“Hang,” Mia corrected. “Nineteen people—all innocents—were hanged in 1692. One was pressed to death when he refused to declare himself innocent or guilty. Others died in prison. There have been witch-hunts throughout time. Here, in Europe, in every corner of the world. Even when most stopped believing, or admitting to a belief, in witchcraft, there were hunts. Nazism, McCarthyism, the KKK, and so on. Nothing more than fanatics, with power, pushing their own agendas and finding enough weak minds to do the dirty work.”

And don’t, Mia thought, taking a breath, get me started. “But today we’re concerned with one microcosm of history.”

She leaned back, tapped a finger lightly on the book. “The Puritans came here, searching, they said, for religious freedom. Of course, many of them were only looking for a place to force their beliefs and their fears on others. And in Salem, they persecuted and murdered blindly, so blindly that not one of the nineteen souls they took was the soul of a witch.”

“Prejudice and fear are never clear-sighted.”

“Well said. There were three among them. Women who’d chosen this place to live their lives and live their craft. Powerful women who had helped the sick and the sorry. They knew, these three, that they could no longer stay where they would, sooner or later, be accused and condemned. So the Isle of Three Sisters was created.”

“Created?”

“It’s said that they met in secret and cast a spell. And part of the land was torn away from the mainland. We’re living on what they took from that time and that place. A sanctuary. A haven. Isn’t that what you came for, Nell?”

“I came for work.”

“And found it. They were known as Air and Earth and Fire. For some years they lived quietly and at peace. And alone. It was loneliness that weakened them. The one known as Air wished for love.”

“We all do,” Nell said quietly.

“Perhaps. She dreamed of a prince, golden and handsome, who would sweep her away to some lovely place where they would live happily and have children to comfort her. She was careless with her wish, as women can be when they yearn. He came for her, and she saw only that he was golden and handsome. She went away with him, left her haven. She tried to be a good and dutiful wife, and bore her children, loved them. But it wasn’t enough for him. Under the gold, he was dark. She grew to fear him, and he fed on her fear. One night, mad with that hunger, he killed her for being what she was.”

“That’s a sad story.” Nell’s throat was dry, but she didn’t lift her glass.