“What did they say?” she asked.
“As you predicted,” George said.
“They won’t go through with it and don’t want me to,” Em said.
“They don’t see the necessity,” George said. “After all. . .”
“It’s been more than three hundred years,” Em said. “Why would we have to deal with this now? When things are going so well?”
“Exactly,” George said.
“Thanks for trying,” Em said.
She reached for the covers and pulled them over her head. Sometime later, he joined her in bed. Long after he was asleep, she lay in a fetal position, praying.
When the New England Patriots won the Super Bowl, everyone told Em that it was a sign. The demons were vanquished. There was no need to change anything. They joined their human friends and neighbors to celebrate their team’s triumphant win.
But the whispers remained. The NFL was looking into something that had happened in January. There was evidence of wrong-doing. Sanctions were likely. Em watched as the best weapons in the demon’s arsenal — suspicion and doubt — fluttered after the New England Patriots like confetti in the welcome-home parade.
She knew the very moment her demon and his kind returned to Boston. She saw him everywhere. He whispered in her ear.
“I will kill them all,” he said.
At night, her dream life was populated with bleeding, suffering humans. In the light of day, it seemed like the world was either in flames or stuck in limbo. Hatred and death continued in terrorist acts in familiar places such as Yemen, while peaceful communities such as Sydney, Australia, were shattered by death and horror near their homes. All the while, justice for the victims in cases, such as the trial for the Boston Bombing, seemed hopelessly locked in limbo. Everywhere Em turned, she saw the demons venting their rage upon the world.
The death and destruction danced across Em’s eyelids every night. Her mind replayed the horror of the London plague or the Spanish Flu. Some nights, she was fleeing the Great Fire and its 1700oC flames. Night after night, she watched helplessly while everyone died around her. She woke exhausted and anxious.
George returned to his service of the poor and desperate. As usual for this time of year, the Mystic Divine was quiet. They kept only a skeleton staff in the store. They used the rest of their employees to help plan events for the next year or work on counting inventory. With Elizabeth back in front of her class, Sarah Wildes ran the planning sessions. Wilmot took care of the inventory. The store was a quiet hum of activity, none of which involved Em.
Em usually spent this week going to plays and eating amazing food with Sarah Good in New York City. This year, she couldn’t bring herself to leave her beautiful Boston. Instead, she used the time she had to clean out her life. Her friends clucked their tongues and told each other she was “nesting.” But Em’s reasoning was a little different. She didn’t want to leave a mess when the demons took her. Because George couldn’t care less about possessions, she made quick work of her office and his.
She was now spending her days going through the basement storage room. Sam Wardwell came by once a day to haul her junk to the dump. Alice ran lively eBay auctions of some of the treasures Em had uncovered. Margaret Scott helped Em to anonymously donate items of historic significance to Harvard or the University of Virginia. In the evenings, Em went from house to house, dropping off things she’d kept for each of the witches.
In her own way, Em was saying good-bye.
The end was coming. She could feel it in her bones. She wanted to make sure that these precious people knew that she loved them. They humored her and chalked her sentimentality up to the upcoming birth of her yet-unnamed son.
Denial is a wonderful thing.
The rumors of another snowstorm started midweek. It was winter in Boston. Of course, there was bound to be more snow. As the fear and threat grew in Em’s mind, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand.
A day or so later, the weather speculators began to suggest that the oncoming storm would be as big as the one in January. No one listened. After all, there hadn’t been a storm like the one in January in more than ten years. How could there possibly be another so soon? Em kept cleaning and organizing the storage room.
The snow began to fall on Saturday, and Em held her breath. She prayed that this storm wouldn’t be a replay of the last one. But there was no denying the malevolence of the building storm. The snow picked up speed and strength on Sunday.
Disheartened, Em kept to her apartment. When the electricity went out, she lit candles and hid. Near midnight, she took a long, hot shower. Shivering from the cold, she wrapped herself in a thick towel and grabbed her bathrobe. She made a turban around her wet hair and trotted out into her bedroom. She was almost to the bed when the bedroom door opened.
Giles walked into her bedroom.
“Giles!” Em said. “I just got out of the shower!”
“You’re very beautiful,” Giles said with a smile.
“What?”
“You always were my favorite wife,” Giles said.
“I heard that!” Bridget’s laughing voice came from her living room.
Giles turned toward the living room and then back to Em.
“Are you all right?” Em asked. She walked to him and looked in his eyes. “Have you been drinking? Are you feeling. . . confused again?”
Giles tipped his head back and laughed. Em stepped back from him.
“No, I’m not confused,” Giles said. “But I know why you’re asking.”
Em sat down on the bed.
“What’s going on?” Em asked.
“We’re all here,” Giles said. “It was Sarah, really. Sarah Good? She has friends at the National Weather Service. It seems like this is some kind of. . . snow hurricane. I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her. She told me, but. . .”
Giles shrugged.
“This thing — the snow hurricane — it’s very rare,” Giles said. “Very dangerous. It’s the kind of storm we sometimes see in the summer. A hurricane, you know.”
“But this is snow,” Em said.
Giles nodded.
“Sarah tried to get you, but she couldn’t find you,” Giles said. “She came to our house. Between the three of us, we compelled the others to come over.”
“George, too?” Em said.
“Good Lord, Em,” Giles said with a grin. “No one can compel that man to do anything.”
Nodding, Em laughed.
“I don’t know how you put up with him,” Giles said. “You should have stayed with me.”
“Don’t make me go in there!” Bridget yelled from the living room.
When Em laughed, Giles did too. He fell to his knees. Em jumped off the bed and went to him.
“I begged you once to help me,” Giles said as he looked up at her. “To be my wife, to care for me. I know the sacrifices you made for me, the sacrifices you’ve made for me all of these years.”
Tears fell down Giles Corey’s face.
“Will you forgive us for being stupid and selfish?” Giles asked. Em hesitated. “I’d like to say it was a spell, but it was mostly selfishness. We’ve fallen complacent in these easy and prosperous times.”
Em winced and closed her eyes. She crossed her arms over her heart.
“Will you save the world?” Giles asked.
“I don’t know if I can,” Em said with a shake of her head. “My father was unable to save his beloved London from plague and fire. I don’t know if I can save Boston.”
“Will you try?” Giles asked. Em opened her eyes. His face begged her.
“I might kill us all,” Em said.
“Then, let’s get on with it,” Martha Carrier said from the doorway.
Em looked up to see all of her witches, except George, standing in her living room.
“We’d rather die than see Boston destroyed,” Sarah Good said. “And I believe you. If Boston goes, the rest of the world will not be far behind.”
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“But each of you just told me that. . .” Em said.
“We were wrong, Em,” Alice said. “Can you forgive us?”
Em looked from face to face before giving a slight nod.
“Can I get dressed first?” Em asked.
They laughed.
“Get out of my bedroom,” Em said to Giles.
“We can’t find George,” Giles said.
“George,” Em said and clapped her hands.
“Yes?” George appeared next to their bed. He scowled at Giles. “Giles?”
He glanced at Em before realizing the other witches were standing in their apartment.
“Wha. . .?” George asked. He looked back at Em.
“They want to save the world,” Em said.
He nodded. Alice went to hug him. She put her arms around his neck and then screamed.
“My God, you stink,” Alice said.
“If I’m going to die tonight, I may as well die in my native state,” George said.
Everyone laughed. Em snapped her fingers, and she was dressed in her warmest clothing.
“Baseball field?” Giles asked. “On the Common?”
“I’ll meet you there,” Em said. “I need to set out a note for Shonelle. You know, in case we don’t get back.”
One at a time, the crowd began to thin. George and Bridget helped Giles get off his knees. Bridget kissed Em’s cheek before she and Giles disappeared.
“Go,” Em said to George. “The snow is dark and horrible. They will need your light.”
With a nod, George disappeared. Em retrieved the note she’d written for Shonelle. She set it on her kitchen counter. She grabbed her heaviest jacket and wrapped a scarf around her neck. With one last look at her home, she started out the door. She stopped short. Jogging back to the kitchen, she took a large plastic-lock bag out of the freezer. She tucked it into her heavy jacket and stepped across the threshold of the apartment. On the landing, she wished herself to the baseball field on the Boston Common.
The witches had formed a large circle. Their heads were bowed as they recited the Lord’s Prayer. Em went to George. She held him tight. In a story, George would have told her how much he loved her, and she would have given a long expository on how much he meant to her. They would clutch each other and curse their fate.
This was not a story.
She kissed his cheek and walked to the center of the circle.
“I will have you know that you are the very finest people I have ever known in my entire life,” Em said in a voice so that the witches could hear her. Margaret and Mary Eastey began to cry.
“Em!” Alice screamed and pointed up.
Looking up, Em watched as the dark swirl of clouds overhead transformed into the serpent she’d met on Rousay. The serpent moved in a slow circle until its head caught up with its tail.
Pop!
There was a loud snap when the serpent caught his tail. The witches gave startled screams. The store let loose. Snow fell with an increasing pitch. The wind whipped at them.
“Stay calm!” George yelled over the wind. “They’re trying to frighten us!”
The witches steadied themselves. The demons were now flying in a spiral formation, with the serpent as their boundary. They whipped the heavy snow clouds into a frenzy of snow and ice. Em could no longer see her beloved witches.
“Go on, Martha,” Giles yelled over the snow.
“We’re still here, Em,” George said. “We believe in you!”
“We love you, Em,” Alice said.
Em took a deep breath to gather her strength. She took another breath.
“I command my opposite to join me,” Em said. “Come with me, now, and we shall be as one.”
The air filled with the horrible pitch of the screaming, raging demon. Like a dark missile, the demon shot out of the sky. He dove into Em at the chest, streaking out of the sky as it streamed into her. Her body screamed with pain. Every cell in her body shrieked. When she was sure she could tolerate no more, the demon continued to pour into her heart, mind, and body, until, finally, there was nothing left of him.
There was a loud Snap! when the demon’s entirety had entered her body. Her body shuddered. Em looked up to see that the serpent had let go of his tail. She weaved and fell to her knees in the snow.
Thunk!
A loud sound echoed through the Common.
Woozy, Em threw up. Above her, the serpent let loose of his tail. The spiral of wind and snow slowed to a natural pitch. Em fell to her knees and threw up again.
“George! Alice!” She was unable to see them through the snow. “Giles! Anyone?”
Jumping to her feet, she ran to where they had been. She stopped short. The Salem Witches lay, as if dead, in the snow. She was nearest to Martha Carrier. She ripped off her glove and bent to her.
No pulse. Martha Carrier’s heart was not beating.
Jumping to her feet, she felt a wave of vertigo that knocked her back to her knees. She crawled to George. Her icy hand felt at his neck.
No pulse.
Em roared at the heavens. Her consciousness slipped. Forcing herself to focus, Em pulled out the plastic bag she’d retrieved from the freezer. Holding it before her eyes, she looked at the two shriveled, dried human hands in the bag.
She reached in and took one out.
“Ablaze!” Em whispered.
With what felt like her last bit of energy, she tossed it to the center of the circle. She repeated the process with the second hand. By some miracle, the second hand landed on top of the first. A bright flame grew out of the shriveled hands.
“Restore to life,” Em whispered.
She passed out.
Epilogue
Em drew the sea mist into her lungs. Scotland was always good for her soul. She looked down at the five-month-old baby asleep in the baby sling tied tight against her chest. Grinning, she picked up her bag and took a step off the Orkney Ferry and onto Rousay. She moved aside to avoid getting run over by the flow of people. She scanned the crowd waiting for the Ferry passengers. Her father waved from near the back. He jogged to her. When he hugged her, the baby awoke. He opened his dark eyes and looked up at Em. She smiled at him.
“When do the others arrive?” William asked.
“In an hour or so,” Em said looking at the North Sea. “We had to charter a car ferry. They only run in the summer.”
“They brought their vehicles?” William asked with a grin.
“We have infants and pregnant women and such,” Em said. “Renting cars was easier than lugging everything.”
“Of course,” William said. “And this George? Where might he be? Not still afraid of Scotland, is he?”
Em grinned at the menace in her father’s voice.
“He stayed to help the others,” Em said. “He wanted to give us some time.”
Em laughed at her father’s grunt of disapproval.
“I wanted a chance to speak to you before everyone arrived and the celebration began,” Em said.
Her father scanned her face and gave her a bright smile. He took her bag and nodded toward the car park.
“I have many. . . questions,” William said.
“Really?” Em asked. “I wrote everything down!”
“Yes, well. . .” William blushed.
“You didn’t read it,” Em said.
“I did read it,” William said. “Many times. I still have questions.”
“Like what?” Em asked in a frustrated voice.
He nodded to a Range Rover, and she followed him. He opened her door and helped her inside. He took the baby and settled him into a brand-new car seat hooked into the back seat of the vehicle. The boy looked at his grandfather and then fell asleep again.
“Is that a spell?” William asked.
“Because he’s sleeping?” Em asked. William nodded. “No, he’s a very calm baby. Nothing really fazes him. He likes to sleep this time of day. He’ll wake soon enough.”
“He’s very beauti
ful,” William said.
“He looks like George,” Em said.
“I was going to say that he looks like your mother,” William said with a grin.
Em smiled at him. She settled into her seat. She held her tongue, so that he could ask his questions in his own time. She watched the open fields set against the sparkling North Sea pass by her window. Her father pulled into the driveway of his cottage.
“Bernard Flett?” Em asked.
“He died right after your visit,” William said.
“Demons?” Em asked.
“Probably,” William said. “Would have been damned uncomfortable to move back in with him here. ‘I saw yer heed, sir.’ ‘It was an art installation, Mr. Flett.’ ‘Can’t fool an old aboriginal, William. You magicked it.’ I couldn’t really tell him that my daughter had integrated a demon and caused the return of all of our kind.”
“It’s a lot to take in,” Em said with a grin.
“It’s good to see you, Martha,” William said.
His eyes welled with tears. Rather than express what he was feeling, he jumped out of the truck. He’d retrieved her child from the car seat before she’d managed to unhook her safety belt. He nodded to her and marched into the cabin. She grabbed her bag and followed him. He settled the child into a brand-new bassinette and gestured for Em to have a seat near the fire. She watched the fire and waited while he puttered in the kitchen. He returned with two mugs of tea. She smiled her thanks and took a cup from him. He set his cup down and went to pick up the child.
“Do you mind?” William asked.
“Not at all,” Em said.
“I never thought. . .” William said. “He’s. . ..”
“Yes,” Em said.
“Did you ever talk to my opposite?” William asked to change the subject. “The one who shot you. This Bill Panon?”
“I couldn’t,” Em said. “He hung himself in his cell the very day I was supposed to speak with him.”
“You think the demons did that, too?” William asked.
Em nodded and drank her tea. He squinted and then looked away. He leaned forward to look at the child. Em smiled. Like everyone who’d met the child, her father was clearly in love with her son. It was wonderful to see. After a few moments, he looked up at her.
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