by E. M. Moore
“Mother? The one you guys conjured in the ceremony yesterday night?”
Face pasty white and voice hollowed out, Jennie said, “I didn’t know, Sarah. Really, I didn’t. There’s something else. Something worse.” Jennie squirmed in the leather seat. “She put a curse on the family that killed Isabella. Drake is a direct descendant of that family. I went to the library first thing this morning and looked it up. Thomas Ludington's family tree reaches all the way to the Connors. They changed their name sometime after the witch was burnt here. Tried to hide. There are local conspiracy books filled with the mysterious curse at the library.” She pounded the dash. “I tried to get Drake all day. I tried. Your aunt got to him first.”
My stomach jittered in an ugly roil of acid as I ran a shaky hand through my hair, processing everything. The Ludington’s. The name wasn’t unfamiliar. I read it on Drake’s family tree from the canvas above the mantle pictures of his lost loved ones.
The loved ones he lost from this curse.
I finally understood the infatuation Rose had with Drake now and his grandfather’s reluctance to say anything. She needed to keep them close. I studied the double yellow line as it whisked underneath the Escalade at seventy miles per hour. “Where are we going?"
“They know we know. Something needs to happen or we’ll end up like your dad.”
I pressed a hand over my mouth. Fantasized movie pictures flashed in front of me of what my father described my life to be like. Me with my mother, sliding at playgrounds and baking together. Smiling at one another like in those corny Hallmark cards.
My body stiffened. Drake had had that to once. She took it away. She took it away from both of us. “I don’t know about you, but I think we need to get the bitch.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Isabella
1639
Thomas stood off to the side, next to his father. The elder Ludington held a firm hand around his son’s waist.
“Prepare the other.”
Thomas hesitated. If he stepped to move, would his knee buckle beneath him, send him falling to the dirt in the town square? Would everyone notice then? Would they realize Thomas Ludington just stood by and watched his love burn?
His father explained before that his feelings were not his own. The conniving witch made him feel. Made him love her, sin for her. He was supposed to feel this pain in his heart. He would ache for her like any other lost love. Mourn her as if she did not influence his heart. But it seemed too real.
The magistrate released his hold. “Son, it is time now.”
Thomas took a silent step toward Mother Shipton, the third witch to burn tonight. He walked steady, relieved to feel his limbs working correctly though his heart and head were a different matter. With each step toward the devil’s daughter, his heart splintered and his head clouded in an angry fog.
Thomas stalked up next to a large mess, a shuddering knot of clothes. He kicked her. The toe of his boot glanced off the woman’s shoulder. He mimicked his father’s words, “It is time.”
Mrs. Shipton lifted her shaking face. A pool of tears flooded her eyes and ran over. Her wrinkled skin caught the clear water and funneled it through the deep grooves. “You do not know what you have done.” Her lips, cracked with thirst, trembled.
Thomas signaled the two men waiting with the next spire. She turned her head, her eyes picking up the men carrying the log. She tossed her head back and forth, and her brown hair, laced with wiry silver strands, tangled itself on her wet cheeks. “I tried to tell you. I did. Your love was not a witch. She burned an innocent.”
Mrs. Shipton gathered herself up and stood eye-to-eye with Thomas. He waved away her guards who reached out to restrain her.
“Your father made me do it. He used me. He did not want you to marry her.”
Mr. Austen and Mr. Leigh balanced the heavy wood beam next to Thomas, one end in the dirt, the other angling off toward the darkening night. Mr. Leigh handed Thomas the rope. The guards dragged the witch to the log as the other men held it steady, waiting for the weight of the woman to bear on it.
Thomas interlaced the rope around the old woman’s feet, winding the coarse cord about the wood and flesh, pulling and tugging the wiry rough against the witch’s skin. He cared not if he marred the hag’s old wrinkles, not like he did with Isabella.
When he wound the rope around Mrs. Shipton’s waist and hands, she whispered to him, “You know why they call me Mother, do not you?” A taunting smile played across her lips. "I gave her the dreams. With her…and me. I know she told you of them. I have powers. Ancient powers. Your father thought if I scared her she would stop seeing you.”
She giggled and Thomas tightened the knot around her wrists tighter.
“He did not realize your feelings were true. You loved her. You loved one another.”
Thomas lingered over the last knot.
“Then when you came to him and wanted him to sanction your marriage, he lost it. He had to take care of her.”
Thomas’ mouth slackened.
“You are wondering how I know all this.” She bit down on her lip as the rope cut through flesh. The spire jostled as the men stepped toward the waiting crowd. “Your father is watching me as you did your Isabella.” Mrs. Shipton laughed, pitch rising as they carried her further away. “Except he knows I am a witch. I partnered with evil some time ago to get my powers. You only thought your love was lost to the devil. She was not."
Thomas staggered forward, following after the mad laughter. “Why?” he choked out, but his words were smothered silent by his father’s booming voice, listing the accusations as Mrs. Shipton swayed above the villagers. Her spire found a place to rest in the hole next to the other two.
A thick, black smoke hovered in wisps amongst the crowd. Spots of dark gray clouds still billowed from the ashes, rising in the air.
“Do you have any last words?”
The wind shifted. A gray veil crossed in front of the hanging witch. The torch man waited on the cusp of the brittle hay and browned grass.
“You stare at me. Mock me. Curse me.” Mother Shipton leveled her eyes at her fellow neighbors. They glanced away or down at their dusty shoes. No one screamed out as was done with the Lynnes’. No one threw stones or stared hard. They cowered under her gaze, the dark stare of power. “But you shall not forget me.”
She turned toward the magistrate and mirrored his proud head, chin high and straight faced. “The honored line shall perish, starting with the two.”
The judge ran to the torch man. “Throw it on. She speaks her evil.”
The man dropped the torch, hands flying to his ears. The crowd followed, scattering and running in a tangled spider web to their homes. Cries rang out and rose up to the night. Men clung to their wives, tugged at their dresses as they scampered to their homes.
Mother Shipton’s laughter rang, a yell in a pack of whispers. “The ones they hold as fairest, for their loves anew. A curse to bind them.”
The magistrate bent over, found the still flaming torch in the sand and threw it at the witch.
“For me to find them.”
The torch hit the witch’s waist and fell to the dry hay. Fire immediately caught and spread. Her eyes stared at the rising flames and then moved to catch the cold, unyielding glare of her lover.
“And I will do as you have done to me.”
***
Thomas waited until after they removed the Lynne women’s belongings from their cottage. He searched and found nothing but Isabella’s journals in his sack. His father insisted on keeping the desk and the journals, which he thought odd. Was not it always imperative to burn the witch’s belongings as well as the witch?
They sat at the dinner table. Betrayal pulsed through him, but he doubted his father noticed. He set down his spoon and cleared his throat. “Father. I must know.”
Magistrate Ludington threw his spoon to the table. “Know what?”
“Was Isabella a witch?”
“You do
ubt me?”
“Mother Shipton said you were lovers. You and her. She said you made her do things to Isabella.”
“Witches, witches, they are all witches!”
He stood, mouth still open from his sudden surge, then his eyes widened and he began to claw at his throat. The veins in his neck protruded.
“Father?”
The man fell to the floor. Thomas pushed the chair away and stood over his father, shaking his limp form.
Footsteps strode into the room and Thomas looked up. His mother stood there, hands entwined around her bulging middle, a sly smile covering her face.
A flash of the old witch pierced Thomas’ mind and for a moment, he did not stare at his mother, but at Mrs. Shipton.
“You are next.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Sarah
“A hardware store? Seriously?”
I flattened myself against the seat as Jennie ran over a curb at a shop just outside Adams.
“It’s a Country Store. We need some things if we’re going to save the whole damn town.”
“Don’t you have powers or something? Can’t you do something?”
“That’s why we’re here. I need some…tools."
“Like wrenches and screwdrivers?”
Jennie shot me a death look. “No princess, like rope…and a doll. I’m going to try and make a binding doll to hopefully undo the hold she has over everyone."
Ohhh.
Jennie jacked her thumb in the direction of the backseat. “And I need more salt.”
I twisted in the seat and found a canister clearly labeled salt surrounded by white granules. “I knew they made the doll for Marlene. I read it in your book.” I turned forward again. “I just don’t get the salt.”
“You must not have read everything then.” The SUV jerked and came to a stop in the fire line right in front of the shop. Jennie jumped out, leaving the key in the ignition, the car running.
I hesitated.
“It’ll be fine,” she shouted as she banged the hood, jarring me to attention.
Inside the store, Jennie continued in whispers, “Salt is a very basic negation spell—protective.” I stalked next to her, feeling pretty stupid. Jennie sighed. "You ever watch football?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Think of salt as the protective pads the player wears. As long as you got some on, it won’t hurt.”
“So, what’s the plan?” I asked.
“We need to get my tools and head to Heritage Park.”
“Heritage Park? Where everybody and their mother is right now? That sounds like a horrible idea.”
Jennie’s jaw tightened, leaving her face angular. “If you were to see a layout of the park, you’d notice it’s in the shape of a pentagram. We usually hold our coven meetings there. Of course, with Settler’s Days, we had to move temporarily.” She peeked at me and noticing I was still following, she continued, “It’s the most magic filled place in Adams. My powers alone won’t be enough. I need to be there.”
“The park is in the shape of a pentagram? And nobody thinks this is weird?”
“It’s Adams.”
I peered up and down the aisles filled with wheelbarrows, bird feed, garden tools, and everything else country. “So? It’s Adams, not some city in hell.”
Jennie groaned. “I don’t know. It looks pretty? That’s really not the point though, is it?”
The park was pretty and I wouldn’t have realized it was shaped like that if Jennie hadn’t said anything. “Okay, so if it's the most powerful place in Adams, don’t you think Rose is going to want to use that to her advantage too?”
Jennie’s eyes flicked from one aisle to the next. “Yes.”
I put my hand on Jennie’s shoulder and stopped her. “She’s already been using it. Oh my god, I’m so stupid.” My mind flicked back to every time I thought the Crazies were acting, well, crazy. People spacing out, repeating their words. I scanned the aisle signs. “We’re going to need lots of salt.”
We grabbed a cart and started to load up. Jennie picked a rope off the shelf, a doll in the clearance aisle, and I leveled my hand across the shelf where they stored the water softener salt. They crashed into the cart one-by-one. The old geezer shoppers shook their heads at me and kept glancing back out of the corners of their eyes.
We stood in line. A short guy with a god complex rang up items. He flirted with the old ladies in front of us and once he started scanning our items, he pulled out his shockingly white teeth and dumbo grin. “How are you two beauties doing today?”
I snatched the plastic bags from his hands and Jennie tapped her foot against the concrete floor.
The movement didn’t faze him. Jennie shook her hair around so it fell in her face and then jutted out her lower lip.
His face lit. “That’ll be 25.32.”
My mouth dropped and I glanced at Jennie, her hands unconsciously felt for her purse. Of course, she didn’t have it on her and neither did I. I didn’t think I’d need my wallet. Didn’t think I’d be shopping at the hardware-slash-magical shop today. Actually, it was more like shoplifting at the hardware-slash-magical shop today.
Jennie didn’t lose a beat. She made a show of patting her back pockets and then dropped her mouth with her pouty lip and exclaimed, “Oh man. I forgot the money our mom gave us in the car. Can we run out and bring it back to you?"
The boy’s eyebrow twitched. “Sure,” he said cheerfully, leaning in toward Jennie. “As long as you bring me back a piece of paper with your number on it.”
“Will do,” she said, winking at him.
I steered the cart toward the exit. “What are—?”
“Shh.” Once we got outside, Jennie ran to the running car and started shoveling items into the backseat. “Get in the driver's seat and get ready.”
I ran to the driver’s side door and watched Jennie shovel handfuls of salt into the SUV, her eyes teetering back and forth between the task and the main door. “Oh sh—”
“What?”
“Get in the car. Now.”
“Hey, do you need help?” the checkout boy called to her, wringing his hands in his green Country Store smock.
Jennie dropped the canisters of salt she had in her hands, somehow managed to shove the cart away, close the door, and hop in the front seat all before the boy knew anything was wrong.
“Hey–hey—”
I peeled out, scaring a young couple so bad they fell back on their butts as I maneuvered around them. The rearview mirror revealed three very pissed off faces.
I cringed and sunk my fingernails into the leather of the steering wheel.
“It’s okay,” Jennie said, pulling her hair behind her ears. “It's emergency circumstances.”
I eased my grip and concentrated on the road. I’d never been down these before, only sticking to the main highways on my way up here and then the tiny side streets of Adams.
Jennie reached behind the seat and grabbed the doll. It was an old one with tan fabric skin and yellow yarn for hair. It had blue eyes and a cute little nose sewn onto it. Jennie stripped the doll of its jean skirt and doggie shirt.
“Is that going to work?” I asked.
“I don’t see why not.”
“Okay, so I’ll pull up to Heritage Park, we get out and what? We just walk up?”
Jennie nonchalantly petted the doll’s hair, her face expressionless as she stared ahead. “Yup. That’s what we do.” She switched her gaze to the doll. “Then we kneel in the middle, before the stage, and—”
“Wait. We kneel in the middle?”
Jennie nodded. “I can’t do it without you. I need your energy.”
“But I’m not a psychic, or a Wiccan either.”
“Doesn’t make a difference. I just need you to concentrate and repeat after me.”
Drake flashed into my mind, that solemn, hollow expression. It was him, but not really him. “I can do that.”
When we pulled into a parking spot near Heritag
e Park, the first person I recognized was Courtney, the high priestess. “Do you think she’s in on it?”
Jennie shook her head. “Nah, it’s all Mother.”
“Mother’s controlling everybody? Courtney? Drake?”
“Everybody.”
I turned to face Jennie in the seat. Her face tight, unbreakable stone. “Let’s do this.”
I left the Escalade running in a parking space near the statue of the first settler in case we needed to make another quick escape. The statue’s eyes called out to me again and my gaze traveled down the length of the statue to the C.
Of course. C for Connors. The Crazies were changing the settler’s last name from Ludington to Connors.
I marched through the park to catch up with Jennie, holding a couple of plastic bags brimming with salt canisters. Jennie held the rope and the doll.
No one bothered us as we walked toward the center of the park, nor did I see any more coven members. Yet.
People, almost imperceptibly, moved out of the way when we walked through. A few slid just out of reach as we stalked on and a couple even completely turned directions when they saw us coming. Pretty soon, a clear, straight shot to the stage bloomed before us.
I quickened my pace and heard the rubber squish of Jennie’s shoes right next to me. “Is right here okay?” I asked when I found what I thought to be the middle. I scanned the park, calculating distances and from every point, I felt we had the right place. “Jennie?”
I spun when she didn’t answer and my gaze landed on Jennie’s blanched, unfeeling face.
“Mother controls everybody, Sarah.” The doll and the rope fell from her grasp and landed on the green grass. My face folded and a string tugged in my stomach. Mother’s using the power of the park right now.
Jennie lifted a hand. Her wrist tugged taut, though her fingers limped from the rest of her arm like free strings. I slowly turned in the direction her arm pointed and gasped.
Right off the center of the stage, my mother descended from a makeshift cross, her body falling forward like the lifeless dummy days ago. Her eyes were shut and no other telling signs proved she lived. That she still breathed life inside her.
