When Bryony -- herbalist extraordinaire -- goes missing, Bella knows one suspect stands above the rest. The village's aspiring second witch, Daphne, comes from a family that's tried to take Bryony down before, and Daphne seems determined to carry on...
"Yet you work with sulfur and ammonia instead," said Bella dryly. "I daresay Herbology at least is rarely flammable."
"Oh, but that's the fun part," said Daphne. "I've always been better with things that explode than things that stink when you spill them. Sulfur washes out way easier than garlic or skunk spray. The Theriologists win that one." She looked regretfully at her stained outerwear. "I lost my first coat to an accident in my Intro to Theriology class. I liked that coat."
"You should invent a stronger waterproofing."
"I'm trying."
They ribbed each other about potions and Witchcraft disciplines for a while longer, though Titus remained mostly silent through that part. After a time, Daphne turned to Bella again. "What about you? Did you pick an Herbalist on purpose?"
A downy warmth filled Bella's chest at the memory of her and Bryony's first meeting. It clashed sharply with the worry that had settled there, so deeply, it almost passed for normal.
"No," she said. "I met Bryony and picked her. She just happened to be an Herbalist, thankfully."
"How did you meet?"
Titus rested his chin on the edge of the potion-bag and let his eyes wander. He had heard this story many times, Bella knew, but normally he just sniffed and left the room whenever she began retelling it. A fittingly snooty response for someone who took pride in claiming D'Czernobog ancestry, a lineage blessed and protected by the spirit of misfortune itself.
"She picked me up in the forest before I fledged," said Bella. "She gave me everything I have."
Normally she would tell more than that: of falling from the nest on Wightnight, landing in Wight-fog, and coming face to face with a Wight itself. How superstitions among wild crows would have seen her abandoned, cursed by Wight-magic so that no other crow would dare touch her. How Bryony had not only offered her a warm home and tender care, but years of coaching to stop seeing herself as cursed. To believe she deserved good things.
Today, though, the words wouldn't come. The warmth of the story only whetted the knife of Bryony's absence with floods of other memories. Of Bryony coming home with every imaginable crow-food and telling Bella to pick her favorites, declaring that she would eat like royalty for the rest of her life. Of keeping Bryony company through endless long, late hours of study through her early schooling and Herbology degree. Of standing by her against other, jealous Witches at the academy. Of standing up to their familiars on her own.
Bella had been there when Bryony got the news that her mother had disappeared, presumed dead by Wight-lure in Baneberry Bog. She'd remained by Bryony's side through the grief that followed. Bryony had remained by hers as news from the forest informed Bella of the passing of her relatives, none blessed with the familiar's lifespan she herself had been granted. No emotion was more complicated than what those deaths had wrought on her. But Bryony had always been there.
What if the bog claimed Bryony, too?
The fear gripped Bella all at once, closing down over her body like a predator's jaws. In a moment, the world had narrowed to nothing but the road ahead, the bog somewhere a day's walk along it. An hour's flight at most. She had to find Bryony.
She couldn't move.
"Bella! Bella!"
The paralysis snapped. Bella nearly fell off Daphne's shoulder as her wings returned to her. Hands plucked her from her perch. In a moment, she was face to face with the young Witch, held like a common chicken, her view of the bog's horizon broken. Bella struggled to return to herself through the screaming of the voice inside her, telling her to fly. Slowly, the world widened again. Her own heart beat so hard, it hurt.
"Are you okay?" said Daphne. "You went stiff all of a sudden."
There was a map to the bog in Bryony's notebook. She must have gone there before, or at very least researched it. She must know how to keep herself safe. She wouldn't have promised to be back after Wightnight otherwise.
Why had she promised to be back after Wightnight if she'd gone to the bog?
A different fear was creeping in now, no matter how hard Bella tried to disarm it. She and Bryony were closer than anyone. They always had been. Bryony told her everything. Didn't she?
Bella knew—just knew—that Titus was watching her from Daphne's potion-bag again.
She didn't look down.
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