Gretel's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Three children had vanished from Meadowbrook in a month. Gretel walked the market road with a knife under her apron and a list of names in her pocket. She had burned one witch in an oven a year ago. She thought that was the end of it. It wasn't. The candy houses kept appearing in the woods, and the children kept following the smell of sugar out of town. The list held six names. Six villagers she'd seen buying too much sugar, or humming while a child went missing, or watching the tree line the way a cat watches a bird. She needed to know which of them belonged to the coven. Accuse the wrong baker and the real ones would scatter. Accuse none and another child would go. She knew where to ask. She hated that she knew. The gingerbread cottage past the ravine had been rebuilt into something taller, with a painted sign curing above the door. Cordelia stood on a stool, nailing the sign straight. She wore the same star-marked hat Gretel remembered from the oven room. She did not turn around when Gretel stepped onto the path. "You brought a knife," Cordelia said. "Leave it in the umbrella stand." Gretel did not leave it. She stopped ten feet from the porch. "Six names. Tell me which ones are yours." Cordelia climbed down. She wheeled out a tea cart with two cups already poured and pushed it to the edge of the porch. "I don't give names for free." "You owe me a sister's worth." "I owe you nothing. You climbed out of my oven. We're even." Cordelia sipped. "But I'll trade. I want the bakery licensed by the village council. You get it stamped, I tell you how to spot my sisters." "How." "A mark. Behind the left ear. Small, like a raven's foot. You won't see it unless they lift their hair." Gretel's hand tightened on the knife handle. "Prove it." Cordelia lifted the white hair behind her own left ear. The mark was there. Three thin lines, black, sharp as ink. Gretel stared at it. She thought of the baker's wife who tied her hair back on Sundays. The schoolteacher who wore a scarf even in summer. The woman who sold apples and never once let her braid fall loose. "The council meets Thursday," Cordelia said. "Bring me the stamp. I'll bring you a name to start with." "You could be lying about the mark." "I could be. Check the next one you catch. If I'm lying, come back and put the knife in me." She set the second teacup on the rail. "Drink or don't." Gretel did not drink. She turned and walked back toward the ravine. She had a mark to hunt for now, and a deal she had not agreed to yet, and six women in Meadowbrook who tied their hair a certain way.