All Hallows Eve (New England Witch Chronicles Book 4)

by Chelsea Luna

  The Pastor held up the book. “There are three elements necessary for witchcraft. The Permission of God, the help of the Devil and a witch with evil intentions.”

  Well, that was a bunch of crock.

  I’d practiced magic many times without evil intentions (sure a few times I did, but the person on the other end deserved it). Second, I had absolutely zero help from the Devil or permission from God.

  This book was a hoax and over fifty thousand people were killed as a result of its nonsense. Was Henrich Kramer - the author of the book - a witch hunter or was the propaganda contained in the pages simply a medieval smear campaign to oppress women?

  Rain pounded the church’s roof. An angry dark sky peeked through the small window over the entrance. It looked more like nighttime than eight-thirty in the morning.

  “Do any of you know what these witches were convicted of? Their crimes? Go ahead and shout them out. Go on now!”

  “Murder.”

  “Adultery.”

  “Infanticide.”

  “Cannibalism.”

  “Casting evil spells.”

  “Doing the Devil’s work.”

  Hate snaked its way up and down the pews and through the church. Even now - hundreds of years later – a few acidic words from one man ignited the congregation into the equivalent of a medieval mob.

  Was everyone in here a Gamma member? Was that possible? Or were they just narrow minded people? They lapped up the Pastor’s words like a thirsty dog on a hot summer’s day.

  “That’s right - atrocious crimes. But don’t fret, the local heroes solved the problem. They went door to door to ensure the safety of the town from the evil that penetrated their villages.”

  The Pastor reminded me of William Van Curen, James’ father, and I instantly knew that this man, this Pastor, was the new Gamma leader. I couldn’t take much more of this.

  “They arrested those guilty of witchcraft and brought about swift justice.” Spit spewed from his lips.

  This Pastor was responsible for the bounty on James’ head. Responsible for sending Victor and other Gamma members to destroy my house. They beat my mother. Kidnapped James. Branded that repulsive symbol on his chest.

  This was the man who gave the order to kill James.

  Thunder boomed and the old stone church shook on its foundation. The crowd shifted uncomfortably in their pews. Bright flashes of white light from the lightning storm lit the dark church.

  “They taught the guilty witches a lesson until they confessed their sins.” The Pastor clenched the podium with both hands. “They hung them from the gallows and from the trees.”

  The wind roared against the window. The glass creaked under the mounting pressure.

  “Lex?” Peter nudged my side.

  “They burned the witches at the stake and sent them back to the fiery depths of Hell - where they belonged!”

  The double front doors blew open. Rain and wind funneled into the church and down the aisle. Pillared candles knocked over and the room went dark. The congregation screamed.

  “Settle down, settle down,” the Pastor said. “We’ve a bit of angry weather. That’s all.”

  “Angry weather, my ass,” I whispered. “I’ll show him evil intentions.”

  “Lex,” Peter whispered. “What are you doing?”

  “My top secret plan.”

  It wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind. I originally planned to turn on the overhead sprinklers and empty out the church, but after that sermon a little embellishment wouldn’t hurt. If the Pastor wanted fire and brimstone, I was going to deliver.

  Rainwater pooled down the aisle. The doors flapped wildly in the wind. Two parishioners attempted to close them. They lowered their heads and tried to walk forward, but the rain and wind pushed them back like they were in a hurricane.

  I clenched my fist.

  A surge of wind knocked them to the ground. The window shattered and glass rained down over the back pews. The overhead sprinklers poured water from the ceiling. The Pastor scurried out of the way right before the wooden cross crashed onto the podium. People cried out in the darkness.

  It was complete and utter chaos.

  And all my doing.

  “Peter, go,” I said. “To the back corner.”

  Peter slid out of the pew. The minute I stood up, the storm ceased. People ran for the front doors. I kept my eye on the Pastor. He made his way to the front, too. Everyone was worried that the old church was about to crumble.

  We ran in a low crouch to the back of the church. No one stopped us. My plan had worked. I pushed open the door and we entered the hallway.

  Peter laid his back against the closed door. “Jeez. I guess old white-hair’s sermon got to you.”

  “Sorry.”

  Peter shook the water out of his hair. “Hell hath no fury like a…and I’ll stop now.” He grinned.

  We walked down the hallway, careful not to look inside any of the offices. We had to get down to the crypt before the Pastor returned. It was probably already sunny outside.

  “May I help you?” A sweet voice asked from behind.

  I plastered a fake smile across my face and turned around. “Hello.”

  It was a young woman - college aged - with mousey brown hair and a plain face. She wore a pale peach dress with a matching cardigan buttoned all the way to the top. She extended her hand. “I’m Christine Babylon. Can I help you? You look lost. And wet. Crazy storm out there, huh?”

  I shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you. We’re going to pay our respects.” I pointed to the crypt door and purposely didn’t tell her our names. “Is that okay?”

  “Oh, yes, most definitely. I am sorry for your loss. A relative of yours?” She led us to the crypt door.

  “A second cousin.”

  “Oh my, I’m sorry. What was your cousin’s name? I’ll say a prayer for his or her soul.”

  I swallowed. There were dozens of crypts downstairs. Each room for a specific family. But, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember any of the names etched over the doorways, except for one.

  I paused a little too long.

  Christine’s smile faded.

  “Mr. Van Curen,” I said quietly. William and Jonah were downstairs in the crypt and they were the only names I could pull out of thin air.

  “Oh dear, Victor?”

  My face fell and it wasn’t an act. Victor’s body was in the crypt. I hadn’t expected that. Stupid, I know. He was a Van Curen. To be honest, I hadn’t thought about what would become of him after his death. I’d been trying to keep the memory of my dead stepfather out of my mind.

  My feelings for Victor were extremely mixed. I couldn’t explain it. I hated him with a blind passion for what he’d done to my family and me, but I’d lived with him for seventeen years. He’d provided for me and my mother. When I thought about his death, a small part of me mourned him. I hoped he finally found peace.

  Christine hugged me. She squeezed me tight. I blinked and was surprised to find a tear running down my face.

  “Victor was a dear, dear man.” Christine wiped my tear away with her knuckle.

  Peter shifted uncomfortably.

  “It’s a shame he was killed by one of those devils. Shame. He died for the cause. Here, I’m sorry. I’m keeping you. Let me get the door.”

  The smile froze on my face. The devil Christine was referring to was Ethan. Christine was a Gamma member.

  The heavy door squeaked open. Christine motioned with her hand like a game show model. She smiled a hundred watt smile. “May God’s light shine down upon you.”

  Peter led me down the stairs and Christine closed the door behind us.

  “They’re brainwashed,” I whispered. “Did you hear what she said? Did you see how she smiled?”

  “She’s as bat shit crazy as the rest of them.”

  The smooth cement stairs gradually changed to a dirty brown stone. The moldy, earthy smell permeated the air the further we descended. I unclenched my swea
ty hand from Peter’s and strung my arm through his, pulling him close. I needed his body heat next to me. Needed the solid comfort of him.

  Light bulbs encased in black wire cages lit the way. The walls were a porous stone, slick and glistening under the light. Damp heavy air filled my lungs. Once again, the crypt reminded me of the terrifying Paris Catacombs that ran for miles underneath the city.

  I squeezed my eyes shut.

  We reached the large rectangular room at the bottom of the stairs. The ceiling was low and Peter had to bend his head. The damp muddy stone lined the walls, floor and ceiling.

  “Hazel Cove Cemetery is looking pretty good to me right now.” Peter glanced around.

  I released the breath that I didn’t know I was holding. I yanked Peter to me and kissed him on the lips. It was a soft gentle kiss, but long and thorough.

  “That was nice.” Peter kissed me again. “Horrible ambiance. Terrific kiss.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “I’m glad you’re here with me,” I said.

  I led him down the hallway. The floor sloped downward. The further we descended, the smaller the hallway became. Peter was practically bent at the hip. We couldn’t walk side by side - there wasn’t enough room - but we never let go of each other’s hand.

  Waves of claustrophobia rose inside of me, but having Peter with me strengthened my resolve. I was about to obtain the receptacle. We’d searched for months and, now, I was minutes away from holding it.

  We passed a dozen stone archways that opened into different family crypts. This time I read the names over the entrances. Gray. Murray. Sexton. Alistair. Henries.

  Van Curen.

  The crypt was larger than the hallway and, as soon as we entered, I could breathe again. Peter rubbed the back of his neck. He stretched and whistled. “There are a lot of dead hunters in here.”

  The crypt was full of elaborate sarcophaguses. Coffins lined every single wall, except for the lone wall marked by squared nameplates. In the center of the Van Curen crypt was a marble table filled with dried flowers and candles. An elaborate stainless steel urn sat in the middle of the table.

  My heart dropped.

  Two “V’s were inscribed in the two foot tall urn. I walked around to get the full view. His name was written on the opposite side. Victor Van Curen.

  “They cremated him,” I said softly.

  Peter placed his hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Lex.”

  I don’t know why seeing the urn had such a profound effect on me. He was dead. I knew that. What did it matter that he’d been cremated? I shook my head and turned around. I didn’t want to look at it anymore. The sleek steel. The elegant curve of the letters.

  “Jonah’s coffin was over there.” I scratched underneath my wig and led Peter to the marble sarcophagus in the back of the room. Carved roses and angels decorated the immaculate piece of white stone.

  Peter crossed his arms over his chest. “You and James broke into this coffin?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t let him look inside.” I felt guilty just thinking about it.

  “I must really love you.”

  I smiled. “Why’s that?”

  “Because I didn’t even bat an eyelash when you asked me to break into a man’s coffin.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.” Peter pushed up his sleeves and placed his hands on the thick stone ledge that connected the top and bottom of the sarcophagus.

  I cracked my knuckles and took my place beside Peter.

  “Lex, what are you doing?”

  “Huh?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m helping you push the lid off this coffin.”

  “Please.” Peter detached my hands from the stone and placed them by my sides. “I don’t need help.”

  “It’s heavy.”

  “Did Lover Boy tell you that?” Peter winked. He checked his footing and then pushed.

  The thick marble top slid easily to the side, leaving a bigger space than before. Peter didn’t grunt. He didn’t break a sweat. I was impressed, until he jumped back three feet.

  He smashed the crook of his arm to his face.

  It took a second for the smell to reach me. The memory of the stench of a decomposed body didn’t do my brain justice. It was worse. Much worse than I’d remembered.

  Peter took a few tentative steps forward, his arm still pressed over his nose. I shook my head and pushed him back. He didn’t need to do this. He’d done his job. I lifted my shirt over my nose and approached the open coffin.

  The smell was unbearable - it permeated the entire crypt - even through my thick sweater. I tried to breathe through my mouth, but it was useless. I could see the shape of Jonah’s body, but I didn’t make direct eye contact. I didn’t need the visual. I closed my eyes to steel myself.

  I could do this. I’d done it before. Just walk over and grab the ruby ring from around his neck.

  Simple.

  I opened my eyes and walked forward.

  Jonah Abraham Van Curen was almost a skeleton. The flesh had dried around his face and the brown velvet robe of the Gamma Omicron Delta witch hunting fraternity flooded over him like an oversized gown.

  I didn’t want to touch him, but the necklace wasn’t in plain sight. I pushed the heavy robe to the side. I moved the collared shirt beneath the robe to expose Jonah’s decaying, graying skin.

  “What’s wrong?” Peter’s voice was muffled.

  I stared at Jonah’s bare throat for over a minute.

  “Lex?”

  “The ruby ring. It’s gone.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “Are you sure?” Peter asked from behind his sleeve.

  No longer shy or grossed out that I was searching a dead body, I pushed aside the brown robe and frantically searched the coffin. “He took it.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Victor.”

  I marched to Victor’s urn on the center table. “When James and I came for Jonah’s journal, Victor and his secretary, Diane, showed up. We panicked and hid, but we left the lid on the coffin open. Victor must’ve seen the ruby.”

  “He stole from his own father?”

  “We’re talking about Victor, here.” I picked up the urn. “Now, we’ll never know what he did with it.” I wanted to smash the urn on the floor. All of the feelings of sorrow that I had for Victor flew out the door. Victor had screwed me again. From beyond the grave.

  I put the urn on the table. “It’s over.”

  “It’s not over,” Peter said. “Diane was there, too. Right?”

  I nodded, not quite hearing Peter.

  “All we have to do is find Diane. Maybe she knows where Victor put it.”

  “Who knows what he did with it,” I said. “He could’ve pawned it for all we know. We’re running out of time, Peter. Halloween is a week away.” I felt myself spiraling. I’d made the critical mistake of getting my hopes up.

  Peter led me into the low hallway. “Didn’t James say he loved the ring? It had to be a family heirloom. Victor wouldn’t have pawned it. He put it somewhere safe. I’m sure of it.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “What if Victor knew that the ruby was Liam’s receptacle? What if he gave it to Liam?”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s brilliant and conniving, which means its right up Victor’s alley. Think about it. He sold out his nephew to clear his name on the Gamma hit list. James is his flesh and blood and he didn’t think twice about killing him. Why wouldn’t he give Liam the receptacle? He probably tried to buy his way out of service to Liam.”

  “Who said Victor knew the ruby was Liam’s receptacle?” Peter turned awkwardly to look at me because of the low ceiling. ‘You’re jumping to conclusions.”

  “What if he did?”

  “What if he didn’t? Let’s find Diane and see what she knows. Okay?”

  “Fine.” I didn’t want to argue. The burden
that I’d thought was off my shoulders had returned. Tripled in weight and size.

  We reached the small vestibule and headed up the stairs. Peter stopped and I collided into him.

  “What are you doing?” I smashed my nose against his back.

  Peter turned on the step so I could see what had stopped him. The familiar constricting of my throat squeezed the air out of my lungs.

  Two steps up from where we stood was the Pastor.

  “Hello, there.” He descended the stairs.

  Peter and I retreated into the vestibule.

  “That was quite a show you put on up there. At first I thought it was only a nasty storm, but once the cross fell from the wall, I knew something evil had to be behind it. That’s a nice wig you’re wearing, Alexandria Longfellow.”

  “What do you want?”

  He shrugged. “How’d you get inside the church?”

  “I walked in.”

  “A witch cannot walk into a House of the Lord. You must’ve cast the Devil’s spell.”

  Peter glanced at me.

  “We’re leaving now,” I said. “Please move out of the way.”

  The Pastor raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not here to hurt you. I know better than to touch a pure blood.” The old man smiled. “How’s James doing?”

  The lights in the black cages exploded. One by one. Leaving only candlelight.

  “I’m not afraid of you, witch,” the Pastor said.

  “I’m not afraid of you, old man.” I pointed my palm at him. He didn’t flinch even though I was sure he knew what I was capable of. “Move out of the way. There’s no reason why you have to get hurt.”

  The Pastor smiled. “Anxious to do harm, aren’t you? You like the power your feeling. We’re getting close to Halloween. I bet that anger is swirling inside your belly, ready to be unleashed.”

  My fingers fluttered and a breeze whirled inside the vestibule.

  “Lex,” Peter said. “He’s trying to upset you.”

  “He’s doing a good job,” I said.

  The Pastor nodded. “This must be the boyfriend Victor told me about.”

  “Are you a Van Curen, too?” I asked.