Dr. Poesy gazed at it. His eyes held a color that slid between black, blue, and oblivion.

“Witches interest me,” Dr. Poesy said. “If you look at most female archetypes—the mother, the virgin, the whore—their power comes from their relation to men. But not the Witch. The Witch derives her power from nature. She calls forth her dreams with spells and incantations. With poetry. And I think that’s why we are frightened of them. What’s scarier to the world of men than a woman limited only by her imagination?”

Kane sat forward. He sensed he was supposed to respond, but how? Was this part of the evaluation? He hadn’t been careful with Thistler. He would have to be with Dr. Poesy.

“It’s just a book,” Kane said cautiously.

Dr. Poesy flipped through a file. A golden pen appeared in his hand, and it waggled haughtily as he wrote something.

“So, in your own words, Mr. Montgomery, why are we here?”

“I was in a car accident.”

“Painting in broad strokes will get you nowhere with me. Try again.”

“I…” Kane flattened his voice. Steeled himself. He knew what needed saying. “I ran away a week ago today. I stole a car from my parents, and I drove it through the Cobalt Complex after a big storm. I lost control of the car near the river and crashed into a building. The car caught on fire. So did the building. I got out and the police found me in the river. I passed out and went into a brief coma, but I woke up in the hospital later. I’m in a lot of trouble. I don’t remember any of it.”

Dr. Poesy looked at Kane for a long time. “And, of course, you were back at the mill today. Did you remember anything?”

“No.” It wasn’t a lie, but should he tell Dr. Poesy about the thing that chased them? How could he even begin to describe what happened without sounding even guiltier?

But Dr. Poesy moved on. “Why does a runaway return home, just to steal a car?”

Kane’s mind hiccupped. No one had asked him this yet. “I don’t know. I don’t remember doing it.”

“How does a mostly brick building catch fire in the rain?”

“The…the car must have exploded or something.”

“That’s cinematic, but not usually how cars work. There were, however, traces of gasoline found all over the crash site.”

Kane frowned. “Cars run on gasoline. Gasoline explodes.”

Dr. Poesy tapped the gold pen against his temple. “Clever.” Then he wrote something down.

“What are you writing? I didn’t set that building on fire on purpose.”

Dr. Poesy continued to write. “I didn’t say you set it on fire at all, but that’s a curious thought.”

Kane slumped backward, horrified. “I wouldn’t…I mean, I didn’t—”