My grandmother sat rigidly on the corner chair in the kitchen, her apron skewed, staring dazedly at the stacks of food that covered every last inch of the countertops. Knowing her, the excess of baked goods was her last-ditch effort at saving the cottage. Either that, or baking herself into a frenzy was her way of coping.

“I have good news, Granny. We aren’t going to lose our cottage after all!”

She blinked twice and then turned to me as if just realizing I was there. “What in the land are you talking about, child?”

“The debt is gone. We’re in the clear, at least for now.” I handed my grandmother the agreement. Her forehead furrowed as she adjusted her glasses and read the PAID IN FULL. “How?”

I loosened the cloak from my shoulders and touched my collarbone.

“Oh, Red. The cross.”

“It’s all right, Granny,” I said, sitting next to her. “I know it was my mother’s, but I know if she were here, she would have done the same thing.”

Granny opened her mouth and then shut it with a sigh. I guessed she was trying to thank me; she’d never been good at that. Finally, she said, “You’re right. She would have.”

“All right then,” I said with a nod, “you’ve obviously baked enough to feed the entire kingdom. Let me help you get this cleaned up.”

Granny frowned. “Hang on just a minute. There’s something I need to get off my chest.”

“What is it?”

Taking a deep, ragged breath, she wrung her hands. “Listen, Red. I…I’m sorry I said those things earlier today.”

I bit my lower lip and tried not to look shocked as she studied my face. If she hardly ever thanked anyone, she even more seldom apologized. “I’m also sorry I brought your mother into it. It’s just that, I blame myself for what happened to Anita. I wanted to protect her, but I failed.”

“I’m sure you did everything you could,” I said.

“Not everything, I’m afraid.”

“It’s not your fault my parents went out in the woods and a hunter accidentally shot them.”

“I’m not just talking about that,” she said. “You’re a lot like your mother, you know.” She brushed my cheek with her fingertips and then promptly returned her hand to her lap. “She had a wild side, you might say.” For a brief instant, her lips formed a small smile. “Sometimes, I sense that wild side in you, too, and to be honest, it scares the dickens out of me. That’s why I got you the hood. But that won’t protect you from everything. It won’t protect you from getting your heart broken.”

“Granny, what are you trying to say?”

“You see, I tried to spare you what really happened that night when your parents died.”

I leaned forward, wanting—and yet more than a bit nervous—to hear what had really happened. “You lied to me?”

She shifted in her chair. “I didn’t lie, not really. I just left some things out.” She exhaled loudly, making her cheeks puff out. “That tragic night, before they ran into the woods, they’d had a terrible fight. I came running into their room—your room now, as you know—and tried to break it up. Your father didn’t lay a hand on her, not that I saw anyway. But he did snap her necklace right off her neck, which infuriated your mother.”

“If that happened the night they died, then I’m guessing it somehow ended up under the bed, where I found it?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yes, that’s what I figured, too. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Your parents had had quite a few fights before, but this one was different somehow. It had the weight of finality. One look at your mother’s tearstained face, and I’ve never seen such anguish. I knew her heart had been broken. She tore off into the woods, and he followed her. I tried to stop them, but…”

“The hunters got to them first,” I finished for her, and she nodded solemnly.

“You were only a baby, but somehow, you must have sensed that something tragic had happened to them. You cried the whole night, clear through to breakfast. I swore to you that come hell or high water, I’d keep you safe. You’re all I’ve got, child.”

I’d been so enraptured by Granny’s story that I just then realized the sun was going down. Granny must have noticed at the same time, because after glancing out the window, she jumped up. “Well, enough chin-wag. It’s almost dusk, and it looks like another spring shower’s coming in, too. Go fetch the clothes off the line, and don’t tarry.”

The instant I stepped out the back door, a gale blew my hair into my eyes and inflated my cloak like the sails of a ship, making it tough to see and walk. But I made it to the clothesline and hurriedly began piling the linens in my basket, until something caught my eye and made my heart skip a beat: giant wolf tracks, in the soft dirt behind the old oak tree. They were fresh enough that I guessed they’d been made last night. I followed them and gasped when I saw how they skirted the cottage and continued past the chicken coop, to the stream. Luckily, the wolf had left the chickens alone, but who was to say the fowl would survive tonight, or the night after, for that matter?

Leaving my chore unfinished, I hurried back inside. While Granny made the Wolfstime rounds in our bedrooms and the living room, I slipped into the kitchen to lock it down and start making the cider. The whole while, I couldn’t stop thinking about the wolves. I’d always been deathly afraid of them; but now, I hated them.

I hated them for plaguing our village with horror an entire week of every month. I hated them for killing our neighbors’ cow and sheep and our chickens. I hated them for killing my great-uncles and grandfather in cold blood. I hated how they killed them before my grandmother’s terrified eyes—a living nightmare that compelled her to speak out against those who believed they could somehow defeat the monsters, or those who weren’t sufficiently fearful of them—and how her fervor marked her as the laughingstock of the village, then as well as now. I hated them for putting my parents in death’s way and forcing our menfolk into a seemingly everlasting and futile chase. I hated them for making me worry about Peter and his first night with the hunters and for leaving menacing tracks just outside our cottage walls.

How I would love to be the one to finally kill the wolves and save the village from their reign of terror!

As these thoughts built up inside of me, I scrubbed the bowls, pans, and spoons harder and harder. I rummaged under the sink for a dish towel, and that was when it came to me. Dogs loved my biscuits, and like Violet had said the night of the bonfire, a wolf was essentially an overgrown mongrel.

If I lace biscuits with rat poison and scatter them along the tracks the wolf left last night, perhaps I can be the one who finally kills the wolves!

I took out the rat poison that we kept under the sink and sprinkled it on the cookies, putting my plan in motion. I almost told Granny my idea, but when I spied her leaning against the living room wall and holding her aching arm, I felt like she was going through enough. “Looks like I left a few towels up on the line, Granny. I’ll be right back in,” I called. Then I slipped out the back door and scattered the poisoned dog biscuits alongside the wolf prints.

With the storm blowing in, the sky was darkening at a rapid rate, and yet the clouds could not contest the moon. Tipping back my head, I let the moon’s light embrace me. Once I was back inside, I boarded up the back door, slowly breathing in and out. It was as if the moon’s glow had somehow gotten inside of me, and I held on to the sensation as best I could as Granny and I wrapped up the final minutes of the day and I ducked into my room for the night.

I shed my clothes on the floor, hung my hood on the bedpost, and flopped onto my bed. Gazing at the shapes the candlelight created on the canopy, I felt a sudden rush of feverish heat. If Granny happened to stick her head in to check on me, she would come unglued—not only since I hadn’t bothered to put on a nightgown, but because I’d unlocked and wedged open my shutters, just to get some fresh, cool air.

Standing before the window in my undergarments, with the glow of candles behind me and the vast dangers of Wolfstime in front of me, I felt an odd mixture of power and vulnerability. Although I knew I should lock my room back up and get into bed, I found myself pondering Peter’s whereabouts at that very moment. Had the hunters, armed with torches, weapons, and a sense of invincibility, marched through the park and into the graveyard? Had they gathered in the village center or at the schoolhouse? Or had they trooped straight down Main Street and into the forest?

I leaned closer to the open window, wondering if they would come within view of our cottage. Clouds veiled the enormous moon like puffs of silvery-gray gauze. The wind stirred the leaves, and squirrels chattered off and on in the trees. There were no hunters, though.

With a little imagination, I was able to trick myself into seeing them pass by the cottage—all but Peter, who spied me standing in my window wearing next to nothing. In my mind, he stopped in the shadows while the other hunters carried on without him. I wasn’t sure what to do next, because he didn’t realize I knew he was there, and I didn’t want this little game to end quite yet. So I began brushing my hair for him. I took special care in each and every stroke, starting at the root and running the bristles seamlessly to the ends. The wind entered my room, caressing my face, neck, and shoulders. Peter stepped out from the shadows into the luminous moonlight, and I drank in the approval and appreciation written all over his handsome face.

I wasn’t sure exactly when the rain had begun but, suddenly, raindrops were coming into my bedroom. Blinking, I closed and locked the window. I tried to keep the best parts of my fantasy about Peter alive as I fluffed my pillow and slipped into bed. But then, as I was wont to touch my neck as I drifted off to sleep, the pendant’s absence made me start. It would be my first slumber in over three years without my mother’s cross—and not only that, but it would be my first night knowing it to be enchanted.

If I hadn’t made the deal with the tax man—if I still wore the necklace—would my Wolfstime dreams become increasingly extreme, as the wizard had cautioned my mother? He’d told me that my mother longed to understand the meaning of her dreams, because she’d been so desperate to discover her true self. But as for me, what if I was too afraid to find my true self?

What if I just wanted to fall asleep peacefully instead of fearfully and have dreams like everybody else had?

What if I wanted to dream about Peter?

Friday, May 18

I sat straight up in my bed. Clutching my pillow to my chest, I rocked back and forth. My eyes prickled and my body felt as if it had been tied to the vane of a windmill for days on end.

What had I dreamed to make me feel so battered?

I rocked some more, blinking back tears I didn’t understand.

It finally dawned on me that the sun had risen—and yet the rooster hadn’t crowed. Everything is fine, I consoled myself as I swapped my nightdress for skirt and blouse, topped it all off with my cloak, and fetched the egg basket. The instant I stepped into the backyard, the air took on a sinister chill. And it was quiet, too quiet. Something is wrong.

“Granny! Come quick!”

Huge wolf tracks had torn up the tender springtime soil in the same pattern I’d dropped the poisoned dog biscuits—with a detour directed straight to the chicken coop.

My grandmother appeared on the back porch, rubbing her hands on her apron. “No. No, not again.” She bustled across the clearing, trying to stop me from going in. But she was too late. As I stepped through the door, the light of day flooded the coop. I shook uncontrollably as four deep gashes—no doubt the claw-marks of the wolf—loomed on the wall before me.

Ripping the broomstick off its hook, I started sweeping up the bloody feathers and bird parts. The gore clumped and streaked, and though all I accomplished was smearing it about even worse, I kept sweeping. “With any luck, our chickens will be that wolf’s final meal,” I said.

“Don’t be ridiculous, child. This was merely an appetizer.” Granny waved her hands around as if I hadn’t even noticed the massacre.

“I poisoned the dog biscuits and scattered them outside the cottage last night, in case the wolf dared come back here. In case it went after our chickens again.”

“You did what?” she asked.

“The biscuits are gone, Granny.” I smiled, feeling oddly serene despite the morbid sight, stench, and stillness surrounding us. “Maybe the wolf is dead.”

“Haven’t you heard a single thing I’ve told you, all these years? This is no ordinary wolf, child. It’s more powerful than you can ever imagine.” Granny snatched the broom from my grasp. In one hand she held the broomstick, and in the other, my shoulder, as she marched me out of the coop. Next she set the bottom of the broom on one of the wolf tracks. The paw print eclipsed the bristles, and its claws splayed out even farther. I knew the wolf was gigantic—I’d seen its tracks before—but I couldn’t help gasping. Granny nodded. “You see? A poisoned dog biscuit won’t give this creature a bellyache, let alone kill it.”

“The hunters went out last night, you know,” I said, my stomach twisting as I thought of Peter. “I just wanted to help.”

Granny nodded and handed me back the broom. “Let’s pray the monster stuck with a poultry diet,” she said as she walked back into the house.

I finished washing up the chicken coop and then returned to my room for my bow and arrows. Even though Granny thought it impossible, I wanted to hold on to the belief that somewhere out there was a dead—or at least, very sick—wolf. And luckily, tracking was what I did best.

As I hiked, I daydreamed about discovering the wolf’s dead body in the forest. No one knew for sure how many wolves roamed the woods and terrorized the village, but if the poisoned dog biscuits vanquished one, I could make more and eventually do them all in.

I would be the village hero! The very thought of it made me grin ear to ear. Word would spread near and far, and everybody would respect me and love me.

Like earlier that morning, the air grew colder, lending it a certain bite. My heart hammered—and not merely with exertion—when the paw prints led me to the hill behind the blacksmith’s shop. I took a deep breath and shivered. Had a wolf wreaked havoc at Peter’s place last night?

Drawing my bow, I followed the tracks to a grove of towering evergreens. When I spotted blood on the ground, I hoped it was from a rabbit, or perhaps a deer.

But it wasn’t. It was from a man.