She left Shilling behind, as she knew he would never let her find the witch. He would sense danger, take hold of her cloak with his sharp teeth, and pull her all the way back to safety.

On and on she walked, until it felt like she had been going for years. Finally, she came to a place where the trees were spiked with thorns, where they grew so tall she could not see their ends and where their leaves were so thick that daytime became night.

And there, in the center of the trees, was a dark cottage.

Ivy hid herself away behind one of the trees and watched. Was this where the witch lived?

Just then, she heard a voice behind her. “Child, what are you doing so deep in the woods? Have you become lost? The forest is not safe for a girl so young.”

Ivy turned around to see a beautiful woman with rosy cheeks and a basket of herbs. She stood behind Ivy, smiling.

“No,” Ivy said. “I am not lost. I have come looking for a witch. I mean to kill her.”

“Well, then,” said the woman, “you’d better come with me, for killing a witch is no easy thing. Still, I might be able to help. And to give you a bite to eat, for my, how hungry you look! I’ve got a stew simmering on the fire.”

In fact, Ivy could not remember the last time she had eaten, and she felt half-starved. And she knew she would need help to defeat the witch. So she followed the beautiful woman toward the dark cottage.

“And why, might I ask, do you hope to kill the witch?” asked the woman as they walked.

“She killed my gran,” replied Ivy.

“Ah, yes,” said the woman. “That is a nasty thing to have done.”

As they drew nearer to the cottage, Ivy began to feel dread stirring in her belly.

“Are you not afraid,” Ivy asked, “to live in such a dark corner of the forest?”

“Not in the least,” said the woman merrily. “I keep the fire burning brightly.”

But when Ivy looked up, no smoke curled from the chimney. “I thought you said you had a stew simmering.”

In answer, the woman’s hand shot out and grabbed Ivy’s arm. Too late, Ivy realized she had been tricked, for suddenly, the rose-cheeked woman was gone, and the woman in the white cloak stood before her, holding Ivy tightly with one gnarled, clawlike hand, and gripping a wooden staff in the other.

“You!” cried Ivy. “You killed my grandmother!”

The witch threw her head back and laughed. When she did, her hood fell away so that Ivy could see her face—cruel jet-black eyes and a wicked smile. “Indeed I did,” she snarled.

“I’ll get you back for it, I swear!”