by E. M. Moore
“Miss Lynne and I are in love. I wish to marry her.”
***
Isabella sat at her desk that night, hoping to hear a tap at the window. She still believed in Thomas, in them as a couple. He and Magistrate Ludington escorted her home earlier under the guise of a witch hunter. Thomas’ eyes appeared hopeful. His father’s were dark. Though the judge said he would think on the matter, she dared not hope too much. His silence revealed everything to her. He vowed he would not tell anyone of her suspicious appearance in town. Isabella, however, knew he did that only for his son, even when an encouraged smile beamed from Thomas.
Isabella exhaled loudly and placed the quill on the desk. No more words came. Her heart did not wish to write this letter to Thomas. It could break him…them.
Isabella slid back from the desk. It glowed yellow, sometimes orange in the moonlight. Strange, she felt as if someone’s eyes watched her. Glared at her.
A shiver ran up her spine. She ran her hands over the wood and closed her eyes, calming her nerves. With everything happening, she felt as if her insides were split in two. Her head told her one thing, while her heart screamed another.
The crickets chirped outside and the wind rushed through the trees and pushed against the house’s exterior walls. It seemed to pick up speed and become louder as she sat there, eyes closed.
She gripped the hard, cold wood of the desk and squeezed her eyes tighter. So tight that swirls of white light sprang from all corners. Her body coursed with shivering goosebumps and hairs pricked her arms.
Her stomach turned, panic rose through her as her heart beat out of control. She felt something. Something evil within the fringes of her body.
A voice sounded in her head. Impossible. It wasn’t her own voice she was so used to hearing lately. It was foreign. It didn’t belong, but it was also familiar. Out of place speaking in her own mind, though she knew who spoke.
Laughter rose up in her, yet it was not hers. It stayed there, lodged in her own thoughts that were not her own. It laughed and laughed.
Isabella tried desperately to open her eyes. The foreigner would not let her. Images flooded her mind. No conjuring of her own imagination and not memories, but bits and pieces seen through someone else.
Why?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sarah
My body was in a weird state between being asleep and dreaming, and being awake and dreaming. The numbness faded. Awareness crept back to me in inches.
As full realization returned, I stiffened. I wasn’t where I thought I should be. In the haziness between sleep and wakefulness, I’d lost myself.
I was supposed to be by the bank of the stream. I felt next to my laying body, expecting soft dirt or mud. Instead, smooth folds of cotton met my fingertips. I moved my hands down toward my waist and felt still more cotton.
Was it possible I drove back to Rose’s and don’t remember? Or even better, Drake drove me and I don’t remember. Regardless, everything ends with me not remembering. I blinked away the sleepiness, rubbed my eyes and peered to the right, expecting to see the desk. That odd, beautiful desk.
My eyes finally cleared and I opened my mouth to scream. Nothing came out. I wasn’t by the stream and I wasn’t at Aunt Rose’s. So, where the hell was I?
I peeked down. I still wore the clothes I put on for the party, which was good. An unfamiliar patchwork quilt lay on top of me, orange and greens.
I was in a good-sized room, much like the room at my aunt’s with old and out-of-date furniture. Paintings of country scenes surrounded me, roosters and chickens, barns and fences. Two windows streamed in light from behind, each on either side of the bed. I didn’t know what time it was and a quick search of the room revealed no clock.
How long had I been sleeping? Was I even sleeping or had I passed out when I saw that figure in the woods?
Footsteps creaked the floor. My hands automatically clenched into a fist around the quilt and I drew the blanket closer around me. My mind returned to that too interested jock from last night. Had he brought me here? Kidnapped me?
I thought about faking sleep, but figured if attacked, I wanted to have the advantage of being able to see what was coming after me.
The footsteps moved closer, sounding like the clop, clop of a single person coming up a flight of stairs. My whole body tightened as a shadow moved underneath the door. A light shined in from below and someone stepped in front of the glow. My heart raced, palms growing sweaty. My eyes grew to big discs on my face and I hugged my knees into myself. The click of the door handle sounded. I bit down on my cheeks, to stop myself from screaming.
And waited.
The door inched open. With each moment, I moved farther and farther up the bed. The door, finally fully open, allowed light to pour in and I blinked away the sudden searing in my eyes. The shadow completely put out the light and my eyes gradually came into focus.
I breathed a big sigh of relief. It was Drake.
“Hey Drunkard. A couple of my friends found you near the creek. They had to carry you to the car.” He laughed and grabbed my hand. “So what the hell happened? One minute you were the talk of the town, guys were lined up to talk to you, and the next, you were gone.”
I looked up at him cautiously. “I thought I was sleeping.”
“I don’t think so, Sarah. Everyone tried to wake you up. You wouldn’t.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever fainted before,” I said, a tug in my stomach. "I guess I don’t know what happened.”
“Sarah.” Drake laughed again. “You passed out.” He nodded his head when I shook mine. “Don’t worry,” he said, rubbing my shoulder. “It happens to the best of us. Rose doesn’t know a thing. I called and told her you were too tired to drive home last night. I was really worried up until we found you.”
I smiled, trying to relieve the boiling pit in my stomach. “Why? Is crime rate high in Adams?” The laughter that came from him soothed me, crept into my bones and massaged out the kinks.
He turned solemn after staring a while, his gaze lingering on my forehead longer than anywhere else. “Don’t get too freaked out okay?”
“Freaked out?” There was more than not remembering what the hell happened last night?
“There’s something you need to see.”
He tugged on my hands and stood close beside me as he pulled me up and out of bed. All the blood rushed to my brain and tiny stars sparkled in and out around the edges of my vision. I took a few steps and they disappeared. “What are we doing?”
“Here,” he said, motioning to the dresser with the mirror. “Look. Pete and the guys said it was there when they found you."
“Pete found me?”
I stepped in front of the mirror and gasped. It was worse than the Bloody Mary game I used to play as a kid. I reached up to my forehead and smudged a part of the circle drawn on my forehead. The circle encased a lightning bolt.
“Oh. My. God.” I looked down at my finger—black ash. My voice trembled so bad I barely spat out anything. “What’s going on here?”
“Probably just people messing with you. Marlene maybe.”
I turned and pointed at my forehead. “Drake, you do know what this is, don’t you?”
“It’s the symbol you keep seeing.”
“It’s the symbol that was found on my dad’s dead body!”
“Sarah,” Drake murmured. “He had a heart attack…”
“Maybe. Why the symbol? And why now? On me?” I stared back at my reflection. “Why me?”
“Calm down.” The hand on my back made idle circles over my shoulder blandes. “Someone’s playing a joke on you.”
“A joke. Seriously? No. This is not a joke. Who else even knows besides you and me about the symbol they found, huh? Who else?”
“I don’t know.”
He tried to grab for me, but I took a step closer to the door. “Me either. But somebody does. Somebody. Somebody is trying hard to scare me.”
“What for?”
/>
“I don’t know. But I’m thinking my dad’s death wasn't an accident. I’m going to request they open the case back up. I’m going to show them this…this symbol on me." I walked to the doorway and stopped. “But first. First, I’m going to talk to your grandfather.”
“Sarah—”
I put a hand up. “No Drake. You’re not stopping me this time.”
Drake moved in front of me, guarding me from the door. “Yes. I am. I told you he’s sick.”
“He knows something about this.”
“How do you know?”
I ran my fingers through my hair and tugged it down. “He has to.”
“He ran over a man that happened to be dead already with a symbol on him. How would he know anything about it? Sarah…your dad died of a heart attack, okay? I know you think you’re doing something good by trying to figure out some sort of mystery surrounding his death, but there just isn’t one. He’s dead. He died of natural causes. Not some mysterious…God, I don’t even know what the hell you think.” Drake ran his hands through his hair. “But I do know you’re not going to talk to Grandpa about it. He’s all I have.”
Tears slipped from my eyes and trickled down my face leaving wet tracks. “At least you have someone.”
I pushed past Drake and ran down the stairs. They led to the big oak front door I recognized from the other night. I ran through and slammed it behind me.
My black Escalade loomed in front of me in the driveway and I found the keys in the ignition. I rolled my eyes. Didn’t he know people steal cars? Especially nice cars, like this.
I peeled off toward the police station and after telling the officer at the front desk all that I knew, I stood calmly as he took photos of my head. My eyes still stung, but I made my face blank. Like gravity, the symbol’s importance couldn’t be disproved now. I didn't care what Drake said. Something was wrong and the symbol was the key.
The policeman thanked me for coming in. He wasn’t one of the two I freaked out in front of the other day. Thankfully. “The bathroom’s over there if you want to freshen up."
In the bathroom, I searched my reflection in the mirror one last time.
Branded.
Branded for what? By whom? I didn’t know. Somebody thought they could mess with me though. I felt like a cow with one of those plastic earrings that said who they belonged to. My sooty forehead marked me as someone’s. Now I needed to find out who thought they owned me.
I splashed water on my face and the mark easily came off, black smears cascading down the sink and into the drain. I kept scrubbing. I still felt like it was there, like the symbol held onto me. When I finally finished, the ash left dark smudges in the sink and I gave myself a pink, blotchy forehead to match my pink, blotchy eyes.
I stopped halfway through the bathroom threshold, the friendly cop’s voice drifted over to me. “Don’t you think we oughtta ask——?”
“Who? Courtney James?” Another officer stood partially hidden by shelves.
The nice cop turned my way. I drew back into the shadows.
“Yeah.”
“Why?” the other asked, acting as if the nice policeman was stupid.
“It looks like a Wiccan symbol to me.”
“Please. She’s from out of town, right? Someone played a joke on her. We don’t have time for this crap with the festival going on. File it away."
My heart kickstarted. They weren’t going to do anything. Again.
It was all up to me then. My first step? Find Courtney James, High Priestess of the local coven.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Isabella
1639
Again, Isabella sought the warmth.
The cold encased her, leaving her shrouded as if she sank deep into the frozen earth. The fire licked out again, calling her and her pace quickened through the forest floor.
As she was about to step through the clearing, a voice drifted to her. In melody, the woman sang, “Do you think it wise, child of your heart? They can see you with their eyes, you will soon part. And not together they will take you. They despise like the plague and you will wonder, but he scorns you, no matter his conscience to beg.”
Mother Shipton turned. Isabella knew it was her before she saw the long nose and the dark slats for eyes. The woman walked forward and did not hesitate at the fire. She walked through it, the flames bowing out around her, not catching at her clothes, and came through on the other side just how she looked before, a smile playing on her lips. “I do not burn, but you will."
Isabella’s whole body shook, her shoulders heaved forward and backward until soon the movement roused her.
Thomas stood over her in bed. The breeze from the open window blasted her face, her sweat cooled as it dried on her head, arms, and neck. “Wake, Isabella. We must go.”
“Mrs. Shipton?”
“No. Isabella, we have to go. Now.” He flipped her sheets down.
“Go? Go where?”
“My father has forsaken me. He will not grant us our marriage.”
“He said—”
“It does not matter what he said. It only matters what he says now. Come! Grab as few belongings as possible. I have got my best horse and we will leave this place.”
“Leave my family? My home?”
“‘Tis the only way we can be together.”
Isabella clutched her bed sheets. “My father will talk to him. I am sure he can be appealed to.”
“My father will have none of it. He thinks I have made a bad choice in you.”
Isabella stared through tear-glistened eyes. “Have I done something to offend him?”
“‘Tis only your lack of wealth that offends him. Now grab as little as possible.”
“But how will we live?” And you will wonder, but he scorns you.
“Does it matter?” Thomas took up her hand and forced it around his body. He bent over and kissed her with all the excitement and hurry moving from his lips to hers. He pulled at her waist and she gathered the folds of his shirt at his back in her hands. He pulled away a little, their foreheads touching. “We will have one another. Now make haste!”
He spurred her to move. She threw the blankets all the way off and moved about the room. She went first to the desk for her journal and then to the floorboards for Thomas’ letters and placed them inside the leather book. Thomas opened his sack and Isabella tossed them inside. She grabbed a smock and petticoat and put it on over her nightgown and then placed another set in Thomas' bag. Finished, she looked at Thomas, her eyes wide. “Where are we to go?”
“To my uncle’s first, before my father realizes I have gone. Then we will leave, find a place to live as husband and wife.” He kissed her again and went to the window. Thomas threw the sack out first and then followed it before reaching back for Isabella.
The door to her room thudded open on its hinges. Her mother stood there, mouth hung open at the sight before her. Fear riddled her eyes.
“Mother—?”
“They have come,” she shouted. She looked down to Thomas who still held out his hands for Isabella. “To the barn.”
“Mother?”
Mrs. Lynne came forward and grasped her daughter’s hands. “Now.”
“I have a horse,” Thomas said. “It will be faster.”
Mrs. Lynne nodded.
Isabella turned and Thomas pulled her through the window. “We love you, Child,” her mother said before her scream interrupted the hushed bedroom.
Isabella looked back to see her mother falling to the floor, tackled by Mr. Austen. She writhed, her legs kicking out, but he clasped her steady.
Thomas lifted Isabella from the window before they were spied and toward his horse. After a few steps, he halted. Isabella ran into him from behind, her gaze still lost in her mother’s fight.
Isabella whirled around and once again, her fearful eyes lay upon Mr. Ludington.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sarah
The horn beeped when I locked the SUV aft
er cornering into a tiny parking space by the statue of the first settler. I glanced up at the tall, gray stone. I’d seen many in the small towns where I stopped to rest on my way to Virginia. Most of them were military statues marked with old soldiers in uniforms holding rifles. This monument was a guy in trousers and a work shirt, a regular person settling this piece of new land.
His eyes were creepy, haunted. Unlike the other statues, which stared off at nothing, too high to be staring at any one person, this one’s eyes followed you. I walked to the end of the grassy area, still keeping my eyes on him, and he watched me too. The entire way.
I turned around and stood right in front of him. He looked at me still in that disturbing way. He probably came here to start a new life whereas I came here to find mine.
An engraving on the statue bolded his last name—C. C something. The rest was gutted out, like someone had picked away at it. I searched around the base for a big fallen chunk. There wasn’t one. On the opposite side, face down in the grass, I found a white paper that read, "Excuse our mess! We’re renovating!”
What the heck did they need to renovate? His last name was his last name. It wasn’t like names changed, like history somehow alters itself from time to time.
I shook my head and walked away. Crazies.
The festival was crowded and just as alive as ever. It was a wonder these people didn’t have jobs they had to go to or other things to do besides spending all their time at the festival.
The stage area was now turned into a viewing space for the Joan of Arc movie. Dogs and kids all ran around the park while their parents sat on blankets or fold-out campy chairs and watched the actors on screen complete with popcorn, soda, and cotton candy.
I spotted Drake over by the food stands. He looked at me too, but I turned and walked the other way, not even waiting to see if he’d try to talk to me. Or what he’d do.
I was right. He was wrong. End of story.
I moved toward the booths and spotted Courtney. A guy stood and talked to her. I recognized him as one of the freaks with the robe whose eyes turned white at the Wiccan meeting. He saw me coming before Courtney did and his face turned hard.