Chain of Souls (Salem VI)

by Heath, Jack

  Lisa smiled. "You don't think it was you because I'm sure you weren't trying to do anything other than survive and maybe save some lives."

  "I wasn't doing magic," John insisted, his voice rising. "Something came into me."

  Lisa held up her hands in a calming motion. "The only way another spirit could invest itself in you is when you have the ability to allow that to happen. Most people are totally unaware of other spirits. They go through their whole lives never even sensing other presences around them."

  "You have to understand something," John shot back. "I wasn't trying to sense anything. I hadn't ever sensed any spirits, but then Rebecca Nurse showed up about a week before Halloween."

  "You'd never sensed another spirit?"

  John screwed up his mouth, recalling the time years earlier when there had been a dorm fire, and something, some voice, had awakened him and saved his life and those of his roommates. "Maybe one other time," he admitted. "But it was years ago. Since then, I hadn't ever thought about spirits. I certainly hadn't been thinking about letting Rebecca Nurse come into me, and I wasn't thinking about any of those other spirits, either." He finished his mug of coffee then grabbed the pot and poured more into all three mugs.

  "John," Amy said softly, "stop trying so hard to object. Lisa's trying to tell you that it's possible to do magic without even realizing it. We know you didn't try to do anything that night. That's the whole point."

  John looked back and forth between them then pulled out a stool and sat heavily. For the second time that night he felt like he had a five-hundred-pound weight on his back. "What if I don't want to be magic."

  "I'm afraid there's not much you can do about it. It's like wishing you weren't tall," Lisa said. "I will tell you that all the witches I know would kill to have your power."

  "They can have it."

  "No, they can't, and that's the point. That's why I came here. I need to make you believe me." Lisa's eyes tightened and she gave him a hard look. "Are you committed to fighting the Satanists?"

  John nodded without needing to give it any thought. "Yes. They have my daughter."

  Lisa nodded. "I know."

  John glanced at Amy again, but she shook her head. "How do you know?"

  "I felt it." She waited a second, but he didn't offer any objection. "Do you have any idea how you're going to fight them?"

  John let out a heavy sigh. "No."

  "I thought not. You need to prepare. Faust would have had you go straight over to England and confront Jessica Lodge, and that would have cost you your life."

  John raised his eyebrows. "She's an old lady."

  "Your eyes fool you. She's far, far more powerful than you could possibly suspect. You need to prepare yourself to confront her."

  "How? Do I need to do pushups?"

  "John," Amy chided. "She's trying to help."

  John shook his head. "Sorry. This stuff gets under my skin. How do I prepare?"

  "You need to fly to Warsaw and from there to Krakow."

  John looked at her in disbelief. "Poland?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  WHEN LISA GILES LEFT THE HOUSE, JOHN WALKED her to the door and then watched as she made her way across the street to a parked car. Halfway expecting to see Father Faust jump out from behind a tree and start shooting, John was relieved to see that as Giles approached the car she wasn't alone. Someone was behind the wheel, and as Lisa approached they started the engine and the car pulled away from the curb to wait for her. Lisa climbed into the passenger seat, and the car with the unknown driver made a quick U-turn and drove away.

  As John turned to go back inside, he could not shake the feeling he was being watched. He looked around the street at the empty sidewalk and the few cars parked along the curb, he could see no one. Finally, he gave a shrug, headed inside, and double-locked the door.

  When he turned Amy was standing in the hallway behind him. He looked at her for a long time. Part of him was hurt and angry that she'd been holding back important information, but the other part grudgingly understood.

  "Truth time," he said.

  She nodded.

  "Have you been with me because you really wanted to be with me, or have you been here because you're on some kind of undercover assignment for the Wiccans?"

  Amy took a deep breath and let it out slowly before she started to answer. "That answer is complicated," she said. "I first came to the paper because I needed a job but also because a Wiccan friend called me and told me there was an opening at the paper."

  John felt the world starting to crumble around him. "And they told you that because?" he asked, trying to keep voice from betraying the pain he felt.

  "They were concerned you might need protection."

  "From the Coven?"

  She nodded.

  "And you would protect me how?"

  "When I came to work for you I told you I'd moved back East because I had gotten divorced and wanted a change of scenery."

  "Yeah, that is what you said."

  "Well, that part was true, but I also told you I'd been in the newspaper business. That part wasn't true. I had a friend supply you with a false employment history. I never worked for his paper."

  John felt his face coloring as his anger started to surge. "So," he said, his voice a rasp, "who did you work for?"

  "The FBI."

  "You were an agent?" She nodded.

  "Which is where you learned the knife trick?" She shrugged. "I improvised on that one."

  "Well, you improvised very well."

  "And why did your friend go to so much trouble to give you a fake history? Was it your tremendous desire to learn the craft of journalism? Or was it something to do with becoming my babysitter?"

  Amy closed her eyes and shook her head. "At first it seemed like a good thing to do because a group of people I respect thought you might need help."

  John shook his head in disbelief. "Why didn't they just come to me?"

  "Would you have believed Lisa if she'd come to your door? 'Hi, I'm a local Wiccan leader, and I'm here to tell you that the members of a group known as the Salem Coven are Devil worshipers and they've been operating in Salem for over three hundred years. And oh, by the way, they killed your wife and will almost certainly make another attempt on your life because they fear you may have secret spiritual powers.'"

  "But you've been working at the paper for years now. What made you stick around?"

  Amy gave him a bittersweet smile. "Two reasons. One, I really developed a liking for it."

  John waited. "And?" he said after nearly a minute had gone by.

  "And you, stupid. I wanted to be with you, and I didn't care about the assignment any more. Well, actually I care about it a lot because I want to keep you alive, but the assignment isn't why I'm here—not any more." Amy ran her hands through her hair. "Look I'm sorry I didn't tell you any of this earlier, but I didn't know how to start the conversation. If you don't want to have any more to do with me, I understand."

  John took all that in and let it settle. Finally, when he trusted his voice again, he nodded. "Well, it would be a shame to send you away so that you couldn't protect your little editor man."

  Amy screwed up her face in a wry smile. "Do I have to remind you that when push came to shove, it was you who rescued me?"

  John stepped toward her and took her in his arms. "You know as well as I do I wasn't trying to be some kind of hero that night. I just wanted to get you out of there and make sure you were okay."

  "You came down into the catacombs to find me. Most people would call that heroic, but you can call it whatever you want."

  John smiled, but then his smile disappeared and he became coldly serious. "You have to understand this magic stuff is very hard for me to deal with. I don't want any part of it."

  Amy ran a hand through his hair and used a thumb to smooth his wrinkled brow. "I know, but it may be the only thing that will help you get Sarah back."

  "You really believe that, don't you?"r />
  She nodded.

  He took a deep breath and tried to steel himself for what he had to do. "Okay," he said after a few seconds. "Let's get going. We need to get into work. We have one paper to bury and another one to birth, and I have to write my farewell editorial."

  "We also need to make some airline reservations."

  "We?"

  "I'm coming with you."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE REST OF THE DAY AT THE PAPER WAS exhausting and emotionally difficult, but for John the silver lining was that for several hours it allowed him to forget about Sarah's abduction, the Salem Coven, Jessica Lodge, and Father Faust. He spent most of the afternoon writing his farewell editorial, in which he recounted many of the events that had shaped the city of Salem over the years he'd served as executive editor.

  He also took the opportunity to inform his readers of the launching of the Salem Observer, telling them that everyone who was a subscriber to the Salem News would receive a free two-week subscription to the new paper beginning Monday.

  With his part of the final edition basically put to bed, John went out into the newsroom to meet with Amy, Jack, Lucinda, Jackie, and Tim to make sure that they had everything lined up for Monday's edition. Lucinda assured him the delivery people were all lined up to make sure that the new paper would be on the exact same doorsteps the Salem News had been going to.

  Amy had copied all the subscription records so that names and addresses were all in a computer file that would be transferred to the new paper. Jackie McKinney said the first week's ad sales had been extremely encouraging. Apparently, every business in town saw the value in a local daily paper and wanted to help support the effort. Amy also explained how the new printing contract worked and how and at what time the electronic files needed to be over to assure prompt response.

  Jack Daniels gave John a rueful smile and shook his head. "I can't believe we're actually doing this. I mean, I can't believe I'm actually leaving money on the table and signing up to work for an incompetent sonofabitch editor like you."

  "I certainly feel the same about you," John said. "It's hard to find somebody whose dependability is so low you're actually surprised when they show up for work."

  Jack smiled happily. "I always bring that elusive je ne sais quoi to every situation."

  "Is je ne sais quoi what you call a bucket full of crap in Ireland?" Hagstrom grumbled.

  "His parents didn't have any money, so that's what they fed him for dinner every night when he was a kid," Monahan added. "He can't help himself. Bullshit is his core. If the doctors cut him open, that's all they'd find."

  "And a very high-quality load of bullshit it would be, I tell you," said Daniels.

  "The other thing I've got to tell you is you're going to have to get the paper off the ground without me. We're going overseas tomorrow. I don't know how long we'll be gone."

  "Amy's going with you?" Lucinda Jenkins asked.

  Was John wrong or did he see the beginning of a smile at the corners of Lucinda's mouth? Feeling his cheeks start to redden, he said, "Yes," in as brusque a voice as he could manage.

  "Don't mean to pry," Jackie McKinney said in a gentle voice, "but does this relate to Sarah in any way?"

  John hesitated, and then he nodded. "I hope so."

  "We wish you luck, and don't worry about the paper. We'll get it out just fine."

  "Actually, without you around to screw things up, we'll probably win a Pulitzer," Jack Daniels said.

  "Thanks for the good thoughts, Jack. I hope you don't fall down and break a leg on your way to the bar."

  Jack smiled. "Liquor makes the joints extra loose. We may fall down, but we don't hurt ourselves."

  Lucinda groaned. "I can't take any more. I'm going back to work."

  "A first for the week," Jack said.

  "I'll get the first couple editorials written today before I leave," John offered. "And I can send others in electronically, if necessary."

  "Don't worry about the paper," Hagstrom assured him. "We'll get it out, and we'll keep Daniels in line."

  John stood up and walked back into his office, grateful for the distraction from all his other troubles. Over the next several hours, he wrote four editorials, the first one outlining the new Salem Observer's goals and how they'd be very similar to the defunct Salem News. The next three editorials dealt with the importance of a daily newspaper to the fabric of a community; the importance of printing the truth about the community, even though that truth was sometimes unpleasant or hard to swallow; and finally one that talked about the nine people who comprised the new owners and staff of the Salem Observer, giving special visibility to the people who at any paper were normally invisible, the people without mastheads, namely Lucinda, Tim, and Bert.

  Finally, he made reservations for himself and Amy on the next evening's Lufthansa flight from Boston to Warsaw, Poland, with a stop in Munich. From Warsaw they would connected to the fifty-minute flight to Krakow on LOT. He waved to Amy through the glass walls of his office and when she stepped inside, he showed her the reservation.

  "What do we do when we get to Krakow?" he asked.

  "I'll call Lisa and tell her what we're doing and get instructions."

  "Instructions?" John repeated, bridling. "I'll work with Lisa Giles, but I won't take orders from her."

  Amy left the office and came back a few moments later. "Lisa suggests you make a reservation at the Hotel Wentzl in Krakow, and someone will contact us."

  John closed his eyes and shook his head. "Are you sure this makes sense?"

  Amy nodded. "I really am."

  "Okay," John grumbled as he turned back to his computer. "I'll make the reservation."

  Shortly after he finished making the reservation, he received a phone call from Chester Cabot, Jessica Lodge's lawyer. "Mr. Andrews," Cabot began. "I just wanted to make sure you and your staff would vacate the newspaper offices no later than five thirty this evening. At that point the doors will be locked and any personal belongings left in the newspaper offices will be forfeit."

  "We'll leave tonight when we're good and ready," John shot back. "And if you or any of your goons come in here and try to lock the place before everyone has gotten their stuff out in their own good time, I will personally separate your balls from your scrawny body. Do we understand each other, Cabot?"

  "Five thirty, Andrews. Don't push it." Chester Cabot hung up.

  By five o'clock that afternoon, they had the final edition of the paper put to bed, and John had finished polishing his first four editorials for the new paper in addition to his farewell for the Salem News. Out in the newsroom, the atmosphere was getting emotional as people finished packing up their personal items and getting ready to leave for the last time. Several people, including Lucinda, were dabbing their eyes with tissues as they hugged and reminisced with the others on the staff about all the years they had worked together.

  The nine people who would make up the initial staff of the Salem Observer were all moving with greater purpose because they all knew what they were going to be doing on Monday morning, but the other thirty-three employees of the old Salem News stood in small groups, looking lost and forlorn. John had finished packing up his desk. He walked out of his office at exactly five after five and called out, "My final order is that every single person report to The Old Spot as soon as you carry your stuff out to your car."

  He waited as everyone carried boxes of photos and notepads and whatever else to their cars. He and Amy did the same thing, taking their boxes to his car. Afterward, everyone returned to the newsroom and stood in a group looking at him. He could see the tears in almost every eye as he made eye contact with each person. John looked around, taking in the walls, the silence, and the sadness of the empty desks. He opened his mouth, intending to tell them how proud he was of each and every person who'd worked for the paper, how they'd each done an outstanding job, and how as a team they'd combined their strengths to put out a truly excellent paper, day after day,
year after year.

  He tried to get the words out but felt his throat close up. He took three slow breaths, trying each time to get control, and finally all he could croak out was, "Let's go get a drink."

  They walked out of the offices in a single group. John went last. He cleaned out the petty cash drawer and stuffed the money in his pocket, and then, not bothering to turn off the lights or lock the door, he left. He was sure Chester Cabot would be there not a second later than five thirty to lock it for him. If Cabot didn't show up and the place got robbed or burned down, he couldn't have cared less.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  THE OLD SPOT WAS CROWDED, AND WHEN PEOPLE heard why the entire staff of the paper had come en masse, a few phone calls went out and others started showing up, buying drinks for the staff, one round after another. Predictably, Jack Daniels led the group onward, drinking more than anyone else and loudly declaiming they were there to participate in a wake, mourning the death of the Salem News. The group, joined by others in the bar and friends who wandered in to join them, proceeded to lurch between tears and hilarity as they told war stories about their years working at the Salem News.

  When he had finally drunk himself into a fair state of inebriation, Daniels raised his glass at the start of a fresh round and in a sonorous voice said, "May Jessica Lodge's saggy old tits rot off in hell."

  People hesitated for a moment, and then they all raised their glasses. "Here, here," they chorused.

  Warmed by several rounds of drinks, John looked around at his old staff as he raised his glass, wondering how many of them could possibly be members of the Coven. Was it one or two? More? Had Jack Daniels just put his own life in danger by making that toast? John shook his head, hating the paranoia and suspicion that were increasingly guiding his perception of the people around him, but hating even more the knowledge that the people of Salem had held deep and evil secrets for over three hundred years and that for most of that time those secrets had managed to remain buried.