Sheila remembered lying on the rock in the waves, looking at a shore shimmering indistinctly, as if in the midst of creating itself. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"I thought she was a lunatic. I didn't want it to be true. But I think deep down I knew it was. Mavis Lynch was the woman I saw in the shadows when my house was burning down. I'm sure of it. She was parked outside the bookstore when Nadine said that about glamours, witch's spells."

"She was out front of the house when we first arrived. In her pink Cadillac," Sheila said. "Aunt Norma's Them was the Midwives. Every second we've been in this town they've had their eyes on us. Your mother. The other four. Watching us." She hugged herself, shivering against the chill. "Maybe even listening. Is anywhere safe? Can we trust anyone?"

"We need to get off this island," Martin said. "Now more than ever."

It took nearly an hour to reach the turnoff where Sheila had seen a sign for boat rentals on the drive to Dr. Mulligan's farm.

The sign directed them to a dirt road winding through the woods. The sun had set and they walked it in near dark, illuminated by a third quarter moon shining pale through the clouds. Their eyes adjusted quickly but with the forest still black as night, every snapped twig startled them, made them anxious.

Five minutes down the road brought them to a ramshackle cabin, the warm orange glow of an oil lamp flickering in its grimy windows. A fire crackled in a weathered stone hearth, smoke rising from the chimney. Patsy Cline's "I Fall to Pieces" trickled from an old radio on the mantle. Her haunting vocals seemed to echo in the dark.

Metallic thuds and clinks and wooden creaks arose from the dark water beyond the cabin. Boats on a wood dock. This was the place.

He turned to Sheila. She looked scared. He felt her fear mirrored in his own face. He reached out to knock on the cabin door.

"Wait," Sheila whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"What if he tells them where we are? What we're doing?"

"It's a chance we have to take."

"Is it?" She nodded toward the water. "We could just take a boat."

He considered it. She was right. The country music was loud enough they could reach the dock without alerting whoever was inside if they kept quiet. He didn't feel great about stealing, but if they ditched it on the other side of the sound the owner would get it back eventually.

"Okay." He crept toward the side of the cabin. Sheila followed. Their footfalls crackled on sticks and stones, and a soft carpet of pine needles, golden-hued in the lamplight.

They reached a stone path leading down to the water. Three badly beaten tin boats rocked against the dock. Only a small shed stood between them and escape, a half-circle carved in its door. Smelled like something had died in there and the owner used strong chemicals to lessen the stench.