“Yeah, well I wouldn’t have chosen you, either.”
I sense someone nearby. A young boy. He’s staring at me like I’m an alien, eyes wide as he takes in my soiled Target dress and my muddy, bare feet. The chipped remnants of pale blue polish on my toenails.
Callum stomps a menacing foot toward him. “Och, you. Be gone.”
The moment I have his attention again, I blurt, “What does Janet have to do with any of this?”
“Hush with that name.” He grabs my arm this time, his gaze darting around. “Somewhere else.”
“Fine.” I let him steer me down the path, but I can’t bearthe silence. “What’s your connection to this Campbell guy? Are you related?”
“Good Christ, no.”
I study him. His vehemence is almost comical.
“He said you serve him. You work for him or something?”
He hesitates. “Aye. Or something. I work as a smithy. Mostly, I’m with the horses.” He nods toward a nearby barn. “Just there.”
“What about Donag? Is she like…the staff witch?”
He makes a strange sound, halfway between a laugh and a panicked shush. “Please, you must mind your words. None know Donag for a witch. Folk call her skillie.”
“A whattie?”
“Skillie. She tends to things like midwifery. Healing.”
“She doesn’t work in the castle?”
He chuckles. “She’s nae precisely Campbell’s favorite. But he keeps her around, despite it being…dangerous work.”
“How is delivering babies dangerous?”
“Those who can heal can also harm. ’Tis cunning work, healing.”
The barn looms ahead, dark and ominous. I stop short, yanking free before he can drag me inside.
“I don’t think so.”
He exhales sharply. “You must trust me. You don’t want to be here, but you are. There’s no returning now. You say you cannae do this, but you can.”
“Yeahhh, I don’t?—”
“I know you can.” His voice is firmer now. “Donag’s curse called you here. That’s the proof.”
“How does that prove anything?”
He jerks his chin toward the door. “Inside. Please.”
When I don’t move, he adds, “Campbell has ears everywhere.”
The name is an electric shock, jolting fear down my limbs. I follow.
Inside, the barn is dim. It smells rich and lush—hay, oiled leather, manure. Beams of sunlight cut through slatted walls, dust swirling in their paths. A horse exhales a gentlehuff, another whickers in reply.
This world, at least, I understand.
I turn to face him. “Okay. Now tell me. Why would Donag curse me? How would she even know about me?”
