âIâm sorryââ she choked, severing the last rein. âIâll get us homeâI promiseââ
The instant she was free, Sophie covered Agathaâs mouth with ice-cold hands. Agatha followed her wide, bloodshot eyes. . . .
There was something on all the trees ahead, flapping milky white in the darkness. Agatha held up her glowing finger.
Parchment scrolls crackled in the wind like dead leaves, tacked to the trunks. Each one was the same.
Underneath was a drawing of Sophieâs face.
âThatâs impossible!â Agatha cried. âHeâs deaââ
She froze.
Between trees she caught glints of red. Something was coming.
Agatha grabbed Sophieâs wrist and dragged her behind a trunk. Muffling Sophieâs moans with her hand, Agatha slowly peeked out.
Through tangled branches, she saw men in red leather hoods, eyeholes cut away. They carried fire-tipped arrows,which lit up their sleeveless black leather uniforms and bare, muscular arms. She tried to count how many there wereâ10, 15, 20, 25 . . . until she counted one whose violet eyes glared right at her. Grinning, he raised his bowâ
âDown!â Agatha yelpedâ
The first arrow singed Sophieâs neck as both girls dove into dirt. Neither spoke as they floundered through snarls of black briars, dozens of flaming arrows barely missing and igniting trees left and right. Hand in hand, the girls fled deeper into the Woods, looking for somewhere to hide, red hoods gaining, until they came to a break in the trees and finally glimpsed the forest path, serene in moonlight. Wheezing with relief, they ran for it and stopped short.
The path forked into two. Both trails were thin and sooty, crooking away in opposite directions. Neither looked more hopeful than the other, but from reading storybooks, the girls knew.
Only one was correct.
âWhich way?â Sophie rasped.
Agatha could see just how weak and shaken her friend was. She had to get her to safety. Hearing the skimming of arrows again, Agatha swung her head between the paths, the heat of new trees burning close by.
âAggie, which way ?â Sophie pressed.
Agathaâs eyes darted uselessly back and forth, waiting for a signâ
Sophie gasped. âLook!â
Agatha swiveled to the east path. A glowing blue butterfly flapped in darkness, high above the trail. It beat its wings faster and nosed forward, as if urging them to follow.
âCome on,â Sophie said, suddenly strong again, and surged forward.
âWeâre following a butterfly ?â Agatha retorted as she chased Sophie past WANTED signs on trees ahead.
âDonât worry. Itâs leading us out of here!â
âHow do you know?â
âHurry! Weâll lose it!â
âYou donât know what Iâve been throughââ Agatha heaved, puffing behindâ
âLetâs not play whoâs had it worse, shall we!â
The butterfly sped up as if nearing its destination and veered around a bend, wings brightening to blinding blue. Sophie grabbed Agatha by the wrist, dragged her faster around the curveâ
Into a dead end of fallen trees.
The butterfly was gone.
âNo!â Sophie squeaked. âBut I thoughtâI thoughtââ
âIt was a special butterfly?â
Sophie shook her head, eyes welling, as if her friend couldnât understand. Then, over Agathaâs shoulder, she saw a torch-lit shadow inch across the trees, then two more . . .
The hoods had found their path.
âWe had our happy endingââ Sophie backed against a trunk. âThis is all my faultââ
âNo . . . ,â Agatha said, looking down. âItâs mine.â
Sophieâs heart clamped. It was the same feeling she had alone in the church, thinking about how her friend had changed. A feeling that told her none of the last month was an accident.
âAgatha