It was a hot summer day when everything changed. The settlement’s main well had been running low for weeks, and the late-summer heat wave had made the creek run dry. The only source of water now was the old well near the woods—the one long abandoned after the village moved closer to the creek for easier access.

“I’ll check it,” Faline offered when Papa mentioned they might need to use it.

Papa looked uncertain. “It’s quite a walk, and the water’s probably gone brackish by now—”

“I don’t mind checking. We need water for washing at least, even if it’s not fit for drinking. We can keep the rain barrels topped off.”

Mama nodded approval. “Take the large buckets. If the water’s decent, we can boil it.”

So Faline set out in the early afternoon, two wooden buckets hanging from a yoke across her shoulders. The walk to the old well was familiar—she’d gone there many times with Grandmama for lessons in the grove nearby. But she hadn’t been back since Grandmama’s death, had avoided it deliberately, not wanting to stir up memories.

Going back to where it all began, Grandmama’s voice observed, more alert now than it had been in months. How fitting.

“Hush. I’m just getting water.”

Are you? Because I remember this place. Remember what we did here. What you learned here.

Faline tried to ignore her, focusing on the path ahead. The trees grew thicker here, older, their branches forming a canopy that blocked out much of the sunlight. The old well stood in a small clearing, its stone walls covered in moss and lichen.

She set down her buckets and peered over the edge. The water was indeed low, and when she lowered the bucket on its rope, it came up filled with small, wiggly forms darting through blackened water. She wrinkled her nose at the brackish mess.

“No one can drink this,” she muttered.

You could fix it, Grandmama suggested. You know the purification spell. I taught it to you two years ago.

“Someone might see.”

Who? You’re alone in the woods. Miles from the settlement. No one knows you’re here.

But even as Grandmama said it, Faline felt a prickle on the back of her neck. The feeling of being watched.

She turned slowly, scanning the trees. Nothing. Just shadows and silence.

You’re paranoid, Grandmama said. Just do the spell. Purify the water. Help your family. Isn’t that what you want? To be helpful, normal, good?

Faline hesitated, her hand hovering over the bucket of murky water. It would be so easy. A few words, a simple gesture, and the water would run clean and pure. She could fill the buckets, bring them home, and her parents would be grateful. The settlement needed water. This was helping, not showing off. No one would ever know she’d used magic.

Behind her, hidden in the deep shadows of the old oak trees, Ravael pressed herself against a trunk, barely breathing. She’d followed Faline on impulse, curious why her friend was going to the abandoned well alone. She’d meant to call out, to offer to help carry the buckets.

But now she stayed silent, watching.

Faline took a breath, glanced around one more time, then raised her hands over the bucket. With a wave of her hand, she blew on the water and whispered, “Ahkwa-moonda.”

The water grew clear, the murky darkness dissolving into crystalline purity.

“What did you do?” Ravael’s voice came from behind her.

Faline whipped around to see Ravael staring at her with open-mouthed astonishment.

Her childhood friend. The girl who’d once kept her secrets. Who’d seen the red plant and said nothing. Now standing here with betrayal and fear written across her face.

“I… just wanted to see how cold the water was,” Faline stammered.

“Oh no,” Ravael said, shaking her head. “You spoke to the water, and it cleared up. I knew it. I always knew what you were. You’re a strega.””No, I’m not,” Faline protested, her heart hammering.

But Ravael turned and ran down the trail back to the village.

“Stop!” Faline cried, setting the bucket down and running after the older girl.

Ravael had longer legs and began to pull ahead of her. Panic flooded through Faline. If Ravael reached the settlement, if she told everyone what she’d seen—everything she’d worked for, the fragile acceptance she’d built over the past months, would shatter.

Do what you must, Grandmama’s voice urged. The others must not know about the Old Ways.

“Stop, please!” Faline shouted again, but Ravael only ran faster.

She had to slow the girl down. From her belt, she grabbed her growth charm—ground hyacinth seed—and shouted, “Implicatum!”

Tendrils of vines shot from the ground and snagged Ravael’s ankles, causing her to trip and roll down the hill. More vines swept out of the underbrush and wrapped around the shrieking girl’s outstretched arms and legs.

Soon she lay sprawled on the ground, tugging frantically at the vegetation, eyes wild and voice high-pitched. “Stay away from me, strega!”

Faline approached, hands shaking. “Hush up, I am not a witch. I was only trying to make the water drinkable. Please, Ravael, just calm down—”

“I heard what you said,” Ravael spat, her voice dropping an octave. “When the others hear of this—”

“You can’t tell them. Please.” Faline knelt beside her, desperation making her voice crack. “We’re friends. Remember? We’re friends again.”

“Friends?” Ravael’s laugh was bitter and afraid. “You lied to us. You pretended to be normal, but you’re just like her. Just like the witch.”

“I am normal! I just—I can do some things others can’t. That doesn’t make me evil—”

“Let me go!” Ravael thrashed against the vines. “Let me go, or I swear I’ll tell everyone what you are!”

Faline’s mind raced. There had to be a way to fix this. A spell, something Grandmama had taught her—

A memory charm, the voice suggested. Make her forget what she saw.

“Yes,” Faline whispered. She reached toward Ravael’s forehead.

Ravael’s eyes went wide with terror. “Don’t you dare touch me with your witch hands!”

“I’m just going to make you forget. It won’t hurt, I promise—”

“NO!” Ravael shrieked, thrashing violently. “Get away from me! HELP! SOMEONE HELP—”

Faline clamped a hand over Ravael’s mouth, trying to muffle the screams. “Stop it! Stop screaming! I’m trying to help you—”

Ravael bit down hard on Faline’s palm. Pain shot through her hand, and she yanked it back with a cry.

“Witch! Daemon-touched witch!” Ravael screamed. “Your grandmother was evil, and you’re her bad seed!”

The words hit like a physical blow. Faline tried the spell anyway, placing both hands on Ravael’s temples. “Oblivaro—”

But nothing happened. The spell required the subject to be calm, willing, or at least unconscious. Ravael was thrashing too much, screaming too loud, terror overriding everything.

A sleep spell then, Grandmama suggested. Put her to sleep, then do the memory charm.

“Somnus,” Faline tried, but her hands were shaking, her concentration shattered by Ravael’s screams and her own panic.

A faint drowsiness seemed to pass over Ravael’s eyes, but then she shook it off, adrenaline keeping her alert. “You can’t make me forget! I’ll tell everyone! They’ll burn you just like they should have burned that demon in your house!”

Heartbeat thumping in her ears, a flash of heat raced through Faline. “She wasn’t a demon. And neither am I. You have to listen—”

“I promise nothing to a strega. Let me go, or when I get free, I’ll make sure they know exactly what you are!”

Faline looked around desperately. There had to be something, some way to make Ravael understand, to make her stop screaming, to fix this—

She spied a rock nearby. Just for a moment. Just to knock her unconscious, then she could do the memory spell properly—

She seized the rock, her hand closing around it. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just need you to be quiet for a moment—”

Ravael snarled at her, eyes full of hatred and terror. “Everyone suspects what I already know. Your grandmother was touched by a daemon, and you’re her bad seed. When they find out—”

Do it, Grandmama’s voice commanded—or was it her own thought? She couldn’t tell anymore. She’ll destroy you. Destroy everything. You have no choice.

“No,” Faline whispered. “I just need her to sleep—”

“They’ll burn you alive!” Ravael shrieked. “Just like they should have burned her—”

The rock came down.

Faline had only meant to stun her. To make her quiet long enough to cast the spell properly. But panic made her hand heavy, fear made her strike too hard, and the sickening crack that echoed through the woods told her immediately that she’d done something terrible.

Ravael’s eyes went blank. Her head lolled to the side.

And still Faline’s hand came down again. And again. As if some part of her needed to make absolutely certain that Ravael would never, ever tell anyone what she’d seen.

When she finally stopped, she was breathing hard, her vision blurred. She looked down at the rock in her hand, slick with blood. Looked at what remained of Ravael’s face.

“What have I done?” she whispered.

You did what you had to, Grandmama’s voice answered—but it sounded different now, more like her own internal voice trying to justify the unjustifiable. Now cover your tracks.

Her mind still reeling, she stood, looking at Ravael’s body—her friend’s body—as blood pooled on the ground. The vines were already withering, the spell fading now that her concentration was broken.

With shaking hands, she pried away the remaining vines and looked around frantically.

There. A small opening in the hillside. An abandoned fox den, or so it seemed.

She dragged the body to the cave and stuffed it into the opening, bile rising in her throat. A wave of nausea swept through her. The spell had been right there. The memory charm. The sleep spell. If she’d just been calmer, more focused, she could have made Ravael forget. Could have sent her home with no memory of the well, of the magic, of anything.

But instead—

She pushed the thought away. Done was done. Now she had to protect herself.

The realization did nothing to help her disguise the fact she was covered with blood. There was no way to go back to the settlement looking as she did. She could try sneaking back and changing, but the risk of being caught seemed too great.

She made her way back to the well, trying to think. As she washed the blood off her skin with the purified water, an idea occurred to her. If they knew the blood was hers, they would not suspect it was Ravael’s. The bloodstains were mostly on her sleeves and splattered on her shirt front. If she had a wound, then the others would think the blood came from her, not Ravael.

She dug into her belt and found the small hunting knife she kept there. Drawing it out, she placed the knife against the skin on her forearm. Gritting her teeth and looking away, she swept the blade across her forearm, cutting through the skin. Blood flowed freely, and she dabbed the wound across the bloodstains on her clothes, bathing them in fresh bright red blood.

Pain throbbed throughout her body, but it was nothing compared to the horror of what she’d done.

Good, her own thoughts whispered in Grandmama’s voice—or perhaps it was just her own survival instinct now. An accident. Tell them you fell.

After gathering more water in the buckets, she made her way back to the settlement. Wary of what some might think, she worked up some tears and rubbed her cheeks to make them red and blotchy. It wasn’t hard. The tears were real enough.

When some of the villagers saw her, they ran and returned with Mama, who immediately grabbed her arm and dragged her back to the cabin. Once inside and behind the door, she rounded on Faline.

“What happened to you?”

“I fell on some rocks coming back from the well,” Faline replied, working up a few sniffles to reinforce her story.

Mama stared at her. “You’re not usually that careless. What really happened up there?”

“I told you. I fell.”

“Fine,” Mama said. “Let’s see your injury.” She grabbed Faline’s sleeve and yanked it up. “Pretty even cut for a rock.” She stared into Faline’s eyes. “This looks like a knife wound. Explain yourself.”

A wave of panic sailed through Faline. Mama didn’t believe the story. She quickly scrambled for an alternative. “Okay, I cut myself trying to trim branches off a tree limb.”

Mama looked curiously at her. “Why did you do that?”

“The bucket got caught on a root in the well. I tried to free it with a branch.”

For a moment, Mama stared, then sighed. “Makes sense, but why did you lie about it?”

“It was embarrassing.”

“More than falling down, huh? Go change your tunic before someone else starts asking questions.”

Faline darted off, her heart leaping with relief.

Later that day, however, a knock came on the door. Papa answered it. Ravael’s father, Kristoff, stood in the doorway, concern painted on his face. “Ravael has not returned from the well. She would have been up there about the same time as Faline. Did your girl see her?”

“Faline,” Papa barked. “Get over here.”

Faline did as she was told, her stomach dropping.

“Did you see Ravael earlier today?”

Faline hesitated, trying to determine what to say. “Uh, yes. She was coming up the hill as I was coming back.”

Kristoff stared at her with such intensity that she felt squeamish. “What was she wearing?”

Quickly relating the information to him, Kristoff nodded in acknowledgment. He paused, then asked, “Why were you covered in blood when you returned?”

She explained about the root in the well and the tree branch. Kristoff watched her the entire time she spoke, and though she felt nervous, she kept her voice even and did not flinch.

“Very well. I think she may have gotten lost.” He turned to Papa. “I intend to take a group of men to search the woods. Will you come with us?”

“Of course,” Papa said, giving Faline a glance—a mixture of relief and something else. But what it was, she could not tell.

Sunlight disappeared in the next few hours as dusk settled over the settlement. Her stomach queasy, Faline tried to focus on the knitting chore Mama had her doing. Moonlight shone through the window by the time the door swung open, and Papa stepped through it.

Faline looked at him, peering up at his face. His long face stared back at her. “Did you find Ravael?”

“No,” Papa said. “We searched the entire area around the well.”

Mama came up and took Papa’s coat from him, then set a plate on the table. “Come eat. So, what happens now?”

“We’re going to search again at first light, this time the entire hill. If we’re lucky, she’ll return before then.”

Faline knew the chances of that, and her stomach churned at the idea that the villagers would be searching and possibly finding the fox den where she’d hidden the body.

Mama spooned some gruel into Papa’s bowl. “Eat this, and then let’s get some sleep since you’ll need to be up early.” She turned to Faline. “Put that knitting away when you’re done with it.”

After Papa finished eating, he and Mama trundled off to their sleeping area, a mass of straw piled on several logs. That left Faline in front of the fireplace, sitting on a bench and knitting. She’d be expected to finish her task, toss a log into the fire, and retreat to bed.

Almost an hour later, she finished. After throwing in another log, she crept to her sleeping area near the only window in the cabin, currently covered by a wooden shutter and held in place by a bar.

Sleep eluded her. Heart thumping wildly, she imagined the villagers discovering the body and tracing the murder back to her. After several aborted attempts to fall asleep, she realized what needed to be done. Move the body to where it could not be found. But where?

The well seemed like the obvious choice, but the search parties had probably already searched there. She needed some place not obvious. One that would be the last place they would check.

The bluff, her thoughts whispered in that voice that might have been Grandmama’s or might have been her own survival instinct. Beyond the well. The sheer drop with thick underbrush and sharp rocks. They won’t search the base of it. Too dangerous.

The image came to mind clearly. It was doubtful a search party would attempt to explore the base of it. But could she get the body there? Did she have the strength?

You have the Old Ways, the thought came.

Faline sat up, lifted the bar off the window shutter gently, and pushed it open. The moon shone brightly on the trees and grounds surrounding the cabin. Slipping a leg over the window threshold, she pushed off and dropped onto the grass below.

Though darkness permeated everything, moonlight gave her sharp eyes enough light to move about. Within minutes, she found the trail to the well and began following it. Several times she had to stop and squint, trying to make out markers along the way. It would be awful easy to lose her way in the darkness and end up fully immersed in the woods.

Before long, she could make out the outline of the well against the night sky.

And beyond it, the fox den where Ravael’s body lay hidden.

Faline took a deep breath and moved forward into the darkness.