“I don’t know. The pictures, Alice?” Darian presses, his voice tense.
I can’t sound hysterical. “These are the dark witches in the lake, lying in the same formation I saw them in. In this next drawing, they are standing. In this one, they’re swimming to the surface. And here”—I lay out the last picture—“this one is different. There are more figures in this one.”
“They’re the bad people.” A sniffle comes from the hallway. Mira is standing there, her eyes red from crying. “My friend said those are the bad witches.”
“Bad witches?” I get to my feet. “You mean dark witches?”
“No! The dark witches are the good ones!”
She’s getting all worked up again, so I approach her slowly, my tone gentle now. “Mira, you need to tell me about these drawings. Who showed these things to you?”
“The lady in
