“Sades?” She gave me a little shake. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“I’m…” The Savior or something? This Yule, I have to defeat an evil mage who’s pulling a Sleeping Beauty and wants to stamp out anyone who doesn’t indulge his dark ways…
I couldn’t tell Belinda that. If it sounded ludicrous in my head, I couldn’t imagine how it would sound out loud. Stupid, presumptuous and laughable, probably.
Why the hell would anyone choose me for such a task?
“I’m tired,” I finally said. “That’s all.”
“Sounds like you need a drink. Red Bull and Vodka it is,” Belinda crowed, naming her favorite. Her eyes were bright, but she wasn’t drunk and I knew she didn’t completely buy my story. However, she didn’t press, only brought me to the bar.
“Oh hey, what happened to Mick?” she asked.
“Um, he had to leave with his cousins,” I said.
“Oh lord, there are more of them?” Belinda shook her head. “I don’t know if Salem is ready.”
I certainly wasn’t, I thought, wishing I could tell her.
“Was he a jerk?” Belinda asked softly as we waited for our drinks. Her eyes flashed. “Do I need to go kick his ass? All their asses?”
“No, it’s fine. It’s me. Like I said, I’m just tired.”
“Here,” Belinda said, seizing the glass and clinking it with mine. “Cheers to Halloween.”
I dumped the burning liquor down my throat, but it did nothing except make my mental gyrations whirl faster. Desperate to make it stop, I pulled Belinda onto the dance floor with me.
But the whole time, the anguished faces of my kind flashed before my eyes, followed by the dark hooded figure and the onslaught of demons. I stumbled, my ankle twisting, and almost fell to the floor. Belinda grabbed my elbow, while another guy helped me back up.
“You okay?” he shouted.
I nodded and went to find a seat. They were all occupied, so I leaned against the wall, trying to give Belinda a smile. She’d followed me and was fussing, asking if I needed ice or a glass of water.
“No, thanks. Please, you can go dance,” I urged her.
“I don’t like leaving you…” Belinda said slowly. “Sadie, maybe we should go eat. Talk. Relax.”
“No, Bells, it’s fine. I’m gonna go home,” I said, desperate for space and quiet to think. “Thank you for taking me out and I hope you have a great rest of the night.” Reaching out, I pulled her to me and gave her a tighter and fiercer hug than I meant to.
Belinda gave me a strange look as I pulled back and she patted my cheek. “Get some sleep.”
“Bye, love,” I said, trying to fake a British accent, but it sounded Irish.
Her eyebrows drew together, but before Belinda could say a word, I was heading for the exit. All I could think about was the guys and the prophecy. Rowland Skinner. Oralee.
The mortal race will turn upon all Magic, unaware they are doing Skinner's silent bidding. His hands will hold the world and every last babe, child, woman, and man who stands against his wicked heart – from those with a touch of Sight to the greatest of Practitioners – will be extinguished.
A shuddering gasp escaped me and I all but ran outside. Here, the cool air soothed my feverish thoughts and I took comfort in the deep silence of the hours after midnight. Head bent against the brisk chill rising from the ocean, I made my way home through the quiet streets of Salem.
Here, I didn’t think so much of the prophecy or the Purging, but of the O’Sullivans.
I’d been so sure they were trying to trick me, then so sure it wasn’t me, I didn’t wonder at their reactions. It was clear they believed in the prophecy as much as they believed in me. The latter, somehow, was stranger than the former. As my boots clicked on the pavement, I put myself in their shoes, thinking about what it must have been like to deliver that dreaded news to me.
And how I rejected reality of what was happening.
No wonder Michael was so upset, I thought, and my resentment towards him faded.
None of them had expected me to deny the prophecy so vigorously. But it was a terrifying thought – one most magic kind laughed at – the idea of hunts and trials in this day and age.
But if the scales were tipped by one of our own, as unthinkable as it was, it could be. Fingers would be pointed, hysteria would rise and trials would start again.
Hadn’t fear started it the last time?
Maybe Skinner is to blame for the Trials, I thought. If so, he tried to fool mortals once and failed. I doubt he would let that happen again.
I remembered the words of the prophecy and shivered, rubbing my arms.
Beware Skinner's black gifts. He will not strike at the powerful but lurk in the shadows, sowing fear, distrust and the most dangerous of ugly passions.
Stopping, I looked up at the moon and tried to collect my thoughts. It was the kind of night I loved when magic was at the world's fingertips and the songs of Old Gods played. Clouds clustered and vanished, the glow coming and going, setting the shadows dancing. Crickets chirped from clumps of grass and small yards, while branches rubbed overhead and the wind moaned over the ocean. Even though it was All Soul’s Day, witchery was still in the air.
Beginning to walk again, I gazed around, taking in the lovely, old-fashioned streets. The quaint houses, the tall, gnarled trees, and cobblestone streets. The small parks, cemeteries, and churches tucked in every possible corner. In many ways, Salem was a typical New England town.
Save for the hints of magic slyly peeking out. A string of Fairy bells dangling from a low branch over the street. Triquetras etched on doorways. Wind chimes made of crystals, sparkling as they swung. Pixie palaces hidden among birdhouses. A black familiar snoozing in a window. Glass jars filled with herbs to keep away wayward spirits.
My heart sang out for a moment as I took it all in, sensing the blessings of good, wholesome magic. Something fluttered overhead, snapping in the breeze and I looked up to see a rainbow flag.
Again, I was reminded how Salem had rewritten its dark past. It had become a community with arms wide open to the Wicca, weird and wonderful. People could be who they chose to be, love who they chose to love, and were celebrated for it.
I’d always secretly thought old witch hunters must be spinning in their grave as modern Salem flourished.
I’d never thought one would wake up. Or be a witch hunting witches.
His statue in Winter Park was unremarkable, to be honest, besides the coins. A man, sitting on a chair, head bent and eyes in shadow of his wide hat. He appeared to be deep in thought.
Or asleep. Is that where Skinner is?
The thought had my heart seizing in my chest.
A shadow went over the moon as I turned onto my street and a shudder ran over my skin. Unfriendly eyes seemed to peer from hidey-holes and I looked up to see the moon had vanished. All but running to my shop, I dead-bolted the door once inside and took several deep breaths. The familiar smell of herbs, wooden floors and books filled my nose, calming me.
Samwise came pattering over, flapping his wings and woofing in pleasure. I smiled as he rubbed his head on my ankle and bent down to pick him up. Stroking his head, I slowly walked around my shop and took in my goods as though for the first time. Shakiness spread through my limbs and Oralee’s charm seemed to shiver against my skin.
For a moment, I thought I could smell smoke and see the place devoured by black flames.
Shaking my head, I went upstairs and stripped off the gypsy costume. Destiny, accept her destiny, whispered in my head. But I still didn’t know what to do. Some part of me was still arguing it couldn’t be me. Maybe I was right and it was a different Matheson witch. My cousin Julietta was my age and we looked a little alike in certain light, could it be her? Or what if I didn’t accept this destiny – would Rowland even wake up?
I stopped and pressed my hands to my heart. It was beating a thousand times a minute and the pulsing was loud in my ears, drowning out the
wind and the creak of the trees outside.
It was then it occurred to me I was acting like I had a choice when I did not.
Not when I thought of Salem. Thought of all the people here, Ordinaries, Witches, Magic and Netherworld folk alike. To start with, Belinda, with her easy way around charms and herbs, the best nose for finding ingredients in the wild or the store in all of Salem. Pem, with her long fingers shaping beautiful baubles. Treysi, always willing to chat with me about tarot or palm lines, or to give me a boost if I got the sniffles. Quill, drag queen by night and a potion master by day. He would create the most intoxicating fragrances and bath bombs, his new business taking off by leaps and bounds. Fawn, the half-fairy, half-witch who ran an exotic flower shop and was good about finding rare plants for me. Junie, the werewolf who ran a doggie spa and always put aside treats for Samwise. Oliver, the baker down the road who ran Valhalla Bakery & Café and made the best cinnamon buns. Sprinkled with just the right amount of spice, sugar, and magic, not to mention love, the romantic baker's special ingredient.
And so many others, all of whom I cherished as part of our little burg.
I stood up straight, chin tilting.
I have to do this.
I might fail, but I would at least die trying.
Chapter 8
Next morning, I woke up late, but not hungover and still determined. I did not have time to spare that oddity a thought, as I flung myself out of bed and into the shower. After dressing in a simple black lace dress and patterned leggings, I braided my hair and tied it in a pink scarf. And on impulse, I picked up a lip-gloss and dabbed some on, along with mascara. In light of my resolution, I had a sense I should act the part. Or at least try to trick myself into it.
Plus, the mascara did nice things for my amber eyes and I smiled at myself, nodding firmly.
“Go get ‘em, Sadie,” I said, assuming the Wonder Woman pose.
My apartment was a small, cozy nook above my shop. Originally, I hadn’t thought to live there, but then the former tenant moved out and it had turned out the rent was cheaper. While I had to wear several layers in the winter, the electricity left something to be desired, and the faucet leaked, I loved it almost as much as my shop.
Padding into the tiny kitchen, I filled up my rooster kettle and flicked on the gas. As downstairs, everything nicely lined up in a cabinet and I pulled down Chamomile.
No matter what, I’ll keep my routine, I thought. Plus, a nice cup of tea in the morning helped start the day right. Treysi had taught me that. As the kettle heated, I fed Samwise some crackers, checked my list for the day and brought out some books to the kitchen table to peruse for a reversal spell.
A crowing sound alerted me to the hot water and I poured myself a glass, looking out the tiny window at the roofs and back gardens. Fog had risen overnight and it crept through the streets.
Sitting down at the table, I opened another book and tried to read it. The words were as elusive as that damn doorknob. Samwise was pecking reluctantly at his dog food, cracking the kibble noisily and I heard myself sigh. I knew I had to find a cure for him and I tried to pull my mind back to the books, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Salem. How it only had an inkling of what was in store. Standing up, I grabbed a shawl, threw on some boots and hurried downstairs.
Outside it was still, the winds had died down from last night and the fog was thicker as I walked through the streets. It was quiet as I made my way to Valhalla, with no one out and about, and a crinkle ran along my neck. Try as I might not to, I kept glancing over my shoulder. Neither could I repress a sense of relief as I stepped inside the café.
Smiling, I nodded around at the regulars. Witches abounded if you knew where to look. The two older gentlemen in the corner arguing about the Dragon Races, the grinning dame in another corner with a snake curled up her arm, and then Treysi, swapping war stories with her cronies at their usual table.
“Oh, Sadie Matheson, you darling thing,” came a voice and I turned, only to be engulfed in a hug. “I only just heard what you did for my Jaffre, selling his paper mobiles in your shop.” Mrs. Brulien pecked my cheek. “Oliver Holmgren!” she barked at the owner. “Her order is on me.”
“Sure thing. The usual, Sadie?” Oliver asked and I nodded, then turned to Mrs. Brulien.
“Oh, Mrs. B, you don’t have to do that,” I said to the rosy-cheeked witch. “And seeing as I don’t get many customers, I only hope I’m not hurting Jaffre’s business. Although, his paper chandeliers are so lovely, I’m actually hoping they’ll help mine.”
“Oh, nonsense! Like I care about any of that. What matters is that you believed in him and it’s given him such a boost. He even went out to a party last night.” She squeezed my arms. “You know Jaffre, he’s a bit shy about everything. Even his lovely art and you coaxed him to put it on display.” Her eyes twinkled. “Sure you’re a witch and not a fairy godmother, dear?”
An appreciative laugh rang out. “I’ve asked myself that question.” Treysi had been eavesdropping. “Morning, Yvette, morning, Sadie.” I smiled over at her and she sent me a sly wink. “You know, Sadie,” Treysi said, her accent making her words all the more arch. “Yesterday a very handsome young man stopped by my shop and happened to ask if I happened to know you.” I went pink as she grinned, shaking her bangles. “Boyfriend?”
“Oh, no, no,” I said, as her cronies leaned forward. “Nothing like that. Barely a friend.”
I have literally no idea what my relationship with the O’Sullivans is.
Treysi shook back her dark hair, streaked with silver in the most bewitching way, and her hazel eyes danced. “Blondie was a bit of a flirt, so I told him he better be nice to you or I’d have Deloise put a hex on him.” Treysi laughed as the black woman across from her shook her head. “Now Deloise is hoping he wasn’t.”
“Oh, hush, Treysi,” Deloise DuGraye said, although her grin was diabolical. With her tight white curls and glasses, Deloise looked more like a knitter than hex caster, but behind that demure façade was incredible power. “I’d be honored to hex for our Sadie, here.”
Sometimes, when I despaired of my family and coven, I reminded myself that Salem was more than my home. It was family. Crummy witch that I was, there were good people here who did not care about that in the least. They were kind to me, even inexplicably liking and looking out for me.
“Hm, some guy giving you trouble, Sades?” Oliver asked, rubbing his forehead and streaking flour across it. “Need me to tell Nana Lou about it?”
I laughed and shook my head. Nana Lou was Oliver’s grandmother, one of the most badass old witches in Salem. Right now, she was visiting a friend from her coven who lived in Florida and the last thing I wanted to do was to have her worrying about me while on vacation.
My heart squeezed suddenly as I looked around at the smiling faces. For a moment, I wondered if I should tell them and have them flee, but where could they go? Rowland Skinner’s endless night would start here and spread across the world.
“Sadie, are you alright?” came Fawn Li’s soft voice and I looked up at the tall girl with streaks of green and blue in her hair. She touched her chest. “I just felt the most terrible chill.”
I shook my head at her, trying to smile. “Hi, Fawn. No worries, I’m perfectly fine.”
“Sadie, if you are sick, you’re in good company,” Treysi said, now sounding stern. “And you know, Fawn’s right, you do look a bit peaky. Something wrong? You need Eye of Newt?”
“No, perhaps a picayune pickup,” suggested Gabriella, her cousin.
As more suggestions were called out, Mrs. Brulien was studying me and I gave her a timid smile. Her eyes narrowed as she smiled back. “Seems like our girl has a serious secret.”
“No,” I said, grimacing and grinning at the same time. “No, you all worry too much. Probably just someone walking over my grave,” I joked and they rolled their eyes at me. “I just, I uh… I went out partying last night with Bells and I’m recovering.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Brulien said, exchanging a look with Deloise, who laughed. “Well, we were young once. We know the consequences of a good night out.”
“Tell us about it,” Treysi urged as Oliver handed me a paper bag with my cinnamon bun.
“I will, I promise,” I said, smiling around at them. “But another time.” I went to leave, then hesitated. The love I had for Salem surged up again, stronger, and I hated the thought of keeping such a terrible secret from them. Most of them had already read the portents, although many of them were still skeptical it meant anything.
I’ll have to see what the O’Sullivans say, I thought to myself.
After another round of promises and reassurances, I managed to say good-bye and actually leave. Fingers clenching the paper bag, I briskly walked back to my shop and kept my head high. But all the way there, my mind remained in the bakery, thinking about my dear friends and the magic that abounded safely and freely in my home.
Preoccupied, I almost walked past The Witch’s Keep. Without thinking, I stepped up to the door and easily unlocked it. I blinked in surprise as I walked in, since nine times out of ten that spell did not work for me. Placing the cinnamon bun on the counter, I walked around, making sure everything was in order and flipping around the sign to OPEN. Then I fetched Samwise, the books from upstairs and my personal Grimoire, a cross between a journal and a spell book.
As Samwise zoomed around the ceiling, I perched behind the counter on a stool. Taking minuscule bites from the hot, flaky goodness of the bun, I flipped back and forth through the pages.
Several times I stopped and stared into space, unable to pull my mind to the incantations. The Book of Ides was dancing through my mind. I kept seeing that image of myself and the reflection of the flame script in the eyes of the boys. Looking up at the door, I wondered when they would come for their answer. Probably not before tonight.
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