A blackish welt darkened Lucas’s left cheekbone. Blood seeped through his torn trousers. Despite all this, he was smiling.

“It’s good to see you,” he said.

Kara knelt by his side. Tearing a piece from the bottom of her frock, she rubbed the grime and dried blood from Lucas’s face.

“This is all my fault,” she said.

“You can think that. But I choose to blame the people who locked me in here.”

“He must have known we were friends, that I would do what he wants if he promised not to hurt you. Only I can’t do what he wants, because it’s impossible, and now—”

“It’s not like that.”

“Was it terrible? How badly did they hurt you?”

“If you just let me—”

Without realizing it Kara had begun to scrub the bottom of his chin very hard. Lucas grabbed her hand and held it.

“First of all, that hurts. A lot.”

“Sorry.”

“Second—they didn’t find me, Kara. I found them. Last night I was creeping through the woods that run out back, trying to get closer to the stable. They caught me.”

Kara nodded, remembering. “I heard them chasing you! But why would you do that? You must have known that they would punish you.”

She saw—to her surprise—that Lucas’s cheeks had grown pink. Kara couldn’t remember ever seeing him blush before.

“I was trying to rescue you,” he said.

Kara’s first reaction was anger. She opened her mouth, intending to tell Lucas that she certainly didn’t need to be rescued. That he had ruined her one and only plan, because now all she could think about was how to keep him out of harm’s way. That he was a complete moron if he thought her life was valuable enough to be worth saving.

She meant to say all these things—she meant to scream them—but all that came out was a soft, hesitant “Oh.”

For a few moments, there was silence. Lucas absentmindedly rubbed the place where his two fingers used to be.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the effort,” Kara said, “because I do—I really, truly do. But what were you thinking?”

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re just one person. A boy. Did you really expect to sneak past an entire army of graycloaks?”

“Not the entire army. Just the ones guarding your cell.”

“You’ve ruined everything!” Kara exclaimed. “We’re going to the Thickety tomorrow to get the grimoire, because I told him the grimoire is there, but I lied, because I thought once I got out of here I would at least have a chance to escape, and when he finds out he’s going to kill you, and it’ll be my fault. That’s if Sordyr doesn’t get us first, of course. And Taff is so sick, and if something happens to me—”

“Kara!”

His voice was surprisingly sharp in the darkness.

“Do you remember Tanith? The old Burner who lives in the house next to mine? Too many years close to the flames, mutters about dry waterfalls and words made of minced sky?”

“Yes . . .”

“You’re making her sound downright lucid right now.”

“You’re not funny,” Kara said, but she couldn’t help smiling anyway. “It’s just—everything has spiraled out of control. I don’t even know where to begin.”

Lucas slid his hand into hers.

“I’m no talespinner, but I’ve found that the beginning is usually an excellent place. Take your time. We have all night.”

She told him everything.

The one-eyed bird. Her trip into the Thickety. Finding the grimoire. Her first spell. The dark temptation of the book. Grace’s power. Taff’s kidnapping. Simon’s death. Her vision in the Well.

Lucas remained silent, offering neither judgment nor sympathy. Just listening.

By the time she’d finished, dawn was less than an hour away. Though Kara hadn’t slept, she felt more refreshed than she had in weeks. She was reminded of something Mother had once told her, when Kara—plagued by guilt—had confessed to some meaningless fib: Now you understand, child. Secrets and lies can weigh more than boulders.

Lucas got to his feet and stretched in the dark. He looked out the tiny window.

“Do you think anyone can use this grimoire? Or just . . .”

“Witches?”

“. . . people with the right sort of talent?”

“Constance said she couldn’t use it. My guess is that Mother originally planned to teach both of them, but only Abby had the ability.”

“Let me see if I understand this correctly. You see a blank page until you conjure a creature, and afterward its image appears in the book. But Grace . . .”

“. . . opens the book, and whatever she wants appears.”

“But what does that mean? How are you two different?”

“She’s more powerful. All I can do is conjure animals. Grace can do anything she wants.”

Lucas shook his head.

“I’m not so sure about that. Remember, it’s the grimoire that decides what Grace can and cannot do. Your ability might have limitations, but it’s still your ability. Even without a spellbook, you’ve always had a way with animals that bordered on enchantment. The grimoire just helped you focus your talent, take it one step further. With Grace, it’s too easy. I get the sense that the grimoire is using her, not the other way around.”

Kara had never thought of it like that. “It’s giving her exactly what she needs so she’ll keep using it, because once she casts the Last Spell, it’ll have her forever, just like Aunt Abby.” She shuddered, remembering the terror in Abby’s voice. “What do you think happened to her? Is she still . . . alive?”

“I don’t know,” Lucas said. “Just make sure you never find out.”

“You don’t need to worry about that. I’m through with magic. Everything we’ve learned, all the Path’s teachings—they’re totally correct. Magic is evil.”

“Really? After listening to your story, I’m not so sure.”

“All of this happened because of magic!”

“No. All of this happened because Grace Stone—who, as you might have noticed, was not a very nice person to begin with—liked the feeling of power that magic gave her and became obsessed with getting more. You need to stop blaming yourself. As far as I can tell, your use of magic includes saving my life and Taff’s.”

“You’re wrong. I’ve done bad things.”

“Who hasn’t?”

“I’m a witch, just like they say I am!”

“Sure. But that doesn’t make you bad.”

“I killed a man!”

“And if you had done nothing? Then Taff’s death would have been your responsibility. You did what needed to be done, even though you didn’t want to. That’s not evil. That’s courage.”

Kara wrapped her arms around her legs.

“Then why don’t I feel brave?”

“Because you’re too busy feeling guilty. If this is going to work, you need to accept the fact that being a witch is part of who you are. Because, if everything goes well, you’re going to have to use magic again.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You will. When the time is right, I know you will. We just have to figure out a way to escape from the graycloaks . . .”

“. . . sneak back into the village, past hundreds of people who will be hunting me down, and convince my greatest enemy to heal my brother.”

“When you put it like that, my plan to rescue you doesn’t sound half as crazy.”

Kara rose and stood next to him.

“There’s one thing I didn’t tell you,” she said. “I saw Sordyr.”

Lucas didn’t say a word, but Kara saw his grip tighten around the bars of the window.

“What was it like?”

“I’m not sure. It’s like trying to describe a dream after you’ve woken. I only remember the way I felt in his presence. Cold. Lost.”

“The Thickety is hundreds of miles deep. We’ll make our escape as quickly as possible. Chances are, we won’t come anywhere near him.”

Lucas was trying to sound brave, but Kara could hear the fear in his voice.

“I want to believe that. But he spoke to me. He knows my name.”

“You think he wants to hurt you?”

And finally Kara spoke her greatest secret, the thought—too horrible to say out loud—that had been circling through her head since the night she’d stepped into the Thickety.

“I don’t think he wants to hurt me at all,” she said. “I think he wants to keep me.”

Lucas’s eyes widened. He turned back to the window. It was still dark, but a soft nimbus of purple light had appeared on the horizon. “We should stop talking,” he said, “and save our energy. The only thing we can do now is wait for them to come.”