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“Many insist devils are the most fearsome of creatures. But I tell you, no fury burns hotter than that of an avenging witch.”— Esther Weil, Renowned Folklorist

T he gods hated witches like us, but one look at my sister was enough to fool most into believing we were blessed. Lisbeth had a light to her as bright as the gift the goddess Berhta bathed the world in every morning.

I peeked in through the front window of the hat shop we owned and let out a rueful sigh. My breath fogged the glass. Lisbeth leaned over the counter inside, flirting unabashedly with the two chaps who delivered our coal.

I needed to ruin her fun again, but I didn’t want to. Her comely kindness brought new friends to her in flocks. The goodness in her should be shared. Even now it outshone the gas lamps in that dim little room. The eligible bachelors of Kosh were especially besotted with her, poor clueless creatures that they were. They never recognized the great threat we posed to them all.

Feet inert in my boots, I stood in my oversized apron and tall green witch’s hat, doomed to soon be a wet blanket again.

Avoiding the inevitable, I fussed with my hair. The weight of it in a tight knot under my hat made my scalp sore. I plucked free the pins one at a time, combing out the kinks in the long bronze strands with my fingers. Overhead, Mirk—god of dusk—gathered the fading light together in fat purple clouds, and the autumn air grew colder, crisper.

I swept the walkway free of fallen leaves and chased street children out of our bins. We sold rare herbs and roots alongside our hats. The spoiled concoctions I threw out could kill a small person. Sweet Lisbeth wanted to do more for the littles that haunted our alleyways, but keeping a free spirit like her safe in an unforgiving city was enough of a chore.

A sharp wind bit at my cheeks and nose, reminding me of the late hour. I could delay no longer.

A bell tinkled above the shop door as I pushed inside. The earthy scent of dried herbs and fusty felt teased my senses alongside the peppery fragrance of the perfume our guests wore. We sold a similar product. The luxury probably cost them both more than a month’s wages.

Bram, the taller of our guests, turned to me and removed his woolen cap politely. He was fair-skinned, his cheeks and nose turned ruddy by too much sunlight. “Miss Elder,” he greeted.

I hardly recognized him without all the soot. He appeared older all cleaned up, more dignified. Thirty-five, or near it, if I had to put a number on him. Bram was handsome in a crisp shirt and floral-printed waistcoat, chestnut hair in a sweeping part over hazel eyes. He threw an elbow into his partner’s side.

“Oi!” Seb, the stocky blond spun on his heels and fumbled his own hat, a sheepish smile crooking his mouth. “Oh . . . evening, Miss Elder.”

“It is in fact evening now, gentlemen,” I said, doing my best impersonation of a patient hostess.

“There are no gentlemen here,” Lisbeth teased, and her guests guffawed.

My sister and I were similar in composition, short in stature and solidly built. We had the same dark hair lightly gilded by the sun, sandy skin dusted in so many freckles. But I did not have the effect on people she did. The light in her was hers alone.

I put out a shadow.

“It’s time,” I said, and Lisbeth let out a whine like I’d bent her fingers backward. “We’re locking up for the night. You lot don’t have to go home, but you’re welcome here no longer.”

I softened my words with a smile, but it twisted on my lips before vanishing. Their faces fell into forlorn frowns. Guilt twinged in my belly, and I buried my hands in the deep pockets of my apron to busy them.

I remained conflicted. Lisbeth was an adult—had been for a few years now. She should be allowed to have innocent fun with the men who came calling. But I couldn’t shake off the worry that these two were only kind to us because they believed we were pretty green witches, harmless with our herbs and crafts and cute little hats.

What would happen when they lingered too long and discovered we were something else?

Fearmongers chased after our kind in mobs armed with flaming torches. I’d been protecting Lisbeth from the pitchfork-wielding sort since she was a scrawny child, smiling up at me with gaps between her teeth. In this I would never fail her. I couldn’t. We didn’t have anyone else.

“See you tonight,” Seb promised my sister, his crooked grin impish as he made his way toward the exit.

Following behind his partner, Bram hung back as our paths crossed. He always talked at me in that way of overly polite people, and I always dismissed him in that way of people who weren’t polite at all.

This time was different. He reached out a hand and ran a finger briefly down the bronze strands that hung over my shoulder. His touch lingered, and my cheeks warmed. “I hope I get to see you later tonight, Maven.”

I stared at him for an unseemly amount of time, trying to spot a clue that would shed light on his request. Then it dawned on me: he was still waiting on an answer. Thrown off-balance by his interest, I nodded. His face lit as bright as Berhta’s favorite morning star, and the crinkles near his eyes deepened. Suddenly it didn’t matter what I’d just agreed to. My silly lips grew a mind of their own and quirked.

“See you soon,” Bram said. The bell chimed over the door as he and his partner departed.

I waited for their retreating backs to disappear down the alley before turning on Lisbeth. “What did I just agree to?”

She came around the counter, her mouth in a pleading pout. “There’s a harvest festival tonight at—”

“No.”

“Maven, don’t be like that.” She stuck her lip out even farther.

“Don’t make me be like that,” I groaned. “You know it isn’t safe for us. I don’t mind you flirting with them a bit, but having a night out with those two—”

“Not just those two. The whole city!” Mischief gleamed in her sable eyes, and her smile filled her cheeks. “Bram likes you,” she cooed.

A fluttery heat warmed my stomach, a sensation I hadn’t experienced in longer than I could remember. It made me feel centuries younger, an unwelcome reminder that even I was still susceptible to loneliness sometimes. “I’m quite certain they’re both smitten with you . . .”

I admired her magnetism, but I didn’t envy it. It was safer for witches like us not to draw attention.

The twist of her lips was smug. She leaned her hip against the counter behind her. “That’s not true. I have it on good authority that Bram’s mind is full of you .”

I scoffed. “He talks to you when he visits. Not me.”

“You won’t let Bram talk to you. As soon as he comes around, you growl at him and shuffle off to do chores.”

“Exactly. How can you be so sure that he . . . ?” My jaw went slack as realization dawned. Fluttery hopeful butterflies died slow deaths in a pit in my abdomen. “Did you possess him? You didn’t! Please say you didn’t. Oh, you can’t do that, Lis!”

Chewing her cheek sheepishly, she didn’t deny it, and every overzealous survival instinct I’d honed over our years in hiding took over, narrowing my vision. The pulse at my throat surged.

Our powers left a mark for those with the ability to see. They drew unwanted, divine eyes. The gods weren’t omniscient, but their spies could be anywhere. My gaze snapped frantically from one corner of the shop to the other, searching for signs that shadowy nightmare spirits or beastly garm hid between the shelves.

“I can’t always help it.” Lisbeth slid away from the counter, palms up like she was surrendering to a gunman. “He bumped into me, and I bumped into him for just a bit . . .”

I pressed my fingers over my eyes. “Oh, please tell me they didn’t notice!”

“It was for a heartbeat, no longer than that,” she insisted. “You saw him. Perfectly undisturbed, he was. Bram didn’t notice a thing, and neither did Saul.”

I raised a brow at her. “His name is Seb. Not Saul.”

“Is it really . . . ? Never mind that.” Lisbeth crossed to me, steps measured as though she were approaching an angry crocodile and not her very ancient and very cranky sister. When I didn’t try to bite her—an act of great restraint on my part—she tugged puckishly at my arm. “Bram was too distracted by you to notice a thing. I saw it. His thoughts were full of you. You treat everybody like they could turn on us at any moment, and apparently he likes that in a woman.”

I repressed a grin. Then my nose wrinkled. “He’s awfully young though, isn’t he . . . ?”

She waved my words away. “Everyone is young compared to a witch like you. They’re both adults and very pretty all cleaned up. Didn’t you see them?”

“I saw them, but—”

“It’s just for a bit of fun, Maven. He’s a strong arm to hold on to, to dance with, to stay warm beside on a cold autumn night. If you’d prefer to dance with a woman, I’m sure the festival will provide many lovely options. Don’t overthink this. It’s not as though we’re going to keep any of them.”

“We’d better not,” I grumbled. “Witches have been hanged for much less than keeping someone against their will.”

“No one would hang me for that. No one would tell on me.” Her lips curled villainously. “Who would complain if I kidnapped them?”

A chuckle snuck out of me. Leave it to my sister to charm someone she’d imprisoned. “Perhaps they wouldn’t . . . Let me think on it.”

“I’ll give you ten whole minutes. Six hundred seconds to think on it, come to the correct decision, and dress in what I’ve laid out for you.” Lisbeth’s pushiness made her an excellent salesperson. When it was time to add up the books, I appreciated that about her. Now, it grated.

“I don’t know, Lis.” I put my back to her. That little frown of hers had wielded a merciless power over me since she stood no taller than my hip, and I busied myself with the sideboard display of oils and perfumes, straightening them and avoiding her.

She cut into my peripheral with that powerful pout of hers. “Maven,” she cried, “put away your tired excuses, I beg you. I adore this place, but I’m sick of being a sad hermit trapped inside it.” Lisbeth gestured dramatically at the shop like the walls were made of prison bars instead of peeling wallpaper. “Aren’t you sick of it too?”

“About that—”

“I already know you want to leave. You’re as subtle as a dull ax with your heavy hints.” Her sigh was long-suffering. I moved to refill vials from the supplies in the drawer below, but she took my jar captive. “Three years in Kosh is probably longer than we should linger this time, but just hear me out.”

“Much, much too long to linger.” I snatched back the jar. Lavender water sloshed out the opening, coating my hand. I wiped it dry on my apron.

“Give us this one night of fun—real, reckless, ruleless fun. Don’t make me pack a bag that weighs more than I do in case we have to flee,” she said, counting off her points on her fingers. “ Don’t demand that we stay on the outskirts of the festival. Don’t refuse to talk to anyone. Dance with me, for the sacred Crone’s sake! Do this, and tomorrow after it’s all done and we’ve recovered from drinking far too much, we’ll make plans to move.”

I abandoned the lavender oil on the sideboard to squint at her. The soft, sweet scent clung to me like a cloud. I rehashed each of her words, searching for a trick in there somewhere, but I didn’t immediately spot one. It seemed she was being more than fair, and her excitement was catching. It had been too long since we’d truly lived. Even I was getting stir crazy here. The unchanged routine of running the same shop, working the same garden, pinning back the same cuts of fabric—it dulled my brain too.

I bit at my lip. “Just this one night?”

She let out a victory cry.

“That wasn’t a ‘yes’!” I howled, but that didn’t stop her breaking out into dance. “I didn’t agree yet, you tosspot! I’m just nailing down the details.”

“Your gown is in our room, and it’s gorgeous,” she sang, and I might as well have been talking to the walls with all the good it did me then. She lifted one end of her skirt and twirled about, coming perilously close to knocking a set of bonnets off their stand. The sideboard rattled. Oils sloshed in their containers.

“Promise me,” I ground out, and my cold tone stopped her prancing.