“Mother?” Peregrine hoped the witch didn’t mean what he thought she did.

The witch jumped to her feet and did a little dance. Sweeping Peregrine up into her bony blue arms she yelled in his face, “I’ve been doing it all wrong!” She kissed both his cheeks. Her breath stank of rotten brownie meat, brimstone, and chalk. Given the combination of odors already in the kitchen, Peregrine preferred kissing Saturday.

“My beautiful daughter has discovered the key! She’s a gen-ius, you know,” the witch said to Betwixt. “Shells don’t wash up too far from the tide. Thank you, my girl!”

“The key for what, Mother?” Peregrine pitched his voice slightly higher, filling his question with youthful innocence. He was afraid he already knew the answer.

“For the spell,” the witch supplied. “The only spell that matters—to open the doorway home! And you, dearest daughter, will be with me as I cross the threshold to the demon realm. We will return to the birthplace of the basselure and claim our rightful thrones as queens of our element.”

“I don’t want to intrude,” said Peregrine. “It’s your spell, Mother. This is complex magic. I’m afraid my presence will cause a disturbance.” Peregrine’s absence also meant that whatever Saturday planned, she would have to carry it out by herself.

“Nonsense, my brilliant babe! As the seed and the page, so are we the beginning and end of one life. I wouldn’t do this without you. I will have you see your mother’s triumph!”

Peregrine tried another tactic. “But I don’t have any more of these ingredients,” he pointed out. “In my . . . passion, I used them all up in this fire.”

The witch waved a bony hand over the drenched fire. “Snip-snap. I’ll just have Jack fetch them before I drain his blood for the cauldron. I think I’ll keep his eyes to replace my own. As long as there’s blood and bone, I don’t imagine the spell will miss them.”

“Poor Jack,” said Peregrine.

“You won’t mind, will you, dearest? You probably think he’s a handsome specimen, but I assure you there are plenty more men on the sea.”

“It sounds like you already have your mind made up, Mother. Who am I to dissuade you?” They were doomed. He’d come straight here and accidentally given the lorelei exactly what she needed. Peregrine had run out of ideas for thwarting her.

Betwixt, hiding on high again, was no help at all.

After a few random swats in the air, the witch found Peregrine’s cheek and patted it. “There, there. You can thank me properly later by helping me with the spell! Oh, isn’t this exciting! I must prepare. Come, Cwyn!” The witch continued her wild, swirling dance of joy, trailing her fingers along the wall to guide her way out of the kitchen area.

Cwyn did not follow right away. She stayed perched on a pillarstone by the fire, staring Peregrine down.

He stared back, thinking over his next words and actions carefully. Cwyn could not pass on his exact sentiments to the witch, but she could convey his actions through her eyes at any given moment.

Rage boiled beneath the calm he forced into his body. “This is your doing. I would never have destroyed this pantry and burned that book if you hadn’t come to Saturday spouting your messages of doom.”

Betwixt landed behind the bird, claws unsheathed. “You knew the missing pieces to the spell all along.”

The raven cackled almost as well as the lorelei.

“You’re forcing Saturday to kill the witch for you. And you’ve used me to do it.” Peregrine wanted to wring the bird’s neck and roast her for dinner.

Cwyn’s voice reverberated in his skull. Saturday could leave the lorelei to work her spell. She could let the doorway open and watch as the world burns. The choice is still hers to make.

Mind-to-mind dialogue was always painful for Peregrine, either because he had no aptitude for it, or because his brain was not used to such intrusions. He raised a hand to his pounding temples—his fingers were purple and black with soot. “She will never choose herself over the world. You know that,” he said. “You’ve known that all along.”

The bird spread her wings and took to the air. Her maniacal laughing caw echoed down the tunnels as if a murder of ravens had joined in her celebration.

Peregrine collapsed to the hard floor in the mess that had once been a fire. The only light left in the room was the one small torch he’d brought from the armory. “It seems Miss Woodcutter is not the only one destined for destruction,” he said to his companion.

Despite the cold and damp floor, Betwixt curled up beside him and placed his beaked head in Peregrine’s lap. “We can help her stop the witch. We can help her escape from the mountain before the dragon wakes. It might work.”

“And a flea might stop a giant.” Peregrine stroked the soft, downy fur behind Betwixt’s ears in an effort to calm the emotions warring in his breast. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this strongly about anything. Now that Saturday had entered his life, he seemed to be feeling everything all at once.

“When the witch dies, every spell she’s used to form these caves will falter. If we do somehow manage to dodge the falling rocks and rivers of Earthfire all the way to the cave entrance, how do we descend from the tallest mountain in the world without being frozen to death by the wind and snow?”

“When the witch’s spells break, I will have control over my form again,” argued Betwixt. “I can take you both down quickly enough.”

“It might take time before you have control again. It might take energy you won’t have because the witch has siphoned every bit of it away. Do you trust your nature enough to bet our lives on it? And then, after all of that, we’ll be chased by a very angry dragon. You know full well that surviving the dragon is impossible.”

“I’m being optimistic,” said Betwixt.

“I’m being realistic,” said Peregrine.

“Well, don’t let Saturday catch wind of your realism, or she’ll never go through with killing the witch.”

“We forfeit our lives in every scenario.”

“This is no life,” said Betwixt.

“Funny,” said Peregrine. “Then what exactly is it we’ve been doing up to now?”

“We do not live here. We merely exist. And we would have gone on doing so while the dragon slept, but it is not a life. Lives have suns and seasons. Lives have happiness and sadness and birth and death.” He lifted his wings to make great shadows on the walls. “Time rises up here to die. Down there is where it is lived, felt, and remembered.”

“And regretted.” Peregrine could not help but think of Elodie and the sweet dream of a simple life he was never meant to lead. He ran a thumb across the blue scar on his wrist and allowed himself the brief fantasy of a quest-filled future beside the giant, sword-wielding brat who’d stolen his heart the moment he’d met her.

“As you choose. That is freedom: the ability to choose. One day, I will once again be able to choose my own form. That is how I will know I am free.”

“Death is also freedom,” said Peregrine. “It seems to be the only choice left for Saturday. And for us.”

“And here I thought cats were supposed to be the annoyingly wise ones,” said Betwixt. Peregrine ruffled his fur, and Betwixt snapped playfully at his fingers. “I plan to help Saturday kill the witch, but I also plan to help her escape these blasted caves. Are you with me? If we’re going to die here on this mountain, I say we do it in a blaze of glory.”

Peregrine cracked a smile. “From the gullet of a dragon.”

11

A Nonsense Never Hoped For

SATURDAY WOKE up shivering in the darkness. She reached for her blanket, but Trix had stolen it again. Scamp.

As sleep left and reality crept in to set up shop, Saturday remembered where she was and how she’d gotten there. What she’d done to Trix. How she’d abandoned her mother. She sent up a prayer to the gods for her brother’s well-being and Mama’s safekeeping, then turned her face to the icerock floor of the armory and refused to give in to the urge to cry. She needed to get up and start saving the world. It’s what Jack would have done. It’s what Trix would have wanted her to do.