by R. D. Brady
THE BELIAL WITCHES
R.D. BRADY
SCOTTISH SEOUL PUBLISHING, LLC
Contents
Books By R.D. Brady
Untitled
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
FACT OR FICTION
Cast of Characters
Books By R.D. Brady
About the Author
BOOKS BY R.D. BRADY
The Belial Series (in order)
The Belial Stone
The Belial Library
The Belial Ring
Recruit: A Belial Series Novella
The Belial Children
The Belial Origins
The Belial Search
The Belial Guard
The Belial Warrior
The Belial Plan
Stand-Alone Books
Runs Deep
Hominid
The A.L.I.V.E. Series
B.E.G.I.N.
A.L.I.V.E.
Be sure to sign up for R.D.'s mailing list to be the first to hear when she has a new release!
“Thou shall not suffer a witch to live.”
Exodus 22, 18
“If any man or woman be a WITCH, that is, hath or consulteth with a familiar spirit, they shall be put to death.”
General Court of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, 1641
“A man also or woman that hath a familiar spirit, or that is a wizard, shall surely be put to death: they shall stone them with stones: their blood shall be upon them.”
Leviticus 20, 27
CHAPTER 1
NEWETOWNE, MASSACHUSETTS BAY COLONY
NOVEMBER 1691
Cotton Mather stared out at the crowd that had come to hear him speak. Not yet thirty, his writings on witchcraft and the dangers of their evil for Puritan beliefs and lives had catapulted him into the limelight.
Today he was speaking at the newly created Harvard College. It was only within the last year that they had gotten a house and an acre of land to begin the higher education of men within the New World. The house was in the distance, but the crowd for Cotton’s speech was too large for the small rooms inside. Instead, a tent had been erected outside. Fires burned along the edges to keep the attendees warm, but Cotton felt no cold himself. The power of his message kept him warm.
His books and lectures were known throughout New England. And after all the time he’d spent studying and preparing, it was well deserved. For years, he had toiled away, trying to find the topic that would draw people to his lectures. The topic that would make sure they understood the importance of his mind. But finally, on a trip to England, he’d discovered his true calling, his mission, the danger of the Devil among us—the danger of the witches.
Now faces turned up at him. They’d come from all over. From Plymouth and Salem and even as far east as Hartford. His audience sat in rapt attention as he extolled the dangers the witches provided, the signs of their presence among us, and most importantly the way in which to defeat a witch. But now he had a new aspect of this soul-endangering evil that he felt deserved attention.
His deep voice carried over the rows of his audience as he brought his lecture to a close. “Spectral evidence is oftentimes the only evidence available. The Devil is crafty in his approach. He knows he cannot simply leave physical proof behind. So he resorts to an approach that leaves no trace of his wickedness.”
He paused, allowing his words to sink in. “But we must be careful to not rush to judge. There must be a fairness in how we approach our subject, for people do tell untruths. It must be remembered, though, that a good and just God would never stand by while a virtuous person is abused. He will always provide a route to vindication.
“But even with God’s help, we the virtuous must always be on guard. The Devil looks for our weaknesses, our vulnerabilities. We must stay true to our Puritan ideals, which will see us through these dangerous times.”
He kept his frown in place as he delivered his final words. “And remember that there is a Devil. It is a thing doubted by none but those that are under the influences of the Devil.”
He stepped back from the podium. In his mind he heard the thunderous applause, even though the Puritan nature of his audience would recoil at such an outburst. But he saw the applause in their eyes as they stared up at him in feverish adherence. He spoke the truth. He was the one who would keep them safe.
He nodded and made his way from the tent, stopping to speak with only a few who wished to hear more. Normally basking in the attention after a lecture was his favorite part. But today there was a more important meeting that required his attention. He had uncovered the hints of a coven in the New World. And he would be the one to help bring it to light.
He made his way out of the meeting tent and across the yard. He climbed the cold stone steps, the torchlights beckoning him forward. Pushing open the heavy door, he breathed in the warmth as he slammed the door shut behind him. There was no one about this cold Saturday afternoon. Torches kept the darkness to the corners, but there was still a gloom to the place. He hurried down the hall, making his way to the last door. Pausing, he pulled off his hat, straightening his wig and the collar of his shirt. Taking a breath, he rapped on the door.
“Enter.”
Cotton pushed the door open and stepped into the office of the president of Harvard College. “Good evening, Father.”
Increase Mather turned, looking down his pointed nose and over his glasses at Cotton. “Ah, Cotton. Good, good. How was the lecture?”
“Well received, I think.”
Increase nodded, gesturing for Cotton to sit as he took his own seat behind the large wooden desk, placing the book he had been reading on it. It was a tome on the St. Thomas Aquinas. The whole room was filled with such books, which was only fitting for the man who had first received the Harvard Doctor of Divinity degree. “You are making quite a name for yourself within academic circles.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Now, you said you needed to speak with me about something urgent? I confess, I am in the dark as to what it might be, and your correspondence did not offer any clues.”
Cotton leaned forward. “When I was in England, I came across one of our family’s papers. And I learned we were once members of a group known as the Council.”
Increase blanched at the name.
“You know of it.”
Increase nodded slowly. “Their business is not ours, son.”
“Why not? They seem to be trying to track down the truth of our history.”
“But not for truth’s sake. They seek to make money from the artifacts of the past. Your grandfather would not condone their activities and pulled our family from their ranks. And he made the right decision.”
“But, Father, I believe they may be able to help us—”
“No, Cotton. The Council, they are not a force of good. And we should not be part of anything that they are trying to track down. It will only lead to destruction.”
“You don’t understand—”
“Son, I know you are a man now, but this is not for you. Trust that my fathe
r and I know of what we speak and leave whatever it is you think you’ve found alone.”
“But there’s a grimoire.”
Increase’s hand shook as he reached for his handkerchief. “A grimoire?”
“Yes. I was reading in the notes that they believe it was brought to the New World. It is somewhere in New England. And if it is here, that means there is a coven of witches here as well. It is our duty to track them down.”
Increase was quiet for a moment before he shook his head. “No. The words of the Council cannot be trusted. Did they call it a grimoire?”
“They said it was a book of immense power. What else could it be?”
“Many things. Do not interfere in this, Cotton. It will not end well.” Increase stood up. “Now, your mother has prepared dinner for us.”
“Yes, of course,” Cotton mumbled. He stood as his father gathered his things from the table behind his desk. What had happened to his father? He had been a shining light in the fight against the Devil. But now age had made him soft.
But Cotton would take up the mantle of the Mather fight. And he would find the unholy coven that had brought the book of the Devil to these new lands.
Yes, he knew his duty. And he would fulfill it.
CHAPTER 2
SALEM, MASSACHUSETTS
LATE JANUARY 1692
Sarah Goode stumbled down the street. Her feet hurt and the morning sickness was making her even more tired. But there were mouths to feed. She spied Patricia Lancaster and Mary Whatley hurrying down the sidewalk toward her. Both wore matching black dresses with similarly dark bonnets. Sarah herself wore a dark gray one that had once been black. But too much wear and too many washings had lightened it over the years.
Pushing aside her nausea, Sarah picked up her skirts and hurried after them. She knew exactly when they caught sight of her. They hesitated, and Sarah knew they were going to try to avoid her. She stepped in their way before they had the chance.
“Goody Lancaster, Goody Whatley. Might you have some coins or food to spare for me and my family?”
Both women looked at each other, their mouths pinched. Inside, Sarah recoiled at the fact that she had resorted to begging. But her first husband had rung up debts that had followed her into her second marriage, and the inheritance from her father had gone to pay them off. Her husband occasionally tried to get work. But truth be told, he was a horrible carpenter.
“Good Christian women such as yourselves must surely have something you could spare, or perhaps a job?”
Both women cringed, as Sarah knew they would. She had been labeled crazy by the town years ago. It was her own fault. Since she was a child she’d had the gift of sight. Her mistake had been in trying to warn the citizens of Salem when hardship was going to befall them. Instead of heeding her warnings, they pointed to them as proof she had cursed them.
But their silly superstitions could occasionally come in handy. “Of course, if you are not feeling charitable, I may not feel so charitable in my wishes for your future.”
“Here.” Patricia shoved two coins at her. Sarah took them and looked at Mary, who dropped a coin on the ground. “Take it and be gone.” The women stepped around her, pulling their skirts so they did not touch her. Not out of respect, Sarah knew, but to avoid being despoiled by touching crazy Sarah Goode.
Sarah knelt down and picked up the coin. It would be enough for two loaves of bread, maybe some broth. Split amongst the six of them, it would not be much, but she would make it stretch. She stood up, her back protesting, and then the world swayed. She clutched onto the horse railing. Darkness encroached at the edge of her eyes. A vision was coming. Normally she could tell when they would arrive and she took care to make sure she stayed inside. But the babe had made her so sick these last few days that she hadn’t recognized the signs.
She stumbled forward and stepped into the alley between the schoolhouse and the mercantile. An old wagon stood waiting to be loaded.
Her legs trembled and her eyesight came and went. No, not now, please, she begged as she crawled under the wagon and leaned against the wall of the shop.
No, not now, she pleaded again silently. But as always, the vision did not listen.
CHAPTER 3
Seventeen-year-old Margaret ‘Meg’ Jacobs walked down the street with her grandfather. It was only the two of them now. Her mother and grandmother had both passed two years earlier from the flu. Meg missed them terribly, but her grandfather was good man, a kind man. She knew the day would come soon when she had to find a husband, and neither of them was looking forward to it.
Two women hurried down the street toward them, their heads bent against the wind. Her grandfather nodded as they came abreast of them. “Sisters Whatley and Lancaster, good morning to you.”
“And you as well, Brother Jacobs, young Meg.”
“How fare you this morning?” her grandfather asked.
“Well, although we did have to deal with Sarah Goode,” Whatley said.
Lancaster shook her head. “The woman is destined for a punishment in the afterlife.”
Her grandfather nodded his head, even though Meg knew he did not approve of criticizing Sarah. The woman had a difficult life. “Indeed. She is a poor example of a Puritan.”
The women nodded and made their farewells. Meg and her grandfather continued down the street and Meg felt the stirrings of annoyance. She would never say anything to her grandfather, but she hated when their neighbors looked down their noses at those less fortunate. It seemed cruel unkind.
A swish of grey skirt caught Meg’s attention and she glanced up just in time to see Sarah slipping into an alley, her face extremely pale. Meg tightened her grip on her grandfather’s arm.
Her grandfather turned his head. “Meg? Is something wrong?”
“No, Grandfather,” she said quickly, pulling her gaze from the alley. “I just thought I saw a stray. It looked injured.”
He patted her hand with a small smile. “Well, go on. You are too soft hearted. Find me when you are done.”
She nodded as he started into the mercantile. “Yes, of course.”
She waited until he was inside before hurrying into the alley. It was narrow, only about twenty feet across. The door to the store room to for the mercantile was at the back left but no other doors opened into it. The wagon for the mercantile lay sitting near the door waiting to be loaded. The alley led to the stable yard and Meg could smell the horses even from here.
But there was no Sarah. Where was she? Had she already gone? She did not look capable of moving that quickly. A dark shadow shifted under the wagon catching her gaze. Meg gasped and quickly climbed under before anyone saw her. Sarah sat hunched over, her back against the wall, her eyes staring at nothing.
“Oh, Sarah.” Meg went to touch her and then drew her hand back. No, best not to waken her. She knew she would come around on her own. Meg glanced around hoping no one came by. She could hear voices in the storage room of the mercantile. Hurry, Sarah, hurry.
Sarah blinked and her breath came out in a rush. Her head turned to the side and she frowned trying to focus. “Meg?”
“Sarah, thank goodness. We must go.” Meg glanced out into the alley. Still no one. She crawled from under the wagon, all put pulling Sarah with her and then helped her stand. Quickly slipping an arm around Sarah’s waist once she was upright, she hurried them down the rest of the alley toward the stable. She had just slipped around the other end when the storeroom door opened.
Meg let out a sigh of relief. That had been too close.
“I must stop,” Sarah said quietly.
“Just a little farther,” Meg said, hurrying Sarah toward the stable. She opened the door and helped Sarah to a bale of hay before quickly turning back to close the door.
Sarah leaned back against another bale, her eyes closed.
“Sarah, can I get you anything?”
Sarah reached for Meg’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “No, child, but I thank you for your help.”
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“Was it a vision?”
Sarah nodded tiredly.
Meg watched Sarah, noting how pale she looked, how tired. Something had been weighing her friend down these last few months. “You have been having them more often lately, haven’t you?”
“Yes, and all of the same thing.”
“What is it?”
Sarah opened her eyes. “I must speak with Rebecca and Mary first and then I will share it with all of you. Can you get messages to the sisters? We will need to meet tomorrow night.”
“I will tell them.”
“Good. You should go. Your grandfather will worry.”
Meg knew she was right, but Sarah looked so pale. “I will bring you something to eat. And then—”
“No, Meg. I thank you for your kindness. But even us being seen here is a risk. You must go.”
Meg stared at her friend, her teacher, and wanted to stay, but she knew Sarah spoke the truth. Theirs was a burden larger than any one person. Meg leaned forward and kissed Sarah’s cheek. “May the Great Mother watch over you.”
“And you as well, little sister. Now go, hurry.”
Meg hesitated for only a moment before hurrying from the stable. She retraced her steps and was just stepping out of the alley when her grandfather emerged from the mercantile. “Ah, there you are. Any luck with the stray?”
Meg forced her herself to calm down. She shook her head. “No, Grandfather. She was too quick.”
“Next time you’ll get her. “
“Yes, Grandfather.” She fell into step next to him, hoping he did not notice her pounding heart.
CHAPTER 4
The wind was biting and Sarah Goode pulled her cloak more tightly to her. She glanced around, but no one was near. She slipped quietly into the barn on the Nurse plantation, shutting the door quickly behind her.
“Child, you look frozen solid.” Rebecca Nurse, portly, with white hair, hustled over to Sarah and clasped her to her chest. “Come to the fire.”
Sarah shook her head as Rebecca led her to the flames. “You shouldn’t have made a fire. It will draw attention.”