Salem's Revenge Complete Boxed Set

by David Estes

  “No!” she screams. “Get offa me, you bastards! You can’t do this. The filthy warlock deserved what he got. I did you all a favor.” She continues screaming similar pleas and threats as they drag her away.

  On the Necro side there are handshakes and smiles. They’ve lost a brother, but justice was served. And all without me getting involved in the actual trial, other than helping to prevent the two sides from killing each other before it was over. Maybe things are turning around. Maybe the humans are coming to their senses, realizing that the Necros aren’t the enemy—that evil in general is the enemy. Maybe they won’t leave tonight, like Cameron Hardy said.

  Or maybe not. When I turn my head, the humans—with the exception of Arnold Jones, who’s slumped over, his head hanging between his knees—are all smiles too. Cameron Hardy is shaking each juror’s hand, as if personally thanking them for their verdict. The other humans are patting each other on the back, as if they’ve just achieved a great victory.

  Something’s not right.

  Cameron Hardy notices me watching him, and leaves his people to meet me. “Well done,” he says. “You’ve helped establish a little order in a place of great chaos.”

  I eye him narrowly, skeptical as to the genuineness of his congratulations. “I don’t get it,” I say.

  He laughs and puts a hand on my shoulder, like we’re old friends. If there were still cameras and paparazzi, they’d capture this moment and spin it as a well-spirited reunion between rivals. I get the feeling that despite Cameron’s body language, it’s the opposite.

  “If I’m to lead them to a better place, we’ll need rules. We’ll need a justice system. Riffraff like Lindy Jones have no place in the new world I want to create,” he says. “When we leave tonight, our burdens will be lighter with her left behind under your watchful care.”

  It clicks. This was no trial. Although it feels like the Necros received justice, it was the exact opposite. Everything was planned well before the first witness was questioned. The jurors were always going to find Arnold not guilty and Lindy guilty, because that’s what Cameron Hardy wanted. A victory with a loss. “They hated Lindy, didn’t they?” I say.

  Cameron smiles a dazzling smile. “She was not well-liked,” he admits. “In most people’s opinion she was bat-crazy with more screws loose than a hardware store run by monkeys.” Although I’m impressed by the accuracy of the comparison, I say nothing, still too angry for words. “We’ll keep her in custody until we go, then it will be up to the magic-born to carry out the sentence, although I suspect those savages will just kill her and be done with it. Anyway, the offer is still open if you’d like to join us tonight. Unfortunately we’re not willing to take any of the magic-born. They can kill each other off for all I care.”

  “This is wrong,” I say. “The Claires have Seen it. They’ve shown me. You’re all going to die out there.”

  Cameron laughs. “I appreciate your concern, but forgive me if I don’t believe the predictions of the magic-born,” he says, turning on his heel and walking away.

  Chapter Twenty

  Hex

  Hex wants to trust Grogg. He wants to believe the mud troll is himself again, the delightful, entertaining, useful creature that he’s been in the past.

  But what Grogg is muttering under his breath isn’t helping. To Hex, it sounds like he’s arguing with himself, carrying out both sides of a strange conversation.

  “Master wants us to go away, far far away. We must listen. We must obey,” he croaks, his voice crackling with sternness.

  His voice changes, and it’s higher, almost falsetto, cracking with teenage-boy pubescence at the end of each word. “No. No. Grogg doesn’t listen to Master anymore. Grogg is his own troll now.”

  “Master created us. We were just mud and muck before Master came along. We owe her.”

  “She is mean to Grogg. She makes us do bad things. Furry creature says we don’t have to listen.”

  “Furry creature likes to sniff butts and chase us. What does furry creature know?”

  Hex almost interrupts at that point to say it’s not his fault Grogg smells so good, but the mud troll is already responding to himself.

  “Hex is our friend now. Our only friend. The panther will kill us. She will pull off our arms and legs and stuff them in our mouth. It might taste good at first, but then it will strangle us and we will return to the earth.” Something has changed on this side of the argument. The voice is stronger, more confident, and Grogg is no longer referring to Flora as ‘Master,’ only as ‘she’ or ‘the panther.’

  Hex’s butterfly wings carry them closer to the mountainous area Grogg pointed out earlier.

  “Master can see us!” Grogg screams, fear in his voice.

  “Then stop her!” Hex barks. Why is it so hard for everyone to understand that if you want something, all you have to do is make it happen? he wonders.

  “Can’t! Grogg can’t! Grogg hurts. Master squeezes. Master burns.” His words mix with a scream of pain.

  “Fight her!” Hex barks, swooping back toward the ground at the foot of the hills.

  “Grogg tries! Leave. Us. Alone!” he roars, and Hex feels the entire meager weight of the mud troll flop lifelessly on his back.

  “Is Grogg okay?” Hex barks, setting his paws lightly on the ground. He doesn’t need his wings anymore, so they’re not there anymore. He feels Grogg slide off his back and he spins to see him, trying hard to ignore the way his tail taunts him by flicking just out of sight.

  Grogg isn’t moving. He isn’t breathing either, but he doesn’t always breathe. Just when he feels like it. At least his legs and arms aren’t ripped off and stuffed down his throat, like Grogg was worried would happen.

  Hex paws at him and barks a regular bark that just means, “Hey!”

  Grogg’s strange eyeballs flutter. “Grogg is dead?” he asks.

  “Yes,” Hex barks. “The old Grogg is dead. Say hey to the new Grogg. The free Grogg!”

  “Hey, new Grogg,” Grogg says. He cocks his head to the side, as if expecting something to happen. As if waiting for something. Then he says, “Huh. No Master?”

  Hex barks, “The Master is you now. Now let’s go chase something.”

  “No,” Grogg says, and Hex chuffs. He’s never heard Grogg say ‘no’ like that, with such confidence and swagger. Like he means it.

  “What do you want to do?” he barks.

  Grogg says, “Let’s find your friends.”

  Hex licks Grogg’s face and the mud troll doesn’t even seem to mind.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Laney

  I don’t eat lunch because it’s slugs again. I let Chloe spoon them into my mouth and then I spit them back out. I wonder what Rhett’s eating, probably something hot and rich that Gertie whipped up. I’d kill for a single spoonful of her famous squirrel stew. Weird how your perspective can change so quickly.

  “Not eating this time?” I say to Bil—who, after fainting, woke up when Chloe pinched his nose and tried to shove a slug down his throat. He spits it out at Chloe’s feet.

  “My stomach already hurts from the first batch,” he says.

  “If you don’t eat, she’ll hurt me,” Chloe says, pleading.

  Although I feel bad for the girl, I’m pretty sure us eating slugs isn’t going to help her any. “Then just tell her we ate them,” I say. “Or you can eat them if you’re so keen for someone to eat them.”

  “She’ll know,” she says, hot pools filling her eyes. “She always knows.”

  I snap the thread of compassion I feel, and say, “You won’t help us, so why should we help you?”

  “I—” The girl stops, as if unsure of how to respond. “Because I’m just a little kid?” she says unsurely.

  “No you’re not,” I say.

  Surprised, she sits down in front of me, resting the pot o’ slugs between her legs. “I’m not?”

  “Nuh-uh,” I say. “When the witches attacked, we all grew up in that instant. We al
l became adults. We all became survivors. You’re a survivor. And surviving isn’t worth a rusty old hubcap if you’re not fighting.”

  She seems to absorb every word, her eyes never leaving mine. “But if I grew up when the witches attacked, why am I still so small?”

  I groan. Kids and their endless questions. “Are you taller than you were before all this started?” I ask.

  “Yes, but—”

  “There you go. You grew up.”

  She eyes me with the skepticism of a child questioning the existence of Santa Claus when the cookies and milk are gone and her father has a milk mustache and chocolate smile. “But why don’t I have”—she points to my chest and then makes a gesture like round bumps forming—“those. My sister was only fourteen and even she had them.”

  I’d be more frustrated if I didn’t notice the way she said her sister was only fourteen. I don’t ask her what happened to her sister. I don’t want to know, and I doubt it will help her to dredge up the memory. “Chloe,” I say, my voice low and soothing. “I don’t mean you’ve got the body of an adult. I mean you became an adult up here.” I try to lift my hand to tap my head, but remember that I’m strapped to this godforsaken stalagmite. “In your head,” I explain instead.

  “So I’m as smart as an adult?” Chloe says, her lips curling partway up.

  I think of all the ridiculously stupid adults I know. “Most definitely,” I say, which pushes Chloe’s lips into a full smile, the first real one I’ve seen on her freckly face. “And as a very wise adult, I know you can help us,” I add, holding my breath.

  She chews the side of her mouth, seeming to consider. I don’t exhale until she speaks.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asks.

  ~~~

  “I’m surprised you’re so good with kids,” Bil says after Chloe is gone.

  “Why?” I say, only realizing after the question escapes my lips that I’m probably setting myself up.

  “Because you suck so much with everyone else,” he says, chuckling at his own joke.

  “You got me, Bil,” I say. “So freaking funny. I had a nine-year-old sister, remember?”

  “Yeah, a nine-year-old going on two-thousand,” he says.

  Good point. “Do you think she’ll be able to pull it off?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “Your optimism is overwhelming.”

  “What exactly do I have to be optimistic about? We’re strung up like fresh meat, just waiting for some sadistic panther to chew our toes off one by one; the Shifters are about to annihilate the only friends we have left; and they won’t give us anything to eat except slugs.”

  I start to speak, but he’s not finished. “Oh, and not to mention I just found out that my mom had my dad killed, and oh yeah, she was a crazy power-hungry human-hater who was killed by my friend, the one and only Rhett Carter.”

  “And you’ve lost your marbles,” I add, unable to help myself.

  “There’s that too,” Bil says. “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “Chloe’s going to come through,” I say confidently.

  “No, she’s not,” Bil says. “You’ve sentenced her to death.”

  My head gets very hot. “She’s already dead,” I say. “We all are if we don’t do something.”

  “Well congratulations,” Bil says,” you’ve done something. You’ve sent a child to try to escape from a fortress guarded by the most dangerous beasts in the world, just so she can wander off to who knows where to try to find help for us.”

  “Says the guy who got us into this stinking mess in the first place!” I fire back, straining against the magical bands, wishing I could do more talking with my fists and less with my tongue.

  Silence. Bil breathes; I seethe. Bil swallows loudly; I spit—I can still taste the sliminess of the slugs in my mouth.

  Finally, Bil says, “Look, I don’t want to argue anymore.”

  “Good,” I say, “Because I was about to say I bet my dead magic-born parents could kick your dead magic-born parents’ asses.”

  Bil snorts and it seems to break the tension. “Sorry. I forgot that you haven’t exactly had the sweetest ride since Salem’s Revenge either.”

  My joints are on fire, having not moved for hours. I desperately wish I could shift positions even the smallest amount, but that’s not a possibility, so I try to ignore the aches. “Who has?”

  Bil chuckles. “Did you mean it when you said we’re all dead already?”

  I’m about to say “Hell yeah,” but then I take a deep breath and really consider his question. “No,” I say. “But I do know we have to expect more from each other. Chloe might be a little girl, but she’s survived this long, which makes her something special.”

  Bil sighs. Says, “Okay.”

  “Hey,” I say, transitioning to a different subject. “What happened earlier? I’ve been itching to ask you.”

  “I—I’m not sure,” Bil says.

  “You said something about a wizard before you decided to take a snooze. You said he was trying to get inside you.”

  Bil doesn’t say anything for a long while, and I’m beginning to wonder whether he’s fallen asleep when he says, “I’ve felt it before, when I had the run-in with the Siren.”

  “Ellie,” I remember. “She tricked you and made you her slave.”

  “Yeah,” Bil says. “But this was the exact opposite to that. The Siren used words filled with syrup and sugar, subtly slipping past my defenses and controlling my mind. I wasn’t ready for her. Hell, I didn’t even know I was a Resistor back then. Whoever this wizard is, he’s very powerful. It felt like a sledgehammer smashing up again my brain, trying to break through my Resistance. It took the last of my strength to keep my walls from breaking.”

  I frown. “What do you think he was trying to do?” I ask.

  “That’s why I compared it to the Siren,” he says. “Their methods were different, but the aim was the same.”

  “He wanted to make you his sex slave?” I joke.

  “Ha ha. You wouldn’t be cracking jokes if you’d had this wizard’s fingers in your skull. He wanted to control me.”

  All thoughts of humor slink away with their tails between their legs, while a slash of iciness takes their place. The dark wizard, whoever he is, wants to use the Resistor against the Alliance.

  ~~~

  At some point, exhaustion and lack of further conversation thrusts us both to sleep again. I suspect Bil has nightmares of poorly manicured fingers probing through his mind, poking and prodding and squeezing his gray brain matter. Me, I dream of Chloe trying to sneak from the caves, only to be grabbed by razor sharp claws. I wake up to a racing heart and heaving lungs as I try to erase the images of Flora biting off her last few fingers, crunching them like celery sticks.

  As my mind catches up to reality and my eyes try to adjust to the hazy darkness, a voice says, “Time to play a little game.”

  I practically jump out of my own skin, which only causes the magical bands to cut into my skin, leaving my nerves screaming for relief. I grit my teeth and say, “What? Parcheesi? Sorry, I’m more of a Texas Hold’em girl.”

  Flora chuckles deep in her throat. Her gleaming yellow eyes move closer, until I can make out a bowtie of whiskers and a mischievous grin surrounding knife-like fangs.

  Bil Nez says, “What the—”

  “Ahh, good. Yow’re both awake. We do need three players for this game.”

  A shiver of dread runs up my spine, sending the hairs on the back of my neck into a tense salute. Somehow I get the feeling we’re not going to like this game. “You know, Flora, I’m still feeling awfully tired.” I force out an overly dramatic yawn. “A slug-heavy diet must make you sleepy.”

  “Liar liar,” Flora says.

  “No, really,” I say. “It’s like eating turkey on Thanksgiving. Or like eucalyptus. Have you ever seen a koala after it eats a eucalyptus salad? Those little buggers’ll sleep for ten hours straight.”

  “Yowr mouth is bi
g,” Flora says.

  “Sticks and stones,” I say. “But anyway, I might be up for a game after my nap…”

  A swell of dizziness rolls through me as the ground seems to rise up toward me. I get the distinct thrill of falling and I pitch forward, the magical bands having disappeared in an instant. Unprepared to protect myself, I bash my shoulder on the unforgiving rock floor and groan. Nearby, Bil lets out a similar cry of pain.

  And yet the first thought that races through my head has nothing to do with my bruised shoulder: We’re free! my inner voice screams. Perhaps Chloe came through for us and brought Rhett, who’s just used his sword to slash through our tethers. Or maybe there’s a traitor in Flora’s inner circle, who finally decided to come to our rescue.

  Or not.

  “Game on,” Flora growls. “Yow have two minutes. Make them count.”

  For a long second I don’t understand what she means, and then it clicks. We’re the game. Bil and me, running for our lives while she gives chase.

  “Run, Bil!” I shout, but even as I try to obey my own command and push to my feet, my arms and legs seem to betray me, collapsing under my weight. The hours of immobility have turned them into mush. And then Bil’s there, pulling me to my feet, supporting me as we hobble toward the line of light that must be a way out. Although I know this isn’t the time or the place, all I can think about is how Bil’s never going to let me live this moment down—assuming either of us live at all.

  Behind us, Flora’s counting down—“One minute!”—which seems to give strength to my muscles and bones as adrenaline shoots through me. I tear away from Bil, hissing “I’m okay now,” and rushing into the light, which grows with each step. Two more long strides and we’re—

  Not out.

  It’s a trick. We’re in another part of the caves, much broader and longer and full of boulders and stalagmites rising up like the giant molars and incisors inside the maw of a monstrous beast whose mouth we’ve unfortunately stumbled into. The light comes from slits in the high, smooth, obsidian ceiling, allowing individual thrill-seeking solar rays to bungee jump into the caves.