“I believe in witches,” he said with complete matter-of-fact seriousness. “For I’ve kent them. The girl was one, as was her mother before her.” The icy flutter grew stronger. “The girl,” I said. “You mean your daughter? Malva?” He shook his head a little, and his eyes took on a darker hue. “No daughter of mine,” he said. “Not—not yours? But—her eyes. She had your eyes.” I heard myself say it, and could have bitten my tongue. He only smiled, though, grimly. “And my brother’s.”
