“The other day you asked what I do for fun: I listen to music.”
“What kind?”
“I’ll burn you a CD,” she promised.
He waved goodbye as he drove off. She didn’t wave back, clutching the straps of her backpack instead. Then she hurried up the steps and pulled out the key to the dorm.
After dropping her backpack on a couch, she checked the back porch and saw that the cat hadn’t eaten the food she’d left outside. She normally waited for Karnstein to appear, but that morning she’d been in a hurry.
She carried the dish inside, then she sat in the shadow of the stuffed library birds and turned on her computer. There was still that nagging, unpleasant feeling scratching at the back of her skull, though it had become a dull throbbing after the coffee.
She looked at the pictures she’d taken of Ginny’s drawings. Staring at them, she was struck again by the similarities they bore to Thomas’s doodles. She arranged them side by side and openedA History of Witchcraft Lore,paging through the section on witchmarks. The book she’d picked up on witchcraft in medieval England also mentioned these symbols and other methods of protection.
Dried cats might be found under roof spaces and floors, often posed as if they were hunting for mice. Margaret Howards indicates that the cats were used as luck bringers or as sacrifices to protect against magic and pestilence.
Her finger slid across the page.Written charms are often found in gaps between timbers. Sometimes they might be placed in bottles and hidden behind the walls. An iron nail, wrapped in red wool, was also reckoned to offer protection against witches. A significant amount of ritual might have been involved in the creation of these charms.
Ginny had basically been imitating people of four centuries before who might have consulted “cunning-folk” to help them deal with their problems. By creating repetitive patterns in her drawings to dispel evil, Ginny was engaging in a type of folk magic. Of course, Betty wouldn’t have been able to understand this kind of behavior, but in the context of magic practice it made perfect sense.
Minerva sat at her desk, working through her notes. It was hot inside Ledge House and she opened the windows, sipping her third cup of coffee that day. Her mother said warm drinks cooled you off on hot days. She had no idea whether this was true, but she drank her coffee all the same while she typed an email to her mom, emphasizing her progress, glossing over any troubles, ending on a cheery note.
When night fell, she opened the back door and called for the cat. She stood at the doorway and crossed her arms, waiting. It didn’t come.
She had rounds to do and grabbed the flashlight and carried the clipboard. She followed the path through Briar’s Commons, heading to Briar Hall. The dorm was mostly in shadows. There was a light in the foyer that turned on automatically at night and the one floor that was in use—Conrad’s floor—also had automatic lights, but the rest of the house remained dark to conserve energy.
She paused in front of Conrad’s closed door. He didn’t seem to be in. She went down the stairs, inspecting each floor and the common areas. When she was done, she checked off the list on her clipboard and wrote down the time and date.
As she stood in front of Briar Hall, she had the sensation that someone was watching her and lifted her head. To her right was Joyce House, shuttered and awaiting renovations. There was no one there. In front of her was Briar’s Commons and its clumps of trees.
She raised her flashlight, but the beam of light revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Minerva waited for a minute, frowning, trying to figure out what exactly was bothering her, before she shook her head and stepped forward.
The night had grown cool and pleasant, chasing away the uncomfortable heat of the day, and she’d worked for a good three hours that evening. Maybe she’d be able to work another hour as soon as she finished her rounds.
She smiled as she stepped on a twig, snapping it with her weight.
Behind her someone kicked a pebble down the path.
She turned around, flashlight in hand.
“Hello?” she said.
The path was empty. A faint breeze rustled the branches of the trees. She held the flashlight still, craning her neck, before shrugging and continuing down the path.
She took six steps and then she heard the weight of a shoe against the ground.
Minerva turned around fast. Again, she had the sensation that she was being watched. Again, she saw no one. Minerva picked up the pace. It wasn’t as if the path through Briar’s Commons was long. People used it for exactly that reason: it served as a shortcut. Yet it seemed different now, as if it had been stretched.
Minerva walked briskly, with the flashlight clasped tight in one hand and the clipboard in the other. She should have stepped out next to her dorm by now, she was sure of it. She followed this route every day. She could practically walk it blindfolded.
Yet the path went on and on; the trees were a sea of green thatdid not end. The tops of the pines seemed higher, the canopy was like an ebony lid blotting out any moonlight, and the flashlight in her hand provided but a trickle of faint light. She shook it, as if she could force it to shine brighter with that motion.
Witches trick you,that’s what her great-grandmother had said. They make you follow the wrong path until you tumble into a ravine.
She shook her head.
Behind her there was the shuffle of feet. She looked over her shoulder and still there was no one.
Yet she was being followed. She felt a burning, insistent gaze fixed on her.
