The graveyard sat on top of a small mountain. Rattle flew the group most of the way, setting down on a large boulder shielded from view by a tight thicket of trees. Kara didn’t want to risk getting any closer. If Rygoth had posted guards, the rustle-foot would be hard to miss.

“Stay here,” she whispered into one leathery ear. “And be ready. When we come back we may need to hurry.”

In the distance Kara could make out flickering torchlights and rounded tops of stone. The low angle prohibited her from seeing any people, but Kara knew they were up there: the silence was periodically broken by voices raised in a dark chant of exultation.

She tried not to think about what could make Rygoth’s coven so happy.

A narrow path led uphill between windblown trees battered by rain. Lucas took the lead, followed by Kara, Taff, and Grace. Kara had insisted on the small group. More bodies meant more noise, and right now their only advantage was the element of surprise. Kara had no illusions about her chances of beating Rygoth in a straight fight, but if she struck fast and unexpectedly it might provide enough of a distraction for the others to rescue Father and Safi.

But first I need Grace to try to undo the curse, because if she can’t, that changes things completely. The last thing I want to do is risk my life to rescue Timoth Clen. Kara remembered the animal skeletons hanging from the Fenroot tree, the scarecrow meant to be her with a ram’s skull and black school dress. Timoth Clen is a madman who will try to kill me the moment he’s free. If there’s no chance of returning Father to his body, it might be best not to rescue him at all.

Grace muttered something beneath her breath as she nearly slipped and fell. Though she had found a branch to use as a walking stick, the muddy ground remained difficult for her to navigate.

“Grace,” Kara whispered, waiting for her.

“Yes,” she grunted breathlessly. Her pretty features were pinched tight with frustration. “What?”

“Things may get tricky once we reach the graveyard. It’ll be best if I give this to you now.”

Kara slid her hand into her cloak and carefully removed the grimoire page, pieces flaking off like burned crumbs. I hope it still works, Kara thought, offering the magical paper to the girl who had once tried to kill her. Grace gazed at the page with solemn reverence and then took it with two hands. The moment her fingers touched the paper she giggled with unadulterated joy.

“I can feel the power,” she said. “It tickles.”

“Put it away before it gets wet. We can’t have it taking any more damage than it already has.”

Grace quickly slipped the page beneath her cloak.

“I know we’ve had our little differences,” Grace said, “but you held up your end of the bargain and I’ll do what you asked. You can trust me.”

“No, I can’t,” Kara said. “I’m sure that as soon as you have the opportunity you’ll try to stab me in the back. You might even succeed. I know how clever you are. But if you fail, I’ll throw you back into the Well myself, I promise. How do you think the Faceless will greet you, Grace? The girl who escaped and made them look like fools.” Kara leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “I’m sure they’ll have a special mask waiting just for you.”

Grace drew back, her lips trembling, and Kara felt a momentary pang of guilt. Did I go too far? Did she really mean it when she said I could trust her? But then the expression on Grace’s face shifted and Kara’s feelings of guilt dissipated. The white-haired girl examined Kara like a butcher regarding a slab of meat, considering which angle to make the first slice.

Ah, Kara thought. There you are.

“You’re wrong about me,” Grace snapped, gripping Kara’s wrist with her ice-cold hand. “I will do what you ask today. And I would never stab you in the back. I wouldn’t use a knife at all. When I finally get the best of you, it’ll be a spell that does it.” Noticing something over Kara’s shoulder, Grace canted her head and said, “Hmm. How interesting.”

Kara turned around.

Lucas had notched an arrow to his bow. It was pointed straight at her.

“Lucas?” she asked.

“I can’t believe you really did it,” he said, stepping around Kara and swiveling his bow in Grace’s direction. “You rescued her. Grace Stone. I didn’t want to say anything until we were alone, because if the other graycloaks knew the truth it would have been impossible to convince them you were on our side. I had to wait.”

“What are you doing?” Kara asked.

Lucas pulled the bowstring back and gritted his teeth, willing himself to let the arrow fly. Grace stared into his eyes with a slight smirk on her face.

“I’m so sorry about your father,” Lucas said, “but I can’t let her undo the curse. You weren’t here this past year. You didn’t see the burning villages, the corpses piled on top of one another. Without Timoth Clen, who’s going to stop the witches? Who’s going to save us?”

Kara stepped between Lucas and Grace, blocking his shot.

“I am,” she said.

“Move, Kara. Please.”

“You need to trust me.”

“I do, you know I do, but—”

“If today has proven anything it’s that Timoth Clen doesn’t have a chance against Rygoth. He’s been taken prisoner. His army was wiped out. You and all your new graycloak friends would be dead right now if I hadn’t come in time. You know what that tells me? The world doesn’t need a witch hunter. It needs a witch.”

Lucas stared at Kara for a long time and then lowered his bow.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said.

Kara looked back at Grace, her wet hair plastered against her skull. She was smiling.

So do I, Kara thought.

By the time they reached the graveyard the rain had finally stopped. Past three rings of massive, oblong stones half-buried in the earth, Kara could see torch-lit figures moving in the night. She carefully made her way from ring to ring until she reached the innermost circle and pressed her back against a slick wet stone. The others followed her lead, each using a different stone for cover.

Taking a deep breath, Kara peeked just far enough to see into the graveyard.

There were no tombstones. Instead, hundreds of violet pyramids, ranging in height from a kneeling child to a full-size man, created a labyrinth in the muddy ground. The pyramids had been constructed from some sort of sea glass, and in the moonlight Kara could see mummified corpses pressed against their semitransparent walls.

Between the pyramidal coffins walked the witches.

They were all dressed the same: black cloaks that reached down to their ankles and bore the crimson crest of a double-fanged spider. Hoods concealed their faces but not the grimoires in their hands.

Fifty of them, Kara thought. Maybe more.

Three stones down, Kara heard Taff’s sudden intake of breath. Their eyes met, and he pointed to an area of the graveyard that she was unable to see from her current vantage point. She crossed behind the stone and peeked out from the other side, hoping for a better angle.

Her stomach lurched.

Near the northern edge of the graveyard stood an ancient black obelisk engraved with faded, forgotten letters. Her father was chained to it. He was barely conscious and his white robe was slashed and speckled with red. The cruel, Clenian edges cut into his face had been smoothed by exhaustion and pain; at that moment, he looked like their father again.

Kara heard a low, musical laugh.

Rygoth.

She sat on a pile of animal bones crafted into a makeshift throne, closer to Kara’s hiding place than the obelisk but facing off to the side. The long dress she wore was the dark purple of a lingering bruise and embroidered with silver weblike patterns. Her long white gloves gleamed like polished ivory. By her side sat the wolf with the scorpion tail.

“I grow tired of waiting,” Rygoth said, yawning into the back of her hand. “Who’s next?”

At the opposite end of the graveyard a dozen girls dressed practically in rags pawed through a pile of leather volumes. These must be the girls that Rygoth rescued from the iron cages, Kara thought. They’re choosing their grimoires from what’s left of the stock Rygoth transported from Kala Malta. Two black-cloaked witches found a girl already clinging to a spellbook and shoved her forward. Her face was filthy, her hair dirty and unkempt.

“Did it call to you?” Rygoth asked, gesturing toward the grimoire in the girl’s hands. “Did it speak your true name?”

The girl nodded.

“You feel its power, don’t you? After all those months in that cage, you burn to use it. Don’t fight your feelings, dear. You’re absolutely right. The world does deserve to be punished for what it did to you. Just vow your undying loyalty to me, and you’ll never be weak again.”

The girl dropped to one knee.

“I, Holly Lamson, swear that—”

“Not like that,” Rygoth said. “I have no interest in words. Haven’t you been watching the others?”

The girl nodded subserviently.

“Then you know what to do.”

Holly crossed to the black obelisk. She considered the man before her, perhaps feeling a final moment of pity, and then opened her new grimoire to the first page. Strange words poured forth from her lips. Timoth Clen screamed in pain as an invisible force whipped his chest, leaving a new tear in his shirt.

Holly gasped in childlike delight, amazed by what she had done. The other witches swarmed around her, chanting, “Welcome, sister! May darkness embrace and empower you!” A black cloak was pulled over Holly’s head and she was folded into the coven.

Another ragged girl was shoved in front of Rygoth. The process began anew.

Kara did not want her father—her real father—suffering through the pain that Timoth Clen must be experiencing at that moment, but there was no more time to wait. She needed to know if all her efforts had been worth it.

Here we go, she thought, nodding toward Grace.

The girl eagerly withdrew the tattered page. Kara closely observed Grace’s every movement, ready to act at the slightest sign of duplicity; she had already built mind-bridges to a pair of large vultures perched at the top of the stone, just in case.

If she gives me the slightest reason I won’t hesitate to send them.

“That’s not right,” Grace mumbled, staring down at the page. “That’s not what I need.”

Biting her lower lip, Grace focused all her energy on the page. Her hands began to tremble. A ribbon of paper tore away and fluttered to the ground.

“Give me what I want,” she said. “Give me, give me, give me . . .”

Grace smiled victoriously.

She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, and spoke the words.

Chains rattled as Timoth Clen jerked forward, his eyes rolling back in his head. Grace spoke faster, and then faster still, the words blending together, a sweeping of sounds. Beads of sweat rolled down her left temple.

Kara looked back at her father and saw him cough out a puff of black, polluted air.

“She’s doing it,” Taff whispered, his face aglow with hope. “It’s really working!”

A long ripping sound tore through the night.

“No!” Grace exclaimed, far too loud. The black-cloaked witch standing closest to them raised her head and started in their direction. Kara ducked behind the stone and turned toward Grace.

She was holding two pieces of torn paper in her hands.

“The spell was too powerful,” Grace said. “The page was already weak from all the time it spent away from the grimoire. It couldn’t handle it.” She met Taff’s eyes, her expression uncharacteristically soft. “I’m sorry.”

Dirt crunched on the opposite side of the stone as the curious witch drew closer. Lucas reached for his glorb-bow but Kara shook her head. She breathed deeply, feeling each heartbeat thudding in her chest, surprisingly calm. I know exactly what to do. It’s just a matter of getting it done. Like chores on the farm.

“Taff,” she said, keeping her voice as close to a whisper as possible. “Grace needs a grimoire. When I make my distraction, sneak over to that pile and steal her one. Grace, be ready to try that spell again. Lucas, can one of those fancy arrows of yours break those chains?”

“I think so,” Lucas said. “But—”

“Good. Go get my father. And keep an eye out for Safi. She has to be here somewhere.” If she’s not dead, of course. “I’ll meet you all back where we landed. If I’m not there—don’t wait for me. I’ll figure something out.”

She backed away from the stone.

“Where are you going?” Taff asked.

“To get my wolf.”

Kara stepped into the open and nearly collided with the approaching witch. The girl raised her grimoire to cast a spell but Kara knocked it from her hands.

“Rygoth!” Kara exclaimed.

Robes rustled as witches spun in her direction, torchlight illuminating a sea of startled faces. That’s right, Kara thought. Look here! Keep those backs turned so Lucas and Taff can do their jobs.

Dozens of grimoires opened at once. The night was filled with the sound of flipping pages.

“Close your spellbooks!” Rygoth exclaimed. “Let her come.”

Kara maneuvered past the aboveground coffins, mud sucking at her boots. Desiccated faces shielded by violet glass watched her as she passed. When she reached the silent witches they parted into two sections, forming a path that led directly to Rygoth. No escape now, Kara thought. I have to be prepared for anything. She called out to more vultures, constructing mind-bridges from specific memories of death—lifeless eyes, swollen bodies—in order to tempt the carrion eaters. Soon all of the stones in the circle were topped with hunch-winged shadows.

Wait, Kara told the vultures. Not yet. On my signal only.

She stepped before Rygoth’s throne.

To either side of the wexari stood the twins, their wan faces slashed with joyless smiles. Did they really kill Safi? Kara thought, scanning the graveyard and seeing no trace of her lost friend. Her blood raged, and the wolf seated by Rygoth’s throne bared his fangs.

“My persistent little wexari,” Rygoth said. Sparks of color glinted in her fractured eyes. “I was wondering when you would get here.”

The lack of surprise in Rygoth’s voice, as though Kara’s arrival had been as expected as nightfall, needled her with fear.

What else does she know? Is this all a trap?

Are the others in danger?

Kara pushed that last thought away, picturing instead a clear blue sky with white clouds. I have to keep my mind as blank as possible. If Rygoth slips inside she’ll learn all our . . .

“No need to protect your secrets from me, Kara,” Rygoth said. “I already know them all.”

Kara had her doubts about this. She felt a scratching at her skull, like a dog wanting to be let inside the house.

She’s trying to gain entrance to my mind. She wouldn’t be doing that if she knew everything already.

“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” Kara said.

“Why? Because you have your powers back?” Rygoth smiled at Kara’s shocked expression and clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh dear! Were you hoping to take me unawares? Have I ruined the surprise?”

The witches erupted into laughter. Rygoth let it continue for a few moments, her pitiless eyes never leaving Kara’s, and then raised one hand into the air.

The laughter stopped immediately.

“So you’re not afraid of me,” Rygoth said. “How inspiring. But there’s a serious flaw in your logic. Being a wexari again should make you more afraid of me. Before you were just a meddlesome child. But now? I really do have to kill you.”

Kara looked into Rygoth’s eyes and saw not hatred or joy but something even worse: the first stirrings of boredom.

I have to stall, give the others as much time as possible.

“How did you know I got my powers back?” Kara asked.

Rygoth smiled.

“Now that’s a question I’d be thrilled to answer.”

She snapped her fingers, the sound muffled by the white gloves. A small figure stepped forward from the first row of witches and pushed back her hood.

“Safi!” Kara exclaimed.

The girl shuddered at the sound of her name but did not look in Kara’s direction. Safi’s green eyes, usually so full of life, were flat and dull.

The twins didn’t kill her. They brought her to their queen.

She’s alive!

“Allow me to introduce you to my seer,” Rygoth said. “Stubborn little thing at first. But she’s learned her place. Tells me all sorts of useful information—like the fact that you got your magic back, for instance. After this she’s going to help me gather the princess’s grimoire, piece by piece. You think you’ve seen magic? Just wait.”

“Safi,” Kara said. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

Raucous laughter shook the witches.

“Is that so?” Rygoth asked. “Tell me, Seer. Do you want to leave my side?”

“Of course not,” Safi intoned. “I live to serve you.”

“What will you do if Kara tries to take you by force?”

“I will kill her, if my master commands it.”

Rygoth smiled and folded her hands in her lap.

“Kara, Kara, Kara. I’m a bit bewildered by what you hope to accomplish here. Are you waiting for the right moment to send these vultures you’ve gathered up on the stones?” Rygoth sighed. “Yes, Kara, I know about them too. They would never dare to attack me. No creature would.”

Kara saw, however, the way Rygoth’s eyes flickered up to the birds. She was not afraid—not even close—but there was a certain degree of weariness in the glance, as though taking care of the vultures would require more energy than she’d like to expend. Kara saw her slumped shoulders, the way she leaned on one armrest of the throne.

Creating all those creatures to attack the graycloaks must have taken a lot out of her. She’s exhausted.

I have to do this now. I won’t get a better chance.

“I met Minoth,” Kara said.

Rygoth raised her eyebrows in surprise before quickly regaining her composure.

“Of course,” she lied. “I already knew this.” Rygoth straightened in her throne and smiled widely. “Did he admit his mistake in forcing me to leave Sablethorn? Now that he can see the greatness I’ve achieved, did he—”

“Actually, he didn’t mention you at all. Oh, wait. Yes he did! After I went into the queth’nondra and passed the Sundering test—that’s how I got my powers back, but I’m sure you knew that—Minoth told me that you were too scared to take it. He said that I was a better witch at age thirteen than you’ll ever be.”

Rygoth’s lips tightened with simmering rage.

“That’s not true.”

“If you say so,” Kara said. She clapped her hands together, as though she had just thought of an idea on the spot. “I’ll give you a chance to prove it. A challenge. How does that sound?”

“I don’t need to prove anything to you. If I wanted to, I could—”

“Oh,” said Kara. “Looks like Minoth was right. You are scared.”

A murmur of shocked whispers passed through the witches. Rygoth regarded them with fury, a hint of color rising to her cheeks.

“Name your challenge!” Rygoth screamed.

Kara nodded. She was relieved to have made it this far in her plan, but now came the hard part.

“That wolf by your side came to me first,” Kara said, “and you stole him. I want him back. That’s the challenge. The wolf sits between us and we both call to him. If he comes to me, you let me and Safi go. If he goes to you, I will pledge my loyalty and serve you as you see fit.”

Rygoth smiled at this.

“I accept your challenge, child. This should be quite amusing, while it lasts.”

She waved a hand and the wolf trotted to a point between them. It sat back down, its scorpion tail arcing high into the air. The witches pushed together for a better view, forming an alley between the two wexari with the wolf right at the center.

“Shall we begin?” Rygoth asked.

Kara already had, trying to listen for what the wolf needed—so she would know how to build her mind-bridge—but his thoughts were blocked by dark walls. Rygoth smirked, clearly sensing what Kara was attempting to do, and sent forth a whip-strike across the wolf’s mind. Kara felt it as well, a fiery bolt of pain. She screamed. The wolf whimpered. The witches cheered. Head down, the wolf started in Rygoth’s direction. Kara shook her head and tried to pierce Rygoth’s walls, looking for an opening, a weakness, anything. They were impenetrable.

Finally, she got down to one knee and called the wolf to her.

“Here, boy.” Kara thought for a few moments and then added, “Here, Darno. That’s what I’m going to call you, okay? I hope you like it. All creatures deserve to be named.”

The witches thought this was the most hilarious thing they had ever heard, and the resultant laughter was deafening. Kara ignored them. I don’t need to see his thoughts. I know what he wants. I’m sure of it. She laid the images of freedom on the ground between them like a trail of food—standing on the edge of the Wayfinder, the ocean breeze whipping through my hair, dashing through the trees of the Thickety, flying on Rattle’s back. . . .

Darno took a few steps toward Kara.

The witches stopped laughing.

And then Rygoth struck out again with lashes of pure, seething hatred, and the whimpering wolf backed away from Kara and toward his master. Freedom is not enough, Kara thought, and she flooded the wolf’s mind with memories of love and companionship. The wolf reversed direction, took a few steps toward her. Yes, thought Kara. Come with me. I’ll take you away from here! We can be great friends, you and I.

He was almost within her reach now. Kara held out her hand, waited for his warm nose to greet—

Rygoth rose from her throne and screamed with fury.

Darno howled in excruciating pain. His eyes became watery, his stinger shook. He took a few steps toward Rygoth, but Kara’s hold on him was still strong and he hesitated. He wanted to be with her. Kara could feel it. He wanted to be loved.

But if he resisted Rygoth much longer she was going to kill him.

Enough! thought Kara. I don’t want her to hurt you anymore. I release you. Go!

The wolf scampered across the graveyard and did not stop until he was cowed before Rygoth’s feet.

The witches applauded.

“I have taken countless lives,” Rygoth said. “At first it’s thrilling, but as the years pass it becomes routine, like blowing your candle out at night. But your death is one I shall truly savor.”

Kara, her mind elsewhere, hardly heard the words. She had never really thought she had a chance to beat Rygoth. Her primary goal had been to build a connection to the wolf so he would do what she wanted when the time came.

Now!

Darno’s scorpion tail shot down like an arrow and pierced Rygoth’s hand.

The wexari stared at the wolf in complete disbelief, and then her hand began to swell, the glove cracking open at the seams and finally tearing away altogether, revealing a swollen mass of flesh. “What have you done?” Rygoth screamed, raising her deformed hand into the air. “What have you done? Kill her! Kill her!”

All around Kara, grimoires began to flap open.

“Attack!” she commanded, looking skyward.

A cloud of dark feathers descended upon the witches. The vultures would have no doubt preferred the tender flesh of carrion, but the grimoires had the stink of death to them and were an acceptable substitute. Razor-sharp talons snatched the books and carted them away.

Amid the chaos, Rygoth hunched over her still-ballooning hand; Kara pushed her way to Safi.

“Come on,” Kara said, grabbing the girl’s wrist. “Let’s get out of here!”

Safi shoved her away.

“I will never go with you!” she screamed. “Never! I serve only the Spider Queen!”

Safi spoke a few words from her grimoire and a gust of wind slammed into Kara, thrusting her through the crowd of witches. She tumbled and rose just before the inner circle of stones.

Safi was nowhere to be seen.

The witches had begun to gain the upper hand in their battle against the vultures. Fire lit the night and winged bodies dropped from the sky. A woman pointed in Kara’s direction and screamed, “There!” Sparks of magical energy chipped the stone to Kara’s left.

She ran.

Kara had always been a fast runner, but exhaustion was overtaking her body and the witches slowly gained ground. She reached out to the creatures of the forest for help and heard leaves rustle, screaming, fewer footsteps than before. Finally, she reached Rattle, wings extended, ready to leave. There were only three shapes on the rustle-foot’s back.

“Where’s Grace?” she asked, quickly taking stock.

Lucas shook his head and pulled Kara onto the rustle-foot’s back.

Her strength was finally failing, the world growing dim. Wings flapped. The ground grew smaller. The twins stepped out of the trees and into the clearing, the grimoire held between them. Kara couldn’t hear the words of the spell from that distance but she saw boulders transform into great snapping birds of prey and launch themselves at the rustle-foot. Kara reached out with her mind to stop them but she was too tired; magic was beyond her. She was about to throw her arms in front of her face when suddenly the sky shimmered. The rock monsters instantly reversed direction, as though they had bounced off some kind of invisible surface, and plummeted toward the startled figures far below them. The twins barely had time to flee into the forest before the boulders crashed into the surface and a geyser of earth shot into the air.

As the dust cleared, a black-cloaked figure holding an open grimoire stepped out from the shadows and pushed back her hood, revealing a stubborn clump of short brown hair.

Bethany, Kara thought. She’s dressed like the others . . . but she saved us.

Bethany quickly slammed her grimoire shut as a mob of witches swarmed into the clearing. Luckily, these new arrivals were too distracted by the departing rustle-foot to wonder what Bethany was doing there, and the young witch donned her hood and vanished into their numbers.

Be safe, my friend, Kara thought as Rattle stretched out her wings and sailed into the night. Kara squinted at the unconscious figure in front of her, roped securely to his seat. Even in the darkness she recognized his familiar form. “Father?” Kara screamed against the raging wind. “Father?” He didn’t move. “Father? Is it you?” Kara reached out a hand to touch his shoulder but a sudden rush of dizziness nearly caused her to topple into the night. Heart pounding, she grabbed the folds of Rattle’s skin.

Please be you, she thought. This can’t have all been for nothing.

Kara closed her eyes, held tight, and hoped.