Hazel Fuzzworth stopped at the edge of the Whispering Wood as the sun sank low. She had walked all day to find the Witch who lived deep inside. The Witch could brew a potion to calm the hair that sprouted under her arms whenever fear took hold. Right now, both her armpits itched and prickled. New hair pushed against her sleeves. She did not know the way, and she did not have much time. The trees stood close together. Between them ran a dozen paths, and every one looked the same. Shadows grew long. Somewhere ahead, water dripped. Hazel pulled the sewing knife from her boot, her grandmother's blade, and gripped it tight. The prickling under her arms turned to a burn. Hair curled past her cuffs. "You'll get lost that way," a voice said. Hazel spun. A girl about her own age sat on a fallen log. She wore a plain dress, and dirt streaked her knees. She watched the darkening trees the way a rabbit watches a hawk. "I'm Luna," the girl said. "You shouldn't be here when night comes." Her hands shook in her lap. She kept glancing at the rising moon. "I have to find the Witch," Hazel said. "Do you know the way?" Luna's face went tight. "I know it. But I can't stay out. When the moon comes, I change." She hugged her knees. "I turn into a wolf. I can't stop it." Hazel stared. She saw the fear pull Luna's whole body small. It looked like her own fear, the kind that made hair grow. "Then walk me fast," Hazel said. "Before the moon." Luna hesitated. Then she stood. "This way. Stay close." She led Hazel between two crooked trees, down a narrow path Hazel would never have found alone. They moved quickly. Luna named the turns as they went. Left at the split stump. Past the black pond. The wood seemed to breathe around them, branches ticking. Hazel's arms burned, but she kept up. The moon rose higher through the branches. Luna's breath came fast. "There," she gasped, and pointed. Ahead stood a crooked house, smoke curling from its chimney. A lamp glowed in the window. "That's the Witch's home," Luna said. Her voice cracked. She doubled over. "Go. Now. It's starting." Hazel ran the last stretch. At the door she turned to thank Luna, but the girl had dropped to the dirt, gripping the earth, her back arching. A low sound rose from her throat. Hazel had found the way. She had reached the house at last. But the girl who saved her was changing into something that hunted in the dark, and only Hazel stood close enough to help.

Luna dropped to the dirt at the Witch's door. Her back curled. Her fingers dug into the ground. A wet, cracking sound came from her shoulders. She was the girl who had led Hazel through the wood all day, and now she was turning into a wolf, alone, with no one but Hazel to help. Hazel knelt beside her. "Luna. Look at me." But her own arms had started to burn. Fear pushed the hair out fast. It curled thick under both her sleeves, gray and coarse, filling every space between her arms and her sides. "Hold my hand," Hazel said. She reached for Luna. Her arm stuck. The hair had packed so tight it pinned her elbow to her ribs. She pulled. It held. Luna groaned. Her legs kicked. She was slipping away, and Hazel could not even reach her. Hazel bent and grabbed the sewing knife from her boot. Her grandmother's blade. She jammed it up under her sleeve and sawed at the hair. It sheared away in gray clumps. Her arm came free. She grabbed Luna's shaking hand. "I'm here," Hazel said. "You're not alone." Luna's dark eyes found hers. For one breath she was still a girl. "It hurts," she said. Plain, like always. "I know." Hazel held on. "Breathe with me. In. Out." Luna breathed. Hazel breathed with her. And Hazel noticed something. When she watched Luna instead of her own fear, the burning under her arms eased. The new hair stopped pushing out. Her free hand stayed calm on the knife. Helping Luna had quieted her own curse. She had never known that could happen. But the moon climbed higher. Luna's spine bent past what any girl could bend. Her jaw stretched long. The change tore through her whole body. Hazel's calm was not enough to stop it. "Luna, hold on," Hazel begged. Luna's hand slid out of hers. Fur spread up her arm. A wolf's shape took the girl's place. It rolled to its feet, ribs heaving. It fixed yellow eyes on Hazel. Hazel stood very still. She gripped the knife but did not raise it. "It's me," she whispered. "It's still me." The wolf's ears flicked. Its lips pulled back from long teeth. A low sound rolled in its throat. It did not know her. Whatever girl had counted the turns of the path was buried deep now. Hazel backed toward the door. Her heel struck the step. Behind her the lamp glowed in the Witch's window. The one person who could brew the potion, who could calm her curse for good, waited on the other side of that door. The wolf crouched to spring. Hazel turned and pounded the door with her fist. "Please! Open it! There's a wolf!" She heard footsteps inside. The latch scraped. She had cut herself free and reached the Witch's door at last. Now she had to get through it before Luna's teeth found her.