When morning light filters through the window, catching on the shelves and books so that a strange pattern of shadows covers the opposite wall, the woman comes down the stairs. Because of Rhinestone the ghost, I know her name is Kivuli. But she hasn't introduced herself to me yet, so it seems rude to know that.

She yawns, arms stretching over her head. Then she blinks in surprise when she notices I'm still here, sitting beside Squishy. She's wearing her shadows again like skintight darkness, and there's a new cloak around her shoulders. This one has a hood that bounces behind her.

"Still here?" she asks, glancing at the door. "Seems like you didn't open it."

I shake my head.

"Good, good..." she says absentmindedly. She walks over to Squishy, scratching the back of her head and shaking out her silvery hair. She ignores me and gives Squishy a squeeze. "That spirit is still out there. The one I thought was you." She eyes me like it's my fault. "It got the best of me last night and slipped away, but I have to track it down. The Boreal Nymphs are gonna be restless, and believe me, nobody wants restless nymphs..."

I nod, inching away from her and nearly knocking into a bookshelf.

"Sleep well?" she asks.

I nod again. I'm not going to complain, though I couldn't fall asleep again after the ghost's visit. It still beats being eaten by a squirrel or drowning in mud.

"I imagine Rhinestone was upset this morning?"

“Yeah.”

She sighs. "So that's what you can do, then. You can get him a new chair." Her hand slides into her hips, as though there was a pocket in her shadows, and she pulls out a small sack. Judging by the clinking sounds, I'm pretty sure it's full of coins. But then she hesitates. "Girl, what is your name? I forgot to ask."

"Sam," I say, hating saying my name out loud. I clear my throat. "Well, it's Samiya. But everyone calls me Sam."

"Samiya," she says, repeating it as if to make sure the name fits. "And you can turn into a slime and a squirrel... don't mention that to anyone. They already think I'm a witch. You don't want that trouble."

"Witch?" I repeat.

"Your gift. Your power. And I imagine there are numbers and abilities that come with it. In your head. Not everyone has that."

I think about my stats. The notifications and prompts. So, the shadows were her power?

"Some people get jealous. And jealous people grow fearful." She hands me the sack of coins. "There are twenty silvers in there. A chair should only cost five. Tell Bluebell it's for Kivuli. That's my name. And don't talk to any strangers. Don't accept any quests. Don't idle. If there's trouble, get away." She says the last part intensely, staring until I nod to affirm.

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She pulls her staff out of her belly, drawing it like a sword, and then unlatches the door. I'm pretty sure her shadow flicks its tongue at me. The woman hesitates. "Ten silvers should get you passage on a boat. If you wish to leave."

Leave? I swallow hard. On a boat? Where would I go? Who'd take me? Is there a way to sail back to New York?

"But if you stay," she continues softly, without looking at me. "If you need a place to stay, then you are welcome as my apprentice. I can teach you to harness your abilities. I can teach you to fight. To survive. But only if you wish. It won't be easy and there's always too much to do."

She doesn't wait for me to respond. "Oh, and be sure to drop by the Grocer's and pick up my standing order. Just tell them my name." She steps outside and is swallowed up by sunlight and grass and vanishes down the hill before the door even shuts. The weather smells like summer.

I clutch the sack of coins wondering what the heck I should do.

This world is nonsensical. I don't even know how I got here. I'm pretty sure I fell asleep and woke up again, so this can't be a dream. All these things are real and happening. There are giant squirrels. And I can turn into them. There's a ball of slime that heats the cottage. I can turn into that too. There's a ghost who likes to read. And whatever that was trying to get inside last night, the thing that had all the voices of people I knew...

What would've happened if it got inside? How could Kivuli trust me not to open it? Was it a test or something? Does she want me to be her apprentice?

Rhinestone mentioned a previous servant girl and looked sad... did something happen to her? How much danger am I in?

Maybe I should think about getting on a boat. But where would I even go? And what's this about witches? I swallow hard, pacing back and forth, stepping over the scorched floorboards. Back home, there's only bad history involving witches. Women who were punished unfairly, tied up, and drowned - because if she's a witch, she'll float, and if she's innocent, she'll drown. Women burned alive at the stake because women bring bad news. Women know blood. Women are the source of all malice and evil and hurt in the world; that's what the church teaches us. That's what the world teaches us and takes every opportunity to remind us.

Is it the same here too? Except... am I actually a witch?

I shiver. I don't want to be drowned. It sounds all poetic to lose one's breath underneath the waves, sinking from sunlight, but I've never wanted that. If that happens, maybe I could touch a fish and swim away... Whoa. I could do that if I wanted to.

Kivuli seems nice. I don't know how to explain it, but you just get a sense sometimes. Even when someone seems rough, there's a little bit of kindness that radiates through. There's a callousness about her, but she offered me, a total stranger in the woods, refuge in her home. And didn't even kill me for nearly burning down her cottage and her books.

She reminds me of a teacher I had once. Third grade; Mrs. Hawthorne. An old white woman with golden hair and a stern face. She yelled at us a lot, especially if we were being too rowdy. She piled homework on top of classwork and always pushed us to do more. But when I was struggling to put sentences together, partially because of my home life and partially because I'm just not that bright, she sat down with me.

She helped me work through it. She'd read the words out loud, sounding them out, and then she'd listen to me read them. And we wrote till my hands ached. She didn't yell or bark or anything; she was patiently giving up her own time to help me. She did that for anyone who needed it.

Parents would complain because she seemed jaded and bitter at parent-teacher conferences, but it turned out, she just didn't like most parents. And my mom hated her. No surprise. But Mrs. Hawthorne was my favorite teacher ever.

And Kivuli reminds me a lot of her. Tough exterior, but a sweet and caring interior... or maybe I'm just projecting. Maybe my mind is such a mess that I'm looking for any reason to hang onto my sanity, and the all too familiar self-loathing comes crawling back up my throat. Like my stomach is trying to escape.