All Hallows Eve (New England Witch Chronicles Book 4)

by Chelsea Luna

  “The sheriff piled rocks on Giles’ chest,” Peter said. “One by one, trying to make him confess to witchcraft, but he never did. With his last dying breath, he cursed the town. Even now, people swear they see ghosts floating through the cemetery. How do you live in Massachusetts and not know this story?”

  “I knew Giles Corey was crushed to death. I just didn’t know the gory details. I never had the stomach for the stories about the Witch Trials.”

  “How ironic.” Peter lightly tapped his flashlight on my head. “Shall we begin?”

  “We need a little bit of light,” I said.

  I touched the wick on a pillared candle and a small flame caught. The remaining five candles lit around the room.

  “That’s sexy,” Peter said.

  The candles gave us light, but not enough to be seen from the street. We went in opposite directions and began our search. I had a gut feeling that the receptacle was a stone or a piece of jewelry or maybe even a small statue. Besides, what else would be small enough to fit into a tiny sack? In reality, the receptacle could be anything. How was I going to find something when I didn’t even know what it was?

  I searched a few boxes without any luck. I moved to the corner of the room. Clouds of dirt flew in the air when I lifted a dusty sheet. I jumped back.

  “You okay over there?” Peter asked.

  “Yeah, it’s just one of those wax dolls.” The smiling figure was dressed as a puritan. Its eyes and teeth were sunken into its face. I quickly covered the mannequin with the sheet.

  Peter moved a box from underneath a table. “How’s Lover Boy doing? Is he feeling better?”

  I dug through a crate filled with old knick knacks and pamphlets. “Much better. My dad’s searching for a spell like the one Liam used on me in New Orleans. We have to heal that nasty brand.”

  “Victor did a number on him.”

  “I know,” I said quietly.

  “Just wait until I see a Gamma member. I’m going to beat the crap out of them. No questions asked. They blow up your house, jump James and brand him like he’s a farm animal? What kind of sick -”

  “I know,” I repeated.

  I hid my smile from Peter. The fact that he felt protective of James showed how far we’d all come in this struggle.

  “I can’t believe Ethan killed Victor.” Peter scratched his nose with the back of his hand. “It’s mind boggling. Victor pulled a gun on you. That’s insane. I can’t wrap my head around that.”

  “Be glad you weren’t there.” I pulled another dirty sheet off a pile of junk. And then I froze.

  An oil painting of an old man with a large nose and small eyes stood in front of me. I bent closer. I’d seen the man before. In the painting that hung on the wall in the living room of the Gamma Farmhouse.

  This painting was slightly different. It was older and the man faced the opposite direction. The portrait was taken in a room with a gas lantern on the table beside him. Instead of holding the Bible over his heart, his hands delicately laid on his lap. What startled me wasn’t the recognition of the old man - James told me that his family was involved in the Salem Witch Trials - but what hung from his neck.

  A brilliant ruby ring strung through a thick gold chain necklace. The same ruby that I’d seen around the neck of a very dead Jonah Van Curen.

  I fumbled in my bag for my cell phone. I could barely catch my breath I was so excited. I smashed the phone to my ear.

  “Hello?” James’ voice was groggy.

  “Who is the old man in the painting at the Gamma farmhouse?”

  Peter jogged over to me. He gave me a strange look. I pointed at the painting, but he didn’t understand.

  “What?” James said.

  “The old man. That creepy picture in the living room at the farmhouse. Behind the couch. You know, the one where his eyes follow you around the room. Who is that? Is that your Grandpa Jonah?”

  “No, that’s one of my ancestors.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Alex, is everything okay?”

  “Please, James. I think I stumbled onto something huge. Who is he?”

  “Jebediah Van Curen. He’s my great-great-great or something like that - grandfather.”

  “Why was he so important to warrant a portrait of him in the attic of the Salem Witch Museum?”

  “You’re at the Witch Museum again? I thought you were at Peter’s house!” James cursed under his breath again. He seriously needed to stop hanging out with Peter.

  “Please James, answer the question. Why is Jebediah Van Curen so important?”

  “He was a magistrate during the Trials.”

  My heart sank. Those poor innocent people never stood a chance. Not if there were Gamma hunters running the Salem Witch Trials. Not if a Van Curen was in charge.

  “What’s going on Alex?”

  “I’m staring at a painting of Jebediah,” I said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Guess what’s hanging from his neck?”

  “What?”

  “Your Grandpa Jonah’s ruby ring.”

  James inhaled. “Do you think -?”

  Peter’s blue eyes grew to the size of saucers. He opened his mouth.

  My cheeks split into an ear to ear grin. “I’m not positive, but I think your Grandpa Jonah’s ruby ring may be Liam’s lost receptacle.”

  CHAPTER 7

  “This is a bad idea,” Peter said. “Slow down, you’re going to get a ticket.”

  I lifted my foot off the gas pedal. “Sorry. I’m anxious.”

  “I can see that. But, Lex, we should wait. We’re rushing into this.”

  “It’s October 24th. We have no choice but to rush into it. Time’s running out.”

  “It’s six in the morning.” Peter pointed to the pink sky. “The sun’s barely up.”

  “I have to buy some things before we go in.”

  “Like what?”

  “Just a few things.”

  Peter shook his head. “You’re so stubborn.”

  My cell phone rang. “Can you put that on speaker phone, please?”

  Peter pushed the button and my father’s voice sounded over the cell phone’s speakers. “Alexandria, please tell me you’re not on your way to Boston.”

  “Oh, we are,” Peter said. “I tried to take the car keys from her, but she threatened to blast me with her stupid wind trick. Can you believe that?”

  “I did not,” I said.

  “You did, too.” Peter made a face. “At least, I hope it was the wind spell and not that fireball thing.”

  “You’re being a baby. I’d never do magic on you.”

  “Kids,” Ethan said.

  “Sorry.” I shifted lanes. “We’re heading to Boston. I have to pick up a disguise before we enter the church. I don’t know who might recognize me. I can’t take any chances after what happened last week.”

  “Wait for me,” Ethan said. “I can be there in a few hours.”

  “I don’t want to waste time. Besides, I need you to watch James and Emma. We’ll be home by lunch. I promise. ”

  Ethan groaned. “Boy, you are as stubborn as your Grandma Claudia. Just like a Ross.”

  Peter mouthed: “Told you so.”

  A small smile escaped. “Like a Ross? But Grandma Longfellow said I was stubborn like you.”

  “You think this ruby ring is the receptacle?”

  “I do.”

  “What does it look like?”

  I closed my eyes to recount the memory of the striking ruby ring in Jonah Van Curen’s coffin.

  “Lex, open your eyes. You’re driving.”

  I ignored Peter, but opened my eyes. He had a point. “The ruby is heart shaped and probably the size of a golf ball. It’s bright red. The gem hung from a delicate gold chain that fell to Jonah’s breastbone.”

  “This ring is in Boston; though, not Salem,” Ethan said.

  “It was in Salem for hundreds of years. James said his ancestors lived in Salem from 1692 to 1972. In 19
72, Jonah Van Curen moved his family to Boston and established his church.”

  “The ruby ring probably passed from father to son over the generations.”

  “Right,” I said. “Except Jonah didn’t give the ruby to Victor or William when he died. Instead, he chose to be buried with the ring, which was probably the safest option”

  “You’re going to break into Jonah Van Curen’s crypt and take the ruby ring off of his dead body?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve broken into his crypt.”

  Peter shook his head.

  Ethan sighed.

  I bit my lip. “Once I have the ruby, I should be able to tell if there’s a spirit inside, right?”

  “You’ll feel vibrations similar to the silver mirror.”

  “Then, that’s what I’ll do. If I’m wrong, we’ll go back to the drawing board. I have to try.”

  “Please be careful,” Ethan said. “I’m sure Gamma’s on high alert after Victor’s death.”

  “I will.”

  “I love you, Alexandria.”

  “I love you, too, dad.” I pulled off the exit ramp and headed toward the shopping center.

  We needed disguises.

  * * *

  Peter frowned. “I don’t like it.”

  “I’m not trying to make a fashion statement. Can you tell it’s me?”

  “No, it definitely doesn’t look like you. That’s why I hate it.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Where did you get blue contacts?” Peter leaned closer.

  “James bought them for me when we came back from Louisiana. He said my eyes were too much of a tell. So I keep a pack in my purse. I have brown ones, too.” I adjusted my wig.

  “Your eyes are a dead giveaway.”

  “You can’t tell it’s me, right?”

  “Nope. You look like some blonde hair, blue eye chick with skinny legs.”

  “I don’t have skinny legs.”

  Peter pulled a Boston Bruins hat low over his face. “I like you better with dark hair and green eyes.”

  “Noted. Are you ready for this?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” Peter said.

  “I wouldn’t be upset or offended if you wanted to wait outside.”

  Peter rolled his eyes.

  “Fine,” I said. “We should be safe. According to Gamma’s beliefs, a witch can’t enter a church. So even if they are suspicious of our disguises, they won’t think it’s possible that it’s me.”

  Months ago, James carefully watched me walk through the church’s front door, not sure if I could cross the threshold.

  Peter tilted his head. “Really? What did they think would happen to you?”

  “I dunno. Ignite into flames?” I scratched under my wig. My entire head itched like crazy. “You need a better disguise than a baseball hat. What if someone recognizes you?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Will you put these in?” I held up the brown contacts.

  Peter raised an eyebrow.

  “Your eyes are pretty telling, too.”

  He made a face, but put out his palm.

  “Have you ever put contacts in?” I asked.

  “Nope.”

  “I’ll do it for you.” I peeled back the aluminum packet. The light brown contact floated in the saline solution. I scooped out the lens and held it up to show Peter. “It doesn’t hurt. Try not to blink when I put it in.”

  I brought my finger near his eye and he immediately shut it.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Why are you closing your eye?”

  “I don’t know. Because you’re about to ram your finger in it? It’s a natural reaction.”

  I held back a smile and rose on my toes. I opened his eye. His long eyelashes batted furiously. “Peter.”

  “Fine.”

  I popped in the contact. He blinked. One blue eye and one brown eye. I immediately had a horrible vision of Nora the witch who owned the Celestial Emporium in New York City. I quickly placed the second brown contact in Peter’s eye.

  “You’re right.” I stepped back to get a better view.

  “What?”

  “I like you better without contacts, too.”

  Peter blinked and pointed across the street. “Is that it?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  The weathered stone church was perfectly wedged in between slick glass skyscrapers. A wide staircase led to giant double front doors. How many people knew this was a Gamma church? Were they oblivious to what went on inside?

  Peter threw his bagel wrapper into a garbage can. “Are we going in or what?”

  “We aren’t the only ones.”

  A group of ten people - men, women and children - mounted the front steps and disappeared inside. Were they Gamma members?

  “Just in time for the eight a.m. service. This should be enlightening. How are we going to sneak into the crypt without being seen?” Peter asked.

  “I have a plan.”

  “Cool. Want to let me in on this top secret plan?”

  I looked up at the clear blue sky. “We might have a little bit of bad weather this morning.”

  “I love cryptic messages when I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours,” Peter said.

  Dark clouds rolled in over downtown Boston. Cold drops of rain fell from the sky. The blinking white man flashed in the crosswalk sign and I pulled Peter across the street. We raced up the stairs and entered the church before pesky second thoughts could change my mind.

  The church looked the same. Thankfully, just like before, I didn’t burst into flames upon entering. I had to admit, I was a little worried. I was a week away from my eighteenth birthday, so maybe my witch-o-meter registered higher now than it had the last time I was here.

  Thankfully, nothing happened once we were inside the church. I didn’t get struck by lightning or combust into flames. I didn’t feel any different. Only dread at being inside Jonah’s church again.

  Dark wooden pews flanked the narrow aisle that ran the length of the church. Candles were placed on the sconces lining the walls. There were no decorations, no pictures, no stained glass windows (except for one small window above the door) and no drapes. Just stone and wood. The podium was raised on a platform so the speaker could be seen from all angles of the church. An enormous wooden cross hung on the wall behind the podium.

  About thirty people sat scattered in the pews. Gamma members or not, I couldn’t take on thirty people. This was a church and, hopefully, the rules of etiquette applied. I interlaced my fingers with Peter’s and we sat in a pew near the back.

  Did anyone recognize us? Did these people know each other? Were they Gamma members? Or simply church goers?

  Rain lightly pattered off the roof. Slow and steady. I had to wait for the right moment. A slim older man with snow white hair strolled up to the podium. I didn’t recognize him, but I immediately knew he was the pastor of the church. He had that air about him. He smiled gently at his flock and waited for the congregation to quiet down.

  “Good morning, everyone,” the Pastor said.

  Good morning murmurs rippled through the crowd.

  “We are low in numbers today.” The Pastor shook his head. “The Devil is doing his work.”

  The crowd nodded.

  “One week from today, your neighbors, your children’s teachers, grocery store clerks, local firemen, everyone you know will celebrate the pagan holiday of All Hallows Eve. They will dress their children in costumes to commemorate evil. They will celebrate and lavish in the darkness. Sadly, they have lost their way.”

  A woman stood up and shouted, “Amen!”

  I clasped my hands together to fight the urge to blow the Pastor off his podium.

  All of my suspicions about what type of church this was were immediately confirmed. What did James say about his late Grandpa Jonah’s sermons? Fire and brimstone spewed from the pulpit?

  Peter’s eyes met min
e. The line from the brown contact lens was visible around his irises. He raised a blonde eyebrow.

  “Halloween is for the wicked,” the Pastor said. “All Hallows Eve is the pagan holiday for those not of God’s light.”

  My stomach knotted. So we were going there this morning.

  Churches like these churned out their narrow minded views all over America. I wouldn’t partake in his nonsense. I wouldn’t let his angry words enter my head and defile my thoughts.

  But they did. His evil words slithered into my brain.

  All Hallows Eve. The Pagan Holiday. Why were pure blooded witches born on Halloween?

  My mind quickly answered its own question: Because they are evil.

  “It’s an eternal fight, but a necessary one.” The Pastor wiped at his brow with a handkerchief. “Now, I’d like to talk about the past. A history lesson, if you will.”

  I tried to tune out the Pastor, but I couldn’t. Peter had. He was playing a video game on his cell phone.

  The Pastor raised an old book high over his head. “Do you know what this is?”

  Excitement rippled through the crowd.

  “That’s right. The Malleus Maleficarum. For those of you who don’t know Latin, that means ‘Hammer of the Witches.’ A German Catholic clergyman named Henrich Kramer wrote this book in the mid-fourteen hundreds. Now, I don’t care too much for Germans. Or Catholics, but this book was important. Its purpose was to demonstrate how to find and convict a witch.”

  My heart skipped a beat. I’d learned about the Malleus Maleficarum a few years ago - pre-witch discovery - back when I was still Alexandria Ramsey. I hadn’t given the book much thought since Mrs. Snider’s European History class during freshman year.

  She had categorized the Malleus Maleficarum as more of a persecution of a gender. Ninety percent of those convicted of witchcraft were women. In earlier centuries, the Church denied the existence of witches because it was considered a pagan superstition. However, after the publication of Malleus Maleficarum, the book became the handbook for magistrates across Renaissance Europe.

  I remembered reading that many believed the Roman Catholic Church used the book as a secret tool. During that time in history, woman was subservient to man. When a woman stepped out of line, her husband or father could explain her ‘unnatural’ behavior as the work of the Devil. In essence, it was a way to punish independent women because they were immediately persecuted and discredited as a witch.