My fingers pressed into the dents that I’d made when I was twelve. They were really small. “I think it was the only reason he had a pipe,” I said, setting it back in the box. The pressed-flower album I didn’t even remember, but it was my scrawl on the pages. There was a badge from the cabin I was in, dated and covered in rainbow stickers. The pair of dusty sandals on top of it were so small it was scary.

“How old were you? “Ivy asked when I held them up.

“They kicked me out when I was twelve,” I said, flushing. It hadn’t been fun. I’d thrown Trent into a tree with a blast of ley-line energy because he’d been teasing Jasmine. I guess they figured if I was well enough to do that, then I wasn’t dying anymore and should make room for someone who was. Trent had deserved it. I think. They had long-term memory blockers in the water and nothing was certain.

I smiled at the pair of freshwater clam shells Jasmine and I were going to make into earrings. A blue jay feather. Things that meant nothing to anyone but me.

“What is this?”

She was holding an antique-looking curved metal hook, and I reached for it as I warmed. “Uh, a hoof pick,” I said, feeling the weight of it in my palm, heavy with the sensation of anxious excitement and guilt. Ivy’s eyebrows rose, and I added, “They had horses, and you had to clean their hooves before you took them out. That’s a hoof pick.” A really fancy hoof pick, with an inlaid wooden handle and a silver hook, of all things.

Head cocked, Ivy leaned back and eyed me. “And your pulse just skyrocketed why?”

Grimacing, I set the pick back in the box. “It’s Trent’s. At least I think it is.”

“And your pulse just skyrocketed why?” she asked again.

“I stole it!” I said, feeling myself become breathless. “At least I think I did. I’m pretty sure I meant to give it back …” I hesitated, confused. “Crap, I don’t even remember why I have it.”

Ivy had a weird smile on her face. I think Nancy Drew had reminded her of her own innocence. “You stole Trent’s hoof pick? What is that, some witch-camp tradition?”

“Maybe I just borrowed it and forgot to give it back,” I said, guilt coming from nowhere. I remember shoving it in my pocket with a feeling of vindication. Trent had been there … and I hadn’t liked him. He was snotty.

Ivy picked up the book again. “No wonder he doesn’t like you. You stole his hoof pick.”