“I thought you were a witch.”
The girl’s voice was melodic yet grating, like a song sung in the wrong key. There was something about the stranger that was familiar, although Tamsin was having trouble placing her. She glowered at the girl in an attempt to overcompensate for her uncertainty.
The stranger seemed impervious to Tamsin’s scrutiny. She simply sidestepped the knife and brushed brusquely past Tamsin into the cottage without looking back.
“Yes, please, do come in,” Tamsin muttered darkly under her breath, closing the door behind the girl. She left the bolt unlocked.
The girl slumped into one of Tamsin’s kitchen chairs, red-faced and panting. Sweat dripped down her temple. “I suppose you know why I’m here, then.”
“I suppose I don’t,” Tamsin snapped, her guard on high as she glanced warily at the flowers littering the floor. She didn’t know who this girl was, why she looked familiar, or what she was doing in her house. Tamsin didn’t like not knowing things.
“My father has been afflicted by the plague.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Tamsin was not very sorry at all. In fact, she was rather relieved. This girl hadn’t come to finish her off. She was just another ordinary person desperate for a cure.
The stranger’s expression crumpled. She tugged at the end of her long braid so sharply that Tamsin’s scalp began to ache in sympathy.
“It isn’t a loss,” she insisted. “The tinker sells a plague preventer. Says it’s a cure. Which is why I’m here, actually—”
“Tinker teas will do nothing more than give you indigestion,” Tamsin cut her off. “If there were a cure to the plague, do you think anyone in this town would have fallen victim to it?”
The girl blinked blankly at her. “What does that mean?”
Tamsin drew herself up to her full height. Her reputation was supposed to precede her, yet somehow this girl did not seem very impressed. “That I’m very good at my job.”
“Very good at stealing eggs, more like,” the stranger muttered under her breath.
Recognition clicked into place. The last time Tamsin had seen this girl she’d been babbling pathetically in the marketplace, unable to put a price on her eggs. The relief was overwhelming. When the knocking had begun, Tamsin had feared a face-off with an angry witch. Instead she was holding court with a girl who peddled eggs. She let out a humorless cackle. The girl’s eyes darkened.
“Don’t know what’s so funny about stealing from a girl with a sick father,” she said, tugging again on the tail of her braid. “It’s criminal is what it is.”
Tamsin shrugged. “I gave you coins.”
“Fake coins,” the girl said sharply. “You owe me.”
Tamsin snorted with surprise. “I do not.”
A self-righteous expression spread across the girl’s face. “You stole from me. I demand payment. I’ll… report you.”
Tamsin raised an eyebrow. “To whom?”
The girl looked around the cottage, clearly grasping for an answer. “I’ll take it up with the Coven.”
Tamsin was growing annoyed. Yes, she had given the girl some buttons charmed to look like coins, but she had been doing the same to Ladaugh’s merchants for years. None of them had thrown a fit. None of them had had the audacity to show up to her cottage and demand payment. The townspeople might be giving her a wide berth at present, but at least that showed they still respected her. At least they knew—and feared—what she could do.
This girl had no such respect. Her small nose was wrinkled, as though she smelled something unexpected she didn’t know how to place. Her eyes roved about the room, sticking for several seconds on the ceiling before she forced her gaze back onto Tamsin, who was still staring at her with suspicion. She was terribly odd.
“The Coven would never listen to the likes of you. Just cut your losses and go.”
The girl’s gray eyes blazed with fury. “Would they listen to me if I was a source?”
Tamsin looked the girl up and down. The sheer audacity of her claim was almost impressive. “Well, you’re not, so that’s rather a moot hypothetical, don’t you think?”
“How do you know I’m not?” The girl jutted her chin out defiantly.
Tamsin stared at her uncomprehendingly. “Because you look to be my age. I knew every single person who studied at the academy, and I don’t even know your name.”
The girl scowled. “I’m—”
“No, no,” Tamsin said, holding her hands to her ears. “I don’t know, but more important”—she leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially—“I don’t care. Now stop wasting my time and get out of my house.”
The girl gaped at her. Tamsin idly untangled a knot in her hair. The verbal sparring had been entertaining if nothing else. A welcome distraction from flowers and leather-bound books. It had even given her a momentary glimmer of feeling—not joy, of course, but something. Now, however, she wanted the girl gone.
“Go on, then.” She gave the girl a small wave of dismissal.
“My name is Wren.”
Tamsin raised both eyebrows. “Good for you?”
The girl, Wren, pushed her chair away from the table with a terrible scrape. “Are all witches so awful?” It sounded as though she didn’t really want an answer.
Tamsin pursed her lips but didn’t say anything. Let the girl believe what she wanted. She wouldn’t be the first.
“Anyway, here.” Wren got to her feet and produced a letter from the back pocket of her trousers. “It was nailed to your front door. Don’t get out much, do you?” Her eyes lingered on Tamsin’s for a moment before sweeping across the dusty cottage.
Tamsin snatched the parchment from the girl’s grasp, her irritation fading as she caught sight of the sigil stamped into the sealing wax.
“Where did you get this?” Her voice was sharp.
Wren looked confused. “The front door. I already said…” She trailed off as Tamsin turned her attention to the words spelled out in black ink.
Due to the rapidly deteriorating relations between witches and ordinary folk, the Coven cordially invites you to join the hunt for the dark witch. Return Within to register. The
