Over the next few weeks Willow put her life back together. As much as she wished to stay at HQ with Hunter, she had snails to earn and he wanted to be on the move again too, seeking out potion ingredients for witches experimenting with curse elixir. So they flew to the Titan together and visited her dads. In the morning Hunter continued on to Latissa's Ruin while Willow organized her old bedroom for a longer stay.

They saw each other as often as they could. Many nights Hunter came to her room, enjoying the silly thrill of slipping in and out of the upstairs window when all the spirit lamps were off and stars speckled the pitch dark. During the day he used the front door like a normal witch.

Willow took a job helping construction witches manage the Collector's chaos. She might not be any good with abominations or architecture or really any magic outside plants (and fire), but the plants were powerful and could clear debris, hold materials in place, or create anything from scaffolding to ladders.

Her site supervisor out to be none other than Matt Tholomule. The district they were working in had been utterly crushed from what Willow could only assume were literal shooting stars. Fragments of the stuff shelled the neighborhood like a dystopian Mario world.

"Whew. The Collector really did a number on this place," Willow told Matt.

"Yeah, but this is nothing compared to what the kid did to the tower last year. Even so we cleaned that up pretty fast. Naturally." Matt brushed a glossy bang back with flair. Willow knew for a fact Gus would never believe her that his arch rival had become, dare she say, handsome? She took a picture and sent it to Gus' inactive scroll.

Day by day progress was made on raising new homes out of the wreckage. Willow spent her earned snails on necessities and saved the rest for a someday dream where one of the houses might be hers.

Hers and Hunter's.

She hadn't seen him for a few days. He'd gone on an excursion further south to collect rare monster bones. He had his scroll with him and Willow was doing her best to not be concerned that he hadn't answered her last few messages.

She stared at the unresponsive chat on her walk back to her dads' place after work. Seeing no change she flicked to Raine's direct messages instead. It was getting late, and the lamps started to click on in darker parts of New Bonesborough.

Something didn't seem right. Willow's intuition prickled the way it had the day of the monster attack in the crystal market. She'd sensed something wrong then too. Her dads' house was close, and the lights were on, but she knew they weren't home. They wouldn't be until later.

She passed a home with the bone fence. Then the high walls of old MacMallister's hidden yard. At any moment confetti could rain down. Stars could fall. The Collector could show up.

Two more houses passed. She was almost there. Here it was, her house. Get to the doorstep. Get inside.

A bubbling snarl jolted Willow's attention to the alley. At the far end scratches cut through grass and tore up the dirt. Dark earth still wet from destruction smeared into the alleyway. Words were carved crudely into the dirt, exposing the pavement underneath.

It'S mE. SoRRy.

Titan, what? Her pulse thickened.

From behind the top of the house a large, sleek furred beast demon's head emerged. Three purple eyes on the side of its wedge-shaped face watched her. Pointy tufted ears tipped back in submission.

The varg slowly lowered itself from where it had squeezed between the backyard wall and the house, its head coming to eye level as three pairs of legs folded to the scratched grass. Each clawed paw had one especially terrifying talon that curved like a blade.

"Hunter?" she said. The varg's thick neck and spine undulated as he tried to nod with a body not built for biped mannerisms. He scruffed the message over with a paw. His front forearm hovered stiff and awkward as he tried to draw new words. Rough letters furrowed by the big pointer claw took form.

CAn't stAy.

Witches hunted vargs for potion ingredients. The six eyes were even more valuable than the fur.

So this was it. This was the latest form of the Collector's curse.

"Let's go together," she said. If Hunter was stuck as a varg he shouldn't be alone.

His ears dipped apologetically. He slunk forward, head lowered, until his forehead softly pressed to her chest. A varg was a lot larger up close than she'd realized. Carefully she stroked the fur on the back of his neck. "We're going to the deep woods, right?"

When he nodded she felt how it tensed all the muscles in the beast demon's upper body.

Hunter went back around the corner and brought out a heap of his things in his mouth. One of them was an ordinary looking stick that Hunter insisted was super important with paw presses and a lot of ear and tail flicking. The stick had to be Flapjack.

Willow got Hunter to squeeze through the front door to wait inside while she packed. She pulled open the broom closet and borrowed the artificial staff papa kept for hauling construction materials. Longer and slower than a normal staff, it could probably carry a varg in a pinch.

She better not need the staff. But she'd take it just in case.

x x x

Two weeks camping together and Hunter remained a varg. He went out on his own every evening. He'd be away for hours on end.

Willow knew what he was doing. The first night she'd gone with him and he'd paced and gruffed until she went away. He returned later annoyed, disgusted, and ashamed, the fur on his face and legs matted with water from washing.

Willow finished each day by pouring leftover magic into the plant shelter she'd made. Her sleeping bag ended up having a nice supportive moss pad it in the hopes Hunter might change back. He didn't. When he did sleep he'd loaf his six legs underneath himself beside the bed, or lay on his side with his back to the moss as if he were snuggled against her.

Many days he'd nearly pace himself into the ground until the point of exhaustion. He seemed especially tortured. Willow got the sense he resented being trapped in this particular monstrous form. He wasn't an animal. He didn't want to be petted or coddled like a kitten.

Flapjack being imprisoned in a stick only made it worse. Sometimes Hunter would stare at the stick with fury potent enough Willow could feel it, and other times he'd dip into depression that the Collector might not let Flap go.

Willow chose to believe they'd both return to their actual bodies soon. She didn't want to think about what could happen to a palisman when the Collector spelled a witch into his games. It felt like the kid was mocking them. Proving he could take Flapjack away if he wanted.

Maybe, if the Collector's curse had hit someone else on the Day of Unity, someone like Luz, that person would have found ways to make the varg situation fun. But, Hunter…

He was extremely self conscious. He refused to wash himself with his tongue like a proper beast demon and instead took full body swims. Willow had to coax him into letting her brush the fur so it didn't get matted, and she'd started to notice the skin underneath flaking from being dried out by all the water.

"You know I don't care if you have to act like a varg, right? Your skin is cracked," she said.

Hunter complained in the varg's bassy grumbles. He wasn't going to lick and chew himself. It was disgusting.

They didn't get to talk much. It took him forever to write in the dirt and Willow was funnily reminded of when he'd first started texting. There wasn't any typing to get in the way of his spelling but the letters were chunky and hard to read.

I LovE You

"I love you too," she'd say, and he'd press his big fuzzy forehead to her, six eyes closed with the sadness of not being able to be what he wanted to be. Then he'd follow her into the plant shelter and make sure she was snug in bed before he went out hunting. Clover slept on top of stick Flapjack, and most nights Willow would be groggily awakened by a giant partly-damp varg bumping up against the moss trying to get close to her.

The longer this went on the more insane it felt. The Collector's sigil had no expiration date.

"What's the longest you've been cursed?" Willow asked one afternoon.

Hunter whuffed and swiveled his head away. He did not want to answer. Reluctantly he flexed a pointer claw into the dirt. Letters formed.

ThrEE MonTHs

Titan, could she survive three months without being able to hold him, see his smile, hear his laugh? This wasn't like Gus's illusions. A hug wasn't going to poof Hunter's physical body into existence. Of course Willow would get over it because the monster in front of her was still Hunter. It just sucked. No, it made her angry. Why him? Why any of this?

x x x

Willow was alone at the camping spot when something in the forest moved. She smelled before she saw: the acrid scent of burnt hair. It turned sour until the stench became overpowering. She whipped around.

Hunter emerged from the trees, limping. Fur singed down to raw skin, the echo of twisting scars. Pink flesh glistened with a horrifying sheen of crisped magic burns. He'd been hit. He'd been hunted like a monster.

She was at his side immediately, spell circles out, choking back bile rising from the stink of burned fur. As far as she could tell he wasn't being chased but she'd ruin whoever did this.

Hunter slowly limped past, toward the encampment. He wasn't being followed. Calm down, it's only a burn, she could imagine him saying. Except the varg's eyes were glassed over with pain. It was not only a burn. Why, oh why wouldn't healing magic work on grimwalkers! He needed it!

"I'll get you to…" a healer was what she was going to say. She cut herself off. "I'm calling Viney."

Hunter was in too much of a daze to respond. He kept limping until he vanished into the plant hut. Following him Willow summoned her scroll and punched Viney's contact, listening to the echoing ring as distress curdled thicker and thicker in her gut. Pick up. Pick up. The fourth ring cut short.

"Viney's Veterinary Service."

"Viney, it's Willow Park."

A surprised inhale sounded on the other side but Willow barreled ahead before courtesy or question could slow her down.

"I found a cursed witch. They've been turned into a varg and they're hurt bad. Magic burns everywhere, a twisting pattern, I don't know what did it—and they might be in shock. I don't know what to do."

The business end of Viney's voice took over. "Are they unconscious?"

"No."

"Burn color?"

"Pink."

"Typical," Viney hissed to herself. "Don't touch it. No ointment, no liquid, nothing. Elevate their paws, keep them warm, don't let them move. I need you to prepare as much fresh, unsalted water as you can, and about two handfuls of creeping cantus leaves. Can you do that?"

"Can you come over?" Willow asked, swallowing panic at how Hunter was no longer trying to hide his irregular breathing. Facing the back wall he panted through his mouth. Foam flicked the edges.

Viney remained calm. "Where are you?"

x x x

Willow thought she could handle staying in the plant hut while Viney worked to stabilize Hunter's wounded varg body. Her bravado lasted until Viney started removing parts of the dead skin and Hunter mewled pitifully. His twisting weakened cries squeezed Willow's lungs. She couldn't stand to hear him suffer.

Shaking, she went out and focused on breathing, hyperfocusing on Clover's buzzing wings to drown out the sounds forced from Hunter's throat. Magical remedies had not worked on him and Viney had no choice but to do the burn treatment by hand. Sedatives and nerve damage could only prevent so much pain.

By the time it was over Hunter had fallen into an exhausted sleep. Willow was left alone to care for him as long as there were no complications, and once again the two of them were on their own in the woods.

For a long time Hunter slept, only waking enough to dully swallow the liquid Willow was instructed to trickle through the beast's clenched fangs every few hours.

x x x

Willow returned from gathering fresh water to find the scarred varg awake and huddled over Flapjack's unresponsive stick in the corner. Words were carved into the ground.

WhAt IF I'M a MoNSter FoREver

What if I can't change back? I was the one Belos sent to slay demons for grimwalker parts. Now I'm the monster. I'm the monster.

HUNTED

The Collector knew exactly what he was doing with this curse. He'd let Hunter feel safe and then transformed him into the very thing witches harvested for ingredients. A demon varg that Hunter himself may have sought and slayed in the past, whether on Belos' behalf or for anti-curse elixir, either way.

Hunter stared down at the stick, everything in his posture sagging with the weight of mourning. Tufted ears drooped and shoulders hunched. The varg's beast head lowered, sad eyes lost somewhere between here and nowhere. Flapjack remained trapped in the wood prison at Hunter's paws.

plick

A dot of darkness stained the soil.

Willow had never seen a demon weep. They weren't evolved to do so. But shine glossed over the varg's six eyes and beads of water pooled in cornices until they overflowed. Hunter wept. He didn't move or make a sound. He simply sat there and cried.

Willow figured she'd eventually do something insane for Hunter's sake. So be it. "You are not going to be a varg forever, I promise. The Collector is always changing you into different things. We'll wait and I know this will pass. And I still love you Hunter, no matter what you are. I need you to know that, okay? I love you. No matter what happens."

She vowed he'd turn back knowing she would make good on that promise or die trying. She loved him no matter what. Even if the 'what' was something that would happen to her instead. But Hunter did not need to worry about that yet. Willow had to succeed before he could worry.

She knew what she had to do. She'd planned for this, hoping to find another way, but this was it. She'd wait a tiny bit longer for night to fall and the varg to sleep, because she couldn't take Hunter with her. Not this time.

x x x

The moon was out when Willow left the plant enclosure. One last time she made sure it was sturdy. If her magic failed the shelter would hold on its own. The plants would live without her.

She snuck away from camp and summoned her staff.

It did not appear. Clover blipped into existence, hovering in front of Willow. She did not become a staff. Clover did not want to do this, and Willow realized she didn't want Clover to either. Willow saw what had happened to Flapjack.

"Let's go Clover." The words were empty.

Clover remained staffless. Stay with Hunter, Willow. Stay. Please.

Palismen didn't refuse urgent requests. A rift was opening between her and Clover. Both of them sensed it, and both of them were afraid.

"I'm sorry. I know you don't agree with me. I know you think it's stupid." Willow hiccupped a single broken laugh. "It is stupid." She knew it was. But sometimes you knew going in there was zero chance of victory. You went in anyway.

People did crazy things all the time. They confronted a murderer and got a scar in their brow to show it. They infiltrated an empire and lost an arm. Well, now it was Willow's turn.

Clover desperately bumbled around her shoulders, nuzzling and headbutting and pleading, even though Willow had made her choice. She gathered Clover in the cup of her hands. Worried palisman eyes shimmered up at her as she crouched and set the bee upon the soil.

Clover thought she'd convinced Willow to go back. Going back made sense in a nice, reasonable, adult way.

Strong and wise to protect everyone I love. Everyone. Not just Hunter.

Clover wouldn't let her do this. But, that was okay.

"I love you," she said, sadly ruffling the fuzz on Clover's head. It was better this way. "And I release you." She felt the connection with her palisman snap.

"No!" Clover squealed and curled into a ball of despair. In about two seconds she'd unfold with vengeance in her eyes and wake Hunter up.

"You're going to hate me. Take care of Hunter." Willow summoned a very particular flower. It sprang from beneath Clover's anguished body, cushioning her in soft petals. Sensing darkness the bud started to close for the night, but that alone wouldn't be strong enough a cage. Willow had to call sleeping nettles too. A spark of wild magic fire turned the nettles to smoke, and Clover's tightly balled form relaxed. She spread out in the flower's cushion center. Petals folded protectively around the sleeping bee.

Emptiness where Clover's magic should exist only emboldened Willow. Now, no matter what happened, Clover would not revert into an inert statue. Clover was free. Willow could no longer summon her. Belos himself could spring from hell and there would be nothing he could do, no way to get at the palisman through the witch. Even if Willow died, the shock of it couldn't turn Clover to wood.

A vine brought Willow the artificial staff. She'd done the unthinkable. No turning back.

The staff's slow and steady flight carried her toward the rise of Titan neck feathers. If she couldn't find an opportunity to help Hunter she'd make one. Not once in his life had Hunter ever known freedom. He'd been slapped with a coven sigil the day he woke from the earth, and then he'd traded that sigil for a different one.

Maybe nobody really knew freedom. People had things that bonded them whether they liked it or not: family, jobs, a base need to survive. But Willow still thought it was different to have your body, the thing you had to live in, marked and ruled by someone else.

In this respect she had always been free, and Hunter had never been free.

No sane person would enslave themselves. But that was the thing: a witch's love wasn't rational. It was wild. And she'd never been much of a Good Witch Azura type anyway.

Willow seems sweet, Luz had told Amity one night over a stack of graphic novels. But that's just one of her many faces. Like, you know how Hecate has more than one.

Yeah? Then what would you say is underneath all the sweetness?

A total badass.

"Hey, Collector!" Willow shouted. "I know you can hear me!"

Giggles flitted through feather shadows. One of them peeled away and popped into the visage of the Collector, all stars and moons and kiddy smiles. "Ya got me, new friend." He realized she was alone. "Hey, what gives? You didn't bring anyone else."

Because she had to protect them from what was about to happen. Before she could reply a secretive grin split the kid's face.

"Hey, I was thinking, maybe I could borrow one of your bones? Just a teeny itty bitty one."

"Nope," Willow said. "I gotta stay in one piece and alive or Hunter won't want to play with you anymore."

"Oh. Hmm." The Collector considered this. "Okay! But then why did you come here? Did you want to be part of my new game?"

"You like collecting things, right?"

"Uh. Duh. It's in my name."

Silently Willow thanked Gus for his habit of giving away cool stuff in exchange for human artifacts. She looked into the Collector's cheshire grinning eyes.

"I want to make a trade."