“Ah,” the figure said, in a voice as soft and dry as dead leaves on the wind. Despite the rustling thinness of the voice, I could tell it was female. “I see.” She lowered her hand, rubbing her fingers together. “We have a visitor.”

Oh, oak and ash. I scrambled farther into my hiding place, cupping one hand around the candle to block the light. It burned my fingers, and I still wasn’t sure she couldn’t see it.

“Come out,” she called. She turned in a slow circle, pulling back her hood. “This is my wood. Come out and let me see you.” Lantern light fell over her face as she moved, bringing her into harsh visibility.

Her skin was daffodil yellow. Tendrils of brown and gold hair snaked around her cheeks, so matted and snarled that they looked almost like thin tree roots. They writhed constantly, twisting themselves into knots and curls. Her eyes were long and narrow and the color of brass from end to end; her pupils were thin silver lines visibly contracted against the light, like a cat’s, or a serpent’s. I’d never seen anything like her.

I shivered, wishing the Luidaeg was there. She’d have known what to do. There was something painfully ironic about that desire; I wasn’t a child, but I looked like one, and I was wishing for the sea witch to come and save me.

The woman frowned, eyes narrowing as I failed to appear. “I know you can hear me; the trees felt you pass. They can’t tell me where you are, but they know you’re here. Come out before you make me angry.” Her features were generous and well-formed, with a nose that was a little sharp and a lower lip that was a bit too large. Still, she was pretty, or had been once—a heavy scar ran from just under her left eye to her chin, pulling the side of her mouth into a permanently puckered scowl. There’s only one thing that can scar a pureblood like that. Iron.

And she was a pureblood. I could taste the purity of her blood like fire on my tongue, almost hot enough to actually burn. Whatever she was, it was strong. Strong enough that she might be Firstborn. The Luidaeg is the only Firstborn I’ve ever dealt with on a regular basis, and her power is subtle, damped down until she can seem human to the casual observer. This woman’s power wasn’t hidden at all. It blazed all around her, seeming brighter than the lantern light. And something had been fast enough and strong enough to run a scar down her face. Whatever it was, I hoped it wasn’t in the forest with us.

I stayed huddled in the dubious safety of my hiding place, shivering harder. My heart seemed impossibly loud to my terrified ears, and for an illogical moment, I was afraid it would lead her to me. It was so loud. How could she miss it?

She lowered the lantern, frown deepening. “My name is Acacia, and these are my woods,” she said. “If you seek Blind Michael, go toward the mountains; if you seek me, come out now. If you seek neither of us, go home by whatever road you choose. But do not hide from me in my own places, or it will not go well for you, no matter what your quest may be.” She paused, waiting. I didn’t speak. “Very well. Never say you had no choice.”

The branches bent to allow her passage as she turned and walked out of the clearing, her cloak billowing behind her. I’ve seen Luna get similar treatment from her roses, but never on such a grand scale; this woman seemed to be in command of the entire forest.

I stayed where I was for what felt like an eternity, listening to the silence. Her footsteps had faded; she was gone. At least I hoped she was—she could be lurking in the underbrush, waiting for me to come out. Why hadn’t she seen me? The forest obviously obeyed her, and my candle wasn’t that well hidden. If she was in control of the trees, they should have led her straight to me. So why hadn’t they?

The sounds of the forest slowly returned, and I started to breathe again. Uncurling cautiously, I stuck my head out of the hollow tree and looked around the empty clearing. If I ran, I might make it back to the plains before she found me. The threat of the Hunters had dimmed before the threat of the forest. They would just take me to Blind Michael. This woman might do anything.

Something brushed against my shoulder. I flinched, somehow managing not to scream. When I made it home—if I made it home—I was going to allow myself the luxury of a long, unhurried panic attack, but this wasn’t the time. Taking a deep breath, I asked, “Who’s there?”

For once, luck was with me. An anxious, familiar voice answered, “It’s Raj. I . . . the forest is very dark.”

“Yes. It is.” I looked to the right and saw Raj crouched beside my tree, making himself as small as he possibly could. “How did you get away from Acacia?”

“The yellow woman?” He snorted, arrogance returning as he said, “She asked the trees about invaders, but not about animals, so they didn’t tell her. Trees aren’t very smart.”

“Clever.” I meant it. When I was fourteen, I thought trees were things to climb, not things you could trick. “Why did you come back?”

“Because of her.” I looked at him blankly, and he said, “She was looking for you. I don’t think she’d have been looking for you if you worked for Him.” He paused. There was no trust in his eyes, but there was something else: the first flickers of hope. “Are you really the October my Uncle Tybalt knows?”

I sighed. “Yeah. That’s me.”

Raj frowned. “My father says Uncle Tybalt’s friend October is an adult.” He paused. “And a hussy.”

“I usually am. An adult, not a hussy.” Hussy? What the hell was Tybalt telling his Court? The King of Cats and I were going to have a long talk when I got my own body back.

“But you’re younger than I am!”

“Courtesy of the Luidaeg,” I said. Raj flinched at her name. More quietly, I said, “Your uncle asked me to get you and the others out of here, and the Luidaeg put a spell on me to make it possible.”

“You let the sea witch cast a spell on you?” The wariness vanished, crowded out by awe and fear. “And you survived?”

“She’ll kill me eventually, but not today. Today I’m going to get you out.”

“How?”

Good question. We were crouched in the middle of an enchanted forest with nothing but a hollow tree for cover, and I still had no idea where the other kids were. For that matter, I didn’t know how I was going to get them out when we found them. All I had was a knife that was too big for my hands, a candle I didn’t dare to put down, and a half-grown Cait Sidhe who kept fluxing between terrified and arrogant. There have been times when I had to work with less, but root and branch, you can only count on a miracle so many times before reality puts its foot down.