The next morning they arrived at Ilma Station. It was packed with people, some already waiting on the stairs leading up to the elevated platform. Taff, worried that there might not be enough seats, wanted to join the line immediately, but West assured him that there would be plenty of space. They purchased what supplies they could at an overpriced general store, including new clothes: a green woolen skirt and white sweater for Safi; for Taff, a white shirt, gray slacks, and a tie (which he despised); and, for Kara, a lavender dress made from velvet. West thought these “city clothes,” as he called them, would help them blend into the general population of Penta’s Keep.

There were also bathing rooms, for which Kara was extremely grateful. Time vanished as she scrubbed the travel dust from her skin and washed her hair. When she finally came outside Taff greeted her with a look of exasperation.

“You took forever.”

She caught Lucas looking in her direction, but when she met his eyes he looked quickly away, his face reddening.

He hates my dress. He’s turning away so I don’t see him laugh.

The Swoop pulled into the station.

It was quieter than Kara had thought it would be, arriving on the underside of the Swoop line with the whoosh of tunneled wind. Seven sections—West called them “cars”—had been joined together by metal rods. Each was painted a lighter red than Bethany’s model but with the same gold trim, and though they were of slightly varying lengths, even the shortest car would have required a dozen horses to pull it along a road. Through the Swoop’s many windows Kara spied faces pressed against glass; Safi and Taff, by some unbidden instinct, instantly began to wave.

“I guess this is good-bye,” said West, enfolding each of the children in his spindly arms. “I look forward to meeting your father someday soon. Your real father.”

“I would like that,” said Kara.

He pinched her cheek, then ushered Safi and Taff onto the embarking line of passengers.

“What about Kara?” she heard Taff grumble, their voices already fading into the crowd.

“She’ll be right behind you,” said West.

“But why isn’t she coming now?”

“Sheesh,” Safi said. “You really don’t understand anything, do you?”

Kara turned to face Lucas, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since Gildefroid. She felt as though he had left part of himself behind in that wicked place, and it grieved her.

“Be careful,” Kara said, hugging him tightly. “Don’t forget, Timoth Clen has Father’s memories as well. He’ll recognize you from De’Noran. You must stay out of sight.”

She drew back, Lucas’s face surprisingly close to hers, and for a brief, stomach-fluttering moment Kara was certain he was going to kiss her.

Instead he said, “Don’t do this. It’s too dangerous.”

“He’s my father.”

“Exactly. Is this what he would want? His children risking their lives to save him?”

“It’s not just him. What about all the other girls? Timoth Clen is going to kill them!”

“I know,” Lucas said, shaking his head as though his very words confused him. “I’m not saying that Timoth Clen is a good man. He’s not. But he might be a necessary one. Rygoth is building an army of evil witches. And Timoth Clen, despite all his faults, is a witch hunter. He can stop her.”

Above them, a whistle sounded. Any last passengers needed to board.

“I can’t believe you’re saying this,” Kara said.

“You saw what happened to Gildefroid. What if Timoth Clen had gotten there in time? He could have saved those people!”

“How? By releasing his nightseekers and carting away a bunch of innocent girls just because they can use magic?”

“They’re not all innocent, Kara. That’s my point.”

“So the bad ones and the good ones should all be treated the same? Is that what you think? Every witch should be imprisoned and killed?”

“Of course not!” Lucas clasped his head between his hands. “But there are no good choices here, and his way might save more lives than it hurts.”

“It’s Rygoth who has to be stopped!” Kara exclaimed. “And Timoth Clen is not the solution. If he’s allowed to hurt innocent people his influence will spread. Soon it won’t just be girls with the talent who are being punished. It will be any girl who’s a little bit different than everyone else. The Fold will be reborn, and Sentium will become just another De’Noran.”

“You don’t know that. It could be that Timoth Clen is the only one who can stop the witches at all. You’ve lost your powers, Kara. There are no more wexari. Everyone who uses a grimoire turns evil. If you restore your father and take Timoth Clen away . . . who’s left?”

The whistle sounded again.

“Find him,” Kara said. “I’ll need to know where he is when the time comes.”

Lucas hesitated for a long moment before finally nodding.

“I’ll do as I promised,” he said, “but just ask yourself: What if you’re making a mistake? What if getting your father back ends up hurting more people than it helps?”

The Swoop whistled, longer this time. Last call.

“Take care of Shadowdancer,” Kara said.

She ran up the stairs. By the time she boarded the Swoop her cheeks were damp with tears.

Glorb-powered water propelled the Swoop along at unbelievable speed, the passing landscape a hectic blur of shapes and colors. Taff and Safi pressed their faces against the thick glass windows, gesturing with excitement each time a new wonder appeared. The interior of the Swoop was even more interesting. Passengers transplanted from all corners of Sentium sat on golden benches burnished bright. Some looked no different from the townspeople of Nye’s Landing, but others were dressed unlike anyone Kara had ever seen. A tired-looking man stretched his arms in a glass jacket as flexible as linen. A group of four with stern expressions on their faces wore padded earmuffs, as though the loud noises of the car were too much for them to take. In the far corner of the car sat an isolated figure whose face was concealed beneath a black handkerchief. He—or she—drew air through a tube connected to a metal container.

After the colorless monotony of a childhood spent among the Children of the Fold, Kara should have been fascinated by this diverse new world.

She just stared at her lap.

Lucas is wrong. I’m doing the right thing.

She listened to the conversations around her (at least those in her language). Whispers and rumors about horrific tragedies that had befallen a handful of towns recently. Witchcraft! Evil! And a hero who led an army of gray-cloaked men . . .

Timoth Clen is not a hero!

Taff, drawn by the aromas of cinnamon and nutmeg, left to spend a few more of West’s coins at the snack cart. Kara turned in her seat to face Safi. The girl looked older, but not in a good way. Aged. She had lost weight, and her wrists were as thin as toothpicks.

“How are you feeling?” Kara asked.

“Better,” she said. “More like myself.” Safi’s eyes narrowed with concern. “How are you?”

“Confused.”

“About what?”

“Everything! I want our father back, but maybe the world really would be better off with Timoth Clen in it. I need your help, but I don’t want you to use the grimoire, not if it’s going to hurt you. I want to believe that I can survive the Well of Witches, but I’m not a witch anymore. Am I a fool to even try?”

Safi dragged her fingers through her hair. She had taken the pigtails out back at Ilma Station and hadn’t gotten used to wearing it straight yet.

“Let’s see if I can help,” she said, holding up a single finger. “First one’s easy. Your father was a good man who loved you and Taff. Timoth Clen burns innocent girls alive. Plus, it’s your father’s body. Forget about what’s right for the world. Do what’s right for him.”

Kara nodded, appreciating Safi’s attempt to cheer her up, but she knew it wasn’t that simple. Lucas’s words echoed in her head: What if getting your father back ends up hurting more people than it helps?

Safi held up two fingers.

“Second, it doesn’t matter if you want me to use the grimoire or not. I want to help. I’m using it. And you’re right, it might hurt me. There’s that risk. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I think maybe the only reason you could use it without being corrupted is because you’re a wexari. You’re special.”

“That’s not true. You resisted it. So did Bethany at the end.”

“For a spell or two. But long-term, I think maybe the grimoire is bound to win.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s all right. I can do a lot of good before that happens.”

Kara did not like the resigned expression on Safi’s face, but before she could say anything Taff slid into the seat across from them. He handed each of the girls a warm cinnamon stick wrapped in waxed paper.

“I already ate mine,” Taff said. “So if either one of you decides you’re not hungry—”

Kara handed him her stick and he eagerly bit off the top.

“As for your third worry, about whether or not you’re being a fool to enter the Well of Witches—” Safi smiled. “You don’t need magic to be a hero, Kara. I believe in you. I’d follow you anywhere.”

Taff, his mouth full of cinnamon goodness, mumbled his agreement.

Kara smiled shyly.

“Thank you,” she said. “Both of you. For believing that.”

Safi leaned forward and looked into her eyes.

“You’re welcome. Now when are you going to start believing it yourself?”

Several hours later Kara decided that she was hungry after all. She sent Taff for more cinnamon sticks and three cups of mulled cider pressed from a tart fruit she did not recognize. Afterward, she fell into a deep sleep.

Father was waiting.

The land, as always, was freshly tilled and ready for seeding. In Kara’s past dreams, Father had always scooped up a handful of dirt and let it run through his fingers before removing the pouch of seeds from his inside pocket. Not this time. Instead, Father collapsed to his knees, his body convulsing with what Kara at first took for tears but were actually soundless laughs.

Suddenly Father spun around as though an invisible hand had touched his shoulder. He looked relieved—happy, even—as he spoke soft words to the empty air, touching the contours of an unseen figure with his hand.

He’s seeing things now, Kara thought. Going mad, if he’s not there already.

She awoke.

“Finally!” Taff exclaimed, his hands on her shoulders. There were tears in his eyes. “You have to do something! Safi’s not waking up!”

Kara rose to her feet, the desperation in her brother’s voice waking her instantly.

Safi was slumped over on the bench, not moving.

“The conductor announced that we’ll be arriving at Penta’s Keep in a few minutes, so I tried to wake her up. Said her name, shook her. Nothing.”

Kara bent over the girl. Her chest rose and fell in a reassuring rhythm.

“She’s deep asleep,” Kara said. “That’s all.”

“You try to wake her, then. Go ahead.”

“Safi?” Kara asked.

There was no reaction.

“Safi?” Kara shook her shoulder this time. “Safi?”

Her chest continued to rise and fall, but other than that Safi appeared lost to the world.

“What happened to her?” Taff asked.

“I don’t know,” Kara said. “She’s not dead. But she’s more than asleep.”

She lifted the girl a few inches off the bench and let her fall. Her body landed like a rag doll and would have rolled to the floor had Kara not stopped it.

“What do we do?” Taff asked.

Kara felt panic rising in her chest but tried to appear calm for her brother’s sake. “There must be doctors in Penta’s Keep. Someone who can help us.”

“It’s the grimoire, isn’t it?” Taff asked. “It’s punishing her for not using it. We should have gotten rid of it when we were on the—”

Safi opened her eyes, causing both Taff and Kara to jump with surprise.

“We have to get off the Swoop,” she said.

Taff helped his friend to a sitting position.

“We couldn’t wake you up,” he said. “I was so scared!”

“I’m sorry. That’s what happens when I have a vision. I should have warned you.”

“What do you mean we have to get off?” Kara asked. “Why?”

“There are graycloaks waiting for us at the next station. I saw them.” Safi hesitated. “Only this vision was different somehow.”

“How so?”

“Hard to explain. Just different. But that doesn’t make it wrong. We need to get off this thing. Now.”

“How?” Taff asked. “You know how fast we’re moving? And how high? What are we going to do—jump?”

Safi shrugged and turned to Kara.

“I’m going to need my grimoire back,” she said.

Kara closed her eyes the whole way down. She landed hard in the branches of an evergreen tree, Safi’s magical shield protecting her from instant death but doing remarkably little to combat nonfatal scratches and general bruising. Kara fell to the snow-packed ground and lay on her back for a few moments, regaining her breath. She heard two thunks in quick succession as Safi and Taff landed beside her.

“That was not one of your better spells,” Taff said.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘worked.’”

Kara flipped over on her stomach and pushed herself up. Cold air snapped its teeth at her. She helped the others to their feet and they started down a narrow path lined with evergreens. Unlike the enclosed canopy of the Thickety, which always seemed in the process of swallowing its inhabitants, Kara could clearly see the dark sky above the trees: two moons and a breathtaking tableau of sparkling light.

“Pretty,” Kara said.

“Cold,” replied Taff, rubbing his hands together. Kara gave him his mittens and wool hat, which she always kept in the pocket of her cloak because he would lose them otherwise. “Which way?” he asked.

“Just follow the Swoop line north,” Kara said. “That will lead us to Penta’s Keep.”

“What about the graycloaks?” Safi asked. “Won’t they be waiting for us?”

“Once they see we’re not on the Swoop they’ll move on.” She placed her hand on Safi’s back. “How was it? Using the grimoire after all this time?”

“It was easy. The spell was just sitting there waiting for me.”

“That’s good. Right?”

“I’m not sure. There’s something about this I don’t like.”

“Kara,” Taff said.

He raised a single finger and pointed into the woods, where a large wolf, charcoal-gray with sharp blue eyes, watched them with keen interest.

Safi raised her grimoire.

“No,” Kara said. “Let’s keep walking, show him that we don’t mean any harm. Remember, we’re trespassing in his home here.”

She continued along the path, Taff and Safi to either side of her. Pristine white snow crunched beneath their feet. The wolf kept pace with them, loping through the trees. Soon four more wolves, two on either side of the path, joined him. The children walked faster and the wolves matched this new pace, though they showed no inclination to attack. Branches cracked and groaned as two mammoth animals pushed their way free of the trees. Their heads were long and narrow, their antlers cupped to the sky like giant leaves catching rain. Kara was certain the wolves would attack these new arrivals, or vice versa, but they simply walked together like old friends, the wolves dancing between the hooves of the massive creatures.

“My father had an old book for children with pictures of animals from the World,” Safi whispered. “I recognize that one. It’s called a moose.”

“What’s happening?” Taff asked.

The elk came next, followed by an entire family of reindeer, a dozen red foxes, and two black bears awoken early from hibernation. Squirrels and chipmunks danced along the treetops; flapping wings thickened the sky. Evergreens shook clumps of snow to the ground as animals spilled onto the path, the menagerie growing at such a rapid pace that it was impossible to keep track of them all. The animals filled the spaces behind them, blocking any sort of escape, and forced the children off the path to a darker part of the forest. Taff fell behind the girls, and something that looked like a large cat nudged him forward.

“Sometimes I really miss your powers,” he told Kara.

“Me too.”

“You want me to cast a fireball?” Safi asked. “Maybe that would scare them away.”

“Or cause a wild stampede with us in the center.”

“Well, we have to do something. Why are they chasing us?”

“They’re not chasing us,” Kara said. “They’re herding us.”

They came to a clearing with a red tent at its center. The tent was huge, larger than even the Bindery back in Kala Malta, with three peaks like the spiny ridges of some great beast. From each of these peaks waved a black flag bearing the image of a double-fanged spider.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” Taff whispered.

Kara nodded.

The forest animals took positions on the outskirts of the clearing, granting the children entrance to the tent but cutting off every other avenue of escape.

“That’s why the vision felt strange to me,” Safi said. “She put it in my head. There were no graycloaks at the next station. It was all a trick to get us here.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Kara. “She’s good at tricking witches.”

To either side of the tent’s entrance stood two smiling girls, identical in every way. They were about fifteen, with moon-gray eyes and strange glaucous hair brushed so violently straight it could give bristles nightmares. Between nubs of half-grown teeth Kara glimpsed misshapen black tongues.

The twins pulled back the entrance flaps and the children entered the tent.