How to Hang a Witch (21 page)

I
rub my eyes against the early morning light as I walk into the kitchen. Coffee's brewed and everything's quiet. Vivian's car isn't in the driveway. Looks like she's avoiding me now. Somehow this hurts worse than the anger. She's the one who sold the apartment and lied to me; she's the one who slapped me. How is it fair that she's now mad at me, on top of everything else?

I pull down a mug and fill it with coffee, half-and-half, and a bit of cinnamon. There are new empty wine bottles in the recycling can. Maybe Vivian's just waiting for my dad to die to get rid of me. I have no family and nowhere to go. Why doesn't she care about me anymore? I shake my head. I need to stop thinking about this.

“Elijah,” I say as I sit down at the round wooden table in the kitchen.

He blinks in, with an old leather-bound book in his hand. He takes a seat at the table and smiles. “Good. You are awake.”

I immediately blush and look at my coffee. Seeing his dimples just makes me remember the way his lips felt. I shift the conversation to our usual morning topic. “How's my dad today?”

“Very much the same.”

It's Saturday, a week since I was at the hospital, and the separation's panicking me. “I really wish I could go see him.”

Elijah looks sympathetic. “You are helping him more by staying here.”

I'm grateful for the reinforcement. “What's the book?”

“It is an old spell book. I am using it to figure out what kind of spell is around the house in the woods. It took me all night to locate one that I did not suspect was protected by some enchantment or another.”

“It surprises me that anything can hurt you.” Not that anything makes sense anymore.

“Understand that my existence as a spirit has no guaranteed end date. I would surely hate to spend the next few hundred years suffering over a spell because I was not cautious.”

The idea that objects can hold that kind of power is unsettling. “Could that really happen?”

“Samantha, death reveals that the world is more fantastical than you thought, not less. The veil between possible and impossible is often lifted.”

“I think I need to get on board with this spell stuff, too. I feel like I've been on the sidelines.”

“How so?”

“Well, I have that parchment you gave me. Maybe there's some sort of identity-revealing spell that I can use to figure out who wrote the thing.” On the off chance it does work, it will save me a bunch of time.

Elijah smiles. “Becoming a witch, are we?”

I feign annoyance. “Not funny. So, did you find out what those stones and things at the old house meant?”

“I believe they are some form of binding spell to keep things in or shut things out. I am not positive. They could also be a way of hiding the house from general view. I have not gotten far enough in my research.”

I wonder why Elijah's using an old spell book to decipher a new spell. I freeze, and my coffee cup only makes it halfway to my mouth. “Elijah, do you think there's any way your fiancée could still be around?”

His lips tighten. “Yes. I do. It is one of my greatest fears. One of the reasons I did not come back to Salem.”

“But you haven't seen her? Right? You'd see her if she was here.” All I need is a crazy spirit obsessed with Elijah to make this situation worse.

“My first few days after I returned to Salem, I was on guard for her. When she did not appear, I began to relax a little. Eventually, I assumed she had passed on. It was not until yesterday that my fears about her resurfaced.”

I'm sure that if she knew where his spirit was, these past three hundred years would have been unbearable. “What's her name? It's weird to keep calling her your fiancée.”

“As I told you yesterday, names have power. I have been careful not to say it all these years, and I ask that you do not say it, either. But you know her name. She accused Burroughs and Giles Corey….She testified against Susannah Martin….”

I would be lying if I said I hadn't already been considering this. And these details definitely confirm my suspicion. I bet anything his fiancée was Ann. She was the leader of the girls who claimed to be afflicted by the accused. I nod. “I won't say her name. Can I see the spell book?”

He hands it to me, and the weight is surprising. The leather cover is old and cracked and has silver accents. I gently open it, and the pages are thick and soft like cloth. The spells are handwritten in the same type of calligraphy Elijah uses. The book has a homey feel to it—the way old houses have a personality.

I skim the titles of the spells. They are about love, protection, growth, and harmony. It must have belonged to a good witch. I almost laugh at the thought.

After some page-flipping, I come across a spell entitled “The Origin of a Spell.” I skim the text. “This says it reveals a witch's signature, so you know who's casting against you.”

Elijah's eyebrows push together. “I do not know, Samantha. If this does work, you risk drawing the witch's attention. She may sense you searching for her. Someone powerful enough to cast the spell that caused that rash is not someone you want to attract.”

He could be right. But this is our best option. “Maybe. But I think we have to take the risk. Besides, if it's Lizzie, she already hates me.”

“And if it is not Lizzie?” he asks.

The vision Cotton showed me of Burroughs suggested I have a secret enemy. But it's only a secret to me, not to my enemy. This is something concrete that might level the playing field. “Then we deal with that as it comes. I'm already in the middle of this….You aren't thinking it could be your fiancée, though, right?”

“No. The dead cannot conjure.” His voice has finality in it, so much so that I wonder if he has tried magic himself.

At least I can rule her out.
I study the required list of ingredients. I don't recognize all of them, but then again, I've never been good with plants. Oh, crap. It specifies that everything must be freshly cut by the spell caster.

Elijah stands behind my shoulder. “How do you plan on getting those ingredients?”

My options are limited without a car and without asking Vivian. I look out the kitchen window. “I can ask Mrs. Meriwether. I'm guessing her huge garden has some, if not all, of these things.” I don't want to go anywhere near Jaxon right now, but this isn't about me and my wants. Plus, Mrs. Meriwether loves cooking. I'm sure she could tell me where to get something if she doesn't have it.

I grab a pen and paper from the kitchen drawer and make a list of ingredients. Elijah frowns. “I do not like this at all.”

“Me neither, but we need to take anything we can get at this point. Susannah stopped by last night and told me about more injuries in Salem. The problem is getting bigger, faster.” Judging by his look, I know he agrees with me.

I finish my list, and he blinks out and takes the book with him. That's okay. It's probably easier to talk to Mrs. Meriwether without him there.

I take one final sip of my coffee and put my mug in the sink. I walk out the back door and onto the grass toward Mrs. Meriwether's. There's always the chance Jaxon's asleep.

I knock on the back door. It only takes a moment for her rosy cheeks and warm smile to greet me. “Top 'o the mornin' to ya,” she says in a playful Irish accent.

I smile, and step through the doorway. “And the rest of the day to yourself.”

Mrs. Meriwether lights up. “How'd you know that was the right response?”

“I went to Ireland with my dad when I was a kid.” I listen for Jaxon as I follow Mrs. Meriwether down the hall, but everything's quiet.

“Come in and sit awhile.” She walks through the arched doorway and into the kitchen.

I take a seat at the island, which is once again covered with beautiful desserts. She offers me my pick, and I gladly accept.

“I was wondering if I could have a few things from your garden?” I ask between bites.

“Of course you may! What is it you're looking for?”

Her enthusiasm makes this all a little easier. I pull the list out of my hoodie pocket.

“Wild leek. Checkerberry. Fiddlehead.” She reads to herself and then looks at me curiously. “What are you using these for?”

“Uh…a recipe I found.”

“Did you know that these are all native New England plants?”

That makes perfect sense if the spell book was from Elijah's time. The witch it belonged to would need to use local ingredients. “No. How funny.” My voice is higher-pitched than usual.

“Checkerberries are found in the forest.”

That's not good. “So you don't have them?”

She smiles. “Actually, I do. I use them for a Native American medicinal tea. The thing is, that besides tea, I've seen only one other recipe that calls for them—a seasonal muffin.”

Crap.
She knows this is a weird ingredient. I should've taken a few minutes to research before marching over here. This is where impulsiveness gets you. “Oh.”

Mrs. Meriwether walks to the island. “Samantha, leek and checkerberry do not belong in the same recipe.”

I look at the desserts, hoping they'll provide me with some advice. “I'm afraid you'll think I'm crazy.”

“You would be surprised at the things I can accept, especially if they're the truth.” She's so calm and nonjudgmental that I feel awful.

What made me think I would sneak this one past a woman who bakes for a living? “They're for a spell.”

To my great surprise, she laughs. “You sound so much like your father. We used to spend hours raiding our parents' gardens trying to mix together any magical concoction. I half thought that was why he grew up to be a spice importer and I, a baker.”

I almost choke on my pastry. My dad, mixing spells? That seems like the last thing in the world he'd do. He wouldn't even let me get one of those fortunes out of a vending machine at a carnival. I suddenly see his spice business in a whole new light. How many things did he change about himself after my mother died? “Did the potions ever work?”

“Oh no, not exactly. But it didn't stop us from trying.” She laughs again. “You cannot imagine how angry Charlotte was the day we used up all the mint she liked in her lemonade.”

I smile now, too. “So you don't think I'm nuts?”

“I live in Salem. There are ten stores within walking distance that have tonics and potions for true love and any other thing you desire. Everyone swears by my happy cakes. Nothing like the magic of triple chocolate to perk a body right up.” She winks.

I never considered that spells could be part of the culture here. “I'm sorry for not telling you. I really am.”

“Not to worry. Trust is grown over time. You're still just planting your first seeds.” She brushes her hands on her apron. “Shall we get what you need?”

I shove the last bite of a cinnamon and sugar challah knot into my mouth. She leads me out the door and down a small stone pathway toward her enormous garden. Part is enclosed in a greenhouse, and a short stone wall surrounds the rest.

Mrs. Meriwether points to the stones. “My mother always told me stones like these were New England's winter crop. Because every year when the snow left there would be loads of them sticking out of the ground. Only made sense to build walls.”

She brings me to the checkerberries first and hands me a wooden bowl to collect them. She urges me to try one, and they taste just like wintergreen. As we move through the list, she explains the plant flavors and shows me which plants can be used to treat anxiety, illnesses, or even be used for beauty products.

My bowl fills quickly, and I'm strangely satisfied with the experience. As we walk back to the house, I find myself smiling. I can see why she was my dad's best friend. She's one of the most good-natured people I've ever met.

“Now, Samantha,” Mrs. Meriwether says as we return to the kitchen. “Would you like to bring over that spell so I can help you with it?”

If I do the spell here, there's no risk of Vivian coming home and finding out.
Also, the instructions looked complex, and it would be nice to have help. But I'll have to explain what the spell is for.

“Oh, come on. It'll be fun. And when Charlie wakes up, we can tell him all about it. I'm sure we'll all have a good laugh.” She looks so happy about the idea.

The bit about my dad tips the scales. I'm not sure he'll find it funny, but I do like the idea of him waking up and us all laughing together. “Okay. I'll be right back.”

I put down the bowl and run next door through the grass. When I open my back door, Elijah's standing there. “I heard,” he says.

I'm not sure if he means that as a good or a bad thing. He hands me the book. I open the door again, but he doesn't follow me. I stop. “You coming?”

“I will be along in a while. I am searching for something.”

By his vagueness, I'm sure it has to do with his fiancée.

“Okay. See you soon. Good luck with your search,” I say, and head back out the door.

I return to Mrs. Meriwether's kitchen and place the old book on her counter.

“Isn't this something? This must be two or three hundred years old.” She examines the leather. “I would've loved to have this when I was a girl.”

She flips through the pages, oohing and aahing at the spell names. “Which one are we doing?”

“ ‘Origin of a Spell,' ” I say, and she waits for an explanation. Might as well just dive in. “I don't know if Jaxon told you, but I got blamed for the rash at the party. I'm trying to figure out who did it 'cause I think that person set me up.”

I remove the tiny piece of parchment from my wallet and hand it to Mrs. Meriwether. “This was found at the party.”