
Linking shaking arms, they trudge the road, propping open the notebook.
"Guess we know who slaughtered them."
"Us," Quentin answers hoarsely. "The Beast followed Julia here and helped colonists disarm and kill Magicians, murdering generations of threats before they're born..."
Alice flips pages. "Spell misfired. If Eliot came early, he'd be in her registry..."
"Once I told Julia what Fogg said about me dying every time loop, she left. I should've followed..."
"Quentin, trying to do this alone was crazy." Alice slaps the notebook shut. "Unless Eliot's going by 'Prudence,' he isn't here. So where?"
"Fiji? Day-drunk?"
They enter the town square. Vines of luminescent flowers climb a well, crawling with moths. Distant bells clamor and across the square muffled cursing begins. Alice crosses the cobblestones, locking eyes with the hunched shadow pinned into a four-foot stockade.
It cackles.
"Shut it, Eliot," moans the sap strapped in beside him groggily.
"About damn time."
Quentin and Alice cast their hands, prying nails from boards. The stockade and Eliot collapse. They ease him up, and he leans heavily against Quentin's chest. "You idiots..." he hisses, eyes drawing Quentin's to a nearby house, "woke the neighborhood."
Grabbing their wrists, Eliot pulls them into an alleyway. Flickering lanterns slice shadows overhead like strobe lights.
Men shout: "Witches haunt us, freeing their brethren! Find them!"
"Days in stocks listening to that and I about hanged myself," Eliot complains.
"Did you find the weapon?"
"Did you find her?"
Eliot coughs, eyes closing. "Listen to you two. I'm sober, hair in shambles, and all you think about is yourselves."
They apologize, trailing him onto a porch.
"Lost my magic, so I convinced them I'm a preacher."
Quentin snorts.
"But?" Alice asks softly, squinting at his dirt-encrusted face in the blue light.
"Hot blacksmith."
Eliot pushes a door, motioning them in. Quentin conjures a miniature sun. Weary faces emerge through faint outlines of prison bars, bones jagged edges against loose garments. They indicate a snoozing guard.
Alice motions and a sphere of light surrounds his skull.
"They were Magicians," explains Eliot, "then their magic went poof."
"How?" Alice counters. "What about us?"
"Don't know." Eliot grips the bars. "Guess there's just something in the water."
The prisoners murmur and a young witch in a yellow bonnet approaches. "The water."
Alice and Quentin recall the peculiar well.
Eliot straightens. "What, we just need to spritz the Beast with good old-fashioned H2O?"
Alice nods. "Assuming he doesn't spritz us first."
"The angry mob's bound to be out full force."
"Let's distract them."
The witch smiles. "Allow us."
"Hold your horses," Eliot interrupts. "Even if we get water, we haven't found the escape door to Fillory from Julia's notes." He casts his gaze around. "Anybody been building a portal to another universe? No?"
"Horses," Quentin echoes.
The Salem witch nods. "The church. Free us and I'll take you."
"We're talking about changing history," Alice sputters. "That could be catastrophic."
"Don't worry." Eliot smirks. "It's Quentin's thirteenth life. We won't survive anyway."
The jailhouse capsizes, thunderclouds amass, and curtains of water douse every lamp as Quentin, Alice, Eliot, and a cavalry of Magicians explode from the wreckage. Their phantasmic glass charges toss their manes, hooves pounding.
The Puritans stagger under the weight of their disbelief, lashing out blindly. Eliot and the Salem witch weave through, toward the well. Imprisonment has taken its toll. They pant, vision blurrier every step.
"Damnation is here!" someone screams atop a carriage. "Strike to kill!"
Puritans rally; Salem's Magicians fight and flee in equal measure.
Quentin wipes blood from his nose and dismounts near Alice, her lips also damp. He considers lying down to be trampled, but can hear Julia, "You wanted magic, Q."
"Jesus," greets a familiar voice. "What did you nerds do?"
Drenched and open-mouthed, Penny, Julia, and Margo materialize hand-in-hand.
Alice launches herself at Penny and presses their mouths together.
Julia throws her arms around Quentin's neck and, for the first time, they kiss. His throat dries and his eyes fly open.
A shrill scream tears their reunion in half.
Margo staggers, a knife run through her. The blade lifts from her chest and plunges itself into her attacker's. Alice lowers her hands and falls back onto Penny, unconscious.
"Fix this, Quentin!" he roars, lifting her and disappearing to avoid a swinging ax.
Quentin and Julia grab Penny, shouting, "The well!" Quentin reaches for Margo's wrist but snatches air. They travel.
Eliot stands at the well's edge as the witch tugs ropes. He sloshes water as his friends appear in front of him. "Margo?"
Puritans surge forward, seizing the witch, hauling her back. Shoving the bucket into Penny's arms, Eliot follows.
"No time," Julia yells at Penny. "The church. Go!"
Quentin turns to chase Eliot.
"Coldwater, no." Julia grasps Penny's scarf with one hand and lunges for Quentin with the other.
They travel as a pitchfork flies toward them.
A grandfather clock tolls in a corner. The door to its gears an open mouth. A moth rests on its face.
"Well," Penny sets the bucket atop the altar, "Beast's escaped."
"So? Let's go to Fillory, regroup, hunt him down."
"Even if it kills us?" Penny gestures toward a shattered window. "Let's find that Watcher Woman chick and get the hell back to Brakebills, train until we can take him."
"Alright." Quentin raises a chalice from the altar.
Penny stares hard, prepared to argue. Something he hears in Quentin's head stops him.
A faint grin slides onto Julia's lips unbidden. "Fillory awaits."
Quentin's head shakes. "Penny, take Alice. Bring water in case the Beast's waiting. Travel somewhere safe. We'll wait for Eliot and follow."
He dips the chalice in the bucket before passing it on. "Just in case."
"Q," Julia objects, hand on his arm. His grip tightens around the chalice. "He isn't coming."
Penny sets a hand on the clock. "I hope you know what you're doing."
"I hope so too," Quentin mumbles as Penny carries Alice through.
As gears whirl, Quentin steps to put the chalice down but spins instead, splashing the water in Julia's face.
Her voice takes on a sarcastic English lilt, "Oh no."
"You're not Julia."
Moths materialize, swarming her face. Quentin backsteps, fingering the cards in his pocket.
"Your magic's gone; be a little nicer. Why Julia? How do I get her back?"
"Quentin Coldwater, always playing the hero. Making assumptions, letting backup flee," the Beast laughs daintily. "I should've known. I've killed you, what, ten times?"
"Twelve." Cards swarm, lining the air like soldiers.
"Going to give me a paper cut?"
Quentin flicks a finger and a seven scores the altar.
"Cute," the Beast twirls Julia's finger and every card darts back at Quentin, slashing.
Quentin grits his teeth. "... the well..."
"Immune, dear boy. Obvious, as I'm possessing your friend. But thank you for following my instructions so precisely. Now we're in 1692 and darling Jane can't find us to press rewind."
Ignoring his seeping cuts, Quentin shifts his hand, easing cards into a pile at his feet.
"And, I don't have to watch you murder Julia. J, I love you, please don't hand me over in exchange for infinite power!" the Beast mimics, flicking Julia's wrist and slamming Quentin downward. "How'd you know I wasn't her? Because I kissed you? Pathetic."
"I'd never hurt her!" Quentin and his deck rise.
"Tell the other Quentins that. Look at the cards you're about to deal her."
"No..." Quentin gasps and the cards plummet. "Please."
"No harm need come to her." The Beast steps out of her body as if it were transparent and back into it. Moths evaporate. "Kill yourself and we'll call it square."
Quentin meets Julia's eyes, remembering her sprawled under a table, shading a castle on their map of Fillory. "I wouldn't go without you, Q."
"You'll leave Brakebills alone?"
"Of course."
Quentin doubts this but Julia... He drops to his knees. "Do it."
"Stop." Jane emerges from the clock as the Beast presses his fingers together and the heart tears out of Quentin's chest. White cards redden.
"You had it once, Martin. Selflessness."
Martin exits Julia's corpse, lifting his blood-spattered hand. "Stupidity."
Tears sear her cheek. "Hope." Her stopwatch clicks.