“I can run the poem by Thomas Malcolm,” said Fiona from his side. “He knows all about poems.” Her eyes were beginning to appear, hovering near the mantel.
“We should get back.” Tobias clutched the wand as they crept back through the Round Chamber. They’d found the poem, though he didn’t yet know what it meant. It seemed he had some serious research to undertake before he could get back to his own fireplace.
33
Fiona
In the Western wing of the library, near the tall windows that overlooked the courtyard, books of New England history spanned most of the lower level. Warm lights gleamed off metallic titles, and a few deep blue tomes interrupted the rows of deep maroon and brown spines. Paul Revere claimed two entire shelves, and William Dawes commandeered a respectable row of books.
Fiona yawned, rubbing her eyes as she surveyed a dusty bookshelf. A few disruptions had delayed her research into the poem’s hidden meanings. Last night, she’d stayed up late trying to rush through three months of Algebra homework in one evening. And this morning, Celia had burst into her room with a new crisis: she’d discovered Lucas locked in an unsportsmanlike clinch with Sadie on the blue gym mats.
Fiona crouched down to the “colonial wars” shelves. The phrase the one who made him mute replayed in her mind. Did it describe the person who’d killed King Philip? Thomas hadn’t been much help recently, explaining only that he’d been “working on something.”
On the bottom shelf, two books comprised the entire King Philip section. She pulled out a slim volume the color of dried blood: King Philip’s War. She paged to the index, scanning for the word “Death,” and then flipped to page 234. After skimming through, she learned that two men had killed the King in Connecticut’s Miery Swamp. Caleb Cook and John Alderman shot him as he wandered alone in the wilderness.
As Fiona skimmed the chapter, the sound of footfalls turned her head. Jack approached through the Western wing, dressed in a fresh white shirt and gray pants.
Her cheeks reddened as he neared. “Jack.”
He smiled. “Late night studying?”
“Something like that.” She rose, gripping the book.
He nodded toward her hand. “What’s that?”
“Something about King Philip. It’s for class.”
Gazing at her, he took a deep, shaking breath. “For class?”
Is he nervous? “History.” She swallowed. She was starting to feel bad about lying to him.
With a half-smile, he gave a little nod. “I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you. I’m sorry about the other day. About being patronizing.” He glanced at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can be overbearing sometimes.”
She shrugged. “I guess you thought you were doing the right thing.” It was a relief to talk to him. “Apology accepted.”
“I’m going to something Friday evening. It’s a fundraising party at the Athenæum. Do you want to come with me?”
“Sounds sophisticated. What time?”
“Seven. It has a nature theme. Herbal drinks, that kind of thing. They’re raising money for the restoration of a reading room.”
“I’ll wear my finest fig leaves.”
She smiled. Surely the world could grant her one night off from both the battle against Rawhed and her plummeting grades.
34
Tobias
Tobias and Celia walked outside in the spring air as the sun set behind the buildings. He’d been disappointed to learn that Fiona was desperately cramming for a math test that night. It would have been nice to huddle up in the Adepti room to puzzle over the poem. She couldn’t really expect to save the city from a supernatural army and pull up her grades.
He found, instead, that the newly single Celia was free. After telling him about the details of her breakup with Lucas, she wanted to know what everything looked like in Maremount. They strolled through the North End—one of the neighborhoods that he knew best in its Maremount incarnation. Many of the streets followed the same patterns, and Tobias pointed out the location of his favorite pub, the Burning Serpent. But what she really wanted to know about was the royal family. Arm-in-arm, they walked back toward the Common in the gathering dark.
Entranced, Celia gazed at him, blue eyes opened wide. “So the King used to be married to a different queen?”
He nodded. “Exactly. Until he had her hanged in Lullaby Square.”
“Why did he kill her?” She twisted a strand of her blond hair.
“He married a younger queen, Bathsheba. She was prettier. Bathsheba didn’t want any rivals. So she accused the old queen of treason. And King Balthazar was in love with Bathsheba, so he did what she wanted.”
“So the new queen is, like, evil.”
He shrugged, looking into the King’s Chapel cemetery as they passed. “They’re all evil, if you ask me.”
“Because they won’t let Tatters like you into schools?”
“Exactly.”
She crinkled her forehead as they came closer to the Common. “You don’t sound like I’d expect a Tatter to sound. I mean, you can read, and you sound educated.”
“I guess I’m not normal.” He smiled. “My dad used to steal books to teach me to read and to speak properly. No one else in our neighborhood talks like we do—not even the Ragmen. But he thought it wasn’t fair that only the rich children could learn anything.”
“So what happened to the rest of the royal family? What happened to the King’s daughter? From the old queen?”
He frowned and shook his head. “I don’t know. She was either exiled or killed. No one heard from her again.”
“And what about the old queen’s other royal relatives?”
“You seem awfully interested in the aristocrats.”
She tilted her head. “No offense, but rich people are more interesting than poor people.”
He laughed. “Is that so? Well, I don’t know what they’re up to, and I don’t really care. No one’s heard from any of them in the past year, since Rawhed took over the fortress.”
They were at the edge of the Common when a high-pitched scream pierced the air.
Tobias pulled Celia toward him, standing in place as he listened. The shrieking grew louder. The image of a child’s blood-soaked hat flashed through his mind. A woman sprinted toward them, fleeing the park.
Celia clung to his arm. “Should we see what’s happening, or run?”
“I’ll go see what it is. Maybe you should go back to the school.”
“I’m not going back by myself.” She narrowed her eyes. “I’m staying with you.”
They edged into the park as military vehicles sped along Tremont Street and screeched to a halt near the edge of the park. Armed guards stormed out of their Humvees and ran into the Common.
A voice blared from a loudspeaker, “Everyone must vacate the Common at this time. I repeat: all people on Boston Common must vacate the area. Please disperse.”
“It’s too dark to see what’s happening in the middle of the Common.” She dug her fingers into his forearm. “I wish you could do your light spell without people noticing.”
“I want to go in further.” It was his duty to fight Rawhed’s tyranny, even if he didn’t have his pike with him.
She looked over at him, nodding. As they moved toward the center of the park, he saw that the white elm’s spiky boughs now towered over the other trees.
A hail of gunfire rang out. Tobias ran behind a bench, pulling Celia down with him. The Common went silent again. As they crouched, he intoned a simple protection spell. After a few minutes of silence, they slowly stood.
“Let’s go back to Mather,” said Celia.
He rose, glancing toward the tree. Just a hundred feet from them stood the ivory elm. Its branches curved like antlers, and a bright, silvery light emanated from its trunk and boughs.
He squinted his eyes. Silhouettes swung below the tree’s limbs. With a sharp intake of breath, he realized they were bodies, swaying in a lolling moti
on like the tongues of sick dogs. “The Harvesters are killing again.”
He watched as a Harvester stepped away from the tree toward a police officer and fell backward as he was caught in the spray of bullets. But within the elm’s silvery light, the Harvesters seemed protected from the gunfire. They stood tall as soldiers crept toward them, firing machine guns.
Celia pulled Tobias’s arm, but he stood transfixed. They weren’t in the line of fire.
“Go back, Celia,” he hissed.
He stepped closer, watching as one of the Harvesters grabbed a tall, blond soldier by his shoulders and pulled him into the tree’s light. The Harvesters threw a noose around his neck. He grasped at his throat as they strung the rope over a branch, hoisting him up. The man’s face reddened at first, and he gripped the noose before his whole body succumbed to jerking motions. His face turned from red to purple.
“I need to do something.” Tobias moved toward the tree, but Celia gripped his arm.
“Are you crazy? You can’t just go fight them. There are at least ten of them. And I’m not walking home by myself.”
Tobias watched the twitching soldier. She was right. He couldn’t let his emotions overwhelm him.
“Let’s go,” she whispered as Tobias looked back at her.
The look of fear in her eyes made the decision for him, and they ran back within the school’s gates. Ms. Ellsworth stood in the courtyard, trying to see into the park. As they pulled open the front door, Mulligan was announcing over the loudspeaker that everyone must stay in the building. Instead of locking themselves in their rooms as instructed, students swarmed the hallways. Some cried, and many were on their cell phones. They’d heard the gunshots, and the news of another terrorist attack had spread quickly through the school.
Celia followed Tobias to his room, where they found their friends huddled around a laptop on the floor.
“Thank God you guys are back,” Fiona said, lowering her phone. “Did you see what’s going on?”
Alan rose. “They’re back, aren’t they?”
“What did you see?” Mariana’s face was flushed. She sat against Tobias’s bed.
“The Harvesters are in the park,” said Tobias. “The elm is full size now. They’re hanging people from it.”
Mariana leapt up, moving toward the window. “Did they look like they might come here? We’re only a few hundred feet away!”
Tobias’s heart raced as he sat on the bed. “They might, but they were mostly staying near the tree.”
Celia hugged her knees. “We could hide in the Adepti room.”
“Or even the cellar,” said Fiona.
A burst of shouts from the other side of the door interrupted them. “They’re outside the gate!” “They’re here!”
Peering out the window, Tobias saw Ms. Ellsworth sticking her head out of the gate to view the flashing lights in the park. Her brown ponytail hung down her back in a straight line. She seemed not to see the two Harvesters in tapered hats approaching her across Boylston Street in the dark. Vines coiled around their black clothes.
Tobias opened his window to shout at her. “Ms. Ellsworth! Get inside!”
She turned to look up at his window, her mouth opened in shock. By then, the Harvesters were upon her.
He couldn’t stand there and watch while they dragged a teacher to her death. He flung open the door. His heart hammered as he ran through the hallways. A Ragman couldn’t hide in his room while Harvesters dragged women around. A Ragman’s duty was to fight tyranny. He barreled down the stairs into the vestibule.
Wrenching open the door to the courtyard, he saw a lanky Harvester dragging Ms. Ellsworth away from the school gates by her ponytail. Her legs flailed on the pavement, and a flat, tan shoe flew into the air.
Gunshots rang out from the park as he sprinted across the courtyard, calling out to his teacher. Across the street, the Harvester yanked Ms. Ellsworth over the grass by her hair. Tobias sprinted through the gate toward them, dodging a car that skidded past.
Ms. Ellsworth screamed, kicking her legs toward the man’s shins. She grunted, trying to wrench free as he pulled her.
What had he learned with the Ragmen? Land your pike blows when the enemy gets ready to swing. Use an overhead swing as a first attack. Use a thrust for the kill. He was the best pike-fighter in the coven.
Only, he didn’t have a pike. He glanced down at his empty hands as he ran across the grass.
He caught up to them as they dragged Ms. Ellsworth past the Central Burying Ground. A Ragman’s hands don’t tremble when he’s scared.
Tobias grabbed Ms. Ellsworth’s rangy abductor by his shoulder. The man turned, scowling and clinging to the English teacher’s hair. The Harvester had a close-cropped brown beard and a long, bony nose. His thin lips were clamped together.
“You can’t take her. She’s our teacher.” Tobias found himself unable to come up with anything better.
The second Harvester, a blond man with a doughy, beardless face, lurched toward Tobias, grabbing his shirt collar. Gritting his teeth, Tobias shoved him off as adrenalin coursed through his veins.
Someone grabbed Tobias’s arm from behind, and he turned to see Fiona pulling him back toward the school. “You can’t be here, Tobias! There are more coming!”
“Get back in the gates.” As he looked at Fiona’s terrified amber eyes, he felt rough hands grip his throat. While he struggled to free himself, he gazed into the blond Harvester’s face. The grip tightened. All he could think was that the man’s eyes didn’t glow like he’d remembered. They looked like ordinary human eyes, sagging and tired. Tobias felt a sharp pain in his chest. His lungs were going to burst.
He could hear Fiona’s shrill scream over the rushing blood in his ears. He kicked out his leg. Fiona broke the chokehold by smashing her elbow into the Harvester’s pale face. She grabbed Tobias’s arm, pulling him back to the school in an all-out sprint. Tobias coughed and gasped as the school gates came into view.
Munroe stood before the gate, a fierce look on her face. She held a large knife in her hand. As Tobias picked up speed across Boylston Street, he could hear a Harvester shouting behind him, “Submit to the King of Terror!”
“Get inside, Munroe!” yelled Fiona.
In their panic, Ms. Ellsworth had been left behind.
As they neared the gate, Munroe rolled up the sleeve of her shirt and held the knife over the veins in her arm. What was she doing?
“Get inside!” Tobias yelled as he slipped through the gate after Fiona.
The gate slammed shut as soon as he entered, and he turned to see a Harvester stopping short in front of Munroe. Tobias wrapped his hands around the iron rails, watching as Munroe sliced into her arm with the knife. The Harvester gaped at her as her scarlet blood dripped onto the pavement.
Color rose in her face as she screamed. “Your false god will not protect you. The impure will not enter these gates. I claim this place for Blodrial!”
Tobias gasped as recognition finally dawned on him. The chalice—it belonged to Blodrial, the ancient god of blood. He’d seen it in an old book about magic.
The Harvester stumbled back. Munroe turned toward the school and rubbed her bleeding arm against the school gates, leaving a crimson smudge across the Mather Academy insignia.
“What the hell is going on?” shouted Fiona.
Munroe remained before the gate, her arm dripping. The Harvester shuffled further back, a look of confusion on his face.
“There’s magic in her blood,” said Tobias. “She drinks Blodrial’s blood. It’s keeping the Harvesters out.”
“What?” Fiona shook her head. “Munroe? She drinks—what?”
“One of the old gods,” said Tobias, catching his breath as he hung onto the iron fence.
The Harvester edged back into the park.
Fiona looked at Munroe. “So are we safe now? With her blood on the gate?”
“I think so.” He wheezed. “Let’s get back inside.” He leaned on Fiona as they
crossed the courtyard.
He rested his head against her neck. She had a nice vernal smell, like grass and lilacs. It was calming after his fight with the Harvester—if he could call it a fight.
The sirens blared on, and a pre-recorded voice droned over a loudspeaker: “This is an emergency message. Please remain indoors.”
When they entered the vestibule, Mulligan’s office door was shut as he continued to make announcements.
“Should we go to the Adepti room?” asked Fiona, supporting Tobias. “I want everyone to memorize the cloaking spell.”
Tobias nodded as they walked up the stairs.
“What’s up with Munroe? Is she on our side or what?” asked Fiona.
“The Blodrial cult is from the Old World. The ancient world, in fact. They use magic, but not our kind; not Angelic. They’ve never been in Maremount. I don’t remember much about them. I’m not as keen on history as Alan is.” They climbed the steps to the library. His throat throbbed where the Harvester had throttled him. “But I know they’re not fond of philosophers. In fact, they want us all dead.”
35
Thomas
Thomas sat in the empty café drinking a large cup of coffee and staring out the window toward the Common. Like most Bostonians, glued to their internet feeds and televisions, he hadn’t slept at all during the previous night’s attacks. He’d watched in horror as dozens of people were dragged to their deaths at the elm. Once again, the invaders had disappeared as quickly as they’d arrived. After hours of searching, the police had failed to find them. With growing hysteria, the authorities had once again sealed off the city center. No one would be allowed in or out until every terrorist was captured.
It had become clear to everyone that these were no ordinary terrorists. No one had been able to remove the corpses from the trees, not with saws or blades. Something stopped them from getting close enough, and the bodies continued their forlorn swaying.
The Witching Elm (A Memento Mori Witch Novel, Book 1) Page 16
