Salem's Revenge Complete Boxed Set

by David Estes

  I enter and make my way to three concrete steps leading to the double entrance. Hex runs ahead, looking back past me to Bil. Unwilling to trust even the guy who saved our skins just a few minutes ago. He and Laney have plenty in common.

  Even in the dark, the small house looks like it’s been hit by a hurricane. The roof is caved in on one side, black shingles scattered in the yard and under my feet. Five of the six windows are shattered, and the sixth is so dirty it’s like trying to look through fog. The brown, wood door is cracked and warped, although when I try the handle I find that it’s locked. A glass eye stares at me—a peephole. I wait for Bil and the others to catch up.

  “Nice place,” Laney says, rolling her eyes.

  “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” With a wink, Bil produces a key from one of his many Velcro pockets, and opens the door. “Home, sweet home,” he says, pushing in.

  When I step inside, I blink. “Hex, pinch me,” I say, and despite his lack of fingers, my dog paws at my leg as if he’s trying to help.

  Beside me, Laney’s jaw drops open and for once she’s speechless.

  Bil laughs. “You’re not dreaming,” he says. “When I found this place, I was as shocked as you. It seems some witch magged it up and then left it.”

  Wow. I scan my surroundings in wonderment. The dark wooden floorboards are polished to a shine. Large landscape paintings hang on the white-painted walls. The windows, which appeared broken from the outside, are whole and smudge-free. Sunlight streams through them despite the fact that it’s night outside. Beautiful furniture fills the space, and this is just the foyer. I can clearly see that the house on the inside is way bigger than it appeared from the outside, a trick of the magic.

  “Who did this?” I ask.

  Bil shrugs. “Don’t know, don’t care. All that matters is that they’re gone.”

  As we move inside, Hex sniffs at one of the windows, as if trying to breathe in whatever magic is holding it together. Laney runs her hand along a beautifully carved wooden table. Trish, however, doesn’t seem impressed. She marches past all of us and into the next room.

  “What’s with her?” Bil asks.

  “If you’re talking about my sister,” Laney says, “you can shut the hell up. If you’re talking about me, you can shut the hell up.”

  “Let me guess, your name is Mouth,” Bil says. I put a hand over my own mouth to hide my smile. Truth be told, it’s not a totally inaccurate nickname.

  Laney gives Bil a dagger-filled glare and follows her sister into the next room.

  “We should do something about your shoulder,” Bil says.

  “It’s not too bad,” I say, glancing at the blood seeping between my fingers.

  “You need stitches.”

  “I haven’t seen a doctor since Salem’s Revenge,” I say.

  “I’ve patched many a holey shirt,” Bil says.

  “You’ve got holy shirts?” I exclaim. “What do you do, wash them in water blessed by a priest?”

  “Very funny,” Bil says. “But you can joke all day and all night, and I’m still going to sew your skin back together.”

  Hex trots over and stands between us, as if sensing our disagreement.

  “Okay, okay,” I relent. “Thanks for caring.” Although I say it with my usual dryness, I mean it.

  “What are friends for?” Bil says.

  “Dying and being abducted,” I say, throwing a wet cloth on the mood.

  “Don’t I know it,” Bill says, squinting, as if trying to see something. “So are you and…” He motions after Laney.

  “Laney,” I say.

  “Yeah. Her. Are you and her…a thing?”

  “I just met her,” I say. “And no.”

  “Good,” Bil says. “Because she’s pretty hot.”

  I shake my head. “C’mon.”

  We go through a door and into a spotless kitchen, complete with stainless steel appliances and black granite countertops, one of which Laney is using as a seat. The lights are on as if electricity still works. A thought pops into my head.

  “Do you have the internet?” I ask.

  Bil laughs. “This place is magic, not heaven,” he says.

  I sigh. “It was worth a try.”

  “Sit,” Bil commands. I obey, pulling out a chair from a twelve-seater table. “Refrigerator, open,” Bil says, and I start to stand, wondering why he asked me to sit if he wanted me to open the fridge.

  My mouth falls open when the refrigerator opens itself. Bil smirks. “Handy, eh?”

  Laney drops to her feet and, as usual, raises her shotgun. “Are you a warlock?” she asks Bil.

  “Do you want me to be?” he says, the edge of his lip curling. “I’ll be one if you want me to be one.”

  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 ho
ping 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.

  “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.”