Lily Pondwhisper stood eye-to-eye with a beetle, and this was wrong. Her grandmother had once been tall enough to touch the low branches. Now every fairy in the hollow was small enough to ride a frog. Something had shrunk her whole kin, and Lily meant to undo it. But to reverse a curse, she needed to know where the curse began. She had no idea. That was the problem gnawing at her. She lived under a cluster of dark mushrooms, their caps shading her doorway from the moon. Her pet slept curled on a root, a small black cat with butterfly wings folded across its back. Lily nudged it awake. "Get up," she whispered. "Nobody remembers the old days. But something must." The elders had failed her. They spoke only of being large "before," never of how or why the shrinking came. No fairy had written it down. No fairy could. So Lily left the mushrooms and crossed to the one place that might still hold a record. The old library rose from the dark, its stone cracked and its roof sagging. Ivy strangled the windows. Fairies avoided it. Lily squeezed through a gap beneath the door, her winged cat slipping in behind her. Dust lay thick on the shelves. The books towered over her like cliffs, far too big for tiny hands to open. She searched for hours. She climbed spines, pried at covers, found nothing but silverfish and rot. The words inside were written for creatures her grandmother's size. She could not even turn a page. She sank onto a shelf, hopeless. Then her cat pounced. It had spotted something small on a low ledge, small enough for a fairy. Lily scrambled over. It was an oval locket, its surface cracked, a butterfly and flowers etched across the metal. Fairy-made. Fairy-sized. Someone tiny had left it here. Her fingers found the seam. The locket resisted, then popped open. Inside lay no portrait. Instead, letters were scratched into the metal, deep and hurried, in the old fairy hand. Lily read them aloud, her voice shaking. "The one who cast it lies where the water goes dark." That was all. No name. No date. But it was a start, the first thread in a knot no one else had dared to pull. Someone had known the truth and hidden it inside this locket. Someone had wanted it found. Lily closed the locket and pressed it to her chest. Her cat rubbed against her arm, wings twitching. She finally had a clue to follow. But the words raised a colder question. Where did the water go dark? She had never heard of such a place, and no living elder had spoken of one. She climbed down from the shelf, locket in hand, and headed for the door. She would have to ask someone who remembered. And the fairies who remembered the most were the ones who feared the answer.

The elders gathered under the great mushroom tree at dusk. Its layered caps glowed faint above them, and smaller mushrooms sprouted from its twisting roots. Lily came with the cracked locket in her hands and her winged cat at her heels. She had asked them before. Each time they went quiet and looked away. Tonight she would not leave without an answer. "I found this in the old library," Lily said. She held the locket up so the glow caught the butterfly on its face. "It says the one who cast the curse lies where the water goes dark. One of you knows what that means." The eldest fairy stiffened. She sat on a root, her wings thin as old paper. "Put that away, child," she said. "Some doors stay shut for a reason." "My grandmother was tall," Lily said. "Now she rides a frog. You all do. And none of you will say why." Her voice cracked. "I'm not asking to blame anyone. I'm asking so I can undo it." No one spoke. Her cat crept forward and set a paw on the eldest fairy's foot. The tiny butterfly ears twitched. The old fairy looked down at the small dark creature, and something in her face loosened. Lily tried a different way. She opened the locket wide and turned it toward the eldest. "This is fairy work. Fairy-sized. Someone tiny hid it after the shrinking. Someone who wanted the truth found." She pointed at the scratched letters. "Do you know this hand?" The eldest fairy leaned close. Her breath caught. "That is my sister's writing," she whispered. "She vanished the night we shrank. We never found her." Her hands trembled on the metal. The other elders murmured and drew back. But the eldest did not stop. "If she left this, she meant for you to go," she said. "So I will tell you what we swore never to speak." She pressed a thin finger to the locket's words. "The water goes dark at the black lake beyond the hollow. No fairy goes there. The one who cast the curse walked into that water and never came out. My sister followed to find her. Neither returned." Lily's chest tightened. "Then that's where I go." "You are the first to believe an old fairy," the eldest said. She closed Lily's fingers around the locket. "Trust that as you go. But hear me. Whatever lies under that dark water was strong enough to shrink us all. It may still be there." The other elders would not look at Lily now. She had won the truth, and it had cost the group its silence. She had also gained a warning she could not unhear. She tucked the locket to her chest and turned toward the dark edge of the hollow. Her cat spread its wings and followed. The black lake waited, and now she knew its name.

Lily left the hollow with the locket at her chest and her winged cat at her side. The path to the black lake ran long and open. The sun sank fast. She flew low over roots and moss, but her wings tired, and the light thinned to gray. She stopped on a wide leaf and looked at the darkening ground. She would never reach the water before night. Alone in the dark, so small, she would be easy prey. Her cat chirped and flew ahead. Lily followed. The little creature circled a great willow trunk. Green bugs crawled along its bark. The core was hollow, wide enough to hide in. Hanging leaves curtained the opening. "Good find," Lily said. She slipped inside and pressed her back to the soft wood. Night fell. She held the locket and made herself small and quiet. Then a shadow crossed the leaves. It was large. Wings beat slow and heavy above the willow. Lily froze. Through a gap she saw it land nearby, near a house she had not seen in the dusk. The house was tall and dark, shaped like a moth, with broad wings spread from its walls. Colored windows glowed. The thing folded its own wings and looked toward the trunk with two red eyes. Lily's breath stopped. Her cat pressed flat against her. The winged shape stepped closer. Its clawed feet crushed the moss. "Little light," it said. Its voice was low and wet. "I feel you in there." Red eyes searched the hanging leaves. Lily knew then. This was the thing the elders feared. The thing that guarded the water. She had one choice. If she ran, it would catch her in the open. If she stayed, it would reach in and take her. So she did neither yet. She cupped the locket and turned its face to a gap in the leaves. The colored house-light caught the butterfly on the metal. It flashed bright, straight into the red eyes. The creature hissed and jerked back. In that blink Lily shot from the trunk. Her cat burst out beside her, wings wide. They flew low and fast into the dark, away from the house, away from the grasping claws. Behind them the winged thing beat the air and gave chase, but the leaves and roots slowed it. Lily dove under a fallen branch and lay still. The heavy wingbeats passed over. They faded. It had lost her. When the night went quiet, Lily lifted her head. Her hands shook. She had survived the first night, but the shelter was gone, and now the guardian knew she was coming. Ahead, past the moth-shaped house, the ground sloped down. She crawled to the edge and looked. There, black and still, lay the lake. She had reached it. And something waited under the dark water, awake now, watching for her.

Lily crouched at the water's edge. The black lake lay flat and still. She needed a sign of the curse-caster, a mark, a track, a ripple. But the surface gave her nothing. It swallowed the moon and showed her only dark. She flew low over the water and stared until her eyes ached. Without a guide, she would wander the shore until the winged guardian found her again. Her cat pawed at something in the mud. Lily landed beside it. A slim rod lay half-buried, rose gold, cold to the touch. A moon symbol shone on its cap. She wiped the mud away. When she tilted the rod toward the sky, its polished side caught the faint light and threw a soft glow across the water. The dark surface answered. A thin silver line showed on the lake, running out from the shore. Lily gasped. It was a path. Footprints, pressed long ago into the lakebed, held the light like glass. She could read the water now. She followed the glowing line with the rod raised. It led toward the moth-shaped house on the slope. The colored windows glowed. Broad dark wings spread from its walls. The path ended at the door. Lily's heart pounded. The curse-caster had walked here. So had the eldest fairy's lost sister. She hovered before the tall door and made herself lift the rod. The door opened before she touched it. The guardian filled the frame. Its red eyes burned down at her. Ragged black wings scraped the doorway. "Little light," it said, wet and low. "You found my path." Lily's wings locked. The rod shook in her hands. She had no locket flash ready, no cover, no dark to dive into. She had walked straight to the thing she feared. "You seek the one who cast the curse," it said. It stepped onto the step. Moss cracked under its claws. "She is here. So is the other who followed. They never left." Lily's breath caught. "Where?" The guardian's mouth split wide. "Under the water. Where I keep them." It reached for her. She swung the rod up. The rose gold caught the window light and flared. The guardian flinched, one eye shut. Lily shot past its shoulder into the house. She did not flee into the dark this time. She flew inside, toward the answer it guarded. The door slammed behind her. She was trapped in the moth-shaped house with the guardian. But now she knew the truth. The curse-caster lay beneath this dark lake, held here, and the guardian was her jailer. To break the curse, Lily had to reach what the water hid. And the only way down led through the creature that had chased her since the first night.

The door slammed behind Lily. She hung in the air of the moth-shaped house, wings buzzing hard. The guardian pressed one clawed hand to the wood and watched her with a single burning eye. She flew higher, out of its reach, and looked for the answer it guarded. Markings covered the inner walls. Someone had scratched them deep into the black timber. Loops, dots, jagged little lines. Lily flew close and traced one with her finger. She could not read a word of it. These marks held the shape of the curse. If she guessed wrong, she could shrink her grandmother and the others forever. Her cat leaped to a low shelf and knocked something loose. A pair of round spectacles fell and clinked on the floor. Dark lenses. Twisted frames. Tiny symbols ran along the edges, the same jagged marks as the walls. Lily dropped down and lifted them. They were heavy for her small hands. "Those will not save you," the guardian said. It stepped off the door. The floor groaned under its weight. "The one who wrote them is under my water. She will not write again." Lily slid the spectacles over her eyes. The dark lenses swallowed the room. Then the wall markings began to glow. The loops and lines rearranged into words she could read. She read fast, mouthing each line. The curse fed on the caster's own fear. To shrink the fairies, the caster had walked into the black lake and given herself to what waited below. The marks named the way back. Return what the water took. Bring the caster to the surface, and the curse would lift. Break it any other way, and the small ones stayed small for good. Lily's chest tightened. She had almost tried to smash the marks apart. That would have doomed them all. The guardian's wings spread wide. "You read them." Its voice dropped low and wet. "Then you know you must come to the water. Come, little light. Come see what I keep." It was not warning her off now. It wanted her below. That scared her more than the claws. Lily backed toward a colored window. She kept the spectacles on. Through the dark lenses she saw thin glowing script on the glass too, marking a seam where the pane met the frame. A way out. She pushed the rose gold rod against the seam and pried. The pane swung open. Cold air rushed in off the lake. The guardian lunged. Lily dove through the gap with her cat close behind and shot toward the black water below. She understood the curse now. She knew how to break it. But the only way to break it led straight down, under the flat dark surface, to the trapped caster and the thing that had awakened there. She hovered above the lake and stared at her own reflection through the witch's dark lenses.

Lily hovered over the black water. She knew the truth now. To break the curse she had to dive down and bring the trapped caster up. But the lake was cold and blind. She had no way to breathe below. She had no way to see in the dark. She would drown or lose herself before she found anyone. Her cat landed on a flat stone at the shore. Its butterfly ears twitched. Lily dropped beside it and searched her small hands for anything useful. The locket. The rod. The dark spectacles still on her nose. None of them would let her breathe underwater. "You cannot go down," said a flat voice. Lily spun. The winged guardian crouched at the edge of the water. Its red eyes burned. This creature had chased her for days and kept the caster locked beneath the lake for years. She braced for the claws. But the guardian did not lunge. It watched her the way a tired man watches rain. "I buried her down there long ago," it said. "I call it a mistake. I have watched this water ever since." It lifted one clawed hand toward the lake. "I want her gone from me. I cannot reach her myself. The water is not made for me." Lily did not trust him. "You tried to pull me in." "I wanted you to try," it said. "Small ones can go where I cannot." It stepped back into the reeds and pulled something loose. A slender wand. Light bloomed at its tip, soft and white, like a bit of moon on a stick. "This light does not drown. It burns under water. Follow it down. It will keep the dark off your eyes." Lily took the wand. It was warm. The glow pushed the black back a few inches around her hands. It solved half her problem. She could see now. But she still could not breathe. "The breath is not mine to give," the guardian said, as if he read her face. "The water took her breath and it will lend you one. Go under with the light. The lake will hold your lungs while you carry its light. That is the trade. Stay too long and it keeps you." It was a thin promise from a jailer. But it was the only way down. Lily looked at her cat. The cat pressed against her leg and did not run. She gripped the glowing wand. She filled her chest with air out of old habit and dove. The black water closed over her. The wand's light held steady, a small bright circle in the deep. Her lungs did not burn. The trade was real. Far below, in the reach of the light, something long and pale turned toward her and began to rise. Lily kicked down toward it, no longer blind, no longer choking, straight into whatever the lake had kept.

The pale shape rose into the wand's light. Lily gripped the glowing wand tighter and held still. She had come to free the trapped caster and break the curse. But two shapes had been buried down here, not one. She could bring up the wrong one. If she chose badly, her kin stayed small forever. The figure stopped an arm's length away. It was a fairy, ghostly pale, hair drifting like weeds. Green leaves clung to her small dress. Lily knew this face. She had seen it near the damp reeds by the hollow, a fairy who haunted low, wet places and never said more than she had to. "You," Lily said. Bubbles slipped from her lips. "You went into the dark once. A child took something of yours." "I got it back." The pale fairy's voice came flat, no waste in it. "Then the water took me." Lily's heart dropped. This was not the caster. This was the lost sister the eldest fairy still mourned. Free her, and the curse held. Free the wrong one, and her kin were doomed. "Where is the one who cast the curse?" Lily asked. The pale fairy pointed down, past the reach of the light. "Deeper. Chained. She sent me up to trick you." "Trick me how?" "Take me. Leave her. The curse stays." The pale fairy did not soften it. "That was the plan. I won't do it." Lily searched the still face. A jailer waited above. A curse waited below. Everyone down here wanted something from her. But this fairy had swum up to warn her, not to lie. Lily chose to trust that. "Then take me to her," Lily said. The pale fairy turned and dove. Lily kicked after her, wand thrust forward. The light cut a path through black water. Her chest still did not burn, but she felt the lake's patience thinning. Stay too long and it kept you. They reached the bottom. A woman lay pinned under a slab of stone, roots wrapped around her wrists. Her eyes opened. Older than the pale fairy. Tired. This was the caster. "Free her and the curse breaks," the pale fairy said. "Free me first and it never does." Lily pressed the wand's tip against the roots. The light bit into them like fire. They curled and snapped. The caster's arm came loose. Lily grabbed her hand and pulled. The stone shifted. The caster floated free. The moment she rose, a shudder ran through the water, as if the lake exhaled something it had held for years. Lily kicked upward, the caster's hand in hers, the pale fairy at her side. The wand's light climbed toward the pale glow of the surface far above. Then the water fought back. A cold current wrapped her legs and dragged. The lake had lent her breath. Now it wanted its price. Above, at the shore, red eyes were waiting.

The cold current dragged at Lily's legs. She had the caster's hand in one fist and the glowing wand in the other. Above, the surface shone like a coin. It was too far. The caster's grip was weak. Her eyes drooped shut, then opened. Years locked in stone had left her limp as a drowned leaf. Lily could not haul her up alone. The pale fairy swam close. This was the lost sister the eldest fairy still mourned, the one who followed the caster into the dark and never came out. Lily met her flat, tired eyes. "She's too heavy," Lily said. Bubbles broke from her lips. "I can't lift us both." "Then don't lift." The pale fairy pointed at the wand. "Float." Lily didn't understand. The pale fairy grabbed the caster's other hand and pressed it against the wand's shaft. Then she pressed Lily's hand there too, so all three held the same light. "It burns underwater," the pale fairy said. "It rises. Hold on." Lily gripped the wand. The eerie glow flared brighter, warm against her palm. The light seemed to want the surface. It pulled upward, gentle but steady, like a bubble climbing. The caster's body lifted with it. Lily's own weight eased. The cold current still clawed her legs, but now something fought back. "Kick," the pale fairy said. They kicked together. The wand hauled them higher. The coin of light above grew wide. The current strained and slipped. Lily felt the lake's patience snap thin. Stay too long and it kept you. She kicked harder. The pale fairy fell behind. Lily turned. The roots that had bound the caster now reached for the pale fairy's ankle. She had freed the caster but not herself. "Take her up," the pale fairy said. "Go." "Come with us." "I got my thing back once. That was enough." She pried at the root, calm, and did not ask again. "Tell the old one I stopped being angry." Lily could not free her without letting go of the wand. Letting go meant sinking. Meant losing the caster. Meant her kin small forever. She made the choice in a heartbeat. She held on and kicked. The wand broke the surface. Air hit Lily's face like a slap. She gasped and dragged the caster onto the muddy shore of the dark lake. The caster coughed, alive. Red eyes waited at the water's edge. The winged jailer stepped from the reeds, folding his ragged wings. He looked down at the caster in the mud. "You brought her up," Mothman said. His voice was flat. "Now she's mine to deal with." Lily crouched over the shivering caster, wand still burning in her fist. She had broken the curse. She had lost the pale fairy to the lake. And the thing that had jailed the caster for years now stood between them and the path home.

Lily crouched over the caster in the mud. The wand still burned in her fist. Mothman's red eyes fixed on something the caster clutched to her chest. The caster's hands hid it in the dark reeds. Lily leaned close but could not see. A small object, wrapped in her stiff fingers. Mothman took one step nearer. "That's mine," he said. "Buried it long ago. She dug it up." The caster's eyes fluttered. She pressed the thing harder to her ribs. Lily raised the wand between them. Its eerie glow flared, warm and white. Mothman flinched back one step. Then he held. The light did not blind him this time. He was too close, and too old for that trick. "Move the light," he said. "Or I take it and her." A voice came from the reeds behind Lily. "He hides everything." Lily turned. A pale fairy stepped from the wet grass. Leaves clung to her damp skin. Her white hair hung flat. Lily had never seen her, but she knew the look. Someone who had come to this dark place before and kept coming back. "You," Mothman said. Flat. He knew her too. "He took mine, once," the pale fairy told Lily. "A child carried it here. Never came out." She looked at Mothman without fear. "He buries what hurts him. Then guards it." Lily understood. The thing in the caster's hands was not Mothman's treasure. It was his mistake. Something he wanted gone and could not let go. The caster coughed and opened her fingers. In her palm lay a small heart-shaped clock. Diamond facets caught the wand's light. Tiny hands sat frozen at one hour. The caster's cracked voice reached Lily. "It marks when the curse was cast," she whispered. "He kept the hour. So no one could undo it." Lily's chest went tight. The curse was broken. But the proof of how, the record of the moment, sat in her palm. Her kin's true forms hung on knowing. Mothman lunged. Lily shoved the wand into his face and grabbed the clock in the same breath. Her fingers closed around cold diamond. Mothman's claws raked the mud where it had been. "Run," the pale fairy said. She stepped between Lily and Mothman, arms out. "I know his tricks. Go." Lily ran. She hauled the caster up by one arm. The clock burned cold against her chest. Behind her, Mothman's wings beat once. The pale fairy shouted something Lily did not catch. Lily reached the treeline and looked back. Mothman stood over the pale fairy in the reeds. He had not followed. He had chosen to keep the one who knew his secrets. Lily held the clock. She had the caster, the wand, and the frozen hour of the curse. But the pale fairy who saved her was now Mothman's, and the path home ran through his watch.

Lily stopped under the trees to catch her breath. The caster leaned against a trunk, spent. Lily pulled the heart-shaped clock from her chest to check it. Cold diamond caught the wand's glow. Then she saw the small hands twitch. The minute hand slid off its frozen mark. A tick sounded, soft and wrong. Her stomach dropped. The caster grabbed her wrist. "It's starting again," she whispered. "The hour has to stay still. If it moves, the curse moves with it. Your kin change back." Lily gripped the clock harder. The tick came again. She pressed her thumb against the hands to hold them. They pushed under her skin like something alive. She could not force them still. If the hour ran out, her grandmother and the others would shrink once more, and this time no lake could undo it. A voice came from the reeds behind her. "Cover it." Lily spun. Moon Child stepped from the wet grass. Leaves clung to her damp skin. Lily's chest tightened. This was the pale fairy Mothman had taken. She had not escaped. She had come after Lily instead. In her thin hands she held a folded cloth, almost clear, warm at the edges. "You got away," Lily said. "For now." Moon Child held out the veil. "His clock hates being wrapped. Warmth stops the ticking. Do it fast." Lily took the cloth. It weighed nothing. The tick sounded a third time, faster. She threw the veil over the clock and folded it tight. Warmth spread through the cloth into her palms. The ticking slowed. She waited, breath held. The hands dragged back toward their old mark. Then they stopped. The hour froze again. Lily let out her breath. The clock sat still in the warm cloth, silent. Her kin were safe. The proof held. "Thank you," Lily said. She looked up. "How did you get free?" Moon Child did not answer that. "He'll come for both," she said. "The clock. And me." She glanced back toward the reeds. Her jaw was tight. "He never lets a thing go twice." A shape moved past the far trees. Red eyes opened low in the dark. Mothman had followed after all. He stood at the edge of the treeline, wings folded, watching the wrapped clock in Lily's hands. "You wrapped it," he said. Flat. "Clever fairy." "It's staying wrapped," Lily said. Mothman took one slow step. "Then I take the one who told you how." His eyes shifted to Moon Child. Moon Child did not run. She moved in front of Lily, arms loose at her sides, facing him. "Go," she told Lily, without turning. "Keep it warm." Lily held the wrapped clock to her chest and backed toward the caster. The hour was still. Her kin were safe. But Moon Child stood alone between her and Mothman again, and the path home still ran through his watch.

Lily backed into the trees with the wrapped clock against her chest. The freed caster slumped at her feet, too weak to stand. Lily gripped her under one arm and pulled. The caster's legs dragged in the mud. Behind them, Moon Child faced Mothman alone. Lily could not shield the clock and haul the caster at the same time. If she dropped the cloth, the ticking would return. If she let go of the caster, she left her to Mothman. A gold light cut through the dark. Lily turned. A pale fairy stepped from between the trunks, gold freckles glowing on her cheeks. She held a slim rod that burned bright at its tip. Lily had never seen her before. The fairy did not stop to explain. "You're carrying too much," the fairy said. Her eyes moved fast over the clock, the caster, Mothman. "I'm Aurelia. I read curses. You need hands, not a speech." She knelt and slid one arm under the caster. Lily's chest loosened. "Keep her upright. The clock has to stay wrapped." "I know what the clock is," Aurelia said. She pulled the caster's arm over her shoulder and rose. The caster's head lolled, but her feet found the ground. "Walk. Both of you." Mothman's red eyes swung from Moon Child to the new fairy. "Two now," he said. Flat. "Doesn't change it. The clock is mine." Aurelia did not look at him. She reached into her dress and drew out a glossy black sphere. Its surface swirled, deep and moving, a small window glowing at its center. "Ask it where to go," she told Lily. "It moves what it touches." Lily pressed her free hand to the sphere. The window filled with light. The ground tilted. Her stomach dropped like it had in the lake. Trees smeared past. Then her knees hit dry grass, far from the reeds, far from Mothman's treeline. Aurelia stood beside her, the caster still on her shoulder. The wrapped clock was warm and silent in Lily's arms. Moon Child was not with them. Lily spun, searching the dark. Only trees. The sphere had carried three, not four. "We left her," Lily said. Her voice shook. Aurelia set the caster down against a rock. "We got the clock out. And her." She nodded at the caster. "Moon Child chose the ground she stood on." Lily stared back toward the far reeds. The clock stayed still. The caster breathed. The curse held broken. But Mothman had Moon Child again, and Moon Child was the eldest fairy's sister, the one who whispered she had stopped being angry. "I can carry the clock home now," Lily said. "But I'm not leaving her with him." Aurelia wiped mud from her hands. "Then we go back for her. After we hide this." She tapped the wrapped clock. "His mistakes stay buried. We don't."

Lily knelt in the dry grass with the wrapped clock against her chest. Aurelia crouched beside the freed caster, her gold freckles still glowing from the sphere's magic. The caster breathed slow against the rock. But Lily could not rest. Mothman had followed the clock's trail before. He would follow it again. If he found her before she hid it, he would take back the clock and the caster both. "He's coming," Lily said. "He always comes for what he buries." Aurelia did not argue. She reached into her dress and drew out a black chest ringed with glowing runes. "For the clock," she said. "It holds dark things still. He won't sense it through the seal." She set it in the grass and lifted the lid. Inside was dark and quiet. Lily hesitated. "If I close it, I can't watch the veil." "The veil holds. The chest hides. Choose." Aurelia's voice stayed flat, but her eyes flicked to the treeline behind them. Lily heard it then. Dry wings, dragging over branches. Red light bled through the trunks. Mothman stepped into the open, his gaze fixed on the bundle in Lily's arms. "The clock," he said. "Give it back." Lily's hands shook. She looked at the chest, then at the caster who could not run. She could not fight him. She could only hide the one thing he wanted most. She laid the wrapped clock inside the chest and slammed the lid. The runes flared. The aura of the seal swallowed the clock whole. Lily felt the trail go dead, like a scent cut off. Mothman stopped. His head turned, searching. The pull that had led him was gone. "Where," he said. "Buried," Lily said. "Like yours." Aurelia raised her glowing rod. Light burst from its tip, and from the light rose a shape—wings spread, scales blazing neon, a dragon towering over the grass. It was not real. Lily could see the trees through it. But Mothman flinched back, and that was enough. "Run," Aurelia said. Lily grabbed the sealed chest. Aurelia hauled the caster up by the arm. They moved fast through the grass while the false dragon roared behind them. Mothman's red eyes tracked the light, not the fairies. By the time the dragon faded, they had reached a low bank thick with reeds. Lily pushed the chest deep into the mud and wet roots. The runes dimmed under the water. The clock was gone from the world, and from Mothman. She sat back, breathing hard. The caster leaned against Aurelia, alive. The curse held broken. Mothman had lost the trail for good. "He can't take what he can't find," Aurelia said. She wiped mud from her hands. "But he still has Moon Child." Lily stared toward the far dark. The clock was safe now. Nothing stopped her from going back. "Then we go get her," she said.