The prophetess was old, blind, and terrifying but she saw everything.
“Tell me,” the prophetess whispered. “Why do you want to know?”
Jane lifted her chin. “I want to know what Evana, that silver-haired witch girl is.”
The prophetess gave a strange, dry smile. She turned to the fire pit in the center of the cave and tossed in powder made from crushed blue flowers.
Silver flames roared to life. “Then watch,” the woman said, “and remember…”
The fire changed. Images appeared, moving like shadows inside the silver flames.
A baby was born under a red sky.
The Moon bled, staining the land in red light. This had never happened in centuries.
“Sixteen years ago…” the prophetess said slowly, “under the blood Moon… a child came into the world.”
Jane watched as the baby opened her eyes. They
