Rem stared at the tree in her backyard where her grandmother was buried. "What do you think gran would say about the rumors?"

Her mother braided her hair from behind, Rem recoiling when it was pulled too tightly. It was a tradition of theirs, even if Rem was in her early twenties.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the Silvers. Humans like me," Rem said as if it were obvious. "Do you think gran would tell me to run for it? If the rumors are true..." Rem chewed her lip. "I can't sleep. The witches won't say anything, and everyone is treating me like I have the plague."

Silence filled the late summer morning as her mother finished the braid, sitting down next to Rem. She too stared at the gravestone underneath the oak tree. Rem looked the older version of herself over, taking in the laugh lines and crow's feet. The two looked enough alike to be considered siblings, especially with their slightly prominent nose and lips. Her mother somehow still looked to be in her thirties.

Her gran used to thank witch's magic for that.

What would her gran say about what happened to Rem, though-how Rem's hazel eyes were now blue and her chestnut hair a warm shade of silver?

It sounded like a mundane curse, except the reason behind such a phenomenon remained a complete mystery. Silvers-as the witches called them-appeared like persistent weeds only two months ago. The blathering words of gossipers spread quickly, claiming that shifter wolves wanted humans like Rem, even to the point of abducting them from their villages or towns.

The witches had yet to confirm or deny those rumors.

Each morning Rem checked her hair only to see it was still a bright, pale silver with no understanding as to what caused such a seemingly permanent change, or why the shifters might want her... If those rumors were even true.

And why were the witches not saying anything? They were usually so fond of touting their opinions.

Her mother, Darla, opened her mouth to speak, but paused and wiped her hazel eyes before sighing and looking up at the sky. "I don't know Rem. I don't enjoy thinking about it. No matter how I look at it... It's not good. Something has happened to you, and the silence of the witches is almost as deafening as them running their mouths. All I know is that your eyes and hair have changed, and the same thing has happened to other young women your age. And, well, it's not a rumor anymore, about the shifters coming for Silvers-"

"What?" Rem interrupted, her veins suddenly cold enough to raise the hairs on her arms.

Licking her lips, the older of the two opened her mouth to speak but shook her head and sighed. "A village fifty miles north had a Silver taken by a pack living in the mountains. Coveness Ryla confirmed as much yesterday, and I am sorry I didn't say anything... I just... I feel so helpless..."

Rem's heart numbed, recalling their chief witch-or a Coveness-calling for Rem's mother, who had been glum for the rest of the day upon returning home. "Wait, what? Are you serious? You didn't even tell me-"

"I know, Remara," she scolded, but dropped the severity in her gaze. "I am sorry. I just needed time to process. Especially with mother passing, and now this," her mother began, listlessly looking at their backyard. "How could so much go so wrong?"

Rem stood up and paced their porch, the wood creaking underneath her feet. The gravity of the news sunk Rem's heart into the dirt, her mind spinning. She placed a hand on her hip and the other over her mouth. "No, I won't believe this. It can't be true," she said. "Surely this is all a misunderstanding."

Her mother spoke bleakly. "I think it's true, Rem. What infuriates me is I don't understand how the witches are so clueless. I don't buy that they don't know what's happened to you, or why the shifters even want the Silvers in the first place-" her mother paused, as if the admittance of wolves seeking out the Silvers bound her tongue.

In an instant, Rem's imagination played it all out-the shifters coming for her in the dead of night, taking her outside of the village border... One she had never left before. Just where did they live? What would they do to her? She sharply glanced at her grandmother's headstone, her stomach flipping at the thought she'd never see it again.

Rem had yet to fully accept she was even gone.

Help me, gran.

"I feel like I am going to be sick," Rem muttered as terror gripped her.

"Come-sit back down, love," her mother offered, exuding a strength that coated the fear in her eyes. "We have to think this through. Worry will get us nowhere, even if I want to punch a wall myself."

"That's easy for you to say," Rem quipped, sitting back down on the steps, tapping her foot and chewing her nails, staring very intently at a random weed in the grass. She wanted to run, far into the distance. Perhaps roll around in cow dung to hide her scent. They work with scents, right? I have to hide mine and dirty my hair...

Her mother remained mute, and Rem looked at her. The lines around her mother's mouth deepened with worry.

"Why are you so calm? So quiet?" Rem hotly asked, her voice cracking. "Mother, they're coming for me."

"Rem," her mother said, placing a hand on her knee, "listen to me. We aren't going to let you go so easily, do you understand?"

Rem looked down at the braid on her shoulder, sneering at the pale hair. She couldn't decide if it was made better or worse that the shade was quite beautiful. There was a slight warmth to it, like it was the palest of blondes.

But it was foreign, and it marked her.

"Again, that's easy to say. How can we possibly fight this? I need to leave. I don't know where I'll go, but I can't stay here... Maybe I can go south, closer to the hunters."

Her mother straightened her legs over the wooden stairs, exposing her calves underneath the fabric of her dress. Her tone dropped, steadying. "If it makes you feel better, the witches will discuss options over the next few days. They have even sent Ural to the hunters. I mean, I know I don't trust those witches, but it's something."

Rem didn't nod, but she didn't protest either. A few days still felt too long. Ural was the pet hawk of their Coveness, bewitched to carry any message to any location, able to fly with no need for a break. Sometimes, he could reach the hunters in the deep south within three days, whereas the journey took a month on foot, maybe less with a strong horse and good weather.

How was Rem supposed to wait nearly a week for the bird to return? The hunters in the south were a thousand miles away.

"Did the witches at least try to stop the other Silver from being taken? And what village was it?"

"Dunshire. And I don't know. We didn't hear that part," her mother replied, still not looking at Rem. If Rem weren't so distraught, she might have paid closer to attention to how it seemed that her mother wanted to say more but consistently hesitated.

The crisp wind of the early morning pulled at the loose strands of her mother's hair, who finally met Rem's gaze. She squinted, the sun in her eyes as it peaked through the porch roof-a fire burned in that worn gaze that mirrored her late gran.

"I'm not giving up so easily, Remara. I mean it. Look, the reason I didn't say anything right away is because... Because, well, I think... I don't know; maybe we might run for it."

"What?" Rem muttered. Her heart raced faster, if such a thing were possible.

Her mother spoke quickly, like it was a theory she was willing to bet on, but no one could know of. "This has to stay between us, alright? Look, I believe the hunters will shelter you, but they're an entire month's ride away. Waiting isn't an option. If those shifters managed their way into Dunshire, then what stops them from getting in here?

"So, what if we left and went for the hunters ourselves? This family has always talked about getting out of this village. What if we take advantage of this and go south, meet the hunters halfway? Your father and I discussed it, and he's willing to leave as soon as possible. He's spending today readying the apothecary so it can be portable on carriage, just in case."

Rem's eyes widened, adrenaline burning her veins. As if in slight shock, she mumbled, "The witches... They'd catch us. No one leaves without permission... Plus, you can't do that. Can your back even handle such a ride?"

Her mother gave Rem a stolid, single nod, raising a playful brow. "I'm not that old. I mean, I feel like I am, but I can do it, for you. Life here is too boring, anyways. I could use the thrill." The humor slowly dropped from her voice. "You're in your early twenties, my daughter. You have too much to live for, and so does your brother... I can't leave this to chance. We are in a corner right now. You know we don't trust these witches. They are possessive and prideful... Yet the rumors suggest the shifters come and go into these villages without injury, and the witches here won't talk to us. Which I don't buy, as they must know something. So, we have to plan on our own. We have an idea to cause a distraction, and then we flee in the night."

"What if it fails? What if something goes horribly wrong and someone gets hurt?"

"That's neither here nor there," her mother grimly replied, her voice shaking, her eyes resolute. "It sounds like the shifters are coming for you, no matter what. You want an answer what your gran would say about the rumors? Well, I know she'd already have your bags packed with weapons, medical kits, maps, and anything else she has in her possession to see you to safety. I must do the same."

A chill of hopeful victory swept over Rem-sharp movements stole their attention. Fear placed her on high alert, her mind filling in the gaps that perhaps the shifters had already come for her, but she quickly saw that it was just their cat running around, her ten-year-old brother Oliver hot on its tail.

"Give it back, Tobin!" he yelled.

The cat carried the tiny bear their grandmother had made for him. Rem's laugh bitterly turned into a twitching frown. A wave of premature nostalgia hit her, understanding that these moments were likely some of her last of home. If the shifters came, who knew what that would entail. If she went to the hunters, who knew how long she'd be gone for.

And while they had discussed leaving the village many times, this was the first time it felt real. Freedom did not exist living underneath the witches-not like it had in the before times-and the journey south was long and arduous. What if it was the wrong choice? Was this worth risking everyone's lives?

Her mother placed a reassuring hand on Rem's back.

They both laughed when Oliver wrangled his bear from their cat, giving the feline a good scolding.

It was the relief they needed.

Perhaps their worries truly stemmed from the fact that for centuries, the pendulum of power remained on the side of humanity. Now, it swung so hard into the favor of those who could use magic that the pendulum appeared to have broken. No human was safe.

The forests had changed. The shifters hollowed out mountains to house their packs within. Dire creatures decimated villages. Humanity, if it desired to live in its own shadow, was forced into southern California and Texas, where the weather wasn't favorable for paranormals. Hunters built their worlds out there, although dark magic followed and haunted them in different, but more manageable, ways.

Nowhere seemed to be safe for people, except to live underneath the control of witches.

The mother and daughter shared another chuckle as Oliver tried to place his bear on the ground, only for the tabby cat to paw at it in a surprise attack.

With a stronger voice, her mother said, "We will get through this. We must be strong. Oliver, I am sure, will be happy to go. He always talks about joining the hunters when he's old enough. My mother was renowned in her days for being a woman that bowed to no one, and we are her daughter and granddaughter. For that, no one will have the final say in our fate. Not these shifters, and not these witches."

Those words struck her heart deeply, and Rem knew that she could honor that. Her gran was as worldly as a notorious hunter, settling in their village to run an apothecary, with Rem's father now taking up his late mother-in-law's business. That woman had spent years traveling and learning of plants and remedies of the world, along with how to avoid and fight off the dangers within. The stories that woman could tell...always limited, because of the witches listening...

It still pained Rem that she couldn't ask her gran more details of her life, or for advice with Rem's predicament. She died only four months ago, just two months before the Silvers appeared.

Before Rem had changed.

It's why Rem often stared at the small headstone in their backyard, the grass still fresh from the recent grave. Maybe one day, I'll hear her whisper in my ear.

Rem gave a single nod. She could be brave for her gran's spirit.

"Here, let me go get you some tea, love," her mother suggested. "The hunters should be bringing shipments of coffee soon, and we can ask my cousin why the hunters have been so quiet. For all we know, they're sending men right now, and we just haven't caught wind of it yet. Either way, we will act. It's who we are, Remara."

Her mother got up and squeezed her daughter's shoulder, to which Rem gave a smile. She stared at her gran's headstone, determined to make her proud, determined to carry the flame of Ophelia the Brazen, or as her gran had been known back in her day.

What Rem wouldn't give to have that old woman sit on that porch with her, even if just for an hour.

☼

Rem eventually went about her day, not wanting to linger in her mind for too long. It was around midday when Oliver burst through their front door with a piece of parchment in hand. He was a spitting image of their mother with high cheekbones and hooded lids, although his hair was a pale brown like their father's.

Rem and her mother eyed the frantic boy, pausing in their kneading of bread.

"Mother, Rem, a letter," he proclaimed, pushing the hair out of his eyes as he handed it to their mother. "The witches said the letter has information about Rem."

"Where is your father?" their mother asked, dropping the dough on the counter with a dull flop. Flour particles floated in the air, rays of sunshine beaming through the windows and reflecting against the pale cloud.

"At the town center. I lost him at one point, then a witch approached me and told me to take this home and that she would tell father," he huffed. "I ran all the way here."

Rem gripped the warm, yeasty dough in her hands, a lump swelling in her throat. She nearly didn't breathe as her mother read the letter with mumbling lips.

"Well, what does it say?" Rem asked.

Her mother hushed her, continuing to read.

Rem wanted to steal it out of her hands, but the act would prove rather pointless as she was illiterate-the witches forbade learning that skill. Her mother only knew how because of her gran.

The witches declared book reading as a devilish temptation that led to asking too many questions. Curious minds meant challenging authority, which was strictly against their rules. Rem's mother only obeyed the witch's orders of illiteracy to spare her children from their wrath, which even her gran had feared.

Rem's heart dropped as her mother clasped a hand over her mouth, crinkling the corner of the parchment with her grip. Oliver looked devastated. He seemed to think it was dreadful news as well.

Their mother shook her head and laughed. "No, no children, it's not bad news," she comforted, her voice shaky. "It says that the hunters have gotten wind... They sent their own bird ahead with news that they are riding their horses bloody to reach any of the villages where the Silvers are said to be. They recommend sending the Silvers south, if they can, protected by a witch. The hunters will meet the Silvers en route."

Rem's knees weakened, and she placed a hand on the counter to steady herself, only for her to laugh as gravity brought her to her knees. The ground was cold, even through her dress, but she laughed, cried, and yelled out in relief.

If there was one type of being that a witch listened to, it was the hunters. Rem never fully understood the complicated relationship, but she knew enough to know that if the hunters were coming, then she'd be leaving.

Oliver was elated. "Oh, this is such good news! The shifters can't take you, Rem!" He gave them both swift hugs. "And I can't wait. I am definitely going with her, right? I want to go, too... Okay good. Did you know, that where the Crowley hunters live..." he said, looking at them both with wide eyes, "they have thousands of humans. They even have giant cities where people don't have yards! That's what I want. Not the dirt and mountains we live in. Gran used to tell me all about it. She said she loved it in the cities, and that I would, too.

"And you would get to see Hugo, Rem," Oliver pestered, laughing. "I've seen you look at Hugo like he was a slice of pumpkin pie himself," he teased, poking her in the shoulder.

"Oh, now you be quiet," Rem said with a laugh. "It was just a fantasy, Oliver. Besides, for all I know, he's married by now."

Rem laughed even harder at the thought of visiting Hugo all the way in southern California where the Crowley hunters lived. The thought of that man used to make her agonize with desire. She'd even dream about him, especially since he had been the only man she had been intimate with. For a while, it didn't matter that they lived states apart and nearly in different worlds, not as long as he'd visit.

Now, she didn't care if he was married and had children. She'd get to be under the protection of the hunters. She'd get to leave the control of the witches behind. She'd get to learn how to read, pick up any profession she wanted, and become her own person outside of the witch's command.

Most importantly, she may escape the shifters coming for her.

☼

It was hard finishing her chores for the rest of the day, her mind as difficult to rein in as a horse refusing to be broken. Eventually, Rem could focus on the kitchen, finishing up their dinner while her mother gathered herbs from their garden. Her father tended to their apothecary in a cabin on their property, still readying for the journey. It would no doubt take all day on the morrow.

Her father was determined that they leave, no matter what.

Rem looked forward to living with the hunters.

Perhaps the only real negative about leaving was the thought of abandoning her gran's headstone. I have her things and have her necklace packed. I can take all of that with me. She wouldn't want me to stay here, nor Oliver. She always pushed for mother and father to leave... I just wish I didn't have to leave her tombstone.

With thoughts of her grandmother, Rem took off her cooking apron, hung it up, and turned around to face the hearth. She needed to ensure that the soup was simmering rather than boiling. Oliver had a tendency to stack too many logs in the fireplace.

But as she turned around, a throaty cry escaped her.

Standing in front of her was a pale man she had never seen before, and his eyes were the color of bright amber.

The color of a shifter.

"No, no, no," Rem muttered. "No, this can't be happening," she moaned in agony. "No! I won't go with you!"

Someone placed a hand over her mouth, pulling her in with a strength that was beyond human. She shivered, hating the sudden contact, and thrashed. Her fight only added more pain as the shifter clamped down his grip. The pale one in front of her sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair.

In her ear, and with an accent she couldn't quite place, the shifter holding her said, "Did you think we weren't coming for you, Silver?"

She breathed through the hand and shook her head, a firm grip pinning her arms at her side. She licked and tried to bite the salty hand over her mouth, shaking her head while muffled cries escaped. Nothing worked. She was like a toddler being held down by an adult-she'd never win against these creatures.

Tears burned her eyes. She didn't know what to do. This felt entirely premature. The hunters confirmed they were coming for her and that she was going to live in their giant cities.

Rem couldn't be taken now.

The one that she initially witnessed stepped closer, his hands in his pockets. "My name is Deacon. Come quietly, and the little bear doesn't get hurt," he warned.

Rem froze and narrowed her gaze on the shifter who was dressed so differently from the villagers-wearing refined clothes, leather bracers, and laced boots-as she replayed what he said. Her heart thrummed so hard it pulsed in her neck. What does he mean, little bear? Not Oliver...

The hand was removed from her mouth. She couldn't see herself, but she knew she was a mess of slobber, hair stuck to sweat on her forehead, and a disheveled dress.

Quickly and quietly, she asked, "What have you done?"

The pale one named Deacon said, "Listen to me. You're in more trouble than you know. The witches here aren't your friends, and neither are the hunters, but I cannot say more. You need to come with us."

She didn't believe a word he said, darting her gaze around, stepping aside when she remembered one was behind her. She had never been so fueled by so much adrenaline. Panting, she ran over the options in her mind, searching for the kitchen knife.

"How did you get in?" Rem asked, trying to buy time.

Rem jumped when she saw another shifter, although this one was older-much older-enter through the back door, moving with a stiffness in her spine that reminded Rem of her gran. The female shifter wore red robes, her face round and as stern as a witch's. The dim lighting of the setting sun only added to the suspense.

"Knock her out," the shifter said.

"No, wait! Don't do that!" Rem cried out, frantic.

The older one said, "You are coming with us, Remara. You can either go quietly, or we can incapacitate you-"

"We found the boy," another said, walking through their hallway, carrying a limp child in his arms.

Oliver.

Rem nearly screamed, but a prick in her thigh distracted her, glancing down to see a porcupine quill sticking out of her leg. No... No, gran used to say they covered these in sedatives...

She tried to speak, but as she glanced back at Oliver, she lost consciousness.