Spells

by Kristen Proby

  “Goddess, that’s gross.” Esme scrunches up her nose.

  “What’s in there?” I murmur, bending down to get a closer look. “It looks like…a bloodstone.”

  “Yeah, and covered in blood,” Esme says and then keeps talking to the 911 operator. “That’s right, the hand is holding a stone, covered in blood.”

  “Don’t touch it,” Dahlia orders.

  “I’m not.” It’s like I’m in a fog now, and all of the people standing around, Esme and Dahlia and all of the bystanders, feel farther and farther away. I know I shouldn’t, but I want to touch that stone. I reach out, and as I do, the raw gem seems to light from within, shining through the thick blood surrounding it, then pulses as if it has its own heartbeat.

  Just before I make contact, there’s a spark, and I’m falling to the ground.

  * * *

  “You’re under arrest, Millicent, charged with witchcraft.”

  I shake my head and stare into faces so familiar to me. These are my friends. This is my community. I’ve lived in Salem since I was born.

  How can this be happening?

  On one side of me stands John Anderson, pulling my left arm. On my right is my darling Lucien, also pulling me as if taking me to jail.

  How could my own husband betray me like this?

  I’ve been so careful. Never given anyone any indication that I’m anything but a Puritan, a devout Christian woman. I know that to do otherwise could be deadly, especially since young Elizabeth Hubbard and her friends started accusing women of being witches.

  Women who most certainly are not.

  I’ve seen innocents swing by their necks from trees.

  And now they’re taking me away? This is lunacy.

  “I’m no witch,” I say, pleading with the men to let me go. “Please, I have children to see to.”

  But they’re not listening. The men are yelling as they drag me through the town square. But suddenly, Lucian leans in and whispers in my ear. “Stop fighting, my love. I’ll get you out of this. Just trust me.”

  Of course, I trust him. Lucien is the love of my life, has been my husband for almost ten years. But how can he get me out of this mess? I just don’t see how it’s possible.

  And I don’t know what these men could have found to use as evidence against me.

  I’m taken directly to a courtroom, where several judges sit on a platform, clearly waiting for my arrival.

  “Millicent Abbott, you’re charged in this court with first-degree witchcraft, which is punishable by death. How do you plead?”

  “N-n-not guilty.”

  “Put her in a cell where she’ll await trial. Next!”

  Trials have been taking months. Some have died while being held.

  I have children!

  I’m tossed into a small cell with a dirt floor. There’s a bucket in the corner. No bed. I sink to the floor and cry, full of despair.

  I’m alone for what seems like hours. The shadows on the ground shift with the movement of the sun. I could open the locks with just the snap of my fingers, but that would surely give me and my abilities away, and I’d be taken to the gallows without a trial.

  The moon has just risen, a full blue moon this month. It’s All Hallows’ Eve, and the moon is full. I’m praying fervently to the goddess to help Lucien set me free when I hear footsteps, then keys jangling. Finally, my cell door opens, and the man I love so stands in the threshold.

  “You’re free to go,” he says. But the light has died in his eyes.

  “Lucien?”

  “Go home to our children, Millicent.”

  “Why aren’t you coming with me?”

  He quickly pulls me to him and kisses me hard, the embrace filled with both longing and regret. When he pulls away, he brushes his fingers through my long, blond hair.

  “I love you, a stór mo chroí.”

  “I love you, too, my treasure. Come home with me.”

  “I can’t.” He swallows hard. “You can leave, but this is where we say goodbye. In this lifetime, at least.”

  “What do you speak of?”

  “I turned myself in. I told them the truth, that I’m the witch in the family, and you’re the innocent.”

  “That’s not true. I’ll tell them—”

  “No.” He grips my shoulders. “You’ll say nothing, Millicent. You’ll go home and tend to our children.”

  “I won’t let you die for me.” I fall into his arms, sobbing. “Please, Lucien. Please don’t do this.”

  He kisses my head. “Don’t worry, darling. We’ll meet again soon, the way we’ve done for countless lifetimes.”

  More men arrive, and I’m cast aside as they take Lucien and drag him out of the building and to the gallows.

  I can’t let him die alone. I won’t. I follow and stand in front of the angry mob, the residents holding burning torches and shouting slurs at Lucien for being a witch.

  His eyes find mine.

  And they don’t let go until he’s swinging, and the life leaves him.

  The crowd cheers.

  And I let out a sob turn to see to our children.

  * * *

  “Come on, Millie.” I smell the salts and open my eyes. “Ah, there she is.”

  “Lucien?” I glance up into his handsome face. “You got me out of jail.”

  He grins, but then the smile vanishes from his lips. “You passed out.”

  I look around, surprised to see the police already here. Cash is scowling, but he isn’t looking at me.

  “Oh, goddess, there’s a hand.” I sit up and see the extremity still sitting on the bench, undisturbed.

  “Any idea how it got here?” Cash asks me.

  “No. I must have walked right past it a little while ago when I went over to Dahlia’s shop to get some flowers for the café. I didn’t notice it.”

  “I didn’t see it when I arrived this morning,” Esme adds.

  An officer is taking photos, recording the scene. The whole area around the Brew has been taped off.

  Lucien helps me stand, and we back up, giving the police plenty of space to work.

  Another man arrives, wearing a name badge that says medical examiner.

  “Has the scene been processed?” he asks.

  “Yeah, you can go ahead and take it.” Cash gestures to the hand. “Be careful. It’s holding something.”

  The man frowns, and then recognition dawns in his eyes when he sees the bloodstone.

  “I’m fucking sick of serial killers,” he mutters as he removes the hand from my bench, bags it, and takes it away.

  The police finish with their questions. Shortly after, it’s back to business on our little street in the French Quarter, as if there hadn’t been a disembodied hand just lying about.

  “Come on,” Lucien says. “We’re taking you home.”

  “Like hell, we are,” I reply and step out of his reach. “I’m not sick. I’m not hurt. I am a little pissed off, to be honest. But I can certainly work. Besides, I’m leaving early today. Brielle, Daphne, and I are going to see Mama this afternoon.”

  Lucien pushes his dark-rimmed glasses up his nose and then shoves his hands into his pockets.

  Why are the glasses so sexy? Because they are.

  “All right, then. Call if you need me.”

  “How did you know this was happening?” I ask before he can turn and walk away.

  “I came to see Dahlia this morning, actually.” That comment bruises my ego, although the thought’s completely ridiculous. “When I arrived, I saw the crowd and you reaching down to touch something that sparked. And then I had a mild heart attack when you went down. It’s a bad moment that I’d rather not repeat.”

  Okay, ego soothed.

  “Same here,” I reply, my voice softer. “I’m going to have some questions for you later.”

  “Anytime.” He winks and then turns to walk over to Dahlia’s shop. The crowd has dispersed.

  It’s time to get back to work.

 
“What are we going to do?” Brielle asks as Daphne drives us to the hospital where Mama now lives.

  “We’re gonna go visit our mother,” I remind her.

  “No, about the other stuff. Or have you already forgotten that someone left a hand corpse at your place of business?”

  “Kind of hard to forget,” I murmur. “But frankly, I only have space in my brain for one uncomfortable thing at a time. Right now, it’s Mama.”

  “She’s been doing better,” Daphne reminds me. “Ever since we beat Hor—”

  “Don’t say that name,” Brielle says.

  “Since he’s been gone, and took whatever was controlling Mama with him, she’s been much better.”

  “The nurse told me last time that she comes and goes,” I reply. “Sometimes, she’s perfectly lucid and normal. And other times, she’s a little confused.”

  “She was possessed by evil for more than twenty years,” Brielle adds. “I think all things considered, she’s not doing so bad.”

  I nod, and Daphne parks the car. We have to check in with a security guard, have our bags checked, and walk through a metal detector. But it isn’t long before we’re on our mother’s floor.

  “There she is,” Daphne says, pointing to our mom, sitting at a table alone. She looks up when we approach, and recognition fills her eyes.

  Today must be a good day.

  “Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise?” She smiles. It’s been a shock to see her smile since she was fitted with her dentures. She looks almost pretty, which is saying a lot after the state she was in last year. “Is it visiting time again so soon? I swear, time sure does fly.”

  “Hi, Mama,” I say and lean in to press a kiss to her cheek. She smells like peaches. “It’s good to see you.”

  “And it’s wonderful to see my girls,” she says and gestures for us to sit. “It’s still a bit of a shock to see you all so grown up.”

  Given the evil that possessed her for so long, Mama doesn’t remember us growing up and moving away.

  “How have you been feeling?” Brielle asks.

  “Not bad, actually. I’ve managed to gain a few pounds, thanks to their good cookin’ here. But the doctor says that’s a good thing.”

  “I think you look lovely,” Daphne says. “It’s good to see you healthy, Mama.”

  “You know, I don’t remember everything that happened over the years. None of it, really. The last thing I remember is fighting with your father and then waking up with you all grown, and Horace’s house on fire.”

  I nod and reach out for her shaking hand. “It’s okay, Mama.”

  “No. No, I don’t s’pose it is. But I don’t know what might’ve happened. They say here that it could be amnesia.”

  I share a glance with my sisters. We know it’s not amnesia. Or dementia.

  “Do you think that’s what it was?” Brielle asks.

  Mama shakes her head. “No. I think it was something much angrier than that.”

  “I think you’re right,” I say softly. “But you’re free of it now. And I have to say that I’m sorry we didn’t realize what was happening to you, Mama. If we’d known, we would have tried to free you from that house and the evil that had its hold on you much, much sooner.”

  “You didn’t know,” she says. “Even I didn’t know. I’ve asked if I can go back to the house sometime, just so I can gather a few things. I think there are some photographs, and my mother’s grimoire should be up in my bedroom.”

  I freeze. “What did you say?”

  “My mother’s grimoire,” she repeats. “You know, that big book of hers? I’d like to fetch it and do some studying.”

  “Mama, you said it was evil. Grandma gave it to me, and you took it away. You beat us if we even suggested we might have paranormal abilities.”

  Mom’s face goes white, and then tears fill her eyes. “I did that?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Brielle says. “It’s why I filed for custody of Millie and Daphne when I was eighteen, and we moved out. Because we needed help. We had questions, and you wouldn’t permit it.”

  Mama shakes her head and covers her mouth with her hand as if she can’t believe what we’re telling her.

  “I come from a long line of witches,” she elaborates at last. “And so do you, of course. Oh, girls, there’s so much I wanted to teach you, but I was waiting for you to be a little older. And then, when you were older, well…”

  I blink rapidly, stunned. “You’re telling me that you’re a witch? That I could have learned from you all along?”

  “That’s right, darlin’.”

  I stand and pace away, so damn angry I could send a tornado through the room.

  If innocent patients weren’t sitting there, I would.

  All that time, all that anguish. My own mother could have helped us. Instead, she was taken over by something so vicious, so evil that my sisters and I suffered for years.

  “Come back,” Brielle urges. She’s standing next to me, her hand in mine. “Let’s hear what she has to say.”

  “You have got to be kidding me, B.”

  “I know. I don’t understand either.”

  I walk back to the table and sit across from Mama.

  “I wish I had Miss Sophia’s number,” Mama says. “I know that she could help me explain everything to you.”

  “I have her number,” I reply, a lump forming in my belly. “And trust me when I say, she’s going to help you explain. I need answers.”

  Chapter Seven

  Lucien

  “Just because you’re my older cousin, doesn’t mean you’re the boss of me,” Dahlia says. She’s sitting across from me in her flower shop. We just left Millie and the others, and I followed Dahlia in here.

  I wanted more than anything to stay with Millicent. To make sure she’s okay.

  But I’m not her husband, and she has a business to run and a family to see to.

  “I’m not the boss of you because I’m your cousin,” I reply. “It’s because you’re a novitiate. My apprentice, Dahlia. You have to practice the spells and do the reading I’ve given you if you’re going to grow in your knowledge and eventually become a permanent member of our coven. You already know this.”

  Dahlia’s father and my father share great-grandparents. So, we aren’t close cousins, but we do come from the same bloodline. Dahlia’s family veered toward the darker magics, and Dahlia was raised as such.

  About a year ago, she approached me and told me that the dark coven wasn’t her home and hoped I’d take her on as an apprentice, to teach and guide her so she could be initiated into our coven.

  She’s been a fantastic and dutiful student.

  Until today.

  She’s frowning at me, strumming her fingers on the counter. “You’re quite the demanding teacher, Lucien.”

  “I warned you of that when we started. If it’s become too much for you, say the word, and I’ll use my time elsewhere.”

  She looks down, clenches her eyes shut, and then shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to lash out at you. I haven’t been sleeping great, and I’m just irritable. Then, seeing that awful hand on Millie’s bench just threw me for a loop.”

  “I get it,” I reply. “If today isn’t a good day, we can reschedule.”

  “Maybe that’s what I need,” she agrees. “I’m sure after a few days, I’ll get some rest, and I’ll have time to do some studying. I’m sorry for being such a pain in the butt this week, and for wasting your time.”

  “I shouldn’t have said that,” I admit. “Just communicate with me, Dal. If you don’t have time or brain space to study, let me know. It’s the number of days that counts, not how quickly you can do them.”

  “Okay.” She nods and offers me an apologetic smile. “Thanks for being understanding. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Just study,” I reply as I push my glasses up onto my nose and turn to walk out of her shop. It’s a nice day, and I have a little while before I have to go
back to the lab, so I decide to walk down a few blocks to see someone special.

  I push through the glass door and smile at the man when he looks up, a loupe pressed to his eye.

  “How’s your day going, Dad?” I ask.

  “Oh, it’s a fine day, that’s to be sure,” he replies and takes the loupe off his head. “What are you up to?”

  “I was in the Quarter this morning and thought I’d drop by.”

  His eyes, so like mine, narrow on me. The man has always seen right through me.

  “What’s troubling you?”

  I blow out a breath and realize that I didn’t just come down to say, “hi.” I needed to talk to my father and get his advice.

  “It’s begun,” I reply simply and watch as my father takes a deep breath and then lets it out slowly.

  “We knew it would happen soon.”

  “I know, I’m just never ready for it.”

  “That’s to be expected when you’re dealing with evil at this magnitude,” he says. “How can I help?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. I quickly fill him in on what I know, from the dead man with the bloodstone in his mouth, to the severed hand with the same kind of stone in its palm this morning.

  “Is the blood on the stone the same as the victims’ blood?”

  “I haven’t examined the one from this morning yet, but the first one wasn’t. It’s clearly from a different person. And I can’t see where the stone came from.”

  “You tried?” Dad asks, his eyes wide. “You held it and dropped your shields?”

  “Yes, sir. But the spell is too strong. I couldn’t see anything. It made me a little sick.”

  “Don’t do that again,” Dad warns. “I know you think you’re doing what needs to be done to look, to help, to solve this faster, but you’re only opening yourself up to potential harm.”

  “I’m so frustrated,” I admit and pace his shop. Dad’s been a goldsmith in the Quarter since before I was born. His work is sought after all over the world. “It’s never happened this way before.”

  “Because he’s weaker than he was before.”