Brew (Salem's Revenge Book 1)

by David Estes

  Laney makes a gagging motion. “Blech. You said you’re friends with this guy?” she asks me.

  “Sort of,” I say, which draws a frown from Bil. “But he’s not a warlock. Whatever witch left this place behind infused it with all kinds of tricks.” I change my tone, trying to make light of the situation. “Good thing Americans didn’t get their hands on this technology before the witch apocalypse…they could’ve gotten even fatter and lazier.”

  Laney lowers her shotgun and Bil chuckles and sits next to me. For the next few minutes, he speaks commands to the kitchen, which obeys silently and without question. Soon there are a number of items on the table. A sewing kit rests ominously in front of me, open so I can see an already threaded needle. A bottle of rubbing alcohol flanks the kit, flush against a bag of cotton balls. Scissors, bandages and a roll of tape round out the medical ensemble.

  Trish sits on the floor next to Hex. Laney paces around the kitchen.

  “Drink some water,” Bil commands, and for a moment I wonder whether the kitchen is thirsty. But no, he means me this time. And, like the kitchen, I obey, raising a glass of ice water to my dry lips. I take a sip and pour some on the floor for Hex.

  I take another sip of water, delaying. A wave of weariness washes over me. My eyelids droop. “Nice try,” Bil says, “but we’re doing this tonight. Then you can sleep.”

  We both look at the slice in my shoulder at the same time, which is dribbling blood down my arm. The room spins a little. Bil’s right, I can’t lose any more blood.

  “Silent deserves to die,” Bil says, getting to work on my injury. He starts by wetting a cloth and cleaning the blood off my skin. I stare at him, trying to figure out when he became this dark and violent person. When I met him in Georgia, Bil had a code he lived by. He was one of the few witch hunters who did. Like me, he only went after the witches who threatened him or the lives of innocents. Has that changed? What brought him to Pennsylvania?

  “Who’s Silent?” Laney asks.

  My eyes never leaving Bil, I explain to her about the leading members of The End. When I finish, she says, “They’ve been killing humans.”

  “You saw them?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “A gang of witches caught some humans, back in Morgantown. They were messing with them when those witch hunters—The End—showed up. I thought they were going to save the people. Instead they just killed everyone.”

  “They all deserve to die,” Bil says. I’m thinking the same thing, but it’s the way he says it that makes my blood curdle. Like he means more than just The End. Like he means everyone.

  “What happened to you?” I ask, my question coming out with an edge I didn’t expect.

  Bil looks at me sharply and I flinch, not from the pain of the alcohol he’s just rubbed into my gash, but from the sharpness of his shadowy stare. But as quickly as I see the anger in my old friend’s eyes, it’s gone, replaced by tenderness and—is that sadness?

  “Nothing happened to me,” he says, “although sometimes I wish it would have.”

  I wait for him to continue. His fingers go about their work, as if stitching together wounded witch hunters is part of his daily routine. Wake up. Brush teeth. Kill a few witches. Stitch friends. Eat dinner (at least I’m hoping there will be dinner). Sleep. Repeat. All in a day’s work.

  “You sure you want him to stick you with a needle?” Laney asks.

  “Now you’re concerned for me?” I ask.

  “Hey, I did save your skin when that chick tried to chop your head off, didn’t I?”

  I’d almost forgotten about that. “Thank you,” I say. “Thank you both.”

  I look away when the needle pierces my skin, gritting my teeth and trying not to cry out. But the pain is immense, and soon I’m clutching the table with my other hand just to keep from passing out. Hex licks my hand comfortingly.

  “This doesn’t hurt, does it?” Bil says.

  “Not at all,” I say through clenched teeth. I’d take a hundred hits catching a pass in the middle of the field over getting stitches without anesthetic.

  Laney is grinning at me, as if enjoying watching me in pain.

  “I still only kill those who deserve it, you know,” Bil says. I don’t say anything, just slam my eyes closed as the needle jabs my skin again. I feel the thread slide through, putting pressure on my wound, and then tighten as Bil moves on to the next stitch. “I just think more people deserve it these days.”

  I notice he doesn’t say witches. People. Like the Silent Assassin and the other witch hunters that are part of The End. Fair enough. I can’t argue with that. “Okay,” I say.

  “I’m not a murderer,” he says. Is he trying to convince me or himself?

  “I kill witches, too,” I say.

  “But not witch hunters,” Bil says, reading between the lines. He pulls the next stitch tighter than the others and I let out a low groan.

  “Not yet,” I say, “but Graves and his gang certainly warrant consideration.”

  At that, Bil laughs and the tension is broken. Three more stitches and he says, “Done. You can stop gripping the table, you big baby.”

  I let out a heavy breath and relax my fingers, which are aching. “Thanks,” I say, admiring the neat row of stitches across my brown skin. “You must’ve stitched up a lot of holey shirts to get that good at it.”

  He nods, but his eyes are full of fire. “I’ll tell you why I’m here if you want,” he says.

  “I didn’t ask why you’re here.” But I was wondering it.

  “You didn’t have to ask.”

  “Okay.”

  “I met someone,” Bil says, his face expressionless.

  Laney stops pacing and stares in our direction.

  “Who?” I ask. Hex continues lapping up the water. Trish’s eyes are closed, as if she’s asleep.

  “A girl.”

  A pit forms in my stomach. I know what it’s like to meet a girl.

  Beth Beth Beth.

  I don’t want to ask but I have to. “Where is she?”

  He shakes his head and although his face remains stoic, he’s forced to wipe a stray tear from his cheek. His gaze meets the ceiling. Mine meets my feet.

  Beth Beth Beth.

  Did the witches kill Bil’s girl? Even as I think it, I wonder if I’m really asking about Beth.

  “Her name was Ellie,” Bil says. I can feel his eyes touch my face, but I don’t look at him. Can’t look at him. Can’t see my pain reflected back at me. Stop, I silently implore. “I felt drawn to her from the moment I met her. She was…like no other girl I’d laid eyes on.”

  “Seems like every girl catches your interest,” Laney says. Bil’s eyes dart to her and I can see the flash of anger that tightens his face, but then he turns back to me when I speak.

  “The witches killed her,” I say. Not a question. Am I talking about Beth or Ellie? Even I don’t know anymore.

  “No,” Bil says, to my surprise. I look up, meeting his piercing stare. “Worse.”

  What could be worse than death? My attention is piqued, and I notice Hex is watching our conversation with interest, too, his ears perked up.

  “She was a Siren,” Bil says. My heart skips a beat. Hex barks.

  “You fell for a witch?” Laney says. “Why does that not surprise me?”

  Bil doesn’t have to say yes or nod; his eyes confirm her statement.

  “Ellie tried to kill you?” I ask.

  Bil’s hands are tightened into fists, his knuckles white. “Not at first,” he says. “We lived together, getting to know each other. I even stopped witch hunting, which should have been a warning sign. If I was in my right mind, I’d never have stopped. The world was screwed up and I barely cared—not when I was with her. She was perfect. So perfect…” He trails off, lost in a memory.

  We sit in silence for a few minutes. Even Laney pulls up a chair and sits, staring at her hands. I can feel the blood throbbing in my shoulder. Hex whines, breaking whatever spell Bil is under.
r />   “It was all a lie,” he says. “She was lulling me into a strange trance, spinning her web around me. I was so stupid.”

  She pops into my head. The red/white witch. Could it be? Could Bil’s story be the answer to my many questions about my uncanny attraction to the beautifully deadly witch? I never even considered she might be a Siren, not when she was throwing around lightning bolts and casting spells. Am I really that stupid, too? I keep my thoughts to myself as Bil continues.

  “Ellie—if that’s even her real name—was grooming me.”

  “Grooming you for what?” Laney asks, before I’m able to.

  Bil ignores Laney’s question and continues. “She thought she had me, that I was too far gone to protect myself, but she was wrong. One day, after spending a perfect afternoon together, she told me we were having company over for dinner. Company! Like we lived in a normal world where people hosted parties and ate dinner and listened to music.”

  “What did you do?”

  Bil smiles but it’s not a real smile. “I helped her clean the house we were living in. We had to get ready. That’s what I kept saying. ‘Yes, dear, we have to get ready.’ And she’d reward me with a kiss each time I said it. It’s like I was on drugs, walking through a heavy mist, unable to control my arms or legs or mouth. But somewhere—somewhere deep inside—I was still there, screaming at myself, saying ‘What the hell are you doing, Bil? This isn’t real! It’s NOT REAL!’” Bil really shouts the last bit, his eyes wide and wild, his mouth hanging open, a few spit bubbles sprouting from his lips. Instinctively, I lean back, closer to Hex, whose tail is flat against the backs of his legs.

  Laney’s hand finds her shotgun, which is resting on the table.

  Bil doesn’t seem to notice our reactions. He wipes away the spit and says, “I clung to that voice, to that last piece of me. I tried to make it bigger, but it was like pushing against steel walls. I could scream inside until my chest ached, but my lips were silent, answering only when Ellie wanted me to.

  “The company arrived, a dozen exotic and beautiful witches—all Sirens. They touched my hair and arms like I was a pet, and I just smiled like an idiot. They each brought ‘guests’ with them, both men and women. The person I was on the outside was so happy to meet the guests. I looked like a fool, clapping and shaking hands and hugging them. But inside I knew: these people were slaves, just like me.”

  My lips are tight, my chest, too. That could’ve been me. Could still be me. For some reason the red/white witch is targeting me. Have I been lucky enough to resist her charms so far, or is she simply weaker than Bil’s Siren? “But you’re here,” I say.

  Bil grins under the chandelier light, a wicked, proud expression of glee. “She underestimated me,” he says. “I found strength beyond any I’ve previously known. Somehow I fought off her spell and reclaimed my body. I killed her. I killed them all.”

  He bites his lip so hard that a drop of blood forms, smearing on his tongue and teeth. No wonder Bil has changed. Anyone who has known false love and betrayal would understand. “You freed the other slaves?” Laney asks. There’s a hint of respect in her voice.

  His smile vanishes and he screws up his face. “I didn’t have a choice!” he says, his words filled with venom. Oh God, what did he do? “Their masters died, but the spell wasn’t broken. Only the force of their own wills could break the spells.” My heart is pounding out a staccato beat. Mr. Jackson never told me that.

  “What did you do?” I say, unable to keep the accusation out of my voice.

  Bil stands, knocking the chair over, looming over me. “Get out!” he roars, pointing at the door. “I didn’t bring you here for this.” Hex barks and Trish’s eyes finally open. Together, they stand. Laney tries to pick up her shotgun, but Bil’s rifle is aimed at her chest in a second. “Don’t even think about it,” he says.

  I stand slowly, my palms out in front of me, trying to calm him down. “Listen, Bil, I’m just trying to understa—”

  “No one will ever understand! I had to kill them or they would’ve killed me. I killed their masters and revenge was all they had left. Get out,” he repeats.

  “Okay,” I say, my voice calm and soothing. “We’re going now. Thanks for everything and I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  Bil stands there trembling as we back away, waves of anger rolling through his tight muscles and fists. “You don’t know me,” he says.

  “I do,” I say. “This isn’t you.” I take another step back, sharply aware of the way his gun is shaking in his hands, how it dances from Laney to me and back again. At least he’s not aiming at Trish or Hex.

  “It is now,” he says. “There’s no going back. I know what I have to do and I’m going to do it.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. You were only protecting yourself.” What exactly does he think he has to do?

  “They didn’t do anything wrong. They weren’t evil,” he says, and for a moment, he almost sounds normal again.

  “The Sirens made them evil,” I say. “In a way, you saved them from a tortured life.”

  Laney starts to object, but I silence her with a raised hand. Even the mildest smartass comment from her could set him off. And she doesn’t seem to know the meaning of the word mild.

  He laughs, but it’s full of Crazy with a capital C. We’ll be lucky to get out without bullet holes in our chests. “I saved only myself,” he says. “I have sinned; nothing can change that.”

  Two quick steps back and I’m looking at him from the entranceway to the kitchen, blocking him and his gun from the others. “You can be whoever you want to be,” I say. “Thanks for everything. May our paths cross under better circumstances.”

  “Not likely,” Bil says.

  With that, I hold my breath and turn, half-expecting to hear the boom of his gun behind me. When all I hear is heavy breathing and the scrape of his chair as he rights it and sits back down, I let out a deep breath and stride through the foyer, exiting the magged-up house just behind Laney, who pushes Trish forward after Hex.

  I don’t fully relax until the door is shut behind us. Hex rubs up against my legs, almost like a cat. “Thanks for introducing me to your friend,” Laney says.

  I can only frown and descend the steps. Although I don’t look back, I can feel Bil watching us through the peephole.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A misty morning sunrise welcomes my eyes open, sending slices of red and orange through the trees like colored shards of glass. I blink twice, trying to get my vision to clarify.

  Pain is unraveling down my arm, and it’s caused by my injured shoulder, which I was sleeping on. Awesome. Rolling over, I freeze when someone cries out.

  “God, Carter, you’re like a gorilla, all arms and legs. You hit me about twenty times while I was sleeping.”

  Laney’s head pops up beside me. I scratch my chin, remembering finding the clearing last night, laying down to sleep, Laney and Trish on one side and Hex and I on the other. How did she get so…close?

  “I think I’d have been safer shivering on the other side of the clearing,” Laney says. “All I wanted was a little body warmth, and instead I got domestic abuse.” Laney had taken the first watch, me the second, and Hex, who’s never failed to alert me when danger is near, the third. But I could’ve sworn there were a few feet between us when I roused Hex and finally closed my eyes.

  “Sorry?” I say, suddenly feeling awkward that I slept the entire night next to someone I barely know.

  “I’ll tie your arms and legs together before bed next time,” she says.

  As she busies herself rummaging through our packs for some food, I stare at Trish, who’s still curled up on the ground. My mind cycles through yesterday’s events. At least I got one answer. The red/white witch must be a Siren. I should’ve thought of it sooner, but maybe part of the magic she wields is that her victims don’t even realize what she’s doing to them. But why is she targeting me? Is it because I’m a witch hunter? Is that why Bil was targeted, too? Are the Sir
ens seeking out witch hunters, adding them to their slave harem like a child’s collection of dolls? And how did I manage to resist her charms? Am I stronger than Bil? He’s one of the strongest witch hunters I’ve ever met, so I’d find that hard to believe. I sigh in frustration. My one answer has led to a half-dozen more questions.

  “Don’t want to go back into town,” I moan to myself.

  “Town?” Laney says. “Look, I’ve followed you far enough, almost getting me and my sister killed. If you want to keep travelling with us, we’re staying the hell away from that town and Bil Nez. Comprendes?”

  She’s right. Going back into town is suicide. And anyway, the Necros’ trail might be dead, but I have a pretty good idea of where they were headed. According to my map, Pittsburgh is the next big city in this direction. But what’s in Pittsburgh? Could that be where they’re taking all the bodies?

  “Well?” Laney says. “What’s it going to be?”

  I look at her, my body tensing. Something’s not right. Everything’s quiet, except for the wind rustling the leaves. It’s too quiet, I realize.

  Listen to the birds; they’ll tell you the story of your enemies.

  The birds’ silence tells me we’re not alone.

  “Where’s Hex?” I ask.

  Before Laney can respond, I hear the crunching of leaves, the snapping of twigs, and see a big black-white form bounding toward me through the forest. Hex barely avoids slamming into me as he skids to a halt and barks at my pack, nudging it with his nose.

  The message is obvious: Go!

  I grab my backpack, shouting for Laney to do the same and to get her sister moving. Trish is awake so fast it’s as if she was only pretending to sleep, and together we take off, following my dog’s instincts, not even taking the time to slip our arms through the straps of our packs. And it’s a good thing because I can already hear heavy footsteps crashing through the undergrowth.

  The End. They’ve found us.

  Thorns bite at my legs, branches slash at my cheeks, but I don’t stop running, not even when I scrape my stitched up shoulder against the bark of a tree, my skin screaming with pain. Legs churning, the world’s a whirling blur of nature and glittering beams of sunlight and flashes of Hex’s tail, leading us through the dense forest.