The witch was most definitely not there. Right before she had appeared, he had been recalling how successful his work was, how he was close to wiping every trace of their kind from the earth. Surely her appearance was nothing more than a vision from a tired mind. Or if not that, then evil forces trying to keep him from his just rewards. When every last witch was burned out of existence, the Father would surely bring him home for the glory he was due. He was certain of it.
Now he brought his horse to a standstill, threw back his head, and inhaled deeply. Yes, it was true. She was close. Excitement rushed through his veins, and he kicked his horse. He wanted to catch up with her soon and light the fire beneath her feet in order that the flames could consume her earthly body and destroy the darkness in her soul.
As he looked around, he realized he was backtracking, traveling on a path that would return him to the witch’s cabin. Interesting that this one would revisit the site of his last pyre. Fitting, actually, and he liked the idea of circling back to where it all began. His initial inclination to rush faded, and he slowed his horse to an easy walk. He might as well savor the sunshine that was gracing the day. He would enjoy the flames more after the sun set. He would relish seeing the dancing firelight and listening to the screams as the blaze ate the witch’s soul. Once she was a blackened husk, he would take her devil’s book and burn it too. No other man or woman would ever see those wicked words.
The other one from the cabin had denied him the pleasure of hearing her screams, just as the one who had appeared to him in the field had done. That one had died while in jail, and the one here had dropped into death after the arrows of his scouts had pierced her. By the time they had dragged her out of the cabin and had her hanging by her neck, her eyes had dulled and her head lolled. It had been disappointing, though her death had not kept him from lighting the branches and logs they had piled beneath her feet. It had not kept him from standing in the darkness and watching until the flames died away and all that was left was a charred outline of a woman’s body and a bit of rope, one end blackened, dangling from the tree. He did not walk away until he was certain he had done the job right.
Only then did he pay his companions for their work and send them on their way. Their hoots and hollers could be heard for a long time, even after they disappeared into the deepening night. He had left her remains for the scavengers and had also ridden away in the darkness, hoping to return at long last to his home across the sea.
But God had not allowed him to go home. For, he was to discover, another had come for the knowledge the burning witch had left behind.
However, as he pondered the events a year past, he came to see that it was less a failure and more a trap. The witch he sought now had come to this place lured by the promise of the book. Had he taken it before this day, she might have slipped away from him. He would now accomplish a dual goal: destroy the witch and destroy the book. He suddenly saw the verity. He had not failed before. This was as God decreed. He smiled again.
After riding for some time, he decided to once more stop at the river’s edge in order that both he and his horse might drink. He dismounted and let loose of the reins. His horse slowly walked to the riverbank and lowered its head to the water. This was the right course of action, and he intended to employ the methods that had worked for him since the beginning. What he was doing now was just the beginning. Last night he had been stymied in his efforts at tracking, but it would not happen again. He would dog them and thus keep them from getting any rest. It was the first and best way to get the witch to confess her sins before her execution.
Now it was time to ride forth and corner her, just as he had done to many in the early days of his career. By 1645 he had become a true expert in witch-finding and never again employed his profession as a lawyer. He had found his true calling. The fact that he was still here and working proved how divine he was. As he remounted his horse, he kept his back straight and his gaze steady.
“I pray for your soul, Matthew Hopkins.”
He whipped his head to the side and gasped. “You!”
He had not set his eyes upon this face since 1646. He remembered it as if it had been this day. The man wore the robes of the clergy, which infuriated him now as much as it had on that long-ago morning. That the man would have put on those robes and dedicated his soul to the devil was a disgrace that even the flames that had burned his earthly body could not erase. It should not shock him to see that face this far from his home.
The clergyman nodded, and the trace of a smile creased his lined face. He had not been a young man when Matthew had watched him burn, and he was not one day older or younger now. “I have waited many seasons to gaze upon your face again.”
The laugh that roared from Matthew was bitter. These visions of conquests past had no power over him. “You never change. I knew the first time I laid eyes on you that you were the devil’s spawn. That you stand before me even now is further proof. I destroyed you and yet here you are. Only Satan could make that happen.”
“I stand before you as a child of God.”
“How dare you speak of God. You have no right.”
“No, Matthew, it is you who has no right, and you never did. You killed in the name of our Lord, but you did so out of malice and greed. Innocents died at your hands, and you profited from their deaths. On this bright and glorious day, you shall atone for your many sins.”
Hardly a threat he took to heart, and he laughed. “If my God sees fit to take me home, it will be to heaven. I alone am free of sin.” A pure man would also find a home in God’s house.
This time the clergyman laughed. “No, Witch-Finder. Be confident of this: it is not heaven that will embrace you. The flames you freely loosed on the guiltless will welcome you to hell.”
He didn’t bother to go for his rope this time, for he felt certain that, once again, the body he was looking at, speaking to, would vanish the moment he drew close. Instead, he turned his face away and stared in the direction he planned to travel. “We shall see,” he said with confidence. “We shall see.”
He kicked his horse into a trot and then once more so that they were sailing across the open spaces. This last apparition made him all the more resolved to finish this here and now. On the back of this large and powerful horse, he could cover the distance in no time. Soon he would be on his way back home filled with righteous satisfaction. He was smiling as he rode, oblivious to the dangers of where he went. He failed to see the gaping hole as he prodded his horse.
Suddenly, he was flying off his horse, and when he landed on the ground, all the air was pushed from him. He missed hitting a rock with his head by no more than an inch. It was not luck. It was divine intervention.
Muttering under his breath at the stupidity of the large horse, he stood and brushed dried grass from his clothing. Once more he thought about how glad he would be when this was done and he could rid himself of this tiresome beast. When he brought his head up, he was surprised to see the horse still on the ground.
He walked over to it to where it lay on the ground. Matthew’s screams filled the air as he looked down.
Chapter Twenty-five
Despite telling Aquene she agreed with her, Molly really wasn’t sure it was the best idea to go back to the cabin if some weirdo was out there hunting them. She also wasn’t sure it was a bad idea. She hoped Winnie and Angus would have the same thought and head back there too. If that was the case, they would have numbers on their side. Once they kicked the legs out from under the bastard hunting them, they’d be able to reunite and figure out a way back home. She was pretty sure it would take a village—their village—to find their way to the twenty-first century once again.
At least last night’s rain had passed and it was turning into a beautiful day. Their travel should go smooth and quick.
“I think I’ll grab another drink before we take off.” She’d really like a table at Winnie’s restaurant with a tall glass of ice water, a cup of coffee, and one of her famous fl
uffy omelets. She almost groaned just thinking about the food, which made her hungrier than she already was. Aquene’s dried salmon was good, an omelet was better. Maybe if she filled up on water, she wouldn’t think about a four-star breakfast.
The water seemed to help. Her stomach stopped growling, and she felt more alert. The little bit of salmon just wasn’t a lot of food for the physical effort they’d put out both last night and already today. She stood and turned to Aquene, intending to ask how much farther she believed it was to the cabin. As she did, her foot slipped on the wet riverbank. Before she could stop herself, she tumbled backward and hit the water. It was like she was in a slow-motion movie. She could feel herself going, her arms waving and her feet sliding. Nothing she did could stop her momentum. If somebody were to video her fall, it would surely go viral.
The water was cold when she hit, and she felt like someone had punched her in the gut. It took one hundred and ten percent concentration to avoid full-on panic mode, and that wasn’t easy, given where she found herself. She was never much for open-water swims.
Luckily, she hit close to the shore where it was fairly shallow, and the strong river current didn’t sweep her away. Thank the good Lord for small favors. Scrambling up, she reached out, and Aquene grabbed her hand, helping pull her to dry ground. Despite the warmth of the sun, she began to shiver. She felt like she’d just stepped out of a freezer dressed in soaking-wet pants and jacket. If she had any question about her jacket being waterproof, she now had an answer. Nope. Nyet. Nein.
“We must get you out of the wet clothing.” Aquene was taking command.
Her teeth were chattering. “I don’t have anything else to put on.”
“You cannot stay in these garments. You will fall ill. We cannot stay here long, but we must get most of the water out of your clothing before we journey on.” Aquene wasn’t waiting for her to comply with the directive. She’d already pulled Molly’s jacket off and was reaching for her shirt. Molly started to protest. A decent person didn’t strip down in public. Then she almost laughed. Exactly what public was here to see her? They were in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the nineteenth century. No public. No cell phones to capture video. No internet to upload said video. Yeah, she was pretty safe. She began to strip off the cold, wet clothing, and while the air was cool against her skin, it was infinitely warmer than the ice-cold pants and shirt.
Surprisingly, she wasn’t totally uncomfortable once she was naked. The sun was warm enough that, once she was dry, she felt pretty good. It was a little weird standing in her altogether in front of Aquene, but then again, why not hang out in her altogether? They wouldn’t see each other again after Molly went home. Besides, she discovered that she wasn’t self-conscious in front of her either. Aquene’s calm demeanor and matter-of-fact efforts made it all seem just fine.
As Molly sat on a rock with her legs pulled up, Aquene produced a length of cloth out of her magic bag and wrapped it around her shoulders. Despite where they were and the one hundred percent guarantee she could strip without anyone filming her, it was still hard to be completely at ease. She kept glancing over her shoulder, expecting to see some guy with a smartphone taking a video. The cloth didn’t cover much, though it did make her feel a lot less exposed. It also smelled a bit like salmon, which made her smile and feel hungry at the same time. “Thanks.”
“You are welcome.” Someone had not only schooled Aquene in the English language but in the polite customs as well. It was endearing.
Molly was also comfortable in her birthday suit because Aquene wasn’t really paying attention to her. She was busily spreading Molly’s wet clothing on rocks and hanging them from exposed tree branches, presumably so they would dry faster. It was a good idea, and she felt a little guilty sitting here instead of helping. It wasn’t Aquene’s fault she’d taken a header into the river, and it shouldn’t be her responsibility to clean up her mess.
Molly almost laughed as Aquene picked up her sports bra and studied it with a confused expression. “It’s a sports bra,” she explained.
Her explanation didn’t change Aquene’s expression. “A what?”
This time she did laugh. Holding her hands under her breasts, she tried to explain in a little more detail. “It’s to give support right here.”
The ghost of a smile crossed Aquene’s face, as if the idea of such a garment was amusing. She supposed in a way it was. “It is a strange land you live in. Strange words and strange clothing.”
“Yeah. Sometimes it is. It’s like anything, though. You get used to what you see around you every day.” Of course, she was also looking around and thinking it couldn’t be much stranger than right here. Seriously, a pale woman sitting naked on a rock in the tall grass with a little scrap of cloth draped around shoulders and a Native American woman wearing the real-deal clothing of her tribe standing next to her didn’t strike Aquene as strange? Pretty unusual in any situation, if you asked Molly. Top that off with the serious attraction she was feeling toward said Native American woman, and yeah, it was pretty high on the weird meter.
As Molly watched Aquene twist each piece of clothing to rid it of as much water as possible, she kept thinking how lovely she was. She lacked all the modern comforts that Molly enjoyed, yet her hair was beautiful and shiny, her skin flawless, and her body enticing beneath her garments. Best of all were those moccasins; they were gorgeous and made her legs look the same. All of sudden, Molly wasn’t so sure she hadn’t hit her head during that fall into the river. Usually in a crisis situation she didn’t get sidetracked by a beautiful woman, yet here she was with the urge to drop the cloth and say, “Take me.” Definitely must have hit her head. It was the only explanation that made sense.
Except, maybe, just maybe that glint in Aquene’s eyes as she looked over her shoulder at Molly said she was feeling a bit of the same thing.
* * *
For the first time since finding herself in this altered dimension, Winnie was scared shitless. They’d managed to trek maybe a hundred yards before Angus stumbled. He would have fallen if she hadn’t caught him, and that was no easy feat given his size. That she had kept him from crashing to the ground amazed her, and for a second she felt elated. Only when she felt his bare skin did her elation fade. He was hot and clammy.
Her first-aid skills lacked a lot. Like any good chef, she had enough basic skills to get her by until EMTs could arrive. Accidents happened routinely in busy kitchens. She’d even had to practice on herself a time or two when her knife work grew sloppy. But wilderness first aid was a completely different beast. Angus was always the go-to guy for that because he loved hiking, biking, and basic survival. If he had his wallet on him, she’d wager it had an up-to-date first-aid and CPR card in it. He would know exactly what to do and how to do it.
Not so in her case. She was lost, though not enough to be oblivious to the fact she had a problem on her hands. A real big, one-hundred-and-eighty-pound problem. Angus was losing energy and color fast, and they were still a fair distance away from the cabin and even farther away from home, hospitals, and good doctors. What she wouldn’t give to hear the obnoxious scream of an ambulance siren right about now. What worried her most was the certainty that it wouldn’t be long before he lost consciousness in addition to energy. Then what?
“Pull it together, Winnie,” she muttered under her breath. “You can do this.” If she approached the situation like she would if someone was hurt in her kitchen, she could figure it out. She hoped.
As if in slow motion, Angus turned and looked at her. “What?” Was it her imagination, or did he slur that word?
She put a hand to his cheek, his very warm cheek. Great, just fucking great. Infection was about the last thing she needed. She forced a smile and kept her voice light. One of them panicking was plenty. “Just muttering to myself, sweetness. How are you doing? We don’t have far to go,” she lied.
His eyes closed and he shook his head. “Banjaxed,” he said quietly.
What di
d that mean? “You’re what, baby?” Probably just heard him wrong.
Her worst fears began to be a reality. His legs began to buckle, and he started to drop. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I love you.”
This time she couldn’t help except to try to keep him from hitting his head as he went down. He crumpled on his bad side to the grass-and branch-strewn ground in a heap. He didn’t move. Kneeling beside him, she shook his shoulder. “Angus,” she said loudly. His eyelids didn’t even flutter. He was out.
“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” Winnie cried this time, and she allowed the tears to flow down her cheeks. “No way are you checking out on me, Angus Farrell. I’m meeting this mum of yours come hell or high water. You hear me, big boy?”
Shifting to take hold of his shoulders, she stretched him out so that the arm he had fallen on was no longer bent beneath his body. Blood seeped from several scratches on the side of his face. Inspection showed they were not deep. That was good. One less problem to solve. She had bigger things to be concerned about. He still had his arm and hand with the snake bite strapped to his body, and that was a relief. The fall hadn’t dislodged the makeshift wrapping. There was still a problem, however, and it concerned her a lot. He’d told her it was important to keep the bitten hand below heart level, and the way he was lying flat now, it was definitely not below his heart.
Glancing around she spied a fallen tree nearby, which gave her an idea and not a little hope for at least a temporary solution. She dragged a heavy tree branch over and then slid Angus around until his upper body was propped on it and his injured hand was below his torso. His head sort of lolled, but she was less worried about his head and far more concerned about keeping that injured area below his heart.
Walking Through Shadows Page 18
