The Coven's Shadow

The flickering fluorescent lights of the Visitors Welcome Center hummed a weary tune, a stark contrast to the vibrant green of the brochures Katja sifted through. Each one promised adventure, escape, the pristine beauty of Logan Canyon. But now, they felt less like invitations and more like coded warnings. The brochures, meticulously arranged by Carol Lawson Reed and her Women’s Organization, were a testament to their dedication, a polished veneer over something Katja was beginning to suspect was far less welcoming.

“Anything, Ranger Becker?” Carol’s voice, smooth as river stone, interrupted Katja’s thoughts. She stood in the doorway of the small office Katja had commandeered, a basket of freshly baked scones balanced on her hip. The scent of cinnamon and something vaguely floral, like dried lavender, filled the air.

Katja looked up, forcing a polite smile. “Just reviewing the visitor logs, Mrs. Reed. Trying to piece together anyone who might have seen something, anything, that first morning.” She deliberately avoided mentioning the tattered, dog-eared book she’d tucked beneath a stack of trail maps. The one she’d found tucked away in the back of the center’s dusty storage room, its pages filled with faded ink and sketches of symbols that mirrored the one she'd found etched into the ancient oak.