“Keep moving.” The first constable scowled, expecting treachery from Maria at any given moment. He wouldn’t be tricked again, and rather than touch Maria he shoved her in between her shoulder blades with the butt of his rifle. The grass was dewy and the hem of Maria’s nightgown was soaking wet. Faith was talking in her sleep, as Samuel Dias had been known to do, and although it was only a murmur, Maria understood her. “I want my dog, I want my bed, I want to sleep until morning.”

“Let me do this for you, sister.” Martha placed a gentle hand on Maria’s arm as she reassured her. “We are both women, and we understand a child’s needs come first. Give your burden to me.”

A drizzle had begun and Maria ran her hand over her daughter’s damp hair. She thought of how chilly a cell would be, for the floors were dirt and the walls bare brick. They were at the edge of the field where there would soon be sunflowers. Maria could hear them growing up through the earth right now.

“You must do so now while you still can,” Martha said. “Before we reach town and it’s too late. Do so and we can both praise God.”

It was dark as ash when Maria gave her daughter over into Martha’s arms. Faith grumbled and Martha hushed her. Maria looked over her shoulder and saw that the wolf was following.

“You’ll take her dog as well,” Maria urged. “She must have him.”

“A dog is the least of your worries.” As Martha leaned in close, Maria picked up the scent of something odd, as if a fire was burning inside of this neighbor of hers. “Make it so they pay attention to your actions and they will not pay attention to mine.”

They were near the homestead of the farmer who’d shot at Maria when he believed she was a witch who could turn herself into a crow. It was here, in the field where Cadin had died, that Maria threw herself onto the ground. She began to utter a curse in Latin; it would not have any effect while she had iron cuffs on, and in fact each word burned her tongue, as if the curse had been reversed, but it was successful all the same. It took attention away from Martha. The constables panicked and gathered round, careful to keep their distance, poking at her with their rifles.

“Rise up now,” the one in charge said. Her nightgown was stained by mud. She glanced over her shoulder as she turned, to see Martha duck behind the farmer’s barn; she spied the shine of her daughter’s red hair. When she arose from the ground, she glared at the constables.

“You had best hope I am not practiced in black magic,” Maria told the men.