by Chelsea Luna
James tried to sit up.
I gently pushed him back down. “You need rest.”
“They deactivated the Il Gaurdenarium spell,” James said. “I don’t understand. There weren’t any Gamma members in Louisiana when you deactivated Vanessa’s spell on the plantation. How’d they know how to do that?”
“Victor knew about the spell. He tried to come inside the night of the Winter Ball. But I’m not sure how they knew how to deactivate it. Maybe they were in contact with Gabriel Vega?”
Gabriel Vega, the half-witch hunter, was still on the loose.
James frowned when I mentioned his name. “Is there anything salvageable? Or was everything in the house destroyed?”
“There may be some things. We’ll check when you’re feeling better.”
“Good. We’ll get everything and bring it here.”
“Here?”
“You don’t have a house anymore, Alex,” James said. “Because of my family.”
“I know, but….”
“I have this huge place all to myself and you and your parents are homeless. It’s a no brainer. Tell her, Mr. Longfellow.”
Ethan threw a log into my magical fire. “That’s very kind of you, James.”
“Thank you.” I squeezed his hand. “You should try to rest.”
It took some convincing, but James finally fell asleep. Ethan and I stayed in the living room with him. Peter called to check on us and I gave him the edited version of what happened. He volunteered to stay the night in the hospital with Emma, just in case.
James was asleep on the couch. I grabbed an oversized throw pillow and settled on the rug in front of the fireplace. With the fire roaring, it was cozy. Ethan sat in the chair gazing at the flames.
“How’s your shoulder?” I asked.
He flexed the bandaged wound. “It will be fine.”
“I feel bad about leaving Victor like that on the basement floor.”
Ethan nodded. “I know, but I’m sure Gamma is already cleaning everything up. They’re notorious for their cover-ups.”
“I’ll tell Emma about Victor in the morning,” I said. “If that’s okay.”
“It’s probably best if it comes from you.” Ethan sighed. “We need to find the receptacle. You’re right - time is running out.”
“Why was it kept in Salem? Is it because of the Witch Trials?”
“Possibly.” Ethan ran his hand through his hair. It was graying at the temples. “I’m not sure. There were other hunts around the world, too. Here in Hazel Cove, the North Berwick Trials in East Lothian, Scotland, the Pendle Trials in England, across Germany and even in many of the Asian countries. I’m not sure why the receptacle was hidden in the witch capital of the world. It’s kind of ironic.”
Hazel Cove and East Lothian were both places that my ancestors had lived.
“Did we have family killed in the Hazel Cove Hunts?” I asked.
Ethan poked the logs in the fire. The ambers turned bright red and a wave of comforting heat blew over me. “Do you really want to hear about our ancestors that died at the hands of witch hunters?”
“I do,” I said. “I have a right to know my history.”
Ethan exhaled and sat down. “You do. We’ve kept so much from you for so long. I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry for what we’ve put you through.”
“It was necessary.”
“You’re right. It was necessary.” Ethan rubbed his eyes. He looked much older all of a sudden. “We had family murdered in the Hazel Cove Hunts. Your great- many times over - Aunt Maggie Longfellow and your great - many times over - Grandfather Jamie Ross.”
I sat up. “Jamie Ross died in Hazel Cove?”
“You know about Jamie Ross?”
“I read his sister’s journal. Grandma Claudia had Sarah Ross’ journal stored in her secret room. Sarah was a pure blood and Liam killed her when she turned eighteen. She’d mentioned a baby brother in her writing, but I didn’t know what happened to him. We - I mean, Rosses - are direct descendants of Jamie.”
Ethan placed his forearms on his knees. “Jamie Ross was one of the founding fathers of Hazel Cove. He came from Great Britain when he was a young man and settled here. Hunters hung him in the Hallows - from the old cedar tree - at the age of sixty-eight.”
I leaned against the bottom of the couch. “The old cedar tree?”
Ethan nodded. “Many people, both witches and human alike, were killed there.”
James had told me the story of the Hazel Cove Hunts when we were in his basement’s crawlspace. In the late 1600s, hunters gathered dozens of people suspected of witchcraft and hung them from the trees in the forest. Killing was so commonplace that the forest became known as the Hallows. Years later the town bulldozed the woods and built the neighborhood.
Apparently, they missed the memo about knocking down the right tree. The old cedar tree was about two hundred yards from the Hallows Country Club. According to James, William and Victor Van Curen specifically bought houses in the Hallows because of the witch hunts that occurred there. Those Van Curens were pretty sick.
“Why did you take me there today?” I asked.
“The area has a significant amount of energy attached to it because of what happened there. I figured the extra boost would help you exorcise the spirit from your grandmother’s mirror.”
“There’s been a lot of death in Hazel Cove.”
“Too much,” Ethan agreed.
James’ light breathing steadied me. “What about North Berwick? What do you know about that?”
“Those were pretty nasty, too. The North Berwick Trials were in East Lothian, Scotland in 1590. Officials accused a group of locals - many of them Rosses - of witchcraft and held them in the St. Andrew’s Auld Kirk where they were tortured and killed. Some of the accused were witches, some weren’t. Hunters didn’t really care back then. The Longfellows lived in England during that time and a few of them died in the Pendle Trials of 1612, but not that many. Rosses are -”
“Notorious?”
Ethan made a face. “It has to do with the association with Liam. Hunters and other witches don’t want anything to do with the Ross Covens. A lot of your ancestors paid the ultimate price.”
My family - both Longfellows and Rosses - had been hunted for hundreds of years. The thought turned my heart to ice. How many more people were going to die?
Ethan stared into the fire. His eyes clouded.
I’d wanted to breach the subject for a while now, but I was always afraid to do so. It seemed like a good opportunity, but I was still apprehensive. “Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“What happened to your family?”
Ethan raised his eyebrows.
“Grandpa Longfellow? Your sister?”
Ethan’s golden eyes shimmered in the flames. “Gamma killed them.”
I was silent. I didn’t want to push.
“They killed my Grandpa Mathew and burned his house and body in our family’s vacation home out on the Cape,” Ethan said hollowly. “They hung my father - your Grandpa Longfellow - from the banister in the foyer of our home. Grandma Longfellow found him. I don’t have proof that they killed my sister, Emily. She died in a one car accident, but I believe they chased her.” Ethan’s eyes fell to me. “That’s why I made the deal with Jonah to leave. Why I agreed to let Victor step into your life. Because after all of that loss and heartache, I couldn’t imagine losing you, too.”
Moments of silence passed.
I hugged the throw pillow. “Even if we miraculously defeat Liam, we’ll still be hunted, right? Because that’s what witch hunters do.” I glanced at James lying on the couch. His face and body beaten. His chest defiled. “It’s never going to end.”
Ethan frowned, but he didn’t refute a word I’d said.
CHAPTER 5
“It’s going to be awesome. I’m so psyched.” Lucas twisted in his desk chair. “They’re transforming the backyard into a graveyard that will rival the town’s cemetery
. And the bottom floor of the house will be turned into a haunted house.”
I smiled at my friend. Lucas loved haunted houses. He had since we were children. And because my family was broken (and my stepfather dead), there wouldn’t be an annual Ramsey Halloween party - the first time in over fifteen years. The Cooper family was taking over the reins.
After what happened last year at our party - when Gamma murdered our chauffeur Bradley and I discovered his body hanging off the balcony - there was no way I could stomach another Halloween party, especially one combined with a haunted house.
Absolutely not.
Lucas flipped through the sleek pages of his Government book. “Halloween’s on a Sunday, so the party will be the day before. Saturday parties are better, don’t you think?”
I nodded.
I prayed Mr. Oviedo, our Government teacher, would start his lesson. I didn’t want to talk about Halloween. Not in any way, shape or form.
Contrary to what I’d assumed, I didn’t have to change schools for my senior year. The famed Longfellow wealth was intact in several bank accounts across the world. Ethan had insisted and paid the exorbitant tuition for Hawthorne Prep. Peter was mildly annoyed that I didn’t join him at Hazel Cove High, but I was secretly glad I had the opportunity to stay at my school. My friends were here. It was familiar and I had more than enough change in my life over the last year.
“What are you going as?” Lucas asked.
“Hmm?”
“Do you have a costume yet?” Lucas pushed a strand of shaggy blonde hair out his eye.
“Oh.” I bit my lip. “I don’t have one yet.”
“Really? Halloween is less than two weeks away.”
“I’m aware.” Lucas had no idea how aware I was of October 31st. I knew the hours and minutes until Halloween. It was like a giant clock hung over my head. All I could hear was the tick tock of time passing.
“I’m going as Frankenstein. Your costume from last year was cool. If you don’t find anything, you could always go as a witch again.”
I nodded. Never going to happen. I’d show up naked before I put that costume back on.
“Are you okay?” Lucas tapped his pencil on my desk. “You seem out of it. Are you still upset about the gas explosion at your house?”
“Huh?”
“My dad said you all were lucky that no one was hurt too seriously. He’s been in contact with the insurance agency. I think we have another house for rent on Poland Avenue.”
I nodded.
“Is James doing better?” Lucas asked.
“He’s healing,” I said quietly.
“My dad said he should’ve gone to the hospital so a professional could tend his injuries. He’s lucky the explosion didn’t kill him. Do you know when he’ll be back at school?”
“Soon.”
Thank goodness, Mr. Oviedo stood up. Lucas was clueless, bless his heart, but I couldn’t stand a second more of our conversation.
Mr. Oviedo started his lecture, but it was so boring that I wanted to poke my eyeballs out with my pencil. I had no idea what he was talking about and cared even less. Lucas dutifully took notes while I doodled in my book. Why was I here? None of this mattered anymore. School was no longer on my priority list. Maybe I was subconsciously trying to keep things as normal as possible?
The hospital released Emma this morning. Ethan was home tending to her and James. He didn’t feel like being at school either. What was I doing? Sitting in Government class learning about the powers of Congress granted by the Commerce Clause? Who cared?
Thirty-five minutes of class remained and as each hand on the clock ticked by, I imagined one less second of my life.
I had to get out of here. I glanced out into the hallway. A red plastic box hung on the wall. The fire alarm.
“What do you think, Ms. Longfellow?” Mr. Oviedo asked.
“Huh?”
“I’m sorry, but ‘huh’ isn’t the correct answer. Could you explain the Necessary and Proper Clause of the U.S. Constitution to your classmates?”
“No.” I couldn’t tell anyone the first thing about the Necessary and Proper Clause, even if my life depended on it. By the way Mr. Oviedo was looking at me, it clearly did.
Mr. Oviedo clasped his hands behind his back. “No?”
“No. I can’t explain it. Sorry.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t do the reading.”
“Did you have more important things to do?”
“Yes.” It slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. Mr. Oviedo was purposely agitating me and I took the bait. Stupid.
Lucas peered over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. The one with the tiny scar. But as his bright blue eyes regarded me, they turned deep blood red. Crimson liquid seeped over Lucas’ pupils.
“What is more important than your Government homework, Ms. Longfellow?”
Lucas’ face was frozen. The muscles in his face were slack. The red-eyed spirit stared at me and a slow grin spread across Lucas’ face. An evil smile. In that moment, it no longer looked like Lucas. He was dark. Possessed. The spirit was mocking me from inside of my friend.
“Ms. Longfellow?”
My focus turned to the hallway and the shrill ring of the fire alarm sounded throughout the school. Students jumped from their desks. I shook Lucas’ arm.
“Lucas!” I shook harder.
He blinked and his eyes returned to their normal shade of cobalt.
“No running.” Mr. Oviedo grabbed his coat from his desk chair. Students stormed out of the classroom. The alarm was deafening.
“A fire alarm?” Lucas asked. “I didn’t even hear it.”
“Are you okay? How do you feel?”
“Fine. Just had a momentary brain freeze. Weird. Were you getting yelled at by Mr. Oviedo or did I imagine that?”
I smiled. “I’m sneaking out. If Mr. Oviedo asks, you don’t know where I went. Okay?”
“Sure thing.”
I grabbed my books, told Lucas goodbye and dove into the chaotic hallway. I ducked my head, moved into the crowd of students and headed straight to the parking lot.
I’d had my fill of school for the day.
CHAPTER 6
The Witch Museum in Salem, Massachusetts is an eerie place. Especially when it’s totally dark and you’ve broken into the building at four in the morning.
“Ouch! Watch your step.” Peter reached for my hand.
“I hate this place.” I pulled out a flashlight from my back pocket.
“It’s the third time we’ve been here. Well, the third time breaking and entering. Do you remember when we came here for our fifth grade fieldtrip?”
“When Logan got into trouble for touching the mannequins?”
“Touching? He pretended to make out with a mannequin,” Peter said.
“And who dared him?” I covered my laughter. We had to be quiet.
I pointed my flashlight beam at the raised platforms that held the wax mannequins. The room was a large diorama with figures placed in chronological scenes around the room. During the day (when you were legally supposed to be there) an audio commentary narrated the events of the Salem Witch Trials of 1692.
“Where do you want to search this time?”
“The attic,” I said.
“Super.”
“I’m running out of places to look for the receptacle.”
Peter’s beam danced off a mannequin’s face. “What if it’s buried somewhere? Or someone stole it?”
“Then I’m screwed.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, that was a dumb thing to say. Where’s the attic?”
“It’s back there.” I led Peter through the cavernous show room and upstairs to the management office.
Many people didn’t know that the Salem Witch Museum was formerly a church. It was renovated years ago into the star attraction for the hordes of tourists that stampeded across Salem. The building had a hollow, vast feeling to it.
I pointe
d my flashlight at the ceiling in the hallway. A string hung down from a squared cutout. “Here we are.”
Peter easily reached the string. The creaky ladder unfolded to the floor. He put one foot in the rung and climbed into an even darker attic.
“Peter?”
His smiling face appeared in my flashlight’s beam.
“How bad is it?”
“Not the cheeriest of places,” Peter said. “But in the grand scheme of things, I’d say it’s not so bad.”
“Basements. Crypts. Underground clubs. Swamps. Attics. It’s never a dull moment, is it?” I climbed the ladder.
“Why do you think I date you?” Peter lifted me into the attic. “I’m an undercover adrenaline junky.”
I rotated my flashlight. The walls, floor and steeple ceiling were constructed of old plank wood. I could stand upright in the middle of the room, but Peter didn’t stand a chance. The area was stuffed with tons of random items, most of them covered in tattered dusty sheets. A large circular window at the end of the room let in a sliver of moonlight.
I stepped over the clutter and looked down upon a partially darkened Salem. The water was a few blocks away. The streets were empty. The traffic lights blinked from green to yellow to red.
“See anything good out there?” Peter lifted a dirty sheet.
“I can see the Howard Street Cemetery.”
Peter made a noise.
“What?”
“The Howard Street Cemetery is haunted,” Peter said.
“Really? Says who?”
“Says everyone. Haven’t you heard the story of Giles Corey?” The moonlight fell over Peter’s face as he walked toward me.
Shadows danced off his skin and a shiver ran down my spine. I hugged my arms across my chest. “From the Salem Witch Trials?”
Peter pointed. “See over there? The cemetery is next to the Old Salem Jail. During the Trials, Giles was accused of practicing witchcraft. Instead of hanging like the others, they crushed him to death in the alley beside the Howard Street Cemetery.”
I rose onto my tip-toes to get a better view of the Old Salem Jail.
