The witch slows in the air for a moment. Then the moths around her swarm directly at me, barreling through the bugs surrounding me.

They land on my shoulders, my face, my ears.

Forget, they seem to whisper through my skin—forget. I sink down onto the grass, not because I can’t stand, but because I don’t remember why I should. Beside me, Germ is yelling something, but I don’t know what.

Memories float in my head: drinking Gatorade with Germ on the veranda, Bibi West looking at me at the Fall Fling. Each vision rises up and begins to sparkle like dust, then disappears.

And then the moths are knocked back. The wind is whipping. Patches of fog blow toward the trees. It’s unmistakable: shapes loom in and out of the fog, though I can’t make them out.

The Memory Thief takes several stumbling steps backward. And just as the clouds part far above to reveal the last sliver of moon in the sky, it dawns on me: The cloud shepherds are helping.

A stream of dim white moonlight falls down onto the lawn. The Memory Thief lets out a cry, stumbling backward and shielding her face. With a howl of rage she reaches out for the figure nearest her—Crafty Agatha. A cluster of moths swarms Agatha as she screams. A moment later, the moths fly apart—and Agatha is gone.

Across the grass, Ebb lets out a cry.

The Memory Thief leaps onto her chariot, which lifts up and into the sky, and shoots into the air like a star. In another moment, she’s beyond our sight.

I lie on the grass, paralyzed for the moment. My head turned to the side, I gaze at the clouds lingering just at the edge of the field—the strange, misty faces looming out of them, looking at me, almost beckoning me. I can hear Germ and Ebb talking to me, but it’s like they are far away. I can only focus on the cloud shapes as they float toward the edge of the trees.

I sit up slowly, and look back toward the house at my mom, then up ahead, at the strange patch of foggy cloud. This may be the only chance I will ever get.

I find the strength to stand. And then, I run. I chase the cloud shepherds into the woods.

CHAPTER 21

The thinnest sliver of moon shines down through the trees. I’ve been walking for a long while, though I’ve lost track of time. I only know I’ve wound my way far from the sound of the ocean and deeper into the woods.

A few memory moths flutter along behind me. Every time one flutters close, my shoulder—where the Memory Thief touched me—aches, and so does my mind. But soon I’ve left them behind. I think I may be cursed, but only just barely, if that’s possible.