“Yes.”
“That’s extremely bad.”
“I gathered.”
Rendel had been watching the path ahead of us—the one where the shadows had bowed.
“They’re not here to kill you,” Rendel said quietly.
Skonk paused mid-swing, the broom still raised above his head.
“Well,” he said after a beat, “that is the first encouraging thing anyone has said today.”
Rendel didn’t smile.
“They’re here to guide Maeve.”
My stomach dropped as someone, maybe Skonk or Stella, started to ask what that meant, but the question never made it out.
Above us, the shadows stopped moving.
One moment, they were wheeling through the branches like a storm, and the next, they hung perfectly still, frozen in the air.
A thin ribbon of mist slipped between the trees.
It spread along the forest floor first, pale and quiet, curling around roots and stones before rising into the clearing. The air cooled so quickly that I could see the faint cloud of my breath when I exhaled.
The shadows lowered.
Every single one of them.
Nova took a slow step forward, her eyes fixed on the mist as it thickened ahead of us.
“Oh no,” she whispered.
A figure stepped out of the haze.
Tall. Motionless. Wrapped in robes the color of smoke just before a fire dies.
The Priestess.
I knew it before I saw her face.
The shadows gathered around her as she moved, swirling close as if drawn to her presence.
She stopped at the edge of the clearing and looked over the group, one face after another, taking her time like she was deciding exactly how much trouble we might be.
Nova.
Ardetia.
Bella.
Stella.
The witches.
The goblins.
