“You tell me! You’re the one who’s written it all over the Bay Area.”
“I don’t know what it means. It’s the only thing that I get off her mind, the only impression of the one who did this to me. It’s in her thoughts constantly. The last grave—it’s what she thinks about over and over.”
“I don’t understand,” Samantha said.
The woman coughed hard and blood bubbled up on her lips. She was dying, and she didn’t have much time left. Samantha was getting desperate.
“The last grave. Who’s in it?” the woman asked.
“You tell me!” Samantha demanded.
“I wish I—”
And then she was gone.
Samantha stared down at the lifeless body in her arms. She grabbed the woman’s head, struggling to sense anything she was thinking, feeling.
Death and pain swirled through Samantha’s mind, causing her to cry out in anguish and terror. But there, she could hear the words.
The last grave.
The last grave.
The last grave.
It was like a perpetual echo going around and around in someone’s mind, but Samantha didn’t know whose.
What is the last grave?
Everything was fading to black, but a whispered word came to her.
Salem.
And that’s when Samantha knew. If she survived this, she had to go back again.
She let go of Giselle and grabbed hold of Jill. Her roommate was still dazed, partially mesmerized. “Go back the way you came. Go as fast as you can,” she commanded.
Jill swayed for a moment on her feet and then turned and scrambled up the incline.
Samantha heard low, deep growling. And something in her had to know. As if compelled, she took one step deeper into the cave and then another. And a dozen feet in, she found a tiny slit beginning to open in the wall.
She held her breath and put her eye up to it.
She could see a vague shadow beyond. No, not a shadow. That part of the cave was pitch black, but the outline was something that somehow was even darker than the darkness that surrounded it. The light from the energy balls didn’t touch the thing sitting there in the dark.
And she had a terrible feeling that she had met it before. No! Not it, but something like it. Flashes of memory seemed to come back to her, and she couldn’t help but feel that this creature was somehow linked to the one that her coven had raised when she was a girl.
She heard a deep rumbling noise that sounded more like an avalanche, and in horror she realized that what she initially thought was laughter was actually words. The beast within said, “I know you.”
Samantha turned and ran. She clawed her way up the rock incline, moving as fast as her battered body would allow her. Around her the cave walls began to shake, rock dust drifting down to clog her nostrils and choke her. She pushed forward. She had to get out before the cave shook itself apart.
She thought about the creature trapped back there in the darkness. She had to make sure it stayed that way for all eternity. The words that could be used to free it were on a smashed tablet no one would ever likely find or be able to put back together to translate. But that wasn’t good enough.
When she made it to the cave of clay faces, she turned and put her hands on the rock wall of the passage she had just been down.
“Restore,” she whispered.
And she heard the crashing of rocks as they came down to block the passage. It was taking the last of her energy to do, but she had to fix that which had been undone by Giselle’s rituals.
Finished, she turned and then crashed to her knees in the center of the cavern. The timequake was coming and she could feel its size, sense its power. Here in the mountain, it would rip through time and rock, but out there, it would cause an earthquake so powerful the destruction couldn’t even be estimated. She thought of Robin’s dream and her own vision of it killing George in the center of downtown San Francisco. If the earthquake was allowed to happen, it would destroy tens of thousands of lives just like so many had been predicting. She couldn’t let that be. She had to find a way to divert the energy somewhere else, vent it somehow.
“God, please help me. Where can I put the energy?”
And in the silence that followed, she knew there was only one place. She put her hands to the ground on either side of it and reached out. She could feel the fault line. She could feel the energy building, about to explode, and through rock and earth she called it to her. And as the tide came rushing her way, she screamed in pain and terror.
20
Samantha was knocked onto her back. Around her, she could actually see the energy swirling through the air, funneling down into her. It had to be what being caught in a tornado felt like. She screamed her throat raw but couldn’t hear herself. All she heard was the roar of the earth venting its wrath on her.
Sparks were flying from her fingertips, and she could see that her entire body was glowing, pulsing with light and heat. She felt like she was being turned inside out. Finally, she lost consciousness and opened her eyes in the hallway of doors. All the little girls she had interacted with were huddled together, holding on to one another.
“You did it now,” Five whispered before burying her face in one of the other’s shoulders.
“Make it stop!” Samantha screamed, finding her voice here.
None of them answered her. None of them would even look at her anymore. Black and red light shimmered on the door marked TWELVE, which was still shut.
“Somebody help me!” she screamed again.
“There’s no help here,” someone whispered, but she didn’t know who.
How long she was there, she didn’t know. But finally she woke up and she was in the cave. The clay faces in the room had all melted. There was a guestbook suddenly, but its pages were blackened and charred. She hoped that meant that time had been set right.
But if it has, what does that mean for Robin and Winona? she wondered.
She couldn’t worry about them now. She just had to get herself out of this hole and figure out what she had to do next. She stood to her feet slowly. Every atom of her being hurt. She was thrumming with energy. She felt like she was going to explode.
Despite that, hiking out and climbing the rope ladder nearly killed her. When she reached the entrance to the cave, she noted that the top half was again covered and it was light outside.
She pulled herself out with a gasp and then lay for a moment on the ground outside, struggling to breathe. Slowly, she got to her hands and knees and considered crawling to the car. She forced herself to her feet, though, and began to stagger down the incline, grabbing on to trees for support.
When the cars came into sight, she gave a shout of relief. Jill was sitting on the ground, a blanket wrapped around her. Lance was talking with Trina.
“Hello?” she called, waving.
Lance turned and pulled his gun on her.
“Whoa, easy!” she said, lifting her hands into the air. She had forgotten that she was a wanted woman due to the killing of the witch on the Boardwalk.
“That’s not her,” Jill said.
Lance reholstered his gun. “Sorry, ma’am.”
She walked over to him. “What’s with the ma’am crap?” she asked.
He looked taken aback. “Lady, are you feeling okay?”
“No. I’ve had one hell of a night. One hell of a week, actually. Tell me you have some good news for me.”
He just stood there, staring at her. Finally, he said, “Lady, I don’t know you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Samantha said, rolling her eyes. “Look, I’m sure we can work this all out together with a little help from our friendly neighborhood Fed,” she said, pointing to Trina.
Trina was staring at her suspiciously. “How do you know who I am?”
&
nbsp; “What’s going on here?” Samantha asked. “I know I’m pretty out of it, but—” She stopped short as she took a good look at Jill’s face. Her roommate’s eyes were clear and her hair was blond again, like it used to be. And there was absolutely no recognition on her face.
“Jill, it’s me, Samantha Ryan. Your roommate.”
Jill looked up at Lance. “I don’t have a roommate.” Then she turned back to Samantha. “Wait, Samantha?” she asked, recognition starting to dawn in her eyes.
“Yes!”
“Samantha from Boston? What on earth are you doing here?” Jill asked, sounding baffled. She glanced at the others. “Samantha and I went to the same college, shared some classes. But I haven’t seen her in years.”
Samantha stared at her in horror. How could Jill not remember the last three months?
Samantha turned to look at Trina, panic rising in her. “Trina, the coven, they’re still all dead, right?”
“Yes, as of a few hours ago, but how do you know any of this?”
“I’m Samantha Ryan,” she said, annunciating clearly, like it would help. “I’m a homicide detective for the San Francisco Police Department. I’m your partner,” she said pointedly to Lance.
“Wait a minute. I know you,” Trina said, her face turning pale.
“Yes! Thank you,” Samantha said.
“You’re Samantha Castor. You got my partner, Randy, killed. What are you doing here?”
Castor, the last name she’d had when she was a child before she changed it. The name she’d readopted when infiltrating the Salem coven. She had kept her true first name hidden, though, since words had power. The only living people who knew that name were her adoptive parents and Captain Roberts, who had been the cop she had told her story to back in Salem when she escaped the slaughter of her coven when she was twelve.
And as Lance, Jill, and Trina all stood gaping at her, she fell to her knees and began to scream.
* * *
Twenty-four hours later, Samantha was sitting in Trina’s car at the San Francisco International Airport, pulling up to the departure gates. The timequake that she had absorbed had erased her entire history in San Francisco. No one knew her; no one remembered her. Trina had taken responsibility for killing Giselle and the rest of the coven. She was headed for a promotion at work. At least she had finally come around and believed Samantha’s story about what had actually happened the last week. Miraculously, Winona Lightfoot was still alive. In this reality, she’d never found the book, never gone to the museum to try to keep the tablet from being stolen by Giselle. Neither she nor Robin remembered Samantha, though.
“Where will you go?” Trina asked.
“I don’t know. Home first; there’s a few things I have to check on. I called my captain there and at least they remember me. They have a vague memory of me being on the West Coast, but not being transferred here. He thinks I’m on some sort of leave following everything that happened in Salem.”
“I’m sorry, about everything that’s happened to you.”
“Thanks. Look, you don’t remember it, but I made you a promise.”
Samantha took Trina’s hands and held them, letting the energy build up between them. “Ferret,” she whispered, and the energy took shape and a moment later solidified.
Trina squealed with delight.
“And when you need to hide him, just disperse the energy,” Samantha said, demonstrating. “Now you try.”
Trina put her hands together and crafted the tiny ferret again. The creature ran up and perched on her shoulder. She turned to look at Samantha, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Thank you for this,” she said.
Samantha nodded. “Now you’ll never be alone.”
She got out of the car before she could start to cry. She had no luggage, not even a carry-on. She had no idea what had happened to all of her things—her cloak, her athame, any of it.
When she finally boarded the plane, she conjured Freaky, putting a glamour on him so only she could see him. She needed him more than ever.
Once she landed in Boston, she’d get a rental car and drive straight to Salem. She had questions that needed answers and they wouldn’t wait. As the plane lifted off the runway, she fell into a mercifully dreamless sleep.
* * *
Salem.
As Samantha drove her rental car across the town limits, she suppressed the urge to hang a U in the middle of the street and head right back out. She had to keep going. There were questions she needed answered, and there was nowhere else to go for those answers.
She parked at the Hawthorne, praying she wouldn’t need to check back in and stay for a few days. As soon as she got out of her car, she headed toward the pedestrian mall. She had to see Anthony. She needed to get that over with first. She owed that much to both of them.
It was still midafternoon, so he should be at his museum. Anthony had owned a museum of the occult when she met him while undercover in Salem. When he had insisted on trying to help her bring down the coven that was sacrificing young women, she had put him in harm’s way. He’d nearly been killed, and his museum had been destroyed. She had never asked him how the rebuild was going. She’d felt too guilty about everything that had happened.
As she walked the familiar streets, she tried to breathe easier. This was the first time she had walked them as something other than a witch. Her past was behind her. That’s what she had to keep reminding herself. She was no longer a little girl, manipulated and controlled by members of her coven. Nor was she the undercover cop using magic to infiltrate and take down a later version of that coven. She was just her.
She looked at the stores and all of their witchcraft trappings with new eyes. It was just window dressing for the tourists who expected it. There was no malice behind it. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stroll calmly. She could pretend that she was also a tourist and that these streets weren’t haunted for her. With the afterglow of magic and power faded, it was easier to do.
She rehearsed yet again what she was going to say to Anthony when she saw him. She reached the block where his museum was and she could feel her heart begin to beat faster. Her slow, measured steps quickened.
And then everything stopped. There, where Anthony’s museum had once stood, was a new building. She studied the sign with misgivings.
COFFINS. COFFEE AND MUFFINS.
She pushed open the door and walked inside. Rich aromas filled the air, and she breathed in deeply. A girl behind the counter dressed in black with pale white makeup looked up.
“Can I help you?”
“Actually, I was looking for the gentleman who used to have the occult museum in this spot.”
The girl wrinkled up her nose. “I don’t know about a museum. I’ve been working here for a couple of weeks.”
Samantha felt her heart sinking. So many things had changed in San Francisco. Had the effects reached this far too? She caught her breath. What if Anthony didn’t even know her anymore?
“Can I get you anything?”
“Yeah. What’s good?”
“Well, we have to get your blood type first.”
“Excuse me?” Samantha asked, jolted out of her own thoughts.
“What type of coffee you like. You know, life’s blood?”
Samantha raised an eyebrow. “Wow, you guys picked a theme and committed.”
“That’s the idea. O is our specialty house blend. A is dark roast. B is medium roast. Positive is caffeinated. Negative is decaffeinated.”
“In that case I’ll take A positive.”
“How many millimeters?”
“Just give me whatever a medium ends up being,” Samantha said, starting to get frustrated.
“Sure.”
She glanced down at the display case and saw muffins shaped like mini cauldrons. According to a sign, you could have molten
chocolate, butter, or cream poured in them. Nearby were chocolate éclairs shaped like coffins.
“I’ll take a couple of the coffins too.”
Five minutes later she was out the door with her coffee and pastries. She headed back toward the hotel parking lot and then drove her car to Anthony’s house. She parked on the street and took a moment to refocus herself.
Finally, she climbed out of her car and headed for the front door, coffee and pastry bag in hand.
She rang the doorbell, heart in her throat.
A few seconds later it opened, and she blinked up at Anthony.
His eyes widened in surprise and she took a ragged breath. Somehow “hi” seemed way too casual a thing to say.
He looked down at the bag in her hands. “Traitor.”
“So what is the deal with that?” she asked, relieved that he had spoken first.
He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Want to come in and hear the story?”
She nodded, and he stood aside to let her enter. Her shoulder brushed against his, and the contact sent shivers throughout her body.
She turned around. “So—”
He took her in his arms and kissed her. Stunned, she stood there for a moment, coffee in one hand and pastry bag in the other.
He let her go just as abruptly, stepping back to put distance between them. She stood staring, having even less clue what to begin to say to him than she had before.
“Why don’t you sit down on the couch,” he said finally.
She licked her lips and then did as he suggested, setting down the cup and the bag on the coffee table. She was relieved when he sat down in a chair. Being close to him scrambled her brain and made it impossible to think clearly.
She just had to keep reminding herself that this was a man she had no business being with. She had ruined his life in so many ways. And being with him was a reminder of all the things she struggled daily to forget.
But he was the only one who would understand what she’d been through.
“So, you going to tell me what happened in San Francisco?” he asked. “By the way, I’m fuzzy on how long you were there.”
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