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  Mira came jogging over to greet April and Kristen. “We wondered where you were!” she called.

  “We got a little hung up,” Kristen replied.

  “Pam won the race by three minutes,” Mira said, holding up a stopwatch.

  “Big surprise,” April said, rolling her eyes.

  They followed Mira to the dock. She handed them both cold bottles of water.

  “I guess we’re all here,” Blake, the other assistant, said to Mira. Blake was tall with wavy black hair and green eyes under heavy black eyebrows, and a warm smile.

  He turned to April and Kristen. “We were going to send out a search party for you.”

  Pam came running over. “Where were you guys?”

  “It was too hot to run,” April said. Then she added, “Way to go, Pam. You won the race.”

  Pam smiled. “It’s only the first event.”

  “Let’s head back,” Blake shouted.

  Pam spun around. “Hey—where’s Clark?” she asked. “Has anyone seen Clark?”

  “I thought he was with you,” April said.

  “He was,” Pam replied.

  “Clark? Hey—Clark?” Blake shouted into the trees. “Clark!”

  Mira frowned at Pam. “Which way did you and Clark come? Through the forest?”

  Pam shook her head. “No. We climbed over those strange blue rocks. We thought it might be a shortcut.”

  Pam’s next words sent a jolt of fear through April.

  “We were at the top, near these deep, dark caves,” Pam said. “I thought Clark was close behind me. But I turned around, and…and he was gone.”

  7

  “Tonight we light the first torch for one of our missing,” Marks said somberly.

  He raised a burning stick to the torch. April heard a loud pop as the flame flared. Then it fluttered up against the black night sky.

  “One will be called away from us every day,” Marks continued in his booming, deep voice. “Clark is the first to leave.”

  He turned to the line of kids standing just out of the torchlight. “Who will be next?” he asked dramatically.

  “He is really hamming it up for the cameras,” Kristen whispered to April.

  But is it all just for TV? April wondered. Where is Clark? Is he safe somewhere? Or is he in real danger?

  “Every night a new torch will be lighted,” Marks went on as the cameras moved in on him. “Every night we will remember one of our own. The last of us remaining will be our winner.”

  The cool night wind fluttered the torch flame. “Let us have a moment of silence now for Clark,” Marks said, bowing his head.

  One crew member swept his camcorder over the faces of the kids. April listened to the rush of waves splashing onto the shore. Somewhere beyond the village, an animal howled, a shrill, sad cry.

  When the meeting broke up, April pulled Kristen down to the beach. From the darkness of the shore, they gazed up at the flickering orange light from the torch.

  “I want to check out the cave—right now,” April said. “It’s driving me crazy not knowing what is going on. What is real and what is fake.”

  Kristen bent to pick up a big horseshoe crab shell. “Are you crazy? We can’t go now, April. It’s pitch black out tonight. No moon or anything. We won’t be able to see a thing.”

  April tugged off her sneakers. Carrying them in one hand, she began walking barefoot down the beach.

  “Where are you going? Listen to me,” Kristen pleaded.

  “I never wanted to come back to this horrible island,” April said. “But we returned for a reason. We need to find out the truth.”

  “But we’ve been here only two days,” Kristen argued. She ran after April and grabbed her shoulder from behind. “Let’s explore tomorrow—in the daylight.”

  “I want to walk closer to the rocks,” April said. “I want to see if there is any sign…”

  She turned and started walking again, taking long strides. Her bare feet sank into the cold, wet sand. The waves rushed into shore, and suddenly April was knee-deep in the water.

  Kristen hurried to catch up. “Why are you being so stubborn?” she demanded. “I want to find Marlin as much as you do. I want to—”

  Kristen let out a gasp.

  “Hey!” April shouted as something cold and wet wrapped itself around her leg.

  She bent down to pull it off. “It’s seaweed or something,” she said.

  Both girls had stepped into a deep pile of tendrils and dark leaves.

  “It’s kelp, I think,” Kristen said.

  April tugged at the wet vine. “It’s stuck to my leg,” she muttered.

  She cried out again as she felt the sticky tendrils wrap around her other leg. “Whoa!”

  April grabbed a long, leafy tendril and pulled with both hands. “It’s so sticky. Oh, no! It’s…it’s climbing!”

  She turned and saw Kristen also struggling to free herself. The wet sea kelp had wrapped itself around Kristen’s waist.

  The tendrils made sick, wet slurping sounds as they slapped themselves around the girls. Higher, higher. The tendrils appeared to reach up as they climbed.

  “It’s tightening around me!” April cried. The cold, sticky kelp was reaching around her waist. Sliming its way up and across her chest.

  April tried to pull it off. Tried to pull herself free. But the kelp had fastened itself around her ankles and legs. She couldn’t move.

  “Get it off me!” Kristen cried, panicked.

  “I—I can’t get it off me,” April answered.

  The kelp was wrapped around her body like bandages on a mummy. It was circling her throat—and tightening.

  “It’s trying to choke me!” April struggled to pull it off.

  But the slimy wet tendrils clung to her.

  “I—I can’t breathe,” Kristen gasped. “It’s strangling me!”

  The tendrils curled around April’s neck and drew tighter. She was choking. Her chest ached. She couldn’t get any air into her lungs. With her last breath she called out, “Help us! Somebody! Help us, please!”

  Part Two

  The Year 1680

  The Port of Plymouth, England

  8

  Deborah Andersen wrapped her mother’s black cloak around her. The hood fluttered in the wind off the ocean. She pulled it tight to hide her face.

  Her heart was pounding so loudly, she was sure someone would hear it. Deborah hid in the shadows of the deck and watched the men unloading the big sailing ship. Huge wooden crates were being rolled down the gangplank onto the dock.

  Holding her breath, Deborah waited for the right moment. Then she darted off the boat. She carried a cloth bag that held her only possession—the book she took from her mother.

  She crouched beside one of the crates on the dock and waited. She listened for the sailors’ footsteps. Heard the first mate and a deckhand arguing about how to unload the cargo.

  Deborah waited until the men returned to the ship to unload the next group of crates. Then, still keeping low, she scurried away from the docks and onto the road that led into town.

  The last time she’d been here, she’d ridden to the docks in a prison cart, chains around her ankles, her hands bound behind her. The memory still gave her nightmares.

  She heard a noise behind her and whirled. Had anyone seen her? No, the road behind her was empty.

  She walked quickly through the winding streets of the port town. She drew the black cloak more tightly around her. Perhaps she should find a place to hide till nightfall. Then she would begin the journey back to her village of Ravenswoode.

  She knew that even in her mother’s cloak and hood, she might be recognized.

  Someone might see her and realize that the wrong person returned home from the island.

  The island. That had been Deborah’s punishment. The village had condemned her as a witch. They spared her life. But ordered her taken to an uninhabited island, where her evil magic could hurt no one.

  Deborah
knew she was innocent. As the men came to take her to the ship, she had learned the truth. Her mother had been the one casting evil spells on the village.

  Katherine allowed the villagers to accuse Deborah—so that no one would suspect her. She willingly sacrificed her own daughter to save herself.

  Passing the last of the village shops, Deborah couldn’t keep a smile from crossing her face. For she had triumphed over her mother.

  On the boat Deborah found her mother’s spell book. The book she now carried. The book that taught her how to fight her mother.

  When they reached the tropical island, Deborah had cast a spell on the sailors. She switched cloaks with her mother. Katherine wore the blue cloak. Katherine the witch, the true evil one, had been tossed into the waters.

  Katherine had been abandoned on the island.

  The ship had returned to England with Deborah on board.

  No one knew. No one.

  And no one from Ravenswoode will ever know I’m back, Deborah thought. I shall sneak home by night. Then I will gather as many belongings as I can.

  And carry them to another village. I will find a new home where no one knows who I am. And I will start a new life.

  Good-bye, Mother. Your evil can harm no one now.

  I am in England, and you are alone on a distant island forever. Forever.

  I will not even think of you.

  Deborah walked for two days. When a wagon came bouncing by or a farmer on his cart, she hid behind bushes or trees.

  She reached her village in late afternoon. I’m too weary to go another step, she thought. My legs ache and my stomach growls with hunger.

  The cottage she’d shared with her mother was on the other side of the village. Under the sinking sun, men were still working the fields. Deborah recognized two women in white bonnets, carrying baskets of food home from the green market.

  I cannot let them see me, Deborah thought. I’ll have to hide until after dark.

  She turned and realized she was standing in the shadow of Lemuel Hanford’s grain barn. Making sure no one was around, Deborah slipped along the barn wall to the door.

  She crept inside and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. The sharp aroma of barley seed and rye greeted her.

  A creature scampered over her feet as Deborah made her way to the back of the barn. A barn rat?

  Deborah was too weary to care.

  She settled on a low mound of grain. Loosened the cloak for the first time since leaving the ship. And bunched it behind her head as a pillow.

  A few seconds later, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  “Oh!” Deborah was awakened by a cry.

  She opened her eyes to see a bearded man in dark work clothes. Lemuel Hanford!

  “The witch!” he screamed, eyes bulging in horror. “The witch has returned!”

  Before Deborah could move, Lemuel raised a three-pronged pitchfork high in the air, aimed it at her chest—and plunged it straight down.

  9

  “AAAAIIIIIIII!”

  A shrill, terrified wail burst from Deborah’s lips.

  She shut her eyes—and cast a spell.

  In the second before the pitchfork touched her, its three pointed prongs became wriggling snakes. They slid harmlessly off Deborah’s chest and vanished into the grain pile.

  Lemuel Hanford staggered back, his entire body trembling. “Don’t—” he said.

  It was his last word before Deborah froze him in place.

  She pulled herself to her feet, grabbed the bag with her mother’s spell book, and stepped past Lemuel. His eyes were frozen wide open, as was his mouth. His body was tensed, as if ready to attack.

  But he couldn’t move.

  The spell won’t last long, Deborah thought. I must hurry to my house, gather my belongings—and be gone.

  She poked her head out of the barn door.

  The night air felt cool and fresh on her face. A crescent moon floated above the trees, on its side like a winking eye.

  It reminded Deborah of the blue crescent moon on her temple. The birthmark that had convinced the superstitious villagers that she was a witch.

  I was innocent then, she thought. But not any longer.

  No one in sight. She saw lamp lights flickering in the windows of houses.

  Her eyes alert for any sign of danger, Deborah crept away from the barn. As she ran across Lemuel’s field, the crescent moon in the sky appeared to move with her.

  The cloak and hood wrapped her in darkness, blacker than the night. She ran silently past houses and farms.

  Loud voices made her stop.

  Have I been seen?

  No. The voices came from Arnold Wester’s house. The Wester boys were arguing again. Deborah could hear their father ordering them to be silent at the dinner table.

  A cat cried somewhere up ahead. Moments later Deborah saw a black cat dart from behind a tree. On the prowl, probably for a field mouse.

  I’m not afraid of you bringing me bad luck now, cat, Deborah thought bitterly.

  I’ve had all the bad luck a person can have.

  But, of course, she was wrong.

  Her bad luck had just begun—and she had so few days left to live.

  10

  Deborah let out a cry when she saw her cottage. Or what was left of it. She went running across the flat, grassy field. The hood flew back on her shoulders, the cloak floating like wings at her sides.

  The cottage was gone. One blackened stone wall remained upright on a charred floor. The rest was ruins. Burnt beams. A few melted metal lumps that might have been pots. Bits of charred fabric. Everything covered in a fine layer of ash.

  “How did this happen?” she murmured. Had someone deliberately set the fire?

  She dropped to her knees in front of the black chunks of wood and shingle. “My home. Burned to the ground.”

  She pressed her hands over her eyes, as if trying to force away the ugly sight. A single tear rolled down each cheek.

  She forced herself not to cry.

  She felt dizzy—and sick.

  She got to her feet and stepped onto the area where the front room had been.

  The stone hearth was all that was left. Smoke had blackened the stone.

  “I can’t stay here,” Deborah murmured. She turned away from the house and then turned back again. She remembered her mother hiding something beneath the floorboards of the front room. Deborah never knew what it was. But she’d seen Katherine stuffing something beneath a loose board.

  Now she dropped to the floor and began to pull up the charred floorboards. They came up easily, cracking, splitting apart.

  Hidden beneath the floor were two books. Two more of her mother’s spell books.

  Deborah gathered them up quickly and stuffed them into the cloth bag.

  She heard the cat cry somewhere nearby. The wind suddenly picked up, howling through the trees. The pale crescent moon vanished behind a cloud.

  Throwing the bag over her shoulder, Deborah took off. Walking quickly, eyes alert, she made her way to the road that led out of the village.

  She didn’t turn around. She never looked back.

  Deborah walked for three days. She passed through two villages and each time was tempted to stay.

  But she knew they were too close to Ravenswoode. People in those towns might have heard of her. The witch who was banished to an island.

  So she continued her journey to a new life.

  On the third evening, she came to a farm owned by a man named Robert Hoskins. He was a big, broad man, nearly bursting out of his clothing.

  “Is there a place where I could spend the night?” Deborah asked. “I’m traveling and don’t have money for an inn.”

  “If you would like to stay and help my wife with the milking, I can let you stay in the barn,” Mr. Hoskins offered.

  “Thank you kindly, sir,” Deborah replied. “I would be most grateful.”

  He led Deborah to his barn. She could hear cows mooing so
ftly and a horse whinnying.

  “I’ll bring you some blankets,” Hoskins said.

  He pointed to a stall against the barn wall. “You might not get much sleep. That one is due to drop a calf tonight.”

  “I am grateful for any shelter,” Deborah replied.

  She had dinner with Robert and his wife, Mary. They were friendly, warm people who liked to laugh.

  I might grow to like it here, Deborah thought. They could be the family I never had.

  Later, she settled on a pile of hay in the barn. By the light of a lantern, she examined the two spell books she’d found beneath the floorboards. Deborah’s eyes widened in surprise. The spells in these books were more powerful than those she’d already learned.

  The books made her wonder about her mother. Just how much power did Katherine have? Could she change a person’s dreams? Could she put a curse on someone miles away?

  Deborah memorized the chants for several new spells. Then she fell asleep easily under the warm blankets.

  The next morning, she was awakened by Hoskins’s furious screams.

  Still half asleep, Deborah stood unsteadily. She blinked in the bright sunlight pouring through the open barn door. “What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “See for yourself,” Hoskins bellowed, red in the face. “What have I done to deserve such bad luck?”

  “I—I do not understand,” Deborah stammered.

  He dragged her to the birthing pen across the barn. “Look!” he shouted angrily. “Look at the calf just born!”

  He jerked open the pen door.

  Deborah gazed inside at the newborn calf—and let out a cry of horror.

  11

  As Deborah screamed, the calf raised its eyes to her—all four eyes.

  “Two heads!” Hoskins screams. “My cow has birthed a two-headed calf!”

  Deborah turned away, unable to look at the poor, cursed creature.