But it looks like that may be next on Silas Gruesome’s agenda. He’s stalking her again. He even left his soapbox in the eye of the public to sneak around behind her like some deviant. Hmm. The more I watch, the more I think Silas has the hots for Georgianna.
Uh-oh, she’s spotted him. She’s one smart cookie. She’s acting as if she were glad to see him. Good for her. Don’t let him know we have a plan.
Yes, she’s sending him back to the square, and she’s going on to the market. Excellent. And it seems the trials are ready to resume for the afternoon.
What’s that I see over behind the cemetery? Why did I even bother to ask? They’re readying the ropes for the hangings. I can only hope they’re not today. I don’t think Abigail and Samuel will be able to sit by and let people die in front of them. And if they go rushing in like fools where angels fear to tread, they’ll end up swinging like yoyos on the end of a string.
Ah, well, at least they’re having a little honeymoon time right now. It does an old feline’s heart good to see amour is still such a potent force, even in these primitive times. But then, Samuel and Abigail are from the future.
Well, now it’s time for some food. In all of my adventures I’ve never eaten so poorly. I think I’ve lost several pounds. All muscle, of course. I never had any fat to lose. Clotilde, that goddess of feline femininity, says that I’m as trim as I was in my salad days. I hope the home fires are banked and burning, because I’m ready to head back to 1995. And Clotilde. And even Eleanor and Dr. Doolittle. That little baby, Jordan Lindsay, would even be a welcome sight. She’s just going to have to learn not to drool on my black suit.
Looks like I’m stuck here, watching, until Abigail and Samuel finish up with their personal business. I’ll just kick back, watch the village, and dream of home.
CROUCHING LOW beside the base of the building, Abigail kept her hearing tuned to the street. Samuel and Familiar had been inside for less than five minutes, but it seemed like at least five years. Her heart was pounding, and she tried to still it so she could hear better. What if Samuel was caught? Would they kill him on the spot? She put her cold hand to her flushed cheek and tried to calm herself. She had to be alert and calm, ready to save Samuel and the cat if things went bad.
She pulled the cap lower on her forehead, slinking back into the shadows of the building. The streets of Salem Village were empty. Those who had not been accused of witchcraft had taken the dangers to heart. When the sun went down, they were in their homes with the doors barred and the curtains drawn. No one was safe from accusation.
She shifted to the street, checking to be sure no one had silently slipped up behind her. She made her way around the building, keeping to the shadows, keeping her ears open. The village was as silent as a tomb. In the distance, if she concentrated, she thought she even heard the sound of the Atlantic. It was foolishness, of course. There was a storm building, the thick clouds scudding over the stars. Samuel said it was to their benefit, but she only prayed it wouldn’t rain while Georgianna was doling out the sedative.
She crept around to the east side of the building, the side where Samuel and Familiar were searching for the keys. They couldn’t be certain that Appleton even kept the keys in the same place he once did. They might have to search his entire office. Or that of Hawthorne. It was a daunting thought.
Abigail crept backward into the deeper shadows, her mind on where Samuel and Familiar might be in the building. She shifted, her butt bumping into something solid. Something that shouldn’t have been there. Before her brain could register the fact, she felt one hand around her chest, another around her mouth.
Her first thought was that she was going to be raped, and then the reality dawned on her. This was not 1995. This was 1692, and what was about to happen to her was going to be much more deadly.
The hand around her mouth held her nose, clamping down with such force that she couldn’t draw a breath at all. She struggled, but she knew she was no match for the tall man who held her. Still struggling, she twisted around to find Earl Wadsworth standing with a rope that he wrapped around her hands. His mouth was twisted in a smirk of satisfaction, but he remained silent.
The man holding her increased the pressure on her nose and mouth. “At last, Mistress West. I’ve been dreaming of this moment for such a long, long time.”
The last thing Abigail heard was Silas Grayson’s cruel voice.
Chapter Seventeen
Samuel found the keys in a compartment in Appleton’s desk that served as a hidden drawer. The hunt had taken him far longer than he’d anticipated. Just as he palmed the keys, Familiar appeared at his leg in an extremely agitated state. Samuel felt the seed of dread blossom in his chest. Abigail was in danger. He knew it.
He didn’t bother closing the desk but ran to the back door and slipped into the night, moving through the shadows like a substantial wraith as he sought Abigail.
Familiar darted into the lead, pausing at a clump of shrubs.
“Be calm,” Samuel admonished the cat, though his heart was pounding with dread. He made a circle around the building, his fear accelerating with each step. Abigail was gone. Without a trace. There had been no sound, no indication that she’d been taken. But she’d been spirited away into the night.
Familiar had begun to sniff the ground, and Samuel tried to examine the area, but the night was too dark. The moon was obscured by the building storm, the thick clouds so heavy that no ray of light sifted down from the heavens. Samuel couldn’t even see the hand in front of his face, much less marks in the dark earth.
“Meow!” Familiar called from a short distance away.
Sensing that the cat had picked up the trail, Samuel started after him, slipping through the darkness to the back of the building.
At the stairs that led down into the back dungeon entrance, Familiar paused. Quick as a flash, he darted down the steps. To Samuel’s surprise, the cat eased the door open and entered.
Wishing for a flashlight, or better yet, an Uzi, Samuel eased into the darkness. He felt as if he’d been swallowed by some large, living beast as the distant sounds of the prison began to come to him, cotton-coated in the darkness.
Soft sighs seemed to whisper from the walls, as if spirits had been trapped unhappily in the stone. But deep in the pit of the building, he heard something else. Something that sounded distinctly like Abigail’s voice.
“You low-life creep. Touch me again and I’ll kick you so hard you’ll sing in the boys’ choir.”
“She talks like the evil creature she is!”
Samuel recognized Silas Grayson’s exultant voice. In the darkness the voice of a second man came to him. He recognized Mary Wadsworth’s father, Earl.
“You’re a witness, Earl. She’s a true child of Satan. Look at her hiss and struggle.”
“Aye, Silas. She’s as wild as one of those cat creatures. We shall be amply rewarded for catching this one. Especially if we can convince her to confess.”
“I trust a dunking in the Mill Pond will prove what I’ve known all this time. She’s a witch. A powerful witch.”
“If I was so damn powerful, I’d turn you into a toad. Even better, a wart on a toad’s butt.”
There was the sound of Abigail’s cry of surprise mingled with pain.
Samuel started forward, but Familiar pounced on his leg, stopping him dead in his tracks.
“I’m warning you, Grayson. When I get out of here, I’m going to make you pay. Don’t you ever touch me again.” Abigail’s voice was shaking with fury.
Samuel heard her anger, but he also heard her strength. Whatever they’d done to her had infuriated her more than injured her. And they wouldn’t have a chance to do much more, because he was getting her out of there. Familiar was right, though, he needed to have a plan. He couldn’t just go charging in there and beat the living daylights out of Grayson and his cohort in crime, Earl Wadsworth. No, that would jeopardize the entire rescue plan for the next day.
“Are you sur
e her cell is secure, Earl?” Silas asked.
“Aye, them bars will hold, and she’s trussed tighter than a hog in November. She won’t be going nowhere, that I can assure you.”
“Then we should get about our business. Now that the primary witch has been delivered to us, the others should be easy to round up. Our village will be wiped clean of Satan by the end of the week.”
“Is it Georgianna March we’re after next?” Earl asked.
“Georgianna.” Silas chuckled, and it was an unpleasant sound. “Indeed, I feel I must pay her a visit. And soon.”
There was the sound of footsteps approaching from the door, and Samuel knew he was trapped. He pushed as far back as possible in the dark recesses of the stone wall. Could he possibly escape detection? He wasn’t sure, but there was nowhere else for him to go. He looked down to make sure the cat was safely hidden. To his shock, Familiar streaked out into the corridor and ran as fast as possible.
“Cat! Cat! One of the witches is escaping!” The cry rang out from the exit where the guard had been stationed.
Samuel realized that Familiar had risked his own life to create a diversion so that Samuel would have an opportunity to escape. Just as he stepped out in the corridor and started to run, he felt something hard and heavy against his head. He saw the stone floor rising up at him, and then he fell into the darkness of a black, shifting pit.
ABIGAIL SAT in the dark cell, unable to completely accept what had happened to her. Silas Grayson had appeared out of nowhere. She’d been imprisoned without even knowing what crimes she was charged with, but it wasn’t hard to imagine.
“Abigail?”
She heard someone calling her name but didn’t have the heart to answer.
“Abigail West?”
She recognized the cultured voice of Brianna March. “I’m here,” she finally said.
“I warned you,” Brianna said, censure more apparent in her tone than sympathy. “I warned you not to come down here trying to help. Now you’re as doomed as we are.”
Abigail wanted to refute her charge, but she didn’t believe she wasn’t doomed. And it was her fault. She’d been careless, crouched in the darkness and never looking behind her. Either that, or someone had tipped off Silas to her presence outside the dungeon.
She thought of Samuel, but that gave her no comfort, only more worry. The last thing she wanted was for Samuel to risk his own life by trying to help her.
From the rest of the cells there was only silence. The prison was dark, but most of the prisoners had a means of figuring out what had happened. With her capture, even the small hope the prisoners might have had was gone. Their plight was indeed hopeless. The hemp strands used to tie her wrists together were cutting into her flesh, and she used her teeth to pick at them, trying to loosen the knots.
“Are ye charged yet?” one male voice called out.
“No,” Abigail answered. “Not charged.” One knot was loosening.
“Those willful girls have not named ye?” a woman asked.
“No,” Abigail answered. “It was Silas Grayson. He’s named me as a witch.” She had worked one knot free.
There was no response. Determined to free her hands before she lost all feeling in them, Abigail set to work. Using her teeth, she slowly untied knot after knot. Earl Wadsworth had not been kidding when he’d said she was securely tied. But he’d failed to reckon with the fact that, unlike him, she had good teeth.
After half an hour Abigail shook the rope off her hands and rubbed some feeling back into them. There had been no need to leave her tied when the jail was made of stone walls at least two-feet thick. The rope was just another little cruelty in preparation for what was to come next. To stave off those thoughts, Abigail began to explore the dimensions of her prison. It was a tiny cell, but spacious compared to some of the others. She had room to take two steps in each direction. And she could, at least, sit on the floor. Some of the cells were so cramped the people could only stand. As she fumbled around the floor her fingers found the stub of a candle and flint. Instead of lighting it, she put it in the pocket of her trousers to save for later use.
Far down the corridor she heard the opening of a door, and knew the true meaning of the word fear. Had they come to test her? She’d seen Brianna’s hands. And heard the horror stories of others examined for signs of witchcraft. It was only a matter of time before her ordeal began.
The sound of slow footsteps echoed off the stone walls, and the silence of the dungeon deepened.
The steps came toward her cell, and the flare of light was so sudden, so powerful, that she pulled back. It took her several seconds to adjust to the light of the lantern, and to see Samuel’s stricken face as he held it up. There was a large lump on the side of his head, and blood was crusted around his mouth. Even in the glare of the lantern she could see the discoloration around his eyes.
“Samuel.” She reached through the bars. To her horror, he backed away from her.
“Because you used the wiles of Satan to tempt and trick me, I’ve been allowed to ask you for your confession.” Samuel’s words were dead. In the lantern light his gray eyes showed all the torment of a man truly condemned to hell. He stepped back, and the light fell on Magistrate Appleton and the prosecutor, Caleb Hawthorne, standing behind him.
“Samuel.” Abigail could hear the heartbreak in her own voice. “What have they done to you?”
“Do not call my given name, witch. You defile me, and you shall hang for your crimes.”
“I am innocent of any crimes,” Abigail said. “You, of all people, should know that.”
Samuel was roughly shoved aside, and Appleton stepped up to the cell. “Your beloved has agreed to give testimony against you to save himself. He has broken free of your hold on him, demon. Now you’ll face your charges. You’ve given sustenance to the pawns of Satan. Deny it if you dare!”
“I gave food to hungry people. Even those guilty of crimes should be allowed to eat, and these people aren’t guilty. They haven’t even been tried. This is America, where a woman is innocent until proven guilty.”
Appleton almost hissed as he pulled back. “She speaks like a demon. That is proof enough for me.”
“I’m no demon.” Abigail felt the anger course through her like molten iron. She felt as if she could bend the bars with her bare hands—and what she wanted to do to Appleton and Hawthorne didn’t bear thinking about.
Appleton backed up even farther. “She has the tongue of a viper.”
“What are her crimes?” Samuel asked. His voice was a monotone.
Abigail looked at him. Was it possible he’d sustained some type of brain damage from being repeatedly struck in the face or head? He wouldn’t abandon her. Not unless he couldn’t help himself. She felt her anger slipping, and sorrow and fear creeping in. She forced herself to listen to the smarmy tones of the prosecutor.
“The list is incomplete.” Hawthorne’s voice was rich with satisfaction. He waved a hand in the lantern light. “Consorting with the Dark One, giving sustenance to the accused, tempting our own Goodman Truesdale.” His grin was evil.
“I tempt no one. I am guilty of nothing except human kindness. These people are not evil. They are wrongly accused, and you are starving them to death for personal gain.”
“She is bold,” Hawthorne said. “This woman doesn’t need a trial, she needs a rope.”
“Mary and Emily have not named her.” Samuel put forth that fact. “I believe it would be better if the girls made the accusations. That would give her trial the same weight as the others. And the girls are so convincing when they roll and thrash about the floor.”
“I will speak with Earl Wadsworth.” Hawthorne’s smile was mean. “He has great influence with his daughter and her…fantasies.”
“Perhaps we have no need for the young women, not if we show she can tempt grown men to do her bidding,” Appleton said. “Truesdale, here, has seen her for what she is. Silas Grayson said she tempted him.”
; “Oh, posh and balderdash! I’m not so desperate I’d tempt that old goat to do anything!” Even the thought of it made Abigail furious. “I’ve done nothing wrong. You can’t prove a single thing against me.”
“Silence!” Hawthorne thundered at her. He grabbed Appleton’s arm. “She is trying to bring us under her power. Hang her now. Before it is too late.”
“She must be tried.” Samuel’s voice almost cracked, but it didn’t. “It is against the laws of England to hang a person without a trial. If you do not give her a trial, it will bring the wrath of the governor down upon us. She has already sent an emissary to the governor to beg his interference. We must use all caution to make certain she is tried within the letter of the law.”
Abigail’s heart caught a ray of hope. That sounded like the Samuel she knew and loved. It was very possible that he’d pretended to accuse her so that he could remain free to save her. It was a masterful ploy—if it worked!
“Shall I torture a confession from her?” Hawthorne’s question was laced with desire. “I have a way with convincing witches to tell the truth.”
Abigail grabbed the bars and held them to keep from sliding to the floor as her legs turned soft with dread. Many of the other prisoners had been tortured. She felt her stomach roll at the idea of being helpless and in the power of Caleb Hawthorne.
“Leave her.” Appleton spoke with firm authority. “We shall try her tomorrow and see what comes of that. If we need a confession, we shall obtain one. And I think we shall let our new colleague, Samuel Truesdale, wring it from her bones.” He laughed as he slapped Hawthorne on the shoulder and started away with the lamp. “Come along, Truesdale. I don’t trust you enough to leave you down here alone.”
Abigail waited for the moment that Samuel would toss her the keys. She knew he was playing along with Appleton and Hawthorne. He had been very convincing, but it was all a game. He would drop the keys and provide a distraction for her to make an escape. Even as he fell in behind Appleton, she kept her hopes up. Not until his steps were merely an echo in the stone corridor did she really believe he’d left her in the dungeon without some word or sign that he intended to come back to help her. What if he really had been damaged?
Bewitching Familiar Page 21
