The Stepsister Scheme

assaulted.
    Bent and broken branches dangled from the central cluster of the tree. What leaves remained were brittle and brown. Clumps of dirt bordered a deep hole at the base, as if an enormous dog had tried to dig the entire tree from the earth. The entire right side of the tree appeared burned, little more than a blackened skeleton.
    Danielle remembered when this tree had been nothing but a single twig of hazel, which she had planted in memory of her mother. She had come here for weeks, weeping and praying and remembering her mother’s final words.
Remain pious and good, and I shall watch over you from heaven.
    The tree had grown swiftly, sending up a clump of thin trunks which were soon as thick as her waist. No doubt her stepmother would have chopped it down long ago had she known what it represented, but the garden, like so much else, had been Danielle’s responsibility.
    Danielle hopped over the low fence. “Mother?”
    “What’s wrong?” asked Snow.
    Danielle ignored her. Months before, these branches had rustled in response to Danielle’s prayers, clothing her in the magnificent gown she had worn to the ball.
    “Charlotte knew,” she whispered. She had said as much, back at the palace, but Danielle hadn’t realized what that meant.
    “There’s something else in that tree,” Snow said.
    “My mother’s spirit.” Slowly, Snow’s words sank in. The tree wasn’t yet dead. Danielle rushed forward.
    “Princess, wait!” Talia shouted.
    The ground shifted. Danielle grabbed the tree for balance as her feet sank into the soil. The branches were hot. The bark felt like it would sear her skin.
    Danielle tried to step back, but the earth had swallowed her feet to the ankles. The branch in her hand snapped away, and a wisp of smoke rose from the broken end.
    Talia sped into the garden, drew her knife, then stopped. “Should have brought an ax.” With an expression of disgust, she slammed the knife back into its sheath. “Burn this thing to the ground, Snow.”
    “No!” Danielle shouted. “You can’t!”
    Several branches swung about, twining around Danielle’s wrist. She yanked back hard enough to pull free, but lost her balance and fell. Her head landed among the rhubarb even as the dirt sucked her feet deeper.
    “Maybe you haven’t noticed,” Talia said, “but this tree is trying to kill you.” She grabbed Danielle beneath the arms and pulled. “What are you doing, Snow?”
    Snow was hurrying back from the well beyond the garden. Rope trailed from the bucket in her hands. She ran to Danielle’s side and tossed the water at the base of the tree.
    Steam hissed from the earth, and the grip on Danielle’s legs loosened. Talia grunted and pulled. Snow grabbed her other arm. Together, they wrenched Danielle from the ground, though her boots remained behind.
    “That’s your mother?” Talia asked as she retrieved her knife. “And I thought my family had problems.”
    “No,” Snow said before Danielle could answer.
    “That’s got to be what Charlotte and Stacia summoned. Probably to destroy Danielle’s mother. It’s trapped within the tree, along with her spirit. They’re still fighting, and judging from the look of those branches, she’s losing.”
    “Can you save her?” Danielle asked.
    Snow grinned. “If I can’t outcast a pair of stuck-up novices, I’ll—”
    “Less boasting, more casting,” Talia said.
    Snow pointed to the bucket. “Gather as much water as you can and soak the dirt around the tree. Don’t get too close.”
    “How close is too close?” Danielle asked.
    “If the tree tries to eat you, you should probably back up.”

    Danielle stood by the fence, clutching the knife Talia had given her in both hands. She didn’t know what good the knife would be if things went wrong, but this way she didn’t feel quite so helpless. A full water bucket sat on the ground beside her, along with several pots they had fetched from the house. Her bare feet and trousers were dark with mud, as were Talia’s.
    Snow stood facing the sky, exposing her pale throat to the sun. A thin beam of sunlight shone from the central mirror of her choker. Her traveling cloak was draped over the gate, the fur soaking up muddy water.
    As Snow muttered, the sunbeam gouged strange, sharply angled symbols into the dirt. White frost crusted the characters, defying the heat of the sun.
    “What are you doing?” Danielle whispered. Her vision blurred if she looked too closely at the words in