MOON FALL by Tamara Thorne

the shoes. That old bitch Lucy would stick her back in solitary, like last month, after Marcia had told her she'd stolen the locket. My locket.
    Holding her skirt up around her thighs, Kelly began picking her way across the freezing cold stream. When she'd first been sent to solitary, she'd thought it was great to be locked, all alone, in the tiny room in the basement. She didn't feel imprisoned, but safe behind the windowless walls. There was a hard cot, a scarred up old desk and chair, and a lamp. And her schoolbooks, of course. Even in solitary, she was expected to do her work. The first few hours were fine, but there was no place to pee, except over a drain in the floor, and no water to drink. They left her there for a long time-later, she found out it was almost two days, and they hadn't given her anything to eat or drink. It was hell, and old Mother Lucy was right: she didn't want to go back.
    She stepped out of the water on the east side of Moonfall Creek, retrieved her shoes, then sighed happily and lay back on the forest floor to let her feet and legs dry before putting the shoes back on.
    It was amazing, the difference in atmosphere on this side of the creek. Maybe it was all in her head, but the trees seemed taller and more sunshine came through to dapple the ground, with its thick cover of pine needles, acorns, pinecones, and the first few red and yellow autumn leaves. She sat up and put on her shoes, turning so that she didn't have to see St. Gruesome's forest, which looked dark and grim. The trees reminded her of the Ents in The Hobbit.
    She stood and made her way through the forest, moving with more leisure now, enjoying the singing of the sparrows, the harsh complaints of the obnoxious scrub jays. A gray squirrel saw her and sat very still for an instant, then scrabbled up an oak tree, where it watched her from a branch, its fluffy tail twitching. Kelly laughed. "Silly thing. I won't hurt you."
    It occurred to her that she'd never seen a squirrel on the other side of the creek, and she began walking more rapidly. Soon, she heard the thunder of Witch Falls, and she considered going there, then remembered that's where they'd found Miss Tynan, who'd been so nice to her. She shivered and kept going until she came to the east fork of the creek and the narrow, well-worn footpath that followed it. Glancing up through the trees, she tried to gauge the time. Probably past three. That meant Minerva would likely be at her cottage by now, home from the Gingerbread House. She turned south and followed the path toward the cabin.
    Ten minutes of travel brought her to Minerva Payne's house. She slowed as she approached, enjoying the sight, wishing she could move in and live with her.
    The cottage, in the middle of a large clearing, was built of logs, like a cabin, but it had two stories, and there was a slight curvature to the walls that gave it a fairy-tale appearance, especially with its steeply pitched thick-shingled roof and a river stone chimney rising gracefully into the sky. Around the cottage were stone-edged fl owerbeds full of marigolds, petunias, and periwinkles, and instead of a lawn, the walkway was surrounded by vegetable gardens full of huge red tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, onions, zucchini, and melons. Once, Kelly had asked Minerva how she grew so many vegetables when they had sun for only a few hours each day, and the old lady had chuckled and told her that everyone knew she was a witch. Kelly didn't know what to say; then Minerva laughed and talked about composting, vitamins, and things like that.
    Off to the side was a pumpkin patch that blazed orange, and behind the cabin were blackberry bushes and an herb garden filled with cooking herbs like chives and garlic, oregano and rosemary. There were other herbs, too, and shortly before Miss T y nan had died, Minerva had finally told her why there were all the stories about her being a witch: she was a healer, like a medicine woman, and that, she explained, was