“Wait a second.” Clara veered off to speak to Ruth, still sitting on the bench. “We’re going into the back garden. Want to join us?” Ruth looked at Clara holding the stick, then at Myrna with the cigar made of dried sage and sweetgrass. “You’re not going to do one of those profane witch ritual things are you?” “We certainly are,” said Myrna from behind Clara. “Count me in.” Ruth struggled to her feet.
