How to Hang a Witch (22 page)

She unrolls the paper as I flip the pages of the spell book. “And here I thought we might be doing a true love spell,” she says, looking more serious than she did a moment ago. She examines the spell I've chosen. “Well, it's certainly worth a try.”

“Mom…Sam?” Jaxon enters the kitchen in his pajamas, his blond hair messy and falling in his eyes.

My heart gallops, and I instinctively block his view of the spell book. I yank back the wave of emotion that threatens to crash. He looks from one of us to the other suspiciously.

“Breakfast, Jaxon? There's some lovely warm broccoli-and-cheddar quiche, and your orange juice is in the fridge.”

Jaxon stares at me. “What are you guys doing?”

“A spell,” Mrs. Meriwether says matter-of-factly.

Watching the shock register on Jaxon's face is uncomfortable. “You're definitely not doing a spell in my kitchen, Sam.”

I set my jaw and stare at him.

“You may help if you like, dear,” his mother continues. “But otherwise, will you please take your quiche into the dining room? I suspect we'll have to concentrate.”

“Mom! I'm not kidding!”

Mrs. Meriwether pauses. “Okay, sweetheart. What's bothering you?”

“You know what. For years everyone thought you were crazy because of her…” He looks frustrated.

“My grandmother,” I guess, and I know I'm right. He told me his mother was shunned because people thought she was crazy. He said there were “other reasons” besides depression. I just never put it together till now.

“It's finally blown over, and now you're doing spells? And you—” He looks at me but doesn't finish his sentence. His eyes are accusatory.

Mrs. Meriwether watches her son wrestle with his emotions. “I'm in my own kitchen. You shouldn't worry so much about what other people think. Besides, you know Charlotte was as much my mother as my own. I don't regret one moment I spent with her, no matter what the small-minded townspeople thought. I raised you better than that.”

Jaxon looks straight at me. “You were right. You do hurt the people around you.”

“And what about you?” I mean this to sound confident, but my voice falters. “Helping the Descendants crucify me.”

He looks down and shakes his head. “I knew you'd think that was true. I don't know why I bother.” Jaxon's look makes me wish I could take it all back. He turns and walks away.

“Jaxon,” I say, but he keeps walking.

Mrs. Meriwether stops me before I chase after him. “Give him time. Jaxon's one that needs to process. If you push him now, it will only get worse.”

“I'm so sorry, Mrs. Meriwether.”

“No need for apologies. You've done nothing wrong.”

Yes I have. I've thought the worst about someone who was nothing but nice to me.
I turn around and look at everything she helped me pick and just feel rotten. “I'll leave.”

Her expression softens. “You'll do no such thing. We have a spell to do. No sense in everyone being unhappy.”

“What about Jaxon?”

She smoothes her apron. “I know you're worried about him. It's sweet of you. My Jaxon is a very practical soul, bless his heart. Just like his father. But sometimes people need to be believed in more than they need to be told what is so. In time, he'll learn this. Just be patient with him, Samantha.”

Does she mean he needs to believe in me or I need to believe in him? “Thanks for being so nice.”

She reties her apron. “Alrighty now. What do we do first?”

I turn to the book and try to ignore my sadness. “We have to boil the berries.”

Mrs. Meriwether gets a small but heavy-looking pot. “This is called a chowder. It's where they got the name for the soup.”

She fills it halfway with water and puts it on to boil. Then we drop the checkerberries in, which makes the whole room smell like minty gum. We read the directions together. Thankfully, she understands, because I have no clue how to “finely shred” leafy greens.

Mrs. Meriwether gives me a cutting board and a knife. “First, cut the root off the leek. Like this. Then slice it lengthwise. Now brace it with your fingers and chop it in nice even pieces.”

I'm amazed at how fast her hands move. I take the knife and try to replicate it. Unfortunately, I'm at twenty percent her speed and zero percent of her finesse. Together, we cut all the greens into their proper forms and place them into the chowder pot.

“Whoo. That is one strong smell,” Mrs. Meriwether says as we watch our ingredients boil together in a thick soup.

I double-check the instructions, and Mrs. Meriwether pulls a small baster from a drawer. We clear a portion of the counter near the pot, and I carefully unroll the tiny piece of parchment paper. There's something exciting about doing this with her. It's how I always imagined some kids baked cookies with their moms.

I take a deep breath and concentrate on the words. “What is hidden, come to view. Make plain the hand with which you drew. Your magic mark I wish to see. With these three drops reveal to me.”

I pull the hot liquid from the pot into the baster and squeeze three red drops onto the parchment. We both stare at it, afraid to blink. The red liquid coats the tiny piece of paper, causing the remaining black ink symbols to bleed. Then, all at once, the red potion moves to the center of the parchment in a concentrated dot. It slowly curves and winds itself, like there's a pen instructing it where to go. After a moment of this, it makes an elegant red feather.

I stare at it, trying to will it to turn into something else. Anything but a feather. My stomach twists in on itself, and I almost drop the baster on the floor.

“The crow woman,” Mrs. Meriwether says in a hushed voice.

I grab the edge of the paper, trying to touch it as little as possible. “I'm really sorry, but I have to run.” I pick up the book.
I need Elijah. Now.

“What does this mean, exactly?” Mrs. Meriwether looks serious, with none of the bubbly sweetness of her usual demeanor. “Your grandmother said—”

I cut her off. If I don't go now, I'll have a panic attack. “I'm not sure. If I can explain, I promise I will. I'm sorry again for taking off like this.” I run out of the kitchen before Mrs. Meriwether has time to respond.

“Elijah,” I say as I sprint across the grass.

When I open the back door of my house, he's in the hallway. I hand him the parchment. His face shows more than surprise. He's angry.

“Not possible,” he says to himself. “Turn around, Samantha. We are leaving.”

The front door slams shut. “Sam?” yells Vivian.

If I run now, she'll see. I stand still, unsure what to do. “Yeah?”

Elijah grabs the book and the parchment from me as Vivian appears in the hallway.

“Where have you been? I called the house and your cell three times. I think we—” She sees my face and stops. “Did something happen?”

“Um, yeah.” I know she'll never believe that nothing's wrong.

“Quickly, Samantha,” Elijah urges. “I will carry you out of here if you do not find another way.”

His insistence makes it harder to think. “I forgot that I have a paper due on Monday.”

The worry leaves her face. “I thought we could go visit your father. And on the way, we can talk about all the fighting we've been doing lately. I know this hasn't been easy for you, and I know I've been on edge recently.”

This surprises me. She never tries to resolve things like this. But then again, we've never fought this badly, either. Part of me really wants to say yes, wants to forgive her and believe there is an explanation for that medical bill. But I need to go with Elijah and figure out what this feather means. “I have to meet my group at the library.” I turn toward the back door. I hate to leave, but I can't stay.

“Here I am trying to do something nice when really I should be the one mad at you for the way you acted. And I didn't say you could leave this house,” she says, the hurt in her tone turning to anger.

I reach for the door handle and grab it. I take one look at her. She's fuming mad. I run.

“Don't you dare run from me!” she yells so loudly I hear her from the driveway.

I don't look back. It's too late to change my mind. But part of me worries that shrugging off Vivian's offer might have broken our relationship for good. My dad always softened me and Vivian, like a disk between vertebrae. Now we're just rubbing together in the worst and most painful way. Maybe we don't work without him.

“This way,” says Elijah, keeping pace with my sprint.

I
wipe sweat from my forehead as I enter a small cobblestone street just outside town. I stopped running five blocks back, but my body didn't get the message.

“I'm in so much trouble.”

“I could not risk you staying there,” Elijah says.

“Okay, but
why
?” I stop, not wanting to leave this sleepy street, where I can talk to him.

“You called attention to yourself with that spell today. My fiancée's attention.”

I feel exposed. “So she knows where I live now?”

“I imagine she already knew where you lived. After all, you live in the house that used to belong to me. What she would not have known is that you could do spells.”

“You're saying I just announced myself as a threat?”

“I would think so.”

If I wasn't a threat before and she was already casting spells, I might as well paint a target on my forehead now. “But you told me spirits can't do spells.”

“They cannot.”

“Am I missing something?”

He nods, looking uncomfortable.

“Sam?”

I whip around as Jaxon turns the corner. I'm partly relieved and partly terrified that he's seeking me out. Did he see me talking to Elijah? “You followed me?”

“I know you like this boy, but there is no time for this. I must tell you something,” Elijah says, and I get the feeling I'm not going to like whatever it is.

Jaxon walks up to me. “Yeah, well, you saw someone die, then you levitated onstage. I find you doing spells with my mother, and then I see you running full sprint down the street. I think it makes sense that I followed you.”

“You never told Lizzie about me biting John's hand, did you?”

“What do you think?”

“Jaxon, I…I'm sorry. I don't know what to say.”

“Why don't you start by explaining.”

“Samantha,” Elijah says. I don't need to look at him to know this isn't a good idea.

“I don't have time.” It's the most truthful thing I can say.

“Why?”

“You wouldn't understand.” I twist my fingers together.

Jaxon waits for me to continue. When I don't, he asks, “Why don't you trust me?”

My heart aches. “It's not that.”

Elijah throws his hands in the air.

“Then why don't you tell me anything?” Jaxon asks. “I found out with the rest of the school these things happened to you. Even the Descendants knew more than me.” I open my mouth, but he stops me. “Don't try to tell me they didn't. I saw their faces. Then, you believe Lizzie's lies about me. They aren't even nice to you. Meanwhile, I do everything I can for you, and you shut me out.”

I bite my lip. I completely misunderstood why Jaxon was angry with me. I can't help but agree with him. “I never meant to shut you out,” I whisper.

“Then stop,” says Jaxon.

Elijah paces. “The longer you delay, the more danger you are in.”

Which means Jaxon is in danger being near me. “It's not safe for you to be here,” I say.

Jaxon looks at the historic houses and quaint benches. “We are on a quiet street in an expensive neighborhood.
And
it's still light out. I don't really think it gets much safer.”

I blush, embarrassed by how paranoid I sound. “I
know
that. I'm not suggesting the trees are gonna eat us. I'm saying that it's not safe for
you
to be with
me.
”

“And again, I ask why.” I've never seen Jaxon act like this. He's dead serious.

How do I tell him anything that will make sense to him? “I want to tell you; I just don't know how.”

“Do you have feelings for me, Sam?” He takes a step toward me and my heart picks up speed. “I have to know. Because if you do, I will stand here fighting you all day until you let me in. But if you don't…”

I glance at Elijah, who grumbles unhappily and walks off a few feet to give me space. My instinct is to bolt. I'm impossibly nervous, and I'm not going to have this conversation in front of Elijah. But I can't ignore Jaxon's question. There's no way out.

“Sam? What are you looking at?”

My eyes meet Jaxon's with fear.

“Wait…it's here?” Jaxon asks.

“He,” I correct him.

“Great.
He
is here?” Jaxon scans the street again and Elijah walks toward us.

“Yes, I am here. Trying to keep her safe. Not attempting to discuss my feelings for her while she is quite obviously distressed,” Elijah snaps at Jaxon.

“It's not his fault; he doesn't understand,” I say to Elijah before I catch myself.

“What did he say to me?” Jaxon asks.

“Go home, Jaxon, before you cause her harm,” Elijah says.

“Sam?” Jaxon takes a step forward, not shying away from this uncomfortable situation.

I want to cry. It's not like I can lie; Elijah's standing next to me. “He said for you to go home before you cause me harm.” I cringe at every word. And by the way Jaxon's face falls, I know I shouldn't have said them.

“Is that how you feel?” Jaxon asks quietly.

It's more complicated than that. But if I say that, he'll stay. It takes all my will to say, “Yes.”

Jaxon nods, and his eyes glisten. “I guess that's my answer.” He waits for me to say something else, anything else. After a few moments of silence, he walks away.

“Jaxon! I'm sorry.” Pushing Jaxon and Vivian away within the same hour is killing me. Maybe I
am
the problem. Maybe Lizzie's right. All I do is hurt people.

He stops and starts to turn toward me, but changes his mind. He shakes his head and continues down the street. With every step he takes, the ache in my heart grows bigger.

I look at Elijah. “I know,” he says, and wraps his arms around me. I bury my face in his chest and cling to his shirt. He smells like old books. “I just could not put you at further risk. It is safer for everyone, including him, if he goes home.”

I nod against his body. “What did you want to tell me?”

Elijah holds me for a second longer before releasing me. “While you were with Mrs. Meriwether, I searched again for diary entries.”

“You found something, didn't you?”

He nods. “One in the late seventeen hundreds that referenced a woman living with crows in the woods. The writer claimed that no one would walk past her house for fear of being cursed.”

“Wouldn't she have been over a hundred by the late seventeen hundreds?”

“That is precisely what worried me. So I looked in the eighteen hundreds. I found two more mentions of her. Then one in the early nineteen hundreds.”

How could people write about the same person over hundreds of years? “Maybe they were just repeating stories they heard from other people and never actually saw her.”

Elijah pushes his dark wavy hair back. “What gives me pause is that the descriptions were extremely similar.”

“What are you saying, exactly? That you think she's lived for hundreds of years? That's impossible.” My words don't hold the conviction I'd like. I just did a spell with my next-door neighbor, and my best friend's a spirit—who I've kissed. The word “impossible” holds a much looser definition than it did in NYC.

“Is it impossible?” Elijah asks. I can only imagine how freaked out he must be.

I fidget. “If she's casting spells, she has to be alive in some way, right?”

“I think we can assume definitively that she is the unknown enemy Cotton was referencing in your Burroughs vision.”

The blood drains from my face. “Cotton said I was paying attention to the wrong things. But why wouldn't Cotton just tell me your fiancée was my secret enemy instead of all these coded messages?”

“Names have power. He was trying to protect you or himself, I imagine.”

If Cotton's frightened of her, what does that mean for me? I glance around the street, feeling like a sitting target. “Do you think she's out to get me because of Cotton?”

“Potentially.”

“But my dad's name was written alongside mine.” If she gave people that rash, I bet she's responsible for other things. The pastries that got everyone sick? John's death? “So now there are two things that can hurt my dad…the curse
and
your fiancée.”

“I think they are one and the same. I am just not sure where the connection lies.” A car door slams shut, and I jump.

I step closer to Elijah, lowering my voice to a whisper. “How do we find her?”

“We go to a café or some public place where you are at less risk, while I try to make sense of it all.”

“No way. I'm not hiding out drinking a latte while you go looking for her.”

“If I can speak with her, I may be able to persuade her to stop.” He looks every bit as determined as me.

“No. Cotton and your fiancée were at the top of the food chain.” I picture my “How to Hang a Witch” chart. “Cotton couldn't have started the witch hysteria without her, or she without him. Oh man, and my coming to Salem inadvertently started the chain of deaths. I would bet money that she's involved in these deaths and accidents, too. Probably
not
inadvertently. And if we were the ones to start it, she and I are the only ones who can stop it.” The moment I say it, I know I'm right. Susannah said I was the key to solving this. Alice thinks I'm the problem. They might both be right. The thought makes me dizzy.

“I dislike that idea greatly.” Elijah's upset only confirms my suspicions.

“I'm not wild about it, either.” That's an understatement. “But Cotton could've stopped the accusations all those years ago if he'd tried, which would've saved the lives of innocent people. If everything's as parallel as we think, I'm the one who needs to try.” As I speak, my theory makes more sense to me.

He frowns. “Do not forget you are the witch in this version of the pattern.”

“Your fiancée lost everything. If she wanted to blame anyone for the Trials, Cotton would be a likely choice. What would be a better revenge than to brand a Mather as a witch and make that Mather look responsible for all the deaths?”

“How could Cotton have stopped my fiancée?”

“Expose her as a fraud. Uncover her lies,” I say. In which case, that spell I did was a step in the right direction. I look at the spell book on the bench a few feet from where we stand. “But in order to do that, I need to know where she is.”

Elijah follows my eye line. “A spell is not a good idea, Samantha.”

“What choice do we have? If I need to stop her, I can't stand here waiting for her to take me by surprise.”

“It is not safe,” Elijah says definitively. “We do not know enough yet.”

More than anything, I want to agree. But if I don't track her down, I will continue to be behind the horse, like Cotton said. “Elijah, we need to come up with a plan. And then I need to try one of those spells.”

“What plan? We do not know what we are planning for.” His voice deviates from its evenness. “I do not want you to get hurt.”

My heart thuds. “If I die, then I guess we'll be spending lots of time together.”

He grabs my arms and holds on to me as though he will shake the idea out of me. “Do not ever say that, Samantha. You have your whole wonderful life ahead of you. You cannot imagine all the experiences you will have. I would never wish this upon you so young.”

“But how can I have those things if I don't stop your fiancée?” I match his passionate tone, and my voice rises. “And how many other people won't get to live their lives if I don't break this curse?”

“You will break it. You just need to be reasonable.” He pulls me forward a couple of inches.

Our faces are close together. “John's already dead. Susannah's next. Not to mention all those others. I can't know that I had the answer and didn't take action. I would never be able to live with myself. I'm not going to be like Cotton, sit back and watch it unfold.” I'm getting more determined by the minute. I have no desire to meet Elijah's fiancée. But I'll be damned if I'm going to miss my chance because I'm too cautious.

“You do not know what she is capable of.” He pulls me closer again, like he's trying to shield me with his body.

Suddenly his role in this curse makes sense. “You know the enemy this time, Elijah.”

He looks at me questioningly.

I steady my voice. “You couldn't protect Abigail because you didn't know who the enemy was. Now you're trying to protect me. Difference is, we know who we're fighting.”

His eyes go wide, and he releases me. He sits down on the bench. “I killed myself last time I failed.”

I sit down next to him, my voice gentle. “I can't do this without you.”

He turns toward me. For a few seconds we're quiet. His gray eyes are big and sad. “I cannot live the rest of eternity knowing I failed you, too.”

My breath catches in my throat. “You could never fail me….”

He sighs. “Okay, Samantha. I will bend to your will.”

I exhale. But my victory's short-lived. Police sirens blare in the distance. Elijah blinks out. I stand, examining my surroundings, and realize Ms. Edelson is peering through a curtain from a second-story window. When we make eye contact, she shuts the drapes. How could I be so stupid as to stay in one place for so long? It must look like I'm arguing with myself.

Elijah blinks back in. “Run!”

I take off down the cobblestones.

“Turn right,” he says, and I duck into an alley. The police sirens get louder. “The park.”

I sprint onto the sidewalk, almost knocking down a pedestrian. I quickly check the traffic and run across the street into a patch of trees. I stop by the trunk of a big maple. The police car passes us and heads in the direction we came from.