The crows circled the dead woods, obscuring the sunlight like ominous, lurid clouds. Their caws and screeches were otherworldly, and terrifying.

Snow White and the witches put down the pages from the fairy tale book and ran to the large morning room windows, pressing themselves against them, watching the creatures circling closer and closer. Snow gasped. “Who sent them?”

Circe didn’t know. They seemed somehow familiar to her, but she could feel nothing from them. It was the strangest thing, feeling nothing from these creatures. There was no life force within them. None at all.

“They are not alive, Circe. They’re dead things, sent by your mothers.”

Circe’s heart skipped a beat. “Hazel, are you sure? I didn’t know my mothers employed crows or could command the dead!”

Primrose squinted at the striking birds, as if she was trying to take their measure, to feel something perhaps Circe was unable to detect. “They’re Maleficent’s birds, but they were sent by the odd sisters.”

Something about that terrified Circe. “Are my mothers dead, then? Or have they sent Maleficent here to destroy us?”

“No, they are not dead, but they command the dead—like their mother and her mother before them. And they are coming here to take what they think is their rightful place among them,” said Hazel.

“What does she mean, Circe? Your mothers are coming here?” Snow White panicked.

Circe didn’t understand how the witches knew so much, but she trusted them. She didn’t know why, but she did. “I have to get Snow out of here,” she said, looking at the witches. “I’m sorry. But my mothers have a vendetta against Snow White, and she’s in danger if she stays here. We have to go!” Circe had taken Snow by the hand and was ready to flee. She hated the idea of leaving Jacob, Primrose, and Hazel to contend with the odd sisters alone, but she felt she had made a mistake in bringing Snow White here, and she wanted to get her out of the dead woods at once. “I will come back. I promise I won’t leave you here alone for too long. I just want to get Snow safely away,” said Circe, feeling conflicted. And feeling trapped.

“Your mothers move among the ravens, they float upon the breeze, they move among shadows, they walk across the sea, they move among the candles, they float among the smoke, and they move something deep inside of me,” said Hazel, her gray eyes somber.

“What are you saying, Hazel?” asked Circe, still panicking at the thought of her mothers swooping down on Snow White.

“My sister is saying your mothers are everywhere. You can’t escape them, so you might as well face them here,” Primrose said. Her wide, friendly smile hadn’t wavered, not once since they had arrived.

“But what of Snow?”

“This is Snow’s story, too, dear Circe. All our fates are connected. Haven’t you guessed this yet?” asked Hazel.

“Snow White is not a witch!”

“True, but her mother is, and though they may not be related by blood, there is a bond between them so pure and so deep she has become entangled in this fairy tale nevertheless.”

“How soon before they get here?” asked Circe, looking out the window and watching the crows.

“We still have time. Your mothers are not strong enough to make their way here, not yet,” said Hazel, contemplating the crows along with Circe as if she got her information from them.

“Yes, we have time. More time than we need, really. There’s still so much you don’t know. And we want you with us when you learn the truth. We want to help,” said Primrose.

Circe had thought she was coming here to help Primrose and Hazel. She thought they would be alone, frightened, and lost. But it turned out she was the one who was lost. It was she who needed help. And she was thankful the witches were here with her. Thankful to be home.

This is my home. Circe felt for the first time as if she was in a place she truly belonged. She felt at home at Morningstar, and in her mothers’ house, of course, but this place was different. She felt like she truly belonged in the dead woods. She felt a connection to it, by blood and by right. This was where she would stay. This was the place she would call home. It comforted and frightened her at once.

“That’s right, my dear. You are home. This is your land as much as it is ours. You were born of Lucinda, Ruby, and Martha. You will inherit the dead woods after your mothers pass,” said Hazel.

This was all too much. Circe was angrier with her mothers than she had ever been before. There was so much they had been keeping from her. So many secrets.

“Why didn’t they grow up here? Why didn’t my mothers tell you who they were when they first came here so many years ago, when you were all girls together?”

Jacob, who had been sitting quietly in his chair, finally spoke. The sudden sound of his deep voice startled the witches and Snow, who had forgotten he was there. “Manea sent our daughters away. But you’re right, Circe, my granddaughter. There is much more to the story.”

Circe hadn’t even put that together. She was too worried about Snow and her mothers. She felt muddled, confused, and overwhelmed. Jacob was her grandfather.

“Of course you’re muddled and confused, sweet Circe. Jacob understands,” said Primrose, reading Circe’s mind. “This is too much for even the strongest of witches. And you are the strongest witch of the age. Even stronger than your mothers. Stronger than our mother, and her mother before her. You have the power to stop your mothers, Circe. We just hope you choose the right way.”

Jacob got up from his seat and put his hand on Circe’s cheek. “Oh, how I wish Manea had your strength and power. None of this might have happened. I wish I had never allowed our daughters to be sent away only to come back and destroy everything.”

Primrose took Jacob’s hands tenderly in hers. “Lucinda, Ruby, and Martha were meant to take this path no matter. This isn’t your fault, Jacob,” she said.

“How do you know all of this? It’s uncanny. Witches or not, you know so much,” said Circe, looking at Primrose and wondering how it was possible they could all know so much about her and her mothers.

“Everything can be heard in the place between if you listen hard enough,” Primrose said. “We had nothing else to do but listen. As your mothers were always behind the mirrors, watching, we were always behind the veil, listening.”

The idea sent chills through Circe. And she suddenly felt afraid her mothers were listening to them now. “Do you think my mothers are in the place between? Do you think they are listening?”

“I do,” said Hazel. “I feel them, but they are still very far away.”