“She’s not well enough to travel,” I said.
“I know.” Kate offered me another square of bread, but I shook my head. “Your mother knows, too—but that doesn’t mean she has to like it, does it?” She pulled me into a hug. “Bring him home safe, Liza.”
“I’ll do all I can.” I had no trouble speaking that truth. I tied my belt around my coat, slipped my knife into its sheath, and hefted the pack onto my shoulders. My foot nudged something on the floor—the leather tie Matthew used to pull his hair back. It still smelled faintly of wolf and smoke. I knotted it around my wrist.
Kate followed me to the door. Outside, flurries fell from the predawn sky. I stopped at my house to get my bow and a quiver of arrows. The smoke was gone, but its stench lingered as I climbed the stairs.
Mom had lied again: she hadn’t gone to Ethan after all. She sat in her room, holding Caleb’s silver-plated leaf. At the sound of my steps, she walked into the hall and silently offered it to me.
I shook my head. That leaf had played some small role in whatever had happened between Mom and Caleb. It had nothing to do with me.
“Caleb told me once this would protect me in dark forests.” Mom seemed pale in the thin morning light. “I’d keep you out of the dark entirely if I could, but as you like to remind me, I have precious little power to do that. Let me do this much.”
I didn’t stop Mom as she draped the leaf over my head. “I won’t force you to struggle with thanking me,” she said, “or with saying anything else you don’t mean. Just come back safely. We’ll talk then.”
I fled into my room, tucking the leaf beneath my shirt as Mom’s footsteps descended the stairs behind me. I tied my bow and quiver to my pack, and I took a map I’d copied, too. Neither Matthew nor I had ever taken the direct route between our town and Caleb’s town—Washville—but it looked clear enough, a mostly straight road broken only by a few spur trails, one of which led to Ethan’s town of Clayburn.
Outside, the sky was gray, the sun below the horizon. Flurries drifted around me, and cold bit through the toes of my boots. I found Matthew’s wolf tracks in the snow and followed them to the edge of town. Beyond the last of the ruined houses, his tracks turned to follow the river for a time, and a second set of tracks joined them. Small human boot prints, newer than Matthew’s paw prints, wound back and forth across them. A child, and one who’d left only a few hours ago.
One of ours, or another stranger? Both sets of tracks continued alongside the river. I followed them, alert for any sound, quieting my own steps as much as the snow would allow. I scanned the forest for shadows, but there was already too much light. Like tree shadows, most human shadows preferred the dark.
Bare gray and brown trunks rose to either side of the path. A sparrow called out from a high branch, its song small and thin in the chilly morning. In one spot, the child had stopped to make snow angels; in another, he or she had scrambled down to look at something by the river and returned several dozen paces on. In places, the smaller prints were oddly shaped, as if the child had been kicking the snow.
The path veered away from the river, widening into a dirt road. Patches of brown earth and dead leaves showed through where the snow had melted, along with chunks of broken black rock from Before. I kept walking, settling into the relaxed awareness I used on the hunt. Other paths branched off the one I followed, but the prints continued toward Washville as the hours passed and morning gave way to afternoon.
A woodpecker rapped a tree, digging for beetles. The sound echoed through the forest. I stopped, scanning the trees for the bird’s red head feathers. Woodpeckers made little distinction between wood and flesh and would peck through human skin in their search for food. The bird was a ways behind me, though, and seemed focused on its tree; for now it posed little threat. I started walking again, then stopped and looked back.
There was an extra set of prints in the snow that hadn’t been there before, beside the child’s prints and Matthew’s and mine. Only a few yards away, the new prints turned toward the forest. I put my hand to my knife’s hilt and retraced my steps. I heard no one, but the prints in the snow couldn’t lie. Whoever had followed me, his or her steps made no sound. The only people I knew who could walk that quietly were Karin and Caleb and—
“Johnny, get out here. Now.” I kept my voice low, not wanting to attract the woodpecker’s attention.
Someone coughed softly behind me. I spun around, drawing my knife and taking a step back as I did. Johnny stood there, grinning. “You are predictable, Liza.”
I closed the distance between us without lowering my blade. “I told you not to do that.”
Johnny shrugged and hunched down in his jacket. His knife hung from a belt underneath it. “You also told me to reveal myself.”
I sheathed my knife and stalked past him. “Go home.” Surely he had better things to do than make trouble here.
I didn’t hear him following, but I saw, this time, when Johnny came up beside me. “Funny thing—I’m actually heading the same way you are today.”
“Hilarious.” A dragonfly thrummed ahead of us down the road, clutching a firefly between its legs. The dragonfly’s wings shone green, while the firefly pulsed a colder yellow. “Brianna won’t be happy to find you missing.”
“And you’re supposed to be so good at paying attention.” Johnny slipped out of sight between one breath and the next. “Anyone can tell it’s a relief to my mom when she can’t see me. My magic makes things easier for her.”
The firefly shimmered. Its yellow light licked the air and caught the dragonfly’s veined wings, running along them like liquid fire. The larger insect quivered. There was a small, bright flash, and then the dragonfly dissolved into lacy ash.
The firefly flew off, still glowing. I focused on the path and Matthew’s tracks. If Johnny chose to go walkabout, that was no concern of mine. I’d waste no more breath on it.
The snow grew softer and wetter, and the brown patches of dirt and leaves grew more frequent. As the afternoon temperature edged above freezing, I put my gloves and hat into my pockets. Clouds thickened around me, and a crow’s harsh caw cut the air. I scanned the forest but saw no sign of the black birds. Crows blended readily into the dull winter trees, as if they had stalking magic of their own.
The crow called out again. Crows were scavengers, with little skill for bringing down prey, but they’d been known to peck out the eyes of live animals from time to time. I came to another spur path, the one that led to Clayburn. Matthew’s wolf prints and the child’s boot prints both turned onto that narrower trail. Matthew had stopped running. His steps were more deliberate, rear paws placed carefully into the tracks left by front ones, as if something had made him cautious. Beside his prints, the child’s showed no such hesitation.
I moved my hand to my knife as I followed them, knowing that Matthew wouldn’t have left the road without cause. Gray ash dusted the snow. A burned smell crept into the air, with a cooked-meat edge that reminded me of Ethan’s burns. Matthew would have smelled it sooner than I did. Had he gone to investigate? I slowed my steps. I hoped that if Johnny was still here, he was being careful, too.
A shard of white bone poked through a patch of snow. More bones lay exposed against brown earth, burned flesh clinging to them. Human bones: a thigh, a shattered kneecap, two fingers. My hand tightened around the knife’s hilt. The bones were too small to have come from adults.
I heard Johnny draw breath between his teeth, though I still couldn’t see him. More burned bones littered the path and forest as I walked on, most already picked over by scavenging birds or dogs. I gagged on the scent of dead flesh. Had Ethan’s magic killed them, just as it had killed Ben? Had I made a mistake, leaving Mom and Kate and the Afters to watch over Ethan without me?
Matthew’s prints grew deeper, as if he’d stopped entirely. A second set of prints—adult-sized and barely breaking the snow—appeared, and wolf and human continued on together, while the child’s newer prints followed.
Why hadn’t Matthew turned back? There was nothing he could do here, and he’d wasted time Ethan might not have.
In the distance, a child spoke softly. Around a bend, the path gave way to a churned-up mess of ash and bone and mud. Kyle knelt in the muck, talking to a bird perched on a child’s skull, a scrap of flesh dangling from its beak.
Johnny ran past me to kneel beside his brother. Kyle looked up at him, then turned back to the bird. A slick of the younger boy’s hair stuck up, because of course he’d forgotten his hat.
“He’s hungry.” Kyle’s face was smudged with mud and ash. “It’s not the bird’s fault that he’s hungry.”
“I know.” The gentleness in Johnny’s voice surprised me. “You ready to come home, kid?”
Kyle didn’t answer.
“You went after him,” I said to the older boy.
Johnny didn’t look away from his brother. “Somebody had to.”
A wind picked up, blowing ash toward us. The crow looked up from the skull, which was missing its two front teeth.
“Go away,” I commanded the bird. With an angry rustling of feathers, it flew to a high branch that hung over the path.
“He’s not happy.” Kyle wiped his face on his sleeve, smearing ash across his nose. He wasn’t wearing gloves, either.
I crouched by his other side. “Kyle, what are you doing here?”
“Running away,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Third time this month,” Johnny muttered. “And the farthest he’s managed to get yet.” He reached for Kyle’s hand, but Kyle stuck out his lower lip and shook his head. Could I use my magic to send him all the way home?
The crow cawed from its branch. “Look out!” Kyle yelled.
Johnny and I grabbed our knives as other crows answered from the trees all around us. Wing beats pounded the air as the birds attacked.
My blade grazed a black wing. A sharp claw scraped my cheek. “Go away!” I commanded.
“Go ’way, go ’way, go ’way!” Kyle echoed.
“Get down!” Johnny shouted at him.
My blade drew blood this time, and a crow dropped to the ground. The others whirled and took to the sky. I stepped back, panting, as the birds became black specks against gray clouds. How hungry did they have to be to attack us all at once?
“I told them.” Kyle lifted his chin.
I sheathed my knife. Just then I didn’t care who Kyle thought had sent the birds away, as long as they were gone.
Johnny grabbed his brother’s hand. “Time to go, kid. I mean it.”
Kyle shook his head. I wiped blood from my cheek and looked around, scanning the trees. If more crows lurked there, they blended with bark and branch as well as before. Sunlight forced its way through the clouds, reflecting off something shiny at my feet. A child’s silver bracelet, with dangling charms: a heart, a key, a cat. I reached for it.
The bracelet shone brighter, too bright for the gray afternoon. Silver light filled my sight and I saw—
A girl my age with long clear hair standing on the trail, where charred flesh yet clung to the bones around her. She gazed at a woman with hair just as clear bound up in a glimmering net. “I passed your test,” the girl said, but the woman frowned, disapproval clear in her silver eyes. “Tell me whether any escaped this time,” the woman said, “before you speak of success—”
Karin, looking up at the same woman, speaking the same words: “I passed your test.” Only they stood in a deep green forest, and the woman smiled in response. Karin lifted her chin, pride plain enough in her bright eyes—
An elbow jabbed my side, and Johnny hissed under his breath. My fingers closed around the bracelet as the visions fled. A girl stood in front of me, the clear-haired girl I’d just seen—the same girl who’d watched a town burn with Ethan by her side.
I hadn’t heard her coming, any more than I’d ever heard Johnny.
Chapter 7
The girl’s green dress and cloak were dusted with ash. So were her battered black boots. Her clear hair was pulled back by a silver butterfly, its bright legs twisted to form the clasp. She stared at us, stiff and straight-backed. I glanced at her silver eyes and knew she was no more human than Karin or Caleb.
Karin and Caleb had taught me not all faerie folk were monsters, but that didn’t mean they all could be trusted. I dropped the bracelet and waited, hand within reach of my knife, to see what this stranger would do. Johnny clutched Kyle’s hand, the older boy’s shoulders tensed.
Kyle frowned. “The butterfly doesn’t like it there.”
The girl reached around to touch the clasp, and the wings trembled beneath her hand. “It has been there many years, and butterflies are not accustomed to living so long. Would you have me kill it?” The girl spoke with idle curiosity.
What role had she played in the burning of the dead children around us—and why was she the only child from my visions untouched by Ethan’s fires? “Who are you?” I demanded.
Johnny rolled his eyes. “Charming as always.” The wariness didn’t leave him, but he held out his hand. “I’m Johnny. This is Kyle and Liza.”
I gave him a sidelong look. I would have kept our names from this stranger, at least until we knew why she was here. Names had power. I’d learned that laying shadows to rest.
“You may call me Elin.” The girl absently poked a bone with her boot. There were thorns woven into the hem of her dress and the edges of her sleeves. “Kyle. Johnny. Liza.” She turned the words on her tongue. “I think you should come with me.” Her voice took on a velvet softness. My skin tingled, as if her words were trying to take root there. Perhaps I’d only imagined it.
Perhaps not. I knew better than to ignore any instinct of danger. I turned toward Johnny, not letting Elin wholly out of my sight. “You should get Kyle home.”
“Yeah.” Johnny’s voice was strange, as if he weren’t quite awake. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” He stepped back, pulling Kyle with him. The younger boy jerked away and threw his arms around Elin’s legs.
“Stay with you!” he declared.
Elin looked down as if Kyle were a distasteful insect she’d found in her bedding. She turned to Johnny and me. “You’ll both come, too, of course.”
Johnny’s gaze softened. “Sure. Why not?”
Magic. Nothing else could make Johnny so agreeable. Gooseflesh prickled along my arms. Elin was calling him and Kyle, in some way I didn’t understand.
Kyle reached toward Elin’s hair. Elin smiled, removed her clasp, and put it into his hands. Her clear hair fell to her waist. The butterfly’s silver antennae quivered, and I felt something cold within the clasp reaching for me, begging to be set free.
Kyle smiled and patted the butterfly’s wings, as if he hadn’t wanted to free it himself moments before. The wings began to flap. “Pretty,” he said.
Glamour is like that. Mom’s words. It convinces you everything of theirs is so damned beautiful. Ice trickled down my spine, and I took a few steps back. “Johnny. Kyle. Come here.”
Kyle clutched the butterfly in one hand as he walked toward me, dragging his feet. I grabbed his other hand. Johnny slouched, as if he didn’t much care whether he listened to me or not, yet I felt the cold thread of my magic between us. “You always take everything so seriously,” he complained as he moved to my side.
I grabbed his hand, too. “Come on.” We’re getting out of here. I walked away from Elin, back toward my town. Kyle and Johnny followed; they had no choice. Once I got them safely away, I’d return to find Matthew.
“Kyle,” Elin called in her velvety voice.
Kyle kept holding my hand, but he pressed his lips into a pout. “Let me go, Liza.”
“Kyle, you seem like such a sweet child,” Elin crooned. “I would very much like to see the color of your blood. Will you show it to me? The butterfly’s pins are sharp enough.”
Kyle took the clasp and jabbed it into his arm. Blood trickled out. He lifted the clasp to stab himsel
f again. I dropped Johnny’s hand, grabbed the butterfly from Kyle, and flung it into the forest.
Johnny bolted to Elin’s side before I could grasp his hand again. She stroked his hair, and he bent toward her, like a well-behaved cat.
“Johnny,” I called. “Come here.”
“Quit it, Liza.” His voice, at least, still sounded like his own.
“Johnny!”
He walked toward me, scowling. Even as he did, Kyle jerked free and inched away, a guilty look on his face.
“Kyle!”
Kyle stopped moving away, but Johnny turned back to Elin.
“So you’re a summoner, are you, Liza?” Elin placed a possessive hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “That’s almost as inconvenient as the fact that glamour doesn’t seem to touch you. Yet even a summoner only wields so much power, especially when other magics fight her. You cannot hold them both for long. Glamour grows stronger over time.”
I didn’t need to hold them. Magic flowed in two directions—Karin had taught me that. “Elin. Go away.”
“Is that the best you can do, Summoner?” Elin’s silver eyes filled with disdain. “Johnny, I believe I should like to see your blood as well.”
Johnny nodded like a child eager to please. He took his knife from its sheath and brought it to his left wrist.
I ran at him, grasped his right arm just above the knife, and twisted. The blade fell to the ground. I grabbed it and flung it into the forest. A thin line of blood welled up from Johnny’s skin, but the cut wasn’t very deep. I spun back toward Elin.
Her hands closed around my throat. “I think that will be quite enough, Liza.”
As I lurched away, wool tightened around my throat, leaving me gasping for air. My scarf—I grabbed at it but couldn’t pull it away. “Go away, Elin, go away!” I choked on the words as I reached for my knife. I should have gone for the knife from the start. It couldn’t fail me the way magic could.
Elin’s hand brushed my wrist. Wool flowed over my fingers, and my own sweater sleeve wrapped around my hand, forcing my fingers into a fist. I reached for the sleeve with my other hand, but I was too slow. Elin grabbed it, and wool flowed over that hand, too, trapping it. I staggered, letting my pack, with its bow and quiver, fall from my shoulders. “Go away, go away—” I needed more air. I brought my bound fists to my neck, but they were too clumsy. My sight blurred, and I fell, gasping, to my knees. Kyle laughed. The sound seemed very far away.
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