Salem's Revenge Complete Boxed Set

by David Estes

  She hugs me tighter, her body so close to mine, separated by only a few swatches of fabric.

  A memory strikes, like hot iron. The first time Beth lay like this with me. The feel of her arms tight around me. Her legs intertwined with mine, her hot exhalations tickling the back of my neck.

  The shocking thing is that it feels just as good with Laney. Which is so unexpected. So weird. My body stiffens and I feel Laney’s reaction. Our moment of closeness is shattered, an awkward fog blanketing the mood.

  And then she’s gone, as quickly as she came.

  Struggling to steady my breathing, to slow my beating heart, I hear her settle down on the floor.

  I lay awake for what feels like hours, wondering when I started having feelings for Laney and how the hell I’m supposed to seek revenge now. Maybe she’s right. Maybe we could just run away, hide from the witches, survive. Be happy. Is such a thing possible anymore? The gentle and even breathing of Laney, her sister, and my dog provide the background music for my confused thoughts.

  Eventually, however, I sleep.

  ~~~

  For the first time since arriving in Pittsburgh, I sleep through until morning without having any nightmares. At least none that I can remember.

  I stretch and glance across the floor, feeling a lightness in my chest I haven’t felt in a long time.

  The floor is empty save for a few tipped over cans and Hex, who’s snoring softly. I’ve overslept, and Laney and Trish are probably already out back using the “bathroom” and getting cleaned up in the pond behind the house. Readying themselves for another long day of endless walking.

  Pushing to my feet, I stagger to the door and pull it open, blinking sleep out of my eyes. “Laney!” I say. “Trish!”

  Behind me, I hear Hex’s claws scrape the floorboards as he follows me out. As I block the glare of the morning sun with a hand over my eyes, I scan the edge of the pond. Empty.

  Hex strolls between my legs, sniffing at a worm wriggling in the dirt.

  “Where is everyone?” I say aloud.

  Hex responds by peeing on a small shrubbery, his stream of urine changing color from blue to green to electric yellow, like a neon sign. Sometimes I think Hex is the smartest dog in the world, and other times I think he’s just a comedian. “Show off,” I say.

  Finished, he pads over and whines, scratching at my leg. “Where are they, boy?” I say, hoping my dog will use his acute sense of smell to find our friends. He just stares at me—so much for that idea.

  The bathroom. That’s where they must be, behind the big bush. And if they heard me calling to them, Laney was either too embarrassed about last night, or too annoyed again, to answer.

  I approach the bush, careful not to look around it and see something I shouldn’t. “Laney?” I say.

  No response.

  “I’m sorry we argued,” I say. No response. “And what you did…”—I feel my cheeks flush—“on the couch…that was okay. I’m okay with it.” More than okay, really, but I’m not about to say that.

  No response.

  “Laney, I’m coming around. Shout if I shouldn’t.” Hearing no response, I skirt the edge of the bush and peek at the other side. There’s no one there.

  A sudden wave of dread washes over me. What if someone took them during the night? A witch, a warlock, a wizard. According to the Reaper, Trish is in danger because she might be the last of the Clairvoyants, a powerful witch gang. All the other witch gangs want her under their control.

  But no—that doesn’t make sense. “You would’ve warned us, wouldn’t you, boy?” I say to Hex, who hasn’t moved, other than his tail wagging.

  He barks the affirmative. No one abducted Laney and Trish. Then where are they?

  I head back inside, letting the door swing shut behind me just after Hex leaps inside. “Laney? Trish?” I shout, wondering if maybe they’ve decided to explore the rest of the house.

  No answer.

  Hex runs into the kitchen and barks at the island in the center. He leaps up, scratching at the cabinets and sniffing at the edge of the granite countertop.

  “What is it, buddy?” I say, following him.

  That’s when I see it.

  A single sheet of white paper, nine sentences written in Laney’s handwriting:

  Rhett,

  I know you’re doing what you think you have to. So am I. Protecting Trish is all I have left. I hope you get what you want. If you do, come and find me in the north. I’ll be waiting. Be safe. Be Superman.

  Laney

  PS- You’re my last friend. Don’t go dying on me.

  The room spins and a swirl of confusion whirls around me. This isn’t real. Isn’t real. Isn’t…

  I close my eyes and the room stops moving, the sharp knife of clarity jabbing me in the heart. It is real.

  They’re gone.

  Laney and Trish are gone.

  That’s when I realize what she was saying last night when she laid beside me and held me tight.

  Goodbye.

  And I screwed it up by being an idiot.

  Chapter Four

  Laney

  What have I done?

  Dark is falling swiftly. Our arms and legs are scratched from a day spent fighting through brambles and foliage, picking our way through the forest. We’re heading north—at least I think we are. There’s no civilization in sight.

  Without Rhett and Hex, I decided it was safer to stay off the main roads. Now I’m regretting that decision. If we don’t find shelter soon, we’ll have to camp in the woods, which are still damp from yesterday’s storm—not a prospect I’m looking forward to.

  “Hurry, Trish,” I say, encouraging both of us to pick up our pace.

  Crunch, rustle, crunch. I hope the sounds of our passage are heard only by us and the birds.

  And again I ask: What have I done?

  What I had to do, I remind myself. I don’t blame any of it on Rhett. How can I? What he’s seen, what he’s been through—I wouldn’t wish any of it on my worst enemy. Well, I might wish it on a few witches, but certainly no humans. Yeah, I’ve been through some bad stuff too, but everyone handles things differently. I can’t judge Rhett for wanting revenge. I might act the same if I was in his position and if I didn’t have Trish to worry about.

  Beside me, Trish grabs my hand, something she hasn’t done in a while. Her small act reminds me that she’s still a child. Pure and good and innocent. She squeezes my hand and then releases me.

  I stop, crouching down to look into her beautiful blue eyes. “Trish, no matter what happens, you’re my sister and I love you. And I do fear for you, regardless of what you write in the dirt or how many missiles you blow up just by screaming. I’m here to protect you. Always.”

  Her tiny lips open and close, as if trying to speak. Open again. When she speaks, her voice sounds hollow, like she’s inside an empty auditorium. “Go back,” she says. “Where I go…you cannot. Be brave.”

  Cold runs down my spine. “Trish?” I say, my forehead creasing. “You don’t mean that. We have to stay together. We’re family.”

  She pushes a tiny finger to my lips. “Love you,” she says.

  The speck of warmth those two words give me isn’t enough to chase away the chill that seems to surround me. I hug her, pondering her previous words. Go back? To Rhett, she obviously means. But not with her. She means alone. As if I’m going to leave my nine-year-old sister alone in the middle of the forest.

  “They call to me,” she says in my ear, startling me away from my thoughts.

  I hold her away from me so I can look at her face. As usual, she’s expressionless, her face devoid of fear or worry or stress. She looks…angelic. “Who?” I ask.

  “My children,” she says.

  My heart skips a beat. “Trish, you’re only nine. You don’t have any children.”

  She retracts a hand from behind my back and places it on my chest, feeling my heartbeat. “They need me,” she says.

  I stare at her
for two long seconds, before she brushes past me and continues marching through the forest.

  ~~~

  Trish finds a cabin in the woods. It’s so overgrown and woodsy that I would’ve walked right past the structure in the twilight, but she suddenly broke away from me and I was forced to chase her right to it. Maybe night vision is one of her other talents. Maybe all Claires can see in the dark.

  The door opens with a rusty-hinged creak.

  There are old mouse droppings in one corner and a wet, musty odor permeates the whole of the single room home. Still, it beats sleeping under the cloudy night sky, which is once more threatening rain.

  As I crack open a couple of cans of veggies for dinner, I feel an unwanted pang of loneliness, like I used to feel before Rhett stumbled into our restaurant. Well, at least Trish is speaking again, even if I don’t exactly like what she’s saying.

  “Thank you,” she says, taking a small bite.

  A few minutes pass in near silence, broken only by the soft sounds of chewing. I want to ask her about what she said earlier, but I’m afraid I’ll end up getting more strange messages. Perhaps silence is better for now.

  In the end, it’s Trish who speaks. “You are strong,” she says.

  I stare at her. “I—I know,” I say, wondering why I stutter like a fool when it’s only my little sister I’m talking to. “You are, too, Trish. I’m proud of you.”

  She cocks her head, looking birdlike in the pale light. “Proud?” she says. “I am only just becoming…again.”

  “I—I don’t understand.” I have the urge to shake her, to make her speak like a normal little girl, like she used to, but instead I just take another bite.

  “In time,” she says. “For now, we must help the witch hunter.”

  The witch hunter? The only witch hunter she could possibly mean is Rhett. “No,” I say. “We can’t go back to him. He wants you to use your magic to fight with him. It’s too dangerous. We’re not doing that. You’re not doing that. Do you understand?”

  She sets her can down and touches my hand. Her fingers are icy. “Trust me,” she says.

  Before I can respond, she pulls back and curls up in a ball on the floor, facing away from me. Despite having only eaten half of my can, I’m not hungry anymore. Even my own sister is on Rhett’s side, willing to put herself in danger. But I can’t let her. I can’t.

  I won’t.

  ~~~

  A noise jolts me awake.

  Thunder booms overhead, sounding like it’s right on top of the cabin. A streak of lightning flashes between the cracks in the log walls, before plunging the room back into darkness.

  All I see is darkness…darkness…and then—

  A light. Like a single smoldering coal, the circle of red glows nearby. I blink, trying to adjust my eyes to the dark. The red light is illuminating something—no, someone.

  “Trish?” I say.

  “She’s gone,” Trish’s voice says, just as rain begins pattering on the roof.

  I scoot over to her, panic rising in my throat. “Trish, it’s me. Laney. Your sister. And you’re right here. You’re still here.”

  I wrap my arm around her, hoping my touch will snap her out of whatever waking dream she’s trapped inside, but she just keeps staring at the red light, which I realize is glowing from her finger, raised in front of her.

  “She has another path,” Trish says, and I think she’s speaking of herself.

  The rain begins to fall in deafening waves, dripping between the stacked logs.

  “No,” I say. “She is here. You are Trish and you’re staying with me.” I clutch her tighter, grabbing her hand, trying to douse the light that seems to be inside her skin.

  “I’m a Changeling,” Trish says.

  A memory flares up and I try to place it. I’ve heard that word before—Changeling. But where? “No, you’re a Claire,” I say. “A Clairvoyant. That’s why everyone’s looking for you. That’s why I have to take you far away, so they can’t find you.” Then I remember. It was the Reaper who mentioned the Changelings before. He said one of the three Resistors might be working for them. A human who, like Rhett Carter and Bil Nez, could resist magic.

  “Trish is a Claire,” Trish says.

  “Yes. Yes you are,” I say.

  “I’m a Changeling,” she repeats. “Trish is a Claire.”

  Wait. It wasn’t only the Reaper who mentioned the Changelings. His son, Xavier Jackson, did, too! What was it he said? Oh yeah—that the Reaper suspected it was a Changeling who had killed Beth. But why is my sister talking about Changelings now, in the dead of night?

  I want to scream. What’s happening to my sister? It’s like she’s losing her mind, her witch powers slowly driving her to madness.

  That’s when I see it. Her arm. It’s…I don’t even really know how to describe it except…it’s growing.

  I gasp, and my hand, which is still holding Trish’s, recoils sharply. I watch in horror as her arm lengthens, almost telescoping outward, like a fast-forwarded video of a person growing up. My body starts to shake as I realize it’s not just her arms, but her legs, too, growing outwards, lengthening. When her torso stretches and curves appear on her hips and chest, I clamber to my feet and back away, a scream rising in the back of my throat.

  I stop when my back slams into the wooden cabin wall.

  Her hair changes color, from golden-blond to white to black and finally to bright red, matching her glowing finger. The final change is to her face, which morphs from the freckled, blue-eyed face of a child to the pale, green-eyed face of a woman.

  “Hello, Laney,” the Siren says.

  I draw my magged-up Glock, which never leaves its holster, even when I’m sleeping.

  And I pull the trigger.

  Chapter Five

  Rhett

  I’ve been such an ass.

  Following the road that seems to take the most direct route northward, I think up a dozen excuses for my behavior:

  I’d just seen my girlfriend’s reanimated corpse. And then I’d watched her die for good.

  I’d just learned my best friend was a corpse-raising warlock.

  I’d just been nearly blown to smithereens.

  I’d just met my father, who, oh yeah, is also a warlock. And to top it off? He can’t come near me because he’s been cursed with something that shortens his life if he’s around me too much. Awesome.

  And yet, when it all comes down to it, I know those are just excuses. They’re not enough to stave off my regret at the way I treated Laney or her sister. They deserve better. After all, Laney was the one who stuck with me through everything. She put herself in mortal danger to help me find my friends, regardless of whether I liked what we found.

  How did I repay her? By suggesting that her sister use her powers to fight witches. Idiot.

  Why do people always seem to push away those they care about the most? I’ve seen it dozens of times in the foster homes I lived in. Husbands berating wives, wives insulting husbands, kids hating parents, parents regretting their own offspring. Have I become what I promised myself I’d never become?

  “I was such an ass,” I say out loud. Hex, just ahead of me, looks back and barks in agreement.

  Although my legs are burning, I pick up my pace, running harder down the dusty old track, determined to catch them before nightfall.

  Somewhere deep inside I know I’m kidding myself. For all I know they may have taken any one of a dozen of the different roads that crossed this one miles back. For all I know they may have stopped at any one of the dozens of houses I’ve passed. My chances of finding them are slim to slimmer.

  But I won’t stop. Not for one second. Revenge can wait. Hunting witches can wait. All I want is Laney and Trish by my side again.

  Darkness falls and I keep running.

  Thunder blasts away like cannons and I keep running.

  Rain drenches me from head to toe and everywhere in between and I keep running, my glasses streaked with moisture and
sliding down my nose.

  This is all my fault and I have to make it right.

  ~~~

  It’s Hex who eventually convinces me to stop the madness. His fur sopping wet, he tackles me with a flying leap. Stones dig into my back as enormous raindrops blind me.

  He apologizes by licking the rain from my face.

  I know he’s right. Driving myself to exhaustion and pneumonia won’t do anyone any good. Despite my weariness and the logic of stopping, my muscles continue to urge me to get up and keep running, like it’s the only thing they understand anymore.

  I do get up, but I don’t keep running. Instead I follow Hex, who leads me down a long drive to a large farmhouse in the midst of endless cornfields. A white-painted porch wraps around the house. The boards creak slightly as I climb the five steps to the door.

  The door is closed but unlocked.

  I peek inside and shout, “Hello!”

  The only response is rain on the windows and roof.

  In a minute flat I shed my saturated shoes and wet clothes, right there on the front porch. No sense in bringing the weather inside with me.

  I enter the house, holding the door behind me for…Hex. Just Hex. Although I’ve squatted in dozens of abandoned structures since I left Mr. Jackson’s place more than six months ago, the silence of the empty house seems eerie. I’ve grown used to having Laney’s strong opinions and sarcastic comments close at hand. I’ve even grown used to the silent stares offered by Trish.

  The truth: I miss them both in equal measure.

  “C’mon, boy,” I urge my dog. Although it’s dark inside, Hex doesn’t bother to light the way using his powers. Maybe he’s too sad, too.

  In the dark, I rummage through my bag for my one change of clothes. My backpack is saturated, but thankfully, after learning the hard way with a lot of wet clothes, my new clothes are wrapped in plastic and relatively dry. We found the backpacks three nights ago in an apartment in a little town in Southern Pennsylvania. Two nights ago, I scavenged a set of clothes that fit me, which was a godsend considering my size. Jeans. Long tube socks. A purple t-shirt with a yellow duck on it. Beggars can’t be choosers, especially during the witch apocalypse. A dart of loneliness shoots through me as I remember Laney’s reaction to the shirt. “It’s perfect,” she’d said, hiding her smile.