Eleanor looked away, blinking back tears. It must have been terrifying for her mother, fighting against the Story taking her over, knowing that if she failed, she wouldn’t be able to watch over her daughter. And in the end, her worst fears had come true.

“So tell me, Eleanor. What are you going to do with that book?” the hedgewitch asked quietly, her tone impossible to read.

Eleanor hesitated. She wanted her mother back more than anything else in the world. And it would be so easy. This was the Claire Barton that was supposed to be. All the parts the hedgewitch had erased. She would be setting things right.

Eleanor met the hedgewitch’s gaze. The woman who was not Claire Barton stared back at her, like she was daring her to do it.

“Otto needs your help. For the fight,” Eleanor found herself saying.

“Ah. Then I’m useful a little while longer,” the hedgewitch said. She was smiling, but there was no warmth in it.

“I need to go find them,” Eleanor said, her heart pounding.

“I’m not stopping you,” the hedgewitch said.

Eleanor ducked her head and hurried out of the room, a sour taste in the back of her throat. Should she have done it? Could she?

She didn’t know the answer. And she didn’t know what she wanted the answer to be. She didn’t like the hedgewitch—but she wasn’t evil. Her mother deserved to live—but the hedgewitch didn’t deserve to die. If she wouldn’t force the book on Wander, she had to give the hedgewitch the same choice, didn’t she?

Eleanor didn’t want to kill her. She didn’t want to kill anyone.

But she’d have to, she realized. For their plan to work, she would have to destroy the People Who Look Away. And for all the cruelty they had visited on Eden Eld and on Eleanor and her friends, the thought filled her with bitter dread.

•   •   •

ELEANOR SAT ON the back steps, staring out at the silent orchard. The cat-of-ashes padded out beside her and sat, curling her tail around her paws. “You all right, kitten?” she asked.

“Not even a little bit,” Eleanor confessed.

The cat-of-ashes bumped her head against the side of Eleanor’s shoulder with enough force to make her wobble. “You’re a tough cookie. All three of you are—and sly as cats. I wouldn’t have put money on you making it past Halloween, and here you are. Whatever your plan is, I’d say the smart bet is on you pulling it off.”

“You don’t even know what it is,” Eleanor said. They hadn’t told the cat anything more than what they needed her to do. It was too risky—if Mr. January asked her directly, she’d have to tell him. But she knew her part.