Rhea came to with the unpleasant sensation of pine needles staging a tiny, pointed protest in her ear. She rolled over, pried a stubborn pinecone that had glued itself to her ribs with sap, and muttered, ‘If this is the afterlife, the housekeeping is abysmal.’

A presence loomed over her. When she squinted, she found a girl draped in a brilliant red cloak, standing so still she seemed less a person and more a declaration.

            ‘You shouldn’t sleep in the forest,’ the girl said in a voice that sounded rehearsed, like she was narrating her own story. ‘It’s still dangerous here.’

Rhea sat up, her eyes drawn to the red cloak. It was thick, heavy wool that seemed to drink the light. ‘You look a bit warm for a walk in the woods.’

The girl blinked, then gave a polite, practiced laugh. ‘Oh, this? It’s a family heirloom. Grandma says it keeps me safe. You, on the other hand…’ She eyed Rhea’s attire. ‘What’s with the pointed hat? You’re a witch, aren’t you?’

Rhea brushed dust from her hat, which coughed up a puff of vaguely purple spores. A broomless, wandless, magic-less witch… ‘I am Rhea,’ she said, lifting her chin. ‘And I’m a witch… in training.’

            ‘Red Riding Hood.’ The girl curtsied perfectly. Her cloak seemed to draw the forest’s shadows deeper and colder around her. ‘You could be useful.’

            ‘You look just like her!’ Rhea jabbed a finger. ‘Girl in the red cloak, forest, visiting Grandma, wolf attack—ring any bells? You’re famous!’

            ‘Yes, I know.’ The girl smirked. ‘But wolves don’t attack me.’

As if on cue, a squadron of squirrels burst from the underbrush, brandishing sharpened acorns like tiny, futile spears.

            ‘…Those are squirrels,’ Red pointed out, unimpressed. ‘Not wolves.’

            ‘Ah, really?’ Rhea tried to look surprised. ‘My mistake. For a moment, I thought they were fluffy, nut-obsessed land sharks.’

            ‘In this forest,’ Red sniffed, ‘you don’t measure danger by size. Acorns kill more people per year than wolves.’ This seemed to delight her. She grabbed Rhea’s arm. ‘Come with me, witch-girl! My Grandma’s hut is only over that hill, through that glade, and past a conveniently dramatic ravine. We’ll walk and talk! And oh—I should warn you—the squirrels nearly staged an ambush. But don’t worry. I protected you.’

Rhea glanced over her shoulder. The squirrels were now strewn across the path like battlefield casualties, their acorn-cap helmets dented. A nearby mushroom dabbed its cap with a handkerchief, weeping spores.

            ‘Right…’ she said slowly. ‘You said I could be useful. How? I have a rather long parchment of glowing reviews, if you need references.’

            ‘I’m sure you do!’ Red declared, spinning. As she did, the nearby trees seemed to flinch away, and a bramble hedge visibly withered where her cloak brushed against it. Birdsong in the canopy above them choked into silence.

            ‘Yeah,’ Rhea muttered, eyeing the collapsing greenery.

As they walked, Red bubbled with questions. ‘Oh, I’ve always wanted a witch-friend! Do you fly? Do curses drip from your tongue? Can you make my cheeks glow like embers? Look—a log! Let’s carve the initials of our future husbands! I’ll probably marry Valor itself, and you’ll obviously marry Mystery. That’s how these things go.’

Rhea scowled. With each of Red’s squeals, the forest twitched. A rabbit popped out of its burrow just as Red shrieked, ‘ADORABLE!’ and the poor creature fainted dead away. Even the sunlight seemed to filter through the leaves more timidly in her presence.

            ‘You know,’ Rhea said dryly, stepping over a daisy that was actively smouldering, ‘for someone who calls the forest dangerous, you seem to be the main source of property damage.’

Red stopped and put both hands on her hips, her cloak swishing like a cape of conquest. ‘If you’re just here to complain, you’re more than welcome to go back where you came from.’

Rhea muttered something that was definitely not an apology and followed. The forest seemed to hold its breath around Red, reminding Rhea of the time she’d played ‘Red Light, Green Light’ with a variation of ‘lightning strikes if you move.’ She’d insisted it was just to make the frogs dance, but several trees had disagreed by catching fire. This was different. This forest cowered. She had no other options. She didn’t even know how to get home. ‘I’m following you.’

The hut appeared around the bend, looking less like a cottage and more like a safety manual’s fever dream. It was a miniature fortress. The windows were barred with heavy shutters, the door was reinforced with iron bands, and bundles of pungent, wolf-repellent herbs hung from the eaves like morbid bunting.

            ‘Home sweet home!’ Red announced, heaving the heavy door open. ‘Grandma! I brought a magical friend!’

The interior was even more obsessively secure. Oversized bolts were slid across every window, and the heavy oak chairs looked as if they were bolted to the floor. The air smelled of woodsmoke, dried herbs, and a faint, anxious lavender.

In the centre of it all sat an enormous bed, and in that bed sat Grandma, buried under a mountain of woollen blankets. She wore a heavy nightcap and was stitching a needlepoint pillow with the words: A Wolf a Day Keeps the Hunter in Pay.

            ‘Mrs Grandmother,’ Rhea said slowly, ‘you seem very… secure.’

            ‘Oh, darling!’ Grandma’s voice was as sweet as honey-coated razor blades. ‘One can never be too careful! The woods are filled with stories. This story,’ she gestured to a heavy tapestry depicting a snarling wolf, ‘is about the troublesome pack from Shadow Ridge. Nasty business.’

            ‘Was?’ Rhea’s stomach churned.

            ‘Oh yes, dear. Was. Past tense. They are no longer howling at the moon, if you catch my meaning.’ Grandma’s smile could have powered a lighthouse.

That’s when Rhea noticed the third occupant. In the corner, polishing a large, gleaming axe, was a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a ‘How to Be a Manly Man’ manual and then fallen into the ‘Overcompensating for Something’ chapter. He was enormous, wearing a leather vest that was definitely too small, and a hat made from… well, it was a very large, furry hat.

            ‘And this,’ Red said with pride, ‘is Hunter McHunterson, the greatest hunter in all the land!’

Hunter McHunterson stood up, flexed unnecessarily, and struck a pose that seemed to challenge the ceiling’s structural integrity. ‘That’s HUNTER MCHUNTERSON THE MAGNIFICENT to you, little witch.’ His voice boomed like thunder, trying to prove it was louder than other thunder. ‘I have single-handedly eliminated forty-seven wolves, thirty-two bears, and one very unfortunate unicorn that turned out to be a horse with a traffic cone stuck on its head.’

            ‘That… doesn’t count as hunting,’ Rhea said weakly.

            ‘EVERYTHING counts as hunting when you’re HUNTER MCHUNTERSON THE MAGNIFICENT!’

            ‘By doing what, exactly?’

            ‘BY BEING MAGNIFICENT!’ He flexed again, striking a different pose that involved pointing at a random floorboard as if accusing it of treason. ‘I am the protector of innocent grandmothers! I am the reason wolves have nightmares!’

            ‘Do wolves have nightmares?’

            ‘They do now!’ Hunter roared.

Grandma clapped her hands. ‘Isn’t he wonderful? So dedicated!’

            ‘Speaking of which,’ Red interrupted, ‘we have a proposition for you, Rhea!’

Rhea muttered, her voice edged with apprehension as the implications of their request became clear, ‘Oh no.’

            ‘There’s one wolf left,’ Grandma explained, her eyes glittering. ‘The Last Wolf. We’ve been trying to make the forest completely safe for months, but it’s… elusive.’

            ‘MAGNIFICENTLY elusive!’ Hunter added. ‘A worthy opponent!’

            ‘But,’ Red continued, grabbing Rhea’s hands, ‘we need magic to find it! Real, proper, witch magic! You are exactly what we need!’

            ‘I already told you, I don’t use magic against nature,’ Rhea protested.

            ‘Nonsense!’ Grandma waved a dismissive hand. ‘This isn’t against nature, dear, it’s for a better story! The original is so gruesome. A grandmother eaten alive? We just want to… edit the ending.’

            ‘MAGNIFICENTLY edited!’ Hunter agreed, now posing with one foot on a chair.

Red leaned in, her eyes bright with terrifying enthusiasm. ‘Think of it, Rhea! We’ll be heroes! We’ll free the forest from the very last danger! What kind of story has the sweet old grandmother being eaten?’

            ‘The original one,’ Rhea whispered. ‘What’s your ending?’

Red gestured grandly at the obsessively locked-down room. ‘And they lived happily, and safely, ever after. Won’t that be magnificent?’

            ‘MAGNIFICENTLY magnificent!’ Hunter boomed.

Rhea looked at the room, at Grandma’s predatory smile, at Red’s fanatic excitement, and at Hunter’s ridiculous posing. She was trapped in a story that smelled of paranoia.

            ‘So,’ she said carefully, her voice now steady and cool, ‘let me get this straight. You want me to use my powerful magic to track down the last wolf, so Hunter the Magnificent can remove it, and you can turn the forest into a perfectly safe neighbourhood?’

            ‘MAGNIFICENTLY stated!’ Hunter declared.

            ‘Exactly!’ Red clapped.

Grandma’s smile widened. ‘Such a clever witch.’

Rhea looked at their expectant faces. Refusing wasn’t an option. It was time to stop being a witch-in-training and start acting like a witch in charge.

            ‘Well,’ she said slowly, a dangerous glint in her own eyes, ‘a locating spell of that magnitude is complex. It will require specific components, absolute silence, and my full concentration. I suppose I can try. But I will need to be alone.’