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Wick appreciated it. Even though he had not been worried about being burned, only what Marigold had been planning to do to Briar. It was her ritual, after all. They still did not know whether this was a ruse or not. The moment Briar seemed like she was in pain, Wick would leap into action.

But nothing seemed amiss. Marigold seemed genuinely like she was setting up a spell to remove her friend’s curse. Despite her nervous sweating and constant staff-spinning.

“What is that fire, anyhow?” Briar asked. “It looks… different.”

“It’s purified for the ritual,” said Marigold distractedly. “It will burn through anything. Donottouch it.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” Briar said with another glance toward Wick.

“Okay,” Marigold said to herself. She held the staff in front of her and closed her eyes. “Okay, okay, okay. We can do this. Briar, stay still.”

Wick met Briar’s eyes questioningly and took a small step toward the circle.

Briar hesitated. Then she shook her head.

Wick stood back.

Marigold took a long, deep breath and opened her eyes.

Wick held back a gasp. Her eyes were icy white, snow swirling inside them. He had seen that before. He had seen that last night, in the cracked amulet around Briar’s neck.

Briar’s eyebrows raised. But before either of them could say anything, Marigold spoke.

“Uti^ngu mi^ uti^twefach wim mi^ pe,” she whispered, her voice like a faraway mountain breeze.

The fire swelled inside the bowl. A white light bloomed from it, curling around Briar’s arms and legs and twisting around her body.

Briar gave Wick a panicked look. But when Wick stepped forward, she shook her head again.

Wick stilled reluctantly. He watched the white light pulse as it crept toward her chest, climbing inexorably toward her heart.

“Vya^ng fto fwa^ng mi^k,”Marigold cried. “Mi^k, mi^k, mi^k!”

The flames climbed so high they almost touched the branches hanging overhead. The light hit Briar’s heart and exploded, showering the circle in a sea of white sparks.

Wick stumbled forward. But when the light faded, the fire was settling, and Briar was standing in the circle, unharmed. Her hands were clasped over her chest, her eyes tracking.

“Briar,” Wick said urgently.

Briar met his eyes with a disbelieving smile. “I-I can’t feel the heat anymore. I think?—”

“It worked,” Marigold yelled. She clapped joyously, twirling her staff. Then she sagged to the side, looking like she was about to pass out on the grass.

Briar leapt out of the circle to steady her. “Hey, hey, hey! Don’t go to sleep yet. Still one more curse to break.”

“Yes,” Marigold said weakly. She straightened, checking first on the bowl of fire, which was burning merrily beside her.

It took her a moment to spin to Wick. “And now you.”

Wick’s relief turned once more into suspicion. She stank of fear, but it was not all toward him.

Marigold wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt and then swore. “Damn, I forgot the chains!”

“Chains,” Briar repeated. She was still rubbing her chest through her shirt. “Why do you need chains?”

Marigold waved her hand dismissively, not looking at her. “Oh, you know! Just in case the counter-curse doesn’t work, and he goes feral.”

She turned toward the cottage.