فصل 9

Chapter 9

THE COVEN

The Cave at Two O’Clock

“’Now go and find it where wizard trees grow,’” Dot panted, an open scroll in her fist. “What does that mean?” “Merlin was Arthur’s wizard during the time of the Green Knight. Maybe the answer has to do with Merlin,” Hester surmised, a few last scrolls blizzarding upside down, from her feet past her head. “More reason to rescue the wizard quickly.” “But Merlin’s in the Caves of Contempo,” Anadil noted, hustling across Borna Coric’s night sky. “What does that have to do with trees?” “Ani’s right,” Dot added. “Doesn’t say find the wizard. It says find where wizard trees grow—” “Which Merlin will surely know,” Hester snapped, passing beneath the last upturned shops, strung between inverted beanstalks. The shops were closed, the crowds back in their upside-down cottages. “Should have been to the caves by now,” said Hester, glowering back at Dot. “If someone didn’t force us to stop at All Night Pies.” “Excuse me, I had to eat after that wedding spellcast,” said Dot. “My nerves were in pieces.” “Well, at least we know Tedros and Agatha are still alive,” said Hester. “Let them worry about the first test. Our mission is to get Merlin out of the caves.” “If Merlin’s even there,” Dot noted. “Dovey was the one who told us to go to the caves. She could have been wrong, first off. Plus, those caves are dangerous. People go in and ten minutes later, they come out 50 years older. It’s been weeks since Merlin’s been gone. And he’s old to begin with.” She shook out a few scrolls that had flooded up her skirt. “Imagine when it rains here. Everyone’s knickers must be drenched.” “Just follow the smell of the sea,” Hester grouched, irritated that Dot was making sense for once. She tried to focus on the wet, salty scent, getting stronger and stronger. “That’s where the caves will be.” “Need to get there before sunrise or we’ll be in plain sight,” Anadil murmured. The witches pulled into the shadows as two upside-down ministers in purple suits padded across the beanstalk above them, gripping opened scrolls and whispering anxiously.

Hester tailed beneath, catching phrases: “Rhian saved us from Tedros’ rebels . . .” “Can’t let Tedros win . . .” “King is en route to Putsi . . .” “Says the first answer is there . . .” The ministers sensed something, glancing down, but Hester was gone.

Putsi? Why would Japeth go to Putsi? the witch thought, rejoining her friends as they hustled under toppled cottages. Nothing there but sand and geese . . .

“Hester!” Anadil hissed, yanking her back—

Distracted, Hester had almost barreled over a cliff. She peered down at the dark skyfloor, dropping off into infinite fog.

“If you die and leave me with Dot, I’ll find my way to hell just to kill you again,” said Anadil.

“How romantic,” said Hester. Slowly, she inched towards the white, swirling mist, her boots scratching the cliff edge, but even close-up, she could see nothing through the fog. Nor could she locate the smell of salt water that led them here.

Anadil’s nose twitched, noticing the same thing. “How did we lose an entire sea?” She probed over the cliff, squinting into fog— Her foot slipped. A hand pulled her back.

“You catch me, I catch you,” said Hester.

“Is that a Tedros line?” Anadil replied. “Are you quoting princes at me?” “Should have dropped you.”

They noticed Dot behind them, pensive.

“What is it?” Anadil asked.

“Daddy’s ring,” Dot rasped. “The man who burned it . . . It was Bertie. I saw his face through his helmet. I keep trying to tell myself it wasn’t . . . But I know it was him. Daddy would never have let his ring fall into Bertie’s hands. He knew Rhian was after it. Daddy would have protected it until his last breath. Which means if Bertie had it . . .” Her eyes welled up.

Hester looked at Anadil. Neither knew what to say. Both of them had lost their parents. They knew what it was like to be alone. Dot, now, was part of their tribe. Each took one of her hands, holding their friend close.

“Maybe Daddy’s still alive,” Dot croaked, tears falling. “Maybe I’ve got it wrong?” Hester smiled as best she could. “Maybe.”

“You’re my real family, you know,” Dot said softly to her friends. “And I know I’m a part of yours too. Even if you act like I’m not. Even if you two pretend you don’t need me. A coven is three. It has to be three. Because I’d be so lonely without you.” Now Hester had teared up, and so did Anadil, which only Hester could tell, since Ani’s face never moved, even when she was crying.

“We love you, Dot,” Hester whispered, hugging her tight.

“Even if sometimes we want to push you down a well,” said Anadil, joining the hug.

“Now I’ll look like a fat raccoon,” Dot muttered, wiping at her mascara and glancing upwards. “Oh, good heavens. That’s where it’s been!” Anadil and Hester looked up.

The Savage Sea glittered high over their heads, where the sky should be, the dark waters extending into the wall of mist.

“Caves must be up there too,” said Anadil. “In that fog . . .” “But how are we supposed to get up there?” Hester pressed.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Dot sighed.

Two witches turned to the third.

“WALLS CAN BE useful,” said Dot as she climbed the fog. “Without a wall, you might not know where to begin. But a wall is a challenge. Put a wall in front of a witch and she’ll find her way past it.” Where Hester and Anadil had seen an impossible gap between skyfloor and sea, an insurmountable fog . . . Dot had seen opportunity.

With a lit finger, she’d turned the wall of fog to chocolate: the misty swirls now made of cocoa meringue, buttressed with sticky fudge to help the witches keep grip. One after the other, the witches climbed, Dot in the lead, the coven hidden by night.

For the time being, at least, Hester mulled. Morning was coming fast. They’d been at it for ages and were barely halfway up the wall. Already they’d climbed so high that Hester’s demon was chapped, her nose ring frozen, and she couldn’t see the stars in the skyfloor anymore. Luckily, she wasn’t scared of heights. (What she was scared of was the wall’s sugary stench, which reminded her of babies and boyfriends and Easter bunnies, things Hester thought should be outlawed or dead.) “Let’s say we do make it up there,” Anadil puffed. “How will we get into the sea? We need to swim through to get to the caves. But we can’t just jump in the water. It’s upside down. Won’t we just fall out and die?” Hester looked up at the ocean, high over their heads, an undulating ceiling. “Let’s hope Dot has the answer to that too.” “I don’t,” said Dot, dripping sweat and fudge. “Really, I might go back to turning things to kale after this.” But they had bigger problems now, for the first rays of sun had broken through the skyfloor, lighting up the chocolate wall.

Already Hester could see people in the vales, upside down and tiny as newts, stepping out from inverted houses, peering at a chocolate wall that had appeared overnight.

“Climb faster,” Hester growled, shoving Anadil, who shoved Dot, but all three were flagging.

“I wish I were Tedros,” Dot wheezed. “He has muscles.” “Rather die,” said Hester.

“Same,” said Ani.

Sunrays detonated through the iced meringue, refracting rainbow beams up the wall. Not only were the three of them visible now, but they were spotlit like roaches on an ice sculpture. Hester glanced down at upturned guards throttling through the village, armed with swords and headed for the clifftop. Even worse, heat was assaulting the wall, the sun rising full-force in the skyfloor.

“Almost there,” Dot breathed, the sea getting closer.

But every inch up seemed to slide them two inches down, the chocolate melting to goo under their hands, the meringue starting to crack. Down below, the Borna guards had leapt onto the wall, their bodies closing the gap with alarming speed.

“How are they so quick?” Dot gasped.

“They live on beanstalks! They spend their lives climbing!” said Hester, head-butting Anadil. “Hurry!” Each witch struggled up the meringue, pieces chipping off and hitting the witch beneath. By the time they were within arm’s length of the sea, the guards were more than halfway up the wall.

Dot reached a hand into the waters overhead. “We need a way to stay upside down and swim,” she said, scanning the sea beyond the wall, shrouded in fog. “Caves must be out there somewhere.” “The sea around the caves is supposed to be poisonous,” said Ani, eyeing Dot’s wet, perfectly healthy hand.

“Caves must not be that close, then,” Hester grimaced, before peeking down at the guards. “They’re getting closer, though.” “Wait a second,” Dot said, focused overhead. “Look.” Hester peered up at the waters, shimmering with sun.

Except the shimmers were moving. It wasn’t sun. It was . . . fish. Big and small, swimming in an overturned sea.

“How are they managing it?” Anadil wondered.

Dot punched her hand into the fish-filled waters again, keeping it in longer, gauging something . . . Her eyes narrowed. “Only one way to find out,” she said.

With a deep breath, she launched upwards, cannoning into the sea.

“Dot, no!” Hester and Ani screamed, both prepared to catch their falling friend, even if it meant death for them all— Only Dot didn’t fall.

“Currents!” she pipped, dangling from the water, her head upside down. “They hold you in place, like the air holds birds in the sky. Jump in!” Anadil didn’t hesitate, flinging herself up and bellyflopping onto Dot. A second later, the pair popped their heads out of the sea like lemurs, but Hester still hadn’t moved from her spot down the meringue. Fudge crumbled under her fingers, her body slipping. Below, she heard men’s shouts . . . the scrape of their boots against chocolate . . .

“You need to jump. Now,” Anadil demanded.

Hester didn’t know how to put feelings into words: her fear of letting go . . . her inability to trust . . . the vulnerability of a leap . . .

But a true friend can sense these things without them spoken.

“Trust me,” said Anadil.

Hester closed her eyes, launched high, and felt Ani’s embrace as they dunked underwater. The sea was warm, its currents viscous, sucking onto her body like the arms of a starfish. Hester opened her eyes to a miles-long drop to the sky below. She panicked, blood surging to her head, her limbs thrashing against the waves, but the warmth held her close and she couldn’t tell if it was Ani or the sea. Her head felt light and empty. Salt water slipped down her throat. Cold arms wrapped her tighter. Hester looked into Anadil’s eyes, the currents locking them together, fish brushing their legs.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Dot chirped, “but what about them?” Hester glanced at the guards bounding higher. They were within ten yards, teeth bared, Lion badges hooked to their armor, reflecting a witch’s darkening glare . . .

“What goes up must come down,” Hester vowed.

Three friends lit their fingers.

A helix of glow attacked the wall, red, green, and blue, crisscrossing and searing through chocolate. Fudge spewed into guards’ faces, the meringue cracking like glass. But the men kept climbing, the first guard within range of the sea. With a bloody yell, he primed to jump at Anadil. Hester locked eyes with him, redoubling her glow— The wall combusted under his hands.

Chocolate, cream, and meringue shattered, spraying into the air, as the Borna guards plummeted, screams echoing before they were lost to the sun.

“Let’s go,” Hester ordered, paddling upside down into fog. “Don’t know how long we’ll last with blood filling our heads like this.” But Dot stayed in place, eyes pinned downwards, throat bobbing, as if their survival had come at a cost she wasn’t ready for.

“Dot?”

She turned to her coven mates, both shadowed in mist.

Anadil’s red eyes pierced through.

“They wouldn’t have mourned for you,” she said.

ANADIL HAD ASKED a pertinent question: If the sea around the caves was said to be poisonous, why were the witches still alive?

Prowling through fog, heads hanging out of the water, they hunted for the caves, alert for poison. But all they found was more inverted sea, the fog breaking to reveal open water again and again, until Hester’s head was so swollen with blood that she began to hallucinate tiny Easter bunnies. Anadil and Dot, too, were swimming slower and slower, their eyes rolling to the backs of their skulls, as if they were lost in their own visions— “Stop,” Hester said, throwing out her arm.

Ani and Dot collided with her.

Ahead, the upturned sea ended in a waterfall, plunging at impossible speed . . .

. . . into a new sea, down below, the sky restored overhead.

“Who knew I’d be so excited for a sea to be where it should be,” Anadil said.

“Waterfall must be the end of the kingdom,” Dot assessed.

But any comfort the witches had in seeing the Woods right side up beyond the waterfall was offset by the hue of this distant sea, thick and red, the color of rust. And, in the middle of the sea: an island of towering rock. The surface of this rock looked like a clock face, with an opening to a cave at every hour—twelve Caves of Contempo in all.

The cave openings were well-protected. First by a rim of sharp rock spikes around the perimeter of each cave. And second, by a mob of long, spiny-white creatures with black-toothed snouts, floating through the red sea around the island . . .

“Crogs,” said Dot.

“Special taste for girls,” Hester added, remembering the beasts that guarded the old School for Boys.

“Maybe that’s what they mean by ‘poisoned’ sea,” Anadil guessed.

A seagull glided over it, letting its feet touch the water— The bird vanished in an acid char of smoke.

“No, they mean actually poisoned,” said Dot.

Head hanging, Hester studied the waterfall ahead, a vertical straight shot, blue sea to red, upside down to right side up, a dividing line between a world in chaos and the hope of setting things right.

Now they just had to find a way to cross it.

“That’s a death plunge, first off,” Hester said. “Then poisoned water. Girl-eating crogs. Armored rock. Caves that mess with time.” “Can your demon fly us one by one?” said Anadil, voice stuffy from all the time inverted. “Like he did at the Four Point?” “That was a stone’s throw. This is half a mile,” Hester dismissed, her demon quivering, afraid to fly. “We need a cocoon or raft to ride in. Something to survive the fall.” “Made from what?” Anadil prompted. “What don’t crogs eat?” “Boys!” Dot piped, her face perilously red. “That’s how Sophie evaded them at school. By turning herself into a boy.” “Well, we don’t have that option, or is there something about you that we don’t know?” Hester blistered.

“Crogs eat everything, though,” Dot lamented, watching the spiny creatures wrestle over the last of the seagull. “Well, except each other . . .” Hester wasn’t listening.

She was watching a shadow in the fog behind Anadil, getting bigger . . . bigger . . . Hester’s finger glowed, prepared to attack— Slowly, she lowered it.

It was a boat.

A small dinghy, hanging out of the upturned water, made from white wood.

No, not wood, Hester realized as it floated closer . . .

“Bones,” she said, gaping at it.

“Crog bones,” said Anadil, mystified.

The boat had no passengers. No captain.

Like a ghost ship, it moved silently, deliberately, until it stopped hard in front of the coven. Hester held her breath, shielding her friends— Two rats poked heads up from the prow, like stealth pirates.

“My babies!” Anadil gasped. “You’re alive!” She hugged her pets to her chest, then spotted the scrapes and gashes on their bodies, their fur caked with dried blood. “What’s happened?” she asked and listened attentively as they babbled in her ear.

“They found Merlin in the caves,” Anadil translated breathlessly. “Then one went to tell Dovey where he was, while the other built this boat, knowing the Dean would send someone to rescue him.” “Wait. How’d a rat build this? These are crog bones,” said Dot, bewildered. “How’d a rat kill crogs?” “Talented rats, remember?” Anadil grinned.

The rats started inflating, bigger, bigger, the size of dogs, the size of tigers, the size of elephants, teeth sharpening to fangs. They loomed over Dot in the water— “I get it,” said Dot.

The rats shrank down, showing off the wounds they’d gotten in the fight. But then they looked at Dot and seemed to remember something, their faces sobering. Together, they whispered to Anadil. The pale witch tensed, her gaze moving to the boat’s basin.

Wedged between panels of bone was a bloody Sheriff’s badge, the gold crest of Nottingham dented and scratched.

Dot went still.

A rat flipped the badge over.

The back was covered in desiccated fireflies, flickering with light, as if they’d held on to life as long as they could.

Gently, the rat stroked the fireflies’ bellies.

Shades of orange filled in across their bodies, forming a projection from the past. This was footage from the dark Woods, footage the fireflies had captured of the Sheriff of Nottingham, soaked in blood, cradled by Sophie as he spoke his last words.

“Tell Dot . . . me and her mother . . . it was love,” the Sheriff breathed.

The fireflies went dark.

Slowly Hester and Anadil lifted eyes to the Sheriff’s daughter.

“Those were scim wounds,” Dot said. She picked up her father’s badge. Held it close to her chest. “The Snake killed my dad. Japeth killed him.” There was a calm to her. A quiet rage.

“Tedros will win the tournament. Even if I have to die to help him,” Dot promised, steel-cold. “Excalibur will take that scum’s head.” She turned to her friends. “Get in the boat.”

Hester and Anadil obeyed.

With the rats pushing from below, Dot seized on to the prow, teeth clenched, eyes afire, as the bone-boat surged forward, plummeting over the fall.

She was the only one who didn’t scream.

HESTER AND ANADIL clasped hands as the boat drifted through crogs, their crocodile snouts sniffing at the witches, drool coating their black teeth. Some snapped their jaws, others blew steam through nostrils, but none attacked, recognizing the threat of the bony vessel in which the girls rode.

Dot was relishing their frustration, Hester noticed, the round-bellied witch posed with a foot atop the fore, Anadil’s rats on her shoulders, her dress stained with chocolate, like the least menacing sea captain ever. There were times over the years when Hester wondered if Dot was put in the right school . . . if her sweetness and sympathy and soft heart should have made her an Ever instead. But watching Dot clutch her father’s bloody badge, her eyes pinned to the brewing crogs, daring them, wanting them to attack, Hester sensed a darkness that her friend had held in reserve.

A fly hovered near Dot’s ear. Pzzt. Pzzt.

Dot snatched it dead.

Hester and Anadil exchanged glances.

Perhaps the School Master had placed their roommate well after all.

As the boat approached the island, Hester saw that penetrating the caves would be no easy feat. First, there was a crumble of jagged rock, twenty feet high, before the main thrust of stone even began—a smooth, circular tower, rising off the crumble, with the entrance to the dozen caves symmetrically arranged at the hours, each opening barbed with closely packed spikes. To rescue Merlin, they’d have to scale the rock heap, regather at the base of the caves, and hope the one with the wizard was closer to the six o’clock end at the bottom than the twelve o’clock end up top.

“Which cave is he in?” Anadil asked her rats.

The rats squeaked back.

“Two o’clock,” Anadil groaned.

Hester wasn’t surprised. There was too much on the line for this to be easy.

As the witches started climbing, another fly besieged Dot, this one peskier and more frenzied than the last.

“Today is not the day to mess with me,” she seethed, swatting at it.

“Wait!” Hester cried, staying her hand just in time.

It wasn’t a fly.

The witches kneeled atop a flattish rock, looking up at Tinkerbell, sour-faced and droopy-winged, clearly having flown a long way to see them and resenting both the journey and murder attempt. Panting hard, the fairy drew a wad of parchment from her green dress and stuffed it at Hester, who quickly opened it— Merlin’s Beard

Bloodbrook Inn

“Agatha’s handwriting,” said Anadil.

“Merlin’s beard?” Dot questioned. “What kind of message is that?” “Answer to Tedros’ first test,” Hester decoded. “Merlin’s beard must be what the Green Knight wanted. Agatha’s telling us that they need it. That they need us.” “Why Bloodbrook Inn, then?” Anadil asked.

“Halfway between Camelot and Borna Coric. Must be on their way there,” Hester ventured. “Bloodbrook’s inn is famously haunted. No one ever checks in. It’ll be a safe meeting place. Right, Tink?” She turned to the fairy. “We figured out Japeth is king. Killed Rhian and took his name. Which means the Snake’s trying to win the first test too.” Tinkerbell jingled, ratifying her conclusions.

Relief burned through Hester’s chest. If Merlin’s beard was the answer, then clearly Japeth hadn’t figured it out. He was headed to Putsi, after all. Nowhere near the wizard.

“This is why our side will win. Because we work together. Because we finish missions,” Hester boasted, reminding her friends that they’d doubted her. She turned to Anadil’s rats. “And you’re sure Merlin’s inside the caves? That he’s still alive?” The rats responded. “Heard him snoring under his cape,” Anadil translated.

“Caves didn’t curse him, then,” Hester said, resuming her climb. “He is a wizard, after all.” She looked back at Tinkerbell. “Tell Agatha we’ll be there by nightfall.” Hester scaled higher, watching the fairy fly off. Dot and Anadil followed, the coven pulling over rocks swiftly, bolstered by Agatha’s message and the ease of this climb compared to sky-high chocolate. By the time the witches reached the base of the caves, clouds had moved in, a harsh rain falling.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in a while,” said Anadil, scanning the island perimeter. “No footprints.” “For good reason,” said Dot. “Daddy told me the tale of ‘The Ill-Timed Queen.’ The Storian’s history of a queen who discovered the Caves of Contempo that didn’t obey time. One of these caves kept the queen and her king young forever. Meanwhile, their children continued to grow old, and soon older than her and the king. Unsettled, the queen tried another cave to keep pace with them, to age her and the king just enough . . . only to mistime it and revert her and the king to their real ages, well over a hundred years old, upon which they dropped down dead. That’s why, to this day, rulers of Borna Coric keep the caves fortified and off-limits—not just to stop trespassers from using them, but to stop themselves.” Hester thought back to those royal statues in the square: the king and queen, who looked younger than their own children . . . A fitting fairy tale for a realm upside down . . .

Anadil’s rats were already bounding up the cave face, dodging the lethal spikes and landing on the barbs outside the two o’clock hole, squeaking urgently for the witches to follow.

Dot probed one of the spikes around the lowest cave, drawing blood at the touch. “No way can we climb all the way up there without getting skewered like a kebab.” Hester looked into the rain. “Dot’s talent got us to the sea. Ani’s talent got us to the caves.” Her dark-painted lips curled into a grin. “My talent gets us inside.” The demon on her neck swelled with blood, teeth gnashing, claws flexing . . . this time, ready to fly.

DOT WAS FIRST. Then Ani. By the time the demon flew Hester up, she felt the toll it had taken on them both. His heaving breaths sucked her lungs; his weakened muscles ached as her own. She didn’t know where she began and her demon ended. All she knew was between the torture to get to this island and now her soul pushed to its limits, she’d willingly sacrifice a few years of age to crawl into one of these caves and take a nap.

Dot and Anadil were farther down the tunnel, staring upwards.

Anadil blinked. “From the outside, I didn’t expect it to be so . . .” “Pretty,” said Dot.

The cave walls were like an aurora borealis frozen in time, a bloom of a thousand neon glows, coated in a glittery sheen. Even Hester found herself hypnotized by the storm of colors, instinctively reaching a hand for the glitter— Loud squeaks stopped her.

She looked at Anadil’s rats, eyes glowing up ahead. They shook their heads.

Hester lowered her hand.

Quickly, the witches tracked the rats through the bending caves, turning off at new forks every few paces, like an impossible maze. And yet somehow the rats knew their way, even with the colors changing at every turn—atomic orange, alien green, sizzling yellow—as if they were burrowing into the deepest part of a rainbow. Soon, they reached a new fork in the path, and for a moment, the two rats diverged, before they glanced at each other and began gibbering intensely.

“Each is saying Merlin is the other way,” Anadil muttered.

The rats persisted arguing, neither giving in.

“Take Dot and go right,” said Hester. “I’ll go left.” “And leave you on your own?” Anadil asked, wary.

“Have your rat, don’t I?” said Hester. She patted her demon. “And him.” Anadil frowned at the shriveled tattoo on Hester’s neck, clearly in no shape to protect anyone, but Hester was already splitting off, following her rat.

She kept her head down, the tunnel dimming as she went, the colors muting from fluorescing pastels to steel blues, amber browns, foggy grays. She could only see a few yards ahead now. Then Hester noticed a roach skittering overhead, lit by the glow of the ceiling. Suddenly glitter from the ceiling dusted its body, magically shrinking the roach into a young larva, oozing along . . . before glitter of another color coated it and aged it back to a mature insect . . . Onward the roach plowed, old then young, young then old, intent on its destination. Agatha had been a roach like this once, Hester remembered, trying to help Sophie find love. Little did Agatha know Sophie would be the real bug in her story. It was Sophie who’d kissed Rhian . . . Sophie who’d thought the Lion a friend instead of a foe . . . Sophie who’d confused Good with Evil . . . Fitting, wasn’t it? That a mix-up had been the seed of all these thorns. For it had been a mix-up that had brought Sophie and Agatha to this world in the first place: two girls dropped into the wrong schools . . .

Meanwhile, Hester made sure not to touch any walls.

A rhythmic snuffle echoed from up ahead. Ffft . . . Ffft . . . Ffft . . .

Hester’s muscles clamped. “Merlin?” she called out.

Ani’s rat was scuttling faster now, into a dark part of the passage where the colors faded away. Hester couldn’t see anything: not the rat, not the walls, not even her feet. She lit her finger, casting red glow at a dead end ahead, a solid wall lacquered with glittery sheen.

The snuffling grew louder. Ffft. Ffft. Ffft.

“Merlin?” Hester tried again.

The closer she got to the dead-end wall, the more she saw shimmer slipping off before magically replenishing, the glitter cascading to the stone floor of the cave.

Then she saw it.

Pressed against the wall, buried in glitter.

A purple cape, swaddled around a lump, the snuffling emanating from beneath.

Hester welled tears of relief.

“Merlin, it’s me,” she gasped, rushing towards his cape. She knew better than to touch the glitter on it. Using her fingerglow, she magically swept the velvet away, flinging the glitter against a wall and revealing the wizard’s body beneath.

Hester gasped.

She fell backwards in shock, her demon letting out the screams Hester couldn’t get out of her own throat.

No no no no no no.

She turned to run . . . to find her friends . . . to find help . . .

“Hester!” a voice cried behind her. “Hester, come quick!” She turned to see Anadil sprinting towards her—

It was only when the witches saw each other’s faces that they both stopped cold.

Because whatever horror each had found in their cave . . . it seemed the other had found something worse.

BY THE TIME they made it to Bloodbrook, it was nightfall.

The inn was pitch-dark, save a tiny flicker of light in a window on the top floor.

They were prepared to stun the innkeeper, but the Ingertroll on duty was fast asleep, slumped over her guest book, a single name printed on an otherwise blank page.

Agoff of Woodley Brink

A sign next to the register warned: Do Not Disturb the Haunts.

They tiptoed past the troll, witch one, two, and three.

Up the stairs they slunk, in their usual formation.

The door at hall’s end was unlocked.

Agatha and Tedros sprung up from the bed, overcome with relief. So did Guinevere, Nicola, and Hort, lit by a single candle on a table. All of them looked exhausted—Hort, especially, itching at his receding fur and picking burrs out of his foot as if he’d wolf-carried the others here.

“Where is he?” Agatha lunged breathlessly, accosting Hester and Anadil. “Where’s Merlin?” “And who’s this?” said Tedros, pointing at the woman with them. “You shouldn’t have brought strangers here. You know the risk—” “It’s m-m-me,” the woman said, tears rising.

Agatha and Tedros froze.

Slowly the prince and princess honed in on her the same way Hester had when she’d first laid eyes on this paunchy, middle-aged matron with brown skin, thick curls, and a chocolate-stained dress.

“Dot?” Agatha choked. “But . . . but . . . you’re . . .” “Old,” Dot wept.

The room went so still they could hear the sounds.

Ffft. Ffft. Ffft.

Coming from under Hester’s arm.

Horror trickled over Tedros’ face.

“Hester . . . ,” he whispered, staring at the bundle in her grip. “Where’s Merlin?” Hester’s hands were shaking.

She pressed the bundle down onto the bed.

No one moved, listening to the snuffles beneath the purple velvet.

Ffft.

Ffft.

It was Agatha who had the courage to unfold the cape.

To reveal the wizard as he was now.

The answer to Tedros’ first test.

Merlin, the wise.

Merlin, the powerful.

Merlin, the sweet,

sleeping,

entirely beardless,

baby.