Page 91 of The Magic We Made

My heart melts at his plaintive tone.

“Sammy,” I say, laying a hand upon his shoulder, but looking down at all three boys. “Those girls aren’t witches. They might be calling themselves that, but I know from my sister-in-law, who’s a real witch, that that’s not what they are. Real witches don’t purposefully choose to hurt others. They’re like doctors... like me. They try to do no harm.”

Sammy looks unconvinced. “Okay, well, then you probably need it even more. Because those girlsdowant to hurt people. I saw them hurt Ash. You might have to fight them.”

“Don’t worry.” Slipping the shears into my bag is not the easiest thing to do, because it turns out swim bags need to be rolled and folded in certain ways to keep them airtight, and I already lost theinstructions, but I do it anyway. “There isn’t going to be any fighting. I’m going to use my words. Words are our most powerful defense in any conflict.”

All three boys look skeptical, but I give them a confident thumbs-up—far more confident than I actually feel—and dive into the lake...

And nearly drown.

Frankie

The water is freezing, colder than I’ve ever felt it.

I’ve also never gone swimming with a waterproof bag strapped to my back. Despite everything I’ve crammed into it, it’s basically a flotation device, which theoretically should make swimming easier. Except that it doesn’t... at first.

It takes me a few strokes to find my rhythm. I should be able to swim this route with my eyes closed, I’ve done it so many times before. The glow of the fire is all I need to get me to the shore....

And maybe it would have been, if I could see it.

But the fog at the waterline is so thick, all I can see before me is gray mist. Worse, I can’t see where I’ve come from. The dock and the DeLong boys have been swallowed up by the thick fog.

What is happening? I’m a fairly experienced open water swimmer. I swim this exact path every single day. I’ve even swum through mist before, plenty of times.

But it’s never behaved like this. The cold gray fog seems to be clinging to my arms every time I lift one from the water, almost asif it’s trying to push my limbs back below. This mist... it seems almost alive, like something—orsomeone—is manipulating it.

But that’s impossible.

That’s when I see it—a shape in the swirling fog.

Only it isn’t the comforting sight of my dock, or the rocky shore of Center Island, or even one of Troy’s swift water rescue boats coming to save me. It almost looks like a face—a massive human face floating in the fog in front of me.

And then I recognize it. It’s my father, his mouth open in a silent scream. A scream of pain.

I’m so shocked, I forget to swim. And instantly I’m sucked under the dark, turgid water.

Nothing is pulling me under. No unseen hands are tugging me down. I’m merely sinking, sinking deeper and deeper into the impenetrable cold.

Maybe it’s the cold that jolts me back to reality. I don’t know. But suddenly, as I’m down there in the murky depths, I realize: that’snotmy dad. It can’t be.

I’ve visited with Dad many times in my dreams since he passed. Or rather, he’s come to visit me. I know these dreams are only my subconscious working out my grief about his passing. But I also know when I see Dad in my dreams, it’s him. It’s really him. This specter out there in the mist—that’s not.

After my initial jolt of fear, I’m able to recognize what’s happening: I have to be hallucinating.

Not like Richard. This is no theophany. Ireally amhallucinating. Could it be hypothermia? One of the symptoms is mental confusion, but I’ve only been in the water a few minutes. It’s more likely there’s something hallucinogenic in the smoke coming from the island. I wouldn’t put it past those girls to have incorporatedpsychedelics into their ritual. It’s a common practice in many spiritual ceremonies.

Well, I’m not going to fall for it. I give a mighty kick and resurface, taking in a long gasp of air...

The face is there again, floating in front of me like a death mask.

This is scary.

But mostly it makes me angry. How dare someone try to drug me without my permission? Who do these witches think they are? If they think the sight of my dead dad is going to scare me, they are sadly mistaken, because nothing is as scary as the idea of Ash trussed in tow ropes and being taken, unconscious and against his will, to Satan’s Seat.

It doesn’t matter that he believes his grandmother is a goddess. The only thing that matters is getting Ash home safe...

Because I love him.