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I like her, Ginger said. If she could hear me, we’d rule this village in a week.

If my familiar ever got hold of an army, she’d be ruling the kingdom within days. Thankfully, no one could hear her but me.

The pot had just come to a boil when the light outside changed.

Everyone in the Hollow knew this color now, but this was the first time in ages we’d seen it. The honeyed autumn gold went green, then reddish-brown in the middle, like the sky was a teapot steeped too long. My weather-glass, which had said Crisp and Fair this morning, made a rattling noise and flipped over to a little cloud with jagged teeth.

“That’s new,” I said.

Asha slid off her stool and rushed to the window. Across the square, shutters started banging shut.

Zephyrine Cloudcall rushed through the square at a full-on sprint, her blue robes snapping, her hairpins falling loose, and her hands cupped around her mouth to amplify her voice.

“It’s fine,” she shouted. “Just a simple experiment. Bring in your washing, though. Perhaps…bring in everything. I’m sorry. It’s only mostly a weather spell gone wild.”

“Zeph,” Aris sighed and took a sip of her tea.

The green deepened. Wind came down the chimney and whistled around inside the building. Good thing the damper was closed. I rushed to the front of the room, lifted the window sashes, and hauled the shutters closed. While Aris continued to sip her tea and Asha scowled, I boxed the loose tins, then moved the honey out of the hummingbird’s reach.

I’d just gotten the hummingbird out of the shop when the first hail hit the awning out front.

It squeaked.

Hail does not squeak. Asha and I exchanged heavy glances. Another volley came down, and this time there was no mistaking the tiny, indignant, ice-blue voices, squeaking in fury as they bounced off the canvas and tumbled down the gutter spout.

All three of us rushed to peer through the crack between the shutters, just in time to catch a sprite shooting past the window, shaking a fist.

“Zeph’s hailing sprites,” Asha said, both excited and appalled.

Aris backed up, her hands lifted. “Get away from the window.”

The sky opened, and it rained cats and dogs. A tabby went past, paws spread, its face serene. It landed on the cobbles and melted into a puddle that steamed. A wolfhound came down on the fountain, released one happy bark, and turned into water. Dozens of them. The square filled with the sound of one-bark dogs and one-purr cats returning to rain.

Ginger stood up on my shoulders with every hair on her body at attention.

This is an insult in every language, she hissed. On every level.

The wind hit next, and the awning tore loose on one side. Across the square, slate went skating off a roof and shattered when it hit the ground.

Aris raced to the back counter and grabbed her satchel, clutching it to her chest.

The door of my shop slammed open with a bang.

Goran strode inside and came to a stop. Rain ran off his shoulders and chest, and his hair lay flat around his face, the ends dripping. A sprite ricocheted off his shoulder, squeaked, and flew back outside.

“Was passing through,” he said.

The farm was three miles east. He’d left hours ago. I’d seen his wagon roll out of town. There was nothing he could ever need on a stormy late afternoon west of his door.

The kettle steam curled up between us, forming an ogre image with horns.

He was not passing through.

CHAPTER TWO

GORAN

Itold her I was passing through. This was a lie, and I was not good at lies, so I said it in as few words as possible and stood on her doorstep dripping while she decided whether to allow it.