Still, there was one nagging detail that could not be made to hang straight, no matter how you nudged it. The girls had likely not procured the heart, a female being too weak for the task, but shouldn’t they still be held, in some way, responsible for what happened to it?

That is to say, the nails.

Everyone on the island knew what an object like that was supposed to represent. It was the same as a poppet skewered through with a long, sharp pin, or a wax effigy tossed into a ceremonial fire. That goat’s heart was a curse upon one of their number.

All in the bar that evening fell silent and looked around for a likely target for this hex, settling on no one in particular, though in the process it was noticed how Peter Cedars’ face had grown pale, then turned a strange shade of red. He had been quiet during all of their discussions, giving only grunts that could not be construed as disagreement or assent. Now, he was breathing heavily. Now, he was sweating. It was as if the mention of the goat’s heart and its true intent had unstoppered the bottle, unleashed the spell.

The gamekeeper’s glass of beer slipped from his grasp and shattered on the ground. His other hand, the one that was still working, went to his shoulder and squeezed. His face pinched in pain.

It was only when Peter Cedars fell to the floor that everyone remembered Dr Bishy’s recent talk at the Counting House, the one about the correct usage of the island’s defibrillator, and there was a common understanding of what exactly was happening.

Reuben Springer ran for the machine. One Cater brother raced for the doctor, the other for the gamekeeper’s wife, as Saul Cooper fell to his knees on the beer-swilled floor and pumped out a rhythm on the old man’s chest.

The heart full of nails was indeed a crucial piece of testimony.

It was a sign perhaps that someone had led those girls to darker places, but was now undeniable proof that the Eldest Girls were witches.

Part Two Lunar Phase

PART TWO

LUNAR PHASE

The Book of Leah

THE BOOK OF LEAH

I had seen the card – the three swords piercing a heart. I had known it was coming and done nothing to stop it.

Still, I asked him: ‘What have they done to you?’

Shocked back to life, he’d been brought to a bed in the nursing home. A drip fed a bloated vein in his thin, grey arm. It was a charade of care. He needed a mainland hospital. He needed a boat.

‘They’ve done nothing,’ he told me. ‘Don’t you go accusing them.’

We both knew who we were speaking of.