She needed to cast a spell. Any spell. Anywhere. It had taken every ounce of self-control for Kara not to open the spellbook right in front of Constance and start conjuring creatures at random. Somehow she managed to nod and wave good-bye and not look as though she couldn’t wait for this annoying woman to go away so she could use her book. But Kara knew it was important to remain calm. To look calm. If she didn’t Constance might try to take the grimoire back, and then (you would have to kill her) Kara thought something bad might happen.

She ran into the copse of red willows that bordered the western edge of their land. Kara knew she should get farther from the main path that ran toward the village, but she couldn’t wait a moment longer. She threw the book to the ground, and it opened to the last creature she had captured in its pages.

Fire ants.

Kara spoke the words that lined the small figure sketched into the book. Without looking up she turned to a new page. Burrclaws. She conjured them too. Instead of providing her body with an instant sense of relief, as Kara had anticipated, casting these spells barely diminished the pain. She needed more. Treeflies. Neirs. The words flew from Kara’s lips until her tongue, unused to such foreign sibilance, became swollen and sore. Why wasn’t it getting better? Wasn’t she giving the book what it wanted? She cast more spells, not even cognizant of what she was summoning. It was so much easier this way, just to let it happen. Her hands trembled as she flipped through a series of inscribed pages, needing to conjure more, more, more . . .

The old pain faded. A new pain began.

Her right arm suddenly went numb as a flock of tiny neirs—their smiling faces belying a vicious nature—dug into a burrclaw and tore it to pieces. Meanwhile an army of fire ants overwhelmed a poor brightcay, slicing through its diaphanous wings before it could make its escape. Kara felt flames engulf her fingertips as the fire ants set to work.

“Enough!” Kara exclaimed.

The animals vanished. Some skittered away or flew off into the forest; some just blinked into nothingness. Kara collapsed to the ground, too spent to care about the difference. She did not feel the pain anymore, the need. She did not feel anything.

Kara closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, the sun had moved halfway across the sky, and Grace was standing above her.

Kara got to her feet, quicker than she should have, and the ground tilted upward to meet her hands. She tasted bile on the back of her tongue and was forced to remain still until the dizziness passed.

Grace gently rubbed her back.

“There, there,” she said. “Are you ill? Would you like me to get your father? I’m sure he would be a great help. He’s an expert at not being well, isn’t he, Kara?”

Kara longed to reach back and slap Grace’s hand away, but she wasn’t confident in her ability to balance her weight with one hand. Besides, she could see Simon standing just behind his mistress like a deformed shadow. His face might have been blank and lifeless now, but that would change the moment she struck Grace.

“This is a strange place to take a nap,” Grace said. “Unless, perhaps, you were waiting for the Dark Man? Or perhaps meeting your little Stench friend? When I am fen’de, such inappropriate relationships will not be tolerated.”

Kara tried to reply, but her mouth was too dry to talk. She was ravenous too, as though she hadn’t eaten for days.

I used too much magic. More than my body could take.

“What do we have here?” Grace asked, noticing something on the ground.

The grimoire.

Kara hurled herself toward the book, but Simon got there first, pinching the grimoire between two fingers and holding it at arm’s length like a poisonous snake.

Propping her cane beneath the crook of her arm, Grace held out her hands expectantly.

“Give it here,” she said.

Simon shook his head.

Grace’s mouth fell open. It was the first time Kara had ever seen her surprised.

“Give it to me!” she repeated. “Now!”

Kara’s strength had begun to return to her, and though the world was still not completely stable, she managed to get to her feet.

“It’s nothing,” she said, the words barely making a dent in the silence. “Just a blank journal.”

Grace ignored her. Using her cane she took a step in Simon’s direction. Simon stayed in place but turned away from her. As Grace came closer he clenched his eyes shut and brought the grimoire to his chest and whimpered softly, as if its proximity caused him great pain.

“Simon,” Grace said. Her voice was soft, hypnotic. “Simon, Simon.” She ran a hand along his arm, and the giant shivered at her touch. “Be a good boy and let me have what I want. You want to make me happy, don’t you?”

The giant nodded and looked up.

“Then give it to me. It’s just a book.”

The giant shook his head.

“Simon,” Grace said. Her voice remained gentle, but the cracks in her patience were beginning to show. “You don’t want to be punished, do you? You don’t want me to leave you alone again. In the dark, where he can find you.”

The giant’s whimpering grew louder, but Kara noticed his hold on the book begin to slip a bit.

“Be a good boy, Simon. That’s right. Be my Simon.”

After she had taken the book from his arms, Grace spun one finger in the air. Simon nodded and turned away from her. He closed his eyes just before a whistle of air cut through the forest and Grace’s cane snapped against his back.

“Never refuse me again!” Grace screamed. The ribbon in her hair—fuchsia today—unraveled and fell to the ground. She struck Simon twice more. “Never.”

Grace’s rage evaporated as quickly as it had come. She smiled at Kara and shrugged, as if asking What can you do? Then she opened the book. Kara waited for the look of disappointment when Grace saw the blank pages and realized that all this trouble had been for nothing.

Instead Grace’s eyes shot open. Her entire body began to tremble.

“Goodness,” she said.

Grace had turned to a random page near the middle of the grimoire, farther in the book than Kara had reached. With the gentlest of touches, she used a single fingertip to trace the peaks and valleys of an unseen image.

“What is it showing you?” Kara asked.

When Grace looked up, her perfect face glistened with sweat and revelation.

“Everything.”

Grace bowed her head forward until her nose almost touched the open book. From deep within her throat emanated a strange pattern of moans and grunts. Kara wondered if she sounded the same way when she cast a spell, like a conduit for something dark and far more powerful. The thought disturbed her.

“Grace,” she said with a measured tone, “you need to stop. You don’t know what you’re—”

It started to snow.

There was no preamble. One minute it was an unassuming autumn day, and then the world was obscured by whiteness. Leaves rustled as animals rushed madly through the trees, their body clocks driven mad by this inexplicable change in seasons.

“Yes,” Grace said under her breath. She tilted her head skyward, allowing the unusually frigid flakes to settle on her face, her forehead, her tongue. Snow vanished into her hair, precisely the same shade of white.

“So this is what it’s like,” Grace said. “Magic.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, as though she and Kara were just two girls trading secrets. “I’ve always wondered. They don’t tell you, in the stories, how good it feels. Not that I’m a witch like you, of course. I follow the Path and will certainly seek penance afterward.” She turned to the next page. “But first: just one more . . .”

Kara snatched the grimoire from her hands and ran toward the village. She expected Simon to give chase, but the giant let her pass. “Bring it back!” Grace screamed after her. “Bring back my book! Bring it back now!” Kara continued to run, chest pounding, branches cracking beneath her feet. She was almost home before she noticed that it had stopped snowing.