Her father glanced at her and then looked away.
“Your demon did that?” Em asked.
Her father’s head moved just slightly in a nod. He turned his body to stare at the open ocean.
“But . . .” Em said.
“Yes,” her father said. “Henry’s illness and death set you up for witch accusations all those years later.”
“Your demon is the reason I was hanged?” Em asked.
Her father didn’t turn to look at her.
“Your demon is the reason I was hanged?” Em repeated.
He didn’t respond.
“Answer me!” Em said in frustration.
“I’ve nothing to say,” her father said. “My only child was hanged as a witch. I . . .”
He looked at her and smiled.
“I hate hanging,” her father said. “Burned in a pyre is worse, if you can imagine anything worse than hanging.”
“Drowning sounds particularly bad,” Em said.
“Not really,” her father said in a matter-of-fact way. “Fire is awful because it takes so long. You get to watch the wood catch on fire, then your clothing, your feet — inch by inch, it consumes you, while the good people — people you loved and thought of as friends — stand by and cheer.”
“Sounds horrible,” Em said.
Her father raised his eyebrows in an “of course” gesture.
“Our hangings took up to thirty minutes,” Em said.
“Awful,” her father said.
They fell silent for a while. Em drank her tea and listened to the waves.
“Do we share the same demon?” Em asked.
“I doubt that very much,” her father said.
“But?”
“From what you’ve said, they’ve combined their efforts,” her father said. “One got you hanged.”
“Thus making me immortal,” Em said.
“The other is waiting for me, for us,” her father said.
“Will you fight with me?” Em asked.
“I cannot,” her father said. “We can’t . . .”
“Be at the same location in the same time,” Em said with him.
“Why would your demon wait so long?” Em asked.
“He couldn’t defeat me in my time,” her father said. “He needed help.”
“My demon is stronger?” Em asked.
“Different in some way that’s compatible to my demon,” her father said.
“It’s just . . .” Em shivered, “ . . .horrifying.”
“It is,” her father said.
Em was looking at the bottom of her teacup and wondering if she could get another cup when her father sighed.
“Your God says he never gives you something you can’t handle,” her father said.
“And?”
“We should be able to handle this,” her father said.
“How?” Em asked.
“I have no idea,” her father said.
Em nodded. Her father stood from his seat.
“Let’s sleep on it,” her father said. “Tomorrow night, we’ll go visit the area I remember as the center of knowledge. If this is happening now, it’s happened before. There should be something in the library.”
“You sure?”
“No,” her father said with a laugh. “But we’ll try anyway.”
Em smiled.
“Come, daughter,” her father said.
Em followed him into the house. They hugged in the living room before he left for the bedroom and his wife. Wide awake, she sat on the couch, waiting for sleep. The next thing she knew, her father’s wife was moving about, and the sun had risen on the next day.
“Did you drink my beer?” George gestured to his Guinness.
Shaking his head and laughing, John Willard patted George’s arm.
“It was just . . .” George started.
“Disappeared like magic,” John said with a laugh. “You’re pestered with a demon who drinks your beer.”
George laughed. Their laughter caused Wilmot and Margaret to give them dark looks. George touched their shoulders as he passed them on his way to refill his beer. They were in the basement of Sam Wardwell’s home. Em’s body lay on a massage table near the middle of the room. The rest of the witches sat in their usual groupings — Bridget, Elizabeth, and Mary Ayer Parker chatted near the fireplace; Wilmot and Margaret were reading novels on a leather loveseat against the wall; Sarah Wildes, Ann, and Alice were standing near Em; Martha Carrier, Sam, and Sarah Good were working on a puzzle; Giles was sitting by himself; and George and John played pool.
“She should be back by now!” Giles jumped to his feet. “It’s been twelve hours!”
“Giles, we don’t know exactly . . .” Ann started to say.
“We do know!” Giles said. “That ghost that came with George said . . .”
“She’s a ghost,” Sarah Wildes said as she walked to Giles. “You know how they are disoriented when they first die.”
“I resent that,” Martha said from the corner of the room Sam had forced her to stay in.
“She should be . . .”
Em’s body gasped for air. George ran to her side.
“Em!” Alice bent over her face. “Em!”
Em’s chest moved up and down with her breath.
“She’s not here!” Giles wailed.
“Back up!” Ann ordered. “Now!”
The witches took a step back. George put his arm over Giles’s shoulder and tried to lead him away. Giles pushed George away from him. Ann started working on Em’s body.
“This is your fault!” Giles said. “You and your whoring ways! You killed her!”
“Now, Giles,” Martha Carrier said. “George didn’t . . .”
“You know how he is.” Giles pointed at George. “How it breaks her heart! Why do you think she married an old so-and-so like myself? You broke her, and now you’ve killed her!”
Horrified, George took a step away from Giles. John Willard came to his side. Sam put his arm around Giles to comfort him. Bridget, Elizabeth, and Mary Ayer watched in fascinated revolution, while Martha Carrier and Sarah Good grinned at the drama.
“Just breathe, Giles,” Sam said. He rolled his eyes to George and shook his head. Turning back to Giles, he said, “We’re all scared. You’re making it worse.”
“She loved you,” Giles pointed at George again. “And you . . .”
Giles weaved. His knees went out from under him. Sam caught him before he hit the ground. George and John helped Sam get Giles to the couch. Giles bent over and wept into his hands.
“Did you kill him?” Ann asked from her position leaning over Em.
“Not yet,” Sam said with a grin.
“I’ve got this,” Sarah Wildes said.
She sat down next to Giles. She took his hand and interlaced their fingers before leaning over to talk with him. George moved to Em. Ann was hooking Em up to a heart-rate monitor and starting IVs. Alice hovered nearby.
“How is she?” George asked.
“Alive,” Ann said. “Of course.”
“But?” George asked.
“She’s not here,” Ann said and looked up at him.
“What does that mean?” Alice asked.
As if she wished she hadn’t spoken, she immediately covered her mouth. George put his arm over Alice’s shoulder.
“I don’t know what it means,” Ann said.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Bridget asked.
“I mean, it’s never happened before,” Ann said. “Not to any of us. Our essences came back when our bodies returned. Em’s body is strong. Her vitals are good. Her lungs are clear. Her pressure is good, even in her limbs. She’s fit as can be.”
“But?” George asked.
“She’s not here,” Ann said. “Can you . . .”
Ann pointed to a few empty vacuum tubes sitting on a table nearby. Alice grabbed the tubes and brought them to her.
“Where’s my Em?” Bridget asked.
“Your Em?” Wilmot asked. “Stupid girl. She’s . . .”
Bridget started screaming at Wilmot. Elizabeth replied to Wilmot, and Margaret joined in. One at a time, the witches began fighting with each other. Sam Wardwell put his fingers to his lips and blew a loud whistle. Everyone stopped talking and looked at him. He pointed to where Martha was standing.
The ghost of Martha had crouched down and was hissing at something they could not see.
“What is it, Martha?” George asked.
“The devil is here,” the deep voice of Michael came from Martha’s visage.
Sarah Wildes jumped up from the couch and clapped her hands.
“Surround Em!” Sarah yelled.
The witches ran to Em’s side and joined hands, leaving Ann in the middle to work on Em.
“Whatever our differences,” Sarah said, looking from face to face. “We all love Em. She is our friend, our rock. And right now, she’s in need. George?”
“Why George?” Giles started. “He’s . . .”
Sam Wardwell put his arm around the elderly man. Giles looked at Sam and scowled.
“A moment of silence to collect our thoughts,” George said.
The witches bowed their heads in silent prayer.
“Let us sing,” George said. He took a breath and began singing Psalms 1 from the Geneva Bible, “Blessed is the man that doth not walk in the counsel of the wicked, nor . . .”
“ . . .stand in the way of sinners, nor . . .” Ann Pudeator was the first to join in. She sang as she continued to set up Em’s IVs.
Gradually, the witches joined in. Sam shook Giles’s shoulder when he wasn’t singing. Giles glanced at Sam and returned to glaring at George. But, the sheer joy of singing with the others got the better of him, and Giles joined in at Psalm 3.
“Lord, how are mine adversaries increased? How many rise against me?”
Em looked up at the clock from the couch in her father’s home. After a full day of tending the sheep and farm, she waited for him to take her to their ancestors’ ruins. For the first time in a very long time, she was excited. Tonight, she might learn the answer to the riddles that had haunted her since childhood — Who created the world? What was the nature of God? How can she celebrate the wonder of life, when she should be dead? What was she going to do about this demon? And . . . And . . . She scowled.
If George were here, he’d know exactly what to ask. On her own, her mind focused more on the demon than the more important meaning-of-life questions. She had a chance to discover the great mysteries of life, and what she really wanted to know was how to get out of the situation she found herself in. She cursed her own practical nature.
And still, she was excited.
Her father came out of the bedroom and nodded to her.
“Ready?” he asked.
“I’m ready,” she said.
And then it hit her. What if this wasn’t her father? What if this entire adventure was a trick of the demon? She stopped dead in her tracks and gawked at her father.
“What is it?” her father asked.
“I just . . .” Em licked her lips.
“Realized this entire thing could be a setup?” her father asked with a smile.
“You, too?” Em asked.
“After last night,” her father said. “It’s all seems a little too . . .”
“Perfect,” Em said.
Her father nodded.
“How will we know?” Em asked.
“We won’t,” her father said.
“How did I get here?” Em asked.
“You died in Boston,” he said.
“How did I die?” Em asked.
“I don’t know,” her father said.
“I went to see you,” Em said.
“What?” her father asked.
“I went to Jamaica Plain to meet Bill Panon,” Em said. “He owns a building that was converted to apartments from a livery stable. The property hasn’t changed hands since the 1700s.”
Her father nodded.
“Is that you?” Em asked.
“No,” her father said.
“The man who runs it is said to . . .” Em stopped talking. “It’s not you?”
“No,” her father said. “The only thing I own is this farm, and, even then, it’s held in an ancient wildlife trust. That’s how I avoid having to take breaks.”
“You’re not in the system,” Em said.
“I’m not in any system,” her father said. “Never have been. Your birth wasn’t recorded.”
“How did you get married?” Em asked.
“We got married,” her father said.
“Marriage license?” Em asked.
He shook his head.
“How . . .?” Em asked.
She stopped talking when he shook himself like he was a dog.
“It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t care,” he said. “You went to see someone you thought was me.”
Em nodded.
“Why did you come to find me?” he asked.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Em said. “I wanted to . . . connect to . . . ask you about the demon and who I am and . . .”
Em swallowed down the sorrow and longing that had welled in her throat. Her father gave her a soft smile and a nod to acknowledge his similar feelings.
“You came to find me, and you found your demon instead,” he said.
“But . . .” Em said.
“If I hadn’t called you here . . .” Her father looked away from her. When he glanced back, his eyes were filled with tears. “And your body? Is it safe?”
“We have an arrangement with all of the Massachusetts’ coroners,” Em said. “By religious preference, we need to take the bodies without autopsy.”
“So your body is safe?”
“It’s with the witches,” Em said with a smile.
Her father let out an anxious breath. For a moment, he looked at Em. She shrugged, and he laughed. Smiling, she thought about what he was saying.
“What would have happened to me if you hadn’t . . .?” Em’s voice held equal parts horror and awe.
“Your spirit would have been captured,” he said. “Do you remember how you died?”
“I remember spinning,” she said.
He nodded and raised his eyebrows. Rather than answer the question in her face, he picked up a large backpack and started toward the door to the cottage.
“Coming?” he said with a smile.
She followed him out into the farm. They walked side by side for a while, making sure to skirt the lights from the residences.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Do you remember the cave?” he asked.
“I don’t think Mom would let you take me there.” She shook her head.
He laughed, and they continued their trek.
“It’s called ‘Covenanters Cave’ now,” he said. “It was used by your kind during the Killing Time.”
“‘My kind’?” Em grinned. “You mean, ‘religious loons.’”
“Yes, in fact, I mean just that,” he laughed.
She smiled at him.
“The cave is hidden from view,” he said. “You can find it only on old maps.”
“There’s just sheep here,” she said. “What happened to the crofters?”
She gestured to the ruins of a small family farm that had once been the home of a land tenant.
“They were pushed out by greedy landlords,” her father said.
“Landlords?”
“They raised the rents until the crofters couldn’t stay,” he said. “One of them was a Burroughs. You think there’s any relation?”
“Who knows?” Em shrugged.
Her father turned, and they began walking toward the black cliffs of the Kiln of Brin-Novan. Vigorous ocean waves had created caves and natural arches out of the layers of black Devonian.
“Are you all right to climb?” her father asked.
“Sure,” Em said.
“We can also . . .�
�� her father started.
“I don’t know any transportation spells,” Em said.
“That’s why you stayed in the passageway cairn,” he grinned.
She nodded.
“You have to want it,” he said.
He waved and disappeared. She looked over the cliff to find him standing under a natural arch looking up at her. He cupped his mouth and yelled something to her that she couldn’t hear over the ocean. She closed her eyes and wanted to be with her father. Much to her surprise, she found herself by his side.
He opened his backpack and retrieved two headlamps. He gave her one and put on the other one. He held out a bottle of water to her. She took a long drink and gave it back. He finished the bottle.
“Be very careful,” he said. “This entire area is enchanted. If you use magic, you can bring it down onto you. It won’t kill you, of course. It will take you a hundred years of hard work to get out.”
“Now you tell me this?” She gave a nervous laugh.
“We’re not inside yet,” he said with a grin. He turned on his headlamp. “Do be careful, Em. I don’t know what charms are placed around these caves. I only know they’ve kept people out of them for more than two thousand years.”
“I will be careful,” she said.
He kissed her cheek and set off into the cave. She took a breath, turned on her headlamp, and followed him into the dark.
Chapter Fifteen
They walked along a thin shelf that was covered by the cave ceiling and open on one side to the ocean. After a hundred feet, they came to a six-foot-wide ocean channel that blocked their way into the cave. The channel churned with all of the ocean’s wild power. When the waves came in, sea water shot up six feet in the air. Everything within ten feet was slick with water blown by the ferocious wind. The air was thick with cold ocean mist.
“The first defense,” Em’s father yelled over the roar of water and wind. He held his hands out over the water, closed his eyes, and, in a low powerful voice, said, “Be still.”
In response to his command, water from the channel shot up into the air, creating a wall of water. As if drawn by a magnet, the water dropped onto them. They were soaked to the bone in frigid ocean water. Loosened by the wind, Em’s hair came out of its tight knot. She grabbed her long hair and leaned forward, hoping that the wave had freed a safe crossing for them. The ocean churned as if nothing had happened.
Suffer a Witch Page 17