Natalie waited in her car with the engine running. As soon as the bell rang, the school’s exit doors flew open and hundreds of students came streaming out, chatting excitedly now that their boring-ass day was over.
She spotted Ellie heading across the lot with India, Berkley, and Sadie. Angela wasn’t with them. The four girls looked as if they’d waltzed straight out of the Teen Rebel Handbook—black T-shirts, black skirts, black jackets, black leggings, black shoes. They reminded Natalie of any other group of teenage girls, though, tilting their heads together and whispering conspiratorially among themselves.
Now Grace’s Mini Cooper pulled up to the curb and Ellie bid farewell to her friends and hurried off. Natalie watched her get in the car and ride away.
Meanwhile, India and her crew continued on their way past the school buses and across the parking lot. They moved like ballerinas, their heads positioned elegantly over the midline of their bodies. They paused to chat with a boy in a fleece hoodie. He had an appealing smile. The girls crowded around him, laughing and talking.
Natalie rolled down her window to catch the conversation.
“Don’t look at me, Caleb,” India said. “Quit staring.”
“I wasn’t looking at you,” the boy objected, his voice cracking.
“Holy shit, dude, you’re making me uncomfortable.”
“But I wasn’t—”
“Seriously, dude. If you don’t stop staring, I’m going to report you.”
Caleb’s face collapsed. He gave up, turned, and hurried away.
“Snowflake!” India called after him, and she and her friends burst out laughing. They continued on their way across the lot, until they came to India’s silver Lexus. The girls piled in and drove off.
Natalie snapped on her directionals and followed the Lexus through downtown Burning Lake, past boutiques, barbershops, bistros, and bed-and-breakfasts. She kept a safe distance between herself and the car as it detoured onto Lakeview Drive, where birch trees loomed across the road like Roman centurions. It was a nasty, bumpy ride. The asphalt was all chewed up here. Last summer had been especially loud and splashy, with too many tourists and lots of bumper-to-bumper traffic. Now that it was spring, the work crews would be filling in the potholes and causing rush-hour bottlenecks.
Ten minutes later, they drove past the lakefront with its four-star restaurants and boat-rental businesses. A broad swath of marsh grass gave way to a sandy beach dotted with lifeguard towers. In early June, white sand was trucked in by the ton. Orange buoys delineated the swim area. Today the water was calm, but that could be deceptive.
Natalie followed India’s Lexus toward Abby’s Hex Peninsula on the south side of the lake. The vehicle took a right down a deserted two-lane road and drove for another three hundred yards or so before pulling into a gravel parking area. The girls spilled out of the car and headed for the trailhead, while Natalie hung back and watched them slip like sprites into the woods.
Once the girls were out of sight, she swung into the parking area, fetched two evidence bags from the trunk, and took the trailhead onto the wooded peninsula. The trail was long and winding. A bed of shiny dark needles and fall leaves muted her footsteps. The peninsula was two hundred and fifty yards long, and the hiking trails looped around the perimeter. It was a beautiful April afternoon. Birds swooped down from the treetops to scoop up the seeds on the forest floor.
Natalie had lost sight of the girls through the trees but could hear them faintly up ahead, their reedy laughter light and frothy. She followed their musical voices along the winding aromatic path through a dense growth of coniferous and deciduous trees, until she came to a fork in the trail. She paused to listen, then took a left. After another fifty yards or so, the thinning woods gave way to a clearing at the tip of the peninsula, where gentle blue waves lapped against the rocky shore. Several rustic benches were provided for park visitors, offering an unobstructed view of the lake. The three girls sat huddled together on one bench, speaking in hushed tones—confident India, multiply-pierced Sadie, and snooty Berkley.
Natalie held back for a moment, catching a few random phrases. She said. That’s like. Beyond bad. The rest of their conversation blew away in the breeze.
This was one of the most popular places where tourists congregated in the fall to photograph the changing foliage and catch the annual Halloween festivities. A large, mounted bronze plaque commemorated the execution area—an engraving of three terrorized young women in shackles being led to their fate. The spot where they’d died was marked by a historically inaccurate depiction of three large wooden stakes, erected inside a replica of the original fire pit, which was ringed with blackened stones. The witches had originally been hanged, but it was an annual tradition in Burning Lake to build a bonfire on Halloween night in honor of the victims’ memories. Revelers gathered to watch the flames billow and dance across the lake. Some of the townsfolk wanted to put an end to the tradition, which they called barbaric, but they were overruled by the town council every year.
The day before Halloween, three large stakes were pounded into the ground inside the functioning fire pit; then a pyre of wood was stacked around it; finally, three shabby mannequins representing the accused were placed on stakes. The “witches” wore cotton dresses, aprons, and old straw hats.
According to legend, the children of the village were put in charge of building the pyre, while the accused were manacled and trussed to the stakes. The colonists waited until nightfall, when the flames could be seen from far away, reflecting hellishly off the surface of the water.
Sarah Hutchins was twenty-eight years old when she died. Abigail Stuart was thirty-four. Victoriana Forsyth was seventeen. According to those who believed they were burned, you could hear their screams for miles around, and they died of shock and smoke inhalation before the flames finally engulfed them. It was certain they died agonizing deaths, as fiery cinders rose in the air and singed their lungs. The executions had taken place at the peak of autumn, when the woods were ablaze and the landscape turned into a conflagration of orange, crimson, and gold leaves.
Nowadays, on Halloween, hundreds of locals and tourists alike gathered on the peninsula to build a traditional bonfire and hold competitions—the most authentic-looking mannequins won. Some of the revelers would toss pointy paper witch’s hats onto the blazing pyre. When Natalie was a child, she thought it was scary fun. But the weathered mannequins looked so sad, with their wigs askew beneath their cheap straw hats and their plain cotton frocks blowing in the breeze, revealing their plastic legs. They were bound with rope to the wooden stakes, and their manufactured smiles betrayed the genuine terror the real victims must’ve felt.
Now Natalie took a deep breath and approached the girls, who were talking with a rapid-fire energy. They looked up, startled by her intrusion into their world.
“Aunt Natalie? What’re you doing here?” India asked, exuding the delicate haughtiness that came from having so much luck—wealthy parents and good genes.
“Ellie’s bracelet,” Natalie said. “How did you end up with it?”
India was sucking on a lozenge. “Oh, that. She must’ve dropped it in gym class. We were going to give it back.”
“Why bring it to the cabin yesterday? And what’s this?” She held up the evidence bag with the knotted piece of red twine inside.
All three girls exchanged nervous glances.
“It’s called knot magic,” India explained with a condescending smile.
“I know what it is. Why were you girls doing knot magic with Ellie’s bracelet?”
Without missing a beat, India said, “We wanted to cast a healing spell for Riley. And the scarabs represent immortality, so…”
“So you were using Ellie’s bracelet to cast a healing spell for Riley Skinner?”
“Yes,” she said, wiping a bead of sweat off her brow, while the sun’s reflection flashed across the lake. The sun was like an unmoving heart—bright, powerful, indifferent.
“Why not tell Ellie about it?” Natalie countered, trying to remain neutral. “She thought it was lost. Why put her through that?”
“Because, she quit the coven,” India explained. “She doesn’t want to hang with us anymore. I didn’t think she’d approve.”
“So you just took it?”
“We didn’t take it. She must’ve dropped it. We found it,” India insisted. “We were going to give it back.”
“And you did this for Riley?” Natalie said skeptically. “I thought you didn’t like him, India? I thought he was your stalker?”
Her eyes narrowed with indignation. “I feel sorry for him, okay? He’s in a coma.”
Natalie pocketed the piece of twine. “What were you doing at Berkley’s house this past Wednesday between four and six P.M.?”
There was a small commotion on the bench, a ruffling of feathers.
“Girl stuff,” India responded with the emotionless demeanor of a practiced liar, or a child who’d never had to suffer the consequences of her own actions.
“Watching Netflix and doing our nails,” Sadie added, coming to her friend’s defense.
“And Riley didn’t drop by to see you that day?” Natalie pressed. “Are you sure?”
“We already told you,” Berkley said with an unflattering scowl.
Natalie showed them the evidence bag with the poppet doll inside. “Do you recognize this? It was buried in Ms. Buckner’s backyard. Do you have any idea how it might’ve gotten there?”
The three of them grew still as dust, their faces flat and affectless.
“I’ve never seen that before in my life,” India finally said.
“Me, neither,” Sadie added.
“Ditto,” Berkley said.
“This is dark magic. Straight pins, knot magic.” Natalie held India’s eye. “Come on, India. I’ve known you all your life. We used to bake cookies together and play hide-and-seek at Ellie’s birthday parties. I’ve been to your piano recitals. You called me Aunty the other day. I’m not trying to entrap you. I just want the truth.”
The other girls’ eyes burned with conflict, but India looked away, shutting down the conversation.
“Can you help me out here, Sadie? Berkley?” Natalie noticed something poking out of Sadie’s unzipped JanSport backpack, which had fallen over on its side. Natalie’s heart raced. It looked exactly like Willow’s purple silk batik scarf, the one Deborah had taken to the trial with her. “Sadie? Where’d you get that?”
“Get what?”
“That scarf.” Natalie pointed.
“This?” She reached down and snatched it. Something flickered in her eyes, and she quickly stuffed it inside her backpack.
“Can I see the scarf, please?” Natalie insisted.
“No. It’s mine. I bought it.”
“Just show me the scarf, Sadie,” Natalie told her.
“I found it at the Goodwill.”
India took out her phone. “My father said to call him the next time this happened.”
“Okay. I’m leaving.”
Back in her car, Natalie willed her hands to stop shaking. Was it true? Had Grace donated Willow’s old scarf to the Goodwill? She tried to reach her sister at home, but the machine picked up.
“Hey, it’s me. Call me back as soon as you get this. We need to talk.”
Then she turned the car around and headed back to town.