Page 44 of The Filigree Key

Silently, I mouthed everything that had happened since arriving at Alder Ranch. The soundless communication allowed me to pause at intersections and listen for the sounds of pursuit without pausing in the recounting of my tale. Nothing but the muted noise from the kitchen stairwell, the groan of old stone as mortar crumbled, and the chill wind rolling through the empty halls. I’d kept the fox-fur coat, despite its eye-catching color, and snuggled the collar tighter against my throat. Keeping to the shadows as best I could, I moved swiftly through the castle and arrived at the dungeon right as my story concluded.

A strangled noise was all that emanated from the foraging bag. Undoubtedly, Sawyer had a thing or two to say to me, maybe even an entire tirade, but the young tomcat wisely knew to keep his mouth shut. For now.

The black door of the dungeon proved just as easy to open as last time; I tsked at the Stag Man’s hubris. Closing the door behind me, I let the faint blue light emanating from below guide my steps down the spiraling stair.

Brandi blinked wide brown eyes at my sudden appearance, mouth dropping open in a subdued gasp. The hedge witch was a little thinner than when I’d last seen her, still dressed in that ridiculous crop top hoodie and denim short-shorts and those high-heeled ankle boots that she still masterfully teetered on despite the uneven floor.

“You’re back.” She darted a look at the empty stairwell behind me. “A-are you . . .?”

“I’m awake, but this isn’t a rescue mission and I’ve got no time to explain.” I yanked open my bag. “Out you get, tomcat.”

Sawyer jumped onto the workbench, immediately tensing. His gaze swept from the assortment of dark glass bottles to wicker baskets full of dried flowers, feathers, and broken shells to the miniature cauldron Brandi stood over with her golden stirring spoon poised above her latest batch of Caer powder.

“Sawyer Blackfoot,” the hedge witch exclaimed.

“Why not say that a little louder and get us all caught?” the tomcat snapped. Tail lashing, he gave me a little hiss that was two parts stress and one part irritation. “Riddle me with fleas, Meadow! You basically spit in Ossian’s eye and then scurry off to his personal lair? Are you trying to get us caught?”

“This is the last place he’d ever think to look for me and so it is—at present—the safest. But it won’t stay that way for long. We have to—”

Sawyer growled as I cut myself off to the sound of scurrying feet racing overhead. Large feet.

“Hear that at least three times a day,” Brandi dismissed, returning to swirling the contents of her cauldron and giving Sawyer a surly look under lowered eyelashes. “And just because we have history doesn’t mean I’ll out you to that tyrant.”

“Must be a nearby servant passageway,” I muttered. A tense glance at the stairwell revealed no shadows or vermin with glowing blue eyes.

As if to echo the scurrying feet, an odd thumping sound originated in the cell behind Brandi, followed by a buzz of large wings.

Looking beyond her, Sawyer’s ears pricked. A velvety brown rabbit the size of dog once again thumped her hind leg against the stone floor of her cell to gain his attention. “Poppy,” the cat exclaimed. “Flint!”

There was no sign of Ricky.

Sawyer spun a wild look at me. “We have to—”

“Set them all free and let Ossian know we were down here, or worse, think it was Brandi?” I didn’t look up from where I was already rooting around the worktable. “No.”

The hedge witch shuddered. “And I’ll talk,” she said, unashamed. “If he hurts me, I’m sorry, but I’ll talk.”

“See?”

It was a callous decision, I knew, but there was no time to be the compassionate hearth witch I’d vowed to become after fleeing the manor, only the one trained by battle witches to do what must be done. And that meant loading up my foraging bag with anything I could use against the Stag Man.

“By all means,” Brandi snorted, “help yourself.”

No, Meadow, a little voice chastised. You must make the time.

The vial of pokeweed juice slid back into its rack unsampled, and I turned to face the hedge witch. She flinched as I raised my hands, hefting the golden stirring rod as if to fend me off. A fearful whimper slipped past her trembling lips as a soft green glow came to my palms.

Cupping her cheeks, I looked her right in those guarded, scared eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry for before. Brandi, I’m so proud of you.”

She sobbed once as my healing magic flooded into her. Sadly, not enough to do much, lest Ossian noticed, but enough to take the edge off her achy joints and blistered feet and add a little thickness to her pure white hair.

“I couldn’t have made it this far without you,” I told her, “and I need your help again. We’re almost done.”

“Wh-what do you need?”

“Everything.”

“And something to help our friends in these cages,” Sawyer insisted. “What about that spare vial of witch’s butter sludge you saved? Would that help here?”