He glowers. “Because ofyourcurse, Okolona.”
The woman gives a throaty chuckle. “Relax, boy. I’m not interested in breaking your toys. Yet.”
That doesn’t make me relax at all. But we’re only here because we’re desperate. So I follow a magical being leagues more powerful than myself into the dark beyond the threshold.
The inside is like the outside: wooden beams warped from water damage, walls mossy with age. A large stone hearth that is suspiciously person-sized hosts a blazing fire. Sunlight is minimal and candles are everywhere. Between those and the fire, the cottage is aglow. The place doesn’t look much like the home of a dreaded Witch.
Yet it’sfrigidin here. Like all this heat is just for show.
She isn’t lying: A cast-iron skillet rests deep in the fireplace, baking. Goopy fruit and its juice bubble up around a golden-brown cake-batter crust, threatening to spill over. A sonker uses riper fruit than a cobbler. I hate to admit it, but the thing smells divine.
“Blackberry?” I ask.
She adds a log to her fire. “Huckleberry. It’s seasonal.”
“Don’t accept any food from her,” the Warlock says, following right behind me.
An unkind grin twitches at the Witch’s mouth. “Would I really poison you two? We haven’t had a lick of fun yet.”
“We’re here for your help,” I say without preamble. There’s no time to be shy.
She looks past me, her cold eyes narrowing on the Warlock. “You’ve been busy, Knight. And here I thought you couldn’t possibly get into any more trouble. Then again, I’ve never seen you following a girl around.”
“I’m thirty-one, thanks,” I protest.
“Child, do you know how ancient I am? You are all childrentugging hair on the playground to me.” She hums, almost giddy. “Speaking of children, I hear the Eldercraft may pay the Holler a visit, to drive out a rogue Warlock before he can corrupt an innocent soul. Same town, same story. Foxe Holler never changes, does it?”
I shake my head. “You don’t get information for free. Witches like to trade, don’t we? You get a question, we get a question.” I hope I sound more sure than I feel. I’m the novice here when it comes to age and field experience.
“Well, I like her more in four minutes than I ever liked you in four decades, Knight. Where did you find this one?”
The Warlock shifts closer to me, and I can feel the defensive unease threaded through his muscles where we brush up against each other. “She found me.”
“Ah. The good ones usually do.”
“Why did you transport us here?” I ask, keeping us on track. Time might not pass here the same way it does in the Holler. What if we’ve already wasted hours, or days? “Why not let us get lost and die in the caves?”
“That’s two questions. But I’ll be generous since you’re my guest: I don’t like when folks meddle in my bargains. A deal is between those who make it.” She nods at him. “He asked for time, I gave it to him. A year. No more.”
The fire pops. Sparks tickle the walls of the stone. The entire cottage smells of sugary, ripe huckleberry and woodsmoke. Sweet and dangerous.
“That doesn’t sound like a very fair deal to me,” I say.
“It’s my turn to ask a question, girl. Why areyouhere?”
I swallow. “My family’s magic is poisoning my mom. And me. I don’t know how to reverse the effects. Or even just stop them. But I think you can help me.”
“This one’s awfully nosey and blunt, Knight.”
“I know,” he says at the same time I say, “Thank you.”
I keep my chin high. “My Momaw said,You can’t spellhonestywithouthoney.”
The Witch wrinkles her nose, looking even more like Gertha Fudge. “How disgustingly quaint.”
That’s it. “You’re Gertha Fudge’s grandmother!”
“Great-grandmother. Don’t short me my life experience. But yes. Gertha didn’t inherit any Hedgewitch magic. She’ll die a normal old woman. But I have a few centuries in me yet. My turn, Witch to Witch, girl. Why are you here helping aWarlockwho could trade your life for his own gain if he wanted?Honestyis not in his vocabulary.”
