Not that anybody in the forest had much of a destiny. It was usually to be eaten by their grabber, except for the lucky ones, who died in some other, slightly less horrible manner first.
Kestrel’s mother tugged the piece of black string between her fingers, and all of a sudden the dog was in the room with them, like it had melted through the wall. It padded to her side and lay down, its eyes fixed on Kestrel. Pippit stiffened around her neck.
“Kestrel,” her mother said, stretching her cold arms toward her. Kestrel couldn’t help leaning back a little. “I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” Kestrel said, a little too quickly. “You didn’t have to use the dog,” she added, eyeing it with as much disgust as possible without actually rousing it to bite her. It returned the look. “It nearly chewed my feet off.”
Her mother dropped her arms. “Nonsense,” she said. “It’s completely under my control. Besides, if you weren’t so feral I wouldn’t have to use him, would I?”
“I like being feral,” Kestrel said, even though she wasn’t entirely sure what “feral” meant. “And I’m sick of it following me everywhere. Its eyes glow. They keep me awake all night.”
“You’re just like me,” said her mother, smiling. “A light sleeper.”
Kestrel doubted that she was anything like her mother. She couldn’t even stand being in the cottage, breathing in the warm, stifling air that was filled with nothing but her mother’s breath.
“I’m like Dad,” Kestrel said. “We’re both hunters.”
Sometimes when she thought about him it felt like her heart was splitting. It was all she could do to hold the pieces together.
“He sets traps for wolves, dear,” said her mother. “That’s different. He creeps about in the forest, hiding from us.”
“He’s hiding from you,” Kestrel said angrily. She swatted a hanging feather out of her face. Her mother flinched at the sudden movement.
Kestrel’s mother was tied into the weave. When Kestrel was younger her mother had suddenly become interested in magic—obsessed, almost—and she created the weave as a way of controlling it. Now she spent all day twisting wool between her fingers and murmuring to herself. It was everywhere, pressed against the walls and knotted around the furniture, trailing through soup bowls and snaking through holes in the floor. Strands of red wool disappeared up her mother’s sleeve and trailed all the way through the trapdoor in the floor. There was a cellar under the house, but Kestrel had never been down there. She guessed it was full of more wool.
“What do you want, anyway?” Kestrel asked grumpily. “It’s not just to say ‘hello,’ is it?”
The dog gave her a warning growl and Kestrel clamped her mouth shut again. She’d gone too far. Maybe there really wasn’t an ulterior motive. Maybe her mother did just want to see her. Her heart skipped a beat.
“I have a job for you,” said her mother, cold now.
Stupid heart.
Her mother picked up a ball of wool, twisting the brown strands through her fingers. The strings closed up behind Kestrel, tangling around her ankles. Beads jangled loudly.
“A grabber has visited the woodchopper,” her mother said. “I need you to deal with it.”
It felt like someone had tipped a bucket of cold water down Kestrel’s back.
“Scared?” her mother said, smiling craftily.
“No,” Kestrel said, crossing her arms. She knew her mother didn’t believe her.
“You should be,” said her mother. “The woodchopper had a lot of axes. The grabber must have taken at least one of them to build its body.”
Kestrel tried very hard not to think of how a grabber would use an ax. They always stole things from their victim—insignificant things at first, then objects they knew the person would miss—and used them in the worst way possible. The grabbers built themselves a body out of whatever they could find in the forest, and the things they’d stolen from their victim. An ax could be a leg or an arm. It could even be a tooth. It all depended on whatever horrendous form the grabber chose to take.
Grabbers never attacked until they’d completed their bodies, turning themselves into the one thing that terrified their victim the most. But once their bodies were complete, there was no stopping them.
Not that Kestrel hadn’t tried.
“There can’t be another grabber,” she said. “I got one three days ago.”
“The wicked never rest, sweetie,” her mother said, looking up. “You know what you have to do. Follow the grabber’s trail and kill it. We don’t want it lurking in the forest, do we? And bring back a souvenir. It will make everyone in the village feel safer.”
Her blood boiled.
“What if I don’t want to?” she said defiantly.
Kestrel’s mother grabbed her chin and pulled her in. Kestrel opened her mouth to protest, but her mother tapped her front tooth with a long, dirty fingernail.
“You’ll do it,” she said, letting Kestrel go.
Her gaze deliberately slid to a small, white tooth tied to a piece of black string. Kestrel couldn’t help but look as well. She knew it wasn’t just the villagers’ teeth tied into the weave. There were plenty of hers, too.
And her mother wasn’t afraid to use them. Kestrel had failed to catch the first grabber she’d ever hunted, and her mother had been furious. She used the tooth in a spell that twisted Kestrel’s bones so far they’d almost splintered.
“Dad wouldn’t make me do this,” Kestrel said quietly.
“Your father chooses to be away,” said her mother. She gave a sudden tug at a string above her. Kestrel went tumbling forward and was locked into a tight, bony hug. Kestrel’s mother might have looked gaunt, but that didn’t mean she was weak.
“I’m here for you, Kestrel,” she whispered into her ear. Her breath was dry and papery. “I’m the only reason the villagers haven’t thrown you to the wolves.”
“They hate me because of you,” mumbled Kestrel, her face squashed in her mother’s shoulder. She felt Pippit slide down her back, desperately trying to get away from her mother’s sharp nose. “Ow. That hurts.”
Her mother kissed her on the cheek.
“They just don’t know how much they need you,” she said soothingly. “You’re the only one who can hunt the grabbers. Besides,” added the dusty woman, her voice dripping honey, “you need to get revenge for your grandmother. Otherwise you’ll never be free, will you?”
Kestrel pulled away sharply. Her mother let her go, smiling like it was a joke.
But it wasn’t.
“You’ve got to keep your end of the bargain,” Kestrel said fiercely. “When I catch the grabber that got her, the black dog goes. And the tooth. Then I’m allowed to go wherever I want.”
And then I can find a way to escape the forest, she added to herself. I won’t die at the hands of a stinking grabber.
“It’s a promise,” said her mother. “But you have to find her grabber first, don’t you, sweetie? It’s still out there somewhere, gobbling up foxes and licking its teeth.”
“I’ll get it,” Kestrel said stubbornly. “I’ll recognize it. It’s got a page of her notebook and all her jewelry.”
“Of course,” said her mother. “But if you hadn’t let it into the house, you wouldn’t have this problem.”
Kestrel felt sick right in the pit of her stomach.