“Rosanna, you need to come with us.”
“She’s badly injured,” a female said. “You might need to pick her up and carry her.”
If I’d had the strength to turn and look, I would have. If I’d had the strength to crawl away, I would have.
But I didn’t.
“Come now,” he said again, more tenderly this time, and a pair of rough hands clutched my upper arms and dragged me behind the tree. He then slung me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, my head hanging limp against his back.
The girl who was with him tenderly brushed the hair from my eyes and cupped my dirty cheek. She looked about my age, no linen cap, her golden curls down and loose and dancing in the evening breeze. Her silver eyes were kind. “You’re safe now. They won’t hurt you ever again.”
I think I managed a thankful smile, the relief too much to bear.
As the boy jolted into motion toward the woods, the girl hurrying to his side. I looked back to the tree and the cart and the people. Their shock had morphed to panic. Some of them were fleeing to their homes. They still couldn’t find me…and apparently, couldn’t see this beast of a boy and his golden-haired friend.
We were invisible somehow.
But most importantly, I was safe.
Chapter Five
Alive
Hushed voices pulled me out of a slumber. Sometime between the Mountain Boy carrying me toward the wood line and ending up here—wherever here was—I must have passed out.
As I debated opening my eyes, I took a moment to assess things. Something soft and feathery was beneath me. A bed. Shuffling of feet across a wooden floor. Muffled coughing. Fingers pressing against my wrist.
“Think she’s okay?” someone asked. The girl with the blonde hair and silver eyes.
“She will be,” a woman answered next to me, the owner of the fingers. Her voice reminded me of Liza’s; soft and warm. “You two took a little too long to cut her down, but she’ll heal fast enough.”
Cut me down? No one had cut me down.
The memory of hanging limp from the noose flashed through my mind and I involuntarily swallowed over the bruised lump in my throat. A wave of white-hot pain shot down my sternum and up into my ears.
“See that?” a guy said, but not the Mountain Boy. “She made a face.”
The woman tsked. “You would too if you were hanging from a rope as long as she was.” A dainty hand grasped onto my arm. “Don’t wait that long again.”
Again?
Mountain Boy’s voice traveled across the room. “Sorry, Mable. They said it would be dusk, but it was earlier than that. We ran as fast as we could as soon as we heard them reading her sentence at the gallows.”
“Fine, fine.” She sighed. “All is well. She’s with us now.”
I’m with them. And alive. The thought should have been enough for me to catapult off the bed and hug these strangers for what they did, for saving me when nobody else would, but my body was already trying to drift off to sleep again. Part of me wanted to fight it…I had so many questions, but a bigger part of me just wanted to rest. Mable must have sensed it, because her hand moved from my arm to my forehead, brushing the sweat and matted hair away. “Let’s keep quiet now,” she said in a motherly way. “She needs her rest.”
***
The next time I woke was to the smell of something baking. No voices. No feet shuffling around.
Silence.
I was alone.
My sluggish eyelids pried open and I squinted as my eyes adjusted. The grey light of morning slanted in through the only window and covered me from chin to knees.
No pictures.
No other furniture.
Just me, the bed, and this window.
I managed to turn my head with a wince, the skin stretching painfully where the rope had burned my neck and I looked through the door to the parlor. Should I call out?
Maybe not. Better to check things out first.
Sure, these people had saved me and were seeing to my care, and because of that, I could only assume they were trustworthy. But I didn’t know them.
It took the better part of a minute to drag my legs over the edge of the bed and push myself into a seated position. The room tilted, then spun. I braced myself against the down mattress until it stopped. After a moment, I gathered up the nerve to stand.
At least everything seemed in working order. My heart was beating fast and strong. Every appendage was intact. If it just weren’t for this damned throat…and neck….
And my head. My temples were throbbing in tandem with my heartbeat.
A laugh through the window gave me pause. Raspy and strong. A guy.
Another laugh rolled in behind it. A girl.
Muffled talking. Neither voice I recognized, but they too seemed about my age.
When I awoke the first time, there had been four different voices. These two would make a total of six: one adult, five teenagers. How many people lived here?
The voices traveled farther away, feet crunching over leaves, silence taking their place…save the occasional bird song. We must have been deep in the woods.
Time to check out the rest of the house.
Carefully, I stood, assessing how my legs were. Tired, but mostly okay. A tad wobbly.
In the shared living area, there were two benches and several rocking chairs in front of a wood-burning stove, and beyond them, a well-used rectangle table hugged the length the wall. Eight short stools hid beneath. Above the table hung shelves and shelves of dishes, and the wash bins for cleaning them by the front door.
I stepped toward the wood-burning stove. Judging by the smell, whatever was baking had been doing so for some time. A meat pie, maybe? Almost ready.
My stomach rolled with hunger at the thought.
I inhaled to test the air. No…a fruit pie or pastries of some sort. Another step, and the wood beneath my feet groaned in protest.
I froze. Listened.
Nothing.
I was definitely alone. To my left was another bed chamber and as best I could tell, it housed a row of neatly made beds against one wall; same for the other wall. The bed I’d been in must have been Mable’s, and the rest belonged to the kids my age.
Biting my lips together, I took it all in. A house made for multiple kids, hidden in the woods. Wasn’t there a fairytale about that? A house made to lure in kids so the witch could eat them? Except, ironically, I was the witch in the scenario.
I huffed a laugh, my throat spasming, and I grimaced.
I scanned the room for a mirror.
No mirror.
Better that way. Surely, my neck was horribly bruised and my eyes were bloodshot from all the burst vessels. Not to mention, I hadn’t bathed or combed my hair since the day the men with lanterns took me.
Ugh. And to think, everyone had seen me in such a state.
When I turned back for Mable’s bed chamber, the voices outside were audible again. Probably coming back to check on whatever was baking.
I ran as fast as my tired legs would allow and slid into bed, not quite ready to meet all of them yet. I would listen to them a bit longer before I decided to stick around. This wasn’t a prison cell, after all.
At least not that I knew of.
Chapter Six
Dare to Hope
Mable and the others seemed happy. I listened as they ate breakfast (torture when you’re hungry), played a game, ate lunch (torture when you’re ravenous), Mable read a book aloud, and then they all went to bed after having meat pie and Mountain Boy sang a song. From what I gathered, the teenagers were from different towns—two from Salem, one from Williamsburg, the two others from cities I’d never heard of. A collection of adopted kids.
We already had something in common.
And Mable? She seemed ever-kind. Ever-patient. Encouraging. Motherly.
I wouldn’t leave them just yet.
When the house settled into quiet (minus a stray snore or rumpling of covers), I gingerly
slid from the bed, allowed my swirling head to adjust. I stood just as carefully. Maybe there was some food left. I was ready to gnaw off my fist at this point.
When I made it to the doorway, a figure in one of the rocking chairs made me pause. I took a step back toward the bed.
“It’s all right, child,” the figure said, not looking up from her book. Mable. She was reading by candlelight. “Come.” She glanced up at me. A slight nod toward the adjacent rocking chair. “Share the warmth of the stove and get something in your belly.”
I didn’t argue.
“You must be famished,” she said to the pages. Her feet pushed from the floor so she could rock.
I was famished.
As I approached, she produced a plate of untouched food from beside her, like she’d been waiting for me.
“I stayed up waiting for you,” she said, echoing my thoughts. “I saw you this morning.” Her eyes stayed glued to me this time as I settled into the chair beside her.
It was all I could do not to snatch the plate from her, but Liza had taught me better than that. As soon as the plate and fork were in my grasp, I started eating, not caring that she saw me snooping around this morning. How my bladder ached to use the bathroom. How I almost died yesterday.
All that mattered was this warm slice of meat pie, no matter the agony every time I swallowed.
“You were looking through the house,” she continued.
I nodded. Shoveled. Yes, I was.
She chuckled. “And then ran back to the bedroom when you heard Mary and Joshua coming.”
Caught me. To acknowledge what she was saying, I offered a sheepish grin, my cheeks flaming. Shoveled another bite.
“I was outside the kitchen window there,” she said, and pointed toward the window over the wash bins. “And watched as you checked things out.”
It then struck me I should say something, so after I gingerly swallowed my next bite, I said, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have been—” I involuntarily grasped at my neck. My voice was so hoarse it sounded foreign. I hadn’t talked since…well, since before I was hanged.
She assumed my words had paused because I was embarrassed. “No, no,” she tsked, her lips spreading into a kind smile. “No need for apologies. You were curious about your new home.”
New home.
The idea seemed strange, but somewhere within the strangeness was something that felt a little like hope.
Easing her book closed, she reclined into her rocking chair and folded her hands against her flat stomach. It was then, as the mood around us relaxed and my pie was gone, I took a good look at her. Red hair pulled into a tight bun. Fair skin. It was hard to tell in the candlelight, but I think her eyes were brown. Pinched nose. Slender neck and…well, everything.
Beautiful. Or maybe lovely was a better word.
She was lovely.
In my mind, when all I knew was her voice, I pictured a round woman with a soft lap. Brown hair. Dimples. Completely different than the redhaired woman beside me.
Voices don’t always match looks, though. One of the burliest men in town had a high-pitched one.
“I suppose you have a whole list of questions for me,” she said, and when she noticed my plate was empty, she held out her hand to take it. “More?”
I debated playing coy, so I didn’t make a pig of myself but I nodded my assent anyway. I was basically making up for three missed meals. Four, if you counted missing dinner last night because I’d been sentenced to death and all.
With my plate in hand, she made her way to the table against the far wall and flipped another piece of pie onto it. While her back was turned, I eyed the book she’d placed on the small table beside her chair. In the wild flickers of candlelight, all I could make of the title was something about conjurings. Spells.
“To give you the short of it, you’re a witch. We’re all witches, and we travel to nearby cities to save other witches from persecution.” A wink as she traveled back with my second serving. “You were one of the lucky ones.”
To say the least.
“Some decide to travel off on their own in search of a new life in a new town, but some stay.” She offered a kind smile as she handed my plate over. Her rocking chair gave a gentle groan as she settled into it. “I do hope you decide to stay with us.”
Instinctually, I wanted to nod and tell her what she wanted to hear, but I couldn’t bring myself to. Yes, it was a fantastic offer but I still didn’t know them all that well. All I could do was blink at her.
She nodded toward my plate. Eat.
Back to shoveling.
“How we save our kind is nothing short of…well…” She smiled again. “Magic.”
“Like when everyone thought I disappeared?” I cringed at my rudeness. Liza would have paddled me for talking with my mouth full.
Mable gracefully ignored it. “Precisely. Elizabeth and Roman spoke the cloaking spell over you before they cut you down. It makes you invisible.”
The blonde girl and Mountain Boy.
I wanted to ask more, like where they were when they spoke the spell. Surely, they were cloaked too. Behind the tree, maybe? They had to have been. And how did they know I was sentenced to hang? But all my questions seemed to jam together.
“There’s time to learn how we do it all,” she said sweetly, clutching my forearm. She must have sensed I was starting to get overwhelmed. “Just know you’re safe for as long as you wish to stay.” She squeezed for emphasis. “There’s also a cloaking spell over our home. No one will find us here.”
My shoulders relaxed at the thought. No Witch Hunters with lanterns or torches could find me here, the witch who’d disappeared at the gallows.
And for the first time in over a week, I felt like I could dare to hope for a safe, happy life again.
Except, one thing was missing; a big, black-haired, blue-eyed thing. One of the many things that had once brought me joy. Jacob.
Suddenly, after a day’s worth of hunger, the half-eaten pie didn’t seem so palatable anymore.
I placed it on the table in front of us.
“You must be thirsty after all that pie,” she surmised, and handed over a glass of water from the table beside her.
While I gulped it down, she stood, clutching her book against her chest and nodded her goodbye. “I’m off to bed now. We’ll introduce you to the rest of your new family in the morning.”
Numbly, I lowered the glass until it met my leg and said, “Goodnight, Mable.” We’d see about the ‘new family’ part.
“If you have needs to tend to,” she said, turning for the room with the others. “The privy is the small building to the left of our home.” She was letting me sleep in her bed again tonight. “See you in the morning.”
Chapter Seven
Terrible Nightmare
My privy trip by candlelight was short and sweet. I did need to pee (was bursting, actually), but after the pie, exhaustion hit hard and all I wanted to do was get back into bed. Mable’s bed. Another good night’s sleep would do me well.
On my way there, I passed a bookshelf outside her room and ran my fingers over the spines. They stopped on the roughest one, worn and tattered from years of reading.
I slid the book out and held it close to the flame. Spells of the Divine.
Hugging it to me, I hurried to lie down so I could read myself to sleep. Learning more about what we were capable of was an exciting notion…now that I was free to use my powers, as opposed to hiding them.
Imagine! A world where such things were celebrated instead of shunned. Punished.
I thrilled at the thought.
After placing the candle on the windowsill, I settled in and cracked open the book. Flitted through the pages. I stopped on something I recognized—the cloaking spell. It was in Latin:
Me custodire. Custodi me latet. Nolo videndum. Sed cum rursus repetere hoc incantatores, donec loquar eis iterum demonstrare vera sui.
I read it a couple times, not really understanding, then wh
ispered the words as if it would help. The text on the pages blurred together and I blinked to somehow make them clear again.
Ugh.
My eyelids were rebelling against me, aching to slam shut.
Without bothering to blow the candle out, I closed the book and pushed it beneath the covers.
I was out in minutes.
***
The echo of a voice made me stir, partially rousing me from sleep.
No. This was heavier than sleep. I was somewhere deeper, my head foggier, like someone had stuffed me full of cotton. A buzzing sensation lingered around the edges.
Jacob. He was calling for me.
His voice had reached inside and found me in this…whatever this was. A dream. I was so exhausted I’d ventured into some deeper level of unconsciousness, and I missed him so wholly, so achingly, I was dreaming he was calling for me.
A hand urgently patted my cheek. “Rose,” Dream Jacob said. His voice was distorted, like we were under water. “Rose, my love.”
That was when I felt it. My neck and shoulders ached, a rough, unforgiving thing pressing against my back. Like a prisoner, my arms had been pulled back and bound with rope.
A tree. I’d been tied to a tree.
My heart kicked, then banged around in my chest like it wanted to go faster, but something was subduing it. My eyes struggled to open, and my blurry Dream Jacob faded in and out of focus. He smiled his heart-melting smile. “Rose. You’re safe now.”
Safe? Safe from what?
I attempted to look past him, but I only caught a glimpse of more teenagers tied to trees and a woman lying face down in the dirt before he nudged my chin to focus on his smile again. “Don’t look,” he whispered, then pressed his forehead against mine. The warmth of his breath and his skin made me shiver. “Close your eyes.”
I didn’t argue. What a strange dream this was…
Suddenly, his warmth was gone. Shifting feet. The cold bite of metal against my wrist, a yank, and the ropes binding me to the tree fell away.
A Cursed All Hallows' Eve Page 117