I stare at my hands, which have stopped taking notes. “Yes. There’s an assembly today.”
“Providence.”
“You mean worst thing ever.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
* * *
Reasons for Disliking Me
I grip the paper written in my crappy handwriting and take the last seat in the last row of the auditorium. People speak in hushed voices, but the energy is high.
Principal Brennan clears his throat at the podium. “As you all know, one of our own students died tragically yesterday.”
I tune him out and look over my speech. My hands shake and the paper rustles. Just don’t let me faint—which I have done twice since I came to Salem for some crazy reason. And don’t let anyone throw anything.
“Samantha, if you are not careful, it will tear,” Elijah warns. I ease my grip.
I look at the backs of the students’ heads and involuntarily begin to count them. When I get to five hundred, I start to dry-heave.
Elijah appears calm, but I can tell by the slight wrinkle in his brow that he’s worrying. “If you must regurgitate your food, I suggest doing so before the speech.”
“I didn’t eat anything today,” I say.
He lifts his brow. “I suppose that is good fortune.”
I can’t help but agree.
“Now I would like to hand over the microphone to some of John’s closest friends,” Brennan says, concluding his brief introduction.
The Descendants take the stage wearing floor-length black dresses and appearing almost to float. Lizzie carries a bundle of roses such a deep shade of purple, they look black from a distance. She places them near a picture of John on the stage.
Those roses! They’re the same kind I saw by the lamppost in town. My mind races. Could they have been from her as well? Susannah did say that Lizzie’s been affected more than most and that she blames me. Did something happen to someone else she loves?
Lizzie takes the podium with the three girls behind her. “I cannot give you a carefully constructed speech about how special John was, or what a good life he had until yesterday. You all knew him. You all know.” Her demeanor’s cold and commanding. “I’m not going to make you laugh or cry or even tell you how I feel without him. My feelings are obvious. I can sum them up in one word—anger.”
The Descendants, behind Lizzie, glance at each other. I guess she’s not giving whatever speech they were expecting.
“He shouldn’t have died. It was not an accident. And the responsible party must pay. We all know who that is: Samantha Mather.”
Sweat breaks out on my forehead, and I slink down in my chair as far as I can. Nausea throbs through my body, and the edge of my vision flickers like camera flashes.
“Susannah was there when Samantha tried to attack him in the hallway. I was there when she threatened him in class. And Jaxon was there to discover her bite mark on his lifeless palm.”
My heart nearly stops when I hear Jaxon’s name. He talked to the Descendants about me? He was the only one there when I told Bradbury about biting John’s hand. Has he been lying to me all along? The betrayal stabs at me, and all I want to do is run. Surprised reactions ripple through the crowd in gasps and whispers. Many turn around and search for me. Elijah fumes. This is my conviction. Brennan stands, looking like he is going to interject.
“That’s all we have to say.” Lizzie turns away from the podium. Susannah hesitates near the microphone, but Lizzie grabs her arm. They follow her off the stage. Lizzie convinced them I had something to do with John’s death. And Jaxon…I want to cry.
A flustered Brennan takes the microphone. “Uh…I would just like to say that the police report indicated that John’s death was most likely an accident, as I said earlier. Now I would like to introduce Dr. Myers, a grief therapist, to the stage.” Dr. Myers takes the microphone.
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” I say.
“Samantha, there is no retreating. You either go up there or your trial is concluded. Lizzie is victorious.”
“How can I change people’s minds after that?”
“You simply have to introduce doubt. Make them question their dislike of you. That should be enough to buy us time. This is your chance. Do not miss it.”
I take a breath. I have to focus on why I’m trying to break the curse. My dad…and now Susannah. I saw her hesitate on stage. She doesn’t agree with Lizzie—at least not completely. I need every shred of support I can get.
My whole body shakes as I stand. Thankfully, everyone’s watching Dr. Myers. I hug the wall and make my way toward the front of the auditorium. I don’t look at anyone because I can’t bear knowing what I’ll see. I walk up the stairs to the stage.
“Steady, Samantha,” Elijah says.
Dr. Myers looks confused as I approach the podium.
“I have to say something.” My voice is quiet.
Brennan attempts to get on the stage, but Myers stops him with a hand gesture. To my surprise, Myers puts the microphone back on the podium and steps away from it. I’m not sure whether I’m grateful or wish that he stopped me.
I place my crinkled speech on the podium. The room’s unnaturally silent. No one moves. I don’t look at the crowd. I can’t. I just focus on my paper and try to keep my voice steady.
“I…well…I know that…I haven’t made a good impression on most of you. Some of you…well, you have legitimate reasons for disliking me.”
People begin to whisper, and the counselor hushes the room.
“Get off the stage!” someone yells, and a few people boo me.
I’m making this worse for myself. “There are many…” The boos increase.
Lizzie yells, “Murderer!” and others echo her.
I lift my head and take in the audience for the first time. Angry faces stare at me. I clear my throat, and Brennan and Dr. Myers attempt to quiet the hostile students. I straighten my speech, hoping people will stop booing long enough for me to get the words out.
In one jerky movement I knock the piece of paper off the podium and over the edge of the stage. Elijah grabs it mid-fall. It takes me a second before I realize the auditorium has gone silent. Slowly, Elijah lifts the paper. Everyone stares at it, floating in the air. I take it, but finding my place in my speech now seems silly. How can I go on like nothing strange just happened?
I scan the auditorium the way I peek at a bad cut. I have the Descendants’ attention. Good. I spot Jaxon in my peripheral vision, but don’t look directly at him. I fold my speech and tuck it into my back pocket. “I’m not perfect. I’m far from it. I’m weird. The strangest things happen around me all the time. I don’t know why, and maybe I never will.
“I can explain that paper, though. It was a spirit. I can’t make friends at school, but I can with the dead. So at least I’ve got that.” There are a few nervous laughs that end as abruptly as they start.
“And I’m pretty sure I know why John died, even though I don’t know how.” The tension in the room is palpable. “But to explain that, I have to back up a bit. You see, there were three times in the years since the Trials when a whole bunch of descendants died. My spirit friend helped me figure out that these deaths happen in a pattern. All the major Witch Trials families have to be in Salem at once. A few weeks ago, the Mathers were the only major family missing. And as you may have noticed, when I moved here, people started dying quickly.”
To my surprise, the crowd’s not acting like I’ve said the most ridiculous thing they’ve ever heard. With a quick glance, I catch Jaxon putting his head in his hands. My lip trembles.
“You said that I’m cursed. I am. And so are the Descendants, their families, and possibly this town.” Actually owning these words feels oddly light. I’ve been running from them for a long time. “I am trying to figure it out. But I don’t think I can do it by myself. I’m not asking you to like me. I’m asking you to stop hating me long enough for me to work this thing out.” The whispers start. “That’s all, I guess. Thank
s for listening.”
As I walk away from the podium, a girl yells, “Prove that you can see a ghost!”
Not this again. The room waits for my reply. “No.” But as the word leaves my mouth, Elijah lifts me by my waist. The audience bursts into shocked conversation. No one tries to get control of the situation. I make eye contact with Susannah, and Elijah sets me back on my feet. She nods calmly while Alice and Lizzie battle it out on either side of Mary, who looks ill.
I don’t sit back down in the auditorium. I steal a glance toward Jaxon, but he’s not in his seat. I walk through the heavy double doors and then out of the school entirely.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
* * *
A Crow and a Noose
Books and old transcripts of the Trials cover the table where Elijah and I sit. The reference room of the public library is as stuffy as ever, but at least it’s private.
I gesture at the book I’m reading. “This says Cotton was prejudiced against Burroughs for his unorthodox beliefs. As far as I can tell, Burroughs’s hanging was the only one Cotton attended. I haven’t read the trial transcript yet, though.”
Elijah nods. “I remember Burroughs. He had an unfortunate history with my fiancée’s family. He owed them money. Although he eventually repaid it, my fiancée was well acquainted with gossip concerning him. When she twisted the gossip properly, she formed it into an allegation of witchcraft. He became pinned as the ringleader of the witches because he was a minister.”
It must be strange for him to research all these people his fiancée accused. “I’m not sure how these things tie together. It’s so tangled. But there has to be some sort of common thread we’re missing.”
“Indeed.”
I play with the cap of my pen. “I’m just thinking out loud. But what have we learned from the things I’ve seen? My first dream had a crow and a noose. The second was Cotton’s sermon about witchcraft, and it had another noose. And my visions consisted of John being crushed and the girl hanging from a rope. The one time I actually called on Cotton, I saw Burroughs hanging. Before he turned into Susannah, that is.”
Elijah and I are both silent, considering for the hundredth time how these events connect. “Riddles, metaphors, double meanings,” I say. “Did you find anything on the crow woman Mrs. Meriwether said my grandmother used to dream about?”
“Nothing near the time of the Trials. But people were more superstitious then and would refrain from committing to paper anything that could attract a curse or black magic. It is possible I am not looking closely enough. I will search for more-recent diaries, from the eighteen hundreds. It may even be that the bird is wrong. Or that I am not considering the right metaphors for a bird.”
Metaphors for a bird…flight, flying, feathers. Feathers carved into a windowsill. House in the woods. Woman-with-dead-birds story. “I missed something,” I say, putting my pen down. “I think I blocked it out, honestly. It happened before I believed most of this stuff could be real. Remember that day I spent with Jaxon, when you were waiting at my door? Did you see where I went that day?” Saying Jaxon’s name out loud creates a sharp pain in my chest.
“No. I was engaged in my own research.”
The one time it would have been helpful to have him watching me, he wasn’t. “We were in the woods. We went to find a house that’s hands-down the creepiest place I’ve ever been. It has a bedroom with walls covered in scribbled rantings from some lunatic. And the windowsill has feathers carved into it. Jaxon told me a story at the time about an old woman who lived there and ate birds. It sounded so crazy that I disregarded it completely.”
Elijah sits unnaturally still.
“And my name and my dad’s name were written on the wall. Our first names, anyway. I never thought those feathers could be related to the crow woman.” I’m really frustrated with myself for not considering it.
He snaps the pencil he’s holding and puts it on the table. How could I be such an idiot? I should have told him about those names from the beginning.
“Where is this house, Samantha?”
“I can draw you a map.”
“Quickly.”
I draw the streets and what I remember of the woods. “Jaxon could see an old trail that led to the house, but I’m not positive of its angle. I’m pretty sure the place is haunted.”
“Did you see someone?” Elijah asks. He’s almost frantic.
“No, but I heard a woman crying.”
He blinks out. I still think Jaxon’s story is bull, but there might be some piece of truth in it. Like the birds piece. Birds, feathers, crows. It doesn’t take a genius to put these things together. Thinking about Jaxon hurts more than I thought it would. I can’t believe he would talk to the Descendants about me. I bet they had a good laugh about how he fooled me into thinking he liked me.
I flip through the pages of a book without reading it. My eyes well up, and I push my feelings away, hiding them with all the others that I can’t deal with right now. Jaxon’s not the first friend who’s turned on me, and I’m sure he won’t be the last. This is exactly why I don’t let people near me.
This dimly lit room that seemed sort of old-world romantic when Elijah was in it suddenly feels isolated and devoid of oxygen. I prop open the wooden door to get some air, and there’s a freshman from my school in the book aisle. He eyes me curiously. I return to the round table to pack up my things.
“Mather?” he says.
“Huh?” My heart beats a little faster.
“I saw your speech today.” He leans against the doorway. He isn’t particularly tall, but he’s stocky and takes up most of the entrance.
“Okay.” I eye the space between him and the doorway, trying to decide whether or not I could squeeze past him if he turns out to be a creep.
“I know all about your family.”
“Great.” I’m not sure if he’s making fun of me or trying to talk to me.
“Can I take a picture of you?” he asks, pulling out his cell phone.
“Seriously, no. Go be weird somewhere else.” I want people to stop hating me, not treat me like a sideshow.
“Cheese,” he says. Only before I can say “What?” that little punk flashes his cell phone light in my face and takes the worst picture ever. Then he runs down the aisle, laughing.
“I will break that phone!” I yell after him as the white-haired librarian comes around the corner. I’m developing a phobia about this library.
“Keep your voice down,” she says. “Five minutes until closing.” Then she peers at me in a you-know-what-you-did way and walks off.
I grab my shoulder bag and head toward the stairs. Why did that boy take a picture of me? Is that a sign that people might not hate me, or does that just mean they’re finding new ways to torment me?
As I exit the library, I fold my arms against the cold night air.
“More spells,” says Elijah, blinking in.
“What?”
“The house…” He looks more agitated than when he left. “There are stones by the windows and doors bound with string and sealed with black wax. I do not know the exact meaning, and I do not dare cross the barrier.”
I try to remember if I saw that, but in all likelihood I wouldn’t have noticed. “But you’re already dead. What’s the worst that can happen?”
His look tells me I don’t know the half of it. “I need to talk to you. Important conversations are not intended for the street.”
I smile at his formality. “There’s a garden right over there.” I point toward the Ropes Mansion, where I met the Descendants.
“Yes, that will do.” He walks at such a fast pace that I almost have to run to keep up. I’ve never seen him like this.
I follow him under the trellis and into the labyrinth of flowers. Even in the dark, this place feels alive. The Gothic tower looms over us in the moonlight. He winds along the dirt paths to a bench under a canopy of vines. I sit before he asks me to. He sits next to me.
Elijah coll
ects his thoughts. “Reading through old diaries, I found accounts regarding my fiancée that were disturbing. I did not tell you because I believed them my personal business, and irrelevant. You see, my fiancée formed an obsession with my death. She buried my body at the edge of her property.”
That’s right. If you commit suicide you can’t be buried on hallowed ground, or whatever. I vacillate between curiosity and dread.
“Her family found her wailing over my grave night after night. She spoke to me freely around her house, refusing to accept I was gone.” I’m reminded of what Jaxon told me about his mom when his dad died. “Out of spite, her witch accusations became more frequent and demanding. When the Trials concluded, she snapped. She became vicious and incoherent. She had luck on her side, though. Because the shame of the Trials was so great and her family so influential, they refrained from arresting her.”
“You could be arrested for being crazy?”
“If your fits cause others physical harm, then yes. And her fits were…terrifying, from what I have read. Even though they spared her arrest, she was banished from the town. She refused to leave on the grounds that she would not be parted from me.”
“So you think she lived in that house? The one in the woods?” I interrupt, feeling anxious.
“I know it. Her parents bought it for her because it was just outside the town limits. That house was remote even then, well surrounded by trees. For a while, her mother visited her. My fiancée was losing her mind, and her violent outbursts increased. After a while, her mother stopped going altogether. I found a letter saying she saw my fiancée from a distance years later, feral and dirty.”
“Okay.” My voice is measured. “What does this have to do with the feathers I found on the windowsill and the story about the birds Jaxon told me?”
Elijah looks regretful. “Like everyone else at the time, I kept a diary. It was leather-bound, with a feather on the front. It was part of a set, and she had the matching one. She inspired the purchase, in fact. She used to say my hair was as black as a raven’s, and her nickname for me was Bird. She would tell me that when we died we would fly away together.” He looks away.
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