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don’t need to pound in a nail. Sometimes you need to stitch a delicate thread.”
    Elizabeth nodded, considering this. Had she been trying too hard, with Nat? Was something gentler and trickier the better choice?
    â€œSpend some time reviewing your memories,” Widow Porter continued. “The painful and the glad. Keep all of them near you—learn from what you’ve done, from where you’ve been. When you can call the precise memory for a spell, one with exactly the right strength and flavor, that’s when your magic will sharpen.”
    That evening, as she went home for dinner, she contrived to walk out of the Porter home just as Nat was walking in. She managed this most nights they worked together; this was the whole reason she came to practice with Widow Porter. (The added lessons in witchcraft were just a bonus.) “Why, Elizabeth,” he said, smiling down at her. “Here again? You’re good to help Ma around the house so much.”
    â€œI don’t mind a bit,” Elizabeth promised. See how good I am? How thoughtful I am? See how easily I could live here with you?
    She’d borrowed beauty again today—she did it most days, now. It was worth the trouble to see the way Nat’s gaze warmed to the sight of her. Something about his smile changed. Elizabeth couldn’t name it, but she knew that this was the first time Nat had ever looked at her the way she really wanted him to. Though the spark only lasted a moment, that moment felt as though it could be a beginning.
    â€œI’ve meant to speak with your aunt,” Widow Porter said. “I’ll walk home with you and drop in, if you think she’d welcome the company.”
    â€œAunt Ruth is always glad to see you.” This was stretching the truth a bit; her aunt sometimes complained that Widow Porter was too bossy. But she wouldn’t object to a brief visit.
    â€œWell. Good night, Elizabeth,” Nat said.
    â€œGood night,” she repeated softly.
    As they walked away from the house, Widow Porter said, “There’s something I see I need to talk to you about.”
    â€œYes, ma’am?” Elizabeth’s heart pounded.
    â€œMy boy has grown into a handsome young man.” The widow’s voice was softer than Elizabeth had ever heard it. “He’d turn nearly any girl’s head. I know because he’s the spitting image of his father, who turned my head fast enough when I was your age.” She chuckled softly.
    â€œHe is, ma’am.” Surely it was safe to agree with her, especially about something so obviously true.
    â€œYou’re a fine witch, as dedicated to the Craft as any other I’ve ever known. That’s why I don’t want to see you lose your way.”
    She knew. She knew about the black magic. How? There were spells of detection, but Elizabeth had thought she’d know if the Widow Porter were suspicious enough to cast one. Had she been wrong?
    But Widow Porter wasn’t looking at Elizabeth with the cold anger she’d directed at Catherine Crews. In her eyes was something a thousand times worse: pity.
    â€œWhen you’re a girl, it’s easy to let your heart run away with you,” Widow Porter said gently. “That’s why I wanted to speak now, before you found yourself hurting.”
    She thinks it’s passing affection. She has no idea I’ve been in love with him all my life and I have no intention of giving up on him—
    â€œThe First Laws are not ours to question, Elizabeth,” Widow Porter said. “They can never be disobeyed, ever. You saw that when you saw what became of Goodwife Crews. Of course you’re too sensible a girl to ever get yourself in such trouble, but I wanted to say a word of warning. To spare you the pain.”
    â€œOf course,” Elizabeth said. They were the only words she could get out of her mouth. It would sound as though she were agreeing with Widow