Magic & Mayhem

by Susan Conley

  “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Lucky is working hard to get to the bottom of this.”

  “I’m sure he is.” Abby debated its relevance, but decided to tell Jack about the conversation she and Maxine had at Starbucks. “Did you know Maxine asked me out for coffee?”

  “Maxine doesn’t do coffee. And what’s that got to do with any of this?”

  “Maybe something. Maybe nothing,” Abby told him. “And by the way, she does do coffee. She wanted to talk to me. To tell me to watch out for Bridget.”

  “She what?”

  “Maxine warned me about Bridget.”

  Jack thought a moment. “Well, she’s never made her dislike of Bridget any secret. But why would she involve a total stranger? No offense.”

  “None taken,” Abby assured him. “She apparently did feel a need to discuss her concerns with me. But as far as the rest goes, she didn’t admit to anything else like the dreams we’ve been experiencing. Or past lives.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted.

  “Okay, Jack,” she said matter-of-factly. “Whether or not Maxine is in or out, I really need to know what the hell’s going on here. Is this some kind of reincarnation-thing we’re experiencing? Do you even believe in that?”

  “Last week, I would have said ‘unequivocally no’.” Thoughtful, he bent both elbows and steepled his badly scraped fingers. “Today, I guess I would have to say … ‘yes’.”

  She watched the admission settle across his face but said nothing.

  “As a lawyer I deal in logic and facts. Yet, somehow the illogical and fictional have morphed into something that appears to be, at least on some level, believable.”

  “Believable and a whole lot creepy,” she added.

  “You’ve got that right.” He took a breath and his ribs reminded him of the fight all over again. He exhaled slowly. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t know where this is headed, but I think we need to stay the course.”

  “I agree.” Abby nodded. “For whatever reason we’re in this together, and we have to see it through — whatever that means.”

  He held her gaze. “So we’re good to go?”

  “Yes, I guess we are.” Abby sipped her coffee. “What about Maxine and Bridget? Do you think they’re involved — ” she fumbled for the right words “ — you know, like we are?”

  “Well, if we believe the journal, they are definitely in this with us.”

  “And do you believe the journal?” she asked.

  “What I can’t believe is that I’m saying this. But, I swear I remember writing in one.” He began ticking off points on his fingers. “One: we actually found it. Two: it referenced a chain of events we’ve both been dreaming about. And three: it named me, you, Maxine, and Bridget.” He shrugged. “What’s your take?”

  Trying not to focus on his raw knuckles, Abby chewed the inside of her cheek. “Okay. Let’s say you’re right. So, do you think Maxine and Bridget remember? Or even know about it?”

  Jack shook his head and again paid the price for the quick movement. “Beats the hell out of me.”

  “Too many coincidences.” Abby sighed.

  “I don’t — ”

  “I know. You don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “No, I don’t.” He finished his coffee and leaned back in the chair.

  “Well then, what about the amulet?” she asked. “We have to get it back, right?”

  “That goes without saying,” Jack insisted. “Until then, I can tell you one thing for sure.”

  Abby waited.

  “You’re safe here with me.”

  After tonight, she knew exactly how far he would go to protect her. “I know,” she whispered, touching his jaw. She turned her head and quickly wiped away the tears that spilled down her cheeks.

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Bridget purred, materializing from the shadows. Clucking her tongue, she observed, “My, my, Jack. I see you met Zeke.”

  “What the hell?” Jack started to stand, but felt Abby lay a hand on his shoulder. “How did you get in here?”

  Bridget smiled. “Oh, I have my ways, don’t I, Abigail?”

  Images of Abby’s seventeenth century life flashed through her mind like a biographical montage. Growing up in Salem. Falling in love with Jackson Hathorne. Secretly learning her craft. And her existence, with one common denominator, Bridget Bishop. “You’re the one behind all this, aren’t you?” Abby accused.

  “The bulb might be dim, but the light finally came on, didn’t it, Darling?” Bridget mocked.

  This time Jack stood.

  Abby grabbed his arm. “I can take care of Bridget,” she insisted. Blue eyes clashed with green in the firelight as the two women inched closer and faced off. Both wore long black dresses with flowing sleeves. One of Abby’s, however, was splotched with Jack’s blood. Their eerie shadows loomed on the walls behind them, dancing grotesquely in the candlelight as they confronted one another.

  “So, the mousy, Midwestern shopkeeper finally got a clue,” Bridget hissed. “A little slow these days, aren’t you, Abigail?”

  Abby gritted her teeth at Bridget’s insistent use of her given name. “What’s that old saying about revenge? It may have taken over three hundred years, but it tastes pretty sweet to me.”

  Jack felt like a damn burst as memories flooded his mind. However inconceivable, they had been memories just like Abby had suggested. He turned toward Bridget. “I remember you now. You were the one on Gallows Hill who pointed a finger at Abby. You caused her death.”

  “Save your closing arguments, Counselor,” Bridget ordered. “By the time I’m done with the two of you, she’ll be back where she belongs and you — well, I haven’t really decided about you yet. If you’re anything like that idiot I hired that botched things up tonight, well, My Dear, your chances don’t look too good either. I should have known not to send a man to do a woman’s job.”

  “Like hell,” he spat.

  While Bridget was momentarily preoccupied with Jack, Abby studied her eyes. Abby’s throat went dry as the pieces of the puzzle started falling into place. “Sasha.” It wasn’t a question.

  Abby and Jack exchanged looks.

  “And the maid?” he asked.

  Abby nodded. Two strangers with one thing in common. A violent reaction to her amulet. Not to mention the fact that they were both Bridget Bishop. Abby’s hand went to her throat.

  “What’s the matter, Abigail, did you lose your precious amulet?” Bridget laughed. “My, my. What will you do for protection?”

  Abby didn’t flinch. She racked her brain and scoured the recesses of her mind, searching for memories of The Craft. Concentrating, she stilled her senses and called on every ounce of strength to focus all her energy. The air around her stirred. Even though there were no windows open in the house, an unseen breeze billowed the curtains and teased the hem of her long, dark skirt.

  Jack’s gut knotted. Prodded by the need to do something — anything — he took a step forward and grabbed Bridget by the arm. “Get the hell out of here.”

  Bridget raised her hand and literally stopped him cold. “Poor Jackson,” she cooed, to his deathly still form. “You never did understand The Power, did you?”

  Jack’s feet were rooted to the floor. He couldn’t move a muscle. Arms helpless at his side, he struggled and strained but couldn’t as much as twitch.

  “Jack!” Abby ran to him but knew she was too late. She touched his arm — grateful, at least, to feel the warmth. “Leave him out of this,” she demanded, unwilling to filter the hatred from her voice. “This is between you and me.”

  “I don’t think so,” Bridget said matter-of-factly. “You see, Jackson, is most definitely part of the equation. He started out as our bone of contention, or h
ave you forgotten?”

  Abby’s eyes darted from Bridget’s evil gaze to Jack’s frozen figure. Memories of his proposal flashed through her mind like a pre-wedding album filled with color and joy. “We were to be married.” The words slipped from her lips like a prayer.

  “Kind of hard to do with a corpse for a bride though, wasn’t it?” Bridget’s laugh was shrill.

  “That’s why you accused me of witchcraft?” Abby charged. “To have Jackson?” Her voice sharpened with every detail that surfaced. She remembered Bridget’s obvious jealousy, but never suspected its depth.

  Recalling that glorious night on Gallows Hill, the crowd’s frenzy, Abigail’s lifeless body, Bridget’s mouth curled into a satisfying smile.

  “You set me up, but the one thing you didn’t count on was my last words,” Abby pointed out. When Bridget’s grin turned to a hate-filled hiss, Abby knew she’d hit her mark. “You didn’t, did you?” Remembering the words, she recited, “Protect my beloved ’til I return. Brand the hand of the one he spurned. Neither touch the stone nor cancel the spell, or the wicked one will burn in hell.”

  Bridget glanced down at her scorched palm.

  “I was not praying for my sacred soul like some frightened school girl,” Abby spat, pointing a finger in Bridget’s direction. The distance between them crackled as lightening split the sky. “I can’t believe with all your unholy powers that you didn’t know that I truly was a witch. So, before that noose took my life, I not only saved Jackson from you, I saved him for myself.”

  The air around them undulated like an unsettled graveyard mist. The candlelight swayed gently to some mystical, rhythmic beat. The night wind howled, scratching and clawing at the windows like something evil that is desperate to get in.

  “You’ll not save him tonight,” Bridget warned. She raised both arms and thunder rolled, rattling the windows. “You’ll never put the bits and pieces together in time to save yourself again. More importantly, this time all your power will be mine — ”

  “This will stop your negative behavior; replace the wicked with a positive favor. Let my magic open this gate, and release him now. This be his fate. As I will so mote it be.”

  Jack blinked. He bent both knees and rolled his shoulders. “What the hell happened?”

  Bridget was only slightly amused. “Looks like your little princess is turning back into a real witch after all.” With a flick of her hand, fire flew across the room and exploded into the hearth. “Don’t get caught in this crossfire, Jackson. I am warning you.”

  Abby planted both feet. “Don’t you threaten him.”

  At the tone of Abby’s voice, Shadow jumped from an end table onto Bridget’s back — exactly the distraction Abby needed. “Bridget Bishop, as the moon’s light fades to black, from my spell you cannot turn back, feel your life force drain and leave, to this man no more you’ll cleave. As I will so mote it be.”

  Bridget let out an eerie scream that dwindled into mad laughter. Fading from the room, she warned, “You underestimate me, Fool. Little do you know how I’ve turned the tables on you again.” Her ghostly apparition warned, “I’ll return before the morrow. Your life, your fate is one of sorrow. Sent back in time you will depart. And I will have your soul, your heart.”

  “Never!” Abby raised her arms and every candle around the room flared like a torch. The fire in the hearth flashed, rocketing sparks up the chimney. Outside, thunder rolled and lightening lit the sky.

  “Beware the witching hour,” Bridget hissed as she disappeared completely.

  All faded back to normal. The fire crackled warmly. The candles cast a romantic glow around the room. And Abby sat right where she had stood — in the middle of the floor.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Jack helped Abby to her feet and for a long while they just looked at one another.

  “First of all, I don’t even know what to say,” he admitted. “And secondly, trust me when I say I’m not in any way, shape or form trying to be funny. But I would guess that little production answers more than a few of our questions.”

  It was all Abby could do to nod her agreement.

  “Where in the hell did all that come from?” he asked.

  She gestured in frustration — elbows bent and palms up. “I honestly don’t know, and it’s really freaking me out. It’s like the words were coming out of my mouth, in my voice, but I have no idea why I said them. How would I know about spells? Where on earth did those fireworks come from?”

  “Well, don’t look at me,” Jack said. “Apparently Bridget was playing freeze tag, and I was it!”

  “This can’t be happening,” Abby insisted.

  “Well, it is.”

  She thought a moment. “Okay, then. Enough of Bridget. If it’s a yes for Bridget, I’m guessing it’s also a yes for Maxine, don’t you think?”

  He nodded. “Apparently Max helped me before. At least that’s what the journal indicated.”

  “My God, Jack, whatever’s going on, I’ve got to remember — ”

  “You will.” He pulled her close. “We both will.” Holding her for a moment, he checked the mantel clock — ten-oh-five. “The witching hour is midnight, right?” He felt her nod.

  Abby tilted her head back and looked at his handsome face in the firelight. “We were really … do you recall — ”

  “That other lifetime?” Jack met her gaze. “I do.”

  Understanding their unspoken vow, Abby replied, “I do, too.”

  “Everything happens for a reason.” Jack took her hand. “I became a lawyer in this lifetime to retrieve the amulet. To meet you again.”

  Abby nodded.

  “Do you believe the necklace means more? More than just our link?”

  “Yes,” Abby answered quickly. “I feel very strongly that I need it tonight, Jack. What are we going to do? We have to get it back.”

  He grabbed the phone, pounded out the familiar number and asked for Detective Venucci. “We need Abby’s necklace. Now.”

  “I’d love to help, but — ”

  “No buts,” he ordered through gritted teeth. “Listen carefully. I can’t explain, but trust me. This is a matter of life and death.”

  “Sounds like something the police should — ”

  “Dammit, Lucky, don’t play cop with me. I know the damned law.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Dead serious,” Jack barked. “Pull strings or call in a favor. Hell, break the law if you have to, but get the damned necklace from that bastard.”

  “Pick it up in twenty minutes.”

  Jack glanced at the clock — ten-fifteen.

  “Make it fifteen.” Jack knew he and Abby still needed to sort this through. “Can you bring it to us?”

  “Look, I’ll get this guy to hand it over. One way or another. But I’m tied up on a homicide.”

  “Never mind,” Jack insisted. A flash of Max snagging the necklace on Gallows’ Hill was instantaneous. “Just have it there, and I’ll send Maxine Spencer to pick it up. She’s my secretary.”

  Abby met his gaze and nodded. She felt certain Maxine would help him again.

  Without waiting for a response from Lucky, he cut the connection and hit speed dial. “Max, I need a favor.”

  Without hesitation she asked, “What?”

  “Go to the police station and pick up Abby’s amulet. We need it as soon as possible,” he instructed.

  “I’m on my way.”

  As his awareness grew, Jack added, “I’m not sure where we’ll be, so make sure you have your cell phone. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Will do.”

  Jack hung up and faced Abby.

  “She’s in,” Abby said. It wasn’t question. “Do you think Maxine understands she was and is a part of this?”


  “Maybe. I don’t know, but what I told her was right, wasn’t it? About the location. We may not be here.”

  She thought a moment then nodded. “I think we need to go to the cemetery. To Abigail’s grave.”

  He took her hand. “I think you’re right.”

  As they parked at the cemetery entrance, Jack checked the Jeep’s clock — 11:15. Flashlights in hand, they entered the graveyard, then stopped. The night was deadly still except for an occasional breeze that rustled through dried leaves. The sky was pitch black except for sprinkling of stars and the full moon.

  “Which way?” she asked. “Do you have any idea where she — I — was buried? Oh, God, Jack, this sounds ridiculous.”

  “I know.” He squeezed her hand. “But it’s either that, or we’re all suffering some kind of mass hysteria, which we’re not,” he added quickly as they walked. “Look, I have a logical mind that borders on anally retentive. I have been stringently trained in coherent, rational analysis. I deal in facts and concrete evidence. No one should be more skeptical than I.”

  “But you’re not,” she concluded.

  His tone softened. “No, I’m not.”

  Reassured, she asked, “Do you remember where Abigail Corey’s grave is?” However certain Jack seemed, she still refused to say my grave.

  Jack fanned his flashlight across the road and back again as they continued. “I’m not sure,” he began. “I do know this section of the cemetery is the oldest, so it stands to reason, you — she — is here.”

  Abby used her light to illuminate the row after row of ancient tombstones. “Oh,” escaped her lips.

  The mental flash Jack saw was fast. Kind of like a View-Master slide. “There was a tree close by,” he told her.

  “Would it still be there? Do trees even live that long?”

  Another snapshot developed in Jack’s mind. “Maybe not, but there was a huge rock. Big enough to resemble a stone bench.”

  “Like in the journal.” Her pulse quickened. Something about what Jack said felt right. She searched the nearby markers with her flashlight. No tree. No bench. Surely she, too, would feel some sense of location once they got close.