A cold feeling settled into my stomach. Mom couldn't possibly have told Matthew to hold back, not unless she'd already known he was a wolf.
As I listened to Matthew's quiet sobs, I wondered what else my mother knew—and what else she hadn't told me.
Chapter 7 
I slept fitfully for the rest of the night, waking whenever Matthew wheezed or coughed or turned in his sleep.
Sometime after daybreak he must have fallen silent, though, because I slept for a long time then, and woke when it was evening once more. I jerked awake with a start and saw Matthew sitting against his pillows, staring at me. Tallow slept at my feet. She'd drifted in and out of my lap all night.
“Liza.” Matthew's voice was raspy, but he no longer struggled for breath. “You're all right?”
“I'm all right?” I didn't know whether to yell or cry. “You nearly died, and you want to know if I'm all right?”
Matthew laughed, a painful sound. “I'll take that as a yes. Where are we?”
“A town. Washville.” I fought to lower my voice. Was he really going to be all right? The thought of those mulberry roots strangling the breath from him still sent cold shivers down my spine. “What do you remember?” I asked.
“Dogs,” Matthew said, and his brow creased. “Trees.” He hunkered deeper into the pillows. He looked so weak, so pale. His hair hung lank and tangled about his face. “Do you trust them?” he asked at last. “The people here, I mean.”
They were strangers. We weren't supposed to trust strangers. Yet I did trust them—because of those strangers Matthew sat beside me, breathing without pain, far from the trees that had nearly killed us both.
Caleb knocked and entered the room. Allie trailed behind him with a pile of clothes in her arms. Caleb leaned down and ran hands over Matthew's skin, tilting his head to one side as if listening for something. “Better,” he declared. “Much better.”
Matthew grasped Caleb's hands. “Thank you,” he said, “for all you've done for us.”
For the first time, Caleb smiled. The expression drew my gaze from his magic-touched hair and eyes, making him seem more ordinary. “You are welcome, Matthew from Franklin Falls.”
Matthew sighed and released his grip. Within moments he slept once more.
Allie looked up at her teacher. “He's going to be all right, isn't he Caleb?” Her voice so clearly sought reassurance. I waited for Caleb's answer, not admitting that I sought it, too.
“One can never be certain. But yes, I believe with time he will heal fully now.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” Allie said. “I could hardly sleep last night. I was that worried.” She handed me the pile of clothes and gestured to where my boots, belt, and knife lay beside the dresser. “You're healed enough to eat dinner with us in the Commons tonight.”
I shook my head and glanced at Matthew. “I'll stay here.”
“I'll stay with him,” Caleb said. “The air will do you good. I promise to send for you should his condition change.”
“You've already done so much for us.” Surely this town's patience, its kindness, couldn't hold forever.
The smile left Caleb's face. Suspicion returned to his eyes. “We have done what people do. Would your town have done differently, Liza?”
My town did only what it needed to survive, but shame reddened my cheeks. This town had survived, too, after all.
“Let me know when you're ready for dinner,” Caleb said, “and I'll take your place in that chair.” He left without looking at me again. Allie followed a moment later.
Matthew still seemed to be asleep, but I turned away from him to dress, pulling on wool underwear, sweater, and leather pants. I pulled my boots and belt over that, stopping to stare thoughtfully at my knife. They trusted me as well if they'd left me my knife. Evening sun reflected off the blade. The glare hit my eyes, so fast I couldn't turn away, and by that light I saw—
A man with clear hair and silver eyes, standing amid fire-blackened trees, ash falling like snow to his outstretched hands. A dead hawk lay at his feet, and the horizon glowed with flame—
A small inky shadow rising from a bone-covered hillside, flowing over earth and around trees, while somewhere far away a baby cried—
Mom reaching toward the surface of a huge curving mirror, clutching the metal disk she always wore andwhispering a few words. Moonlight reflected off the disk, off the mirror, off the tears on her cheeks. At last the mirror parted like water, and she stepped through—
I reached after her. Someone cried out. Pain sliced through my palm, and the vision was gone. I fell to my knees, clutching the knife's blade so tightly I feared to let go. I knew there'd be pain when I did.
Another hand touched mine. Caleb unfolded my fingers from around the blade, one by one. Allie knelt beside him. As Caleb drew the knife away, she pressed a strip of yellowed sheet from Before against my hand. My palm and fingers throbbed as I watched bright red blood spread through the bandage. Allie pressed another strip over the first. Blood stained Caleb's fingers and dripped from the blade he now held. I stared at him, knew him: the young man in my visions who'd walked amid the dead trees.
He set the knife down on the dresser and put a hand on Allie's shoulder. “Do you want to heal this, or shall I?”
“She's my charge.” Allie's voice shook, but her hand, pressing the bandages to mine, was steady. Matthew reached for my other hand and squeezed it hard. When had he gotten out of bed? Allie pressed the sheets harder against my palm. I flinched as pain flared through my hand. She lessened the pressure and said, “You grabbed hold of that blade so tight. Why?”
Caleb said, “Healing first. Questions later. Always.”
Allie nodded and touched the bandages lightly. I felt the faintest of shivers. As I watched, the bright blood darkened and dried, its metallic scent giving way to something older and mustier.
“Good. You stopped the bleeding first.” Caleb's steady voice reminded me of Father's the first time he'd set a bow in my hands.
Allie unwrapped the bandages. I bit my lip as dried blood tore away from my skin. “Sorry,” Allie muttered. She ran her cool fingers over two angry red gashes, one across my palm, one along the inside of my knuckles. “It's not very deep.” She shut her eyes, scrunching her face in concentration. Her fingers grew colder. Slowly she traced the first cut, and the cold seeped through my skin, numbing it. Silver light trailed from her fingers. Beneath that light my torn skin wove itself back together, stretching uncomfortably around first one wound, then the other. The cold moved deeper, chilling bone. Just when I thought I'd have to cry out, Allie drew away. Two silver lines danced over my hand, then sank beneath the skin.
The cold spread out, became part of my hand, became right. I saw no blood, felt no pain. I traced my finger over two faint white lines like old scars. I remembered a dream of silver light. I looked up at Allie in wonder.
She opened her eyes and grinned. “That was fun.”
“Well done,” Caleb told her.
“It was easy. Liza doesn't fuss, not like the time Jared gashed his knee.”
Caleb nodded solemnly, then turned to me. “You were lucky. If Matthew hadn't called out, if Allison and I hadn't come—that wound could have been far deeper. You could have cut through to bone.”
“I know,” I said, avoiding his eyes.
“Such luck does not hold forever. Let's have the source of this so we can deal with it and your shadow both. Tell me what you saw.”