The words hung between us as the coals burst into flame. Kate pressed a square of cornbread into my hands. I ate it, not wanting to take too much from her rations but knowing I’d need energy for the journey.
“I’m well enough to travel,” Mom said.
The fire’s heat burned against my face as I buttoned my coat, tied my scarf, and put on my hat and gloves. “It didn’t work out very well the last time you decided to travel, did it?”
Mom drew a sharp breath. “Why not dig the knife a little deeper, Liza? You always were good with knives.” Mom carefully set the poker down by the hearth. “I know well enough all the ways in which I’ve failed you. You need not remind me of them.”
“I didn’t mean—” I couldn’t say it. I’d meant every word I’d spoken, and Mom knew it.
“I’d best check on Ethan.” She crossed the room and left without another word.
“She’s
“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
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
