Somewhere in lime...
Phoebe couldn't help noticing that something was very wrong: the way everyone was dressed like the cast of a Thanksgiving play, the horse and carriage, the buildings made of wood.... Unless I've landed in some bizarro Pilgrim party, she told herself, that demon brought me into another time zone-one that's not even close to Pacific Standard!
Suddenly it seemed as if everyone in the village was rushing over to gawk and gasp at the strange girl hiding behind the cart.
"See her belly?" an old woman said, scowling. "Pierced with a ring, it is. It is the mark of the devil, I say."
Phoebe glanced down. "My navel ring," she muttered under her breath.
"Witch!" the mob cried, closing in around her. "Witch! Witch!"
Phoebe felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. If she remembered correctly, people in the past didn't exactly like witches.
In fact, they sometimes made a point of killing them.