How to Hang a Witch Page 11

  “Elijah?” I say through my sobs. I lift my head off the floor. “I know you don’t like to be summoned, but I need your help. Please.”

  He appears. “Let me help you up, Samantha.”

  “I don’t care about me.” I wipe my tears with the back of my sleeve. “I only care about my dad. I don’t want him to die. I’ll do anything. Help me break the curse.”

  He sighs. “I am helping; I made that confounded deal with you.”

  “I mean really help, like you care, like you would if it were Abigail.”

  His eyes get a faraway look.

  “What if I leave Salem and transfer my dad back to New York? Then all the families won’t be here—”

  “An elderly descendant died in her sleep while you were in Boston today. I don’t believe it will make any difference if you leave now.”

  My heart sinks.

  “Please, you must get off the floor.” Elijah offers me his hand, and I take it. His palm is cold the way it was when it was pressed against my mouth. He pulls me into a standing position and tucks my hand into the crook of his arm.

  We walk into the living room, and he gestures toward the white couches. “Sit.”

  “You’re the bossiest person I’ve ever met,” I say, but plop down onto a cushion anyway. I wipe the remaining dampness from under my eyes. He grabs some wood to start a fire.

  “I am a lot older than you. I know better.”

  “You don’t look a lot older.”

  “That is beside the point.”

  “How old were you when you died?”

  He lights the kindling and closes the screen around the fire. “Eighteen.”

  “You loved Abigail a lot, didn’t you?”

  Looking at him standing next to the mantel, flames lighting up his face, I can’t help but think how attractive he is. “Yes. Our parents died when I was fifteen and Abigail was thirteen. It became my responsibility to take over my father’s business. I dedicated myself to caring for her so she would not have to endure living with our relatives. We were as close as any two people could be.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “I am not going to discuss that, Samantha. I have said too much already.”

  “You haven’t said anything. I barely know anything about you except that you want me to leave.”

  “That is enough.”

  I sigh. “Fine. Don’t talk to me. But will you help me?”

  He sits down in one of the white armchairs. “Yes, if I can. But you may not like everything I have to suggest.”

  “Like what?”

  His movements are elegant as he adjusts his posture. “I do not think you will disrupt this pattern by yourself.”

  “I have Jaxon and Mrs. Meriwether…and you. Who else do I need?”

  “I believe it will require the assistance of the Descendants.”

  “Those nuts?” My face falls. “You’re right. I don’t like that suggestion.”

  “Considering that these deaths do not affect your family alone, I think it prudent to inform the potentially injured parties. They may be able to help with information.”

  “Of all the things you could’ve said, you had to say that? Now I feel guilty if I don’t tell them. I don’t know. Maybe they can help. We don’t even know how the curse started.”

  “If there is such a curse, I imagine it started with the Trials.”

  “Well, what was the cause of the Salem Witch Trials?” As soon as the question leaves my mouth, I remember Lizzie’s answer from class. “It was Cotton Mather, wasn’t it?”

  He looks like he’s reliving unpleasant memories. “He was a main player but not the only one. Give me time to think about it.”

  “Can I borrow your notes on the descendants’ deaths?”

  “If you want them.”

  “If I have to convince a group of people who hate me to help solve a curse that could be killing our families…I can’t even say this without thinking I sound one hundred percent crazy. Anyway, I just need those notes, otherwise I have no chance with the Descendants.”

  He nods and disappears.

  “Way to say goodbye.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  * * *

  People Are Dying

  I slip into my seat next to Susannah in homeroom before the bell. It’s Monday morning of week two at Salem High, and my situation has only gotten more anxiety-inducing.

  “Alice,” I say. Might as well go straight to the difficult one.

  Alice, Mary, and Susannah turn—black clothes and dark expressions. There’s something undeniably beautiful about them. If they weren’t so mean, I’d feel the same awe other people do.

  “Look, I know you hate me. But I know something important about your families that you’ll wanna hear.”

  “I doubt you have anything to say that I want to hear,” says Alice. “Unless it’s the sound of you shutting the hell up.”

  “Talking to you is basically the last thing that I want to do. But, again, it’s important.”

  “Well, what is it?” asks Mary.

  Alice glares at her. “Mary, stop.”

  “What if it’s actually important, Alice? She said it was about our families.”

  Alice rolls her eyes before facing me. “You have thirty seconds.”

  Man, I so wish I didn’t have to be nice to you. “It can’t be explained in thirty seconds.”

  “That took ten. Twenty seconds left.” Alice waits to see if I’ll challenge her.

  It takes all my willpower to smother my frustration. “The simplest way to say it is…we’re cursed.”

  Mary laughs. “You mean, you’re cursed.”

  I can’t help but wince. “I mean we, as in all of us. As in people are dying.”

  Mary laughs again, but Alice and Susannah don’t. The bell rings.

  “Welcome to Monday morning,” says Mrs. Hoxley. “Fresh start to the week. We only have one announcement. This Wednesday, school’s canceled for Remembrance Day—the official start to Salem’s History Month.” People hoot. “Now I’ll give you time to sort your schedules and finish your homework. There will be no talking.”

  Mrs. Hoxley scans the room, looking for dissent. And even though I never talk, she glares at me. She’s hated me since the pastry incident, when she threw up in the middle of the hallway.

  I pull out my agenda. I honestly don’t know how I’m gonna get these girls to talk to me long enough to convince them. I’d think I was crazy, too. What a nightmare.

  Susannah slips a note onto my desk. It reads Explain.

  I stare at the small piece of paper without a clue what to write. I make three failed attempts, which sound equivalent to “my gut told me something was wrong and then—bingo—I figured out people were dying.”

  With one minute left to homeroom, I write read these, and pass the note back with Elijah’s handwritten papers. Mrs. Hoxley looks ready to comment, but the bell cuts her off.

  The Descendants leave without a glance. At least Susannah takes the papers with her. I shove my stuff in my bag and rush to history. I didn’t return Jaxon’s texts yesterday, and I’d like to explain before class starts.

  I barely step one foot inside the door when Mr. Wardwell says, “Sam, you’ve been called to the principal’s office.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Head over there.”

  I glance at Jaxon’s empty seat and leave. What’s this all about? Susannah wouldn’t give those papers to a teacher, would she? I would look like a total psychopath.

  When I open the heavy glass door to the principal’s office, the secretary’s eyes are glued to a book. I walk right past him, and I turn the handle of the door that says PRINCIPAL BRENNAN in a large font. Vivian sits in a chair facing Brennan’s desk. I freeze.

  “Is Dad okay? What happened?”

  “Your father’s fine. Jimmy here just wanted to have a chat with us,” Vivian says in her I’m-the-nicest-person voice. Gross, did she just call him Jimmy?


  I look between them and take the seat next to Vivian. Am I in trouble?

  “Now, Sam,” Brennan says, “I know you’ve struggled to adjust in your first week at Salem High. Which is perfectly understandable given your father’s illness and all. But it’s come to my attention that the problem is larger than I imagined.”

  At least this isn’t about those papers I gave to Susannah. “Okay?”

  “I think it best you visit the school counselor once a week for the next couple of months, to monitor your progress,” Brennan continues.

  “Monitor my progress? Like therapy?” I glare at Vivian. I’ll give her one thing; she’s persistent.

  “Not therapy. Just an informal check-in. Jimmy—’scuse me, Principal Brennan—thought it would make your transition easier. That way you could discuss anything that’s bothering you.”

  “No.”

  “Sam.” Principal Brennan runs his hand through his thinning hair. “It’s not a request. I want you to go to the counseling office and set a schedule with Mrs. Lippy before you return to class.”

  “You want me to go talk to someone named Mrs. Lippy? If you—”

  “Let’s discuss this outside.” Vivian cuts me off. “Don’t worry, Principal Brennan. I’ll handle it.”

  He looks at me sharply, but Vivian stands, and her long legs distract him. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Vivian. Sam, I look forward to good progress reports.”

  I get up and walk straight through the waiting room and into the hallway.

  “Sam.” Vivian catches up with me. “It was the best I could do. Apparently, a lot of students complain about you. I know how it sounds, but the principal called all concerned about you not fitting in with the school. This seemed like the best-case scenario. That is, if you want to continue going to high school.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Do not give me attitude when I just saved you in there.”

  “I can’t talk. Mrs. Lippy is waiting.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  * * *

  Ropes Mansion

  I unfold a small piece of white paper shoved into the edge of my locker. It reads: Meet us at Ropes Mansion garden on Essex at 3:15 ~Susannah. I look at my cell phone. It’s 3:05. I speed-walk through the crowded hall and out the door.

  I text Jaxon not to wait for me, and search Ropes Mansion on my phone. It’s not far. Either they plan on jumping me in a garden or they think Elijah’s notes have credibility.

  A few blocks from the school, I pass a funeral home with a young woman outside it struggling to keep her composure as she greets people. Who did she lose, I wonder? A friend, her husband, her father? I shake my head to clear the thought, but look right at the placard that says the name of the deceased…Proctor. Another descendant death. I bite my lip and pick up my pace.

  It only takes me a few minutes to get to Essex. It’s an old street lined with brambly trees and redbrick sidewalks. I approach the tall tower of a Gothic church and check my phone again. The map says it’s right here, but I don’t see a garden or Susannah.

  I follow the spiked iron fence around the church. FIRST CHURCH IN SALEM, FOUNDED IN 1629, a sign reads. The fence ends, and there’s a big wooden trellis covered in vines. Should I go through? I look around, and step onto the path that leads toward the archway.

  Passing under the thick vines, the small dirt walkway opens into a labyrinth of trails, all lined with blooming flowers. In the center of the buzzing garden is a sundial, and around it, Susannah, Mary, and Alice.

  I can tell they’re arguing by their hushed voices and hard expressions.

  “Samantha,” Susannah says, and they all turn. With their black clothes and the Gothic tower in the background, they look more intense than usual.

  “You’re late,” says Alice.

  I look at my phone. “By two minutes.”

  “Exactly,” Alice says to Susannah as though it proves a point.

  What were they talking about before I arrived? “Did you read the papers I gave you?”

  “Yes,” says Susannah, handing them back to me.

  Alice fixes me with her gaze. “Who gave them to you?”

  “There’s no way that’s your handwriting,” adds Mary, and Alice pinches her in the arm.

  “Ow.” Mary pulls her arm away. “That hurt, you know.”

  “Don’t worry about where I got them. What did you think?”

  “Are you incapable of answering a simple question?” Alice squints at me like I’m dim-witted.

  “We were surprised that you knew so much about the local families,” says Susannah.

  “You knew about these deaths, didn’t you?” I ask, reading into the diplomacy of Susannah’s answer. Was that why she wanted to talk to me about John’s great-grandfather and why she told me to be careful in the graveyard? What are these girls up to?

  Mary sulks. “It’s news to me.”

  Susannah looks at Alice before continuing. “Those papers contain decades of records. How’d you track them all down?”

  I guess that’s what they were fighting about when I came. Alice and Susannah know something they didn’t tell Mary. Hmmm. Mary pulls at her springy brown curls and frowns. She’s not as closed off as Alice or as poised as Susannah. If there’s one of them that’s likely to speak freely, it’s her. That’s why Alice always tells her to shut up. “Mary, what do you think?”

  “I think you’re right. I think we’re cursed. And I, for one, wanna figure it out. I have zero interest in dying or watching my family die. Lizzie’s brother—”

  “Mary.” Alice cuts her off. “Enough.”

  So they know I’m right about these deaths being more than a coincidence. Thank you, Mary. “Okay, Alice, if you don’t think there’s anything weird about this, then I’ll just go.”

  “That handwriting is old cursive, and that information would take you months to compile. You’re clearly up to something. And I want to know what.”

  “And you three are in a hidden garden without Lizzie and John. Plus, Mary didn’t even know any of this until today. You’re up to something yourself.”

  “I’m not playing games with you.”

  “You could just ask me nicely, and I might consider telling you,” I say.

  Alice gives me the finger.

  I walk away. Alice either accepts me as an equal and we work together on this or I’ll figure it out with Elijah. I’m not going to put up with her crap every day. I’m done.

  “Don’t go, Samantha,” says Susannah. For some reason, I can’t bring myself to hate her. “Please tell us what you know.”

  I stop.

  “Let her go,” says Alice.

  “You don’t like your family, Alice, but I’m really close with mine. What if these numbers are right?” Susannah presses.

  “Yeah, really, Alice,” adds Mary. “I’m not cool with gambling on this.”

  “Fine. But this is between us. Lizzie and John are out of it for now.” Alice looks at me. “Well?”

  Not that I ever want to talk to Lizzie or John again, but I don’t get why Alice is excluding them. Makes me wonder what else she’s hiding. I rejoin them at the sundial. There is an inscription on it that reads HOURS FLY. FLOWERS BLOOM AND DIE. OLD DAYS OLD WAYS PASS BY. LOVE STAYS. And so does a curse.

  “Let’s go to your house, Mary. It’s only a block away from here,” Susannah suggests.

  “Not gonna happen,” Alice says before Mary can answer.

  I can’t help but notice that together we look like a friggin’ coven. I clear my throat. “Okay, here’s what I know. These deaths aren’t random. They occur in a pattern. And they’re triggered when at least one member of each of the major Witch Trials’ families is in Salem. Unfortunately, there’s a complete list of major families here right now.”

  The shock is obvious in Alice’s expression. She quickly glances over her shoulder. “We need to discuss this somewhere more private.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  * * *

  Sh
e’s Not One of Us

  “You expect me to believe that?” Alice asks, cracking her knuckles and leaning back on the burgundy pillows on Mary’s couch. Mary’s house has a much more homey feel than mine does. Nothing is terribly fancy or breakable, and everything looks lived-in. The coffee table has light scratches, and there is a small chip in the platter holding the veggies and dip that we’ve been munching on.

  “Look.” I lean forward in my armchair and hand Alice my phone displaying an old map of Salem. “Mr. Wardwell said the main requirement for the hanging location was that it had to be outside of town. The only way out of town at the time was over Town Bridge. That Walgreens is right on the other side of where that bridge used to be. It would have been the closest and easiest place to choose.”

  “We should go check it out,” says Mary, sitting cross-legged on the floor, wrapping a curl around her finger.

  Alice examines the map. “Being in a convenient location and visible from some window you say you found doesn’t mean you’re right.”

  “Okay, well, look. There’s an old cart road on that map right behind where the Walgreens is now. And no cart road or any road at all where everyone thinks the hangings happened. I mean, I went to the place you guys call Gallows Hill and there’s no way they got carts full of people up that steep thing easily. They definitely didn’t do it without a cleared road,” I say.

  Susannah and Alice share a knowing look.

  Susannah nods. “Then it’s settled. We go.”

  My recent woods experience comes to mind. “Now? In the dark?”

  Alice smirks. “If you’re scared, you should stay here. You won’t be missed.”

  I shift in my chair. “I’m just not sure what we’ll get out of seeing it in the dark.”

  “Clarity,” says Susannah, and looks at me. “Your grandmother thought the real hanging location was important, Samantha, because it holds an imprint of that event. Like a memory.”

  I’m not following.