The Witching Elm (A Memento Mori Witch Novel, Book 1)

by C. N. Crawford

  But the risk of encountering a mattinitock was very small, and a Ragman like Tobias didn’t hide in his bed worrying about demons. And anyway, he wasn’t going to let people dredge up spirits without him.

  He smiled. “I’m in.”

  “Nice. We just have to sneak past Mr. Grunshaw, plus Mulligan’s room by the entrance.”

  Tobias stretched his arms over his head. “Who’s Mr. Grunshaw?”

  “Math teacher. Sweats a lot. Always has food in his beard. Sleeps in a room at the end of the hall.”

  It was ten minutes before midnight when Alan pulled his coat from the closet, and a yellow raincoat for Tobias. Alan flicked off the lights and pulled open the door, leading Tobias down the hallway. The floor creaked a few paces before Mr. Grunshaw’s door, and Alan froze, peering back at Tobias with a grimace. The Math teacher’s rhythmic snoring filtered through the door.

  They tiptoed on, turning into the central hall and peering out its tall windows into the dark courtyard. They crept into the stairwell. Tobias bit his thumbnail as they snuck down the rickety stairs, half regretting his decision already. If Mulligan expelled the others, they still had homes, but he’d be left to wander in the streets, earless from frostbite and begging for food.

  Then again, he was willing to risk a bit of danger to observe a séance. He and Oswald had once spent an evening crawling through the sewers to spy on a medium in the Throcknell fortress, though, to Tobias’s disappointment, the sewers merely led them into a rat-filled cistern below the dungeons. He never saw the spirit of the great alchemist John Dee materialize before the philosophers.

  At the bottom of the stairs, the vestibule was almost completely dark. Alan turned to Tobias, mouthing the words, “Are you good?” He held his thumb up, waiting for confirmation. When Tobias nodded, Alan stepped backward into the marble bust of Richard Mather. Tobias’s chest tightened as Richard’s torso wobbled on the wooden base, and a rolling noise filled the vestibule. Alan’s hands shot up, steadying it. They stood only a few feet from Mulligan’s room. Did he hear? In the silence, Alan’s breath sounded deafening, as if it echoed off the walls.

  After a minute, when nothing stirred behind Mulligan’s door, Alan tiptoed toward the front door. He looked back at Tobias, biting his lip, and cracked the door open. A cold blast of air stung Tobias’s face.

  As he followed Alan on the snowy path through the courtyard, he was grateful for the striped socks warming his feet and for Fiona’s bulky scarf under the raincoat. He glanced back at the school building, relieved that no lights shone from the windows. He stuffed his hands in the pockets, exhaling a shivering breath.

  Within the high brick wall that surrounded the school, a wrought-iron gate blocked their exit. If the alarm was going to sound, it would happen here. Alan took a deep breath, his gloved hands hovering in the air as if casting a spell while he built up the resolve to open the gate. He grasped an iron bar, gently pulling the gate inward. As it edged open, they heard only a creaking sound. They hurried through to the other side, letting the gate click shut behind.

  The girls waited for them at the corner of the Common wearing heavy coats and scarves, steam rising from their faces. They huddled on the sidewalk before a squat stone building that looked like a mausoleum, only with doors that swung open as people passed through.

  Fiona waved as they approached. “You made it,” she smiled.

  Mariana squinted at Tobias. “You’re wearing a raincoat.”

  “Airline lost his luggage.” Alan swung his arms, trying to stay warm. “This is awesome, by the way.”

  “It is, but I’m freezing.” Mariana jumped up and down.

  “Let’s get going then.” Celia beckoned them into the park with a white-gloved hand, her blond hair streaming from a fuzzy white cap.

  They plodded after her on one of the ancient, crooked cow-paths that meandered into the center of the park. On the path, the snow was only a few inches deep. The trail followed the same course as one in Maremount, unchanged over the years. Lined with bare maple and oak trees, it led them through the flat terrain of the Common.

  Tall, black streetlamps lit the path with gauzy circles of light. In the distance, warmly lit buildings stood against a dark sky. Almost no one else was in the park in this weather. In fact, Tobias could only see one person tottering away from them, a wine bottle swinging in his hand.

  He glanced at Celia. “How did you learn to call on the spirits of the dead?”

  “I have a book on it. I’ve been trying to raise spirits forever. It hasn’t worked really, except once I think Zelda Fitzgerald might have knocked over my iced tea. Or it might have been Mariana.”

  Fiona sidled up to his left. “We had a séance for Kurt Cobain that didn’t work. We tried using an old ripped flannel to draw his spirit.”

  “And Courtney Love didn’t work either.” Celia pulled her scarf tighter around her. “But it turned out, she’s not dead.”

  “Whose spirit are we calling up tonight?” Tobias scrunched his hands up in his pockets. Shame Alan’s mother didn’t burdened him with any embarrassing gloves.

  “I thought we should call up the spirit of someone who was executed in the park,” said Celia. “A woman named Ann Hibbins was hanged for witchcraft forty years before the Salem Witch Trials.”

  “They used to call it the Witching Elm.” The air froze in front of Fiona’s mouth. “Then it was rebranded as the Liberty Tree.”

  To their left stood a circular stone building with elegant columns like an outdoor temple.

  “The Witching Elm,” Tobias repeated, tucking his chin into Fiona’s wooly scarf.

  Fiona trudged closer to him. “During the Salem witch trials, Cotton Mather said Ann Hibbins had cursed Massachusetts, and that’s why witches plagued Salem.”

  Tobias shivered as a gust of wind blew snow into his face. His pants were now damp and cold up to his knees. As they waded through the snow, their footprints wove unsteady patterns behind them.

  Fiona turned to Tobias, looking him over. “How’s the scarf treating you?”

  He smiled. “It’s wonderful. I don’t know why you didn’t hang on to it.”

  “You needed it more than I did. I think the Witching Elm was somewhere around here.”

  “It was just over there.” Tobias pointed to a snowy corner of land near the partially plowed paths. The elm site rested at the base of a small incline, gently rolling up toward Beacon Hill. Through bare branches, the top of the State House was visible. Snow dusted its gold dome, lending it the appearance of an iced butter cake.

  Celia turned to Tobias, wrinkling her nose. “How do you know that’s the spot?”

  He shrugged. “I looked at a map.”

  “Hmm.” Celia pivoted to lead everyone into the unsullied snow off the path. It was over a foot deep.

  When they stood together, shivering in the drifts, Celia held out her hands to either side. “Everyone get in a circle.”

  They did as they were told. In the heart of the park, the only noise was the muffled sound of distant traffic. Pulling some tea candles from her pockets, Celia asked everyone to hold hands. She made several attempts to light them, but the wind snuffed them out.

  “Can we move this along?” Mariana rubbed her gloved hands together. “I’m freezing.”

  Celia stood again. “Fine.” She grasped Tobias’s hand on one side and Fiona’s on the other. She tilted her face up to the night sky and began to lead the group in a chant: “Ann Hibbins—we call on you in the spirit plane.”

  With chattering teeth, they chanted the words after her. Tobias tucked his chin into his chest, peering around. Celia didn’t give him a strong impression of knowing what she was doing. He should have stayed in his warm room with the heavy blankets. Shame he hadn’t learned more Angelic. All he could call to mind from the magical language were a few minor spells, the kind with subtler auras.

  Celia raised her voice. “Ann Hibbins—speak to us and move among us. Answer our questions and tell us ou
r fates.”

  Snow drifted through the lamplight. What’s the formula for auras? He was never good at the alchemical sciences. It was something about the power of one aura multiplied by the other aura, and then distance—

  A breeze picked up around them, spraying clouds of snow into the air, and a tingling sensation caressed his skin. Nearby, the electric lights flickered and dimmed. Is it actually working?

  While the others chanted with their eyes closed, Tobias searched his mind for the Angelic words. He didn’t know any full necromancy spells, but he could remember the words for spirit and appear. He whispered them under his breath. Perhaps together, as a coven, they could be as powerful as the great philosophers of Sortellian College. As he spoke, the frigid wind intensified. His neck hairs stood on end.

  “Ann Hibbins—we call on you,” chanted the others in unison.

  The park lights flickered, now burning brighter. The wind whipped up eddies of snow, swirling into a vortex that filled the center of the circle. As Tobias stood transfixed by the whorl of flakes, a gap appeared in the center. In the squall, a human silhouette emerged. It was as deep and dark as the entrance to a cave. Tobias’s muscles froze. Silence fell. In the snowless space, a faint image of a woman appeared, her gaunt face downcast. She wore a cap over snarled gray hair and a baggy black gown with a large white collar. When she looked up, her dark eyes shone.

  Celia’s jaw dropped. She spoke in quavering voice: “Ann Hibbins, thank you for coming.”

  The somber spirit remained motionless in the maelstrom.

  “Ann Hibbins, we have questions for you.”

  Tobias stood stunned. He hadn’t actually expected this to work.

  “Maybe we should—” Fiona stammered, but the specter interrupted her, speaking in a deep voice.

  We wait beneath corrupted frozen ground.

  Unconsecrated, tangled roots enshroud

  our crumpled necks and long-smothered embers,

  where the hours fly, and death is remembered.

  In nameless hollows, Philip’s men await.

  The unlamented—

  The apparition’s eyes bulged as she choked out the last words, and strangling noises filled the air. A thick tongue lolled out of her mouth. Her face withered to the color of a rotten plum before she disappeared. Before anyone had the chance to speak, another form emerged: an elongated human figure, its body pale as bone. Ribs protruded from its chest, the skin between them as taut as a rawhide drum. Instead of a nose, a ragged, triangular hole marred the center of its face. Tobias’s breath left his lungs as a spark of recognition ignited in the back of his mind.

  He looked into the creature’s cavernous eyes. As they stood mesmerized, antlers sprouted from its head.

  Fiona whispered, almost inaudibly, “What…”

  The spirit pointed a skeletal finger toward Tobias. Its mouth opened to reveal a dark hole, and it spoke garbled words in a raspy growl, swinging its head from side to side. Its maw gaped open further, emitting a piercing howl. Tobias clamped his hands over his ears and fell to the ground. As he lay in the snow, a cold, gnawing dread rose and filled his chest. At last, the noise subsided.

  His face half-sunk in the snow, he uncovered his ears. The spirits were gone, and the snow fell gently again. He stood up, looking around. Mariana and Fiona huddled together with Alan, while Celia stood gaping.

  “What the hell was that?” Mariana shrieked. “Did we summon a demon?”

  Fiona clung to Mariana and spoke with labored breaths. “I think we did. I didn’t think they were—I thought it was all—”

  Celia’s voice was barely a whisper. “We should go.”

  She ran. The rest followed, fighting their way through the heavy snow. Tobias’s arms flailed as he ran after them. He could hear the others’ panicked panting as they scrambled forward, their arms swinging into each other.

  When their feet made contact with the plowed sidewalk along Tremont Street, they picked up speed, hurtling toward Mather Academy in an avalanche of feet, knees, and elbows. Fiona sprinted ahead across Boylston Street, narrowly missing a car. As she approached the school, she rushed through the gate and held it open for the others while they darted through.

  With shaking hands, Mariana tried to lock it behind her. “There’s no lock.”

  “There’s just the alarm that someone disabled,” said Alan.

  Mariana gripped his arm. “Well, I’m not going to my room by myself.”

  “Then come to my room.” He waved her forward. “But let’s get the hell inside.”

  One by one, they snuck across the courtyard and through the large oak door. They tiptoed up the stairwell and through hallways to Alan and Tobias’s room at the end of the boys’ wing. Once inside, Alan turned on a desk lamp. Fiona and Mariana rushed to the bay window, checking to see if anything had followed them.

  Tobias flopped backward on his bed, catching his breath, while Celia and Alan threw themselves across Alan’s bed, gasping.

  “There’s something out there,” Mariana said between heavy breaths. “Oh, it’s a student, I think. I guess we’re not the only ones who knew about the alarms.”

  “What the hell was that?” Celia demanded from Alan’s bed.

  Alan sat up, hissing, “We need to be quiet. Grunshaw’s going to hear us if everyone’s talking at full volume.”

  Fiona and Mariana joined Tobias on his bed, slumping against the wall in a daze. For a minute, no one spoke.

  Celia broke the silence, pushing herself up on her elbows to stare at Tobias from Alan’s bed. “The demon pointed at you. Why did it point at you?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve dabbled in the magical arts, but I’ve never called up a spirit before.” He unwrapped Fiona’s scarf.

  “What do you mean, magical arts?” Fiona folded her arms. “Like séances and tarot reading?”

  “Right.”

  Alan rose, pacing in the small space between the beds. “Did you guys see the antlers?”

  They nodded.

  “There were two spirits, right?” Alan gripped the back of a chair, staring at the floor. “Who were we trying to call up?”

  “Ann Hibbins,” said Mariana. “She was executed in Boston Common for witchcraft.”

  “Any idea what she said?” asked Alan.

  “Yeah.” Fiona straightened. “‘We wait beneath…’ Hang on.” She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “‘We wait beneath corrupted icy ground... Unconsecrated tangled roots… enshroud crumpled necks and long-smothered embers… and hours fly, and death is remembered… In nameless caverns someone’s men await.’” She held up her index finger. “‘Philip’s men await… the unlamented…’” She opened her eyes. “And that’s when the choking started.”

  “Good memory.” Alan smiled weakly, returning to his seat on his bed. “Who is Philip, though?”

  Tobias ran the tips of his fingers along his jaw, staring at the floor. “Maybe King Philip.”

  “Oh—Metacomet,” Alan murmured.

  Mariana folded Tobias’s blanket over her legs. “What was he King of?”

  Tobias stood, pulling off Alan’s raincoat. “He was a Wampanoag leader in the 17th century. The English called him Philip.” He opened the closet, pulling out a hanger and tucking it into the coat. “His father helped the pilgrims survive in the 1620s. But during Philip’s reign, the English provoked a war. Thousands of people died.” He closed the closet door and returned to his bed, sitting cross-legged.

  Celia crossed the room toward him and sat on the floor, plucking off her white gloves and resting her hand on his knee. “Can we get back to how you dabbled in the magical arts?”

  “Oh my God. You have to teach us.” Fiona’s voice rose in pitch, her cheeks reddening. “I didn’t know demons were real. But they are. And they’re trying to kill us!”

  “Keep your voice down,” Mariana scolded. She turned to Tobias. Her black eye make up was smudged from the snow. “Will you teach us?”

  The girls looked at To
bias with pleading expressions, and their three pretty faces made a compelling case. But it wasn’t a demon they had summoned, and no spirits lurked in the Boston streets—at least, no more than usual. The apparition they’d encountered had been sent as a warning. He wasn’t about to drag his new friends into a dangerous world of magic without their full understanding. It would be like bringing lambs to a wolf festival.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t really know much about it.” He shook his head. In a way, it was true. Without a philosopher’s guide to read from, there wasn’t much he could teach them.

  Celia pouted, turning to her friends to talk about Ann Hibbins’s withered face.

  As he lay back against his pillows, Tobias stared past the girls into the darkness outside, pulling the blanket over his legs. It seemed that someone from Maremount was watching his use of magic, even here.

  11

  Tobias

  Tobias waited for Alan on a faux-leather gym bench. It had been a week since the séance—a week of keeping his head tucked into books while he thought about Maremount: swimming in the bay with Eden, the summer quahog festival, and Father’s spiced apple cakes.

  While he stretched his arms, he looked forward to physical exertion. It had been only nine days since his arrival, and already his muscles had started to soften. Normally he’d spend a few hours each day practicing with pikes in single combat matches. He couldn’t let his body atrophy as he stuffed his face with pancakes every morning. Still, he was unfamiliar with most of the equipment. On one side of the room, machines with wheels and levers towered over the glistening blue floor mats. On the other side, rows of shelves with dumbbells stood against a mirror.

  A towel over his shoulder, Alan strode in, smiling. “You’re here!”

  Tobias rose, stretching an arm behind his back. “I’m here. Not sure what to do with most of this equipment, though.”

  Alan nodded toward the dumbbells. “You could always start with the free weights.”