She woke later, blood crusted to the side of her face, her head throbbing. She called in the dark, but no answer came. Neither Reginald, nor the fictitious witch. She'd spent the night huddled in a corner, knees pulled to her chest, repeating every prayer she had ever learned. When morning came, and light touched the cottage, she discovered she was not so alone as she thought. Lying on the floor in various states of decomposition were three other girls, their dresses dirty and hair ...