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Winny?

I jolt upright, sobering, as my friend steps through the gate and into my yard.

“Avaline? What are you doing here?” I ask, voice raising an octave. It sounds like I’m unhappy to see her, but that isn’t the case at all. It’s just— “Midsummer’s about a month away.”

“I was… in the area.” She bends to pick up the basket of strawberries I collected earlier this morning and cradles it in her arms. “It’s going to storm.”

I rise from where I’m crouched next to the oak tree, wiping my soil-stained hands on my dirty apron. Ignoring her observation, I repeat, “You were in the area?”

She nods, but it’s stiff—far too stiff for my usually cheerful friend. Her expression is grave, her mouth tight. My stomach churns. Avaline wouldn’t risk coming to visit on any day other than midsummer, when all the witches across the Wyldelands are preoccupied with coven rites, unless something terrible has happened.

For her to visit now…

Someone must have died.

The first time, it was Catalin—a dear friend we’d known for several lifetimes—murdered by a vampire consumed with bloodlust. The second, Ioana, a witch who’d abandoned my former coven and glimpsed fragments of the future, met the same fate.

Ava tilts her face toward the sky, her eyelids fluttering shut as she seems to listen for whispers from the trees. Suddenly, her eyes snap open. “Come on, Winny. Rainfall will begin in a matter of minutes, and this gown was a gift I’d rather not have ruined.”

I take in her gown. It’s different from her preferred earthy color palette and petal-hemmed dresses. Instead, she’s draped in fine, pale green silk with mesh paneling cinching her narrow waist.

“Is there anything else you need me to carry inside?” she asks.

My stomach twists as my craving for peach cobbler is replaced with dread. “No.”

She leads the way into my cottage, her lengthy emerald hair swaying with every step. I follow quietly, cheeks heating as her gaze sweeps over the dirty dishes that haven’t made it into the sink yet, the clothes strewn across the floor, the half-woven flowers abandoned by the hearth, and the dried garlands lining the windowsills.

“I always thought you were a bit manic about cleanliness.” She sets the strawberries on a precarious stack of plates littering the countertop. Her lip quirks. “Guess not.”

“I would’ve straightened up if I knew you were in the area,” I deadpan.

She rolls her eyes as she slides into her favored seat at my two-person dining table, and I try to convince myself that maybe she was simply in the area. I’m sure any optimistic person could think of plenty of positive reasons why she’s here. Unfortunately, not a single one comes to mind.

I scrub my hands clean in the sink and slip out back to collect the pitcher of sun tea I set out to brew this morning. Back in the cottage, I grab a couple of glasses from the cabinet and fill them with ice from the icebox before taking them to the table.

“If it’s not sweet enough, just let me know,” I say, flitting away to retrieve a colander from the cupboard. I set it in the sink and dump the strawberries into it, rinsing them for us to enjoy over tea.

As I make my way back to the table with the fruit, Avaline is unnaturally quiet. A terribly loud rumble of thunder shakes the cottage, and the skies begin their downpour. The hiss of rainfall drifts in through the open windows, pelting the sills and rattling the shutters.

Achlys barks his disdain as he lazily pads over to my friend.

She pets his head. “Hello, sweet boy.”

“I’m sure you’re famished, Ava,” I say, turning away from them, desperate to delay the inevitable. “Let me make you a nut and jam sandwich.”

“Don’t bother. I’m actually not very hungry.”

A funny feeling punches me in the gut.

Ava, not hungry?

Someone’s definitely dead.

“Winny,” she says seriously. I feel like I’m going to be sick. On the off chance that someone’s not dead, then this must mean my coven has found me, and I am no longer safe in this haven I’ve made for myself. My pulse thrums in my throat. “Sit with me.”

I turn back around to face her, and her gaze dips to my throat.

Put this on. You’re terrifying the witchlings.