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me flying over the trees. It was so wonderful.”
    “What was its name?”
    “Moonlight.”
    “And yours, Prissy? What was your animal?”
    Priscilla couldn’t quite keep her eyes open, but she managed to answer. “It was a little doe. We ran together in the field. She was sweet and pretty.”
    “What did she call herself?”
    “Samara.”
    “Good. You both did well, but there are some rules about your animals that you must follow. First, you must never tell anyone else — anyone except your father, of course — what your animal is, or that you even have an animal. Do you understand?”
    They both nodded.
    “Second, you won’t need the herb to visit that world again. Now you can go there simply by imagining your secret cave. After a time, you won’t even need to journey; you can just close your eyes and be there. Will you visit it again and again until you can go there easily?”
    “Yes,” they said in unison.
    “And finally, I want you to practice calling your animal — Moonlight and Samara — to you. Make it come into your world to be here for you. There may come a time when you’ll need its help.”
    “You mean Moonlight will appear and fly around here?” Bridget asked.
    “Yes, but it’s likely that only you will see it. Sometimes a very powerful animal can manifest to others, but most likely it’ll be in the form of one of its cousins already in this world.”
    “Like the owl in the barn?”
    Margaret nodded. “The owl in the barn may let Moonlight share its body to help you in some fashion.”
    “Like how?” Bridget asked.
    “Well, it can act as messenger for you. Or protect you.”
    Bridget smiled. “Oh, that would be wonderful.”
    “You must never harm any of your animal’s reflections in this world,” Margaret said. “And you, Prissy, can never eat venison again. Otherwise you’ll offend your animal and it will desert you.”
    “How do I call Samara?” Priscilla asked.
    “Silently. You always call out silently,” Margaret said.
    Bridget laughed. “This will be fun.”
    Margaret looked at her daughters with compassion. What seemed like a new toy could well turn into a deadly game someday. That was the lot of every person with true power who lived in a world that didn’t understand. She hoped her daughters would never have to find that out for themselves, but she feared otherwise.
    Margaret helped her daughters upstairs to their beds so they could sleep away the effects of the herb.
    “Do you have an animal?” Bridget asked as she was being tucked in beneath the covers.
    Margaret nodded. “A snake.”
    “What’s its name?”
    Her snake had a name she couldn’t repeat to the girls. It would not be wise. She kissed Bridget and then Priscilla, who was already fast asleep by her side.
    Before leaving, Margaret removed two pieces of cheesecloth from her pocket and tied one on each of the posts at the head of the bed. As the cloth strained food in her kitchen, so it would now act as a sieve for the children’s dreams. It was time their nonsensical dreams gave way to dreams of the old knowledge. “Rest well, my daughters, and dream ancient dreams of power.”
     

     
    The constable came for Margaret in late April.
    Cherry blossoms clung to trees in white splendor, violets and cowslips dotted the grassy yard with color, and robins, redwing blackbirds, and bobolinks danced and sang together in celebration of the renewal of life when the constable’s wagon pulled up in front of the Hawthornes’ house.
    Margaret and her daughters were planting seeds in the outdoor herb garden beside the house. William, Phip, and Catch had just come in from the fields for dinner — their midday meal — and were washing away the dirt from their labor in a bucket of water.
    The constable stepped down off the wagon. “Goodwife Hawthorne?”
    She stood and wiped the dirt from her hands. “Yes.”
    He approached and grabbed her arm. “I have a warrant for your arrest.” He yanked her into motion.