“Good.” Matthew nodded, as if finding Mom made perfect sense, as if he wanted to find her, too. “Did you see Tara? Did your magic … show her to you somehow?”
“Is it really so clear?” I hadn't told anyone but Karin about my magic, but everyone else seemed to have figured it out on their own.
“I'm not stupid, Liza. I saw you grab at hot metal, at a knife's blade. Anyone could tell you saw something. And it's not as if you're the first person I've known with magic.”
He'd said that before. I'd assumed he meant his brother, or maybe Rebecca. But Samuel said all children had magic, and in his sleep Matthew had talked about protecting the others. “Who else?” I demanded. If anyone else in my town had magic, I'd have known, wouldn't I?
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of rain. “I made a promise,” Matthew said uneasily. “But perhaps one day I'll be released from it.”
I'll stay hidden. I'll stay safe. But only because Tara asks it. “A promise to my mom,” I said flatly.
Matthew ducked his head, and I knew I was right. The clouds thickened. I pulled on my jacket again. How much did my mother know? How much had she kept hidden? Did she trust Matthew more than me?
A butterfly flew across the road. Matthew held out his hand and it landed there. He stared at the iridescent wings as if debating whether to speak. “Before Tara left, she spoke to Gram. I didn't hear all of it. But Gram told her not to be stupid. Gram said there was nothing left for her to find. She said Tara wouldn't be welcome, even if there was. I don't know what Gram meant. You're not the only one they keep secrets from, Liza.” Matthew shrugged awkwardly and changed the subject. “The things you didn't see in the cooking pot and the knife. Did they tell you where Tara is?”
Smoke rose from the butterfly's wings. I drew out Caleb's disk and pointed. “She's beyond this Arch. In Faerie.”
The butterfly burst into flame, as butterflies often did. Matthew shook warm ash from his fingers. “Well, then, we'd better get walking,” he said, as if going to Faerie held no more danger than heading down to the river for water.
As we walked on, the clouds closed in and the sun disappeared behind puffs of charcoal. Matthew and I drew the cloaks from our packs. By midday rain began to fall, lightly at first, then harder.
Lightning flashed. A maple stretched toward the light. Thunder rumbled. Another flash of light. This time the bolt met one of the maple's branches. The tree seemed to draw the lightning into itself and to stand taller than the trees around it. Matthew and I ducked against the boom that followed, then walked faster, hunched against the rain and growing wind. Mud pulled at my boots. Water trickled in around the edges of my cloak.
A bluff rose to the west. Oaks and maples and elms all reached toward the rain, sighing happily as water soaked through their leaves and into their roots. The rain continued into late afternoon, then gave way to cold drizzle. The wind let up. I heard sounds that the wind and rain had hidden: the scrabbling of claws, the scream of some small rodent, low wails like a baby's cries.
Footsteps on the path behind us, squishing in the mud.
I slowed my pace and quieted my steps, listening. Matthew sniffed the air. The clouds grew thick around us, the road dark. It was still afternoon, but I couldn't tell how late. Don't venture out alone into the dark.
“We should make camp,” I said.
Matthew nodded so quickly I knew he'd had the same thought. Whatever followed us, we'd do better with a fire at our feet and solid stone at our backs. We found a spot at the base of the bluff where the dirt road widened into a broad flat space. I set the tarp up against the bluff, fitting together the hollow metal poles Samuel had provided. Matthew gathered what dead wood he could find near the road, and beneath the shelter we coaxed a small fire from the dry undersides of the fuel. All the while the footsteps drew nearer and the sky grew darker. I untied the bow from my pack, stepped out from beneath the tarp, and nocked an arrow. Matthew moved to my side, his eyes flashing with each distant flicker of lightning.
A figure rounded the corner, cloak splattered with mud, a bundle wrapped in her arms. I drew the arrow back, then caught my breath as the figure looked up, lightning illuminating her features.
“No,” I whispered. She was supposed to be safe. Safe with Samuel and Caleb and Karin. Safe behind the Wall that her town had built to protect its children.
I set the bow aside as Allie stepped into the light of our fire. The bundle squirmed. Two damp ears poked out from beneath oiled leather. Allie reached out, handing the bundle to me.
“You forgot your cat,” she said.
Chapter 10 
Tallow climbed into my arms and licked my nose once, then leaped to the ground and stalked beneath the tarp to the fire. Her wet fur stuck out in all directions. She began licking the mud from her coat. I stared at Allie. “What are you doing here?”
“Watching out for you. Because you wouldn't promise to watch out for yourself.” Allie sullenly pulled off her pack, followed Tallow to the fire, and warmed her hands by the flames. Her face was smudged with dirt, her dripping hair loose and tangled. She pulled a chunk of bread from her pack and bit into it fiercely. “You two walk fast, you know that?”
Matthew looked at her, looked at me, then silently filled a pot with water and put it on the fire. Allie huddled down near the flames. My stomach ached as I watched her. She seemed younger than I could ever remember being, too young to be out here. “I thought you weren't allowed Outside,” I snapped, not knowing what else to say.
“Yeah, well, you're not allowed to go around slicing your hands open, either, and then tell me you can't even say it won't happen again.” The firelight cast shadows on her face. “I'm your healer. You're my charge. I understand that, no matter what Dad or Caleb says. I can do what needs doing, too.”
“You could have been killed out there. Don't venture out alone into the dark—”
“It wasn't dark when I left.” Allie sank cross-legged to the ground and let Tallow into her lap. She petted the cat, smearing more mud on them both. “I didn't think you'd go without Tallow. That's why I hid her. But you left anyway, so we both had to follow. Tallow would never abandon you.”
My hands shook. I couldn't find words. Beyond our shelter, rain fell steadily in the darkness. Matthew stared into the hissing pot, steam condensing on his nose and eyelashes. After a time, the water began to boil. He filled a metal mug, tossed in a handful of tea leaves, and handed the mug to Allie. She clutched it tightly as Matthew poured cornmeal into the rest of the water.
“Your father will be worried,” Matthew told her. “Did you consider that?”
Allie scowled into her tea. “Dad's always worried. He wants me to wait until I'm a little old lady to do anything.”
“He wants you to be safe!” My voice rose. “You're going back at first light.”
“I'll follow you again. As often as I have to. You're my charge.”
“Did you leave word?” Matthew's voice was much calmer than mine. “Did you tell someone where you were going?”
“Of course not. I'm not stupid.”
Matthew stirred the cornmeal with a metal spoon. “Listen, Allie. I left to follow Liza, too, so I understand about things that need doing. But you have to let your dad know you're all right. I made sure my grandmother knew before I went.”