Dragon's Wish

by Elizabeth Rain

  “How about Monday? I have a light day after Sunday church. You can meet me?”

  Olivia gave him a brilliant smile. “I’ll see you then.”

  OLIVIA FUMED. ALL HER efforts and he still thought of Elspeth. She wondered what Elspeth had given him she had not. Olivia had practically thrown herself at him, though she wouldn’t be admitting that to anyone soon. She wondered if maybe Elspeth had met him in private as well behind her back. It wouldn’t surprise her. Why else would he be so interested in her?

  She couldn’t stop thinking and worrying about it. The next day Elspeth came into the mercantile for supplies. Olivia stared at her new friend, with her perfect blond tresses artfully arranged, and her pretty apron with the fringe of lacy cotton decorating the hem. Her cheeks were smooth and tanned light gold, a dusting of light freckles over the bridge of her nose. Where were her pimples? It didn’t seem fair she had nary a one.

  MY SMILE SLIPPED WHEN Olivia didn’t return mine from behind the counter as I entered. Olivia was the only one in the store, her father and mother both absent. That happened more often of late, as Olivia grew older and became more capable of running the store on her own for brief periods of time.

  “How is your skin condition doing? Any more outbreaks?” Olivia asked out of the blue, suspicious.

  I gave a start. “No, I’m fine. Is something wrong?”

  Where had that come from?

  Olivia ignored her question. “You know, I’d think your Mama could make something to take care of that for you, her concocting all those secret salves and lotions.”

  “Secret? There’s nothing unusual about what my Mama does. She just makes the same lotions and tinctures her own Mama did. They are recipes passed down through our family is all.” I finished, not liking the direction of the conversation one bit. Uneasiness reared its head inside me.

  “You know. Witches make concoctions and potions from plants and bugs and such.” Olivia observed, eyes narrowed in speculation.

  Blinking in growing alarm, I couldn’t resist asking. “I don’t know about any of that myself. But how do you know what witches do?”

  A crafty gleam entered Olivia’s eyes and took Elspeth aback. “Easy. That’s what the witches that they been hanging do. They confessed to making the devil’s brew right on the stand.”

  “They—or she? I thought only that Caribbean slave, Ti tuba mentioned anything of the sort?”

  Olivia sneered. “They all do it. Witches. Perform the devil’s magic.”

  I shook my head at the direction of the conversation, a terrible feeling making my stomach bitter. “I don’t know what you are going on about, but I’m not real crazy about whatever implication you are making, Olivia. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll come back later to get Mama’s list filled.”

  Olivia watched as she left, a wintry smile creasing her lips in a thin line. “You do that, Elspeth Walsh,” she murmured.

  LATER, OLIVIA COMPLAINED to her mother, a willing audience for any gossip, even from her own daughter.

  “She’s been meeting him in secret down by the river and leading him on, mama. Who knows what they’ve been doing with no one around.”

  Isla looked at her daughter, askance. “That trollop! She gives the good women of Salem an awful name, she does,”

  Olivia went on, warming to the subject and her eager audience. “And that skin thing she’s got going on? It’s there one minute and then gone the next, like magic.” She hissed the last word like she was whispering the devil’s name. Doesn’t look like any psoriasis I’ve ever seen, either. Penny Lou has that and her skin flakes in little white pieces of skin. Elspeth’s are brownish and they look like snake scales to me.” Olivia finished, warming to the direction of the conversation and the avid attention her mother was paying her, eating the story up like those licorice sticks she ate too many of.

  “Maybe it’s not psoriasis at all. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before this. All those concoctions Moira Walsh makes and sells to the poor unsuspecting town folk of Salem. Who knows the effect it’s really having on them.”

  She glared at her husband who was doing his best to ignore her. “Maybe that’s why you are having difficulty getting around of late Charles. I’ve been having to attend to the store a lot more. I know you take that tincture of hers. What else does that stuff she concocts do that we don’t know about?”

  Charles stared at her in alarm. The teas and balms Moira gave him were supposed to help with the allergies that afflicted him when he worked outside. The itchy eyes and repeated sneezing. That did seem to be getting better. He’d assumed his unsteady feet and wobbly knees were because of too many tankards of ale with the guys at the men’s club. He’d taken to hanging with a group of fellow merchants to discuss the strange politics going on in their town of late. The Ale was free flowing at those meetings, and the more he drank the easier the grate of his wife’s caustic voice seemed on his unsteady nerves. Maybe he’d been wrong all along. Maybe it wasn’t the ale that was stirring his senses at all.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JAMES TREMBLED UNDER the self-righteous wrath of his father’s accusing stare. He’d never been on the inside of the building where they handled the interrogation of the prisoners, and he didn’t appreciate being treated like one. James tried to hide his fear but was sure he’d failed. The Reverend was there as well, his eyes shining fever bright.

  “You been sneaking off with that girl down to the river. I want to know what happened down there. What have you been doing with her? You know better than to be all alone with some tramp of a girl, unchaperoned.” His father began, voice rising.

  The reverend spoke up, his voice alive with a curious excitement that James found more terrifying and revolting than his own father’s harsh drilling of his person. “Did you touch her? Did she touch you or whisper anything unusual? You need to tell us the truth, son. Witches can make a man forget himself. They are in league with the devil, you know.” He insinuated, voice sly.

  James frowned in confusion. He’d never considered that Olivia might be evil. She had touched him and it had felt good. Almost as good as when she let his hands wander where they shouldn’t. They’d been meeting now for a little over a week, in private any chance they got. She still hadn’t caught a fish, but her fingers beneath his shirt on his chest and more felt fine.

  “Have you seen any more signs?” James blinked again. Signs of what?

  “I’m not sure what you mean father, reverend—” The hand came out of nowhere, landing across the crest of his cheek with a loud crack, the force whipping his head sideways, his ears ringing. It wasn’t the first time his father had used his hands to back up his opinion. Father was a hard man. But the shock of it out of nowhere had his head reeling. Johnathon Corbin felt no hesitancy in disciplining the difficulty out of his only son. He’d have his answers.

  “The marks son, tell us about the back of her hands.” The reverend persisted, sweat beading his greasy forehead where his hair hung low, needing a cut. James head was still spinning from his father’s blow. He wished he knew what they were talking about. He cringed, opening his mouth to speak, wincing. His upper lip was split and he could taste the coppery tang of blood. “She has pudgy hands and dots on her face...” he began, still misunderstanding the direction of the conversation that had gotten away from him from the beginning.

  “The scales boy, tell us about the scales you saw.” The reverend persisted, voice shaking.

  James froze and the fog of confusion cleared all at once as he finally understood the direction of the conversation. They weren’t talking about Olivia at all. They were talking about Elspeth Walsh. His secret—their secret—was safe. He did not need to confess to his father about what had really been happening down by the river. It was too new, the secret private and exciting. Nobody had to know.

  Sneaking a peek at his father’s furious countenance, James opened his mouth and spoke. “Well, I saw them, yeah. She told me it was psoriasis. A skin condition th
at causes her skin to flake and peel? Only, I know Penny from church? She has that and it doesn’t look the same at all. This is the wrong color. And they are bigger, like the size of my pinkie and flat. They look hard, like the scales of a fish.”

  The reverend leaned in. “And did she lure you there with promises?” The reverend encouraged.

  James thought of Olivia’s warm hands on his body and his breath hitched. “Oh yeah, she has the softest hands...” James cringed again when he realized what he’d said. He shook his head, trying to clear his traitorous thoughts. He rushed on, “I asked why she didn’t use her mother’s concoctions to fix it. She said they didn’t work on what she had. That it was temporary and came and went away.” James looked at their interested faces and smiled, warming to his subject.

  “I think she doesn’t cure it because she can’t. It shows up whenever you make her mad or scared. Those potions that her Mama makes? I heard that she uses all sorts of things in them. Poisonous plants.” Their eyes widened and the reverend gasped.

  Many of the kind people of Salem had partaken in the various tonics and tinctures Moira Walsh had created to cure them over the years. James went on. “And animal parts. I heard she adds bugs and such to those potions. She creates them in her kitchen. Elspeth collects the ingredients from her secret spots in the woods where no one else goes.” He lied smoothly, beginning to enjoy himself as well as the avid attention of his horrified audience.

  The reverend puffed himself up self-importantly. It was as they’d feared. Jonathon Corbin looked at his young son, strong and strapping. “It’s a splendid thing Isla Thompson came to us with the information when she did. I hesitate to wonder what might have happened to you in her presence if we hadn’t caught it when we did.”

  James worked to school his features to appear more frightened than he was. He’d wondered how they’d come by their suspicions.

  His father sneered, his expression self-righteous and justified, “Elspeth Walsh is a witch, and probably her mother too. You are grounded until she goes to trial. I don’t want you anywhere near her, do you hear?” He thundered.

  James ground his teeth, secretly fuming. Well, damn. How was he going to continue to meet with Olivia if he was grounded? He hadn’t thought that one through.

  THE ELDERLY WOMAN HELD out gnarled arthritic fingers to deposit the coin in my hand as I handed over the small stoppered bottle. “Dab a few drops on your wrist at bedtime. It should help with the pain. During wet weather you can do a few drops in the morning when you wake.”

  “Thank you dear, my Douglas swears by this stuff. He suffers from the same pains as I do. Old fingers can’t do near what they could even five years ago. This helps the pain. I’m knitting again. Haven’t been able to do that in so long.”

  I smiled as she walked away, but the purposeful strides of a man from the far side of the open market barn door caught my eyes. He walked towards me in a direct line. The straight stride and cocky swagger reminded me of his son, James. My heart started thrumming wildly in my chest as a feeling of dread swamped my senses.

  A Slight lift of my lips in greeting was all I managed. “May I help you, sir?” I started. He didn’t return my smile, his eyes cold and mean. He stopped directly in front of my table, cutting in front of a customer who jerked back in surprise and quickly changed his mind and direction. He wanted to be nowhere the magistrate Jonathon Corbin was. I sympathized.

  I felt the eyes of neighboring booths and other patrons as they looked on in curiosity. They wanted to know what his presence meant just as much as I did.

  “Elspeth Walsh?” he questioned, voice harsh and grating.

  “Yes?” I asked, twisting my hands in my apron, fear causing my voice to come out as a high squeak.

  “You are hereby under arrest. You are wanted for questioning on suspicion of blasphemous activities, encouraging loose morals in our young men, and the pursuit of illicit activities not limited to dabbling in witchcraft and being in league with the devil.”

  My mouth fell open and I tried to wrap my mind around what he’d accused me of, but the shock and horror were so big all that came out was a high gasp of terror. This isn’t happening.

  Only it was. He reached forward and grabbed my upper arm and hauled me forward. The box of berries I’d been about to sell fell from nerveless fingers and tumbled over the small plank table and onto the dusty earth. Ruined, I thought inanely in disbelief; he has ruined my berries.

  He didn’t bother to restrain me, his beefy hand encircling my arm with bruising force was plenty of incentive as he hauled me along and I struggled to keep up, skirts twisting and tripping me up. With no consideration for the shocked and appalled looks being sent their way he marched me down through the streets of Salem towards the courthouse and the room set up special there for the interrogation of would be witches. Pedestrians scrambled out of his way and I caught the eyes of the believers, with their pinched expressions and terrified eyes. Others sent me furtive glances filled with sympathy and sorrow. Not all believed I was evil, but no one dared speak on my behalf either.

  By the time we arrived, my breath came in heaving pants, the effort to hold back what I was exhausting as my fingers tingled and my palms burned like they were on fire. I wasn’t a witch. I had no claim to such magic. What I would become, if I lived long enough, was so much worse than any of them could have imagined. It wouldn’t do to let him see evidence of my ‘skin condition’ that was really anything but. I’d already let my dragon out to play too many times, my foolish temper and fear conspiring against me to give others a glimpse of what I was that they were not.

  I stumbled up the steps of the courthouse. My eyes rose and clashed with Finn’s horrified gaze, only fifty yards away and wide with shock. I gave a quick shake of my head. He couldn’t get involved. Nothing good would be served by him attempting to step in. Not with so many witnesses waiting for proof of what I was—or wasn’t. He started in my direction, eyes gleaming gold with suppressed rage before he froze, glancing behind as Aidan and Fergus said something to him, bringing him to a jerky halt.

  Inside the sweltering building they took me down a short hall and thrust me inside a little box of a room with no ventilation. A roughhewn table and two chairs made up the only furniture. I fell into the hard wooden seat, my legs threatening to give way as I lunged back away from the looming Magistrate.

  He didn’t bother to take the other chair, instead; he slammed a booted foot onto the seat and towered over me with feral satisfaction. “So, Miss Walsh. You know why you are here, I presume?”

  I shivered. I didn’t want to know. “I have no idea why you drug me away from my vegetable stand and down through town in front of all the moral citizens of Salem.”

  His smile turned calculating and cruel. “Oh, but I think you do, witch. You and your clever ways, luring my son away in secret, fornicating in the darkness, trying to steal his soul. Was it to be a gift to your familiar—to the devil himself?”

  As frightened as I was, the mention of James sparked my temper. So he had told anyway, trying to make trouble for her to hide his own indiscretions. “I didn’t follow him to the river. He followed...” I began.

  “So you admit it! You were down by the river with my son!” he thundered, leaning in.

  I flung myself back against the wall, as far as I could go, itching furiously at my legs through the linen of my dress and apron. My entire body felt like it was on fire. The need to hold it all back was making me dizzy with the effort.

  “Did you touch him? He confessed that you did. What wickedness did you deliver to his person?”

  I stared at Johnathon Corbin in horrified fascination. It didn’t matter, I realized. Whatever I said would fall on the deaf ears of a man and town who wasn’t willing to hear it. Still, I tried.

  “He touched me. He kissed me... James tried to grab...”

  “Silence! How dare you try to blaspheme my son and try to twist the blame?” By then he’d leaned in so close that a fine mist
of spittle hit my cheeks and forehead in fine threads of wet stink.

  It was all too much. I felt my tenuous hold on any control slipping. The first ripple of pain coursed along my skin, split the skin and fine blond hairs over the back of my hands forming a sparse carpet of brilliant bronze. They flattened to disk-like scales beneath the long sleeves covering my arms. I moaned in panic, trying to hide my hands in the heavy folds of my skirt.

  But Jonathon Corbin hadn’t forgotten what his son said about anger and fear bringing on the reaction. That she couldn’t control it. He noticed her actions immediately, reaching forward and snagging her by the shoulder and propelling her forward as the chair tumbled backwards and crashed against the wall. He snagged her wrist, fingers digging deep as he hauled her up to the flickering lantern light. His eyes lit with feverish determination. “There, the mark of the devil. I knew it!” he screamed.

  He flung me away from him with a grin of rabid satisfaction. A calculating look entered his eyes. “I think maybe we should have your mother in to join you. What do you think, Elspeth Walsh, is she as guilty as you are? Maybe you plan it together, the both of you?”

  I couldn’t prevent the gasp of realization from leaving my lips. Tears of mortification and rage dampened the curve of my cheek and threatened to fall. “Leave my mother out of this. This is about me, no one else is a party to your twisted imagination.” I spat in desperation.

  “Well, maybe she’s guilty of the same, and maybe she isn’t. I guess that’s all going to depend on you, isn’t it?”

  I stared at him in dull confusion. Whatever was he prattling on about now? I was done, and maybe my mother as well. They’d already hung at least three people that I knew of over evidence a lot flimsier than what he had on me. “See, I think you lured my son down to the river to have your way with him, to trick him into giving up his soul. I think that’s what happened. I won’t have you running my son’s good name through the mud, filling the citizens of Salem’s heads with the misguided belief that he is accosting their women. My son plans to marry well, his reputation must be above reproach for that to happen.”