“Thank you,” Cordelia whispered into the dark hallway, noticing that her breath suddenly turned to smoke. As the chill went through her, she knew that she would be welcomed back any time she chose to return.
Luckily she had found an oversized flannel jacket and baseball cap in the caretaker’s closet at the Jeremiah Lee. Before she left the mansion, she caught sight of herself in an age-crackled mirror. Her hair had been hacked off in clumps and burnt in sections out on Misery Island. She ran to the podium that held information pamphlets about the historic mansion and rooted around through the various office supplies until she found a pair of scissors. Standing before the mirror in the bathroom, she proceeded to cut the rest of her beautiful red curls—what was left of them—to chin-length. With each cut, she felt any lingering ties to Hawthorne being snapped, falling away from her and setting her free. She quickly brushed the hair into a garbage pail. She was free to start over. The old Cordelia was gone. She would be reborn somewhere else—somewhere far from Hawthorne.
Even though it was cut short, her trademark shock of red hair would still give her identity away, so she tucked it under the baseball cap and headed outside, out of town, out of life as she knew it. The streets were quiet and deserted in the early morning hours. She felt more at ease once she had crossed the town lines into Salem. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but the more distance she put between herself and Hawthorne, the better.
Now that Halloween was over, the ongoing party that took place in Salem had died down dramatically, the Halloween decorations soon to be replaced with Thanksgiving and Christmas decorations.
As she walked through Salem, she could feel the presence of spirits all around her. They were returning after their long escape during the month of October. She knew what it felt like to be hunted and she felt sorry for the spirits that were trying to peacefully coexist with the living during the crazy festivities. Walking through the deserted streets, she could tell she was being watched. It didn’t bother her if the dead were watching her; it was the living that she was trying to avoid.
Suddenly a pair of yellow eyes met her in the darkness. She stepped back in shock, trying to catch her breath. Usually spirits weren’t so bold with her. They made their presence known subtly, taking care not to spook her, so to speak. After a few minutes, she realized that it was an animal watching her. Just a dog, she thought, chiding herself for being so jumpy. It wasn’t until she got closer that she realized it wasn’t a dog at all. The yellow eyes and the massive gray head gave it away. It was a wolf—a wolf lying on a nest of hay in the back of a truck.
Cordelia paced slowly over to the truck to see if it was still warm. It was parked out in front of a tavern that was supposed to close at the same time as the rest of the bars, but occasionally and for a few special customers would stay open. What would a wolf be doing in the back of a truck? she thought.
It was then that she remembered hearing about Wolf Hollow, a place farther up the North Shore in Ipswich that was a nonprofit place that cared for wolves.
“Hey there,” she said quietly to the majestic animal in the cage. “You don’t look that scary to me.”
The wolf bowed its head down and peered up at her. It was the look of submission. She blew on her hands, which felt like blocks of ice. Suddenly an idea sprang into her mind. If she could stow away in this truck, she could get as far as Ipswich. And from there, she could hitchhike. She’d be far enough away from Salem and Hawthorne that people wouldn’t recognize her and she would be able to save some money to live on until she got settled somewhere.
“You wouldn’t mind me curling up next to you for a little while, would you, buddy?” Cordelia whispered through the cage. The wolf made a little whining sound, almost like a puppy. Fear pumped through her chest for a moment, but she pushed it aside because she knew that she needed to get out of town as soon as possible.
The latch on the cage came open easily. The driver must have assumed that most people wouldn’t let a wolf out of its cage. However, Cordelia wasn’t most people. She counted to three and then jumped into the back of the truck and spoke in a soft tone to the wolf.
“Easy, boy, easy,” she cooed. “I’m just going to be your stowaway for a little while. We can both get warm together.” She shivered again as the November wind picked up. The wolf watched her with its serene eyes and then dropped its head to its paws, a sign of welcoming and acceptance. Cordelia curled up next to the large beast, taking care to hide herself behind the animal, and cover up her bag with the hay that was in the crate. The wolf was so warm, it was like snuggling up to a cozy hearth. For some reason, she felt no fear with this animal. As she lay silently next to it, looking up at the stars, the wolf sniffed her hair and then licked the side of her face. She had gotten the seal of approval. The hard part was over. Now she had to wait until the driver came back to take her on the first leg of her trip.
The moon made the wolf’s coat shimmer and the lazy November stars with the sound of the ocean waves nearby made her sleepy again. It wasn’t until she awoke a few hours later that she realized she had left Salem—and Hawthorne—far behind, perhaps forever.
Chapter 8
THE PAGE OF CUPS
A kind, sympathetic dreamer. Imagination. May indicate a time for quiet reflection. A gentle, poetic, quiet, and artistic person gifted with much foresight.
T he sun was just about to rise and she was completely engulfed by the wolf. It had wrapped its body around hers, as if she were a pup, successfully hiding her from the driver or anyone at Wolf Hollow. When she awoke, she realized that the truck was now parked inside a barn. The driver must not have wanted to awaken the wolf to put him back into his pen. Cordelia was thankful for that, because she could easily have been discovered—and the authorities most likely would have been alerted.
“Hey, boy, you took good care of me,” she whispered. The wolf perked its ears up and then lazily rolled aside, allowing her to move to the back of the truck. She grabbed her backpack and patted the wolf’s head.
Cordelia let herself out of the barn and started walking along the country road when several howls floated toward her through the chilly morning air. It sounded as if they were wishing her luck on her journey. Unbeknownst to Cordelia, at that exact moment back in Hawthorne, another howl ripped through the early morning hours as Rebecca, her mother, was taken to Ravenswood; she cried out for the daughter she had lost, and feared she would never see again.
Cordelia walked into the woods surrounding Wolf Hollow, lost in her own thoughts. After learning the truth about her father, her mother, Maddie, everyone, the world seemed changed somehow. Cordelia tried to figure out where to go next. The woods seemed to be closing in. The trees, now half naked, having lost their autumn glory, reached out to her with gnarled fingers. The wind called to her in whispers, beckoning her into its darkened depths.
As the shadows grew long and a chill crept into the air, Cordelia was overcome with an intense desire to leave the dark forest and head back toward the road. She picked her way down a rough and twisting path, not sure where she was headed, but felt a tug in her gut that told her she was going in the right direction. After a little while, she happened upon a tiny house that looked straight out of a fairy tale. A small wooden sign that said THE CROW’S NEST hung from a wrought-iron post. It was just a little house with clapboard shutters and crisscrossed windowpanes—a remnant from the old New England villages, no doubt. The sign had faded, but the large black crow in the center was still freshly painted. A tiny sign on the door frame said FORTUNES READ HERE . For some reaso
n Cordelia felt compelled to enter. Maybe someone could help. Cordelia realized then that she had nowhere else to turn to.
Approaching the bright red door, Cordelia turned the handle and noticed that it was shaped like a claw. Bells tinkled gently as she walked inside. The small room was filled with colors and smells. Candles were burning at every corner of the room, brimming with molten wax. Soft music floated out from the back of the house. Unsure of whose place this was, Cordelia suddenly realized that her face had been all over the newspapers and the television. What if this person reports me? she thought anxiously. There was no way anyone could make her return to Hawthorne—at least until she got some of the answers she needed. She had nowhere else to go.
“You’ve come for help, haven’t you?” A lilting voice suddenly broke the silence, interrupting her decision to flee. A grandmotherly woman with a shock of dyed orange hair shuffled out from behind a velvet curtain at the back of the house. Cordelia was used to standing out with her crimson curls, but this woman’s hair was so bright it almost hurt her eyes. “Come.” She motioned for Cordelia to move away from the door and farther into the house.
“You wouldn’t have found this place if you didn’t need my help. Now, come on. I won’t charge you for this reading. It’s on the house.” She turned on her heel and swirled her long skirt around her plump body. “I knew you would come around sooner or later.”
“Have I met you before?” Cordelia asked, suddenly worried that this woman had recognized her from the news.
“Ah, ah, ah. I don’t know anything except that I see a girl in front of me that needs my help,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “And maybe a nice warm bath and fresh clothes.”
Cordelia sensed that this woman was a kindred spirit, so she relaxed a bit and followed the woman farther back into the cottage.
“Will you help me?” Cordelia asked, not quite sure what kind of help she needed at that point.
She smiled. “Help you on your journey? Yes, of course. Come. Sit.”
Cordelia followed her to the back of the room. The woman pushed the heavy curtains back to reveal a small velvet-covered table filled with candles and crystals of every color.
“First things first. My name is Sophie and I am a seer.” She smiled widely. She noted Cordelia’s confusion and cocked her head to the side. “A teller. A psychic. A medium.”
Cordelia continued to look strangely at her. “Are you a…”
“A witch. Yes, I’m a witch,” she said decidedly.
“I’m—”
“You are a seer as well. I know this just by looking at you. You don’t need to tell me your name. The less I know, the less I have to tell. Now sit. I’ll get some tea.”
Cordelia sat down in mild shock. “How did you know…” Her voice trailed off as she watched the woman bustling around, retrieving a pot of tea and teacups from an ancient-looking cupboard.
“Oh, I know many things. Too much for my own good, if you ask me. Here, drink your tea. It’s elderberry. You’ll like it.”
Cordelia looked down and noticed little tea leaves floating at the top of the steaming liquid.
“Don’t mind the leaves. It helps with the reading. They won’t hurt you.” She smiled.
Cordelia smiled back knowingly. Rebecca had taught her to read tea leaves at a young age. But she was anxious to see what this woman would see when she looked at the swirling tea leaves. Cordelia blew on her tea before taking a small sip. The warmth of the tea spread down inside her body, and she realized for the first time how cold and hungry she was. The fire they were sitting next to also helped her recover her body temperature.
“Now, let’s get to business,” the old woman said in a matter-of-fact manner, as she settled her bulging body into her chair. She grasped Cordelia’s free hand tightly—rings with huge stones covered every one of her fingers.
The woman sagely peered into Cordelia’s open palm.
“Don’t hold back. You have a strong intuition line in your palms—you should have strength in your beliefs. You are on an important mission,” she said gravely. “You have been betrayed many times, yes?”
Cordelia bit her lip. She was unsure of whether or not she wanted to continue down this path for fear of bursting into tears.
“Your mother,” the woman said stoically. “She has changed. She has lied to you.”
The woman looked deeply into Cordelia’s eyes, and then dropped her hand. Sophie turned and grabbed a deck of well-worn tarot cards out of a purple satin pouch and began shuffling.
“It’s not your fault that all of this has happened. It seems to me”—she cocked her head to the side, giving Cordelia a long stare—“that your life has been overtaken by some form of an evil spirit—a demon, if you will. But before you can release yourself and your family from this curse, release the spirit, you need to figure out what kind of demon has its sights set on you.”
“You mean there’s more than one type of demon—er…spirit?”
The old woman started shaking in uncontrollable laughter. Her eyes began to water, as she wiped them dry with her wrinkled hands. “More than one? Oh my, you really have no idea what you’re dealing with, do you? Well, no matter. I’m here to help you now.”
She began laying the cards out in front of her in geometric patterns. As she looked at the emerging patterns, she whispered quietly to herself. Cordelia turned her head sideways to make out the pictures and words marked on the cards. She’d read tarot cards before and sold all sorts in the store, but she’d never seen ones quite like these. The pictures were brilliantly colored and seemed to be handmade, as if the old woman herself had dipped a paintbrush and covered the cards with her own magical artwork. In the orange of the candlelight, the pictures appeared to come alive, glittering and aglow. Sophie dragged her fingers along them as if she were reading Braille.
“You see how there are many Sword cards. This shows me that there are a lot of challenges and difficulties you are trying to overcome,” she said, studying the cards intensely. “This one right here,” she said as she pointed to the Two of Swords, “tells me that you are avoiding the truth. It makes you unhappy and uncomfortable, so rather than stay and deal with it, you are running away.”
Cordelia nodded. So far, Sophie had hit the nail on the head. She waited anxiously for more information, for some type of direction or answer.
“And this card, the Queen of Swords, is where you are right now. It’s the card of someone honest and forthright, someone who plays by the rules and faces the truth head-on.” Cordelia felt a rush of happiness. Yes, she was the Queen of Swords!
“But don’t get too happy, my dear.” Sophie shook her finger. “The Queen is reversed. It shows you running from the truth, hiding behind lies and deception, avoiding the heart of the matter.”
Cordelia must have been visibly upset because Sophie quickly added, “But you know that this card represents where you are now. You have the power to reverse it and to change your path. This is not what will always be.”
“What should I do next?” Cordelia asked.
“Hmmm.” Sophie inspected the cards again. She flipped through the deck. Sophie placed a Nine of Swords card on the table. “This shows sleepless nights, feeling trapped and unhappy. It’s not a positive card. All of these Sword cards are making me concerned.”
Sophie took a deep breath and flipped over the next card.
“The Emperor reversed,” she breathed.
“There is a man in your life—or men—who’s c
ausing you much pain and unhappiness. A very powerful man, mature and strong, who is in total control of the situation and enforces his views rather rigidly. He has a subconscious expectation that others in his life will go along with his plans, and want what he wants. If he doesn’t get what he wants…” Her voice trailed off unexpectedly.
“You know,” Sophie said, changing the direction of the reading, “you really need to focus on getting these swords out of your path. You need a good night’s rest. You need some recuperation.”
Sophie looked at the next card and then quickly replaced it on the deck, leaving them spread out on the table. “Let me gather some things that will help you on your quest to deliver yourself from evil—to free yourself from this dark spirit that follows you.”
Sophie stood suddenly and walked over to the table filled with dried herbs. She grabbed a ruby-colored velvet bag and began filling it with various things.
Cordelia knew who the Emperor represented. It was the man responsible for all of this: Malcolm Crane. She flipped over the next card—the one that Sophie didn’t want to show her. The one that would give her direction and tell her what she needed to do next in order to save herself and those she loved.
It was the Death card.
It was then that Malcolm Crane’s fate was sealed.
Chapter 9
THE EMPRESS
A mother, a creator and nurturer, the creation of life, of romance, of art or business. The Empress can represent the germination of an idea before it is ready to be fully born. She is the giver of earthly gifts.
“L et’s see. Different spirits are affected by a wide range of herbs. We’ll have to try a bunch of them. Rosemary, sandalwood, blackberry, Saint-John’s-wort, wintergreen, linden, and heather. Now there, that’s a good start. Now, let me think a moment.” She tapped her finger thoughtfully against her jutting chin. “The holidays are coming up, which is good, because many of the herbs used this season like clove, frankincense, and mistletoe are quite bothersome to spirits.” She spoke in a singsong manner as she filled the satchel with various herbs and flowers.
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