“The city guard!” she hissed.

In one swift motion, Chris reached over and turned the bolt on the door, locking the men out.

And us in.

“La Voisin!” One of the men pounded on the door. “Open up.”

“What do they want?” Chris whispered.

I didn’t need to ask. There was only one reason for the city guard to be banging at a witch’s door. “Is there another way out?”

She shook her head. “They’ll be watching the back.” Closing her eyes for a heartbeat, she inhaled deeply, pressing a hand to her chest. “This way.”

On silent feet, we followed her through the clutter-filled shop into a small living space in the rear. There was another exit, but just as the witch had suspected, there was motion outside that door as well. Pushing aside a threadbare rug, her slender fingers caught hold of a notch in the wood, which she tugged on to reveal a trapdoor. “Down,” she whispered, pointing at the cellar below. “Stay silent. It’s me they’re here for.”

The trapdoor closed above us.

At first, I could do nothing more than stare at the bits of light filtering through the gaps in the floorboards, my attention all for the sharp thuds of the woman – the witch – striding toward the front door. What did they want from her? More to the point, what would they do to her? My heart was loud in my ears, and I wished there was a way to still it so that I could better hear the voices of the guards drifting through the thin floor. “Accusations… witchcraft… warning… the flames.” My stomach twisted, and even though my palms were clammy, I took hold of Chris’s hand.

Boots thumped across the shop, each one sending a spike of ice down my spine. What if they searched the place? What if they found us down here? I glanced around the dark cellar space, and my heart sank. The shelves were lined with oddities that made those upstairs look tame, the table held a silver basin and a ball of crystal, but most damning of all, I was certain, was the stack of books on the table. It wouldn’t matter what explanations we gave if they caught us; our complicity was ensured.

The guard stopped right over the trapdoor, the thin rug concealing whatever small glimpses we might have had of him. “No one back here,” he announced loudly. “Let’s go. It smells like dog piss.”

There was a commotion at the front of the shop, and I heard La Voisin shriek, her heels drumming against the floor as they dragged her. She was keeping us safe, and I didn’t even know her real name. My heart tried to hammer its way out of my chest, and I all but swore I could smell smoke, hear the crackle of flames. That’s what they’d do – they’d burn her at a stake. All because of a hunt the trolls started, and that I hadn’t managed to finish. I had to help her.