Norma placed the cold cloth on her forehead. Ruby blinked but didn't speak. The lamp on the nightstand made the pits of her eyes look like she was scowling. Her chest barely moved as she breathed.

"We should call a doctor," Sheila said, staring with suspicion at the walker herself.

While Martin walked alone down County Road 8, the Midwives took the precarious switchback path down the side of the cliff to where the ocean beat against sand and rock and crushed clamshells, the sound like rattlesnakes as the water sifted through them, drawing back into the black expanse. Their white cloaks stood against the ancient woods like wraiths, pallid in the patches of moonlight that shone through bare branches.

The switchback trail was dangerous this time of year. Most often they would time these treks to occur between late-spring and early-fall, when the ground was firmer and less likely to cause a spill. They were at an age where they worried a fall might cause a bad break, perhaps unrepairable, even after the effects of the ritual. They had watched many women pass this way over time, with an infection of the blood or the bone, succumbing to dementia, wasting away in a hospital bed.

The Midwives were no ordinary women—but it troubled them just the same.

Soon, though... soon they would not have to worry again for quite some time.

They drove to the cliffs on the east side of the island in Mavis's Cadillac. The Pink Princess purred through the darkened streets of Barrows Bay while most of the town slept, the child swaddled in Geraldine's lap in the passenger seat, not a single one of them speaking of the events that had transpired in the St. Johns' house.

"The new woman," Ethel said as they reached the county road, sitting behind Mavis with her cane in her hands. "Sheila Tanner. She heard the child cry."

Mavis looked at the woman in the rearview. Ethel's Jackie Kennedy sunglasses glinted momentarily as they passed under a streetlamp. "The bitch almost threw a wrench in the whole damn thing," Mavis agreed. "We shouldn't have let her stay."

"It was Mother's decision," Helen said beside Ethel, throwing Mavis a stern glare. "You know why."

Mavis grunted in reply. She wasn't about to voice her concerns with both Helen and Geraldine in the car, even if Ethel might be sympathetic. From her lips directly to Mother's ears.

As if to remind them of her presence, the baby cooed.

Geraldine shook her lightly on her knee and placed an index finger in her mouth. The girl sucked the silky fabric greedily, latching with ease as if to her mother's breast. Easy latching meant she would live a charmed life and love as easily, perhaps to have many children of her own.

Ethel couldn't hear the baby's thoughts, but could sense its contentment. If only the poor dear knew what awaited her at the edge of the ocean, within the circle of standing stones.