tangling together like lovers’ fingers. They arched up over the ceiling. A massive oak tree was also painted around the fireplace, stretching out branches in all directions. The sunlight caught the minutely detailed green leaves. The roots unfolded like the hem of a complicated dress. In a crude hand, a small red bird had been added to the crevice where a branch split off from the trunk.
Theodora Lovegrove Day reclined on a chaise longue, staring at the forest through the glass. Her hair was brushed and clean but loose and tangled at the ends. It was black like Penelope’s and had none of the red sheen Emma’s had, like deer fur. Her eyes though, were the same shape and her nose had the same tilt.
“
Maman
?” she said, and had to clear her throat and try again when her voice broke. It seemed odd to call this stranger “
Maman
.” She took a cautious step closer, watching her mother’s face. She was still pretty, if pale. She was murmuring to herself, too softly for Emma to make out the words.
Emma crouched beside her. “
Maman
?”
Theodora glanced down and then back to the forest without a trace of recognition. Emma knew she shouldn’t feel hurt, but she had to bite her lip to keep it from trembling regardless. She took a deep steadying breath. “Lady Theodora, I’ve come to ask you some questions.”
Theodora shrugged. “Doctors ask too many questions.” She cringed suddenly, clutching at her arms. “I don’t want to be bled again. Slimy leeches.” She scratched at the inside of her elbows until her skin welted and bled.
Emma tried to stop her. “Don’t,” she said, noticing a lattice-work of faded scars over her mother’s witch knot. She’d clearly been scratching at it for years and it was still as dark as ink. “Please, I’m not a doctor.” She held up her own palm, showing the symbol the color of weak tea. “See? I have one too.”
A sweet bright smile changed Theodora’s face entirely. She pressed her fingertips to the glass. “Do you see?” she asked. “He’s watching.”
Emma crossed to the window, looking out to the gardens below and the lawns stretching to the woods. “I don’t see anyone,” she said carefully, remembering feeling the same way at the ball the night before. “Who’s watching you?”
Theodora only smiled dreamily. Emma swallowed back tears, feeling exhausted and helpless.
“They won’t take me into the woods, but they can’t stop me.” She lowered her voice. “I can fly.” She bounced a little in her chair. There were dried leaves under her feet and acorns cluttered on the windowsill and scattered on her lap. “And I don’t even need a broom.” Her eyes moved as if she was following the circuit of something Emma could not see. “Pretty strawberry bird,” Theodora giggled before turning to stare at her so abruptly and fiercely, Emma leaned back. “Are you the white stag?”
She rose to her feet. “No, I’m your daughter.” Wind pressed at the glass and it shuddered. Windsor Forest remained still as a painting in the distance.
“What’s your name?”
“Emma.”
“I don’t know anyone named Emma.” She sniffed. “But you smell like trees. Sit next to me.” She patted the cushion. “I like to watch the forest,” she confessed quietly after Emma perched on the foot of the fainting couch.
Emma tried to smile, wishing her cousins were with her. “I like to watch the stars.” Anxiety made her mouth dry and her lips stuck to her teeth. “Do you remember your perfume bottle?” she asked. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the door was closed tightly. “The witch’s bottle?”
Theodora blinked but didn’t reply.
“It broke,” Emma continued. “I wanted to know what it was.” She paused. “What I am.”
“You’re a girl.”
“Yes. But the Lovegrove girls are different, aren’t they?” She pointed to the witch knot. “We can do things other people can’t do, can’t we?”
Theodora giggled again.
“What
Theodora Lovegrove Day reclined on a chaise longue, staring at the forest through the glass. Her hair was brushed and clean but loose and tangled at the ends. It was black like Penelope’s and had none of the red sheen Emma’s had, like deer fur. Her eyes though, were the same shape and her nose had the same tilt.
“
Maman
?” she said, and had to clear her throat and try again when her voice broke. It seemed odd to call this stranger “
Maman
.” She took a cautious step closer, watching her mother’s face. She was still pretty, if pale. She was murmuring to herself, too softly for Emma to make out the words.
Emma crouched beside her. “
Maman
?”
Theodora glanced down and then back to the forest without a trace of recognition. Emma knew she shouldn’t feel hurt, but she had to bite her lip to keep it from trembling regardless. She took a deep steadying breath. “Lady Theodora, I’ve come to ask you some questions.”
Theodora shrugged. “Doctors ask too many questions.” She cringed suddenly, clutching at her arms. “I don’t want to be bled again. Slimy leeches.” She scratched at the inside of her elbows until her skin welted and bled.
Emma tried to stop her. “Don’t,” she said, noticing a lattice-work of faded scars over her mother’s witch knot. She’d clearly been scratching at it for years and it was still as dark as ink. “Please, I’m not a doctor.” She held up her own palm, showing the symbol the color of weak tea. “See? I have one too.”
A sweet bright smile changed Theodora’s face entirely. She pressed her fingertips to the glass. “Do you see?” she asked. “He’s watching.”
Emma crossed to the window, looking out to the gardens below and the lawns stretching to the woods. “I don’t see anyone,” she said carefully, remembering feeling the same way at the ball the night before. “Who’s watching you?”
Theodora only smiled dreamily. Emma swallowed back tears, feeling exhausted and helpless.
“They won’t take me into the woods, but they can’t stop me.” She lowered her voice. “I can fly.” She bounced a little in her chair. There were dried leaves under her feet and acorns cluttered on the windowsill and scattered on her lap. “And I don’t even need a broom.” Her eyes moved as if she was following the circuit of something Emma could not see. “Pretty strawberry bird,” Theodora giggled before turning to stare at her so abruptly and fiercely, Emma leaned back. “Are you the white stag?”
She rose to her feet. “No, I’m your daughter.” Wind pressed at the glass and it shuddered. Windsor Forest remained still as a painting in the distance.
“What’s your name?”
“Emma.”
“I don’t know anyone named Emma.” She sniffed. “But you smell like trees. Sit next to me.” She patted the cushion. “I like to watch the forest,” she confessed quietly after Emma perched on the foot of the fainting couch.
Emma tried to smile, wishing her cousins were with her. “I like to watch the stars.” Anxiety made her mouth dry and her lips stuck to her teeth. “Do you remember your perfume bottle?” she asked. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the door was closed tightly. “The witch’s bottle?”
Theodora blinked but didn’t reply.
“It broke,” Emma continued. “I wanted to know what it was.” She paused. “What I am.”
“You’re a girl.”
“Yes. But the Lovegrove girls are different, aren’t they?” She pointed to the witch knot. “We can do things other people can’t do, can’t we?”
Theodora giggled again.
“What
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