Instantly, Ark closed his one good eye. It was like Shiv closing her eyes and pretending to be invisible. As if that would help! They were two foxes in a hole and Salix had hunted them down.

As he huddled into the corner, Ark thought back to earlier in the day. Goodwoody’s words suddenly made sense. Maybe what had nearly killed him would now save them. It was worth a try.

Ark stealthily reached into his bag, his fingers fumbling as they searched. Where was it? His hands closed around something soft. Holly prickles ran up his forearms. What could a feather do? The Warden had talked about darkness helping to hide. Of course! Ravens cast a shade that beat all colors as they hid among the trees, still as statues. Instantly, his panic floated away like falling feathers. They were nothing, him and Mucum. That was what Jobby Jones thought of them as he bossed them around all day. Fine, then. That’s what they would become at the very moment Salix’s eyes pierced the dark like daggers.

“Ark! Ark!” The whispered voice should have shocked him. Ark turned, remembering what he thought was a trick of the wind on the treetop. No one. Again. But the voice lulled him like a lullaby. Woe betide me, Lady hide me.

In and out, Ark’s breath grew as long as a strand of spider silk, the air expelled from his lungs a sleepy incense that wove its web, filling his every fiber. Mucum’s head also felt heavy, his body a lump of bog oak as he sank soundlessly into the floor. They were smidgens of darkness, the blanket of black erasing them like a pair of candles pinched at the wick. Nothing becomes of nothing … nothing reflects nothing back.

From a great distance, Ark heard muffled voices. He waited calmly for the wheel to turn, their hidey-hole to be exposed. Instead, the footsteps finally moved off. All that remained was silence.

“I feel drunk!” came a woozy voice. “You sure that blackberry stuff had nuffin’ in it?”

“Nothing,” said Ark, heaving a sigh of relief. His fist was still clamped tight around the feather, but now he relaxed and retrieved his hand from the bag. The drink his mother had boiled and filtered from the wild brambles that encroached on the woodways hadn’t saved them. He blinked his eyes, aware of the dim light of the sewer gas lamps filtering in, aware that by all rights, they were as visible as poppies in a scaffield of barley.

“Lucky he didn’t spot us, eh?” Mucum jabbed Ark in the ribs.

“Maybe.” Ark stood up.

“Hang on a sec! That wasn’t a piece of hocus-crocus, was it?” Up to now, Mucum had thought that Ark’s encounter with the ravens was somewhat exaggerated, no more than a lucky escape. Now he wasn’t so sure.