shouted Ren, suddenly realizing what he meant to do. She stepped between them, kneeling in front of Lukasz. “No! You can’t do this—”
She took his face in her hands and shook him. She wasn’t even upset. She was just angry.
“You promised to take me to that Mountain! You promised to kill the Dragon!”
Lukasz shook his head.
“I can’t, Ren,” he said. “Not like this. But you . . .”
The sky began to darken. Ren smelled the old blood in the Baba Jaga’s basket and tasted the fear in the back of her throat.
“What about Franciszek?” she snarled. “He could still be alive. You can’t give up on him—not like this—”
“He’s dead, Ren,” said Lukasz bluntly. “They’re all dead.”
She didn’t want him to die.
She felt the sword at her side, and she realized abruptly why he had insisted that she take it.
“I have the sword,” she said suddenly. Inspiration struck, and she repeated it louder. “I have the glass sword.”
“Ren!”
With surprising speed, Lukasz lurched to his feet. At the same time, the Baba Jaga’s wrinkles rearranged themselves into an expression that could be loosely described as speculative.
Ren drew the sword. Lukasz groaned. Silver blue lit up the twilight. The chicken cabin leaned over their shoulders for a closer look.
“The sword for his life,” said Ren. “You could kill the Dragon. Take back these Mountains as your own. And the forest, if you want it.”
In the glow, the Baba Jaga’s eyes grew in her face and became as livid as coals, and all sounds receded except for Lukasz’s ragged breathing. Like a moth to flame, the Baba Jaga inched forward. But instead of taking the sword, the Baba Jaga reached out a long, gnarled finger and traced it down Ren’s cheek.
“You would give up your forest?” she asked. “For a man?”
“My forest can live a little longer,” said Ren. “He can’t.”
The old woman cackled again.
She turned away without answering. As she did, the candles on the fence posts came to life. Flames leapt high in the air. A rivulet of wax slipped, with agonizing slowness, from the empty eye socket of the closest skull.
“Come inside,” said the Baba Jaga.
The chicken leg slowly bent, lowering the cabin back to earth. The wind picked up, formed itself into the shape of hounds. Their jowls flapped and long strings of saliva hung from their fangs, and they barked happily at the Baba Jaga. When Ren reached out to touch a hound, her hand passed through gray-black smoke. Only their jaws appeared solid—yellow fangs in pink gums, snapping and slavering in midair.
Ren took one of Lukasz’s arms over her shoulders. He was burning hot with fever.
“I can’t believe you offered to let her keep the sword,” he muttered.
“I can’t believe you offered to let her eat you,” retorted Ren.
The Baba Jaga produced a yellow key from her cloak, and the lock stretched into a toothy mouth. Ren took a step back. The mouth closed on the key and chewed until the door swung open. Ren knew it was too late to run.
An iron stove took up the entirety of one corner, with an open door and a blazing fire within. Next to it stood a huge wooden table, where a pair of bodiless hands feverishly chopped a mountain of vegetables. A second pair scooped them up and tossed them in a pot. A laundry basket floated by, held up by more disembodied hands. They set the basket down on the kitchen table and began adding to the dozens of clotheslines swaying in the breeze from outside.
Ren wasn’t really sure what she had expected. Not this.
“Bring him here,” commanded the Baba Jaga, shooing a set of snapping jaws off a giant bed, which took up a whole wall.
Lukasz collapsed. He looked half dead already.
Please let him live.
“What can we do?” Ren hung anxiously over the Baba Jaga’s shoulder. “We have to do something—”
A cough cut her off, and blackish blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His teeth were smeared with it.
Ren twisted a strand of hair between her fingertips, while the Baba Jaga bustled around the other side of the table to the stove.
“Please, Lukasz,” she whispered, settling next to him. “Please don’t die—”
She took his hand in hers. It was the burned one, with its missing fingertips and scar, and Ren realized that it was one of her favorite things about him. It all felt so surreal. She half believed she might wake up and it would all be all right. They’d still be back