Only the Stars Know Her Name

by Amanda Marrone

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Oh! Oh!” Elizabeth cried. “My bundle—it’s opening or hatching or whatever unholy thing it is doing underground!” She waved her hands frantically at the circle and then ran to my side. “Violet!”

  I took her in my arms, and indeed, the already-disturbed soil was moving again, though ever so slightly. My pulse quickened, imagining how Elizabeth Prince was about to command a wolf, but then I saw not a black nose or a gray snout. There was an orange beak—and brown feathers.

  I leaned closer. “Is that . . . a chicken?”

  Tammy stared at the circle while rubbing her snake’s rattle across her cheek. “Chicken?” She stepped closer as well. “What nonsense is this?”

  But there was no doubt: It was a chicken struggling to free itself from the earth, and its clucks were getting louder.

  Elizabeth ran to the circle and began to dig with her hands until she’d freed a plain brown hen and then cradled it in her arms.

  Tammy spat on the ground. “A chicken.”

  Elizabeth brushed the dirt off the bird, then gently placed it on the ground. “I imagine I may have accidently dropped a few feathers in with the tuft of fur when I wrapped it in my oilcloth. It were but a small tuft, I remember I mentioned that before. And like I said, I thought the fur might be just from a pup, but perhaps the feathers overpowered the tuft.” She smiled wanly at us. “I am sure that is how I ended up with a chicken.”

  Tammy cocked her head. “Are you?”

  Elizabeth held her flushed cheeks high. “I am. Regardless, a chicken is a very practical familiar. For instance, if a wolf were sleeping near the house, it would be shot. Really, if a wolf were to be seen anywhere in Salem, it would be shot, and I would have to go through this terrifying ceremony once again.”

  She breathed deep. “I think it is quite fortuitous that I may have put some feathers in the bundle. After all, no one would suspect this particular bird was birthed by magic!”

  Elizabeth watched the hen as it clucked and pecked about the circle.

  “No one, indeed,” Tammy stated flatly.

  “And chickens are quite handy at clearing the yard of fleas and ticks. It will do my bidding and keep fleas off the dogs!”

  A smile broke out on my face. “Elizabeth Prince, this chicken . . . it is the perfect familiar for you, and I believe it is laying an egg.”

  Tammy shook her head in disgust.

  “Well!” Elizabeth exclaimed happily. “More eggs make for more magic!”

  The hen strained, and a white egg dropped to the ground. Our laughs were cut short when Bone-Shaker rattled its tail and glided down Tammy’s arm. In a blink of an eye, it lunged at the chicken, who flapped its wings and scurried away, squawking in alarm.

  It was soon clear the hen wasn’t the target. Bone-Shaker unhinged its jaws and I watched in horror as it opened its mouth wide round around the egg and slowly worked it inside its cheeks. Once cleared of the snake’s mouth, the egg bulged in its throat and started to work its way down the long body.

  Elizabeth carefully walked over to the bird and scooped it up. “Dear Lord, are any of us safe from that scaly thing you birthed?”

  Tammy laughed. “Too bad you don’t have a wolf to protect yourself.”

  She hung her head. “I really didn’t know it was to be a chicken. I swear!”

  “Perhaps we should have discussed our familiars’ compatibility beforehand,” I said wearily.

  “Regardless,” Tammy said. “Let us see if the three of us were powerful enough to magick some coins.”

  I knelt and quickly dug my hands into the earth, pulling up tatters of ripped fabric our familiars had been born from. Tiny shell fragments were mixed in the soil, though I felt not a trace of yolk or white.

  “Lord,” Elizabeth said breathlessly.

  I looked up to see her wincing.

  “I must say, I am quite happy the birthing happened under the ground. I’m not sure my heart could have endured watching such strange magic before my very eyes.”

  Tammy stared disbelievingly at her. “It would have been amazing; I for one am sorry we could not have borne witness to such an incredible event!”

  I dug deeper and felt a solid bundle—the egg clearly intact. I slowly unwrapped it and my heart sunk; only the egg remained. “It’s gone—the coin is gone!” I sat back on my heels. “Now I won’t have anything for Mistress Parris. She will surely badger Elizabeth’s stepfather for going back on his word and I will be exposed.”

  “Crack it open,” Tammy said.

  “Crack it open? Oh!” Elizabeth nibbled on her fingertips, looking back and forth between us. “In the egg? Could that be possible?”

  I tapped the egg on my knee, and instead of yolk and white, five coins fell to the ground.

  “There,” Tammy crowed. “There is your payment for delivery of a calf.”

  Elizabeth whooped. “This is so exciting; my mind is now spinning with possibilities! What other things might we magick on the next full moon? Maybe a new cap even?”

  I scooped up the coins, and a wave of relief rushed over me. “Will she think five is a lot for Mr. Osborne to part with?” I turned to Elizabeth. “It is known your family has often found themselves with empty pockets.”

  Tammy held out her hand. “Give me three; two coins should suffice for feeding a cow some birthing herbs.”

  I immediately regretted airing my concern, thinking I would need as many coins as possible when I discovered where my parents where. As I reluctantly handed the coins over, I caught Elizabeth frowning as Tammy pocketed them.

  I looked up at the moon; it had moved west across the sky and I wondered how long we had been out in the woods. We had one more bundle to dig up and that last one frightened me more than creatures birthed from the earth or coins conjured up. “The book,” I whispered.

  “Dig it up,” Tammy commanded.

  I got down on my knees again and leaned over, my fingers curled into the earth, but could not make myself dig, because—what if Mama’s name were written in the book?

  “Violet? What are you waiting for?” Tammy demanded. “The moon is almost past the clearing.”

  I summoned the strength I needed to voice the fear in my heart. “What if I gathered all this power inside me, only to find that my mama is the first one to be punished? Or the second? Or the third? How could I live with myself if I was to cause something to happen to her when all I wanted was to be with her again?”

  In a blink of an eye, Tammy was by my side, talking rapidly in my ear. “Your mama didn’t start this—those girls did. Your mama was the smart one! Had she not told those stories, she would be buried in the earth right now and I doubt your Reverend Parris would have paid for even the smallest marker for her grave!”

  “She was smart,” Elizabeth said flatly, staring off into the wood. “If my mother had done the same, she might still be alive. My stepfather had cobbled the coins needed to bail her out, but she would not confess. If only . . .”

  She shook her head in disgust. “He spent those coins on drink after we got word of her passing.”

  I rested my head on my palms. “But my mama didn’t just confess. She told stories—about people and their familiars—and them signing the Devil’s book. People died. But maybe it wasn’t all just stories. Look what we just did!”

  “Did you ever see your mama casting spells?” Tammy asked bluntly. “Did she ever talk of magic?”

  Tears streamed down my face. “She read the clouds in the sky—and she could see the future in an egg white. She made guesses about what husbands Betty and Abigail might have . . . They were different each time.”

  Tammy scoffed. “Foolishness was all that was. Your mother told those judges what they wanted to hear to keep the noose from her neck.” She stood and yanked me up and pointed to my raven. “Your mother ever do anything like that?”

  Opias stared down at me with a cocked head. He flapped his wings and cawed.

  I squeezed my eyes tigh
t. “No. But she talked of spirits from her homeland, not that she ever said she saw one. It was just what her people believed—like the spirits the reverend tells us at service—only from her tribe.”

  I sighed. “Even the witch-cake she made to see who might be afflicting Betty and Abigail was not her own recipe. Our neighbor Mary Sibley suggested it. But if it were all lies . . . then maybe her name will be in the book.”

  Suddenly Elizabeth shouted. “Oh, hen! Oh, my! Get away from that snake!” She dashed off, chasing after her chicken, who was pecking close to where Bone-Shaker lay coiled, digesting the egg.

  “Elizabeth!” Tammy stamped a foot on the ground and it seemed to give off a tremor. She let out an exasperated huff. “Go and dig out the book before I pluck that run-of-the-mill chicken for tomorrow’s dinner and share it with the barn cats. And, Violet, I know your mother’s name will not be in that book. I can feel it!”

  I looked up at the moon almost clear of the opening in the trees. “I pray you are right, Tammy.”

  Elizabeth pushed her arms deep into the dirt. “It’s not a run-of-the-mill chicken,” she grumbled. “I magicked it!” She pulled up the book, still wrapped in its cloth, and shook it clean.

  My heart nearly stopped in my chest as I watched her slowly loosen the ties. Mama could have confessed to witchery without accusing others. So many people had died. I had weaved magic tonight, dark magic. Would Mama pay the price? Would Mama’s name appear on the page when we opened the book?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Elizabeth unfolded the fabric and Tammy impatiently grabbed the book from her and placed it in her lap. We gathered around on our knees, peering at its cover.

  “Who shall be our first victim?” she sang.

  Elizabeth glared at her. “Tammy, I know not how you can be so carefree about this! I hope there is no name at all!”

  I held my breath as she opened it and then exhaled with relief.

  There was nothing else on the page beside our three names, still spattered with blood.

  “Where is the name?” Tammy slapped her hands on the pages. “We have worked un-Godly magic! Why is there no name?” Frantically, she flipped blank page after blank page and then turned back to the start. “I don’t understand.”

  A smile broadened my face as relief flooded through me. “Perhaps the moon is telling us that there are none to punish. Perhaps this is a sign the past will stay in the past and we are to move forward.”

  Tammy shook her head. “No!” she growled. “There should be a name! Martha Wilds assured me we could work this magic with three strong women, and I have hoped with everything I have that at least Mr. Sewall’s name would appear. That man did so many things to me—so many—at the very least his name deserves to be in this book.”

  To my amazement, I saw that Tammy Younger was crying.

  I reached out to her. “Tammy.”

  She slammed the book to the ground. “And what of your Betty and Abigail or Reverend Parris? How can it be, Violet, that we have conjured familiars—we have magicked coins—but not a single new name appears in this book?”

  Her tears softened me, and I leaned against her. “Perhaps our own names are enough?” I whispered. “Perhaps this coven—our friendship—is enough.”

  Tammy rested her head on my shoulder, and I took the book, opened it on my lap, and sighed. There would be no flight to the stars, and I would have to be content simply being Violet Somebody. I touched the tip of my finger on the V in my name. “Our names will have to be enough,” I said definitively.

  Suddenly, an icy chill rose from the book into my body, causing bumps to appear on my arms. My teeth chattered uncontrollably. I snatched my hand away as the blood suddenly sunk into the page and the penciled letters disappeared one by one.

  “No! No! No!” I swiped my hand repeatedly across the page trying to get them back, hating that I’d set something in motion. “No!”

  “What magic now?” Elizabeth whispered frantically, as her name—and then Tammy’s—disappeared.

  When the last bit of pencil and blood faded, new letters appeared—formed in red, one by one—and Tammy howled with glee.

  As soon as I saw the first was a G and not a T, my body shook in relief. “Not Mama.”

  I held my breath as letter after letter came quickly. I struggled to string each one into a name.

  “George Corwin,” Elizabeth said, before I could work it all out. “Sheriff George Corwin is the first named.”

  I looked up at them, chilled as if I’d fallen in the stream during the January thaw.

  What did it mean to be named in our book?

  “What will happen to Sheriff Corwin?” I asked breathlessly.

  Tammy grabbed the book from me and drew it to her chest and then held it up to the sky—her wide smile and glistening eyes illuminated in the fading moonlight. “He will get everything he deserves!”

  While my skin was clammy and cold, heat—like that from the hearth—was radiating from Tammy.

  “And from the tales Elizabeth has told of this man’s wretchedness, I for one cannot wait to find out. But now, you best get home, Violet, before your mistress sends someone looking for you—although I would welcome a late-night visit from Thomas Parris.”

  I looked up at the raven sitting above us in the tree. “Just go? But what next?” It was my turn to speak without pause. “I know not what to do with myself—I know not what to expect or what to do with Opias. He is my familiar, but he is a stranger to me. How can I sit in the meetinghouse for services tomorrow and see Sheriff Corwin without guilt on my face, a beacon for all to see?”

  Tammy raised her skirts. “Become more familiar with your familiar.” She narrowed her eyes at the coiled snake, and Bone-Shaker rose. “Reach out to your bird; get inside its head.” The snake slithered through the underbrush and then wound its way up her leg, coiling around her calf and knee. “As for services—perhaps I should show up as a distraction from Corwin’s fate.”

  Elizabeth stepped back a few paces, gaping. “Services tomorrow? How can you think of services with that creature wrapped around you and not faint—I can barely breathe thinking to be in your place.”

  Tammy laughed. “That is how you control a familiar, and that,” she said, dropping the hem of her skirt, “is how you keep it away from prying eyes. Use caution with your raven, Violet. People find them to be an ill omen, and we wouldn’t want buckshot headed its way.”

  Elizabeth cradled her chicken in her arms, staring at Tammy’s skirt. She shuddered. “Luckily for me, I have no need to keep my hen so close to me. It can join the others in the yard. I suppose I will have to find other ways to become familiar with it, such as enjoying its eggs.”

  “You will do no such thing!” Tammy stated firmly. “We will be using those eggs come the next full moon or perhaps sooner. I know not how often we can conjure spells.”

  Elizabeth huffed and pouted in Tammy’s direction. “Very well. Perhaps I can get some coins next full moon.”

  Tammy ignored her and turned to me. “Now you, Violet. Command your bird.”

  I looked up to see my raven’s eyes trained on mine.

  Could I actually command it?

  I held out my arm. “Opias, come!” To my surprise, it suddenly swooped down, landing uneasily on my shoulder. I winced as its talons found their purchase, but felt a bolt of energy—a connection. For just a moment my bones felt hollow and thin like a bird’s, and I thought I would fall to the forest floor or even fly up to the sky.

  I took a deep breath. Might I really see through this creature’s eyes?

  As the weight crept back into my body, Tammy nodded approvingly.

  “I believe we two have conjured great spies. Martha Wilds told me the longer our familiars are with us, the greater the connection will be. Your Opias will use his wings to travel great distances and my Bone-Shaker will squeeze into cracks and listen to conversations—which will be to our advantage as we use our new power.”

  “I
still think you underestimate my hen,” Elizabeth said resentfully. “But it is getting late. My stepfather may have noticed I’m not in bed.”

  Tammy folded her arms across her chest. “Speaking of your stepfather, I believe it is time we are introduced. I no longer feel being hidden away in barns suits a woman of my great ambition. It is time that I join your household. I can be very persuasive and believe I can convince the man that he needs a girl to help you run the house and farm—or perhaps I am a cousin your mother neglected to mention.”

  “B-but, Tammy . . . ,” Elizabeth began. “We really do not have coin to pay you for work we could do ourselves—and it is risky to make up family ties that could be exposed.”

  Tammy winked. “’Tis only for room and board I will ask of my dear, sweet stepuncle. But it is time I became a proper resident of Salem. How else am I to begin my official courtship with Thomas Parris?”

  I scoffed. “Tammy, you are but fourteen. You are years off from being of courtship age.”

  She looked down her nose at me. “His kisses prove otherwise, but I am of the age where I need to think of my future. I need to become a respectable member of Salem, and with this book doing my bidding, I shall. I will pick whom I wish to marry—be it Thomas Parris or some other upstanding young man I discover when I am welcomed at service as the new girl at the Osborne-Prince farm.”

  “My house does not have the reputation you seek, Tammy,” Elizabeth said.

  “Then I will pick and choose which other houses to work at as I make my way to the top of Salem’s society.”

  “This isn’t Gloucester and it’s our bidding,” Elizabeth snipped. “And I’m not sure why you think yourself to be in charge.”

  Tammy looked down her nose at Elizabeth and folded her arms. “Who said I am in charge?”

  Elizabeth folded her arms across her chest, mirroring Tammy. “You said the book would do your bidding, but we are a coven of three. The book does our bidding. And you are not in Gloucester. People are not so free about things here. People may not hang witches anymore, but they do not approve of them either.”