Page 73 of The Women of Wild Hill
“Oh, good. You’re not a disasterbator,” the woman announced once she was close enough to be heard over the waves.
“A disasterbator?”
“Oh, you know, one of those sick fucks who get off on serial killers and crime scenes. I find them here sometimes—taking pictures or reenacting the murders.”
“No, definitely not one of them.” Brigid closed the diary and stuck it back in her bag. “Though I do go through a lot of fake blood in my line of work.”
“I know.” The woman took a seat beside Brigid. “You probably don’t recognize me. We worked together once a million years ago when I was in advertising and you were auditioning to be the spokesperson for a tampon company.” She held out a hand. “Harriett Osborne.”
“Brigid Laguerre. I remember you now. You didn’t give me the job. You said I was too good for it and told me I would go on to great things.”
“And it seems I was right.” Harriett looked around at the beach. “Do you come here often?” Somehow, it didn’t sound like small talk.
“No,” Brigid said. “My family has a place nearby, but I’ve been just outside of Los Angeles. I’ve just moved back to the Island.”
“To Wild Hill, am I right? I heard you were Ivy Duncan’s niece.”
“Did you know her?”
The lady’s grin was unusually wide, one might even sayhungry. “Only by reputation. She died before I moved to the Island. What a fascinating woman.” She didn’t elaborate, but she certainly hinted at the turn Ivy’s reputation had taken in the weeks after her death, when bodies were discovered in the basement of her former home.
“So what about you?” Brigid was eager to change the subject.
Harriett cocked her head. “What about me?”
“Do you come to Danskammer Beach often?”
“Oh yes,” said Harriett, as if she’d been hoping Brigid would ask. “I’m quite proud of my handiwork. I stop by once a week.” She gestured in the direction of Culling Pointe.
Brigid wasn’t quite sure what to make of the statement. “You’re saying you’re the one who burned down all the mansions?”
“No, of course not,” Harriett told her. “There were three of us. In case you haven’t noticed, there are always three of us. But yes, we burned the houses down. They’d been used to shelter predators who preyed on young women. My friends and I put an end to the ring, but a woman’s work is never done, is it? Since then we’ve continued to hunt down the ones who got away.”
“You’re a witch, then?” Brigid asked.
“Whatever you call yourself, you can call me that, too. You and I are of a kind. It’s one of my gifts—I’m always able to recognize others.”
“How many of us are there?”
Harriett shrugged as though a precise answer wasn’t terribly important. “All I can tell you is that we’re nowhere as rare as we used to be,” she said. “Our numbers are growing. Something big is on the horizon, and we’ll all be called upon to do our part. But you—you will be asked to do more than most.”
“Why do you say that?” Brigid asked. “Do you know what the Old One has planned?”
“You call her the Old One?” Harriett thought about it and nodded. “Yes, that fits. And no, I don’t know what lies in store for us. But I sense the tide turning. The power of this place is drawing witches from all over the world. I’ve already met a few, but I’ve never encountered anyone quite as powerful as you.”
“How do you know how powerful I am?”
“I sense it.” She closed her eyes and held a palm six inches from Brigid’s chest. “I can feel the cold radiating off you. You’re a punisher, like me. But you’re much stronger than I am, even though you’re holding back. How old were you when you killed for the first time?”
Brigid paused. “Thirteen,” she admitted. “I killed a man who wanted to hurt my sister.”
“I was fourteen when I punished my father for murdering my mother. The experience shocked me so badly that I didn’t find my power again until I was in my late forties. What about you?”
Brigid had never spoken about her gift with anyone outside the family. “My mother committed suicide when I was seventeen. I was furious that the Old One let it happen, so I refused to do her bidding for thirty years.”
“What changed your mind?” Harriett asked.
“Who said I changed my mind? The Old One had to destroy my house in California to get me back to Wild Hill. I don’t know what she wants from me, but I have a hunch I’m not going to live through it. Turns out my mother’s death was all part of her plan.”
