by Mark Hockley
before and the one before that. The boys carried on with their routine of cleaning and cooking. The witches came and went, all busy with their life of reading, contemplation and intense conversation. Beth wondered aimlessly why they did not get bored. It seemed mind numbing to her. But then, should she forget, it was rather more appealing than her life of constant domesticity.
Why had no-one found her yet?
As time passed and her nerves became more and more frazzled, she began to imagine that they were all toying with her, playing a cruel joke, just waiting for her to crack and confess to her crime.
But nobody even glanced her way. She was as invisible as ever.
There was nothing for it. She would have to go back and look. She couldn't stand it any longer. Taking her mop and bucket she moved cautiously through the Coven hallways, keeping her head down, making no eye contact.
When she arrived outside the door of Abigail's room her breathing had become rapid and her heart hammered in her chest. She stood there, indecisive, afraid that they were waiting for her inside. But she also knew she would not be able to continue without knowing for sure. The body had to be still there, sprawled on the floor. It had to be.
She opened the door slowly, peering inside before it was fully open.
Where the witch's corpse should have been there was only empty space.
She went quickly inside, pushing the door closed behind her. She still carried her mop and bucket and they clattered together in the eerie silence. Beth glanced down at them with a scowl, as if they would give her away. But the room was quite empty.
There was no sign of what she knew had occurred, no smears of blood, nothing to show that the woman's body had ever been there. Beth just stood still and stared at the place where she had left the woman's motionless form.
She tried to think rationally, evaluating all of the possibilities. Could she have still been alive? Beth played the scene over one more time in her head. She had checked carefully. The witch had been dead.
But had she really taken the time to be certain? She had been in a panic. She had certainly been in shock. Maybe she had been mistaken and she hadn't actually been dead.
But that made no sense at all.
If that was true they would have come to take her away long before now. It just didn't add up.
The girl tried her best to keep her thoughts in order. There had to be some indication that it had all taken place as she remembered. Beth scanned the room, searching for something, anything.
Her eyes came to rest on the bureau.
Taking a hesitant step towards it, Beth faltered, now reluctant to open the drawer and look inside. Part of her was very afraid that the syringe would be sitting there undisturbed and that would mean she was truly losing her mind.
She reached out a hand and gently pulled open the small drawer, her eyes wide with dread.
It was empty. No syringe. Nothing.
With an audible intake of breath, she slammed it shut. The relief she felt was overwhelming.
But what did it mean?
Beth needed to get out of there, she knew that much. Turning, she took two steps towards the door when she saw the handle begin to turn.
There was nowhere to hide. Beth froze.
As the door opened she had a sense of déjà-vu and she really expected the witch to enter as before and the events of yesterday to repeat again.
But it was not as before. This time Abigail came through the door and smoothly shut it behind her. She stood just within and her eyes were intent on Beth.
"If I were you," she spoke softly, "I would refrain from any more acts of violence. I will not be quite so easy to subdue."
Extracts from the journal of Rebecca Marsh
January 4th 1615
I had almost given up hope of ever hearing from my agent sent to Central America. But finally he has reported to me and relates his inquiries in Mexico and Honduras. He was able to solicit the aid of the Spanish and using the generous funds I had furnished him with he was provided a guide to accompany him on his travels. His communication has left me mystified as he relates conversations with members of an indigenous tribe he names as Mayans. They tell of a magical stone that I believe is the very same as the one returned with my father. Although the stories sent to me by my representative are somewhat incoherent, there are enough details within to lead me to hypothesise that this sacred artefact was somehow stolen by my father; how I do not know. But the high priests of these primitive people are apparently intent on discovering its whereabouts. My agent was able to elicit only the most rudimentary facts concerning its history and even those are wholly fantastic, with talk of star people and human sacrifice. I realise that I should be the first to be open minded when considering the unearthly, but these tales defy even my imagination. I will await further contact and hope to hear more of these strange matters.
June 27th 1615
I have received most disturbing news concerning my agent in the Americas. It seems he has been murdered. The report has come to me via the Spanish and only found its way back to me because of some connections my family have within the King's court. Although the details are imprecise, my feeling is that he was slaughtered by these Mayans natives. Although I have of course pleaded ignorant of all knowledge as to why this may have occurred, I know without question it was because of his enquiries about the stone, the very same that now resides in my own vault.
"We can't do this," Leonie told him as he held her tightly against him.
They were in the shadows of a small copse of trees, the moonlight waning around them.
Zack looked down at her and saw a tear creep out of the side of her eye. "What else can we do?" he asked simply.
"If we are caught I fear for us both. They will not tolerate such a transgression."
The boy pulled her even closer and kissed the top of her head. "Then we will have to make sure we don't get caught."
She pushed him away just a little, her expression fierce and Zack couldn't help but smile. She was undeniably beautiful. "This is nothing to be amused by," she rebuked him. "Already Allana is asking me questions. Why I am so distracted. She is not one to look the other way if the laws are being broken."
Now the boy's face was deadly serious. "And what about your father?"
Leonie glared at him and pulled completely out of his embrace. "What are you talking about!?"
"I think Jeremiah wishes you were closer. He might be able to help."
There was real fire in the girl's eyes now. "You understand nothing of the ways of Witch Town. There are no fathers. My Mother, Abigail of the White Coven, is the only parent I have."
"So why didn't you join the Whites when you had the chance then? Why did you choose the Greens?" Zack watched her closely as he waited for her to reply and saw conflicting emotions pass rapidly across her features. Pride, hurt, even rebellion.
"I wanted to make my own way," she said at length.
Zack reached out then and drew her to him, kissing her mouth with soft intensity. Leonie did not resist. "I'm sorry," he began in a low voice, "I didn't mean to upset you. I just don't get this place or the way people are here. It makes no sense to me."
Leonie nestled in close to his chest. "How could you? Your world must be very different."
"It is," he conceded, "Very. But what I don't understand is why you're willing to break away from your laws. Don't get me wrong," he said this quickly finding her green eyes and looking intently into them. "I'm very happy that you are, but I thought all of the women here were brainwashed or something."
The girl held his gaze. "I changed my mind about a lot of things when they killed Robert."
For a few moments, Zack considered this. "Did you know? What he was doing?"
"I had my suspicions," she conceded, "and I said nothing. That was my greatest sin. I might have saved him if I had spoken out."
"Or just got him killed even sooner," countered Zack.
Leonie's expression revealed regret and gui
lt in even measures. "Whatever the case, I did nothing and he is dead. And I know what they did and I know who was responsible."
"You blame your mother?" the boy asked, trying to read between the lines.
"It was her. She was all too eager to punish him. Knowing it would also punish me."
"But you didn't love him?" As soon as Zack had spoken the words he felt ashamed. He knew he was just looking for some reassurance and also knew full well that this was not the right way or the right time to do it.
Standing on tiptoe, Leonie kissed him firmly. "No," she whispered close to his ear, her breath warm, sending a tingle through his entire body.
Zack felt a tide of passion building within him and he knew that something more than kissing would happen if they remained there much longer. And it wasn't that he didn't want that. But somehow it just seemed wrong. At least while things were as they were. "We should go," he said hoarsely and then spent the rest of the walk back thinking what a complete idiot he was.
Beth raised the mop, ready to use it as a weapon.
The witch just gave a sardonic smile. "There is no need for that."
"Where is she!?" the girl challenged, still holding out the mop threateningly.
"My Sister is dead, as you well know. I had to manufacture a plausible tale to account for her absence."
The mop wavered a little. "But why?"
Abigail appeared very relaxed, but then why shouldn't she be. One word and Beth would be incapacitated or worse. "I will not insult you by saying there is so much you do not know." She gave a quiet
