Chapter 4

Three years later, I ran a tiny pharmacy in Gloom Valley with only two bedrooms upstairs.

One for me and the three girls, one for the three boys. On the coldest winter nights, all six children would burrow into my blankets, their tails tangled together.

The townspeople called me Widow Hart.

Women on the moor rarely pried into another person's past. They assumed my husband had died and I was raising six children alone. When they brought us hand-me-downs, they never asked questions.

During the day I delivered babies and mixed medicines. At night I stitched up miners' wounds. The butcher let me buy on credit, on the condition that I treated his wife's joint pain once a month.

Every meal, Rowan quietly slid the biggest piece of meat into my bowl.

Cora could smell a lie. Whenever I said I was not hungry, she wrinkled her nose, then pressed a piece of candy she had been saving into my hand.

Finn was the fastest on his feet. By three, he could run from one end of the street to the mine entrance.

Once Maeve slipped into a dark corner, no one could find her.

Whenever Jasper cried, every dog on the street howled along.

Nell was the frailest, yet she always made my palms warm.

They learned to hide their ears and tails around people.

But they could not hide their scent.

The Church school refused to admit them.

"Father unknown. Bloodline unknown." The nun closed the enrollment book. "Children like these would be a bad influence on the other students."

The children in town called them fatherless pups.

The first time Finn got into a fight, it was because someone had pushed Cora into the mud.

I made him copy the names of medicinal herbs three times, then washed the blood off his fists.

"Mom, was I wrong?"

"Protecting your sister wasn't wrong," I said. "But you need to learn to leave evidence of what they did, not just bruises on your fists."

He did not understand, but he nodded earnestly.

A few days later, the mine collapsed.

The entire street heard the muffled rumble underground.

Walter Garrick, the mine owner, said the men trapped inside could not be rescued, and he was ready to seal the shaft.

But Rowan pressed his ear to the ground and said there were still heartbeats below.

Before I could stop them, all six children had already crawled into the abandoned ventilation shaft.

Rowan listened to the earth. Finn passed ropes. Maeve threaded through the collapsed darkness. Cora identified the direction of the cries for help.

Then came Jasper's howl.

The panicked mules underground charged the caved-in barrier all at once, ramming open a gap.

Twenty-seven miners came out alive.

Everyone saw the wolf paw prints in the snow.

A traveling reporter photographed the six children from behind.

The next day's newspaper did not run "Wolf Children Save Miners." The front-page headline read: "Mysterious Beast Children Blamed for Gloom Valley Mine Disaster."

Garrick claimed Jasper's howl had fractured the coal seam.

A Silver Cross physician came to the door, offering free examinations for the children.

I refused on the spot. I knew better than anyone in town what the Silver Cross did to half-blood children. But the town council blocked my door, saying that refusing the examination was the same as admitting the children were dangerous.

Finn was pinned to a chair and injected with a clear liquid.

That night, he developed a high fever and convulsions.

The skin around the needle site looked as if it had been seared by a branding iron, and the wound refused to heal no matter how I cleaned it.

I preserved the remaining injection fluid and took it to the town council to file a complaint. The councilman did not even open the vial.

"Mrs. Hart, you are only a pharmacist."

"I know silver salt will kill him."

"The Church physician knows more about half-blood children than you do."

The next day, my pharmacy license was suspended.

The butcher had quietly helped me. The very next day, someone smashed up his shop. He stood behind the broken glass with red-rimmed eyes and took back the credit ledger. He never dared speak to me again.

That night, six children crowded around my bed.

Hammering came from outside the door.

When I went downstairs, a silver cross had been nailed to the pharmacy door.

Finn took my hand.

"Mom, do we have to run again?"

I looked at the six height marks carved into the door frame.

The lowest mark was from when they were one. The highest was from just last month.

The children had saved twenty-seven lives. In return, all they got was a silver cross nailed to the door.

Finn stared at me, his eyes rimmed red. "Mom, was saving people wrong too?"

I gathered him and the other five into my arms. Fire burned in my chest. "No. Saving people was not wrong. You are the bravest, kindest children in the world."

Hundreds of miles away, Lucian was reviewing purchase records from four mining districts when a newspaper clipping from Gloom Valley was placed beside him.

The photograph was blurry, but one child had turned around, revealing golden eyes. Lucian closed his ledger immediately. "Saddle the horses. We ride for Gloom Valley."