The Witchfinder Wars

by K. G. McAbee

  "Man," I said as I eyed Grand in admiration, "you are amazing, you know that?"

  Grand grinned at me, but I could tell she was still pissed. "Clay has always been like that, ever since he was a little boy. He's all talk. Sally, could you go down and ask Brent if he'd make Tommy some lemonade, please? I'm sure he'd like something to get the taste of the medicine out of his mouth."

  "Yes, ma'am, Mrs. Hopkins." Sally gathered up the bowl and stuff and disappeared in her silent way I'd always admired.

  "Now, young man," Grand said. She sat back down in the hard chair beside my bed and smoothed her skirt over her knees the way she always does. "Tell me everything that happened, and exactly how you ended up unconscious, with a bloody knot on your head half the size of Texas, and smelling like a bonfire."

  Bonfire.

  Anya.

  "Grand, I..." I choked up. I could feel tears fighting to come out, but I didn't dare let them. I knew if I did, I might not ever be able to stop.

  But even while I was hurting so bad, there was that same strange feeling inside, one that told me things were better than I thought, better than I could hope.

  But how could they be? I saw her. I saw Anya run into a burning building and disappear.

  I opened my mouth and said, "My girlfriend died, Grand. And she didn't even know she was my girlfriend. Funny thing, too. Neither did I."

  "Oh, honey." Grand's beautiful face filled with pain, and it was all for me, I knew. "I am so sorry. I knew something like this was going to happen, but I was hoping it wouldn't be for a long, long time. Usually the curse doesn't even begin to take effect until the Matthew is in his early twenties. You're a remarkable boy, you know that?"

  I didn't feel like much of anything, and certainly not remarkable.

  Then I realized exactly what Grand had said and I tried to form words, but the only thing that came out was sputters.

  Grand smiled at me. "Tommy, tell me; what did you find out in your research on the first Matthew Hopkins?"

  No. Not this. Not another history lesson. "Grand, please. I don't think I can stand this right now..."

  She raised a hand to stop me, and I could tell she was pleading for me to listen. "Tommy, everything you found out in your research and everything Clay told you about Matthew Hopkins and the business is true. But he failed to tell you something important. That's because he doesn't know it. No one knows it but Matthew Hopkins. Oh, not the original. Or, actually, yes, the original, and every one since then."

  "Grand, you've lost me," I said. "Too many Matthew Hopkins." Then it came to me. I was Matthew Hopkins, and we Matthews stretched back to the original in an unbroken line, oldest son to oldest son.

  Grand leaned forward, twisting her hands together in her lap like she wanted to take mine but didn't dare. "I know you've done the research, honey. You've found the accepted story of the beginnings of WFG Ltd., and Clay has told you what the, well, the underground section of WFG does too. But there's more, much more; things your father would have told you as soon as you turned eighteen. But he's gone, and so it's left up to me."

  "How do you know about this, Grand? You're not a Matthew Hopkins."

  "No, sweetheart." Her voice was so sad. "No, I'm not. But I was married to one, remember, and mother to another and now, grandmother to a third. Let me tell you what I've found out, and then we'll discuss what happened last night. Whatever the details, Tommy, remember this: whatever happened to your girlfriend was not, is not, your fault. You had no choice in the matter; it was destined, ordained. It was the curse."

  "Grand, please, not you too!" I groaned, and it was not entirely because of the pain in my head. "No more witches! No more curses! No vampires, no werewolves, no demons, no angels. Nothing supernatural, please! They're all fake. There's nothing true about any of it!"

  "Tommy," Grand said softly, "listen, please. Pay close attention; this information will affect your entire life. And it's true; believe me, I know. Two years before the original Matthew Hopkins, the first Witchfinder General, died, he found a real witch. A Chosen One; that's what they call themselves. Hopkins and his minions found a mark on her unlike anything they had ever seen. A scar, round, shaped like a full moon, with two connecting half moons on either side. The Witchfinder Generals were ecstatic about discovering this new mark of the devil. To them, it was proof they were doing the Lord's work. He was leading them to victory in His name."

  Grand's eyes shifted down to her hands and she took a moment before she continued.

  "Her name, this first Chosen One, was Bridget Sinclair. Oh, there is not much written about her in the history books, only that she was one of the victims of the first Matthew Hopkins. She was tortured, confessed to being a witch, and sentenced to die. But she, her history, has made an enormous impact on the Hopkins family in all the years since her death."

  "What do you mean?"

  "When Hopkins and his men had her trussed to the stake, Bridget requested to speak one last time. Amused, smiling, sure of himself, Matthew allowed it. Her words were never forgotten, honey. Bridget Sinclair cursed Matthew Hopkins, a horrible curse. Matthew Hopkins and every first son that followed would come to love one of her own—a Chosen One—love her to distraction, love her and her alone...only to lose her. It is said the only way the curse can be broken is when the love shared overcomes all boundaries. Even death. And so many of your forefathers have tried to shatter the horrible curse, Tommy, and none have succeeded."

  "But Grand," I said, not wanting to hear more, not wanting to believe, "you're not a witch. You see? That proves this whole curse thing isn't real, can't be real."

  She smiled a soft, sad smile as she looked at me.

  "Tommy, I'm not your grandfather's first love. I met him in college, and fell in love with him then. That's true. But there was another girl. One he loved more than life itself. He tried to protect her, tried to get her away, but the company destroyed her. When he lost her, he...changed. He became more like Clay. I was at school with him; I was pretty and respectable, from a good family. That's why he married me. Not because of love, but out of necessity." She shook her head and I could see the tears in her eyes. "Remember, there's always a Matthew Hopkins in charge of WFG Ltd. The line goes on, at whatever cost. To any of us, I'm afraid."

  My mind struggled to wrap itself around this new information, but I couldn't; it made not the least bit of sense. Then I had another thought.

  "Grand, my mother wasn't a witch. And you know how much Dad loved Mom. They were together for almost ten years; that doesn't sound like a curse working, now does it?"

  That smile again. Those knowing eyes causing me to wonder just what they had been keeping from me all this time.

  "Yes, honey. I'm sorry to tell you this, but yes, she was. Your mother was a Chosen One, but she refused to practice magic for fear of the curse. When...when she died giving birth to your sisters, your father threw himself into the only thing he knew. WFG. But he wanted to purify it, take away the monstrous side, find a way to do away with this horrible curse. His brother Clay has been fighting him on this and other things for years. And now, after last night's...event, it has happened again. Your love; torn from you. A witch. A Chosen One. Oh, Tommy, honey, I'm so sorry..."

  ***

  The rest of the day passed in a blur, a blur of pain and grief and, somehow, fear, though I wasn't exactly sure what was left I could be afraid of. I wandered around the house, reassuring the twins I was okay, visiting with Grand, being glad Clay and Kinsey were gone. It felt nice to be alone, until I remembered I was going to be alone for the rest of my life.

  Anya was gone.

  That night I first had the dream. Or was it that night? Maybe it had started the night I found out Dad died, for it seemed, in so many ways, I'd dreamed it a hundred, a thousand times.

  I didn't know anymore.

  In the dream, I was running through muddy cobbled streets unknown to me yet strangely familiar. Houses lined the streets, half-timbered affairs whose upper stories
overhung the streets below, making them dim even in the middle of the day.

  I ran, and knew I wasn't running away, but toward something, something vital. It wasn't until I came upon the crowd that the desperation took hold.

  I had to get through them.

  If I had to fight each and every one of them, with teeth and fingers, I would make my way to the front.

  For there, beyond them, was whatever was of vital importance, the thing I had to get to.

  Their focus was the center of the square, for the streets I'd been running down had opened onto a wide square surrounded by those overhanging buildings. As I shoved my way past the jeering faces of the crowd, I began to understand just what it was pulling me through them.

  A thin silver wire. One that looked as deadly as the guns Kinsey had been playing with.

  A thin silver wire, just like the one I had dreamed of, when I'd wandered into that small clearing and seen the doll with the pointed hat—the same silver wire that had turned into a glittering cobra and struck at my heart.

  My eyes turned irresistibly upward as I pushed through the final line of bodies blocking me from my goal.

  The pain ripping through my heart slowed; I flung my arm across my chest and gasped as it tore at me.

  Then, even as I was consumed in agony, I took in the scene before me.

  Annie.

  Tied to a stake.

  I watched in horror as a figure leaned in to set a torch into dry straw. It ignited.

  "Anya!"

  The name was ripped from my throat as I started running again.

  She started screaming then. Screaming for me to stay back.

  To save myself.

  But didn't she understand, couldn't she understand—that was exactly what I was doing?

  Without Anya, I was empty. Lost. Made of nothing more than shadow.

  The fires parted as I climbed up the straw; branches and logs slid under my feet, slick with something trying to keep me back.

  My growl of frustration melded in with her screams for me, but I made it to the top as my hands reached for her.

  For those green eyes begging me to let her go.

  I ignored them; I thrust myself against her to grab her waist, then scrambled for her hands to find the restraints, the cruel chains binding her to the stake.

  A voice I recognized from some earlier dream whispered in my ear.

  This is your choice, Tommy. Do you hold on or do you live a life of nothingness?

  The feel of her lips crushing against mine answered the question.

  Anya was mine.

  I was hers.

  And I would do anything to keep her.

  Anything.

  I awoke with a groan still echoing in the room, not entirely sure if it was from the kiss or the pounding that had returned to my head. I swung my legs off the bed and I made my way over to the window. I leaned against it, trying to clear away the images in my head.

  The smell of flesh burning.

  Just a dream, Tommy. That's all it was. All this stuff with Clay. Kinsey. WFG.

  And according to Grand, a curse.

  I wanted to lash out. To hurt them as much as they had hurt me.

  As much as they had hurt her.

  Instead, I leaned against the chilled glass as a cold numbness washed over my heart, filling me with nothing.

  ***

  The next day, I was exhausted.

  Grand wanted me to rest.

  The doctor said I had to rest.

  The twins ordered me to rest.

  As if I could. I had to go back, go back to her house and see...what was left.

  It took me a while. Clay had said he was going to be away for a few days; that worked to my benefit. But he didn't go right away; there was something about two missing employees.

  I wondered, hoped the missing were Bert and Ernie. I wasn't lucky enough for one to be Kinsey; he was still around. I suspected I had him to thank for the knot on my head, but I had no proof.

  One day, though, I would.

  And payback is hell.

  Even though the thoughts of revenge kept me going, the whole time I felt like a dead man. Dead man walking, dead man talking, dead man eating and trying to look alive.

  But everything that made me want to be alive was gone.

  It took me until late the next day before I could get out to my car and get away. I knew the way to Route Nine. The old Blanchett place.

  Anya's grave.

  I drove up and got out. The nice old farmhouse I'd liked so much was a tumbled pile of charred ruins, still smoking. I could see deep ruts in Evie's garden, where the fire trucks had parked to spray useless water on the burning house. Behind the house, the old barn still stood, and I walked toward it, aimless, wishing only one thing, knowing my wish would never, could never, come true.

  Then it did.

  Anya ran out from the side of barn.

  Anya, unharmed.

  Unburned.

  Alive.

  Running right toward me.

  The next moment, I watched in disbelief as she launched herself against me. She threw her arms around my neck, buried her face into my shoulder. Somewhere, somehow, in my shock, I could hear her murmuring the words I could not; words that stuck against the back of my throat.

  "You came back...by the gods...you came back..."

  I held her to me as if I was drowning and she was my only hold on life.

  My only hold on sanity.

  Time that felt too short passed before we released each other. She backed up, and I wanted to grab her before she could go too far. Her hand rose upward to brush against my head, running across the short bristles of the new haircut.

  "Tommy...you cut your hair."

  Then her face darkened as she saw the knot, the purple bruise all too visible through my pale hair.

  "What happened to you?" she demanded. She was so small, yet she was all the world to me.

  "It...It's nothing. I had an accident. It's nothing. But Annie...Anya..."

  I reached for her shoulders as she looked up at me.

  "What happened to you?" I asked in return, "I saw...There were reports of a fire. They said no one was found alive..."

  She shuddered beneath me as the rest of my words came tumbling out. They sounded a lot harsher aloud than they had in my head. "You didn't call me. You should have called me. Why didn't you let me know you were okay? I thought you were gone— I was so sure I'd lost you. Forever."

  Anya's eyes flashed with something like anger as she jerked herself away from me.

  "Called you? How?" A thin arm gestured toward the rubble that had been the farmhouse as her voice turned bitter. "You are right about the fire, Tommy. But it destroyed everything. Even the phones."

  I could feel my anger rising in response to hers. Or maybe it was all the emotions I had held in for the past few days.

  "You got a note to me before," I snapped. "You managed then, didn't you? You could have done that again."

  A sharp laugh escaped as she crossed her arms over her chest, as if for protection. "A note? Oh, sure. You're right. I should have just walked right over to Clarke Street and given you a note. Just like you did for me, right? When you didn't show up at the pond?"

  Anya's words snapped me back in place. Just a little. My thoughts had been so focused on getting her safe, I hadn't considered how she would feel about me not showing up to meet her.

  "Anya, really, now...uh, that was different."

  "Different?" She growled as she backed farther away. "How is it different? I didn't think I'd ever see you again. That you were gone from me for good." Anya shook her head as she started to turn away. "Maybe it's better that way anyway. I'm no good for you, Tommy..."

  Wait a minute. This was not going anything like I'd imagined when I saw her running from the barn. A sharp fear ran through me as I reached out to grab her arm.

  I couldn't lose her. Not again. Not so soon.

  "Anya...wait. Stop."

 
Relief flooded through me when she did.

  "Look...I'm sorry, okay? I didn't..." I sputtered to a stop when she turned back to face me. It was then I knew what I had to say. What I wanted to say. "Anya, don't you get it? This, what we have together, is right—no, it's too right. Too perfect. This is—you are the best thing, the only important thing in my life. I have to have you with me, forever."

  She made a funny little sound like a snort and shook her head, her red hair flying like the flames had on the night her house had burned. Then she turned again and started toward the barn.

  No way was I having that. "Hey, wait a minute! You can't just walk away from me, from us. You just can't...and not expect me to follow."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Anya

  "Why am I the only one who sees how wrong this is?" I growled in frustration as I turned back to face him. "You don't belong with someone like me, Tommy! We're too different. I don't belong in your world any more than you belong in mine."

  He growled in response, glaring at me across the space I had created between us; he crossed his arms over his chest.

  "Too different? How are we different, Anya? Is it because of who I am? What my family has? Tell me the truth."

  "I don't give a damn about who you are. It's who I am."

  I slammed the palm of my hand against the base of the pear tree that had survived the fire, and the only thing in Evie's garden still standing after my onslaught. The wood cracked against the force of my hand before I focused. It erupted into flames.

  "That's how, Tommy! People in your world aren't supposed to do that. They can't do that."

  I could feel the heat as I pulled my hand back undamaged. I waited for the shock to register on his face before I pulled the flames down until they extinguished. Just as I had on the horrible night that changed my life forever.

  The power of it dulled my senses, calmed my anger.

  I could feel my shoulders slump as the exhaustion shuddered through me. I pressed my hands against my eyes before I continued.

  "This is all my fault anyway. If I..."

  My hands fell as I looked over to him. The desire to be back in his arms hit me full force, but I stayed where I was.