Mama Grizelda's Arc

Chapter 7 of 11

Grizelda followed the cold ripple east until the marsh gave way to dry ground. The beanstalk rose ahead, thick as a house, twisting up to the crooked cabin at its top. The witch's green thread pulled in her fist like a compass needle. Then she saw the boot prints in the mud. Small ones. Blond hair caught the gray light between the reeds. Jack. He crouched at the base of the vine, already past her. He had left the anchor. He had followed her east. "Boy," she hissed. "Stop." Jack turned, grinning. "You walk slow, old woman. I found her door first." He nodded up at the cabin. He held his stolen dagger, the blade stained dark. He had always moved faster than sense. "There's a rope trap under those leaves. I already cut it." Grizelda's chest went tight. He was three steps from the vine, in the reach of a witch who dug up graves for a living. If he tripped one snare she had not seen, he would die before Grizelda crossed the mud. "Come back to me," she said. "Now. You don't know what she guards this with." "I know traps better than you know spells." He reached for a low leaf. Under it hung a small vial on a thread, red liquid swirling with pale light. Pretty. Bait. Jack's fingers stretched toward the shine. Grizelda knew that pull. A charm made to draw a hand. The witch used lures the way other people used locks. "Jack, that's her charm! Don't touch it!" He froze, fingers a breath from the glass. His grin dropped. For once he listened. Grizelda lunged and grabbed his collar. She yanked him back hard. The vial swung on its thread, and where his hand had hovered, a wire snapped taut. A row of hooked stakes swung down from the leaves and slammed into the mud. They would have caught his throat. Jack stared at the stakes, breathing fast. "That," he said, "I did not see." "No." Grizelda pulled him behind her, shaking. "You didn't." She kept her grip on him. Her hunt for the witch could wait one breath. Losing another child she'd let follow her into danger could not. Up in the cabin, a shutter creaked open. Purple skin showed in the dark window. The witch had heard the stakes fall. She leaned out, staff in hand, and smiled down at the two of them like she'd expected company. "You brought me a boy," the witch called. "How kind." Grizelda pushed Jack behind her body and faced the vine. The element of surprise was gone. The witch was awake, watching, and waiting at the top of her stalk. But Jack was alive, and beside her, where she could see him. She had come to end this quiet. Now she would have to climb.