Grampire and I don’t speak as we trek through the forest.

  The sun has finally set, and we’re bathed in soft twilight. The trees are evenly spaced at first, but the further we get in, the closer they grow together. I look up, and the canopy blocks out the weak light of the moon.

  “Keep close to me,” Grampire says. She’s alert, her shoulders tense.

  I keep on her heels, frowning at her hands. Her nails are long and sharp.

  “Umm, I’m just noticing you didn’t bring your tire iron.”

  “Didn’t intend on fighting,” Grampire says. “But I’m starting to regret that. It’s creepy out here.”

  I don’t say anything, but I agree. The bugs are hushed, and the forest still. It could be because of us, but an abnormally quiet forest, not even mice scurrying underfoot or frogs croaking, means there’s a predator nearby. All the prey animals are watching and listening, hoping nothing with sharp teeth finds them. Moon Goddess, if you can hear me, please don’t let that predator be the sorcerer.

  Grampire and I walk further, but it’s just silent forest as far as we can see. I take in the types of trees (oak, pine, cedar) and try to spot any owls or other nighttime predators watching us. But there’s nothing, just empty branch after branch. I’m not cold because of the wet summer heat, but goosepimples spread up my arms anyway. Grampire’s right; this place is creepy. After a few tense minutes, I clear my throat.

  “Maybe now would be a good time for you to tell me about yourself.”

  Grampire rolls her eyes so far back into her skull, I’m afraid they’ll get stuck. “Your mind’s like a bear trap. Can’t let nothin’ go.”

  “Or like werewolf jaws,” I say helpfully. “We have excellent bite strength.”

  “Tell that to the throw pillow you gummed up.”

  “Don’t change the subject! Tell me something.”

  Grampire shoots me a withering glare. “Once, I crushed a wolf’s skull in one hand.”

  A shiver creeps up my spine, and I laugh nervously. “You’re just kidding, right?”

  “No. Why do you think those dogs stay out of my way? You’re the only one without a lick of sense.”

  “Oh.” I don’t say anything for a while, trailing behind her. I knew my family had beef with Grampire, enough to warn the kids away with scary stories at night, but maybe there was a reason for that. Maybe those pup-tales have some truth to them.

  But then I brighten. Grampire actually told me something, even if it was kind of a threat! I’ll ignore that part.

  “Thanks for telling me,” I say, catching up to her.

  Grampire heaves a sigh. “I see I’m working with an optimist. Nothing gets you down, huh?”

  “I wouldn’t say nothing. But you know, even when things are bad, you can endure anything for a little while. It helps if you stay positive until the bad part’s over.”

  Grampire looks at me from the corner of her eye. Her expression is strange again: a mix of surprise and maybe sadness? It’s back to her normal grumpy in a flash, though. “I’m assuming that bite on the back of your neck wasn’t the first time that happened.”

  I rub my neck uneasily, my fingertips finding the bumpy scars from my uncle’s fangs. As hard as it’s been to fit in with the pack, as cold as Uncle Alder and Aunt Magnolia are, that night was way too far. He’s never bared his teeth at me like that. I picture him that night, and then as Phyllis showed me, impossibly tall, teeth gleaming in her otherworldly glow. I shut my eyes, even though the image is still seared in my mind.

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  “No, I…He and Aunt Magnolia are really strict, and they yell at us sometimes, but that—it was—”

  I’m struggling to put all my rapid-fire thoughts into words. My brain is reminding me of every time he ignored me, snapped at me on a full moon night, refused to let me run with his family. How I’d have to wait for everyone else to eat before it was my turn, and if Fern complained on my behalf, she’d get cold leftovers too. I know Uncle Alder isn’t my dad, and never will be, but sometimes he acted like I wasn’t even his niece. I was more like an annoying splinter between his paw pads he couldn’t quite shake off.

  I open my eyes again and Grampire’s watching me, her expression neutral. I take a breath to calm myself. This conversation isn’t about before. That’s not what Grampire asked.

  “He’s never hurt me before. That…it’s my fault. It’s my mistake that I went to the Wizard’s after they told me not to, so this is my punishment. But I’m gonna fix it. I just have to find the sorcerer and he’ll remove the mark and everything’ll be fine. And I’ll go home.”

  Grampire makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, like the beginning of a scoff. “Back to the one who tried to kill you?”

  I look away from Grampire, my eyebrows knitted together. I don’t want to think about that. I just—I just have to focus on getting home. That’s the priority. But when I think of my uncle, teeth bared, my knees tremble and my mouth goes dry.

  “Can…can we talk about something else, please?”

  Grampire gives me one more long look before turning forward. “We absolutely can. ‘Cause looks like we found something.”

  I look ahead in surprise. The dense trees finally break, revealing a small clearing. We creep closer, and it comes into view. A bunch of small wood piles are stacked at random heights in the middle of the circular clearing. Some are up to my knees, some to my waist. There’s a larger structure in the middle, with a mushroom-like roof supported by a thin sapling. I step closer and my eyes widen. The wood piles look like sticks from afar, but they’re melded together with a sticky sap. And there are little doors with acorn knobs on the front.

  “Oh, Grampire—these are houses!”

  “Looks like it.” Grampire leans toward the nearest one to get a closer look, but doesn’t go into the clearing. “Don’t think anyone’s home, though.”

  “Who do you think lives here?” I get to my knees to peer at the closest house. This one has a little window with smudged glass. I can’t see much inside, but I think there’s a little chair made of wood as well. And some sort of wooden trapdoor? It’s adorable!

  “Probably some sentient beavers, hell if I know,” Grampire grunts.

  I look up at her. She’s agitated, glancing around the clearing and then behind her. “What’s wrong?”

  Grampire frowns fiercely before she answers. “Just got a bad feeling.”

  I stand, dread in my gut. My senses aren’t as sharp in my human form, but the forest is still quiet, even after we’ve been here for a while. If the animals were reacting to us, they’d eventually relax the further away we walked. But there’s nothing. That’s a bad sign.

  “What should we do?” I ask, inching closer to Grampire.

  Grampire scratches her chin absently. She’s staring straight ahead, eyes narrowed. I follow her line of sight, but I don’t see anything.

  “Wait. ‘Cause I think we’re about to meet the sorcerer.”

  My muscles lock up with anticipation, and I hold my breath. I stare at the place Grampire’s glaring down: a small black opening between two shrubs straight ahead. A few seconds later, my back stiffens; my ears catch the sound of something sniffling, like a child crying. Heavy footsteps approach us haltingly, with an uneven gate.

  I grab Grampire’s nightdress, every fine hair on my body standing at attention. It’s the middle of the night now, the forest dark, the insects silent and motionless. There’s an abandoned village in front of us, and we have no weapons. My body aches to shift out of pure dread. I wish I had brought Grampire’s tire iron in my backpack.

  Grampire tenses as the bushes rustle. I fight to hold a whimper in my throat, and my grip tightens on the scratchy fabric in my hand. Moon Goddess, please protect us from whatever we’re about to see.

  The soft crying grows louder, sending shivers up my spine. Finally, a flat pink snout pokes out from the bushes. It’s followed by a large, lumpy body, two downturned tusks, and short, stumpy legs that end in a bizarre mix of shiny black cloven hooves and human-like hands. I watch, stunned, as a massive boar that’s at least three feet tall and built like a mini fridge emerges from the underbrush. Snot runs from its nostrils, and rivers of tears stream from its black eyes. It blinks at us forlornly, head drooping with sadness. It opens its mouth and wails, a haunting sound just like a baby crying for its mother.

  Grampire looks at me, then back at the boar, bewildered. “What the fuck is that?”

  I blink back, then watch the pig stumble over a small house. It falls to the ground and doesn’t get up, just weeps pitifully.

  “I guess this is the sorcerer.”