When Mary woke, an old woman once more, she was none too pleased to learn they had left her sack back in the village. Taff offered to retrieve it on his own, but after such a harrowing experience Kara was reluctant to let him out of her sight. There were things she wished to discuss with Mary out of his earshot, however, so she settled on following Taff at a distance.

“How much do you remember?” Kara asked Mary.

“I saw what was left of the notsuns,” Mary said. “And the dead monster. So you decided to use your creatures. It was an easy—”

“I heard Sordyr,” Kara said. “In my head. And I know I should be feeling victorious right now, but I can’t stop thinking that I did exactly what he wanted me to do.”

“And what is that?”

“Use my powers. Control the animals. But why would Sordyr want that? Wouldn’t that just make me more of a threat to him?”

Mary withdrew a wad of yellow grass from her pocket and placed it behind her gums. She chewed it thoughtfully for a time before answering.

“I won’t pretend to understand what the Forest Demon wants or doesn’t want. I’m not sure I even could. All I know is that you saved our lives, Kara. How can that be wrong?”

Kara didn’t answer. Instead she watched Taff crawl beneath the porch. He was humming something, though she didn’t recognize the tune. Maybe it was just something he made up. Taff did that from time to time.

“The knees of his pants need to be mended,” she said. “Do you have any thread?”

“Kara . . .”

“Is Sordyr close? I’ve heard him in my head once before, the first time I entered the Thickety. He was right behind me at the time.”

“He might be.”

“Does he know where we are?”

“I don’t know. But we should hurry just in case. How do you feel, Kara? About everything.”

A heavy wind blew through the canopy, but even over the trees’ despondent whispering Kara could hear the creatures of the Thickety. They would do anything she asked. Fight for her. Die for her. All she had to do was use her magic.

“Kara?” Mary asked, a note of concern in her voice.

“I’m fine,” Kara said softly.

Taff returned Mary’s bag to her and she squeezed his shoulder. As they left the village they passed the ravaged body of the rawtooth. Kara averted her eyes.

They followed a narrow, winding stream pinched by gray trees. From low-hanging branches dangled succulent purple fruit that sweetened the air itself. No one touched the fruit. They all knew better. Instead they picked shrewberries and cadinuts—both bitter but safe—and chewed them as they walked. Near midday Mary pulled out the toy rabbit on its bicycle and Taff whispered Imogen’s name in its ear.

“We’re close,” Mary said, watching the porcelain rabbit’s brief journey. “Only a few hours now.”

As they walked, tree trunks twisted together and formed walls to either side of them; soon the path grew so narrow that they had to proceed in single file. The ground sloped steadily downward, the air humid and slightly sweet. Taff kicked a stone, sending it skittering across the dirt, then kicked it again. And again.

Finally the path wound around a bend and opened into a narrow grove. The trees here were short, almost De’Noran-size, and barren of leaves.

Instead, they were teeming with other things.

Kara noticed the keys first, strung from the branches by thick cords of rope. Glittering keys of every shape and description: brass keys and gold keys, round keys and star-shaped keys, copper keys and glass keys encrusted with jewels. Those weren’t the only objects in the trees, however. From thin, sickly branches dangled dolls and teddy bears, rings and bracelets, journals and scrolls. Taff pointed out a wooden sled perched precariously on some upper limbs.

“What is all this?” Kara asked.

“Lost things,” said Mary.

Taff reached for a clay cup that hung from one of the lower branches.

“I wouldn’t,” said Mary. “There must be a reason Imogen keeps them. It’s best not to find out.”

“But how did they get here in the first place?” Taff asked.

Mary shook her head. “There’s a clearing just over this ridge. Let’s set up camp and I’ll tell you what I know.” She pointed to a narrow path leading deeper into the grove. “Imogen lives right through there.”

With one last look back at the trees, Kara followed Mary out of the grove. The soil felt strange beneath her boots, as though she were walking on pebbles. She bent down to have a look and instantly wished she had not.

The ground was covered with teeth.

They found a flat spot overlooking the grove and set out their supplies for the night. Taff piled kindling the way he had been taught—smaller pieces leaning against larger ones—and then Mary handed him two shiny marbles from her bag. Taff clapped them together. A soft blue light appeared in the center of the kindling and quickly spread into a blazing fire. Mary hung her kettle above the flame and began to brew something using a pungent mixture of brown and red herbs.

“You need to recover your energy,” Mary said. “Your fight against the darkeaters was a difficult one, but it was like hunting rabbits compared to a battle with Imogen.” She dipped a ladle into the kettle and poured some of its contents into a wooden cup, which she handed to Kara.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” said Mary. “You haven’t tasted it.”

Indeed, the brew was only slightly less disgusting than the Clearer tea Lucas used to drink, but Kara forced it down anyway. In only a few minutes a revitalizing warmth swept through her body. She lay on the ground staring up at the canopy, many thoughts spinning through her mind.

“What is Imogen, exactly?” Kara asked. “We’ve been so busy just surviving that I haven’t really thought about it much.”

“She started out as a human being, though that was long ago. She was a sage of sorts. People would come to her when they had lost something truly important to them.”

“And she would find it?”

Mary tipped her hand from side to side in an almost gesture. “She would give it to them.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Kara asked.

Mary shook her head. “No. What she gave them wasn’t always what they lost—just an approximation, the best she could do. But her heart was in the right place, at least at the start, and more and more people came to her from all around the World, many of them rich nobles willing to pay anything for her assistance. Her parents profited greatly, and their greed blinded them to their daughter’s growing unhappiness.”

“That’s terrible,” Taff said. “They should have loved her.”

Mary nodded. “Eventually Imogen fled to the Thickety to escape her parents’ demands. Or perhaps she was called here. In either case, the Thickety changed her, as it changes all people, and instead of just finding lost things she developed an appetite for them.”

“She ate them?” Taff asked.

“Not the physical objects, exactly. More like the feelings that went with them. But feelings are not meant to be devoured—not by people, at least—and in doing so Imogen sacrificed her humanity and became something different altogether.”

Taff said, “That’s impossible.”

“Your sister talks to animals,” said Mary. “Water falls from the sky. Food grows from the ground. The world is wondrously strange, if you really stop to think about it.”

“How do I fight her?”

“Imogen is more monster than human now,” Mary said, “which is not necessarily a bad thing, for you can use your magic to control her. But it won’t be easy. She is full of deceit, that one. You might not even know—”

A fierce wind rustled the leaves around them. Branches creaked together in a keening, mournful wail.

“What?” Kara asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Mary said. “There’s nothing more I can teach you, Kara. You are as ready as you’ll ever be.”

Mary packed away their supplies so they would be ready to leave at first light. After this she knelt by Taff, who had quickly fallen asleep, and pulled the blanket closer to his chin. She kissed him on the forehead.

“Don’t you dare tell him I did that,” Mary said, refusing to look in Kara’s direction. “I may not have a grimoire anymore, but I’m sure I still have something in this sack to turn even a wexari into a toad.” She settled into her blanket. “Good night, Kara.”

“What are you going to do?” Kara asked. “If . . .”

“If?”

“If I manage to defeat Imogen. If Taff and I make it to the ship and escape the Thickety. Sordyr will know you helped us. He’ll come after you.”

“I’m a crafty old witch. I know places even he can’t find me.”

“Why don’t you come with us? Leave the Thickety. We’ll go to the World together.”

For a long time, Mary didn’t answer—so long that Kara thought she might have fallen asleep.

“Go to sleep,” Mary said.

“There’s no reason for you to stay here,” Kara said.

“I can’t return. Not after what I’ve done.”

“But it’s been so many years. No one would ever know. And you’re good now. The grimoire has no hold on you anymore. You’ve redeemed yourself.”

Mary wiggled out of her blanket and rose to her feet. She eased down next to Kara and placed a gnarled hand on her cheek, exhaling soft plumes of air as she spoke. Kara was shocked to see tears following the tracks of her wrinkled face.

“There can be no redemption for me . . . unless you can restore all the children whose lives I stole back to the way they were. Can you do that, wexari?” Her face brightened with a brief glimmer of hope. “Can you make everything go back to the way it was?”

“I can’t,” Kara said softly. “No one can.”

“You would, though,” Mary said, “if it were within your power to do so. Perhaps that’s enough. And perhaps I can still offer you a tiny bit of help in return.” Mary leaned forward and whispered four words in her ear—words that made little sense.

“What—” Kara began, but Mary pressed a finger to her lips and shook her head. Without another word, the old witch crossed to her bedroll. Her back was hunched, as though the weight of all those extra years had finally caught up with her at last.

The canopy leaves were still dark when Kara felt a sharp pain in her knee. She opened her eyes, already reaching for the dagger hidden beneath her blanket, then gasped with relief when she recognized her visitor.

“Watcher,” Kara said. “You scared me.”

The bird’s single eye rotated to the soft blue of early-morning sky, followed by an insistent, flashing mauve.

Quiet. Come.

“But Taff and Mary—should I wake them?”

Come.

Kara was reluctant to leave the warmth of her blanket on such a frigid night, but Watcher had already flown off. The bird perched on a tree at the edge of their campsite, waiting for her.

Just like in the hushfruit orchard, Kara thought, the memory of their first encounter bringing a slight smile to her lips. Her previous life of chores and classwork had begun to take on the faded quality of a barely remembered dream. And then there are those memories I used to build mind-bridges, Kara thought. The ones I don’t even realize I’ve lost.

Hugging her body for warmth, Kara followed the bird deeper into the forest. I hope Watcher’s not taking me far. Otherwise I’m going to regret leaving my cloak behind. Luckily it was a short distance indeed, a shallow gully still muddy from the previous rainfall.

Now that Watcher had stopped moving, Kara saw the deep gash beneath its eye and the odd way its left wing jutted out, as if some tiny bones had been broken.

“You’re hurt!” she exclaimed.

Watcher’s eye flipped from color to color. Kara had a bit of trouble understanding the last eyeball—cracked into a dozen shards like a mirror—but she was finally able to figure it out.

Sordyr knows. Watcher help. Witch Girl.

Kara gasped.

Watcher. Escape Sordyr.

“Good! You’re safe now—you can stay with us! My friend knows the Thickety well—there are herbs that can help you heal. . . .”

No stay. Give warning.

A screech of pain cut through the night. This was immediately followed by a desperate flutter of wings, as though something was trying to escape but had been pinned to the ground. And then silence.

Watcher’s eye spun, not as fast as usual, allowing Kara to see a steady streak of colors as they passed.

Oldwitch. Not friend.

Kara felt the trees above her start to spin.

“No.”

Yes. Oldwitch. Not friend. Trick Witch Girl.

“No,” said Kara, shaking her head. “That’s not true. You’re wrong. That can’t be true.”

Oldwitch. Sordyr friend.

“Mary saved my life. She’s been helping us.”

Helping you. Get stronger.

“Yes! She’s been teaching me how to be a wexari so I can keep Taff safe and escape this place!”

No. For Sordyr. Needs Witch Girl. Strong magic.

“Sordyr tried to kill us! We’ve been running from him this entire time!”

No. Sordyr close. Always. Trick Watcher. Trick Witch Girl.

Kara found a black mushroom as large and solid as a tree trunk and took a seat. She wrapped her arms around her knees and squeezed them tightly together.

“If Sordyr knows where I am, then why doesn’t he just come and get me?”

Witch Girl not ready. Sordyr needs wexari. Strong wexari.

“Why use Mary, then? Why not just teach me himself?”

But Kara didn’t need to look at Watcher’s eye to know the answer to that one. I would never allow the Forest Demon to teach me. But a fellow witch, on the other hand . . .

No. She didn’t believe it. She had seen the way Mary kissed Taff, the love in her eyes. You couldn’t fake that.

Have you forgotten who this is? Mary Kettle. She fooled hundreds of children into trusting her—you don’t think she’s capable of one convincing kiss?

“So you’re saying that all of this has been a type of . . . test?”

Yes. Imogen. Last test. Then Witch Girl ready. Strong wexari. Help Sordyr.

Kara rose from the mushroom and pushed her hair back from her face.

“I will never help him,” she said, her voice colder than the night.

Watcher’s eye began to spin quickly again, though as it did Kara heard a new, faint squeaking, like a wagon wheel ready to fall off its axis: Yes! Witch Girl come! Witch Girl help Watcher friends. Save us!

“That’s right. You want my help too.” A horrible thought formed in her mind. “How do I know you’re not tricking me?”

Watcher opened its eye: the sandy color of a well-known shore.

Watcher friend.

“Mary has stood by my side and faced all the same dangers as me. What exactly have you done? Why should I trust you any more than her?”

Oldwitch enemy. Watcher friend.

Kara’s thoughts spun.

Perhaps Watcher is right. How else could we have escaped the Forest Demon for this long unless Sordyr allowed it to happen? Unless it was all part of his plan. . . .

And Watcher is hurt. That shows he’s no longer helping Sordyr, doesn’t it? I can trust him. Unless Sordyr hurt Watcher just to make his story more convincing. Maybe that’s the trick. Sordyr is trying to get me to turn against Mary. She would never hurt us. She’s my friend, my friend . . .

Kara had no idea who to trust.

“Go,” she said. “Leave me.”

Watcher closed its eye. Opened it again.

Watcher friend.

“No! You’re not! Mother left and Father left and Lucas left and I can’t trust Mary and I don’t have any friends!”

Watcher friend.

“Leave! Leave now!”

When the bird showed no sign of moving, Kara’s frustration sparked into a red-hot anger. I just want to be alone; I NEED to be alone. She reached out with her mind, the bridge between them already there for her to cross, and shoved Watcher.

The bird catapulted off the boulder as though shot by an arrow and crashed into a tree with a muffled thud. A grave silence filled the forest.

“Watcher?” Kara asked.

There was no response.

She circled around the boulder, supporting herself with one trembling hand.

“Watcher?”

At first she didn’t see the bird, its dark-blue plumage camouflaged by shadows and black soil. But then Kara caught a fluttering movement, ineffectual wings making tiny circles in the dirt.

“Watcher,” she said. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

Kara bent down and reached out for the bird, meaning to lift it in her hands, but at her touch Watcher burst into the sky and flew shakily away. Its eye had been only the slightest bit open, but it was still enough to reveal the new color within: the gray flint of an arrowhead speckled with crimson.

SCARED! SCARED!

Kara watched the bird vanish, darkness into darkness, her heart thudding tremulously in her chest as she recognized the source of Watcher’s terror and the bitter truth it implied: In this forest of monstrosities, she was the thing to fear.

By the time Kara returned to their campsite the canopy leaves had begun to glow dimly, sharing the collected sunlight from the previous day. Mary slept fitfully, tossing and turning. She looked like she was going to be young today, though a splash of gray remaining in her hair made Kara wonder if she was catching the tail end of Mary’s transformation. Creeping silently to her brother’s side, she whispered words in his ear until he was awake, then muffled his groggy questions with a touch of her finger.

“We have to go,” Kara said.

Taff looked to Mary and Kara shook her head. For a moment Kara thought her brother might argue, but he simply got to his feet and began quietly gathering his things.

He trusts me so much, Kara thought. I hope I’m doing the right thing.

She took his hand. Together but alone, the two children made their way toward the grove of lost things and the monster waiting within its depths.