“I’ve been looking forward to us being friends,” her mother said softly. “I knew you’d see sense one day. You’ll never leave the forest—you belong here, with me.”
Any tenderness Kestrel felt toward her mother drained away.
“What about our deal?” she asked. The words felt leaden in her mouth. “You said that when I find Granmos’s grabber, you’ll call the dog off for good.”
Her mother froze.
“Well, of course that’s still the deal,” she said. “I’ve just been thinking, sweetie, that maybe you should stop trying. To be honest, I thought you’d give up years ago.”
Kestrel pulled sharply away from her embrace. “What do you mean, you thought I’d give up? It is out there, isn’t it?”
“Yes, darling,” her mother said, annoyed. “Of course.”
Doubt was worming its way through Kestrel’s bones. Something in her mother’s voice was wrong, and her eyes were too hard.
I think she’s hiding things, her dad had said.
Kestrel tried to breathe steadily. She was burning to get up and scream, to tear down the weave with her bare hands, but she couldn’t afford to lose her temper. The moment her mother thought Kestrel was going to disobey her, she’d be trapped. Kestrel slowly uncurled her fingers, and moved her lips into the shape of a smile.
She had to get the bloodberries. It might be the only way to get rid of the dog, so that she could escape the forest. Whatever her mother was hiding, Kestrel suddenly doubted she ever intended to let her go.
“I hope you haven’t forgotten your promise, either,” her mother continued softly. “No more speaking to that boy.”
“I know,” Kestrel replied as calmly as she could. How could her mother think it was that easy to get rid of a friend?
“Now,” said her mother, clapping her hands so suddenly Kestrel jumped, “I want you to fetch me some apples.”
“Apples?” Kestrel repeated, bewildered. Maybe she hadn’t heard right.
“That’s what I said, sweetie. I’m hungry.”
Kestrel didn’t need any more persuading. The thought of walking through the forest when her grabber was following her made her skin crawl, but there was no choice. She needed to find a way to get to the Marrow Orchard and steal the bloodberries. She obediently squeezed through the tunnel in the weave, the stiff dress cutting into her stomach, then stood up by the door.
People were murmuring outside. She pressed her ear to the wood.
“They’re sacrificing trinkets to the wolf fire,” said her mother. “Ike thinks that if he has nothing for his grabber to take, it’ll keep away.”
“Why does he think that?” Kestrel asked.
“Because I told him so.” She snorted. “I wanted to see if I could get him to burn his wretched watch. I hate the way he clutches it in his grubby hands all the time.”
Kestrel didn’t answer. Ike would do whatever her mother suggested. She actually felt sorry for him.
“I found this in your shirt pocket,” her mother added. She opened her hand, revealing the lucky stone Finn had given her. Kestrel felt a bolt of shock, but her mother seemed to have no idea what it was. She took it gingerly and pushed it up her sleeve. “This is for you as well,” her mother said. She picked up a gray bundle of fur and pushed it into Kestrel’s arms.
Kestrel almost choked. It was the pelt she’d pulled from the grabber’s back, made out of Mardy Banbury’s wolf-skin rug. Her mother had meticulously cleaned it; the fur was unbloodied and shining. There was a clasp on its front paws, and the head was a hood with two jaunty ears on top.
“You deserve to keep the trophy this time,” her mother said sweetly.
Kestrel wanted to scream with revulsion. Before she could answer, her mother reached over her shoulder and turned the door handle, shoving Kestrel outside.
A basket landed at Kestrel’s feet, and the door slammed shut again.
Kestrel coughed. The air was thick with smoke, and through it she could see the wolf fire burning in the middle of the village. Ike was clutching his watch in his fist, looking miserable, surrounded by a large audience.
Kestrel picked up the basket and tried to slip past without being seen. Walt and Rascly Badger were muttering to each other, with one eye on Ike.
“Gotta lay sticks down outside your door,” Rascly said. “The . . . you know whats can’t walk over sticks. Or fireworks. Scare ’em off with fireworks.”
“Hold your tongue,” muttered Walt. “They’re coming faster than ever. Don’t tempt fate.”
When Kestrel was almost past them, a piece of ash went up her nose and she spluttered.
“Who’s there?” Mardy asked sharply. She was holding a teacup, ready to throw it into the flames. She squinted and saw Kestrel with her wolf-skin rug in her hand. Her eyes widened and she dropped the cup.
“It was you?” she whispered.
Hannah elbowed past Mardy to see what was happening. When she saw Kestrel her lips twitched into a nasty grin.
“You’ve got a nerve, showing your face after what you did,” she said.
For a moment Kestrel thought they were talking about her dad, and how she hadn’t been able to save him. Then she saw Runo, his leg in a splint, staring at her venomously.
“His leg’s never going to be right,” Hannah said, stepping toward her. Even through the smoke, Kestrel knew that she was smirking. “Are you going to apologize?”
Kestrel realized that the kids had crept all around her, standing in a wide circle, half hidden in the smoke. Something had changed. They felt brave enough to push her around in front of the adults.
At that moment the air stirred and the thick smoke billowed, making a path between Kestrel and the wolf fire. Kestrel tightened her hand around the basket, ready to swing it at Hannah. But Hannah stepped back. The villagers were staring.
Kestrel glanced down and stifled a scream. The gloom of her mother’s house and the smoke had covered it before, but now that she was standing in the firelight her dress was shining like a mirror. It was made with hundreds of real beetle wing cases, glowing oily-green in the firelight. The dress crunched as she shivered. Her skin itched as though the hundreds of beetles were crawling all over her.
She knew at once that her mother had sent the breeze herself. She must be watching through a crack in the door right now, waiting to see what Kestrel would do next.
For once, she did exactly what her mother wanted.
“Heel!” she shouted confidently, and the black dog oozed out of the shadows. It trotted to her side and lay down by her feet, grinning at the villagers in a way that dogs shouldn’t be able to. Kestrel felt a shiver of power. “Don’t bite them,” she said to the dog. “Not unless they get too close.”
The dog growled. Ike pressed his watch to his chest, his hand trembling. Kestrel threw a last glare at the assembly and walked into the forest, causing the villagers to scatter around her.
No. She didn’t walk. She glided.
She was a monstrous beetle with poison under her shell.
She was a creature made of shadows, with a terrifying hound by her side.
She was as powerful as her mother, and if anyone came near her, they’d regret it for the rest of their lives.
“You made her angry,” she heard Walt tell Hannah behind her. “She’ll hurt you next.”
Kestrel turned to scowl at him. He stepped back quickly, but Hannah didn’t flinch.
“We’ll see,” Hannah said.
Kestrel strode into the trees until she was sure that nobody could see her. Then she put the basket down, fighting the urge to rip the dress off, and glared at the black dog.