"In any of your stories is there an uncanny place?" Lucy asked. "Graveyards where people see ghosts, hollows where people hear voices even when no one's around?" "Oh ho." Anya chuckled. "Stories like that are a penny a pound in Saarthe. But the stories your father most wanted to hear were about the Thumb." Lucy frowned at this. "What's that?" Anya pressed her floury hand onto the table. "This here's Saarthe." She pointed to her palm and fingers. "And this is Devil's Thumb." The cook's broad brown knuckle jutted out into the snowy white flour. "Why is it the Devil's?" Anya wiped her hands. Her eyes held Lucy's. "Because it's cursed." Excerpted from Dreamwood by Heather Mackey All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.