Silence fell once more. The trio traded glances.
Agatha sighed again. “Eliza, I think—”
“Hush, you old coot!” Mrs. Elizabeth Proctor —Eliza— exclaimed.
“Me, an old coot? You’re the one who can’t properly disguise her voice. Don’t blame me for her recognizing you.”
“You didn’t have to confirm her suspicions!”
“She may not be a true believer, but she’s not entirely unobservant, Eliza.”
“Oh, put a sock in it, Sally,” Eliza barked at the third witch. “Agatha’s right! You are a dingbat!”
“I’m not the one who got us recognized!”
My gaze moved from one woman to the other as they traded jabs, unsure whether to be amused or concerned by the rapidly fraying situation. Fixing my eyes on my neighbor’s cloaked form, I adopted a breezy tone. “I know it’s you, Mrs. Proctor. You might as well drop the theatrics.”
A hushed oath slipped from her mouth. Reaching up, she pushed back her cloak to reveal a face I knew quite well. One I saw just about every morning across the wrought-iron fence that divided our yards. Her owlish features were enhanced by the round glasses she wore perched on the bridge of a tiny, upturned nose. Her white hair was, as always, perfectly coiffed, never a strand out of place. I’d bet she slept with it in rollers. Not even my Dyson Airwrap provided such gravity-defying volume.
“Gwendolyn,” Mrs. Proctor greeted me — rather belatedly. “I’d hoped to do this without needing to bring our personal lives into it.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you dragged me into a basement. Call me crazy, butabductionseems pretty damn personal.”
I peered at the other two women. Agatha and Sally had also pushed back their cloaks to reveal their faces. They both looked like they were approaching eighty, with wrinkled cheeks and warm eyes. It would be easier to envision them baking cookies for their grandchildren than holding me captive in a basement.
And yet… here we were.
“How did the three of you get me here, anyway?” I asked.
“Just because we’re old doesn’t mean we’re fragile,” Agatha retorted, eyes narrowing on mine. “Even if you do weigh more than a hay bale.”
Rude!
I scowled. “I do not.”
She merely pursed her lips and shrugged.
“Can we focus, ladies?” Eliza clapped her hands three times to call everyone’s attention. Now that she’d revealed herself, it seemed she was stepping into her natural role as leader of the deranged trio. Her eyes locked on me, steely through the shining lenses of her spectacles. “Gwendolyn. We are aware that you are not a true believer. We are aware that, unlike Colette, you do not possess the gifts of the goddess. Still, we are honor bound to protect the bloodlines of all coven members. Even those who have passed beyond the mortal veil. Do you understand?”
“Not remotely,” I admitted. “What does Aunt Colette have to do with this?”
The trio looked at one another, their expressions torn between incredulity and amusement.
“What?” I asked impatiently. “Just tell me, already.”
“Before she passed,” Sally said slowly, as though I was the most imbecilic creature to ever cross her path. “Colette was a member of our coven.”
“Not only a member,” Agatha added. “She was our leader.”
“High Priestess,” Eliza murmured, “Of the Bay Colony Coven for over fifty years. Her loss is one from which we will never recover.”
I shook my head, attempting to rattle my thoughts into order by sheer force. “Are you telling me… Aunt Colette was… awitch?”
They all bleated out soft laughs.
“Of course, child.” Agatha rolled her eyes heavenward. “Did you really not know?”
I hadn’t.