How to Hang a Witch Page 12

  Alice shakes her head. “No way, Susannah. We’re not doing that with her.”

  “I think we should,” says Mary.

  Okay, seriously, what’s going on?

  “How can we expect her to tell us what she finds, if we don’t include her in what we know?” Susannah asks.

  “She’s not one of us,” says Alice. “Don’t forget that.”

  “She is one of the descendant families,” says Mary.

  “On the wrong effing side of history, Mary.”

  “Well, she wears black,” Mary says as though that means anything. I crack a smile. There is something endearing about her.

  “Alice, it’s too important.” Susannah plays with the fringe of the pillow on her lap.

  Alice points her finger at me. “If you say one word of this to Jaxon or anyone else at school, I will burn you to the ground.”

  “Uh, okay,” I say. Her threat doesn’t really make sense, but it sounds morbid.

  Mary stands up, practically bouncing. “I’ll get the candles.”

  Candles? I do not want to be in those woods with candles. But if I don’t go, I might break this thing we have going, and they might never include me again.

  Mary opens the coat closet near the front door and digs around in the bottom of it. She returns with a cloth bag and four black hooded capes and tosses one to each of us. My life is getting more ridiculous by the minute.

  The front door opens, and someone who is unmistakably Mary’s mother comes through with a bag of groceries. Her hair is more tightly curled than Mary’s and she wears it pinned high up on her head, but her eyes and mouth are almost exactly the same.

  “I see I’ve arrived just as you girls are leaving,” Mary’s mom says, clearly noticing our black capes.

  My instinct is to hide mine under my butt. I can only imagine the questions that would pour out of Vivian if she walked in on a similar scene.

  Mary throws her arms around her mother with enthusiasm, almost knocking the groceries out of her hands. For a second Mary looks more like a little girl than she does a gothic chic, secretive Descendant.

  Mary’s mother kisses the top of Mary’s head. “Come back home soon—we’re going to have dinner in a few hours. You girls are welcome to stay.”

  “My mom is expecting me,” Susannah says. “But thanks, Mrs. P.”

  “I’ll be here,” Alice says.

  “I don’t doubt that,” Mrs. P says, and winks at Alice.

  These girls must spend an awful lot of time together. I can’t even imagine what it must be like to have a routine like that with a group of friends. I awkwardly stare at Mary’s mom, unsure if the invitation extends to me.

  “This is Sam.” Mary gestures toward me, and I’m grateful for the well-timed introduction.

  Mrs. P’s eyes widen ever so slightly and I’m positive she knows who I am. “Don’t let these girls make you dance naked in the moonlight.”

  I appreciate that someone else finds the whole witch thing silly, but her nonreaction to the black capes and that comment make me seriously wonder what it is these girls do in their spare time.

  Mary laughs. “But it’s such a fun initiation.”

  “Yeah,” Susannah says. “And it beats the heck out of the sacrificial one we used to have.”

  Alice rolls her eyes. I don’t think she likes that her friends are joking with me, however twisted the jokes might be.

  “You should see your face,” Mary says, grinning at me. She kisses her mom on the cheek. “Be back soon.”

  I follow the girls out the front door and into the long driveway. Mary pulls out car keys.

  “You have a car?” The New Yorker in me is surprised.

  Alice and Susannah smile. “Yup,” says Mary. “I only have a learner’s permit, but Alice just got her junior operator license.”

  I don’t even want to know which level of inexperienced that is. Mary throws the keys to Alice and we all climb into a black Jeep Wrangler. The moment my door closes, I grab my seat belt.

  “Have you guys always lived in Salem?” I ask.

  Susannah turns toward me in the backseat. “Always. For generations. As far as I know, most of the witch descendants never left.”

  “I’m leaving,” Alice says. Alice drives like a City taxi driver, fast and aggressive. Vivian’s maneuvering seems tame next to hers. Thankfully, the Walgreens is only a half mile away.

  Mary pouts. “You can’t. The circle will break if you do.”

  “Here,” says Alice as the Jeep screeches to a stop in a parking space. We all fly forward. What circle? They act like they’re in a secret society. If it’s possible, I think they might be more distrustful than I am.

  The parking lot is U-shaped and there’s a fifteen-foot cliff of rocks and dirt running along the back of the property. We walk toward it, Susannah and Mary carrying bags of spider legs or whatever nonsense they packed.

  “It looks like we can get up the hill over there,” says Mary, and points toward the dark corner of the lot where the slope is less steep.

  Alice steps onto the slanted earth and we follow. I grab a couple of tree branches to keep from sliding. This is really not my thing.

  “Let’s walk to a more secluded spot,” suggests Susannah.

  Let’s not. The light from the streetlamps fades as we make our way deeper into the trees, and I can’t see more than a couple feet ahead of me. Low-hanging branches threaten to take my eyes out, or at least disturb the tiny sense of security I have left. I walk with my hands in front of me.

  “This’ll work,” says Alice when we reach a small circular clearing.

  I look in all directions, but I can’t place where we are. The trees are thick, and as far as I can tell there’s no moon. Mary pulls out a dark blanket, and we help her spread it out. The clearing’s just big enough for it.

  I sit down and pull on the hooded cape, mainly to minimize my peripheral vision. If I can see Elijah, does that mean I can see other ghosts? Quick, think about something else. Kittens, puppies, daisies…black-eyed Susans, Abigail, ghosts. Shit.

  Susannah and Mary light candles and arrange them on the blanket. The trees flicker in the flames and the branches look like they’re moving. I have a strong urge to look over my shoulder. Why didn’t I back out when I had the chance? If someone says “Let’s contact the dead,” I don’t care how stupid I look, I’m running full speed outta here.

  Alice ties little bundles of I don’t know what…herbs? This silent ritual thing is killing me. Someone say something so I can get out of my own freakin’ head! “So, what ex—” I start.

  “I’ll tell you when to speak. Until then, shut up,” Alice snaps, her long blond hair shining in the candlelight.

  “Don’t worry,” says Susannah. “You’ll catch on.”

  Susannah lights four candles in the middle of the blanket, and everyone’s faces glow. So not comfortable. Alice looks at Susannah and she nods.

  “I call upon the power of water. That it may wash away my doubts and calm my spirit. Only through stillness may I see clearly.” Susannah finishes her words by dripping water from a small glass bottle onto her fingers and flicking it over the candles. They sizzle but don’t go out.

  Susannah looks to her left at Mary. “I call upon the power of earth. That it may guide my path and ground my spirit. Only through balance may I see clearly.” Mary picks up some dirt from the edge of the blanket and sprinkles it over the candles.

  Mary looks at Alice. “I call upon the power of air. That it may elevate my thoughts and lift my spirit. Only through breath may I see clearly.” Alice waves her hands around the flames and they leap into the air.

  They all look at me. Fire? Am I supposed to say ‘fire’? What are the words again? “I call,” I say uncomfortably. “I call upon…the, um, fire…power of fire.”

  “That it may light my way and impassion my spirit. Only through purification may I see clearly,” they all continue in unison.

  Alice hands each of us one of the
bundles she made. I mimic them and stick the end of mine in the fire. Alice holds out a bowl, and we drop in the burning herbs. There’s a strong musky smell and a lot of smoke.

  They all say together, “I mean what I say, and I say what I intend. Know my desire and give me clarity.”

  “Repeat,” Susannah whispers.

  “I mean what I say…and I say what I intend. Know my desire and give me clarity?”

  Susannah and Alice offer me their hands. I take them. Through the smoke, their faces waver slightly, like bad reception on a TV. Wait, what is that? A moment passes and their faces flicker more violently. Then they blur completely with the faces of other women. It’s as if I’m seeing two sets of people at once, the Descendants and some unknown older women.

  I open my mouth, but everything goes black. Even the noise of the crackling flames stops. For a split second, a picture flashes through the darkness—the back of a boy’s head bleeding on the ground, his body crushed under a large piece of metal.

  Mary’s scream breaks my vision and the blackness, and I once again see the girls as they normally are, without the blurred faces. It takes me a second to figure out what’s happening. Everyone’s panicking, blowing out candles and scooping up the spell ingredients.

  “Samantha, come on,” says Susannah, and I get up.

  Alice snatches the blanket, and I follow them at a fast clip through the trees. With each step I become more aware of the blackness and the nagging sense that something was in the woods with us. I run so fast that I slide down the slope of the hill and land back in the parking lot with scratched hands. Mary paces by the Jeep.

  “What was that?” Mary demands.

  I grab my head, trying to stop the nausea. My skin pulses with the impossible rhythm of my heart. Maybe there were hallucinogens in those herbs? Was I wrong all along? Do they actually know magic? I mean, I see ghosts. This isn’t that different.

  “I don’t know,” says Alice. “Those faces…”

  Mary pulls her cape off. “You saw that, right, Susannah?”

  “I did.”

  And who was that crushed guy? There was so much blood. “Did you—”

  “Everyone just stop talking for a minute,” says Alice.

  “I wanna go home,” says Mary.

  Alice pulls out the keys and unlocks the Jeep. No one hesitates; we all jump in. I so wish I hadn’t come to this, I think as I climb in the backseat. From the side mirrors, I can see that everyone has the same disturbed expression. We ride home in silence.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  * * *

  Something in Common

  I don’t get three steps into my foyer before Vivian yells, “How dare you come home this late and not call!”

  I haven’t had time to process what I saw, and Vivian’s yelling only agitates me further.

  “You’re filthy. Where were you?” She’s talking at me, not to me.

  “I was with some girls from school.” I don’t apologize, not after what she did today.

  “Why didn’t you answer your phone? I called at least five times.”

  Ignoring her never gets a good reaction, but it’s not like I can tell her what I was doing. “I didn’t want to talk to you.”

  She stiffens, and I know I’ve gone too far. “I’m surprised you have any friends with the way your principal says you behave. But we both know they won’t last long.”

  “Really? You had to say that? I bet you feel awesome about yourself for finally getting me into counseling. Maybe I can use my time to talk about what a crap parent you are.”

  “You just bought yourself a week before you see your father.”

  “You can’t keep me from seeing my dad!”

  “I can and I will until you learn how to behave.”

  I head for the staircase.

  “You don’t want me as your enemy, Samantha. You won’t like it.”

  I don’t bother to turn around.

  I open the door to my room, and Elijah’s sitting on my window seat. He takes one look at my expression and my clothes and stands. “I will leave you.”

  “Why would she say that?” I demand.

  He shakes his head. “I cannot say.”

  “Why would anyone do that? It’s just mean.”

  “Yes.”

  “Am I really that awful?” My bottom lip trembles.

  His brow furrows.

  “If I don’t have my dad, I don’t have anyone. I’m all alone.”

  He turns toward my window and doesn’t answer. I just need someone to be nice to me right now. I’ve hit my limit. “Forget it. You can’t stand me, either.” I kick off my muddy boots.

  He stares out my window. “I was just remembering that I once had a very similar conversation with Abigail.”

  His comment surprises me. “Really? About what?”

  “It is a long story.”

  Does that mean he might tell me? I wouldn’t mind hearing about someone else’s life right now. “That’s okay.”

  For a moment he hesitates. Then he turns, his face etched with emotion. “Sit.”

  I look down at my legs. “My jeans are muddy. Turn around.” I don’t care if he’s been dead for three hundred years. He’s the closest thing I have to a friend besides Jaxon.

  He looks at my legs, and seeing that I’m right, turns to the window again. I slip off my clothes and into my sweats.

  I look back up at him and realize my reflection is visible in the windowpane. Was he watching me? I sit cross-legged on my bed. “You can turn around.”

  He grips his hands behind his back. “You already know that Abigail loved black-eyed Susans. She thought them the beauty of New England, said we were lucky to have them. She used to pick them during the late summer, and I would find them the rest of the year pressed in books and journals, and even in my accounting paperwork.”

  I wrap a blanket around my legs. “That’s sweet.”

  He nods. “That bed you are sitting on. I had it made for her, along with all the furniture in this room. I rode to Ipswich to have it designed and surprised her with it on her sixteenth birthday. You should have seen her face when she first saw it. She ran her fingers over the flowers and cried.”

  “So you’re the one that had the secret compartment put in the back of the armoire? And the secret door in the library? You really like hidden things, don’t you?” What I want to ask is, What were you hiding? But I know better. He’s always just out of reach even without any instigation.

  He almost looks amused by my observation. “Those letters you found, they were love letters between Abigail and a boy we grew up with. He was a few years older than her—my classmate and my friend. I always knew there was something between them, but I never let on. I did not want to cause her any embarrassment.”

  His respect for his sister makes me feel self-conscious about trying to read her letters.

  “One day, she confided in me that she was in love. She asked that I carry a letter to him in secret. I agreed but was nervous for her, knowing his family was pushing for him to marry the governor’s daughter. If their love became public, they would have been kept apart. Or Abigail’s propriety would be questioned. Pretty soon, I became their direct line of communication.” He looks at the armoire in a nostalgic way. “The hidden compartment was intended to give her a place to keep her private things.”

  “Did they wind up together?” William’s words in the letter I read sounded apologetic.

  “No,” he says.

  I wait, but he doesn’t continue. “Thank you for sharing that with me. When I found those letters, I knew they were special. Now I know why.”

  His face softens. “I have not spoken about her in hundreds of years. It is not entirely comfortable.”

  “I get that. Not the hundreds of years part, but I don’t share personal things, either. I don’t have friends long enough. And when I do, they tend to use the things I say against me. It’s just easier not to talk.”

  “I hate to think that we h
ave something in common.” He sits next to me, and for the first time, I think he’s joking.

  “Yeah, that would be terrible.”

  The corners of his mouth move ever so slightly in the direction of a smile.

  “Are you smiling?” I ask.

  “Absolutely not.” His mouth lifts a tad higher.

  “Be careful. I might actually think you like me.”

  “I will be sure to leave you another book, then.”

  “Or another rock,” I reply.

  His smile disappears. “I did not throw that rock through your window.”

  “Really?” I pause. “Do you know who did?”

  He shakes his head. “Did you speak with the Descendants today?”

  The events of my night rush back to me. “Yeah, they agreed to help. But…we went to the hanging location and, um…” How do I say this? “And we performed a ritual or a spell or something?”

  His face turns serious. “You practiced witchcraft?”

  I can’t help it. I laugh. It sounds crazy. And now that I’m not in those terrifying woods, I’m starting to think I imagined it. “I guess.”

  “What happened?”

  His tone worries me. I trace the lace pattern on my bedspread with my fingers. I thought if anyone would say witchcraft doesn’t exist, it’d be him. “The girls’ faces blurred and became other faces. Then everything went black and I saw a guy crushed under a piece of metal.”

  He stands. “Whose faces?”

  “I honestly don’t know. They were older, though.”

  “You must return to the hanging location with the Descendants. I will observe this for myself.”

  “No way! I’m not doing that again. I almost threw up, I was so scared.”

  “Unless you can think of another way to see those faces, we are returning to that hill.” His tone indicates that I’m not going to get anywhere by arguing.

  “There’s obviously something you’re not telling me. What is it?”

  “I took it upon myself to read some journals belonging to descendants in the years with more deaths. Most of what I found was useless, mundane musings. But there was one thing that stood out. One hundred years apart, two individuals saw faces like you are describing.”