Juniper smiled, but it was a sad, knowing smile. "She didn't forget. She traded her memory to keep this place from collapsing. Every visit costs something. I'm sorry."

Serena's throat tightened. "She forgot. She forgot everything."

"What's the price for going home?"

She walked to the well, leaned over, and let the memory fall like a coin into darkness. It didn't hurt. But as she turned to leave, she realized she could no longer picture her grandmother's face—only the feeling of warmth, like a sweater she'd left on a bus.

Serena walked back through the root-tunnel, stepped out of the juniper tree, and shut the knot behind her. In her pocket, the berry pulsed like a tiny green heart.