“You must have panicked.”
“I was sick with it. But my sweet sister was calm. She was confident that good would prevail. Then, somehow word of their relationship got out and William stopped talking to her. He denied all of it.”
“He abandoned her?” My voice rises.
“I went to talk some sense into him. He said the stress was bad for his mother, and he could not tie his family to an orphan suspected of witchcraft. That he had to protect his good name. I wanted to kill him. But I knew that if I took action it would be worse for Abigail. It was all too much for her, first the town turning against her, and then William. She would not talk or eat. She just lay in her room, drawing black-eyed Susans. Doctors came, but they had no solutions. So I sat by her bed, watching her day after day.
“Then the officials came back.” He pauses. “They would have arrested her, Samantha. They had every plan to, but I dissuaded them on account of her being so ill. I told them that if they took her and she died from their lack of care, they would be sure to rot in hell. For everyone knew my sister would not hurt a soul. I never told her that.”
The extraordinary weight he had carried. “Did William at least check up on her?”
“No.” For a second his fist clenches. “She did not give up hope, though, not until we got the news. He was engaged.”
“To the governor’s daughter?”
“Yes. When my sister heard, she let out a single scream. Two weeks later she died of a broken heart.”
“I would’ve killed him,” I say.
“At first I was angry. But more than retribution, I wanted answers. It did not take me long to track the rumors back to my fiancée. The worst betrayal of my life. I had told her things that led to my own sister’s death. I confronted her. She admitted it. Said she was jealous of my relationship with Abigail, and she did not mean for everything to escalate. After that, I was furious with everyone. Most of all with myself.”
My heart hurts for him. I’m not sure if I could stand something like that. “How did you ever get through it?”
His eyes look haunted. “I hanged myself from the balcony of the general store in town in the middle of the night. The townspeople found my body with a note that read ‘It is the greatest evil of all, to separate people who love each other. I blame all of you.’ ”
I cover my mouth with my hand. “I never heard that story.”
“That is because no one wanted to remember it.”
No wonder he’s heartbroken and furious. I would be, too. “What can I do?”
“You can save your father. I failed to protect Abigail, and I have never forgiven myself.”
I wish I could make his sadness disappear. It seems so unfair that he had to go through all of that. I gently slip my fingers into his. He looks from my hand to my face. “Samantha.” We lock eyes. For a second, his expression softens, and I want to pull him close. But he lets go of my hand and walks to the window.
The hold he had on my body dissipates, and I examine my hands. Why am I feeling this strong connection? And why am I embarrassed? “Why did you bring me that dress tonight?”
“I could see you were badly in need of assistance.”
“You were watching me?”
He doesn’t respond. He just stares out the window.
“Thank you. That was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.”
He almost smiles. “Yes. It looked well on you.”
My body warms with the compliment. My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Jaxon. “Rash is better. Sleep tight and don’t let the zombies bite.” Elijah disappears.
CHAPTER THIRTY
* * *
I Can See You
Twigs snap under my feet as I run through the dark trees. There’s a man standing in a patch of light just ahead. A branch scrapes my cheek. I grab my face but don’t stop. I need to get to him. He’s youngish, maybe late twenties, and he wears antiquated clothes. His hands fold behind his back the same way Elijah’s do.
He looks up when I enter the clearing and I follow his gaze. A crow sits on a large branch. And below it hangs a noose. I try to scream, but the sound is muffled.
I sit straight up as the rest of the scream leaves my mouth. My phone says it’s 7:27 a.m. I slip out of my bed, trying to shake the anxiety of my dream as I head into the hall.
It’s Wednesday, and there’s no school. I walk straight to Vivian’s room, hoping she’s awake and we can go to Boston. Her door is cracked open, and I push it. Her bed is made and I don’t hear her in the bathroom. I eye the medical bill on her dresser. Just a quick look.
Carefully, I lift the papers on top of it. It reads Explanation of Benefits—This is not a bill. I guess it’s a summary of Dad’s insurance coverage? There are columns of numbers. The amount-billed column is high—many thousands of dollars high. I scan the deductible and copayment columns. They’re all zeros. I turn to the next page, same thing.
I scan ahead to the bottom of the last page, where the totals are. It reads Patient responsibility (amount you paid or owe to provider): $0. I look at the date. It was sent less than two weeks ago. My heart stutters as I arrange the papers in their original positions.
What does this mean, exactly? Does this mean she lied this whole time about my dad’s medical bills being high? The thought terrifies me. Not because she lied, but because of the scale of the lie.
I make my way to the stairs and grip the banister. Unless I’m completely missing something, there was no reason to sell the New York apartment. Why do it? Money. But my dad makes a really good living. Vivian wants more money? That’s the only answer. So, what, is she waiting for my dad to die to get a huge inheritance? I feel ill. How could she do this?
“You look like you saw a ghost,” says Vivian from the bottom of the stairs.
I’m afraid to look at her. I don’t know what I’ll say. I can’t believe I almost opened up to her last night. “I had a nightmare.”
“Well, I just got off the phone with the hospital, and the doctor scheduled tests for your father throughout the afternoon. I think we should shoot for visiting this weekend.”
Now I look at her. I want to tell her she has no right to even talk about my dad.
She frowns. “I know you’re disappointed, but don’t be mad at me about it. I didn’t schedule those tests.”
I walk past her on the stairs and don’t say a word. I just head straight to the kitchen. Normally, I would scream. But I can’t. What if she really is waiting for my dad to die, to get his money? And then I yell at her and push her to do something crazy? She’s controlling his medical treatment. I need to think about this. I can’t let her know that I found that statement.
I mix my coffee, barely looking at it. I need to solve this curse. That’s my only avenue to helping Dad, my best chance at his waking up. It’s a long shot, but I have to believe in something.
“Is all well?” Elijah asks in his proper English–inspired accent.
“How does it work, being a spirit?” I ask, without answering his question. I sip my coffee.
“I am not sure what you are asking.”
“You said you followed me a lot when I first got here. What did you mean?”
“If I know where you are, and I focus on you in that space, I can see you. It is like having a window into your world, much like your television. If you know what channel to go to and what time to tune in, you can see your show.”
Well, that explains how he knew I was in danger at the party. “And if you don’t know where I am?”
“Then I must search for you. It can take quite a while.”
“And what about physical things? If you carry my coffee cup, for instance, would other people be able to see it?”
“That is more complex. Small things I can make disappear from view. Large things I cannot. It is akin to physical strength. Some things I am strong enough to lift, while others I cannot move. And blinking, the act of appearing and disappearing…blinking physical items from one
space to another is even more difficult. It takes a lot of practice and concentration.”
“What about me? What if you lift me up?”
He looks amused. “You would appear to float. I do not have any ability to make the living disappear, only inanimate objects.”
“I don’t think I understand these rules.”
“You will.”
“Could you do me a favor?” I ask.
“I was wondering how long it would take for you to say that sentence. I have already retrieved the cape.”
“Oh! Thanks.” I’m embarrassed by how easy I am to read. “Actually, could you check on my dad? Vivian said they’re running tests on him today. I’m just not sure I believe her. And I had my heart set on visiting him.”
“Yes, they are running tests today.”
I slump down in a chair at the small breakfast table near the window. “How do you know? Did you focus on him or something?” If he knows where my dad is, does that mean he watched when I went to the hospital?
“No. I checked on him earlier.”
He checks on my dad? “How was he?”
“The hospital is taking good care of him.”
I relax a little. I desperately want to see him, but I’m glad he’s okay. And the thought of going to the hospital with Vivian is awful. I couldn’t stand watching her pretend she cares.
If I can’t go to the hospital…“We need to find out more about the curse and whatever that chaos was last night.”
“Figuring out last night may take a while. Everyone is still recovering.”
“Did all of the Descendants get the rash?”
“Yes, Susannah worst of all.”
“So I really was the only one who didn’t get it?”
“I am afraid so.”
I was hanging on to the hope that maybe I wasn’t. I sigh.
“I spent my night going through more of your grandmother’s research. I have not finished, however.”
“I’ll help you.” I get up and head for the kitchen door. I’m grateful he doesn’t sleep and can work on this stuff at night. I already feel the intense pressure that I’m not figuring this out fast enough and that at any moment my world could fall apart.
He doesn’t blink out, or whatever he calls it, this time. Instead, he walks by my side through the house and toward the library.
“Why am I the only one who sees you? Is it because you choose not to let other people know you’re around?” I keep my voice hushed. I like that idea.
He closes the library door behind us. “I have nothing to do with your seeing me.”
So much for that theory. “Then, why do I?”
“That is not something I know.”
I pull the hook in the fireplace and we step into the narrow hallway. “But you’re dead.”
“I am aware.”
“Shouldn’t you know these things?”
He almost laughs. “I know little more than when I was living. I just move around faster.”
The idea that death brings clarity is blown. “Have you met other people who could see you?”
“Yes, a few. They are rare.”
As I reach the top of the stairs, I notice Elijah has rearranged the piles of books into organized stacks. The dust’s gone. Spirits clean?
I’m not sure I wanna ask this next question, but my curiosity is running the show. “If I see you, then do I see other spirits?”
“Yes.”
Visiting graveyards just shot to the top of my never-again list. Was I walking around all this time seeing spirits and thinking they were living people? “So what’s in these piles of books?” Let’s just think about something more cheery, like curses, for instance.
“Most of this is research on the Trials and the Mathers. I left Salem before the Trials concluded; I needed to educate myself.”
“Why did you leave Salem?”
“No one kills themselves because they are happy where they are.”
Well, that makes perfect sense. I can only imagine his surprise when he died and found himself back in Salem for some indefinite period of time. I’d leave, too. And now he’s back here researching the Trials. I guess you can’t avoid your life, even in death.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
* * *
Love and Arrows
I turn to the last page of my grandmother’s research notebook. “Nothing new in this one, either,” I say to Elijah, who has a stack of diaries in front of him from historical collections and people’s attics.
“Research is not instantaneous and must be built piece by piece. Quick does not mean good. That perspective will impair your perception. You will miss something.”
Easier said than done when my dad’s life is at risk. “What about Mrs. Meriwether? She knew my grandmother really well. Better than anyone. Maybe there’s something that my grandmother didn’t write down? Something that Mrs. Meriwether knows?”
“Possibly. However, speaking with her will only yield results if you are direct.”
“Were you listening when I went to her house the other day?”
He looks disapproving. Great. That means he heard me with Jaxon. How embarrassing. I’m already awkward enough without some attractive dead dude overhearing everything I say. I may never toot again.
I flip through a journal I’ve already read to see if there’s something I missed. “Do you think my grandmother’s drawings could be of any significance? They’re in the margins, and she doesn’t say anything specific about them.”
“Perhaps. Let me see.”
I hand the notebook to Elijah.
He studies it, and his brow furrows. “Are there more?”
“Yes, but they’re all similar versions of a woman with long wavy hair seen from behind.”
He turns the pages of the notebook. “None that show a face?”
“No, why?”
“You should ask Mrs. Meriwether.”
“Is there something strange about it?”
“It is better to ask too many questions than not enough.”
I agree, but I think he might be omitting some detail. “Okay. I’m gonna go over there.”
He nods, and continues reading. I pull my hair up into a ponytail as I make my way through the passage. When I enter the library, the light outside is already dimming. I need to find the Descendants once the sun goes down.
“Well, there you are. Where’ve you been all day?” Vivian asks as I walk to the side door.
“Here.”
“I looked for you earlier and couldn’t find you.”
I did hear her calling, but had no desire to answer. “Must’ve been on a walk.”
She looks unsure. “Must have.”
“I’m going next door.”
“Okay.” She checks her gold watch. “Just be back by seven for dinner. I’ve ordered a ridiculous amount of French food.”
“Oh.” The word catches in my throat. An image of a younger Vivian snapping that picture at the Parisian café flashes through my mind. Since my dad and I met her, French cuisine has been a bonding food for the three of us, something that is just ours. We always have it on special nights, like when my dad comes home from a long trip, or for the first snowfall in winter.
“I know you were sad about not seeing your dad today. I thought this might cheer you up. And we can have our chat. You might faint when you see how many desserts I got.”
It’s painful to watch her be nice after seeing that bill this morning. “Gotta go,” I say, swallowing my sadness.
I walk out the door and make my way to Mrs. Meriwether’s porch, struggling to push Vivian out of my mind. I raise my hand to knock, but Jaxon steps out of the door.
“Hey. I didn’t think you were home. I came over earlier, but no one answered.”
“Really? I guess I didn’t hear the door. Is your mom here?”
“And here I got excited you were looking for me.”
I smile. “I wanted to ask her about some of my grandmother’s things I found.”
>
“I’m going to see her. She’s at the Remembrance Day Fair down at Salem Common. Her bakery has a booth. Come with me.”
“I don’t know.” I look at the barely visible sun. I need to find the Descendants.
“Sam, it’s your first fall in Salem. The fair won’t come around again for another year.”
“Uh…I was supposed to maybe do something with Susannah.”
“She’s down there. She showed up right before I ran home to grab twine for my mom’s pastry boxes. Come on. The whole town is there. It’s fun.”
I relax slightly. This saves me from going to the Descendants’ houses. Who knows what their parents think of me after last night. “Let’s do it.”
Jaxon and I head down the sidewalk. “If you’re nice to me, I might even give you one of my mom’s famous funnel cakes.”
“And if you’re nice to me, I’ll refrain from giving you that zombie rash again.”
We share an amused look. “Glad you got your sense of humor back instead of all that doom and gloom.”
I still think that doom and gloom stuff. It’s just not fair to unload it on Jaxon.
“You’re pretty cute for a witch.”
He’s joking, but it hits too close to the weird stuff I’ve been doing recently. “Do you think there’s any way that rash could be witchcraft?”
Jaxon laughs. “Definitely. Strong theory. Right up there with fairies and ghosts.”
Worst answer ever. “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but why would Lizzie say your mom was crazy?”
Jaxon’s jaw tenses. “My mom had a rough patch after my father died. She got really depressed, and for a while she’d still talk to him. She didn’t care who overheard. There were other things, too. But the gist of it is that people in town thought she’d lost it. They even stopped going to her bakery for a bit. It took a couple of years to get everything back in order. We almost lost the house. And Lizzie sort of instigated those rumors. She wasn’t a fan of your grandmother, either.”
How to Hang a Witch Page 15