Ritual of Magic (Academy of the Damned Book 2)

by Veronica Shade

  That’s the name of the book. And once again, I’m taken aback.

  For some reason, my research is pointing me toward Salem Village.

  Now I need to find out why.

  Chapter 12

  When it comes to witches, I’m sure everyone has heard of the Salem Witch Trials. In fact, the mortal version of the Salem witch trials is not terribly different from the true witch version.

  I’ve always been fascinated by history. Even before I truly knew what it meant to be a witch, I read about the Salem witch trials. Witch trials, mummification, seppuku. I was a bit of a history junkie.

  The Salem witch frenzy began after some of the village’s young girls asked a slave named Tituba to read them their fortune. The girls were fascinated by witchcraft. Protection spells, love charms, how to bring bad luck to neighbors they didn’t like, the girls wanted to know everything. And poor Tituba, who had been kidnapped from Barbados as a young child, was glad to oblige her young mistresses, thinking it would help her position if the girls thought well of her.

  But when the girls’ families found out, the frenzy began. Not only was Tituba arrested, but dozens of other village women as well, who were all held in prison to stand trial for witchcraft. Some of them died in prison, while others were drowned or hanged. One man was crushed to death under stones after he was tried as a witch for trying to defend the women. Tituba, at least, escaped to another village.

  Whether or not the people at the time truly believed they were killing witches is a matter of debate. Many of the women were targeted simply because they were women. They didn’t have children, or they had too many children. They were married, or they were not married. They used herbs to treat illnesses as people had done in the Americas and in the old world for centuries. They were simply not liked, or they were liked a little too much. Perhaps it was just lust over another person’s land.

  Regardless, it seemed that no matter why a woman had the finger of blame pointed at her, once the accusation had been made, there was no saving her. Were the people of Salem simply malicious neighbors? Or did they truly believe they were doing the good Lord’s work? Maybe they were wacked out of their minds from eating moldy bread. We will probably never know.

  But this is where the stories differ. Today, no one believes that witchcraft is real. Nor does anyone think any real witches were put to death in Salem. The women had to have been innocent—at least of witchcraft. But what most mortals don’t know is that there were witches living in Salem. They just weren’t the ones being accused.

  Salem, however, was not unique. Puritans were not the only people fleeing England because of religious persecution. Hundreds, if not thousands, of witches came to the Americas during those very early years. In fact, all of the witch coven leaders and the Legacy families today descended from the Mayflower.

  There have been many witch hysterias throughout Europe for probably all of time. Undoubtedly, some of our witch ancestors did get caught up in these. But for the most part, when a witch hysteria would break out, our ancestors would simply flee. This is what happened in Salem.

  When the witch hysteria in Salem broke out, the true witch families left. However, there were very few places to go. There were far fewer villages and towns in Massachusetts at that time, and if they had appeared in another village, people would’ve been suspicious. Instead, they fled into the forests, where they were taken in by the local Native American tribes.

  This is the part of witch history I would love to know more about, what I had been hoping to research with Ms. Boucher. During this time, there had to have been a significant exchange of magical abilities between the European witches and Native American shamans.

  Yet, the official witch history books tend to gloss over this portion of our history. They focus only on the fact that the witches fled and were given protection by the Native Americans and then were able to go back home to Salem and the other neighboring villages after the hysteria ended. For most witches, that story is enough. But for me, I feel like pages of our history have been ripped out.

  I go to the library and check out every book on the Salem witch trials—all three of them.

  “Ah, boning up on the basics I see,” Mr. Hamilton says as he scans the barcodes on the backs of the books and then slips a sheet of paper inside each one with the return date.

  I shrug as I take the books and slide them toward me. “I wouldn’t say it’s new to me, but I don’t really know all the details, at least from the official point of view, since I was raised as a mortal.”

  “Ah, of course,” he says. “Well, if you have any questions, be sure to let me know.”

  I decide to take him up on his offer. “Do you know if there is any link between the statues and Salem?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.” Confusion knits on his brow as he looks at me through his wire-rimmed glasses.

  “I’m not sure either,” I say. “Was the creator of the statues from Salem? Or…I don’t know…” I genuinely don’t know what I’m looking for, but I suppose I hope Mr. Hamilton will fill in the blanks for me.

  He chuckles. “Well, aren’t we all from Salem in some way?”

  I give a small smile and nod.

  “That was a turning point in history, you know,” he continues. “Not just for witches, but all… Well, they weren’t ‘Americans’ at the time. Colonists would be a better term.”

  “What do you mean?” I lean forward on his counter, genuinely interested in what he has to say about it.

  “Well, many people thought that such superstitions had been left behind in the Old World,” Mr. Hamilton begins, clearly excited to find a captured audience to listen to him nerd out about history. “The people who came here were fleeing religious persecution. The idea that people would be put to death for their beliefs was abhorrent to the Puritans.”

  “I always imagined they were rather closed-minded to other beliefs,” I say.

  “By our standards, of course,” Mr. Hamilton says. “They did expect their families, their children, the people who lived among them to share the same beliefs. But for ‘outsiders,’ such as the Native Americans, the slaves, or people who lived in other communities, the Puritans knew that not all would share their beliefs. They would try to convert whoever they could, but not by the sword or pyre. That was barbaric.”

  “So what changed?” I ask. “How did they go from accepting all religions to killing more than twenty people?”

  “There are countless theories,” he says. “The devil wandered too close for comfort, for one. Remember, as long as the unbelievers were outsiders, the Puritans were accepting. But when the village leaders learned that Tituba was ‘corrupting’ their youths, especially innocent girls, something had to be done.”

  “What are the other theories?” I ask.

  “Spite,” he says simply. “The village had grown significantly in size, and so did neighborly disputes. It was a way to thin the herd, so to speak.”

  “So petty!”

  “Indeed.” Mr. Hamilton points to one of the books in my stack. “That one talks about how the grain that year had been very damp, leading to a growth of certain kinds of mold spores in the food supply. Basically everyone was tripping out of their minds on hallucinogens.”

  “No way!” I say, looking at the book with feigned surprise. This wasn’t anything I didn’t already know, but I needed him to keep talking. And hopefully get to something I didn’t already know.

  Mr. Hamilton laughs. “Hard to believe but quite true. There have been similar mold spores found throughout Europe near sites of witch hysterias.”

  I can’t help but laugh. The idea that the most horrible atrocities in history were caused by people getting high on ‘shrooms is just too much.

  “But how did it change America?” I ask.

  “What happened in Salem horrified everyone who heard of it,” he says. “That people should fall victim to such superstitions as to be murdering each other. The shock of it shook the country to th
e core. People turned away from religion as a result. It gave birth to the Age of Enlightenment here. It had been growing in Europe for some time, but Americans, mostly being religious folk, fought its influence. But after the witch hysteria, people needed a more logical way to order their lives. So people like Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson grew in prominence and played a major role in bringing Enlightenment ideas to the New World. And, in turn, Enlightenment beliefs formed the basis for the American government after the revolution.”

  “Wow,” I say. “So, the Salem witch trials led to the formation of the America we know today.”

  “Simply put, yes,” Mr. Hamilton says. “Funny to think that witchcraft played such a huge role in world events, isn’t it?”

  “Most people wouldn’t believe it,” I say. “Most religions today still shun witchcraft.”

  “Oh, don’t even get me started on the pagan influences on modern religions,” Mr. Hamilton says with a chuckle. “You’ll never get out of here.”

  I put the books in my bag and laugh. “I would actually love to talk about that some time,” I say. “I can’t get enough of history. I always thought that I would major in history at university. But now…” I shrug. I have no idea what the future holds now, if I’ll be going to college or not. It isn’t something I’ve discussed with Ms. Brewster.

  “Well, do come back soon,” Mr. Hamilton says, waving me off. “I’m always here.”

  I wave back, a little disappointed that our chat hadn’t led to anything new after all.

  I’ve never really questioned our version of the Salem witchcraft trials. But for some reason, my research is telling me I need to dig deeper.

  Of course, I haven’t been at La Voisin very long. I’ve only read about Salem’s history on my own or talked to Mama about it. Do people who were raised in witch families or who have been to the school for all three years know more than I do?

  I’ll have to talk to my friends about it...see if they can tell me anything I don’t already know.

  “Of course everyone knows about Salem,” Krista says as she sips her coffee. Krista, Ivy, Jaxon, and I are in our usual spot in the cafeteria, toward the back where we are less likely to draw attention or be overheard. “It’s a pretty significant part of our past.”

  “What do you think it has to do with the statues?” I ask as I lean back in my seat. “Or this strange runic writing? The story of Salem may be pretty well known, but what am I missing?”

  “History is complicated,” Ivy says as she sits on the edge of her chair and thumbs through one of the books I brought with me. “It wouldn’t hurt to look into it more.”

  “I’ve read, or at least skimmed, everything the academy has on Salem,” I say. “There are several books about it in the library. But the histories are all pretty similar. I think maybe we should go to Salem Village. Maybe I can find answers there.”

  Ivy, Krista, and Jaxon all look at each other, look at me, then turn to each other again. Then they burst out into laughter.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Krista says as she tries to catch her breath. “Do you not know where you are?”

  I hesitate before I give the obvious answer. “You mean La Voisin?”

  “No,” Ivy says, wiping a tear from her eye. “Where La Voisin is located. Where you actually physically are.”

  “You mean Danvers, Massachusetts?” I say. “Massachusetts is pretty small. I assume Salem isn’t that far.”

  The three of them break out into laughs again, Jaxon nearly falling out of his chair. I sigh and cross my arms, waiting for them to finish. I can’t be that funny.

  “Madison,” Jaxon says, “Danvers is Salem.”

  I am so dumbfounded, my hand shakes as I put my coffee cup on the table between us. My mind goes blank. I heard what he said, but I can’t believe I heard him correctly.

  “It is?” I finally ask. “This is Danvers. How can it be Salem?”

  “Because of the sordid history,” Ivy says. “The town changed its name to Danvers in the 1800s. They didn’t realize at the time what a tourist draw the Salem witch murders would be two hundred years later. Salem is the historic district of Danvers.”

  This sobers me a little. It’s rather strange that mortals would be so fascinated by the execution of our ancestors. Even if none of the women who were executed truly were witches, humans can’t seem to get enough of Salem’s reputation.

  “Why didn’t I know this?” I ask, shaking my head, running my hands through my hair. “It’s as if I should’ve known as soon as I stepped onto school grounds that there was something strange about this place. Perhaps I’ve always known. Maybe that’s why such weird things happen here.”

  “Strange things happen no matter where witches live,” Krista says and clears her throat. “I’m sure back in Turkey Hollow people thought you were weird, too.”

  I shrug. I was popular enough back home. A cheerleader. Girlfriend of a football star. But, yeah, I didn’t have a lot of friends. I always thought that had more to do with Momma being a drug addict than me being a witch. Though, now that I think about it, maybe there were more reasons people didn’t befriend me. Maybe I gave off a weird vibe that I didn’t realize.

  “We need to go to Salem,” I say, trying to change the subject. Or at least keep it on track. “You know, into town, the old village. They have to have a library or village archives or something. They probably have a lot more information about that time in history than we do here.”

  “What can humans possibly know about the world of witches?” Krista asks, a sneer of disdain in her voice. “Sure, we only have two or three books written about the Salem witch trials, but we know the truth, so we don’t need more than that. Humans have written hundreds of books on the subject because they don’t know. They know nothing of witches, not the truth. They still debate whether or not the women they put to death were even really witches. They believe we ride on broomsticks, bewitch men, and lure children from their beds.”

  I’m hesitant to say anything. Krista seems obviously bitter about the subject. Thankfully, Ivy speaks up.

  “Oh, Krista, they don’t truly believe that,” she says. “Not today, anyway. If anything, witchcraft and spirituality are ‘in.’ You can buy tarot cards and crystals and magic candles anywhere. Every magazine has a horoscope section.”

  “Exactly,” Jaxon says. “People today are just as ignorant as they were back then. Just because they aren’t burning us at the stake doesn’t mean that they know anything about witches. We can’t divine the future. We can’t read minds. Witchcraft might be chic, but people are just as wrong about it now as they were when they put each other to death.”

  “I really don’t want to debate this,” I say, my heart racing in my chest. I don’t want to get into a fight or debate with my friends. I just want to learn everything I can so I can understand the connection between the Salem witch trials and the statues. “I agree humans can’t really know or understand witchcraft. But there were humans alive during the Salem witch trials. They would have written history from their viewpoint. They might have seen something or heard something that could be relevant to my research today. I’d like to at least see what they had to say.”

  Krista stands. “The less you have to do with humans, the better. They are dangerous, stupid people. I have classes to study for.” She leaves the room, not looking back. She won’t stop me from going to Salem, but I suppose she won’t help me, either.

  I look to Ivy, and she stands with a shrug.

  “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she says, then she exits the same way Krista did.

  I think I’ll get the same response from Jaxon, but not for the first time, he surprises me.

  “I don’t agree with what you’re doing,” he says. “But I don’t think you should go alone. Humans are dangerous. They might be obsessed with Salem, and it might be little more than a tourist trap, but you are a very real witch. Who knows what could happen if the truth and the fantasy collide.”
/>   Good grief, they sure are melodramatic. But despite the overreaction, I’d be glad for the company.

  I give Jaxon a friendly smile. “Well, then, let’s get going. History awaits.”

  Chapter 13

  Jaxon opens the front gate for me ever so politely as we leave La Voisin’s grounds and head into Danvers—a.k.a. Salem Village.

  I know a lot of the students at La Voisin would go into Danvers on the weekends to eat out, go to the movies, do some shopping, and so on. But I had never gone myself. I was always too busy, always had something else to do. Usually studying or practicing my abilities, trying to catch up. I can’t even remember the last time I went to the movies. Had I gone into town even once, I might have realized a long time ago that I was in Salem.

  Salem Village makes up only a very small part of Danvers. After all, I had been to the Peabody Essex Museum, but I had no idea where we were at the time. I was indoors, sure, but even when I looked out the large windows, it had looked like any other large city. I thought we were in Boston or something. But La Voisin is located very near the historic district, where Salem proper is considered to be. It’s instantly apparent that this is the Salem of myth and legend.

  It’s late September, a beautiful autumn day. While the roads are paved and there are perfect sidewalks without a crack, the houses here are old. Fantastic cabins, Victorian mansions, Georgian homes. Houses from every era were built to reflect the times in which they were constructed and have been preserved that way for all of time. In many ways, the village seems lost in time. Ageless, and yet encompassing all ages at the same time.

  The houses are set deeply back from the street with large front lawns, each one green and well-manicured with large New England maple trees, leaves a kaleidoscope of colors, welcoming the fall season.

  There are black wrought-iron street lamps along the road we are walking. And while they are not lit now, since it’s so early in the day, there are banners hanging from each one declaring “Welcome to Salem Village” along with an image: a silhouette of a witch on a broom, her cat-like familiar perched behind her.