The Party: Before Twelve | Evie, Barclay, and Open
Barclay grabbed a long, thin branch that had been gathered as tinder, and poked at the fire. It was dead. Dead wood didn't scream.
"They sometimes stretched a witch out over a rack," he said, staring into the fire. "And then, they gathered rocks on them. Like, massive ones. Just kept adding them... If you survived, you were a witch. If you didn't, you weren't. Much good it did you. None of them ever survived."
He nodded his head at someone who was at the bath tub, and he was tossed a can of beer. "Thanks." He grinned at Evie. "My family's British. We don't flip out. We just have tea and not talk about it, and all of a sudden, you're enrolled in an Institute."