Alexandra stood in a wooded glen not unlike the one she'd just left, except there was no creek nearby. She felt wind blowing against the back of her head, and saw to her left a large valley spread out below, all forested and devoid of highways, power lines, or other construction.

"Whoa," she said. "How did you do that?" She hadn't felt the yank or pinch that normally accompanied Side-Along Apparition. She remained solidly on her feet with no disorientation when she arrived, and Granny Pritchard hadn't even touched her.

"Apparition?" Granny Pritchard said. "You don't mean to say you'all don't learn about that at Charmbridge Academy? I thought my great-granddaughters is s'pposed to be gettin' a fine education at that high-falutin' school of magic."

The old woman was toying with her, but Alexandra kept her retorts to herself. Before her stood or sat the rest of the Grannies, a dozen of them, a collection of wrinkled, judgmental gargoyles, all fixing their eyes on her like something fetched for their examination.

Well, she could serve honeyed sarcasm too. She made an exaggerated curtsy and bowed low. "How do you do?" she said to the Grannies.

There was a short silence, and then the oldest of them (or so Alexandra thought, just going by her shrunken-apple-head appearance) chuckled. It was a ghastly sound that made the hunched-over woman sound as if she might topple over and die on the spot.

"This one's sweet as a mess o' pestled ants, an' wouldn't she like to run scorpions up our skirts? Lawsy, lawsy, that look!"

Alexandra tried to compose a neutral expression. "Well, here I am. You wanted to talk to me and I came."

The silent scrutiny continued. She wondered if she should twirl around for them. Maybe they were waiting to see if she'd lose her temper or boil over with impatience, so she folded her arms and stared right back at them.

"Hain't much to look at," said one of the other Grannies, the only one who was wearing robes and a black hat, like an Old Colonial witch, rather than the dresses the others wore. "But I reckon she does have her father's iron and her mother's fire."

Alexandra asked, "Do you know my parents?"

"Don't everyone know your father?" answered one of the other Grannies. "Abraham Thorn, the Enemy of the Confederation?" Alexandra was not surprised that these women didn't hesitate or flinch at speaking her father's name.

"We'uns know who your mother is, too," said Granny Pritchard. She spoke in a kindlier voice. "She hain't one of us."

"What do they have to do with my being Troublesome?" Alexandra asked. "That's why I'm here, isn't it?"

The oldest of the Grannies chuckled again. Her eyes were like flickering flames buried in waxy folds of skin, and she leaned forward against a cane, gripping it in hands that were a mass of blue-black knuckles. "That's your Name, right as rain," she said. "An' what a Troublesome you might be."

Alexandra said, "With all due respect, ma'am, I feel like I've been jerked around since practically the day I became a witch. Maybe longer. And last year, you all 'Named' me, and used Constance and Forbearance and Innocence to do it. And I went along with it because I didn't know what else to do, because I had other problems, like seven years to live and finding out about the Deathly Regiment, which I'll bet you already know about. So thanks for helping me talk to the Stars Above, who told me practically nothing useful. I hope this doesn't sound disrespectful, but instead of giving each other knowing looks and mumbling vague things about my fate, or some Ozarker legend, why don't you just tell me what I'm supposed to do? What do you want from me?"

She'd let her anger leak out — and she'd been trying so hard to meet the Grannies' wise old knowing smirks with cool poise. But none of them seemed offended. The ancient crone before her nodded her head as if what Alexandra said was perfectly reasonable.

"Troublesome never minds, nor does as told," the crone said. "If'n we'uns was to tell you what to do, you'd just go do contrariwise."

"I would not," Alexandra said. "At least, not just to be contrary. You can't tell me that an Ozarker nursery rhyme predicts my future and everything about me."

"That 'nursery rhyme' has been passed down for generations as a collection of nice and accurate sayin's," said Granny Pritchard, "and while we'uns don't know if a Seer first said 'em, we'uns've done enough Namin' and Foreseein' since that we'uns knows a girl named Troublesome hain't just a fairy tale."

"So because you Named me Troublesome, I'm supposed to be her?" Alexandra said. "You just pick some girl, some foreign witch, and Name her Troublesome so she can fill a role?"

"That hain't quite the way o' things," said Granny Pritchard. "You hain't the first Troublesome. Though I reckon you are the first furriner."

"Why me? What am I supposed to do?" Alexandra demanded, almost pleaded.

"We'uns want you to be properly situated," said the older, seated Granny, "so that when trouble's afoot an' all ills are set free, you will be where you ought to be."

That rhyme again. Alexandra closed her eyes. "You're really not going to tell me anything, are you?"

"We'uns want you to open the World Away," said Granny Pritchard.

Alexandra opened her eyes. Now the Grannies were thoughtful. Some were pensive. For once, they actually appeared to be waiting for her response.

"Tell me what that is," she said. "If you please. Ma'am."

The wizened witch studied her from those sunken candle-flame eyes, then said, "You can call me Granny Ford. The World Away is where all Ozarkers hope to go someday."

"Sounds like heaven," Alexandra said. "I heard about that in Vacation Bible School."

"Insolent child," one of the other Grannies said.

"Aye, you're just bein' vexatious now," Granny Pritchard said. "I'm plumb certain you know we'uns hain't talkin' 'bout no pearly gates an' celestial choirs. We'uns means a place where them as is still livin' can go. Constance and Forbearance told you about Exodans, I reckon?"

Alexandra wondered if admitting that they had would get her friends in trouble. "Noah said something about them earlier, after the gathering in Clearwater Holler when Mr. Donaldson spoke. But he wouldn't tell us much."

"Oh, no?" Granny Pritchard said.

"I reckon," said Granny Ford, "that Miss Quick might like to hear a story."

"Okay," Alexandra said dubiously.

At this point the Grannies all engaged in some sort of silent contest, their aged and steely eyes spearing and riposting, pressing and evading the responsibility offered. Alexandra got the impression they were playing a game of "Not it!" conducted entirely by unblinking stare and curt chin gestures. Finally, one of them said, "Abigail, whyn't you tell it?"

"Aye, Granny Morrison, hain't been so long since you had your own little'uns on your knee, not like the rest of us." This produced a chorus of cackling and dry, dry laughter.

Alexandra thought it had been a long time since any of these witches had bounced little ones on their knees — the youngest of them must have been a grandmother before she was born. But Granny Morrison evidently was the most junior among them.

The Granny with the black robes adjusted her pointy hat so that the brim shaded her eyes. She took a seat on an unoccupied stump, and folded her hands in a way that suggested a schoolteacher waiting for rowdy children to pay attention.

Alexandra, feeling very much like a little kid at storytime, but realizing this might take a while, sat on the ground in front of the Grannies, folding her legs inside her robe and arranging it beneath her with some annoyance.

Granny Morrison, never once showing any sign that she resented being "it," cleared her throat and spoke as if there was an entire audience waiting for her, and not merely Alexandra.

"It was a long time ago, not long after we'uns came to the New World, but afore we'd set out on the Road West to the Ozarks. Back then we'uns was newly arrived in Appalachia, an' we esteemed it the most beautiful land in all creation. We built our homes in the hollers of the Blue Ridge Mountains an' lived apart from the wizardin' world… an' for the most part from each other, 'cept the occasional play-party or weddin'. We'uns was right boonish an' liked it that way.

There was Injuns livin' thar too, but it's said we din't bother 'em none and they learned to leave us be likewise. The Little People also lived throughout the hills, an' they'uns was a bit more bothersome. Sometimes they'uns was helpful an' sometimes not, but we'uns coped with 'em. There was also lamias an' rougarous, raven mockers an' wampus cats, stone giants an' horned serpents, an' other fell critters, but that was the same as in the Old World afore wizards cleared 'em out o' civ'lized lands. We'uns was still witches an' wizards o' the Old World, so we'uns feared no creatures of the Dark.

Well, come a time that the Grannies had anticipated since the Crossing: more folk from the Old World arrived, wizards an' Muggles alike. They'uns came on ships, an' not many wizards 'mongst 'em 'cause most wizards did not favor months at sea with Muggles, but there was a few. Mostly half-bloods an' Muggle-borns. There was also wandless charlatans an' warlocks in exile for practicin' Dark Arts, an' there was them who'd never had schoolin' in witchcraft and wizardry because of the taint o' Muggle blood… or Giant or Goblin or Undine, because there weren't many pureblood families in the Old World what wasn't dallyin' outside their lines, an' the more they'uns did carry on 'bout 'pure blood', the more likely someone was..."

"Abigail," said one of her peers in a dry voice, "there hain't no need to dwell on wickedness. We'uns all know the Old World was a nest o' shameful sordid disportment. That's why we'uns left."

Granny Morrison was visibly annoyed at the interruption. "Well, you are a sour persimmon, Honoria Sawyer. I'm learnin' the child some history she hain't gonna hear in school."

"There's a passel o' things she won't learn in school that she needn't learn from us neither."

"Excuse me," Alexandra said, "but I know what 'dallying' means. And by that I mean I know where babies come from. Seriously." Though she had to admit the idea of wizards dallying with Giants, Goblins, and Undines put some rather incredible, not particularly welcome images in her head.

Granny Sawyer's spectacles flashed in Alexandra's direction. "Are you under the misapperhension that Ozarker gals don't know where babies come from? That hain't the point."

"I will get to the point, if'n I may continue without starchin' yore drawers, Honoria?" said Granny Morrison.

"Please do go on, Abigail," murmured Granny Ford, in a wearied voice. The ancient one's head was sagging as if the weight of it was becoming too much for her neck, and Alexandra worried she might just pitch forward, but the old woman's eyes, still fixed on her, had lost none of their brightness.

Granny Morrison sniffed and continued.

"Anyhow, here in America any sixth son could become the only wizard in a village and claim pureblood ancestry back to Merlin — who was to say different? Most 'purebloods' in the Confederation is descended from mountebanks, Muggle-borns, sorcerers, Squibs, warlocks, an' hedge-wizards. The dishonored and the disreputable fleein' from Ministries of Magic, or on account o' the Old World not bein' big enough for 'em.

So they come to the New World, an' they'uns created a wizarding world here, an' purty soon there was a Governor-General an' Territories an' 'pureblood' families high-levatin' themselves as the Elect o' society.

Now, as Muggles became more numerous in Appalachia, we'uns din't make much nevermind 'bout it, 'cause Muggles is easy to hide from. Also, though them as goes on about pure blood won't admit it, there was some minglin' with the newcomers, who was boonish an' contemptuous o' their 'civilized' kin an' perferred to be isolated, just as we'uns did. 'Purty soon there was ties 'tween all the families of Appalachia, regardless of magic.

That was when the Confederation took a interest in us, an' they'uns demanded we pay tithes an' follow Confederation law, an' we'uns looked at their Confederation, an' it was wicked! As wicked as any law in the Old World, an' we'uns wanted naught to do with it. But we'uns could see that we was already outnumbered an' there was more wizards comin' to the New World all the time, and too many Muggles about for us to hide.

So we'uns talked 'bout leavin' our homes, loathe as we was, for a place where the Confederation wouldn't bother us.

Now, the first idee was to go West, where the Confederation wasn't yet, an' the only Muggles was wild Injuns. The Injuns had magic no Old Worlders kenned. That had some folks a'feared, as we'uns hadn't had no disputes with Injun wizards for generations, but we'uns reckoned maybe we'd work out things peaceable.

But we Grannies, well, we'uns knowed right enough that we'uns could go west 'til we reached the place where the sun does set, and still the dagnabbed Confederation would follow, or we'uns'd find some other folk to contend with. There was no place in all this world, we'uns said, where we could be alone forever. An' that's when some wise Granny, whose name is lost to us, suggested we leave this world behind entire.

Now, it was known that there is other lands, such as the Lands Below an' the Lands Beyond and the lands where Powers dwell, an' there's some has said there is such lands beyond countin', which I understand is studied in highfalutin' colleges today, but has been known to wizards for ages so.

That auger-eyed Granny said why should we'uns not find a world of our own where we'uns can be truly away from this wicked world and never be bothered again?

Well. There was two problems with that idee, an' we'uns hain't quite solved either one just yet.

The first is that whilst we'uns have sought to withdraw from this world since afore we left the Old World, it's one thing to talk 'bout leavin' this world behind and another to actually do it, 'specially when you have allowed ties to Muggles an' furriners to encumber you over the years. So there's those who is eager to leave an' allus has been an' is most fired 'bout urgin' everyone to dis'ssociate from furriners entirely, sayin' we'uns oughtn't have no truck with anyone who would hold us to this world.

The second is that there is those who hain't quite so eager, or maybe just after so many generations they'uns have forgot why we'uns left the Old World and stay apart today. They'uns are content to live in our Hollers and hope outsiders will leave us be, which they never will. Steadfasters they call themselves, but we'uns call 'em stay-behinds, an' Exodans sometimes call 'em worse things. While Ozarkers won't raise a wand 'gainst other Ozarkers, this ruction has split us ever so."

"You…Grannies, you want to leave this world behind," Alexandra said. A tiny froth of anger bubbled inside her. "The Pritchards are Steadfasters." She looked accusingly at Granny Pritchard. "Is that what you think of your great-granddaughters, that they're… heretics? Cowards? Not good Ozarkers for wanting to stay behind?"

"You are hearin' a mighty abbreviated version, Miss Quick," said Granny Pritchard mildly. "There is particulars we'uns do not care to explain to you as they are neither yore nevermind nor pertinent. But how do you know Constance an' Forbearance want to stay behind?"

That silenced Alexandra.

"Do you mind if'n I continue, Missy?" asked Granny Morrison archly.

"Are you going to get to the point?" Alexandra grumbled. "What does all this have to do with Troublesome?"

"I'm gettin' there!" Granny Morrison snapped.

"Wicked child," muttered one of the other Grannies. The weight of their disapproving stares might have withered even Alexandra, if she weren't wondering if it was true that her Ozarker friends would leave this world behind if given the chance.

Granny Morrison cleared her throat.

"There is a story told 'bout Troublesome, an' if'n it hain't true, it happened to someone an' maybe Troublesome just got blamed for it."

Alexandra knew this was how most Troublesome stories started. This seemed to be their excuse for blaming Troublesome for everything bad that happened in Ozarker tales.

"One sunny summer day, whilst allus here in the Ozarks was discussin' the Muggle problem an' the Confederation problem, Troublesome went a'walkin' in the mountains by her lonesome as she was wont to do, never-you-mind atall 'bout what concerned anyone else.

That day, Troublesome came upon a hill dwarf. Now as everyone knows, hill dwarves is meaner'n goblins an' wickeder'n a one-eyed warlock, but Troublesome greeted him courteously.

'Good mornin', she said. 'The weather's fine, hain't it?'

'What be so fine about it?' snapped the dwarf.

'Why, it's sunny 'n warm 'n not a cloud in the sky,' declared Troublesome. ''Tis a plumb fine day for walkin' or pickin' huckleberries or evadin' chores.'

'Be it a terrible day for my kind,' said the dwarf, 'as we prefer darkness and cold and would not I be out in this blinding sun if not for dire necessity.'

'Why, do tell,' said Troublesome, because she was curious and never minded her own weeds but was wont to poke into others'.

'If do not I deliver this sack of rocks to the next mountain over, will there be terrible trouble and calamity,' said the dwarf. An' indeed he'd slung over his shoulder a bulging sack which looked right heavy. The little feller groaned beneath its weight and in the hot sun he wiped sweat from his wrinkled forehead and looked across the valley to the next mountain over, which was a fair piece to walk for a person and an awful long stretch for a dwarf.

Troublesome followed his gaze and saw what a hike it would be, but she had naught better to do that morning, so she said, 'You know, it happens I was walkin' that direction' (which weren't true atall as she'd had no intention of goin' that far, but Troublesome frequently cozeyed words and no sooner was they outter her mouth than they was the bless'd truth in her own mind) 'and if'n you would prefer for me to carry that sack for you, it don't look so very heavy.'

Now, the dwarf's yellow eyes lit up, but then they narrowed with suspicion. 'Why would you do that for me?' he asked. 'Where's your cider?'

Troublesome laughed, making the crows take flight. 'Hain't no cider in it for me, Mister Dwarf, I just thought I'd do a neighborly thing. But if'n you'd rather carry them rocks your ownself, then good day to thee.' And she curtsied and walked on down the trail.

'Wait!' cried the dwarf. Huffing and puffing, he hurried after her. 'Would I be much obliged to you, Missy. But must I make two requests of you.'

'Alright,' said Troublesome. Her wicked eyes flashed with amusement, thinking this hill dwarf was mighty demandin' for someone receivin' a favor.

'First,' said the dwarf, 'must you not open the sack or look inside.'

'I don't feature what's so special 'bout a sack o' rocks,' said Troublesome, 'but alright. And what's your second request, Mister Dwarf?'

'When hand you the sack over to my kin living in the next mountain over,' said the dwarf, 'might they offer you a gift. But mustn't you take it.'

Troublesome put her hands on her hips. 'And why is that? Not that I was lookin' for gifts, seein' as how I was just offerin' to be neighborly in the first place, but what's it to you if'n I accept a gift?'

The dwarf's beady yellow eyes fixed on Troublesome as he grinned a snaggle-toothed grin. 'Do not you know that a gift be a bounden obligation? As our folk say, a gift is a debt painted as a bauble.'

'Hmph,' said Troublesome. To be fair, most folk can't make sense of hill dwarf sayin's, so she shrugged her shoulders and said, 'Very well, Mister Dwarf, hand that sack over an' I'll tote it for you an' not look inside and accept no gifts, but you'll remember I done you a favor.' Whatever else Troublesome might be, she weren't stupid.

The hill dwarf only hesitated another moment before lookin' up at that hot, hot sun an' across the valley that long, long way. Then he handed the sack o' rocks to Troublesome. 'Be off with you then,' he said, without a word o' thanks, but Troublesome din't take no offense 'cause she knew hill dwarves consider 'thank you' a kind o' debt as well.

She walked off down the trail, and that sack o' rocks was heavy, but she waved her wand and cast a Featherweight Charm and then it rested as light on her shoulders as a sack o' feathers. Laughing, she said 'Silly dwarves,' and continued on her way.

Well, it was a hot day an' even with a Featherweight Charm that sack was a weight upon her shoulders. Soon Troublesome's bonnet was wilted on her head and her dress clung draggly to her and her feet was sore, so when she stopped to rest, she set down the sack and looked at it, wonderin' just what was so special 'bout a sack o' rocks.

Well, I'm sure it won't surprise you none that she opened that sack right up to look inside. An' what do you suppose she saw? Them rocks was great big chunks o' solid gold, each one bigger'n her fist. Here she was carryin' a pharaoh's fortune on her shoulders!

'Rocks indeed!' Troublesome said. She lifted one out and hefted it in her hand and thought about all the dresses an' baubles an' beautiful bonnets she could buy with just one o' them nuggets. A flutewood carriage pulled by winged horses, a yard full o' winged goats an' a great blue ox, a singin' well an' an Old World mansion, all those things she could buy.

'Why, I could leave the Hollers an' go live like a queen 'mongst the Colonials,' she thought, 'an' have house-elf servants bringin' me truffles an' meat pies an' fancies I hain't never even imagined.' And wouldn't no one call her wicked and scandalous, an' might could be there'd be a boy who'd court her.

'Oh yes, I'll wager beaus would come o' courtin' in droves when I'm rich as the Queen of Sheba!' she laughed.

She held that chunk o' gold in her hands a long, long time afore she put it back. And then she hefted the sack and continued her hike, thinkin' hard all the way. Oh, she saw sugarplums and bonnets and other play-pretties, all the way across that valley, but whilst there's many things Troublesome's been called, she hain't often been called a thief. So the gold weighed on her mind heavier'n it weighed on her shoulders, but she brung it to the next mountain over without slippin' one o' them gold nuggets outter the sack.

Well, when she arrived, another hill dwarf emerged from a cave and greeted her with some surprise an' not terrible pleased. 'How came you by that sack?' he asked.

'I was given it by one o' your folk on the next mountain yonder,' Troublesome said, jerkin' her thumb back the way she come. 'I offered to tote it here, so here I am.'

'Mighty kind of you,' said the hill dwarf. 'And did you by chance look inside the sack?'

'I did not,' said Troublesome, the lie passin' easily twixt that shameless girl's lips.

'And did you by chance touch anything inside the sack?' asked the hill dwarf.

'I did not,' said Troublesome, with a mouth that wouldn't melt butter.

Well, the hill dwarf took the sack from her and without a thankee or another word, he opened it and looked inside, suspicious-like, snufflin' about, an' Troublesome wondered if maybe dwarves could smell when human hands had touched their gold. Finally the dwarf looked up an' smiled at her.

'Be we obliged to you for delivering this to us, I reckon,' the dwarf said.

'Oh no,' said Troublesome, while visions of gold danced before her greedy eyes, 'I was just bein' neighborly.'

'Just so,' said the dwarf. 'But come back in a month and will we return the favor.'

With that, the dwarf dragged the sack back underground with him, leavin' Troublesome standin' outside in the hot sun as draggled a sight as ever you saw, with blistered feet and her dress stuck to her like she done forded a stream and not a single nugget o' gold for her trouble.

'Well,' she said, puttin' her hands on her hips, 'that's what I get for bein' neighborly!'

But she come back a month later, both curious an' greedy, wonderin' what 'favor' she might be proffered. An' there was the same hill dwarf she seen before. Or maybe it was a different one, since truth be told they all look purty much alike. But she come up the path to the same cave where she brought the sack o' gold, an' the hill dwarf says to her, 'Good morning, Miss Troublesome.'

Now first of all, Troublesome noticed that it was a fine sunny day, and the dwarf din't complain 'bout the sun like the other dwarf had. An' second she noticed that he called her by name. But she din't give that no nevermind, and merely said, 'Good mornin', Mister Dwarf,' right back. 'You told me to come back in a month, an' here I am.'

'Indeed,' said the dwarf, 'and have we made a present to give to you.'

Now Troublesome remembered what she'd been told 'bout 'ceptin' gifts from the hill dwarves. But to her way o' thinkin', it weren't a gift but a kind o' payment. She reckoned she done 'em a favor and now they'uns was just returnin' it. So she said, all innocent, 'Why, whatever for, Mister Dwarf?'

The dwarf, he smiled, and maybe she ought've minded how shivery that smile was. He held up a thin chain made o' pure gold and said, 'Seeing as how carried you all that gold, for was it indeed gold in that sack, across the valley for us, and didn't help yourself to any of it, we are of a mind to give you a little token of our appreciation.'

Well, it certainly weren't no nugget o' gold bigger'n her fist, but it weren't nothin' neither, so Troublesome said, 'That's mighty kind o' you, Mister Dwarf,' an' she only hesitated a moment, more fool her, before takin' that chain and holdin' it up to admire it.

'Would it look mighty fine 'round your neck,' said the dwarf. And Troublesome agreed that it would. It was an unbroken circle with no clasp or hook, so she had to take off her bonnet and pull it down over her head, but she weren't shamed to do that, and soon she had laid that strand o' gold 'gainst her neck. An' no sooner than she did but it squeezed her windpipe and bit her skin and commenced choking her.

'Foolish girl,' said the dwarf, 'did you think we wouldn't know that you opened that sack and handled our gold?'

Troublesome could feel that cursed gold chain stranglin' her, but she gasped, 'I din't take nothin'!'

'But you touched our gold and what you touched, we cannot use. That be a debt you owe us, and must that debt be paid.'

'I'll pay! I'll pay!' cried Troublesome.

With that, the chain pulled tight — and vanished. Troublesome gagged and ran a hand over her throat, and felt no trace of the gold chain. It was as if it had sunk into her flesh an' disappeared.

'Someday,' said the hill dwarf, 'will you give us back that gold and your debt will be paid. But until then will your kin pay it. Never will your people leave this world until you bring enough gold for every one of you Crossers, and repay us for all the gold you touched. Only can you go to a World Away, no one else, until all debts are settled.'

And that's why we'uns have never been able to leave this world, because until Troublesome pays her debt — our debts — we'uns can never go to the World Away. Only Troublesome can open the way."

Alexandra waited a moment while the Grannies all watched her. When she realized the story was finished, she tried to outwait the Grannies. But beneath the gazes of all those old women, with a collective weight of centuries, she scuffed her toe in the dirt, bit her lip, and squirmed in place, until she broke and spoke first.

"So Troublesome… touched some gold, which ticked off the hill dwarves, and indebted herself and all Ozarkers to them?"

"So the story goes," said Granny Morrison.

"I don't get it. It doesn't make any sense. Why couldn't they use gold just because she touched it? What did they want to use it for and what does it have to do with you all going to a World Away? Is the gold supposed to be a metaphor for something? Or is this one of those parables where there's a secret meaning hidden in the tale?"

"Hain't she clever?" said Granny Sawyer, with a patronizing tone.

"What does any of that have to do with me?" Alexandra demanded. "If this Troublesome screwed up, go ask her to fix it. I'm not your folk character."

"You are Troublesome," said Granny Ford. Her voice, ancient and creaking, still carried more power than any of the others. "You or some other Troublesome, it's you who will open the World Away. If the tales are true. Which they may not be. After all, they are just 'nursery rhymes.'" Her tone was as dry as her parchment skin.

"You don't actually think I know how to get to the World Away, do you?" Alexandra asked.

"'Course you don't," said Granny Pritchard. "But dependin' on where your adventures lead you, you may find your way there."

"And I guess I'm supposed to pick up a pile of gold along the way to repay the 'debt' that Troublesome owes?" Alexandra's anger grew. "How? Why would I even want to go there? I don't want to leave this world behind. And I don't understand how you can expect me to find this… other world, this World Away, this place no other wizard or all you wise Grannies with all your secret magic can get to. Why don't you ask my father? If anyone could travel to a World Away, he could."

"If anyone could, he could," agreed Granny Ford. "But I rather think he can't. Might could be he's tryin', but it's his daughter, the eighth child, who's like as not to find the way."

Alexandra drew a breath. "You still haven't explained why me. Why should I be Troublesome?"

"Whys and wants don't matter, bein' as you are Troublesome," said Granny Ford, her eyes now glittering like pools of deep, dark water. Alexandra shivered a little, but clenched her fists and mentally dug in her heels.

"Here's a 'why' that matters," she said. "Why should I help you? Why should I do anything for any of you? Constance and Forbearance and Innocence are my friends. If they want to go to a World Away… well, I'll help them, if I can. Not that I have any idea how I'm going to lead you Ozarkers to another world. But if they don't want to go, then as far as I'm concerned, you all can stay here and keep griping about how wicked the Confederation is. Because this is the world I'm living in, and I'm not planning to run away to another one. You want to leave this world? Find your own way."

Three of the Grannies reared back or gasped, affronted. Granny Ford continued staring at Alexandra impassively, while Granny Pritchard folded her arms and asked calmly, "Why are you so angry, child?"

"Because you manipulated me!" Alexandra said. "You want to use me! Just like my father did. Just like everyone has, just about every adult I've known. Have any of you offered to help me? I guess Constance and Forbearance told you I'm supposed to have only six years to live? I already owe a debt, so I don't need to be paying anyone else's."

The Grannies looked at each other. More unspoken communication passed between them, but they seemed more unsettled. She wondered if they felt guilty about setting up some 'foreign' witch to be their Troublesome. One Granny leaned in close and whispered something in Granny Ford's ear. Granny Ford nodded. "Aye," she croaked. Then another Granny leaned in to whisper in her other ear. Granny Ford shook her head. "No."

Granny Pritchard leaned forward. Alexandra couldn't make out the whispering that passed between them.

"If we'uns could lift your geas, we would," said Granny Ford.

"Well, thanks anyway," Alexandra said, not hiding her bitterness.

Granny Ford held up a gnarled hand.

"That don't mean there might not be a way to escape it," she said. "Troublesome's tales is full of her escapin' as many snares as she sets foot into."

"Great. I'd love to listen to more folk tales," Alexandra said.

"Mind yore tongue!" snapped Granny Morrison. "You are the rudest, most aggerpervokin', vexatious witch —"

"I'm Troublesome. Aren't I supposed to be?"

"You might just find yore tongue tied in knots if'n you don't learn a little respect," said Granny Sawyer.

"Is there anything else you want from us?" Granny Pritchard asked.

Alexandra took a few deep breaths to settle her anger and bite back the retort she wanted to throw at Granny Sawyer. Then she said, "Constance and Forbearance told me that wands need to… 'ken' to their owners."

"That's so," said Granny Pritchard.

"My wand, the one that was kenned to me, was broken. I have a new one, but… it doesn't seem to like me very much." Alexandra spoke with less anger now. "Is there a way, with your wandlore, that you can make it ken to me?"

"Prob'ly not," said Granny Pritchard, "but let me see it."

Alexandra drew the yew wand from the sleeve of her robe. She held it a moment, reluctant to turn it over to someone else even if it didn't feel quite right to her, then offered it to Granny Pritchard.

While Constance and Forbearance's great-grandmother held it up and turned it over in her hands, all the other Grannies scrutinized it, their heads leaning forward as they made hmming and harrumphing sounds.

"Yew," said Granny Pritchard. "I cannot quite be sure o' the core. It hain't… entirely familiar." She frowned. "This is one dreadful wand and a mighty fine piece o' work, but it hain't edzacted to you atall. How came you by this wand, Miss Quick?"

"It was given to me," Alexandra said.

"I see." Granny Pritchard didn't press the point. "With much trial and vexation you might master it to your will, but it will never truly serve you. You did not take it from its previous owner, did you?"

"No," Alexandra said. "I'm not a thief." But how did Medea acquire it? she wondered.

"Well," Granny Pritchard said. "Well." She folded her arms and thought deeply for a bit. None of the other Grannies said anything.

Granny Pritchard looked up and met Alexandra's eyes. "I will make you a wand."

Alexandra remembered how reverently Constance and Forbearance spoke of their great-grandmother and her wandcrafting. Supposedly, Granny Pritchard's own mother had been one of the best wandcrafters ever among the Ozarkers. And Alexandra was sure that for an Ozarker to make a wand for a non-Ozarker was no trivial boon.

"What do you want in return?" she asked.

Granny Pritchard sighed and laid a hand against Alexandra's cheek. It was dry and warm, and softer than Alexandra expected.

"I will not deny you have been ill-used," she said. "I can see how you might feature you been ill-used by us. But we'uns are not set against you, child. An' you are beloved by my great-granddaughters, and you saved my Innocence. This is a gift, with no hidden strings. It hain't a snare I'm fixin' to put 'round yore neck."

Alexandra swallowed and nodded.

"But there is a catch," Granny Pritchard said.

I knew it! Alexandra thought. But she just asked, "What?"

"A wand for you, crafted by me, has to be special an' unique," Granny Pritchard said. "We'uns can't just go out to the woods an' cut a branch, an' I don't keep dragon guts 'n Thestral hair in my cupboards. I hain't no Grundy's Department Store, nor a wand shop with boxes 'n boxes o' wands waitin' for the right witch or wizard to come along. The process of craftin' a wand special is a Mystery. And for you, Miss Alexandra Troublesome Quick, the wand o' yore choosin' must be crafted o' materials obtained in the only fit 'n proper way."

"And how's that?" Alexandra asked.

Granny Pritchard smiled.

"Why, you will have to go on a Quest, of course."