When Taff awoke the following morning he had come up with a plan. It was like this with him sometimes, his mind still working while his body slept.

“We’ll use Isabelle,” he said, crawling out of bed and removing the lie-detecting doll from his sack of toys.

“You named your doll?” Kara asked, still groggy.

“Well, I have to call her something. And there was a girl named Isabelle back in De’Noran who was always tattling on the boys.”

“I remember.”

“Seemed fitting.”

The straw doll was small enough to fit in Taff’s hand but amazingly detailed, with braided hair, a hoop skirt, and twin circles of black thread for eyes.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“We ask all the girls in town if they’re a witch.”

“And?”

“I’ll keep Isabelle in my pocket and feel for if she shakes her head or not. If anyone’s lying, we’ll know right away.”

Kara chuckled. Like the best plans, it was absurdly simple. She was a little embarrassed that she hadn’t thought of it herself.

“What?” Taff asked.

“Nothing,” Kara said, leaping out of bed and tickling his toes. “So how are we going to do this? Go door to door?”

“Too long. What about bringing everyone to us? A town gathering, like Worship back in De’Noran.”

“That could work. Let’s ask Lucas how they do things like that here.” Kara rubbed sleep seeds from the corners of her eyes. “I’m not used to our plans being so straightforward. There are usually more complications than this.”

“Do you want to add some?” Taff asked eagerly. “The complications are my favorite parts.”

“Maybe we should just keep it simple for now. I don’t want Safi locked up a single moment longer than she has to be.”

“Do you think she’s all right?”

She imagined Safi in the darkness of her cell, trembling with cold, thinking of how Kara had snatched away her grimoire.

I was supposed to be her teacher. Her friend. She trusted me.

“Did I do the right thing?” Kara asked.

Taff picked at some dirt beneath his fingernails. “You wanted to make sure that no one got hurt.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I just want my friend back,” Taff said, finally meeting her eyes. “Part of me thinks you should have trusted her. The other part of me is glad you stopped her before she did something she couldn’t take back. I’m not sure there was a right decision.”

“Maybe,” said Kara. “But was there a wrong one?”

When Lucas arrived later that morning, Kara told him that they needed all the women and girls of Nye’s Landing in one spot. He agreed to help them without even asking why. “Just go down to the beach and wait for my signal,” he said. “I’ll do the rest.”

Kara nodded blankly, stunned by this demonstration of absolute trust.

I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have a true friend.

After close to an hour a bell tolled three times in succession and the residents of Nye’s Landing began to trickle onto the beach. Lucas and North, along with several other members of the town guard, sent the men away and organized the girls and women into a long line. The potential witches glared at Kara, their resentment as clear as their breaths pluming in the cold air.

“Sorry it took so long,” Lucas told her. “I had to get permission from the Mistrals to gather everyone on the beach. East didn’t want to allow it, of course. He thinks you’re up to something.”

“He believes that all witches are evil. Nothing will change his mind.”

“You will,” Lucas said, touching her arm. “You’re the proof that magic can be used for wonderful things. That witches can be good.”

Except I’m not a witch anymore. I’m nothing special at all.

“We should start,” Kara said. “Long line.”

Lucas quickly removed his hand from her arm.

“I’ll send them up one at a time,” he said. “That work for you?”

Kara nodded.

Lucas waved the first woman forward, a dour-looking old lady with a mop of stringy hair.

“I have some things to say,” she started, her hand on one hip. “First of all, let me tell you what I think about this spectacle you’ve—”

“Are you a witch?” Kara asked.

The woman was so shocked by the unexpected question that she could only cough out her next words.

“I am most certainly not! How dare you even imply that a woman such as—”

Kara glanced at Taff, standing by her side, his hand in one pocket. He gave her a slight nod: She’s telling the truth.

“Next!” Kara exclaimed.

Lucas ushered the still-complaining woman away and nodded the next one forward.

Kara and Taff settled into a rhythm after this—question, nod, question, nod—with Lucas in charge of keeping the line moving. Eventually Kara stopped looking to Taff for affirmation, knowing that if Isabelle sensed a lie he would find a way to let her know. As the afternoon wore down the line of people, which had at first seemed insurmountable, shrunk to a more manageable level.

None of them were witches.

The boats had started to dock for the day by the time Kara reached the last girl, a bespectacled waif with a spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

“Are you a witch?” Kara asked, unsurprised when the girl answered, “Of course not!” and skipped away.

“Anything?” Kara asked Taff.

“Sorry.”

“You sure Isabelle’s working?”

“Let’s test her.”

Lucas, looking tired and grumpy, was heading in their direction.

“Hey,” Taff said. “Do you think my sister’s pretty?”

“What?” Lucas asked, completely caught off-guard. “No. I never thought about it. I . . . what?”

With a huge grin, Taff withdrew Isabelle from his pocket. The doll was vehemently shaking her head no.

“See?” Taff said. “She works just fine.”

Kara felt her cheeks grow warm.

“Could we have missed anyone?” she asked Lucas, anxious to change the subject.

“No way. North had one of his men keeping pace with the town register, making sure everyone was accounted for. You just talked to every female in Nye’s Landing.”

Kara sat on the sand, the sun on the downward arc of its day but still holding strong. Rough-looking men dragged long trawling nets filled with blue clams onto the shore and spread their catch upon the sand.

“I’ve never seen clams like those before,” Taff said.

“That’s where glorbs come from,” Lucas said. “They’re not edible, so they used to be thrown back into the ocean before someone smart figured out how to use them properly. Now they’re Nye’s Landing’s most valuable commodity. Grandfather says that’s only until the scientists figure out something new, though. Then the glorbs will be forgotten like the windmills and oil pits and empty mines. They already say there’s a man in Penta’s Keep who can bottle lightning.”

Taff, practically shaking with excitement from this sudden avalanche of information, waved his hands in front of Lucas’s face.

“Slow down,” he said. “One thing at a time.” He pointed toward the clams. “That’s where glorbs come from? The things that make the light?”

“I found it hard to believe at first too,” Lucas said. “Seems like just another kind of magic. But it’s not, really. Those clams will be sorted through, and—” Lucas paused. “Wait. That reminds me. There is someone you didn’t talk to. But it couldn’t possibly be her.”

“Why not?” Kara asked.

Lucas smiled, but there was something forced about it, a smile you rehearsed in a mirror.

“Because she’s Bethany. Come on. You’ll understand when you meet her.”

The shop sat on a large hill past the bell tower, the Windmill Graveyard like a forest of toothpicks in the distance. It was a ramshackle affair, the wooden boards chipped and peeling, with a cracked door that half hung off rusted hinges. Letters constructed from water-filled tubes glowing a soft blue read JENKINS’S GLORBS. Despite the shop’s less than desirable appearance, however, a crowd of townspeople jostled for position outside its walls. Some were trying to squeeze into the shop itself, while others seemed content just to stare through the window.

“Popular place,” Kara said. “Must sell good stuff.”

“Jenkins?” Lucas asked. “Nah. Overpriced, poor quality. Can barely power a lantern. Mr. Jenkins does most of his business outside town. People from Graycloud and Brenchton, don’t know any better. Most of his glorbs he grinds down, sells for Swoop fuel.”

Taff looked anxious to ask a thousand questions, but Kara placed a hand over his mouth and asked hers first.

“Why all the people then?”

“They’re here to see Bethany,” Lucas said, as though the answer were obvious. “She’s about to close up, but I’ll peek in first and tell her you need a private talk. Wish I could stay, but I have to give the Mistrals a full report about how things went today. I’m sure East is going to give me an earful.”

Lucas pushed his way through the crowd, clearly thrilled at the prospect of seeing Bethany, and Kara felt an unfamiliar twinge of jealousy. What is so great about this girl? A few minutes later a hand changed the sign in the window from OPEN to CLOSED and customers reluctantly began to shuffle out the door.

Kara and Taff entered the store.

The interior was just as drab as the exterior, the air hot and sticky and smelling of fish. Shelves stacked with glass containers of glorbs, grouped by size, lined the walls. Behind the counter stood a frumpy girl with short brown hair, brown eyes, and oily skin splotched with red.

That’s Bethany? Kara wondered. What’s so special about her? And why is Lucas so certain she’s not a witch?

Then a feeling of warmth filled Kara’s chest and she understood.

Bethany could never hurt anyone! She’s everyone’s friend. A great conversationalist. Unusually wise for her age. The funniest girl in town.

“Hello,” said Bethany. “Lucas told me you wanted to talk.”

The words were simple, but her voice rendered them as beautiful as any song.

“I love your store,” Kara said. “We don’t have glorbs where we come from. But we have corn. It’s an island!”

She stumbled over her words. Stop babbling or she won’t want to be your friend! Kara was suddenly conscious of how stupid her clothes were. Why can’t I be wearing an apron like Bethany? It looks so good on her!

“This is beautiful,” Bethany said, leaning over the counter and inspecting the shell-shaped locket Kara always wore around her neck.

“It was our mother’s,” said Taff. “She died.”

Bethany nodded with the perfect amount of sympathy, and for the first time Kara felt as though someone truly understood the depths of her loss.

“It’s a terrible thing to lose someone you love,” Bethany said.

“Like Mrs. Galt,” said Taff. “She lost her son.”

Bethany reacted with surprise and . . . something else, a downward flash of the eyes that looked, strangely enough, like guilt. Except it couldn’t be, of course. What would Bethany ever have to feel guilty about?

She’s just sad for Mrs. Galt. That’s just like Bethany, always feeling the pain of others.

Bethany smiled, the moment past.

“Would you like to see something neat, little man?” she asked. “Since you don’t have glorbs where you come from?”

Taff nodded, his eyes wide with admiration. Kara could see the stirrings of a little crush there, which didn’t surprise her. Not one bit.

From behind the counter Bethany lifted a long, circular tube sloshing with water. It hung by fishing line from two wooden posts that elevated it off the counter’s surface.

“Mason Wainwright made this for me as a gift,” she said. He certainly hadn’t been the only one; on the table behind Bethany were charcoal drawings and bouquets of dried flowers and presents still wrapped in colorful paper. “It’s a model of the Swoop Line. You might have seen it on your travels. It runs all the way to Penta’s Keep.”

Kara remembered the long track, the word SWOOP etched into the metal pole.

“This works basically the same way,” Bethany said. “I just have to add the train.”

She slid what looked like a long, narrow wagon onto a bracket attached to the underside of the track. The train, as Bethany called it, had been pieced together from painted sheets of metal, red with gold trim.

“And then the glorb, of course.”

Bethany unscrewed a small section in the top of the tube and from a nearby container withdrew a glorb. Pinched in her fingers, it looked squishy and fragile, like a tapioca pearl that had been soaking for hours. She dropped the glorb inside the tube and it began to dissolve quickly, fizzing the water blue and causing it to swirl around the interior of the tube like an entrapped whirlpool.

The train started to move. Slowly at first, and then more rapidly, a steady circuit following the pull of the water.

Taff clapped his hands.

“I’m glad you like it,” Bethany said.

“It’s wonderful! But how does it work?”

“I’m not sure, exactly. The glorb magnetizes the water. I know that much, at least, but you’d need a scientist or a librarian to explain it properly.”

Taff leaned forward, his face lit by the blue glow of the water.

“Are you sure it’s not magic?” he asked.

Bethany drew back.

“Of course it’s not,” she said, her voice unexpectedly sharp. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

“I’m sorry. It just seems so impossible! Please don’t be mad! I couldn’t live if you were mad at me!”

“Magic isn’t real,” she said, smiling once again. “Everyone knows that.”

She allowed Taff to watch the train circle for a few more minutes and then told them she had to close up for the night. It was only as they left that Kara remembered they had never asked Bethany if she was a witch or not. That was all right, though. What was the point? Bethany could never hurt anyone.

They started back to the inn. Kara had no idea what they were going to do next. She was out of ideas.

“You’re quiet,” Kara told Taff.

“There’s something wrong with Isabelle.”

“What do you mean?”

He removed the doll from his pocket.

“When Bethany said, ‘Magic isn’t real,’ I felt Isabelle shake her head to say no. As though Bethany was lying. As though Bethany knew that there really was magic in the world but wanted to keep it a secret.” Taff looked up at Kara, the thought troubling him. “But Isabelle must have made a mistake, because Bethany would never lie to us, right? She’s Bethany.”

“Of course,” Kara said.

And yet she couldn’t stop thinking about Taff’s words all the way back to the inn. She remembered her false years in Imogen’s dream realm, how real they had seemed to her at the time and what it was like to be enchanted.

I’d never met the girl before and I wanted to be her best friend. I still do! It doesn’t make sense. Not without magic.

Kara was about to share her theory with Taff when Lucas came galloping up on a small brown horse. He started talking before he even slid off the saddle.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I tried to talk to them. But East said you had your chance, and all you proved was that no one in Nye’s Landing is guilty.”

“Listen,” Kara said. “I think we’ve figured it—”

“The people want someone to blame, and they have a confirmed witch in custody. East convinced the other two that it was best for the town to act. Grandfather was dead-set against it, but—the vote was three to one. Good enough.”

“Good enough for what?”

“They’ve announced that Safi is the one responsible for the unghosts,” he said, “and tomorrow they’re going to execute her.”