Bones of Faerie by Janni Lee Simner

fuss, not like the time Jared gashed his knee.”
    Caleb nodded solemnly, then turned to me. “You were lucky. If Matthew hadn't called out, if Allison and I hadn't come—that wound could have been far deeper. You could have cut through to bone.”
    “I know,” I said, avoiding his eyes.
    “Such luck does not hold forever. Let's have the source of this so we can deal with it and your shadow both. Tell me what you saw.”
    I stared at my palm, wondering how he knew I saw anything. Yet Matthew had known, too, even though, like Caleb, he couldn't see my visions for himself. I shivered, remembering the soft fall of ash from a burning sky. Healing was one thing, but visions of death and fire, visions in which Caleb himself played some strange part? I opened my mouth to speak, felt my throat tighten around the words. No. I couldn't share this, neither withstrangers nor with those I knew. I feared that if I spoke, the visions would turn real.
    Caleb frowned, his eyes bright in the fading light. “Magic and trouble have one thing in common. Neither grows smaller if denied. We will speak of this again soon.” He turned away, helping Matthew back into bed.
    Allie folded up the bloodied bandages, her grin fading. I knew she wanted answers, too, but she only said, “You're still coming to dinner, aren't you?”
    Caleb had set my knife on the dresser. I took it, wiped the blade carefully on a spare bandage, and slipped it into my belt. Allie frowned at that. I glanced at Matthew, hesitant to leave him alone.
    Tallow emerged from beneath the bed, stretching and yawning. Caleb turned to me again, eyes narrowed. If I stayed here, he'd only ask more questions. I took the old cat in my arms and followed Allie from the room.
    Samuel joined us downstairs. Together we stepped outside into a twilight town much like my own: dirt path, whitewashed houses, open fields. The sky was heavy with the wet dishrag smell that came before rain. Yetbeyond the houses and fields I caught glimpses of a green hedge, taller than a grown man. The Commons was the largest building in town. A cracked sign above the door read Coffee Pot Café. “That sign used to light up pink and green,” Samuel told me as we stepped inside. “Tack iest thing for miles around. I sure miss the coffee, though.”
    A few dozen people sat in a room lit by bright lamps much like those in Samuel's house. In one corner, someone played a tarnished old flute while others listened as they ate. Mom used to play the flute, Before, but who had time for such things now? Didn't players and listeners both have work to do, in this town as much as in mine? The listeners here included a toddler with clear hair that curled about her shoulders, but no one seemed concerned, any more than they seemed concerned about Karin or Caleb.
    In a kitchen beyond a rusted metal counter, Samuel, Allie, and I served ourselves bowls of fish and bean stew from a cauldron over a hearth. Allie also handed me a round green fruit, which she called an apple. I wondered why any town would risk harvesting fruit. Corn and beans were dangerous enough, and they didn't grow ontrees. Unless, of course, the apple trees listened to Karin the same way mulberry trees did.
    Another couple joined us at one of the room's steel-and-plastic tables. They had a girl Allie's age with them, as well as a boy a little younger. I felt everyone's eyes on me as I ate, but no one asked any more questions. For a while Allie's gaze kept straying to my knife, as if she feared she'd find me clutching steel again at any moment. Then Tallow twined around Allie's legs, and she turned her attention to offering the cat small pieces of fish. The other girl joined in. Tallow walked back and forth between them, happily licking their fingers. I bit into my apple. It tasted so sweet my teeth hurt—sweeter than tea dosed with mint, sweeter than new-harvested corn.
    As we ate, Samuel and the couple, Alan and Jan, told me about their lives. Samuel's wife,