Heavy steps crashed through the trees, catching up with her. She pushed herself harder, fear giving her wings.

"Cocot!" yelled Daniel.

She slowed, asking herself if it was worth it to stop, or if it would be easier to never speak to him again. It was always the same, every glimmer of friendliness was promptly crushed by that part of him that was cold and sharp.

"Cocot, wait!" He reached her and took her arm.

She turned.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm sorry, you are right. They don't see me so why should it matter if they don't see you? I'd rather have you as my friend than any number of them. I just...I just don't understand."

"I can't explain. But it isn't safe. Keep the mythology book I gave you. I'll miss you."

"Wait for me tonight and I'll come with you," he said, hands on both her shoulders.

"No, please. It's safer for us both like this. I'm taking Hector and we will go as fast as we can."

"Then will you find me later? I'll go to Lausanne for work in October. I won't stay here this winter if you're not here. I'll go to Lausanne and every evening I'll wait at the train station for you. Will you come?"

"I will come," she said. She would go to the city of Lausanne and haunt the train station every day, watching and waiting for him. She would go even though he would forget her. She would go in the hopes of crossing his path one day. Then, unseen and unknown, she would follow him.

"You promise?" he asked.

"I promise."

"I'll help you find a room and work when you come. It'll be fine, you'll see."

"Until October?" she asked.

"October," he agreed.

She nodded and he smiled.

"Goodbye," she said, eyes blurring with tears. She waited until he had disappeared through the trees. "Goodbye."

She hurried home quick as her feet would take her. She checked on Hector briefly when she arrived at the chalet, and told him sternly to stay nearby.

For the rest of the afternoon and evening, she sat at the table in the chalet no candles lit or fire in Sarina. As soon as it was dark enough, she would run. She would take Hector across the field toward the Sonlomont and they would be gone before the passage keeper or the great fairies could notice.

Leaving the bottle of evil in the cellar.

She had to hope it would be safer here once she was gone. That no one would suspect Fanchon had hidden it in a human home. If a fairy creature did come looking for it and made it past the locks and charms, then maybe Jean-Baptist would make himself useful for once and scare the creature away.

"You must never leave, Cocot," her mother's voice echoed over and over in Cocot's mind through the hours. "You must stay and protect the last one."

"I'm not staying any longer, Mother. I can't keep your secrets safe, I can't even keep myself safe if I stay here."

Darkness began to spread through the valley, but Cocot could not bring herself to stand and go. She insisted it should be darker—the sky was still violet. She would wait for the first stars.

A thump sounded at one of the windows, followed by an urgent rat-a-tat-tat.

"Coquelicot!" call Soufflé from outside. "Are you in there?"

She jumped up and hurried to the door.

"Coquelicot, child! Are you all right, are you in there?" he cried.

"I'm coming," she answered, reaching the door.

"No, stay inside, don't come out!"

"Soufflé?" she asked. She stood in the open doorway. It was snowing in her garden and front yard. Huge flakes that flashed silver and grey spiraled from the purple sky, coating the grass and flowers in a thick blanket.

She stepped past the threshold and held out her hand for one of the snowflakes. They swirled in strange eddies on wind she couldn't feel and it took several seconds before she succeeded in catching one.

"Oh," she said, watching it fall weightless on her palm. It wasn't a snowflake.

"Go inside, Coquelicot. Be quick now, and close the door. You must get your things ready to go," Soufflé said, flitting in worried circles around her head.

"What is wrong with him?"

In her hand, a tiny field fairy twitched and struggled feebly to fly. As she watched, helpless and horrified, it grew still then transformed into white ashes and dust. A puff of air from Soufflé's wings sent the ashes flying.

Cocot stared out across her white coated garden. She gasped as she realized that every flake was a dying or dead field fairy. There were thousands and thousands of them. She lurched forward.

"Why is this happening?" she asked. "Soufflé, why are they dying? Can't you do something?"

"It's the witch, Coquelicot. Please go inside. You shouldn't watch."

"The witch? The passage keeper." She bowed her head as the creatures floated down, landing on her hair and shoulders before life abandoned them. She heard Hector stomping from around the chalet. He snuffled and blew air from his nose noisily. "Why is she killing them?"

"Because she can," Soufflé said. "Because she wants to."

"Did she send them here?"

"I think they've come to warn you. Let's go in and get your things. Come, child," he urged her.

She stepped inside, burning with rage at the macabre winter scene. The passage keeper had promised to kill everyone and everything she loved. The old woman had been in her chalet on the night her memories went astray, and although there were still some holes, especially from that night, Cocot remembered the threat.

This was how it began. It would end when everyone and everything Cocot loved was destroyed. Running away would not save her or anyone else.

"She will come for me if I run away." Iron settled in her heart.

"At least you would have a head start."

"My mother's..." She swallowed. Words were sounds, meaningless until put together. "It's in the root cellar. Soufflé, the last bottle is in the cellar."

The fairy dropped like a dying leaf to the doorstep. "If that is true, then take your horse and go as swiftly as you can. Coquelicot, please. Run from this place, run from here and never stop."

Cocot blinked at him several times. She told him the secret—gave him the hiding place for the bottle of evil from Lessoc and his only advice was to leave it behind. But it wouldn't be enough. She understood now. "I can't run. I can't leave it here. I thought maybe I could, but all along I've known that it wouldn't be enough."

"You can't hide it forever. Get away before she—before they decide to come for you!

"What about Wenslar? Wenslar is my kin, he said I could trust him," Cocot said, the threads of an idea taking form.

"Wenslar? That weakling? You can't trust him, Coquelicot. You can't trust anyone, don't you understand?"

"I don't have a choice, Soufflé! He is my kin, he loved my mother and he is the one who watches the fountain now. He is the only one I could give the bottle to."

"Leave it here."

"The witch will come her. The field fairies are dying because she wants me to know she is coming."

"Not Wenslar. You can't give it to him, he's the one who...." Souffé stopped his sentence, lost in thought.

"Who what?" Cocot asked him.

"No, wait a moment. Wait, perhaps you are right. Perhaps you could give it to him. But how?"

"I must do it tonight. Now. Before the passage keeper comes or kills someone else. I have to find Wenslar under the hill and I have to go fast. Will you help me?" she asked. "Then I will leave forever."

"Do you swear that if I help you give the bottle to Wenslar, you will run away?"

"I swear. I will run and never stop," she vowed.

"Agreed. Are you sure the bottle in the cellar is the last and the only bottle you know of from Lessoc?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Then fetch it quickly. It is growing dark and the best time to go is now—in the not-time between night and day. The fairies will be starting their festival for the full moon."

She grabbed her pack and coat and dug in her pocket for her keys. She had everything she needed. Then she froze. "Jean-Baptist."

"I don't see why you should worry about him."

"Because the cellar is through his workshop. I can't go in there." He had been too restless, too angry since her mother had died.

"No. Leave the doors unlocked and run away," Soufflé said.

"You're the one who told me that the evil must never fall in the wrong hands."

"I've given all sorts of advice you haven't followed so far, Coquelicot. If you run now, there is a chance no one will never find you. If you manage to get back out of his workshop and take the evil into the fairy hall, there's an even greater chance they'll never let you go."

"My mother told me my whole life that I could never abandon the chalet. That I had to stay. Because she needed me to protect the last one—the last bottle. What do I do? How can I make this right?"

"You can't. You can only save yourself," he said. "Leave before it's too late."

She shook her head. She ran from the chalet, quickly locked the door behind her and dropped her bag on the stone path in front of the workshop door. She found the correct key.

"Don't do this. Don't go in there," Soufflé begged, flitting alongside her.

"My mother trusted me with this and the fairy king trusts Wenslar to watch the fountain. If I give it to him, I'll be free of my promises and free of the witch. I have to go in there."

"Your mother had no right to leave this with you!" he fumed.

"She had no one else," said Cocot. She whispered the charm, her voice breaking. She turned the key and opened the door.

Soufflé landed on her shoulder and held onto her braid. "He has been busy," he breathed.

*** The tiny field fairies came to her chalet to die, turning to ash and falling like snow as they turned through the air. ***