In the Shadows

eyes had forgotten how to speak to each other. “Hello, little bird.

You fell out of your nest.”

“I’m sorry,” Cora whispered. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“You don’t need me for that, do you?” The witch’s grin wid-

ened to reveal teeth that looked impossibly old and yellowed in her

unlined face. “People are very good at hurting themselves. I never

have to do a thing.” She held up her fingers, which were dark with

something.

Blood.

Screaming, Cora scrambled back along the sofa, falling heav-

ily to the floor and knocking over a stack of books in an avalanche

of dust and paper. As she lunged up and ran for the door, the

witch’s voice came soft but inescapable behind her.

“No need to fear death, my dear. It’s already at your door. Bet-

ter to be caught than to run forever.”

Cora’s sweat-slick hands fumbled, finally turning the door-

knob. She fled into the sunshine, the cold sorrow of the witch’s

voice clinging to her shoulders. Minnie, a knife clutched in her

hand, was already halfway up the walk.

“Go!” Cora yelled, and, arms wrapped around each other, they

stumbled back home, breathless and weeping with terror.

The next morning their father was dead.

Maine

End of Summer, 1900

two

T

HE CASE IN ARTHUR'S HAND HELD ALL THE EVIL IN THE

WORLD. He could almost feel darkness and death swirling

off it.

Walking from the train station to the Johnson Boarding