I ran down the path and up the road as fast as I could, tracking Mr. Worthington’s boot prints until they faded into the cobblestones of Main Street.

I paused to catch my breath, brushed my hair off my face, and took a look around, hoping to catch sight of the feathered cap bobbing among the villagers. Instead, I spotted on the road a splatted rotten tomato, and another just past it, in the unmistakable stamp of a very large boot. Behind a cart, a gang of little boys snickered mischievously, congratulating one another. “You pegged him right in that stupid hat o’ his!” one said, validating my suspicion that the prints belonged to the tax man.

The red smears led to the tavern. I clenched my jaw as I imagined him in there, treating himself to a celebratory drink at having seized Granny’s cottage in the king’s name. Taking a deep breath, I stepped over a napping dog and pushed open the rusty double doors. I lowered my hood. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness and for my nose to adjust to the stink of booze and sweat.

Beside an old dusty piano, a skinny woman thumped a tambourine while a man with a big mustache fiddled. A flaxen-haired girl in her mid-twenties suddenly lodged herself between me and my view of the room. “Can I help you, miss?” she asked over the din of music and bantering.

I regarded the tavern girl’s tangled tresses, rosy lips, and light, piercing eyes. She wore a striped skirt that covered her legs, but her blouse showed off her freckled bosom and shoulders. She had a spark of confidence about her, like she knew her true self and no one could try to convince her otherwise. I gave her a small smile, realizing that if Granny saw me as a tavern girl, maybe it wouldn’t be the most horrible fate in the land.

“O’er here, Gretchen!” a round, balding man from a crowded corner table hollered. “Bring me an’ my chums anoth’r round. Come on, now. We haven’t got all day.”

One of his tablemates said, “What the dickens are ya talkin’ ’bout? We most definitely have all day, and all tomorrow, and the day after…” and the table full of merry men chortled and clanked mugs.

The girl pressed her full lips together, and I had the distinct feeling that she and I were sharing a private girl-bonding moment. “Hold yer horses, gents,” she called over her shoulder in a voice much gruffer than the one she’d used with me. Then she wove her way to the back of the tavern, which is where I spotted the feathered hat. Bellied up to the bar, Hershel Worthington was chugging an ale and talking to the aged bartender.

Pulling back my shoulders and raising my chin, I walked straight for the tax man. However, the closer I got, the more unsettled my stomach felt, and I had no choice but to backtrack a few steps and seek refuge behind a large knotty post. I took a big breath, and then another; and yet, my heart still raced. You can do this, Red.

Slumping forward, Mr. Worthington put his elbows on the bar. As he spoke to the older man, his voice carried over the music: “I wanted to have a son someday, but I married my dear Ernestine over a year ago, and suffice it to say, she wants nothing to do with me.”

The bartender leaned over and took a whiff of him. “You don’t smell too bad,” he remarked. “And I’m thinkin’ you make pretty good money, working for the king and all…” While he paused, he scratched his hoary head. “Oh! Have you tried being romantic with her? That seems to do the trick.”

“Romantic, eh? Can’t say I’ve tried that yet,” Mr. Worthington said, before tilting the stein to his mouth.

The bartender grinned widely, revealing more gaps than teeth. “Works like magic, you’ll see.”

Suddenly, Gretchen loomed beside me. “Don’t just stand there, honey,” the tavern girl said with a wink. “Go an’ sit by him, and ask him to buy you a drink.”

I laughed nervously and waved my hands. “Oh, no. You have it all wrong. I just wanted to talk to him, that’s all. Businesslike.”

She set her tray down on the nearest table and fixed my hair, bringing the front portions over my shoulders. Next she pinched my cheeks. Her light blue eyes gleaming, she gave me the nod. “Go talk business.”

I nodded back, amazed how she’d been able to restore my confidence. Before I lost it again, I walked up to the tax man and cleared my throat. “Mr. Worthington, may I have a word with you?”

“Always a pleasure, Miss Lucas,” Mr. Worthington said, giving me no more than a sidelong glance. “Here to drink away your woes?”

“What can I get you, miss?” the bartender asked, drying his liver-spotted hands on a towel.

“I’m not thirsty,” I told the old man, and he backed away, leaving the two of us to talk. “I’m here to make our woes disappear.” I took the scroll Mr. Worthington had served Granny out of my pocket and placed it on the bar. “And you’re going to help me.”

“Is that so?”

“I’m here to pay my granny’s debt.”

“I see. I’m sorry to say, it’s too late. However, I am a little bit curious. How exactly were you planning to do it?” He swung his legs around and faced me square on.

My heart pounded as my finger skimmed the gold cross resting on my collarbone. Drawing a deep, slow breath, I draped my hair over my left shoulder. His eyes followed my every move, even when he raised his stein to his lips for a quick swig. As he set his ale back down, I unclasped my necklace with a flick of my wrist.

“It was my mother’s,” I said, placing the cross pendant in his clammy, dirty palm.

“You don’t say…” he said, though it was obvious he didn’t care about sentimentalities. He was too busy biting down on it, to test if it was real gold.

December, three and a half years ago

I woke up with a start, unsure how I’d ended up under my bed. A fortress of pillows and covers encircled me, and though it was the coldest time of year, my hair was drenched with sweat.

I should have gotten up, but I felt unsettled—scared for a reason I couldn’t put my finger on. So I stayed there until the rooster crowed, finally rolling out from under the bed once the little cottage filled with the noises of my granny banging around in the kitchen, commencing her morning routine. I stretched my arms over my head and rolled the kink out of my neck, trying to recall the dream I’d had. I was just bending to gather the pillows I’d stuffed beneath the bed when I spotted something twinkling between the floorboards. At first glance, it appeared to be a little golden star. But when I eased it up and out with my fingertips, I saw that it was a cross.

My heart leapt in my chest as I examined it in the early morning sunlight. It looked to be made of pure gold, and I loved how smooth it felt on the pads of my pointer finger and thumb. A tiny hole pierced through the top of it; it was meant to be a pendant.

I about jumped out of my skin when Granny charged into my room like a bull. “Daylight is burning, child. Get up and get me some eggs.”

I tried to hide my newfound treasure from her but failed.

“Where did you find that?” she asked, crossing my room and staring at my palm like I was holding a poison apple.

“Under the bed.”

Nodding slowly, her eyes glistened with apparent recognition. “It was your mother’s.”

“Did you give it to her, Granny?”

She shook her head. “I never knew where she got it. She wouldn’t tell me. Said it was a secret. Here, hand it over,” she said, gesturing for it. With a heavy heart, I surrendered it. Then she took me by the shoulders and turned me around, which was just as well because I didn’t want her to see my scowl. Why did my granny have to be such a spoilsport all the time?

I felt her touch along the neckline of my nightdress. “Go see,” she said, gently steering me to the looking glass above my bureau. Granny had threaded my mother’s cross pendant onto her own necklace and fastened it around my neck. It was beautiful.

“She wanted you to have it,” Granny said.

“Really?”

“Yes, I’m quite certain.”

When I placed my hand over the cross for the very first time, I felt a wonderful warmth in my heart. “I will wear it always,” I vowed.

I swallowed the bile in my throat. “So, do we have a deal, Mr. Worthington?” I asked, attempting to look directly into his shifty eyes. “Do I have your word that Granny and I can keep our cottage?”

“What would His Royal Highness want with a wee bit of gold when he has more treasure than anyone in the kingdom?” he asked, sliding my necklace along the bar and leaving it in front of me.

“What would the king want with a small, modest cottage in the woods, when he has the most exquisite castle in the kingdom—perhaps the entire land?” I countered.

“Everyone in the village must pay taxes to the king,” he said, attempting to flag down the bartender. “Your grandmother failed to pay hers. So now we must take something from her. This is the way the kingdom works, missy.”

“I realize that.” I sighed. I didn’t know what else to do, except get down on my knees and beg. “Please, Mr. Worthington. If we lose our home, we will have nowhere to go. We have no family. And my granny is too old to carry out her remaining days—I don’t know, in a shack in the woods?” I’d just barely found out about losing the cottage, and the full repercussions hadn’t hit me until then. Not only would we be homeless, Granny would have nowhere to bake. If she couldn’t keep her business going, how would we ever make ends meet? I had to get the tax man to let Granny off the hook; it was our only hope! I beseeched him with my eyes, my heart, with every part of me. “This golden cross is all I have. It might not look all that impressive to you, but—”

He held his hand up and gestured for me to stop talking. While the indignity of having been shushed heated my cheeks, he called, “Willie! Fill me up,” out of the corner of his mustached mouth.

The bartender waddled over to us, whistling to the music as he topped off Mr. Worthington’s ale. I envied the old man, who didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

“I’m afraid it’s not enough,” Mr. Worthington said, shaking his head.

Willie stopped whistling. “It’s all that’ll fit in the stein,” he said apologetically, “but I’ll bring you another if you need.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Mr. Worthington snapped, and Willie slunk away in time to the music.

I opened my hands—I hadn’t even noticed until then that I’d had them clenched into fists—and picked up the necklace. “It’s enchanted,” I blurted.

“Oh?” He stroked his long black beard as I dangled the pendant before his eyes. “How do you mean, enchanted?” He reached out, but I swayed the necklace just out of his reach.

Leaning closer to him, I whispered, “It’s magic, Mr. Worthington. Whoever wears it will be under its spell. Its love spell.” I knew I had to make the lie convincing. “The king might have more gold than he knows what to do with, but he’s a widower, is he not? All he has to do is give this lovely necklace to a lady he desires, and she will adore him with all her heart.”

“But the king doesn’t need a love spell,” Mr. Worthington said. “What he needs is a broom to keep all the women away from him.”

“Yes, you’re probably right.” I sighed. “Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying to save her granny’s cottage, now can you?”

Mr. Worthington took a gulp out of his stein, only to peer into it, clearly surprised that it was already empty. “Miss Lucas, do you give me your word that this trinket is enchanted?” he asked.

My breath caught in my throat. Was my plan working? Perhaps the tax man was having a change of heart. “Yes. The wizard himself told me it was,” I said, glad to finally be saying the truth.

He downed the rest of his ale then reached for the scroll. “Willie, bring me a bottle of ink, will you?” he called. A moment later, Willie dropped off the ink and then slowly scooted back to his customers at the far end of the bar.

With a faraway look in his eyes, Mr. Worthington took his feather out of his hat and wrote three of the most beautiful words across the parchment: PAID IN FULL. “I will hold off from reporting your grandmother to the king; however, next spring I shan’t be as generous.”

“I understand. Thank you,” I said as I held my cross necklace for the last time. It was the most bittersweet feeling I’d ever had. On one hand, I wanted to dance around the tavern, laughing and perhaps even singing about having saved our cottage. On the other, parting with the cross pendant my mother wore made my throat close up and my eyes sting. I blinked hard and told myself that it was the right thing to do. The only thing to do. The instant I dropped the necklace into Mr. Worthington’s hands—this time, for good—someone said my name.

“Red! What are you doing?”

I spun around to see Peter, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed distrustfully at Mr. Worthington. “Peter, wh-what are you doing here?” I asked. I hated how I’d left things with Peter, but now was not the time to apologize and try to make things right between us. The ink hadn’t even dried on the agreement. I just needed a few more minutes with Mr. Worthington, alone.

“I’ve come to check in on you, and it looks like it’s a good thing I did.” Though I hadn’t seen Peter blink or move even a muscle, he seemed to have shot up ten inches. Mr. Worthington, on the contrary, shrunk away from him.

“Don’t worry, Peter. Everything is fine, honestly,” I said, forcing myself to smile up at him. Afraid he might do or say something to ruin my deal with the tax man, I quickly stood and gathered the scroll, placing it back inside my cloak.

I said, “So long, Mr. Worthington,” and poked his feather back into his hat for him. Then, grabbing Peter’s hand, I started dragging him toward the door.

“What was that all about, Red?” Peter asked. He dug in his heels, bringing us to an abrupt stop by the piano. “Why did you give him your cross?”

“Please, let’s just get out of here. Then I’ll tell you everything, I promise.”

Tilting his head, he searched my face. A few seconds later, he lowered his eyebrows and said, “All right, but I’m holding you to that promise. No more secrets.” Placing his hand on the small of my back, Peter guided me out of the tavern.

“How did you know I was in here, anyway?” I asked as he opened the door.

“My brothers said you’d walked by them. They said you looked upset, so they held back on pegging you with rotten vegetables.”

“They’re such little dears.”

Just outside, we heard a little whimper. At our feet, the mutt whined and twitched in her sleep. The poor thing must’ve been having quite a nightmare.

There were two more nights of Wolfstime, and I wondered what my dreams would be like now. I already felt the emptiness where the cross used to lie against my chest. I reminded myself that I’d survived before without the pendant, when I’d lost it at the swimming hole. But that was before I’d found out that the wizard put a spell on it for my mother. Without the pendant, would I ever understand my Wolfstime dreams? Would I ever discover my true self?

Peter reached into his knapsack and tossed a small hunk of bread to the dog, so it could have something to eat when it woke up. Then, as he leaned against a lamppost, I told him why I’d gone after the tax man. I thought the part about Granny not being able to pay her taxes would be too mortifying to share, but Peter nodded understandingly, compassionately even. I knew I could trust Peter not to tell anyone.

“What you did was very heroic—and the bit about the pendant being enchanted with a love spell was particularly inspired.” He shook his head and grinned. I couldn’t help smiling as well. I had spun a dandy tale, and like the best stories, it had begun with a seed of truth. “But I know how much your mother’s cross means to you,” he said, much more somberly. “There has to be another way. I’ll help you figure something out.”

“Thank you, Peter, but it’s all right. What’s done is done. Besides, I’m sure my mother would have wanted it this way.” Though I put on a brave face for him, I truly wanted to cry. We started walking down Main Street, and as we passed the alleyway where we’d danced earlier that afternoon, I wished he would fold me into his arms and tell me over and over again that everything was going to be all right.

But first, I knew I needed to tell Peter what had happened at market. I swallowed, mentally going over how exactly I was going to word the confession. I figured the best way was to tell the whole truth, come what may. As I spoke, he listened in silence. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat when I got to the stealing portion of my confession, and a dark shadow filled his eyes when I recounted the kiss part. “Do you hate me now?” I bit my lower lip while I waited for him to answer.

“I could never hate you, Red. Actually, I’m glad you finally told me,” he said, and then gave me the hug I’d been yearning for.

Resting my head on his shoulder, I let out a long stream of air. “Me too.” I couldn’t believe how much better it felt to be honest with him. I pulled him closer and never wanted to let go, but the sun was going down, and Peter had a nice stew to share with his family before joining his father and the other men on the wolf hunt. The thought of him up against the deadly beasts made me want to open up even more. “Peter, I…”

When my words trailed off, he held me out at arm’s length. His dark brown eyes widened as he waited for me to finish. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell him how I truly felt about him. The thought of him standing before me with his mouth open, not knowing how to respond because he didn’t want to hurt me, parched my mouth and sank my stomach. If he didn’t feel the same way about me, I’d be standing there like a heartbroken fool. Instead, I said, “I just want you to be careful tonight.”

After the slightest of hesitations, he let go of my shoulders and ran a hand through his hair. “You have nothing to worry about. We have the best hunters and weapons in the village. And we’ll be in groups.”

“But I do worry about you. I can’t help it.”

“To be honest, I kind of like knowing that you care.”

I swallowed. I do care about you, Peter. Very much. “You’d better get home. You don’t want to miss your family’s big supper,” I said, though I didn’t really want him to go.

“All right. Well, I’ll see you around.”

I waved good-bye as he turned around and started jogging back toward his house, none the wiser that I loved him.