Raven Blackwood wanted into the library buried under the cathedral, and tonight it had tried to kill her. She crouched behind a toppled gravestone and pressed her back to the cold rock. Blood ran down her torn sleeve. She had come for the sealed door in the crypt, the one that led to the forbidden books. She never reached it. Something had cut her off halfway across the grounds. She heard it breathe. Wet, ragged, close. She risked a look. The thing stood between her and the gate. It was taller than a man, thin as a ladder of bones, its ribs showing through cracked skin. Dark fur hung in clumps off its arms. Its teeth were long and red, dripping. Its hollow eyes swept the dark, searching for her. Raven's legs shook. Her glasses had fogged. She wiped them on her black skirt and tried to think. She was short and slow, and she knew she could not outrun it. If it found her in the open, she would die here. The creature took a step toward her hiding place. Gravel crunched under its claws. Raven's hand found a stone at her feet. She hurled it hard across the yard. It cracked against a far wall. The thing spun and bolted toward the sound, bones clattering. She ran. She did not look back. She tore through the broken gate and did not stop until the cathedral was far behind. By the time she reached the split willow at the edge of the woods, her lungs burned and her legs gave out. She slid down against the ivy on its ruined trunk and gasped. "You went back," a voice said. "After I told you not to." Raven's head snapped up. An old woman stood among the hanging branches. Her robes were black and frayed. Matted hair hid half her face. Her eyes were pale and empty, and still they seemed to find Raven. Her fingers were too long, tipped with yellow nails. This was the witch from the village, the only soul who had ever walked those grounds at night and come back breathing. "You know what it is," Raven said. "You survived it." The witch's mouth twisted. "I did not survive it. I made a bargain with it." She stepped closer, nails clicking together. "It guards the door you want. It will keep hunting you until you give it what it was promised." "Promised what?" "A life." The witch tilted her head. "I gave it one. That is why I still breathe. If you want the library, girl, you will have to feed it too." Raven stared at her own bloody sleeve. She was alive. The thing had let her slip away. But now she understood why. It was not just hunting her. It was waiting to be paid. And the only door to her library stood behind its teeth.

The witch was gone when Raven looked up again. She stood alone beneath the split willow, its ivy dark against the trunk. The sun had dropped behind the trees. These were not woods she knew. The creature had chased her far from any road she recognized. She needed walls and a locked door before full dark, or the thing would find her in the open. Raven pushed off the trunk and limped between the trees. Her torn sleeve had gone stiff with dried blood. She listened for the wet, ragged breathing she had heard at the cathedral. Nothing yet. She followed a thin trail downhill, hoping it led somewhere. The light drained fast. Every shadow looked like teeth. Then she saw it. A small cottage sat in a hollow, swallowed by vines and hanging branches. Ivy covered the walls. Moss grew thick on the roof. A door stood under a low porch, half hidden by leaves. Raven ran for it. She shoved the door. It held. She threw her shoulder against the wood until the latch broke, then stumbled inside and slammed it behind her. She leaned on the door and breathed. The cottage was one dim room. Dust lay over a table and a cold hearth. No one had lived here in a long time. It was shelter. It had walls. She dragged the table against the door and sank down beside it. A small sound came from the corner. A soft, dry scratching. Raven froze. She wiped her glasses and peered into the dark. Something crouched near the hearth. It was the size of a rabbit. Its eyes glowed red. Patches of fur hung off rotted skin, and its ribs showed through. The dead thing turned its head and stared at her. It did not run. It did not blink. Raven backed toward the far wall. Her hand found a broken chair leg. The rotted rabbit watched her but came no closer. Then it hopped once, toward the hearth, and vanished into a gap in the stones. She let out a shaking breath. She was not alone, but she was inside. The walls would hold. She slid down the wall and set the chair leg across her knees. For the first time since the cathedral, she was not in the open. Something shifted near the door. Raven looked up. A tall shape stood in the dim corner by the window. It was thin and human-height, poised and still. Its face kept changing. It wore her nose for a moment, then the witch's mouth, then something with no name. One red eye caught the last light. It had been in the room the whole time. It had let her bar the door. It tilted its head and smiled with a mouth that was not quite a mouth. She had not found shelter. She had walked into something's home.

The shape by the window shifted again. It wore Raven's nose, then split into two. Now there were two tall figures in the dim room. One stood by the hearth. One stood by the barred door. Both tilted their heads the same way. Both watched her with one red eye. Raven gripped the chair leg and pressed her back to the wall. The entity had copied itself. Only one was real. Touch the wrong one, and she was certain it would kill her. She watched them. The one by the hearth breathed. Its ribs rose and fell. The one by the door did not. Dust hung still around its feet. Raven remembered the rotted rabbit that vanished into the stones by the hearth. The real thing had gone that way. The copy was just air and a trick of the light. She took a slow step toward the hearth. The breathing shape smiled with a mouth that was not a mouth. Raven raised the chair leg and swung at it. The wood struck something solid. The shape screeched and tore open. Green pus sprayed the wall. The false figure by the door flickered and was gone. Raven swung again. Her arm shook, but she did not stop until the thing lay still on the floor. The door burst inward. The table she had braced against it skidded across the boards. A tall creature filled the doorway, skin pulled tight over bone, flesh torn and leaking bright green. Golden eyes burned above jagged teeth. Black claws dripped blood. Wide bat wings scraped both walls. It stepped over the dead shape without looking down. Raven backed against the wall. "I killed it," she said. "It's dead. Leave me be." "You are marked," the creature said. Its voice was flat. "The thing at the cathedral hunts you. It will not stop." It looked at her with no heat. "I smelled the hunt on you. So I came." Raven's throat went dry. "The witch told me. A life for a life. That's the price." "Yes." The creature folded its wings. "Bring it a life. Then the door below the cathedral opens. Then the hunt ends." It tilted its head. "I can carry you there. Across my own plane. Faster than the woods." "And what do you want for that?" "A share of the library," it said. "When the door opens, I go in too." Raven looked at the dead shape on the floor. She looked at the broken door, at the dark woods beyond. The skeletal thing from the cathedral was still out there, still hunting. She could run until it caught her. Or she could take the ride and find a life to trade. "Fine," she said. "Take me to the cathedral." The creature's claws closed around her arm. The cold room tilted. The cottage fell away, and the woods with it.