Firewalker

“She’s in shock,” someone else answered.

Lily realized they were talking about her and sat up straighter. “Bonfire,” she repeated. She looked at the faces of the officers and realized that she was alone with them. They’d separated her from the rest of the group.

Rowan?

There you are! You fell so deeply into yourself I couldn’t reach you. You really scared me. Don’t give them any information, Lily.

I don’t even understand what they’re saying.

Good. Say that to them. Say you don’t understand what’s going on. Say we were on the beach for fun.

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Lily parroted numbly.

The officers exchanged looks. Simms sat down opposite Lily, and the look on her face was of real concern. “The nature of your father’s death points to certain ritualistic practices,” she said carefully.

“What does that mean?”

“Tell us about your friends Rowan and Tristan,” Simms said, ignoring Lily’s question.

Lily shook her head slowly. “Tell you what about them?”

“Well, for instance, who had the idea to start building bonfires?”

“I’m pretty sure kids have been building bonfires on the beach since there was a such thing as fire,” Lily replied. “I don’t know who suggested it first.”

The officers exchanged more looks. “Have you ever heard of Wicca?”

Lily burst out laughing. “I’m sorry,” she said, collecting herself. “This is Salem. Of course I’ve heard of it.”

“Your father was beaten savagely by an unusually strong person and he was found with symbols cut into his skin,” Simms said. Her tone turned on a dime when she saw Lily flinch. She looked at Lily with compassion. “You know your mother is very unstable.”

“Where is she?” Lily asked urgently.

“Sleeping. Your sister, Juliet, gave her a sedative when she got, ah, confused,” said one of the other officers gently. They pitied her. Lily could see it in their eyes.

“You know the sooner we catch whoever did this, the easier it will be on her,” Simms continued. She always knew there was more to this story, and now she was determined to hear it. “I know you have relationships with these two boys, and that your group of friends got very close very quickly. You may feel loyalty to them, but think about your mother. Please, talk to me. Tell me what happened to you. You didn’t go to some Native American holistic clinic, did you. Lily, there’s a cauldron hanging in your fireplace. Tell me what Tristan and Rowan did to you.”

“We go down to the beach to party. That’s it.”

Simms nodded, disappointed. “Did you know I was from Beverly? That’s why I got your case—because I understand the area and know the people. I used to party on that beach. Same spot, too.” She gave Lily a conspiratorial look, like they were buddies. “But in my day we used to go there to drink, smoke, hook up, and eat takeout. Every now and again someone would have weed. You know what the strange thing is about your bonfire?” Again, Simms’s tone changed swiftly. “No empties, no cigarette butts. Not even a hint of marijuana. We couldn’t even find a Taco Bell wrapper. Just footprints in the sand.”

Lily kept her mouth shut and slid back into her own head. Everything around her turned into static. Simms put a card in her hand, in case Lily “remembered” anything else. The police officers stood up, milled around, wandered in and out of the room, until finally one of them said something about being sorry for her loss, and they all left. Lily sat in her chair, not really seeing or hearing anything. She could feel her coven waiting for her in the living room. They were worried, sad, and stricken. She smelled the smoke from a fire being stoked in the fireplace.

Lillian. How could you? He was your father, too.

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