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tomorrow.”
    She left Magic Hands and
turned down Maple, kicking at chunks of ice thrown up by the snowplow, heading for
the high school.
    With any luck, she'd bring in
some tips that evening at the Legends. Business was usually slow in the winter,
but not this year. This year Trinity was like Aspen at the holidays. That's
what cousin Rachel said, anyway. She'd been there, once, at an innkeepers'
convention.
    Classes were just letting out
at Trinity High School, and students were clattering down the steps,
splintering off into adjacent streets and climbing onto buses. A few of them
waved—it was a small town, after all, and
they'd seen her with hometown boy Jack Swift and his friends Harmon Fitch and
Will Childers.
    Some of the girls studied her
appraisingly, no doubt wondering what the exotic Seph McCauley saw in her. But
most of the faces were empty of opinions about her. Trinity might be a small
town, but compared to Coal Grove, it was a metropolis.
    Clutching that welcome cloak
of anonymity around her, Madison cut through the school's crowded lobby to the
main office.
    She pulled a manila envelope
out of her portfolio and handed it to the secretary. “For Mr.
Penworthy,” she said. “Progress reports from Dr. Mignon for the
grading period.”
    “Dr. Mignon is supposed
to send those directly to me, Miss Moss,” Mr. Penworthy said from the
doorway of his office. “I've told you that before.”
    The Trinity High School
principal wore high heeled boots, a Western belt with a silver buckle, and a
string tie. Madison glanced down at her own fancy boots and shrugged. It was
all about scale and context. That's what she told herself, anyway.
    Madison paused before she
spoke, afraid of what would leak out. “I … I'm sorry, sir,” Madison
said. “She insisted I give this to you. Said she wanted me to be in the
loop. Said to call her if you had any questions.”
    The principal hadn't liked the
idea of supervising Madison's post-secondary program from the start, even
though all he had to do was handle the paperwork.
    Mr. Penworthy snatched the
envelope away from his secretary and waved it at Madison. “How do I know your
grades haven't been tampered with?”
    Madison bit back the first
words that came to mind. “Well. Um. I guess you could call her. Sir.”
She practically curtsied as she backed out of the office.
    You can't afford to get into
any more trouble, she said to herself. You came up here to make a fresh start.
    It had started at Coal Grove
High School, with notes left on her locker and slipped into her backpack, and
text messages flying around. Stories that claimed Madison Moss was a witch. Not
the white witch or granny woman traditional in those parts. No. Maddie was an
evil, diabolical harpy who would suck your soul out through your ear and hex
your garden or ensnare your boyfriend.
    She had no clue where it was
coming from, but the gossip was widespread and persistent. Kids made signs
against the evil eye in the hallway when she passed. Girls tried to get a lock
of her hair to use for love charms. Boys dared each other to ask her out.
    It wasn't even like people
still believed in that kind of thing. It was more like everybody was moonstruck
or something. Madison tried to ignore it, hoping it would wear off or that some
other scandal would come up to talk about.
    Then the fires started. At
first, it was tumbledown barns, sheds, and haystacks that went up like tinder,
all around the county. Later, it was occupied barns and hunting cabins and
country churches. There was no putting the fires out. Everything burned to the
dirt. The perpetrators marked each site with a witchcraft symbol—a pentacle, an elven cross, a chalice. Madison didn't
even know what they meant until she looked them up at the library.
    Fear swept across the county,
and suspicion focused on Booker Mountain, fed by the rumors that had gone round
before. The police came out and looked for clues, though they didn't seem sure
what to look for.