* * * *
Matthew was now a widower, and therefore vulnerable, even to Jeanne Elemont. Meredith Mae would be married off and young Callen Hall would now be entitled to a portion of our estate, putting him in as much danger as everyone else. There was more than enough probability that those two insidious women would, one way or another, worm their way back into my family. I knew they would not let a fortune slip through their hands, not one sizable enough to keep Jeanne Elemont in the wings for over five years. I was certain that Matthew had been quite generous with her, but of course she would be worth far more as his wife than his mistress. I also believed that Meredith Mae was still vulnerable to Ursula and could be used unmercifully to amend any foul attempts at treachery that had failed to bring them success. This was a temporary setback for Ursula and Jeanne, for they would not let go of their wicked, little plan until every dime and sawbuck of our money was in their hands. No mater, I would bring an end to Ursula Boussidan, or so I thought.
* * * *
I remembered exactly where the wretched Jeanne Elemont lived in Manhattan. The image of that horrid black Mass was still fresh in my mind. I found the church that she had desecrated with her worship of the evil Satan. Her apartment house still stood in the same spot, next to the old Catholic church that had now been cleaned up and looked rather beautiful from behind the mist of my deficient vision.
Jeanne Elemont and Ursula Boussidan seemed to be enjoying themselves that early evening of September 14th, 1859, in the plush little room on Charles Street. I could see the shadows they cast behind the shade as I peered through the mist that shielded me. I simply floated up to their apartment and lingered on a wall near them. I prayed they would not notice the vague, small shadow I cast, for the room was still in semidarkness, and a soft light from the fading moon fell near me. Jeanne’s thick blond hair kissed her naked shoulders in round, wiry curls. From my caliginous gloom I could see tiny, electric hairs around her head, probably not visible to the human eye, glowing as if she were lit from within. Her eyes were like his, eagle-shaped and the color of the sea from Salem’s port. The other one was laying her long, partially clad body on the bed. Her straight hair was pulled back, as if wet, and her heavy-lidded eyes stared lasciviously at Jeanne Elemont’s strong white legs.
“You should have killed her years ago, in France.” Jeanne smiled and pulled a silver brush through her hair. “Now, whatever legal claim you had is completely meaningless.”
“I could never trust my legal claim, dear. It is much too dangerous to have believed I could have passed myself off as a man forever.”
“She could not have gotten rid of you had you of killed her.” Jeanne peered at Ursula.
“Ah, I see. We marry in America, and then, poof, she disappears in France? She is gone and I am in possession of her fortune? Surly, you realize that her father would have fought me to the death and cut me off without a dime?”
Ursula put her head back on her hands and smiled sweetly at Jeanne. “She told me her father was missing; he could have shown up at any time. Unfortunately, there he was, miraculously found when we returned from abroad. How could I know that he would be there? I would have done away with her back here in America if not for his presence. I swear it.”
“I think you like her in bed. You had years in which to get rid of her.”
“Ha!” Ursula continued to stare at her friend. “I will not compromise myself because you are jealous of her. I kill her, and then I am sharing the estate with the father, and so I kill him, and then the little heir Rachel? How suspicious is that? I am no fool.”
“Your costume too often confuses you, and I think you are as foolish as any man, and just as weak.” Jeanne put the brush down on the dresser behind her. “You are a rogue, darling, not a murderer. It was I that had to snap the bitch’s neck. You barely had the strength to hold the pillow down.” Jeanne laughed loudly.
Ursula looked up at the ceiling. “I do not kill foolishly,” she said. “As you would have me do.”
“Pussy cat, pussy cat.” Jeanne purred. “You are such a sissy.”
“I must gain access to the will, find out exactly how it has been altered. Once her father returned, he was entitled to fifty percent of the estate not held in trust. When I rewrote the will, for the second time, Malcolm Northrup insisted that Matthew Guyon be named an heir. How very strange it was for me to hear that.”
Jeanne laughed and pulled her legs up to her breast, revealing a tight brown brush of hair between.
“I told you that his mother clothed her soul in that idiot, Malcolm’s flesh. You do not believe me?” she said.
“Ah yes, Annabel Horton. I believe you.” Ursula sighed.
“I’m not sure that you do, which would be terribly foolish,” Jeanne said.
Ursula ignored the remark and began to file her nails. “That will I wrote has since been rewritten, and now, he has altered it again. I would love to see it.”
Ursula turned her body so that she was at the foot of the bed. She stared crudely up the other ones legs and smiled, so that even through my darkness I could see her teeth.
Jeanne spun around in her chair and looked back at Ursula through the mirror.
“I don’t need Silas to tell me how the will is written. Matthew owns the estate, and your little wife owns the trust, which is worth a great deal more. If something were to happen to Matthew Guyon, his money would go to Rachel and her family, but if Matthew has a wife, poor Rachel and her heirs would be reduced to twenty percent. Save your winsome charm for Meredith Mae, darling. Silas has to be thrown in a ditch and a new will written. You can do that. You’ve done it before. The new will should reflect no heirs other than Matthew’s wife. Twenty percent is still too much.”
Jeanne then spun her chair back around to Ursula and parted her legs again. I could tell it was a deliberate act to excite the woman.
“And what about me, darling?” Ursula asked, with a lewd grin.
“You must write yourself back into the bitch’s will, as well. I’m sure she will fall prey to your charm at least one more time,” Jeanne said. “I think she should leave you at least thirty percent for your troubles. Leave her father to me. I will race you to the altar once again. Men are easier to ensnare than women.”
Ursula slid off the bed to her knees and dragged the witch to her lips. Her face now rested on the brown, tight hair between the witch’s legs. I heard a small sigh emerge, though I could not tell from whose throat it came.
“What of your husband, Count Elemont?”
“Ha!” Jeanne laughed. “The poor man is old. He will not last the year.”
“What of Matthew?” Ursula whispered as she closed her heavy-lidded eyes. “How can I sneak to your bed if you are sharing it with him?”
“I will insist on my own bedroom.” Jeanne laughed. “And we will have that all to ourselves. I will unlatch the window for you every night, and you will fly like a vampire bat to my bed.”
Ursula joined in on the laughter as she continued to kiss the horrid creature in places I dare not name. I had to act quickly, even though I knew that Meredith Mae might never forgive me for what I was about to do.
* * * *
I watched as the two women rolled all over the floor together. I could hear their breath and the sucking sounds they made as they devoured each other’s tongues. I knew that Ursula was at her weakest moment as she moaned aloud and began to mount the body of the other. I knew I needed her weakness in order to emerge victorious, for if Ursula were to have had her full faculties about her, I might not have been able to claim her flesh as my next cavern of choice.
I pushed myself close. “God,” I whispered, “forgive me for my participation in this dreadful debauchery, but I must do it to save my blessed soul.”
I crept up the wall until my shadow lingered on the ceiling over them. Jeanne Elemont was writhing and moaning like one possessed, while the scoundrel, Ursula, covered her body with her own long legs and they moved as if under some b
izarre hypnosis, smiling and dancing to some erotic, legato thrusts that seemed to bring them both to plains of pleasure the innocent should not have knowledge of.
I lowered myself as best as I could to Ursula’s naked back. She was too enthralled to notice that I was absorbing her flesh. Jeanne Elemont was too deeply lost in sin to tell that I had entered Ursula’s blood stream, had crept there like a demon in the night. Suddenly, I felt the jolt as I was pulled through Ursula’s veins, and I could feel myself reeling through the warm blood that flowed there.
“Kiss me in my spot!” Jeanne suddenly cried out.
Ursula screamed in her own voice as she felt my hand on her heart.
“Kiss her there, bitch!” I said.
“Darling, oh darling.” The other one writhed under me. “You must kiss me there quickly, please.” She clung to me and began pushing my body into her flesh.
I laughed, as I felt my hands move and my legs stretch out in this new configuration of form, but Ursula fought me like a tiger, and I rolled off the writhing Jeanne.
I felt myself thrown against the wall. I tried to walk but I fell to my knees. I could feel the gasp from Ursula’s soul.
“Jeanneeeeeeeeeeeeeene!” she called out.
I heard the other one scream.
“Begone, bitch!” I cried and called upon my magic.
Before I knew it, Jeanne had leaped across the room and clutched my throat.
“Idiot!” she yelled, “What have you done with her? Ursula? Darling, where are you?”
“Return to the mud you came from.” I could barely get the words out. She seemed to be crushing my bones.
“Whore.” She spat in my eyes. “You sit on your finger and call my father’s name.”
“Your father is God’s despair,” I felt the air in my throat diminish and I gasped for breath as her hands tightened around me.
“You will not have her. Do not be foolish enough to think you will.”
“Begone!” I said through Ursula’s teeth.
“I will devour your soul, you amateur!” Jeanne screamed. “Ha!”
It was just at that moment that I blacked out completely. When I regained consciousness my neck was so sore that I could not turn my head. I could hear Jeanne laughing somewhere from outside of the space that I now I inhabited. I searched frantically for her, but she must have returned to the slime of her father’s arms, for though I heard her laughter, I did not see her.
Convinced that I was alone, I collapsed onto Ursula’s bed and fell back into a deep sleep. When I finally awoke and opened my eyes the sky outside the window was covered in a sweet pale blue and I languished for several euphoric moments in the long, androgynous form of that beastly woman, Ursula Boussidan.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I looked in the closet for clothes. The woman had an irregular body. Her legs were so long that they simply ran into her hips, which were certainly not much broader than her shoulders. I found a purple bonnet and lay it on the bed. I had to admit that it was very lovely. I noticed a full and pretty lavender dress with white lace around the sleeve and the waist. “This will do,” I said and sat down to put Ursula’s hair up in a popular French braid.
I looked at her features in the glass, the aquiline nose and the small, full bow mouth. The thick, dark hair fell nicely behind her ears, and the lashes over the round-lidded eyes were so much thicker and longer than I had remembered them. I stared into the glass, admiring Ursula’s good looks when, suddenly, I screamed out in horror. It took but a moment for me to realize that only the cyanotic gaze from Ursula’s blue eyes stared back at me. I could no longer see the opaque comfort of my own image. Annabel Horton was nowhere to be found.
“Good God!” I cried. “She has eaten my soul!”
* * * *
I wept until I could weep no more. I was gone. I existed in the body of this beastly woman, and I could not find myself in the glass. It took hours for me to pull myself together. Finally, I washed Ursula’s face and found some color to apply to her cheeks. I left the apartment and ran quickly through the streets. I found it difficult to locate Rachel’s house for I had only seen it through my darkness, but I knew I had to find Elizabeth. It took hours but I finally retraced my steps until I spotted a pretty white porch with a red pot of begonias on either side of the stairs. It looked somewhat familiar. I went to the rear yard, praying the child would be there, but she was not. Yet I was quite sure that this was indeed, Rachel’s home. I found what I thought might be the window to Elizabeth’s room. I threw pebbles at the glass until the child finally looked through. To my great dismay, she put her hands up to her ears the moment she spied me, and let out the most bloodcurdling scream I have ever heard.
“No, Elizabeth!” I cried. “It is I, Annabel Horton. Oh, please Elizabeth. Please believe me,” I called up to her.
But the child refused to hear a word I said and just kept screaming. It was Ursula who held a pillow over her face; of course she was petrified. In order to avoid attention, I had to flee quickly, but I did not know where to go. I could not return to my own home as Ursula, for Matthew would not recognize me as his mother, and I certainly could not return to an apartment that belonged to Jeanne Elemont. For a moment, I did nothing but run in circles. I can now say, in all certainty, that I believed I was in hell, cursed to this wretched body for all eternity, without shelter or hope. I fell to my knees and begged for God to release me from my torment.
* * * *
When I finally stopped my crying and opened my eyes, I found myself in a church. I had no idea how I had gotten there, but I threw myself on the mercy of God and his angels. I called to Jesus and the Blessed Mother. I held my hands to the sky.
“I can take no more surprises. I was there and now, I am suddenly here? What cruel joke is this?”
I listened for a long time, but no one answered me.
“Where am I?” I cried from the depths of my darkest despair. “Lord, God almighty. Where am I?”
Just then, the doors began to rattle and the lights from the candles began to dance on the ceiling. A presence came and stood behind me. Suddenly, the air became sweet and warm, as if a thousand ripe melons had just been opened and a garden of wisteria had been placed at my feet.
“Do not look at me,” the voice said. “Not yet.”
I felt enveloped by his presence though he did not touch me.
“Do not be afraid,” the voice whispered in my hair. “Are you Claudette?”
“Claudette? No. Who are you?” I asked.
“Oh, I thought for a moment you might be her.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been searching for her.”
“You know her then?”
“Oh yes.”
“Who are you to Claudette?”
“I am lost to Claudette.”
“Are we dead?”
“I didn’t say that,” he told me. “You did.”
“Am I where God is? Am I finally there?”
“God is everywhere,” he answered. His voice was sweet, and he spoke slowly.
“Where?” I whispered. “Where is God and where am I?”
“Here,” he told me, his voice so soft.
“Have you any answers?” I asked him. “Or are you just trying to confuse me?”
He laughed and touched my hair.
“Do you know any magic?” I asked. “I have lost my soul.”
He took my arms from behind me and held them out.
“Give me your fingers,” he said.
He put his hands under mine and pressed all ten of my fingers with his own.
“Magic,” he whispered, “shall be yours, as it was hers.”
“It is eerie here,” I whispered back. “And you are a strange man.”
He laughed. “Eerie? Look.” He laughed again and pointed to a small bird that suddenly appeared out of nowhere and landed before the feet of an icon of Christ.
“Witchcraft?” I asked.
The bird was beautiful. It stared
at me from the most mesmerizing fragility and flapped its wings and flew to the ceiling.
“If you like,” he told me.
“What should I do?” I asked the man. “Where should I go without a soul?”
“Here,” he said and touched his heart. “And there,” he said and pointed to the bird.
“Do you know where Claudette is?” I whispered.
I felt him kiss the top of my head.
“No.”
I smiled to myself and held out my hands.
“Are you in love with Claudette?”
“I do recall feeling that,” he said.
I felt exasperated, but not afraid. I knew I was in a clean, safe place. The man lifted his arms.
“Proof!” He laughed and turned around three times. “Proof!” He said again and turned some more. It was the first time I was able to see him, but he moved so quickly that his face was a blur to me. I did notice that he wore a priest’s gown and his hair was very dark. When he finally stopped spinning, the church had disappeared entirely and he had vanished before my very eyes, but the sweet, delicious scent of the melons remained in the faint night air, and the beautiful little bird flew just above my head. I watched as it disappeared into the glorious quiet of night with a swish of its wings against the black sky.
Annabel Horton, Lost Witch of Salem Page 31