Hazel wasn’t sure if she should call the authorities and have this poor woman committed for overnight observation. Clearly, she was not acting.
“Let’s start with names. I’m Hazel Abbot.” She extended her hand.
“Sarah Hutchinson Cooper,” she said with a curtsy.
Hazel choked on her own saliva. She glanced around at the other customers, unsure if someone was trying to punk her. She leaned closer, not wanting anyone to hear her. “Sarah Hutchinson? As in the accused witch who was mysteriously able to escape her fate during the 1692 Salem Witch Trials?”
“It would appear that is I.”
Hazel’s body flushed, and her hands grew clammy. She recognized the name from the book she had discovered. But there was no possible way they were one and the same. The Sarah Hutchinson in her book, her great-aunt, lived over three hundred years ago. It had to be a coincidence, but everything in her body told her that wasn’t at all the case.
Hazel saw no logical reason to believe Sarah. She had to be confused, possibly off her meds, but even as she thought it, something in her subconscious railed against the thought.
“I’d like to help you,” Hazel said calmly, not wanting to scare her. “Will you come upstairs with me? Maybe we can figure this out together.”
Sarah looked as if she was going to protest, but only for a minute. She studied Hazel’s face as though searching for signs of danger. She must not have found any because she indicated her agreement with a nod.
Hazel turned and told the customers they needed to go, that she was closing for the day for a…family emergency. They huffed but walked out of the store. Hazel locked the door and walked Sarah up the stairs to her apartment.
She couldn’t make sense of her feelings, but she knew she was doing the right thing. She felt a connection to Sarah, a need to help her, if not protect her. Hazel just needed to figure out why.
Chapter Four
Raven could feel the shift in the realms. Morgan had been right. Something was happening in Salem. She twirled her lighter on the bar top, watching the blurred reflection in her pint glass. The family curse bestowed upon her when she accepted her uncle’s place from Morgan wasn’t anything she’d ever wanted, but she accepted her reality all the same.
This shift was unlike anything she’d ever felt. She could sense when a demon was close or when an entity was out of place, but it was nothing like this. It left her more unsettled than she could ever remember being. Her subconscious was drawing her to the bookstore again, but she was trying to sit with the inclination, wanting to make sure it wasn’t merely the connection she’d felt to the owner manipulating her senses.
“Another beer?” The bartender stared at her, towel in hand.
“No, thank you,” she said, thankful for the break in her thoughts. She threw her money on the bar and walked into the street, unsure where she was headed. As if impelled by an unknown force, she started for A Witch in Time.
She maneuvered down the streets, slightly paying attention to the people who passed: women in heels trying to navigate the cobblestones, people laughing at jokes she couldn’t hear, and others deciding on where to eat dinner. It only took her a few minutes until she was once again standing on the other side of the street, looking at the shop.
She glanced down at her watch, surprised to see a Closed sign hanging in the window so early in the evening. She thought about turning around and heading back to the bar, but something told her to stay. The feeling pushed its way up from her stomach and into her throat like an invisible hand, squeezing the air out of her body. She started toward the store, and with each step, the vise around her throat lessened, indicating she was heading in the right direction.
She looked around the side of the building and saw a stairway. With each step, the intensity of the shifting realms filled her body. Her shirt began to stick to her back with sweat seeping from every pore, heightening the effects of the changing night air.
She knocked on the door and waited. When no one came, she tried again, but still no answer. The tightness in her chest started again. She pounded on the door with much more ferocity, and the bolt unlatched.
Hazel looked perplexed as she swung the door open. “What are you doing here?”
Raven hadn’t thought about this part. She’d been so focused on following her intuition that she wasn’t sure how to explain what was happening. “Are you okay?”
Hazel crossed her arms and looked down the staircase. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
Raven was trying to figure out what to say next when she saw a woman behind Hazel. She was dressed in Puritan costume, her face scrunched with angst as she stepped lightly across the creaky floor, but Raven had a strong sense that this was no actor.
She drew her seraph blade from its holster. The blade, forged in the other realm, was infused with white light and the only weapon strong enough to kill a demon.
Hazel touched her arm. Raven’s body warmed, and a sense of calm came over her. “She’s not dangerous. Her name is Sarah.”
Raven recoiled, recognizing the sensation from her time with Morgan. “You’re a witch?”
Hazel looked confused, as if she’d taken the remark as an accusation. “What? No.” She paused and led Raven inside. “At least, that would’ve been my answer as of yesterday. Now, I’m not so sure.”
Raven was overwhelmed with the intensity in the room. The energy enveloping her was undoubtedly from white magic. She looked back and forth between the two women. “You’re both witches.”
The other woman’s face relaxed slightly. “You know of witchcraft?”
Hazel shook her head and stepped closer to Raven. “Who are you exactly?”
She seemed genuinely confused. Her face radiated questions and a great deal of concern. She had no reason to lie. If Hazel’s powers were just now emerging, she would gain control of them soon and then would be privy to the realms. She’d be able to see Raven’s identity even if she tried to hide it.
“I’m a shadowhunter. I track and banish demons, evil entities, or whatever Morgan le Fay decides.” She took off her leather jacket and exposed a tattoo on her right arm, a pentagram with a pair of knives through the emblem, a brand she received once she accepted the curse.
Sarah ran her hands over her face. “Pray, hath Ayotunde sent thee to save me from the gallows?”
“Gallows?” Raven darted her eyes from Sarah to Hazel. “She’s serious?”
Hazel stepped in front of Sarah, seeming to block or protect her from Raven. “Who is this Morgan le Fay person? Did she send you?”
Raven struggled to understand what was happening. If Hazel’s powers were developing, why had Morgan sent her? Surely Morgan would want to be the one to explain her existence. Plus, who was this odd witch with her?
Raven put her hands up in a sign of acceptance. “I’ll answer your questions, but you’re going to have to answer some of mine as well.” She pointed at Sarah. “For starters, who’s the Puritan?”
Sarah stepped forward as if eager to share her story. Her face brightened as she moved around Hazel, who looked less than thrilled. “My name is Sarah Hutchison Cooper, wife of Thomas Cooper. I come from the year sixteen hundred and ninety-two. The Salem magistrates have summoned me after accusations of witchcraft. When jailed, I found my dear friend, Ayotunde, who freed me from my shackles with her chants. She says I possess magical powers, but of witchcraft I know not.” Her face turned grave again. “Please…I am much bewildered.”
Raven looked at Hazel for her confirmation.
Hazel rubbed her forehead, and Raven couldn’t tell if it was out of annoyance or frustration. “Let me show you this book I found.”
Hazel disappeared for a few moments and returned carrying a large object covered in cloth. “My mother went to pretty significant lengths to hide this from me, and I’m not sure why. She’s on a trip with her friend right now, but when she’s finally back in cell range, I have quite a few questions for her.”
Raven to
ok the book and placed it on the table. She carefully opened the cloth to reveal the intricate family crest and felt the power vibrating from it. It was warm and peaceful, no dark magic present. She flipped open the cover and started scouring the pages.
“Do you know what this is?” Hazel’s mouth was next to Raven’s ear, reading over her shoulder.
“It’s your family grimoire,” Raven said with a glance at her. She tingled at the feel of Hazel’s breath on her cheek.
Raven continued to flip through until she reached a section of blank pages. She kept flipping, not understanding why it had stopped so abruptly.
Sarah sat on her heels on the floor, folding her dress under her, and reached for the book. “Allow me.” She dragged her hand across the page, and the words started to appear. “Ayotunde once told me that the hands of a Hutchinson have the power to reveal secrets.” She looked up at Raven and Hazel. “She spun many childhood tales to me that I thought were only to make me smile.”
Hazel gasped. “I can’t believe this is real.” She sank back against the couch. “I’ve studied the occult my entire life and have never seen anything like this.”
Raven faced her. “You really had no inclination?”
Hazel chewed on her fingernail. “I thought I was just intuitive, maybe extra sensitive. But this? No, I had no idea.” She motioned to the book.
Raven smiled with empathy. “I don’t know as much as I’d like, but I can offer you some answers.”
Hazel and Sarah looked at each other with a twin air of vulnerability that Raven found adorable.
“I’m sure we’d both love that,” Hazel said.
After helping Sarah to her feet, Raven leaned back on the couch. “I don’t know all the secrets of the witches; only your kind are privy to that type of information, but I’ll tell you what I know.” She looked between Hazel and Sarah, who offered their rapt attention. “Witches have been around since the beginning of time. Witches have been tasked with keeping the balance between the realms. For many of you, this means making sure that demons and other creatures aren’t able to overrun this world. Each of you has distinct powers, which, from what I understand, take a lifetime to develop. However, it may happen a bit faster for you two. Witches’ powers always increase when they’re around family members who embrace and share their connections.”
“So, she and I really are related?” Hazel gave Sarah a tentative smile.
“That’s the vibe I’m getting,” Raven said. “Aunt Sarah, meet your great-niece Hazel.”
Sarah gently squeezed Hazel’s hand as though relieved at the connection.
“You know what we are,” Hazel said, “but we know very little about you.”
Raven wasn’t comfortable sharing personal information, but she tried to push through those feelings. She wanted these women to trust her. “I’m a descendant of Virginia Dare, the first English child born on this continent. Morgan le Fay, the Queen of the Witches, made a bargain with the king of the other realm in exchange for Virginia. I’m not sure what the deal entailed, but I do know the cost for my family was a curse. One person from my family has always worked for Morgan. We do her bidding, helping her to rid this realm of evil.”
“Sounds very noble,” Hazel said.
Raven suppressed a laugh. “Maybe, but it doesn’t feel that way. My life doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to Morgan.”
“Per chance this Morgan can help me? Pray, may I speak with her?” Sarah said.
Raven stood. “You’re going to get your chance. I’m going to take you to her. But we need to go to New Orleans.”
Hazel matched Raven’s movement, standing to speak. “I can’t just leave my shop. It’s October. I make almost the entirety of my living this month. No, it will have to wait.”
Raven felt the vise sensation at her throat again. It choked her, pushing out words she didn’t form in her mind. “You don’t have a choice. You come with me, or I’ll be forced to take you.” Raven pressed a hand against her throat once the sentence was out in the open, unsure of where it came from.
Hazel held her hand to her chest. “Are you threatening me?”
Raven shook her head, hating herself for making Hazel feel that way. “No, Morgan is; that was her talking through me. Before you argue, Morgan doesn’t make requests. If you don’t come with me, she’ll come and get you herself. Believe me when I tell you, you don’t want that. Pack a bag. I’ll be back in the morning.”
Raven walked out of the apartment before Hazel could protest. When the door shut behind her, she felt Hazel’s absence. She told herself it was just Hazel’s power combined with Sarah’s that left her feeling this overwhelming emptiness.
She let the cool air chill her skin, not bothering to put on her jacket. She wanted to feel her skin prickle and her body shiver, a reminder that her body was still her own and not beholden to any witch, at least for the time being.
* * *
Sarah rubbed her arms at the chill caused by Raven’s swift departure and Morgan’s ominous words. She glanced at Hazel, who still seemed unsettled by the events.
“’Tis providence indeed that we have not to endure this alone. I fear that even the most zealous of my Christian brethren in Salem have failed lamentably in ridding this village of evil.”
Hazel smiled and sat down beside her. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around all this. I cannot believe you’re sitting here in my apartment, a living, breathing historical figure I read about as a kid. Not to mention the fact that I now know time travel is possible. Mind blown.” She flicked both sets of fingers at each of her temples.
“You hast read my life’s story betimes our meeting? Do I bear children one day?”
Hazel frowned and shook her head. “It doesn’t appear that way; at least, nothing was documented in my family’s history. I’m a direct descendant of your sister, Mary.”
“Ah yes, my dear sister hath birthed six healthy children,” Sarah said, drifting off. “I have wondered, to my chagrin, wherefore God blessed her with such a bounty and give me none. Perhaps today I have my answer.”
“What do you mean?” Hazel said.
“If I be a witch, God shall grant no such blessing upon me.”
“If you’re a witch, your sister must’ve been, too. Weren’t all the Hutchinson women?”
Sarah shrugged. “Our mother perished hours after she birthed me. Were it possible that I am the original Hutchinson witch, and death be her punishment for bringing me forth into the world?”
“Sarah, you’re a white witch. You’re not evil.”
“Puritan law deems all witchcraft evil. There be no mention of good witches in the Scriptures.”
“Well, maybe whoever wrote the Scriptures didn’t know everything they should’ve known. There are other schools of thought besides Puritanism. Today, that’s not even a religion anymore. Once it was acknowledged that all nineteen people hanged in Salem were really innocent, Puritanism kinda lost its bite.”
Horrified, Sarah whispered, “Nineteen? Dear God.”
“Oh crap,” Hazel said. “You didn’t know that, did you?”
“And my dear friend, Bridget Bishop?”
Hazel shook her head solemnly. “She was the first.”
Overcome, Sarah buried her face in her hands and wept. Hazel patted her upper back gently as she repeated, “I’m sorry,” in a whisper.
After a few minutes, Sarah lifted her head and dried her cheeks with the sleeve of her dress. “We must stop this.”
“Stop what? It’s already done.”
“Perhaps not. We, you and Raven and I, must travel back and put an end to the persecution, to save the innocents from these wretched, unjust fates.”
“Uh…”
“Hazel, we cannot let them face the gallows. They be good, honest Christians.”
“Sarah, I understand your indignation, but you’re suggesting we go back and rewrite American history. We can’t do that…at least I don’t think we can.”
“Ayotu
nde,” Sarah said, gripped by fear. She stood and began pacing the room. “Is my Ayotunde among the condemned who will hang?”
“Um, I don’t remember the name Ayotunde. The only enslaved person I remember reading about was Tituba, who belonged to Reverend Parris. She was spared death because she confessed.”
“Aye, Reverend Parris. It was he who hath stirred this pot of venom in Salem Village, for he not kept proper watch over his niece and daughter. I like not to speak ill of such a learned and revered man, but my soul doth shiver during his sermons. And not for his preaching of a wrathful God.”
“I’m sorry to break this to you, but he wasn’t the last powerful, prominent man to fall to corruption, not by a long shot.”
Lightheaded, Sarah leaned against the wall and placed the back of her hand to her forehead. “I must pray. I must entreat God for forgiveness. I must find a way…”
Hazel took her by the elbow and guided her to the couch again. “Sarah, you’ve done nothing that needs forgiving. Whatever’s going on here, we’re going to figure it out. Raven’s coming back tomorrow to take us to Morgan. In the meantime, I’m going to google everything I can about white witches and Salem and demon thresholds and whatever else I can think of.”
“Google?” Sarah asked, somewhat dazed. “How far ahead in time have I traveled?”
“It’s the twenty-first century,” Hazel said. “Over three hundred years.”
“Mercy,” Sarah said. “And in this time, Salem Village hath begotten shiny horseless carriages and googles.”
Hazel giggled, but Sarah couldn’t comprehend her amusement.
“I know it’s a lot to process right now,” Hazel said. “Let’s take a walk, order lattes, and try to catch our breath.” She stood and encouraged Sarah up with her.
“Aye, but it is dark now. We cannot walk about town unaccompanied by your husband.”
Hazel smirked. “Women today can go wherever they want whenever they want. We have the same rights as men. And I don’t have a husband. I’m a, um, hmm, let’s see,” she said, tapping her index finger to her lips. “How do I put this?”
Spellbound Page 4
