by Aaron Galvin
I meet his stare that he might know I wear no mask now.
Cotton sighs. “Ah, but here”—he looks around my cell—“here we have little need of masks. The dark welcomes all secret truths.” His gaze finds me. “And I know many of yours, Rebecca. Or should I name you Red Banshee?”
Fear wells within me at his knowing my names. I hide it deep within, keeping my silence.
“Your friends have lovely voices,” says Cotton. “At least for one who knows how to tease such songs from untrained throats.”
Elisabeth curtsies behind him, drawing my eye.
“I especially like your savage,” Cotton continues. “Ciquenackqua.”
I bite my tongue, staring at the stone floor of my cell.
“But then, their kind has ever intrigued me most,” he says. “They do not feel pain as we do. My studies prove this time and again.” Cotton leans back, crossing one leg over the other. “I have witnessed them roasted over fires, turned slow like a hog upon a spit, and still they sing, even to their deaths. Truly fascinating specimens, the savages.”
His easy tone sets my blood to boil, aiding me near forget the aching hunger coursing through me.
“Your friend, Ciquenackqua”—Cotton grins—“he fascinates me. He loves you, I think, as does Andrew Martin.”
Elisabeth snorts. “Poor, deluded fools.”
I grate my teeth as both speak of my friends easily, baiting me rise to their taunts.
“Aye,” says Cotton quietly. “But then what man is not in the presence of such a wild beauty?” He folds his hands in his lap. “We men are simple beasts. Show us innocence and we corrupt it. Reveal a wild creature and we covet it. But a headstrong and wise woman”—he dips his chin to me—“what man knows what to do with such a creature?”
“You, my Lord,” says Elisabeth.
“Aye.” Cotton smiles. “But this one before me has no need of such gifts as I offer. She is headstrong already.” He cocks his head. “But is she wise, as her father was?”
Elisabeth laughs.
“You mock her.” Cotton’s cheeks tighten. “And yet she slipped among your company and slew my favored son.”
The scorn crossing Elisabeth’s face bids me take some little joy.
“God is a cruel master, no?” Cotton sulks. “I long prayed for the prodigal son’s return. Instead, He sends you to take the loyal one from me also.”
Elisabeth steps forward, placing her hand upon his shoulder. “You yet have a daughter, my Lord. Loyal and ready for all that you command me.”
“The world is not yet ready to allow women to hold sway, even those brilliant as you.” Cotton pats her hand. “Indeed, I wonder if ever the world will be ready.”
Cotton’s eyes fall on me. “My, but you are a silent type.” He laughs. “I were also for a time. God afflicted me with such stammering in my younger years that I should keep my prayers to myself rather than offer them up. My father taught it should teach me humility in the face of God.” His lip curls. “Yours bid me rise up and take hold of destiny. Aye, he who aided me understands the curious nature of science and God. Secrets my father kept from me and the whole of mankind.”
The rage with which he speaks of his father belittles the conflict in his eyes as he looks on me, his voice quieting.
“I loved your father, child. Aye, loved Simon so that I would have given him the whole world and a legacy for men to envy for the whole of time,” says Cotton, his face pained. “And yet he scorned me. Why?”
I keep my silence.
“Why?” Cotton’s voice rises. “I have long begged God provide some solace on the matter, yet He offers me no answer, nor even small comfort.”
He leans closer toward me, though not within my reach.
“Pray, child,” says Cotton. “Let you comfort me now and I will see you safely from this place. Teach me why your father abandoned me in our darkest hour, when I needed him most.”
My shoulder twitches with the hunger.
“Sssssshame…”
Cotton follows my gaze to the corner. “You see it even now, the Invisible World, do you not?” He leans forward. “Pray tell me what you see. What do the voices say?”
My manitous sits in the corner, its beady eyes staring at me from behind the black-painted mask crossed over its eyes.
I sway back and forth, mumbling in answer.
Cotton leans closer. “What do they say?”
My chains snap taut as I lunge again. They draw my hands tight behind me, the pain in my shoulders bidding me cry out.
But no chains hold my neck.
I slam my forehead against Cotton’s, our skulls cracking together.
Cotton falls back, moaning.
The heel of Elisabeth’s boot breaks my nose and leaves me strewn upon the ground, blood pooling around me.
I crawl to my hands and knees, my gaze swirling.
Cotton holds his head, his face pale, breath labored.
Elisabeth steps forward. “Shall I loose her tongue, Lord?”
“No,” says Cotton. “I will have my answer from her, but I will hear no false confession.”
“She is a savage, Lord,” says Elisabeth. “Aye, one who knows naught of the freedom that confession brings to the spirit. Mayhap we should teach her our Lord’s grace for those who admit their transgressions and speak truth. A goodly example for her to model.”
“Aye,” says Cotton, after a time. “Bring her then.”
I tense in wait for Elisabeth to approach me and release my chains.
Instead, the waif vanishes out of my cell.
Thoughts of my tortured companions dance across my mind. I steel myself for that to come, promising I will show Cotton and Elisabeth no emotion for whomever they bring before me.
I lose all such pretense when the waif reenters with a guest behind her.
Betty enters of her own accord, neither shackled nor any visible bonds laid upon her. She strides to Cotton’s side, kneeling before him, and takes his hand in hers.
My anger wakes the shackles to strain my wrists from the pull I place on them.
“My child.” Cotton places his hand under Betty’s chin, bidding her look up. “How is it you come among us again?”
“This girl, sir,” says Betty. “The daughter of Simon Campbell. She brought me here along with Mary Warren and the others I warned Elisabeth of. They desired your death at her hands, my Lord.”
Rage seethes through me at her betrayal. Thoughts flood my mind as to when she turned on us, and how she sent word to Elisabeth.
“You are truly a goodly servant sent from God to stay their hands,” says Cotton. “But pray, why should you keep such dark company as they?”
“I did not wish it, sir.” Betty pulls away from him, her eyes pleading. “They brought me against my wishes. Aye, and under threat of my daughter’s life if I refused them.”
“Peace, child,” says Cotton to Betty. “I wish you no harm for your part in this. Where is your Susannah, now? It has been too long since last I saw her at a gathering.”
“At my home, sir.” Betty points at me. “With her brother.”
I banish all thoughts of George, willing me forget him that it might prevent Cotton and his ilk from reading my face.
Elisabeth’s grin bids me think it all for naught.
“Simon had a son?” Cotton asks, his voice a whisper.
“Aye,” says Betty. “George, sir. He fell ill before our journey and she abandoned him to sickness. Vengeance is all that lives in her black heart, my Lord. Indeed, I think she should give her own soul if only she might take your life in trade.”
“An unholy pact, if it be true.” Cotton plays at disgust. “What tempts you to make such claims?”
“They be no claims, sir,” says Betty. “Let you ask her why she kept Mary Warren in her company. Aye, and safeguarded Mary through heathen lands to bring her here.”
Elisabeth kneels closer to Cotton’s ear. “Betty speaks true, Lord. Mary Warren’s loyalty ran deep
to Campbell’s daughter. Indeed, it took me far longer than I first credited Mary to tease such confession from her.” Elisabeth turns on me. “Would you know the key I used to unlock her tongue? How Mary learned me all I should ever need know about you and your fellows?”
I quake at her words.
“Truth.” Elisabeth grins. “You protected Mary only so you might betray her into my hands for furthering your own desires.”
“Aye,” says Cotton. “Just as Betty will now return to her home and deliver Simon’s son to me.”
My knees buckle at Betty’s nod.
“How shall I tempt him here, sir?” Betty asks.
“You have your father’s silver tongue, my dear,” says Cotton. “I have little doubt you should find a way.”
I spit blood at Betty, staining her dress. “Liar.”
Betty ignores my taunt.
“Truth and love,” says Cotton. “The greatest weapons in the Lord’s arsenal. If you will not confess your father’s secrets, Rebecca, perhaps we may yet convince your brother to speak in your stead.”
“That man is no brother to me,” I say. “Only another fool I convinced to follow me.”
“She lies,” says Betty. “One look upon his face and you will know him for Simon’s son. He shares the same face as his father. Aye, even his eyes match, sir.”
Cotton takes Betty’s hand, bidding her stand. “Then go from here, good woman. Fly home and return with dear George. I would look on his face and see my old friend again.”
“As it please you, sir,” says Betty. She turns on her heel and strides from my cell.
“Liar!” I shriek.
“Well,” says Cotton. “It seems this one speaks after all. Will you confess to your father’s sins against me, girl? Will you answer for why he abandoned our common cause?”
“He was not my father,” I say.
Cotton stands. “There is power in confession, child. Look you to Betty Barron just now if you would see my words true. She admitted her guilt and received forgiveness for her part in your murderous plot. Just as I should forgive you if—”
“No,” I say, rising to my fullest stature.
“Your anger and pride keep you here,” he says. “I, too, suffered from both once. Fasting and fervent prayer rid them from my soul and taught me humility.” He glances around my cell. “Perhaps solitude will learn you such values also.”
“And perhaps my gift learned you some notion of my fury,” I say.
Cotton touches his forehead, wincing. “Aye. I do you too much credit. Indeed, now I think on it, mayhap Elisabeth has the right of it.”
Elisabeth steps forward. “How so, my Lord?”
Cotton turns his stare on me. “She is a savage. A heathen who rejects God and His mercy.”
“Then her soul is damned to Hell,” says Elisabeth.
“Aye, but we may yet save her,” says Cotton. “God’s cleansing waters are ever open to those who seek Him out.”
I like the look Elisabeth gives not at all.
Cotton strides from the room, accompanied by the waif.
Elisabeth waits until long after they are gone before she turns on me. “That were a foolish thing you did. He would have left you to rot in darkness, but now you are given over to me. Do you know why I stand before you now rather than any other of my Salem sisters?”
She slinks to Cotton’s chair, her eyes shining in the torchlight.
“Patience,” she says. “Cotton’s death draws nigh and so he has little time for patience. In times past, he would have you starve. Now he asks me tease such confessions from you quick as to set his mind at ease before he leaves this world.”
“And you will not?” I ask.
Elisabeth laughs as she reaches into her cloak and removes a vial of Devil’s powder.
I stave off the moan my body would bid me give up for but a taste of the powder.
Elisabeth plays with the stopper, tugging it free. “Your father saw promise in me, just as Cotton does. My uncle saw it before either of them. Patient and calculating, your father considered my uncle his nearest equal, I think, far more so than those others he conspired with, Thomas Putnam and the Reverend Parris.”
Elisabeth snorts the powder quick, her eyes widening. She brings the back of her finger to her nose, not wasting a lone grain of powder, and snorts the remainder too.
I despise the weakness in me that delights in her removing such temptation.
Elisabeth smiles. “Your father oft whispered such things to me that I keep still. ‘A preacher to sway them, a soldier to fright them, and a doctor to teach them,’ he said to me.”
She settles in Cotton’s chair, laxing her body, rubbing against the chair as if to scratch her back.
“Abigail was always a fervent liar,” says Elisabeth. “Just like her uncle. And Mercy kept to the brutish ways Putnam learned her. But I…” She turns her hand over and around in front of her, eyes widening at the sight. “My uncle were a doctor and learned of pain, how to heal—” She turns her gaze on me. “And how to deal it.”
I meet her stare.
“A challenge, then.” she says. “I do so love those who seek testing me. But first, I owe you a gift in recompense for the service you did me.”
She digs into her pockets again and produces a new vial. There be no Devil’s powder inside, only crimson liquid.
“Here,” she holds it in her palm, offering it to me. “Drink this and be free.”
The hunger lurches in me and my shoulder twitches.
“You are a strong one, aren’t you?” Elisabeth asks. “Already you feel the lack of powder. The glorious aching need to see spirits.”
The spiders crawl through me at her words. It takes all my power not to scratch them.
“Take this, girl.” Elisabeth places the vial on the floor, rolling it toward me. “Drink your pain away.”
I turn my stare from the vial, glaring at her.
“I do not offer mercy lightly,” she says. “Drink down my gift to you for clearing my ascent to power.”
“No.”
“Your murder of that poor, innocent, young man. Isaac, the Devil’s Warlock.” Elisabeth feigns sadness, the truth of it living in her eyes. “Say rather a bastard born of Mercy’s whoring ways.”
My pulse quickens at her words.
“Ah, she spoke of him to you, did she not?” says Elisabeth, her face drawn curious.
My gaze falls to the floor, my mind turning to Mercy’s last conversation with Father. Her words of the child he put in her belly before abandoning her.
I choke back the bile rising in my throat.
Elisabeth stomps her foot, drawing my focus. “What did she say to you of Isaac?”
“She mentioned nothing,” I force myself look on her. “One finds it hard to speak with their throat cut.”
“Do not toy with me, girl.” Elisabeth eases back into her chair. “I knew you for a liar the moment you stepped in my home. Even the basest of Mercy’s servants would not dare cross into my domain and risk my wrath.”
“Come closer,” I say, my chains rattling as I stand. “And allow us learn whose wrath wins out.”
Elisabeth scowls. “Wrath is an odd thing. Most who speak of it conjure righteous destruction. Hellfire and brimstone, blood and death.” Her cheeks tighten. “Such drivel bores me. Quiet, patient wrath interests me far more. Salem taught me such lessons and they have served me well all the rest of my days. Perhaps I will learn you of the power in it before the end.”
She motions to the vial.
“Unless you would rather drink of my mercy,” she says. “I will not offer it again.”
I pick up the vial, removing the stopper. Then I drain its contents upon the floor.
“So,” she says, her grin widening. “You choose play.”
“I choose life.”
“Aye, you will keep that for now.” Elisabeth laughs. “The good reverend would have me teach you humility, but he said nothing of the games we might play in the
waiting time.” She steps forward. “And we shall play many games, you and I.”
I stand taller to spite her. “Mercy Lewis sought such sport with me, and Abigail Williams with my sister.” I step close as I am able to her. “Both fed the worms long ago. So it will be with you.”
“Fool girl. Do you not know where you are? This is hell.” Elisabeth cackles. “The worms feed on your corpse already. Aye, and all those you love dear. Think you spirits should speak if you were not one of them?”
“You lie.” My tone belies my doubt.
“No,” says Elisabeth. “This is but one of the many plains of hell and we its fallen angels. But there may yet be redemption for us if we are willing to serve.”
“I will not,” I say.
“You need not serve as others have,” says Elisabeth. “You need only confess why your father abandoned our good Reverend Mather. Or else let you say that Simon Campbell were a true warlock. Aye, one who bewitched the Reverend Mather and made him seek out the Invisible World. Such confessions would suffice. You need only speak them to serve.”
My shoulders twitch.
Elisabeth grins. “Already your body hungers, no?” She steps closer. “The ache you feel now is but the first step of many, all of them descending into the abyss. Will you venture there and find your way toward light before madness overtakes you?” She reaches into her robes and produces a vial of Devil’s powder. “Or confess and be healed?”
My gut twists with the hunger pains. The spiders scurry faster throughout my body.
“Why, sister?” the phantom voice of Sarah asks.
“Shame…”
Trembling, I grit my teeth and glare at Elisabeth. “The only thing I will serve your master is vengeance,” I say. “Though you should not live to see it.”
“Strong words,” she says. “Shall we test their resolve?”
Elisabeth pushes the chair toward the door. She kneels in its former place, removing the vial stopper, pouring the small mound of powder upon the floor. “Your friends mentioned you as a hunter. Have you ever happened upon a trap and found your only prize a paw the beast gnawed off and left behind?”