Once Taff had eaten his fill of sodden potatoes and barley soup, he fell back asleep. At first Kara refused to leave his side, fearing that the cure was a temporary one and that another visit from the Jabenhook might be required. But after an hour of listening to his steady breathing, Kara finally felt comfortable enough to make her way downstairs.

The Lamb house was packed with people. Father, figuring there was safety in numbers, had decided they should gather together now so they could leave for the ferry at the crack of dawn. Many had already laid claim to a section of floor space, making it difficult for Kara to navigate her way to the front door without stepping on an outstretched hand or a curled-up child. They watched Kara as she passed, and there was something different in their eyes. Not fear or hatred—though there was still a little of that to go around as well—but something . . . different. Kara avoided looking at them as she made a twisting passage toward the front door.

An old woman blocked her path.

She wore the brown vest of a tanner and had hazel eyes, a rarity in their village. The woman’s frame was slight and wizened, but her arms were sinewy with earned muscle. When she spoke it was with the certainty of one who demands respect.

“We heard what you did, Witch Girl. How you called forth a creature of smoke and shadows to heal your brother. Magic can bring only misfortune, we all know that. And yet . . . to heal is to walk the Path. This complicates things.”

The woman picked at the skin of her hand, dyed a permanent brown from her work. Her next words were spoken hesitantly.

“My grandson has been missing for two days,” she said. “He lives just outside the village, in the barracks. He was training to be a graycloak, though I never encouraged such foolishness, training for a war that may never come. Perhaps there is pride in such a calling, but not for Ethan. His disposition is far too gentle.”

The woman cleared her throat and looked straight into Kara’s eyes.

“It would please me to see him again,” she said.

As though the old woman’s words had opened some sort of floodgate, the silent room erupted into a deluge of shouts and entreaties.

“My daughter! She’s only five . . .”

“My family holed up in the schoolhouse, and we got separated. . . .”

“Save my husband. . . .”

“. . . wife . . .”

“. . . father . . .”

“. . . son . . .”

“We don’t deserve this!”

They began to touch her, then, their hands clawing at her dress, her arms, her legs, forcing her to bear witness to their demands. Kara tried to push her way to the front door, but there were so many of them, all shouting now, fighting to be heard. Unable to keep her balance against a sea of swirling faces, Kara pushed her way in what she hoped was the right direction.

“Help us! Help us! Help us!”

She made it through the front door and onto the porch, past their outstretched hands. Kara backed away, expecting the villagers to pursue her. Instead one brave hand reached out and shut the door.

Their need for her might have been great, but they wouldn’t go outside at night. Not anymore.

A thousand stars stared down at her like bright, impassive eyes. She made her way around the back of the farmhouse, where she found Father loading a wagon with supplies. His shirt, soaked with sweat, was rolled up at the sleeves. He looked happy for the first time in years.

“Have you seen Lucas?” Kara asked.

“He set out with a lantern some time ago,” replied her father. “Said he had a small errand to attend to before we left.”

“By himself?”

Father nodded. “I told him it wasn’t a good idea, but he was persistent. I wouldn’t worry none though. He said he’d be back shortly, and I get the sense that boy can take care of himself.”

“He can,” Kara replied, but worry gnawed at her regardless.

“Taff asleep?”

“Yes. I suspect he’ll need a lot of rest in the coming days.”

“He’ll have it. Once we’re out at sea.”

“You still think that’s the best plan?”

“I do.”

“It’s just—the people still in the village. What’s going to happen to them?”

Father hefted a barrel onto the wagon. “I’m not sure that bears thinking about. It’s a hard thing, but we need to take care of our own right now.”

Kara nodded. He was right, of course. There was nothing she could do, and it was foolish to think otherwise. Besides, if the situations were reversed, they wouldn’t spare a moment’s thought for me.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” Kara said. “About Mother.”

Father stiffened, but instead of saying it wasn’t the right time, he leaned against the wagon and waited. In that moment Kara began to love him anew.

“When I was in the Well, I saw the past. I know what happened that night. Abigail Smythe was a witch, but she lost control.”

“Yes,” Father said. If he thought it strange that she had seen these things in a vision, he did not say so. “I warned your mother from the beginning that Abby was not to be trusted, but she didn’t listen. It was going to be your time to learn magic soon, and I think Helena was nervous.” He gave a small smile. “Though of course she wouldn’t admit it. It seems cruel, but Abigail was just practice, a way to hone her teaching skills. Her first choice was Constance, a far better—”

“—but Constance didn’t possess the talent.”

“Right.”

“Why didn’t Constance tell me the truth?”

“Because then you would have known that Helena was not evil at all. Instead of being frightened by magic, you would have thought, ‘If my mother can control her powers, then I can too!’ And you would not have been so cautious when you used the grimoire.” Father picked up a small crate, eager to continue with his work. “Now what was it you wanted to tell me?”

Kara placed a hand gently on his arm. “Stop, Father. Listen.”

He lowered the crate to the ground and met her eyes.

“Mother gave me a message for you.”

“Kara. Don’t.”

“Shh. Mother said, ‘It’s not your fault, William. You were a true husband to the end. You don’t need to beg for my forgiveness, because there is nothing to forgive. Just honor my memory by living your life.’”

Father did not cry or sob, but Kara folded him into her arms anyway. As they held each other, Kara Westfall, the Witch Girl, thought about Constance’s words: These are not bad people, Kara. They may do bad things out of fear or foolishness, but most of them want to live simple lives with their families. They are no different from anyone else, even you. She thought of her mother, who risked everything to save her friend. And finally she thought of the mysterious looks in the villagers’ eyes and understood, at last, the responsibility her magic conveyed.

Within an hour everyone had fallen asleep. Kara did not blame them. The trek to the ferry was not a short one, and they would need their rest. Before leaving she took one last look at her family. Taff had kicked off the blankets and lay sideways, nestled into the crook of his father’s arm. Both slept soundly. On Father’s face was the slightest hint of a smile.

As far as parting memories were concerned, she could do worse.

Kara took what she needed from the supply wagon: a lantern to light her way until morning, a canteen of fresh water, a black cloak to keep her warm. These would make her journey more convenient, but in the end they were unimportant. All she really needed was the tattered notebook in her pocket and its five (four!) blank pages.

By foot, the village was almost an hour’s trek from here.

Kara did not intend to walk.

The stable doors creaked as she pulled them apart. Most stalls were empty, but the few horses that remained shied away from the sudden starlight. The floor had not been swept or mopped in weeks, and the smell of feces and mold was overpowering.

She made her way to the last stall.

“Good evening, Shadowdancer,” Kara said.

The mare looked thinner, as did they all, but the true hunger in her eyes was for freedom. The moment Kara reached for the latch, Shadowdancer bucked, her powerful hind legs slapping against the wood behind her.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” a familiar voice asked. Kara twisted around to find Lucas peeking over the wall of the next stall. His eyes were sunken but alert.

“You’re back!” Kara exclaimed. Despite her father’s reassuring words, she had been very worried about him.

“Floor space was hard to come by, so I found an empty stall.” He gave her an impish grin. “Or maybe I’ve just become more comfortable sleeping in stables.”

“I’ve always suspected you were part horse,” Kara teased.

“Maybe that’s why you like me so much.”

The words were just playthings, their usual banter. Nonetheless Kara found herself looking away. There was a heaviness in the air tonight.

“I have something for you,” Lucas said. “I planned to give it to you on the ship, but now’s as good a time as ever.” He dipped down beneath the wall. “I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to wash it first.”

He handed her a carefully folded bundle tied neatly together with straw. Her mother’s dress.

“You went back and got this?” Kara asked. “For me?”

“I saw it in the maze that night, and I knew you might want it. We’re never coming back to this place, so . . .”

Kara traced one of the golden swirls with her finger. She remembered her mother sitting by the fireplace, sewing these very lines into the fine red cloth. It had taken her many months.

“Thank you,” Kara said. “This is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

She led Shadowdancer out of the stable, and Lucas fell into step beside her.

“There’s another reason I’m out here,” he said, swatting at a few persistent mosquitoes. “I suspected you might do something foolish. Like you’re doing. Right now.”

“They need my help,” she said. The words sounded strange on her lips.

“Of course they do,” replied Lucas. “But that doesn’t mean they deserve it. Taff is alive, Kara. You did exactly what you set out to do. Tomorrow morning this will all be over. We’re safe.”

“But we’re leaving so many of them behind.”

“So be it.” Kara had never heard such coldness in her friend’s voice. “What if you were the one trapped in the village? Would a single one of them even think of helping? Of course not! All they care about are themselves. That’s the way it is. The way it’s always been.”

“We’re abandoning the Clearers too,” Kara said. “Your people. Don’t they deserve our help?”

Lucas stiffened.

“You can’t fight her,” he said. “She’ll kill you.”

There was nothing to say after that. With the mare between them, Kara and Lucas crossed the field to the white fence that marked the property’s border. A dirt path lined with weatherworn stones wound deeper inland. Here, Kara would pick up the main road—which they simply called the Way—and, beneath a sheltering sky of hornbeam trees, make haste to the village.

She swung open the gate. Blurred fingers of light blotted out the stars. In the distance the tall trees of the Thickety swayed and creaked, a beckoning song.

It really was a beautiful island, this place. Her home.

“Everything that happened is my responsibility,” Kara said. Shadowdancer jerked impatiently at her bit, eager to get started. Kara stroked her face tenderly. “Not only what happened to De’Noran, but what’s going to happen to Grace if she falls into the grimoire’s trap.”

“She has spun her own web, Kara.”

“So she should be doomed to an eternity of suffering? No one deserves that fate, no matter what evil they’ve done. I have to save her. I have to make things right.”

“If you’re that sure,” he said, “then let me come with you.”

Kara shook her head.

“You can’t do this alone,” he said. “You know that—I can see it in your eyes. Let me help you.”

“No.”

Lucas’s expression hardened. “Too bad. There’s nothing you can do to stop me. I’m coming.”

“Are you sure about that?” Kara asked. “There’s nothing I can do to dissuade you?”

“Nothing,” he said.

She wanted him to come with her—that was the worst part. She didn’t want to do this alone. But instead she fingered the grimoire in her pocket and spoke the right words, and Lucas tumbled forward into her arms. Kara laid him gently on the ground. His breathing remained steady, but he would sleep for at least a few hours.

A shadowy shape fluttered into the sky, leaving behind a small red mark on the back of Lucas’s neck and the scent of bedside candles. It was the first story Kara could remember, her mother leaning close and telling her about a special butterfly from the land of dreams whose kiss sent restless children off to a peaceful sleep.

Kara opened the grimoire, and there it was: a perfect sketch. It would be easier to call next time, if she needed it.

A bird and a dreamfly. Against a girl who can bend nature to her will and command the minds of men. Grace will surely be terrified.

It probably wasn’t the wisest plan, using one of her precious spells on such a gentle conjuration. But there was no other way to get Lucas to stay behind, and she couldn’t let him risk his life. No one else would suffer for her mistakes. Especially him.

Kara brushed the hair back from his face.

“No matter what happens,” she said, “I’m glad I cast it.”

She kissed him, soft, on the cheek. If this had been one of Mother’s stories, perhaps he would have stirred, awakened by the magic of her caress. But this was no story, and she was no princess.

She was a witch.

Sliding the grimoire carefully into her pocket, Kara swung open the gate and took her first step toward the village.