How to Hang a Witch (14 page)

T
wigs snap under my feet as I run through the dark trees. There's a man standing in a patch of light just ahead. A branch scrapes my cheek. I grab my face but don't stop. I need to get to him. He's youngish, maybe late twenties, and he wears antiquated clothes. His hands fold behind his back the same way Elijah's do.

He looks up when I enter the clearing and I follow his gaze. A crow sits on a large branch. And below it hangs a noose. I try to scream, but the sound is muffled.

I sit straight up as the rest of the scream leaves my mouth. My phone says it's 7:27 a.m. I slip out of my bed, trying to shake the anxiety of my dream as I head into the hall.

It's Wednesday, and there's no school. I walk straight to Vivian's room, hoping she's awake and we can go to Boston. Her door is cracked open, and I push it. Her bed is made and I don't hear her in the bathroom. I eye the medical bill on her dresser. Just a quick look.

Carefully, I lift the papers on top of it. It reads
Explanation of Benefits—This is not a bill.
I guess it's a summary of Dad's insurance coverage? There are columns of numbers. The amount-billed column is high—many thousands of dollars high. I scan the deductible and copayment columns. They're all zeros. I turn to the next page, same thing.

I scan ahead to the bottom of the last page, where the totals are. It reads
Patient responsibility (amount you paid or owe to provider): $0.
I look at the date. It was sent less than two weeks ago. My heart stutters as I arrange the papers in their original positions.

What does this mean, exactly? Does this mean she lied this whole time about my dad's medical bills being high? The thought terrifies me. Not because she lied, but because of the scale of the lie.

I make my way to the stairs and grip the banister. Unless I'm completely missing something, there was no reason to sell the New York apartment. Why do it? Money. But my dad makes a really good living. Vivian wants more money? That's the only answer. So, what, is she waiting for my dad to die to get a huge inheritance? I feel ill. How could she do this?

“You look like you saw a ghost,” says Vivian from the bottom of the stairs.

I'm afraid to look at her. I don't know what I'll say. I can't believe I almost opened up to her last night. “I had a nightmare.”

“Well, I just got off the phone with the hospital, and the doctor scheduled tests for your father throughout the afternoon. I think we should shoot for visiting this weekend.”

Now I look at her. I want to tell her she has no right to even talk about my dad.

She frowns. “I know you're disappointed, but don't be mad at
me
about it. I didn't schedule those tests.”

I walk past her on the stairs and don't say a word. I just head straight to the kitchen. Normally, I would scream. But I can't. What if she really is waiting for my dad to die, to get his money? And then I yell at her and push her to do something crazy? She's controlling his medical treatment. I need to think about this. I can't let her know that I found that statement.

I mix my coffee, barely looking at it. I need to solve this curse. That's my only avenue to helping Dad, my best chance at his waking up. It's a long shot, but I have to believe in something.

“Is all well?” Elijah asks in his proper English–inspired accent.

“How does it work, being a spirit?” I ask, without answering his question. I sip my coffee.

“I am not sure what you are asking.”

“You said you followed me a lot when I first got here. What did you mean?”

“If I know where you are, and I focus on you in that space, I can see you. It is like having a window into your world, much like your television. If you know what channel to go to and what time to tune in, you can see your show.”

Well, that explains how he knew I was in danger at the party. “And if you don't know where I am?”

“Then I must search for you. It can take quite a while.”

“And what about physical things? If you carry my coffee cup, for instance, would other people be able to see it?”

“That is more complex. Small things I can make disappear from view. Large things I cannot. It is akin to physical strength. Some things I am strong enough to lift, while others I cannot move. And blinking, the act of appearing and disappearing…blinking physical items from one space to another is even more difficult. It takes a lot of practice and concentration.”

“What about me? What if you lift me up?”

He looks amused. “You would appear to float. I do not have any ability to make the living disappear, only inanimate objects.”

“I don't think I understand these rules.”

“You will.”

“Could you do me a favor?” I ask.

“I was wondering how long it would take for you to say that sentence. I have already retrieved the cape.”

“Oh! Thanks.” I'm embarrassed by how easy I am to read. “Actually, could you check on my dad? Vivian said they're running tests on him today. I'm just not sure I believe her. And I had my heart set on visiting him.”

“Yes, they are running tests today.”

I slump down in a chair at the small breakfast table near the window. “How do you know? Did you focus on him or something?” If he knows where my dad is, does that mean he watched when I went to the hospital?

“No. I checked on him earlier.”

He checks on my dad? “How was he?”

“The hospital is taking good care of him.”

I relax a little. I desperately want to see him, but I'm glad he's okay. And the thought of going to the hospital with Vivian is awful. I couldn't stand watching her pretend she cares.

If I can't go to the hospital…
“We need to find out more about the curse and whatever that chaos was last night.”

“Figuring out last night may take a while. Everyone is still recovering.”

“Did all of the Descendants get the rash?”

“Yes, Susannah worst of all.”

“So I really was the only one who didn't get it?”

“I am afraid so.”

I was hanging on to the hope that maybe I wasn't. I sigh.

“I spent my night going through more of your grandmother's research. I have not finished, however.”

“I'll help you.” I get up and head for the kitchen door. I'm grateful he doesn't sleep and can work on this stuff at night. I already feel the intense pressure that I'm not figuring this out fast enough and that at any moment my world could fall apart.

He doesn't blink out, or whatever he calls it, this time. Instead, he walks by my side through the house and toward the library.

“Why am I the only one who sees you? Is it because you choose not to let other people know you're around?” I keep my voice hushed. I like that idea.

He closes the library door behind us. “I have nothing to do with your seeing me.”

So much for that theory.
“Then, why do I?”

“That is not something I know.”

I pull the hook in the fireplace and we step into the narrow hallway. “But you're dead.”

“I am aware.”

“Shouldn't you know these things?”

He almost laughs. “I know little more than when I was living. I just move around faster.”

The idea that death brings clarity is blown. “Have you met other people who could see you?”

“Yes, a few. They are rare.”

As I reach the top of the stairs, I notice Elijah has rearranged the piles of books into organized stacks. The dust's gone. Spirits clean?

I'm not sure I wanna ask this next question, but my curiosity is running the show. “If I see you, then do I see other spirits?”

“Yes.”

Visiting graveyards just shot to the top of my never-again list. Was I walking around all this time seeing spirits and thinking they were living people? “So what's in these piles of books?” Let's just think about something more cheery, like curses, for instance.

“Most of this is research on the Trials and the Mathers. I left Salem before the Trials concluded; I needed to educate myself.”

“Why did you leave Salem?”

“No one kills themselves because they are happy where they are.”

Well, that makes perfect sense. I can only imagine his surprise when he died and found himself back in Salem for some indefinite period of time. I'd leave, too. And now he's back here researching the Trials. I guess you can't avoid your life, even in death.

I
turn to the last page of my grandmother's research notebook. “Nothing new in this one, either,” I say to Elijah, who has a stack of diaries in front of him from historical collections and people's attics.

“Research is not instantaneous and must be built piece by piece. Quick does not mean good. That perspective will impair your perception. You will miss something.”

Easier said than done when my dad's life is at risk. “What about Mrs. Meriwether? She knew my grandmother really well. Better than anyone. Maybe there's something that my grandmother didn't write down? Something that Mrs. Meriwether knows?”

“Possibly. However, speaking with her will only yield results if you are direct.”

“Were you listening when I went to her house the other day?”

He looks disapproving.
Great.
That means he heard me with Jaxon. How embarrassing. I'm already awkward enough without some attractive dead dude overhearing everything I say. I may never toot again.

I flip through a journal I've already read to see if there's something I missed. “Do you think my grandmother's drawings could be of any significance? They're in the margins, and she doesn't say anything specific about them.”

“Perhaps. Let me see.”

I hand the notebook to Elijah.

He studies it, and his brow furrows. “Are there more?”

“Yes, but they're all similar versions of a woman with long wavy hair seen from behind.”

He turns the pages of the notebook. “None that show a face?”

“No, why?”

“You should ask Mrs. Meriwether.”

“Is there something strange about it?”

“It is better to ask too many questions than not enough.”

I agree, but I think he might be omitting some detail. “Okay. I'm gonna go over there.”

He nods, and continues reading. I pull my hair up into a ponytail as I make my way through the passage. When I enter the library, the light outside is already dimming. I need to find the Descendants once the sun goes down.

“Well, there you are. Where've you been all day?” Vivian asks as I walk to the side door.

“Here.”

“I looked for you earlier and couldn't find you.”

I did hear her calling, but had no desire to answer. “Must've been on a walk.”

She looks unsure. “Must have.”

“I'm going next door.”

“Okay.” She checks her gold watch. “Just be back by seven for dinner. I've ordered a ridiculous amount of French food.”

“Oh.” The word catches in my throat. An image of a younger Vivian snapping that picture at the Parisian café flashes through my mind. Since my dad and I met her, French cuisine has been a bonding food for the three of us, something that is just ours. We always have it on special nights, like when my dad comes home from a long trip, or for the first snowfall in winter.

“I know you were sad about not seeing your dad today. I thought this might cheer you up. And we can have our chat. You might faint when you see how many desserts I got.”

It's painful to watch her be nice after seeing that bill this morning. “Gotta go,” I say, swallowing my sadness.

I walk out the door and make my way to Mrs. Meriwether's porch, struggling to push Vivian out of my mind. I raise my hand to knock, but Jaxon steps out of the door.

“Hey. I didn't think you were home. I came over earlier, but no one answered.”

“Really? I guess I didn't hear the door. Is your mom here?”

“And here I got excited you were looking for me.”

I smile. “I wanted to ask her about some of my grandmother's things I found.”

“I'm going to see her. She's at the Remembrance Day Fair down at Salem Common. Her bakery has a booth. Come with me.”

“I don't know.” I look at the barely visible sun. I need to find the Descendants.

“Sam, it's your first fall in Salem. The fair won't come around again for another year.”

“Uh…I was supposed to maybe do something with Susannah.”

“She's down there. She showed up right before I ran home to grab twine for my mom's pastry boxes. Come on. The whole town is there. It's fun.”

I relax slightly. This saves me from going to the Descendants' houses. Who knows what their parents think of me after last night. “Let's do it.”

Jaxon and I head down the sidewalk. “If you're nice to me, I might even give you one of my mom's famous funnel cakes.”

“And if you're nice to me, I'll refrain from giving you that zombie rash again.”

We share an amused look. “Glad you got your sense of humor back instead of all that doom and gloom.”

I still think that doom and gloom stuff. It's just not fair to unload it on Jaxon.

“You're pretty cute for a witch.”

He's joking, but it hits too close to the weird stuff I've been doing recently. “Do you think there's any way that rash could be witchcraft?”

Jaxon laughs. “Definitely. Strong theory. Right up there with fairies and ghosts.”

Worst answer ever. “I hope you don't mind my asking, but why would Lizzie say your mom was crazy?”

Jaxon's jaw tenses. “My mom had a rough patch after my father died. She got really depressed, and for a while she'd still talk to him. She didn't care who overheard. There were other things, too. But the gist of it is that people in town thought she'd lost it. They even stopped going to her bakery for a bit. It took a couple of years to get everything back in order. We almost lost the house. And Lizzie sort of instigated those rumors. She wasn't a fan of your grandmother, either.”

I'm getting the sense not many people were. “Wow, Jaxon. I don't know what to say.” No wonder Jaxon's so nice even though the school hates me. He knows what it feels like to have awful rumors spread about his family. “I could kill Lizzie for saying that to you.”

His grin returns. “Don't let me stand in your way.”

We approach the edge of Salem Common, a large park in the center of town packed with people and lights. Music plays, and the air is thick with the aroma of carnival food. There's the distinct roar of excited conversation.

Jaxon leads me through the crowd to his mother's booth. “Hey, Mom. Look who I found on our porch. She was coming to talk to you.”

“Oh, Samantha! What a wonderful surprise. Have a funnel cake.”

I don't resist as she hands me a plate of delicious fried dough covered with powdered sugar.

“Mom, you just killed my whole strategy.”

She looks from one of us to the other. “Samantha's no fool. You'll have to do better than bargaining my funnel cakes, Jaxon.” I laugh. She knows him so well. “Now, my darling girl, what did you want to see me about?”

She reads the hesitation on my face. “Jaxon, make yourself useful and help out in the booth while Samantha and I have a word.”

Jaxon walks toward the booth, and I wipe the powdered sugar from my shirt before I begin. “I know this is a weird question. But I was going through my grandmother's things and I noticed that she had drawings in her notebooks of a woman with dark wavy hair. Does that mean anything to you?”

Mrs. Meriwether's cheer fades. “Charlotte had a lot of nightmares, poor thing. Especially near the end. This woman was in most of them. She never saw her face, but she used to call her ‘the crow woman' because there were always crows with her.”

I stop mid-bite. There was a crow in my dream this morning.

“She thought the woman was somehow connected to the Mather curse. Which I suspect you know all about, since you are reading Charlotte's journals.” She raises her eyebrows.

She just saved me from my next awkward question. “Do you believe there is a curse?”

Mrs. Meriwether purses her lips. “I don't know. But Charlotte did. She never figured out what it all meant, though. And Charlotte was very special to me, as I've said before. Sometimes you do things because you believe in a person, and not because you believe in everything they do.”

I guess the whole idea of a curse is a bit out there. I'm just glad my grandmother had Mrs. Meriwether. “That makes sense. Thanks.”

“Anytime. Now I imagine you'll want to enjoy this lovely fair. Jaxon!”

Jaxon doesn't need to be called twice. He hurries back. “Find out what you needed to know?”

I nod. Jaxon pulls me into the crowd. Could there be a connection between my dream and the crow woman? I want to ask Elijah. I scan the crowd for the Descendants, but no luck. I get a few nasty looks, though.

“Basketball?” Jaxon asks as we approach one of those carnival games where you need to make a basket in a hoop that is one inch wider than the ball itself.

An older woman is walking next to us, holding her husband's arm. “I just have a bad feeling about it. There have been too many accidents and deaths recently. It's not natural,” she says. They continue walking and are drowned out by carnival noise.

“Can we find Susannah first?” I ask, feeling even more urgency than I did before.

“Sam, unless there's some pressing issue, I'm going to insist that you have some fun.”

I need an angle fast if I'm not going to explain myself.

“Archery?” I ask as we approach targets lined up against hay bales.

“Abso-friggin-lutely.”

We stop at one of the stations and wait for the guy with the bows. “There's one condition,” I say, hoping I don't regret this. “If I win, you help me find Susannah. If I lose, you choose the next game.”

“Deal.” His grin widens. When it doesn't disappear after a second, I get uncomfortable.

“What?”

“You have powdered sugar on your face.”

“What! Why didn't you tell me?”

He grabs my hand before I can wipe it off. “Leave it.”

“Are you nuts? I'm not leaving powdered sugar on my face.”

“I think it's cute.”

“Well, it's not.” I'm trying to sound annoyed, but fail.

He leans in and kisses the sugar off of me. My skin turns warm where his lips were.

“Are you trying to distract me so I don't beat you at archery?” I ask.

He lands a kiss on my lips, and all the sensors in my body go off at once.

“Nothing like young love and arrows,” says the robust man with a full beard holding out our two bows.

We back away from each other, and I'm positive I'm beet red.

He chuckles. “How many arrows would ya like?”

“Three each,” I say.

I pull out my wallet and give him the money. Jaxon opens his mouth to protest as we grab our bows. “My challenge, my treat.”

“Have ya shot a bow before?” the man asks.

“Nope,” says Jaxon, and I shake my head.
Good.
At least my chances of winning are fair. There was no way I was going to beat him at that basketball game.

“Ya grip the bow here. Straight arm, solid hold. Put yer arrow in at the notch. Then ya pull back the string all the way to yer chin. Don't pinch the arrow, 'cause it won't go nowhere ya want it to. Got that?” We nod. He looses one arrow, and it hits a small
x
on the wall behind the target.

“Thanks,” Jaxon says, and the man steps back.

“You go first,” I say.

Jaxon approaches the short hay barricade and stands in the position the bearded man demonstrated. He lets one arrow go, and it hits the bottom ring of the target. His second hits the same area but slightly to the left. The third lands securely in the small ring around the bull's-eye.
Crapola.

“Looks like I'll be choosing the next game,” Jaxon says. “I'm thinkin' pie-eating contest.”

“Shut it.” I step up to the barricade. My first try, I pinch the arrow. And to my intense disappointment, it wobbles to the ground two feet in front of the target. Jaxon chuckles. Thankfully, my second one lands nicely in the middle ring.

“Nervous?” I ask.

“Not even a little.”

I take aim, and my arm shakes. As I release my last arrow, Elijah appears, and it goes right through his body. I scream and stumble backward into Jaxon. He wraps his arms around me, and the instructor takes my bow.

Jaxon squeezes me. “I have to admit that was one of the more dramatic approaches I've seen, but considering you just made a bull's-eye, I can't say much. In fact, I think I got conned.”

My heart rate slows as I realize that I won and everything is alright. What was that, a joke? Elijah looks too pleased for it to be accidental.
Dark friggin' humor.
He's dead, but
come on.
I suddenly become very conscious that Jaxon's arm is around me, and I break contact. I shouldn't care if Elijah sees that. The thought tugs at me uncomfortably.

Before I can gloat about my win, Susannah, Mary, and Alice walk up.

“Let's go,” says Alice. I couldn't be happier to see her.

Jaxon's smile disappears. “Nice attitude.”

“I don't have time for small talk.”

I hate to agree, but Alice is right, even though her attitude sucks. I turn toward Jaxon. He's about to respond, but I put my hand on his chest. “It's okay. I'll give you a call later.”

“I don't get you, Sam. Why are you jumping to Alice's commands?”

“Because she's less of an idiot than most people,” Alice says.

“Believe it or not,” I say to Jaxon, “I think that was a compliment.”

Jaxon shakes his head. “What could be so important?”

“I just gotta go.” I walk toward the Descendants.

He looks disappointed. “You say that a lot.”

Before I can tell him I'm sorry, Mary grabs my arm and pulls me into the crowd. “We gotta move. My parents only agreed to let me out for a few hours.”

“And we lost a damn half hour going to your house looking for you. No one figured you'd come out into public,” Alice continues as we approach the edge of the Common.