The bird went limp and unresisting. “You wouldn’t really?” “I don’t think I would,” Sarah said, then decided that didn’t quite sound menacing enough. “But I’ve never really been in a situation where I’ve wanted to.” She paused and glared at the raven. “I may be getting there.” “Let me go, and I swear I’ll tell you all you need to know.” “And who decides what that is—you? No.” Sarah shook her head. “Everything.” “On my honor,” the raven said. “Everything.” “Okay.” Sarah lifted one hand away, and the raven hopped free, to land some distance from her on the far side of the car. It stared at her from its perch on the roof. “I’m waiting,” said Sarah. “Or do birds not have honor?” “We’re not safe here,” said the raven. It looked up at the bulk of the castle, which was throwing a misshapen shadow across the clearing. “Follow.” It threw itself up into the air and flapped toward the forest. The trees were crowded together, their trunks too close, knitting a solid fence around the castle and hemming her in.
