Bane

by Trish Milburn

  “Because of the tea,” Fiona says.

  I nod. “Anyone who attacks a coven witch doesn’t live long enough to apologize.”

  “Then why did you come back here?” Adele asks.

  “Because we are in Salem seeking information, and I sense that you’re hiding something. From us, specifically.”

  “What type of information?” Fiona asks.

  “The kind that keeps the covens out of our lives,” Egan says.

  “A way to keep them from hurting anyone ever again,” I say.

  “We don’t know how,” Adele says.

  I look from her to Fiona. “Maybe not, but you’re right when you say the covens have lied to us. We need to know the truth.”

  Fiona holds my gaze for several seconds, assessing, as silence settles around us. “Why you?”

  This woman is very good at reading beyond the surface, but I don’t detect any malicious intent toward me. “Because I’ve never known a coven witch to fight the other members of their coven, to defy the darkness, and live to tell the tale. Until I did it.”

  Fiona’s eyes widen slightly, and I sense surprise from Adela and Rule, too.

  I decide to dive in, to trust these people I’ve just met. “Have you ever heard of a white witch?”

  I glance at Egan and see the disbelief written plainly across his face.

  “No. Why?” Fiona says.

  “Because I think I might be one, or at least have the potential to be one.”

  “Jax,” Egan says, warning in his voice.

  I wave away his concern. “We don’t have all the time in the world,” I say, then return my attention to Fiona. “Before we came here, we were in a battle with my coven. It was only the two of us and two of our non-witch friends versus a dozen dark witches. It was at one of the spots where the covens harvested their dark magic. I knew we’d all die if I didn’t do something drastic, so I drew more power out of the earth. At first, it was all dark, but then something unexpected happened.”

  I meet Egan’s gaze for a moment before continuing. “I pretty much exploded in light. It totally erased the darkness inside me, and it literally lifted me into the air. Suddenly, I was more powerful than all those coven witches put together. They fled from me.”

  “That’s good, right?” Rule asks.

  “It bought us enough time to get away and keep our friends safe. But I’m hesitant to use something I don’t understand.”

  “What have you heard about white witches?” Rule asks.

  “Next to nothing,” I say. “We always thought what little we heard were just stories told by kids. It wasn’t ever something you’d mention to a grown witch.”

  Fiona takes a deep breath then gives her daughter a meaningful look. Another long moment passes before she stands and walks toward a long worktable along the far wall. She opens a drawer and retrieves something I can’t see. When she returns, she extends a crudely made metal cross to me.

  “This won’t hurt me,” I say. “I’m not a vampire. I can go inside a church, touch holy water.”

  “Then it shouldn’t be a problem for you to hold it, should it?”

  I take the cross, but instead of it being cool it feels warm in my hand. I turn it over and look at the opposite side, then switch hands. When I glance up at Fiona, she’s looking at me as if I’m some sort of complex mathematical equation. “What?”

  Instead of answering, she nods toward Egan. “Now you.”

  With a loud sigh, he takes the cross but immediately tosses it from one hand to the other. “What did you do to make it hot?” He holds it by the tip and twirls it between his fingers.

  “Show me your hands,” Fiona says as she takes the cross back.

  “Why?”

  “Just do it,” I say, wanting to get past whatever test Fiona is obviously putting us through.

  Egan holds up his hands, palms out, and wiggles his fingers. Then he points at the cross. “This proves nothing. Any dark coven witch could come in here and hold that.”

  “No, they couldn’t,” Fiona says. “That’s not just any cross. It’s made from two of the iron nails that were used to nail Christ to the cross.”

  Egan snorts.

  “What, is that more unbelievable than the existence of dark witches with incredible powers?” Fiona asks.

  “How do you know it’s real?” I ask. “What is it supposed to do, detect evil?” I think of Keller’s bloodstone and how my magic had made it light up like a red Christmas tree bulb.

  Fiona holds up the cross. “This was brought to Salem by a minister who witnessed both the witch trials and the formation of the dark covens. He got it from a reliable source in Jerusalem. If a dark witch touches it, its power will melt their skin.”

  “Sorry, but I think the battery’s low,” Egan says.

  Fiona gives him a look of exasperation, very much like a tired mother whose child challenges her at every turn.

  “How do you know it even works?” I ask. “The covens left here after they accepted the dark power and haven’t been back. At least that’s what we’ve been told.”

  “Because the minister saw the power with his own eyes when he pressed it against the forehead of a newly made dark witch,” Fiona says.

  “Doubtful,” I say. “He wouldn’t have been allowed to live.”

  “He was able to flee while the witch tried to recover from the searing pain. And before you ask, I know this to be absolutely true because that minister was my many times great-grandfather.”

  “Lot of ministers in this evil-fighting business,” Egan says under his breath.

  I know he’s referring to Keller’s father, a Methodist minister who takes fighting evil very seriously. I ignore him and stay focused on Fiona. “Maybe the tale got exaggerated over time. It was hot to the touch for Egan, but I only detected a slight warmth.”

  “Which tells me you two aren’t entirely evil.” Fiona shakes her head. “I’ve never heard of such from a witch descended from the families that accepted the dark magic.”

  “Why did it affect us differently?” Egan asks.

  I glance at him and know what he’s thinking, that the cross didn’t affect me as much because I may be a white witch.

  “You’re more evil than her,” Adele says, matter-of-factly.

  Fiona watches me. “Maybe there is something to your white witch theory.” Finally, she turns and heads for a cupboard shoved against the back wall.

  “Mom,” Adele says with a note of warning in her voice.

  “They passed the test,” Fiona says.

  “Not entirely.”

  “We have waited three centuries for some sign, some way to rid the world of the darkness born in the wake of the trials. There is something different about these two,” Fiona says. She stares first at Egan then me. “Something that might finally right wrongs.” She turns her attention to her daughter. “Have you ever known my instinct to be wrong about anyone?”

  Adele glances at Egan and me before giving what looks like a reluctant shake of her head.

  “And it’s the first time anything like this has ever happened,” Fiona continues. “We’ve never had this type of power on our side before.”

  I scrunch my forehead. “Your side?”

  “We have a lot to discuss,” Fiona says. When she opens the cupboard, there are no shelves holding supplies as I expect. The older woman gestures toward the yawning darkness at the top of a set of descending stairs. “You ready for some answers?”

  I stand still as possibilities run through my head. Is this a trap? What’s at the bottom of those stairs? But I think about how Egan and I have been flying blind lately and how the covens are no doubt looking for a way to defeat us once and for all.

  I glance at Adele and don’t sense duplicity. When I meet Rule’s gaze, I hold it. To his credit, he doesn’t lower his or look away. For a moment, he reminds me a bit of Keller, not in looks but in an inherent rightness. That’s what tips my decision.

  I take the first step to
ward the stairs.

  Chapter Three

  The scents of cool earth and old paper assault me as I descend the stone steps. Ahead of me, Fiona flips a light switch, and a basement stretches out in front of us. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line every stone wall but one. Instead, it’s covered with what look like maps. A wooden table with eight chairs sits in the middle of the room.

  “What is all this?” I ask.

  “Everything my family has ever collected over the years since the Salem witch trials on the existence of witches,” Fiona says.

  When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I slowly round the room looking at the spines of old books and pieces of yellowed paper stacked on the shelves beside the books. When I reach the maps, I realize they look a lot like the property maps I examined at the library. Only these are slightly different.

  My breath catches in my throat when I notice my last name. I touch it with my finger, not sure it’s real.

  “That was a prime piece of land,” Rule says as he walks up beside me. “Good soil, next to a creek.” He lifts his finger and traces it along the edge of the property. “This line of trees is still there.”

  I notice that Rule has nice fingers. Long, straight, strong. I mentally shake myself and bring Keller’s face to mind. Thinking of him is always accompanied by a pang of longing. A longing I have to forget in order to focus on the task at hand.

  “Are you okay?”

  At Rule’s question, I shove away thoughts of the boy I left behind along with a large piece of my heart and refocus on the one who might be able to give me some answers.

  “Yeah.” I spare him only a glance, but even that feels wrong. Needing some distance from him, I walk toward one of the bookshelves and scan the spines. Some are so old that the titles are either faded almost beyond recognition or not visible at all.

  “Why do you have all this stuff hidden down here?” Egan asks as he paces along the opposite wall’s collection of reading material.

  “Our family knew that what had really happened here in Salem on the heels of the witch trials would be lost to history if someone didn’t bear witness,” Fiona says. “But they also knew that they couldn’t get caught, that they’d lose their lives just the same as those poor innocent souls did. Only this time they’d be murdered to ensure their silence, by people who’d once been just like them.”

  “What did your family think would come from writing everything down?” Egan asks.

  “Maybe it was as simple as making sure the truth wasn’t erased.” Fiona runs her hand along the frayed cover of a book on the table. “Or maybe they hoped that someday the information would be useful in changing things.”

  “Getting rid of the covens, you mean?” I ask.

  Fiona meets my eyes. “Perhaps.”

  I let my gaze wander around the room. “You’d think if there were answers here, someone would have found them already.”

  “Or maybe we just didn’t know what to look for,” Rule says as he steps up beside his grandmother. “After all, none of us knows what it’s like to live inside one of the dark covens.”

  “Count yourself lucky,” I say.

  “We do, every day,” Adele says. Of the three family members, Adele is the one who obviously trusts Egan and me the least. She might prove to be the wisest in the end.

  “Maybe we can help each other,” Fiona says.

  “What makes you think you can trust us?” I ask.

  “Intuition. And the fact that you have shown the strength to defy your covens. We have never been able to do more than keep a record of history because we have no real powers, not like you two.”

  “But we’re the kind of witches your family fled rather than be like.”

  Fiona fixes her gaze on me, seeming to look deeper than any human truly can. “No, I don’t believe you are. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” She gestures toward the contents of the room. “If you were a true dark witch, you would have destroyed all of this on sight then my family and me in the next breath.”

  “We’re not without fault. We’ve both done things that weren’t right.”

  “Is there anyone alive who can say they’ve done otherwise?” Fiona asks. She raps her knuckles against the book on the table. “It’s too late to dive into this tonight. We’ve got more than three hundred years worth of history to sift through, but I think bright and early in the morning is soon enough to start.”

  I almost argue. Every minute counts when I have no doubt the covens are planning their next move. But I keep quiet and resign myself to waiting a few more hours for answers, if they indeed exist.

  “What are we looking for anyway?” Adele asks.

  “A vulnerability, a chink in the covens’ armor,” her mother replies. “With Jax and Egan’s first-hand knowledge of how the covens operate today, I have no doubt we will find it somewhere in this archive. We’ve always been operating half-blind, without the knowledge these two bring to the table. We’re stronger now.”

  I hope Fiona is right. But as I look at three centuries of documentation, I can’t help but feel like we’re facing a search for a needle in a life-or-death haystack.

  Egan stops on the path to the cottage a few steps in front of me. Before he has a chance to speak, I sense it, too.

  “Someone’s been here,” I say quietly. I uncurl my fingers and let power spark between my fingertips, ready to fight if necessary. I hope I don’t have to, because engaging that much magic will be like sending up a beacon to the covens.

  “I’ll take the back,” Egan whispers.

  I nod and wait until he disappears around the corner of the cottage before I approach the front door. When I find the door still locked, I pull the key from my jean pocket and slide it into the lock. I turn the key, open the door and flip on the light switch in one smooth motion. Egan steps through the back doorway at the same moment.

  The light illuminates no one other than the two of us, but someone has definitely been in the room during our absence. Everything looks the same as before, but my heightened instincts tell me that in this case looks are definitely deceiving. It’s as if the air isn’t quite right.

  “Not a witch,” Egan says.

  I’m not so sure. True, there isn’t any residual energy signature, but the presence doesn’t seem entirely normal either.

  “What?” Egan asks.

  I notice he is staring at me with his eyebrows drawn together. “Go deeper,” I say. “There’s something not right. Sort of like Rule and his family, but more.”

  Egan turns away and reaches out with his senses again. I wait to see if he catches what I did.

  “What the hell is that?” he finally says.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. But it seems like the closer we get to answers, the more questions we end up having.”

  “Damn, my head is beginning to hurt.” He stalks to the fridge and nabs a cold Dr. Pepper, then downs half of it in one gulp. He scans the room. “Nothing appears to be missing. Of course, they could have been looking for us.”

  I shake my head. “They’d still be here if that was it.” Though I know that the Beginning Book is safe, I pull it from the bag I take everywhere. “You think someone knows we have this?”

  Egan shrugs. “I don’t think so. I can’t imagine how they’d find out. Unless our new friends know more than they’re saying.”

  “The bag never left my shoulder,” I say. “There’s no way they could know.”

  “Unless it was a plant when I found it in that book shop.”

  “That seems far-fetched,” I say. “Plus the fact that I got a definite vibe that Fiona and her family don’t venture from Salem much.”

  I’m still staring at the plain black cover of the book when I hear footsteps outside. Before I can think about what I’m doing, I’m out the door and shoving the person next to the outside wall of the cottage by the throat. My vision clouds for a moment before I realize Rule’s huge eyes are staring back at me. Even when I recognize him, it takes me a couple of s
econds to release him.

  When I do and take a few steps back, Rule doesn’t move. He simply stands still and stares at me, not speaking.

  “Sorry,” I finally choke out.

  “You greet all your visitors like that?” he asks, stepping away from the wall and shaking off what had been a look of terror. In that moment, I know he is well aware of what a coven witch can do to someone without any power.

  “No,” Egan says. “But then we don’t have visitors, unless you count whoever broke into the cottage while we were gone.”

  Rule rubs his throat as he glances toward the doorway where Egan now stands blocking most of the interior light trying to spill out into the night.

  “Anything taken?” Rule asks.

  “No, not that we have much anyway,” Egan says. “Were you hoping to find something?”

  Rule looks genuinely confused. “Me? You know it wasn’t me. You were with me.”

  “But you could be working with someone else,” Egan says.

  “I’m not.” Now it’s Rule’s turn to sound annoyed. He returns his attention to me.

  “Why are you here then?” I ask. “Spying on us to see if we’re trustworthy?” I don’t seem to be able to curb my sharp tone. Maybe I’m more tired than I realize. I need about twelve hours of solid sleep so I can keep up the fight against the covens all over again tomorrow.

  “I don’t know about trustworthy, but you certainly have trust issues.”

  The darkness inside me makes me want to growl, all out of proportion to the threat Rule poses. Even if he was here for some secret purpose, it’s not as if I couldn’t squash him as easily as I can a gnat. I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. Maybe if I slept for a month I wouldn’t be so edgy. Unfortunately, I don’t have that luxury. I gather my energy and force myself to calm down.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, and it’s harder than it should be to force those words out of my mouth. It feels weird, like I’m not completely myself, and I wonder if this is part of what it means to be a white witch, learning to control some new variation of my power.