Page 8 of Woods of the Raven

She looked at Pete, who nodded in confirmation. We’d all been in the same class, so he knew I was right.

Taking a breath to calm herself, she said, “I’m just frightened, Chief MacBain. Do we have a murderer on the loose? Was the girl, and whoever killed her, traveling through, or is there something even darker out there we need to concern ourselves with?”

“Darker?”

“Yes. Like a cult or something. Satanists, that sort of thing.”

He glanced at me, and I nodded. Then he looked at Pete, who mirrored my movement.

“You all think there could be a cult of Satanists running around?”

“Technically,” Pete said, “weirder shit has happened in this town.”

“Really?”

“Well…” I chimed in, “the killings in 1701 had more to do with hysteria about would-be vampires than anything else.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Vampire witches,” Amanda corrected me.

“No, no. There were no witches involved, just that cannibalistic family that lived down near Parker’s Ferry.”

“I think you’re getting your stories mixed up,” Pete apprised me. “The vampires and the cannibals are two separate things.”

“What?” Chief MacBain asked, clearly lost.

“They were cannibals?” she asked me. “Not witches?”

I glared at her.

Amanda rephrased, “Well, I didn’t mean a witch like you. I meant scary ones.”

“I’m sorry,” MacBain interrupted, “who’s a witch?”

“You know,” she went on, “the kind who eat kids and grind up their bones.”

“Amanda,” I began, affronted, “there have never been witches who—”

“Those are fairy tales,” Pete said dismissively. “Real witches don’t—”

“Who’s a witch?” Chief MacBain repeated.

“Xander is,” Amanda replied flatly.

“You’re a witch?” Chief MacBain asked me.

“Yes, but he’s a good one,” Pete said, vouching for me. “He’s a kitchen witch and a green witch, but also a hearth witch, and that makes sense because this place is awesome, but he’s a solitary practitioner as well, so he doesn’t have a coven.”

“Why do we care about this?” Amanda sounded excited. “The important part is, they were cannibals? That’s awesome.”

“Why is that awesome?” I asked, though I really didn’t want to know.

“Is there a book or something?” she pressed me. “Like anything in journal format? Any firsthand accounting of the affair?”

“I believe so. Would you like me to look in the library for you?”

“I would love for you to get me whatever there is,” she gushed. “I’m dying to read it and get it to my friend who works at Netflix.”