sly cast to her eyes as she watched Cora’s reaction to her reaction.
“They can see a church anywhere.” She turned to the brothers.
“Let me ask you this: How many witches did you have in New
York City?”
Charles matched Minnie’s grin, noting Cora’s dismay but too
caught up in the magnetism of Minnie’s dark, glittering eyes to
care. If Cora was an engine keeping everything running, Minnie
was both steering wheel and gas pedal. He was very curious to see
where she’d drive them.
“I have yet to meet a single witch in our great metropolis,”
he said.
“Then we have you beat.” Minnie skipped off the steps and
into the night, beckoning them to follow with her mocking laugh.
“Come on, come on!”
To the witch! Charles thought, giddy with the thrill of doing
something besides dying. Arthur held out his arm to Cora, who
took it, casting a worried glance back toward the house.
As he and Thom stepped into the night, Charles felt an odd
weight on the back of his neck and looked up. In one of the
second-story windows, a figure stood, silhouetted in black, impos-
sible to identify. Watching them.
Charles rubbed his shoulder against his ear, trying to shake off
a sudden chill. But it wouldn’t leave.
Late March, 1902
five
M
INIE SPUN AND TWIRLED, THE DIRT ROAD STILL
WARM UNDERFOOT. It wasn’t the height of tourist sea-
son yet, and the town still felt like it belonged only to
her at night.