“They’ll be gone come dawn,” Kant said. “Keep your head. Most people who get hurt were panicking. Finally, remember, you can call us. If you’re cornered, if you don’t know how to get out, if you’re hurt, we’ll do whatever we can to help.”

Margot grimaced. “The rule about staying in our areas, though…”

“We’ll still come,” Kant said, quiet and certain. “Just like last night. Call us, and we’ll come.”

That was the line that tipped her over. She buckled forward until her forehead rested on the table and let the tears flow, her face twisted into a silent grimace.

“You’ll be okay,” Nora murmured, one hand running over Margot’s back like a mother comforting a frightened child. “Everything will be okay.”

She couldn’t promise that. No one could. The red sunset was turning sour, darkening into a scorched brown as light fell past the edge of the hill.

Ray, at the kitchen counters, cleared his throat. “This is a poor time to interrupt…”

“It’s fine.” The tears wouldn’t stop. They flowed against her will, but Margot still pulled herself up, grinding her palms into her closed eyes as she furiously tried to rub them dry. “You need to leave, I guess.”

“It’s not that.” Ray’s words were drowned out by sharp knocks at the door. He pushed away from the counter, an apologetic smile on his gentle face. “Witchety’s finished.”

32

The others stood back, clearing the way for Margot to approach the front door. The wood shuddered as she pulled it open, and the tail end of the sunset flooded through, painting them all in its burned shades.

Witchety stood outside, facing the hill. Her long, white hair had been braided, but strands had pulled free and floated like lines of spider’s silk snatched up by the wind. Marsh, at her side, panted, his tongue drooped over his lower jaw.

“Well. I’ve finished.” Witchety shuffled around to face Margot. Her skin looked strange in those hues. The dark reds should have imbued it with more color, but she seemed bleached out, desaturated. Her pale lips were drawn into a harsh line. Marsh’s leash was woven around one of her forearms; the other arm was bound by the talisman’s cord. The bird skull set up a muffled clattering noise as she moved.

“Thank you,” Margot managed, and she meant it.

Witchety’s gaze traveled from Margot’s red eyes to the cast peeking out from her sleeve jacket. “It’s bad, is it?”

Margot instinctively touched the cast, but that wasn’t what Witchety was asking about. She was asking about the curse. The poison that seeped out of the land at night. Margot wordlessly nodded.

Witchety drew a slow breath. It rattled in her chest frighteningly, and Marsh, sensing her discomfort, leaned against her side.