Salem's Fury (Vengeance Trilogy Book 2) (14 page)

“There is nothing you could do that has not already harmed me a thousand times over.” Mercy levels her gaze on my brother. “Do your worst.”

The icy way she speaks bids my body shiver, though I gather it has not affected my brother in the same manner.

“You still have all your limbs, and no missing teeth,” says George. “There is much and more I could do to you that has not been done.”

“Strong words,” Mercy laughs. “But you are no torturer.”

“Not before this day, but you will find my hand steady nonetheless,” says George. “As you said, I am my father’s son.”

And I am my father’s daughter,
I think, my thoughts dwelling on Priest.

“Then you should look after your own life and flee now,” says Mercy. “As your father did when learning a storm came for him.”

“Our father fled Salem with a guilty conscience,” says George. “Nothing more.”

Mercy shakes her head. “He left for wont of his life. You should do the same, if you were wise. There’s a traitor in your midst, fool. And you’ve been blind to it all this time.”

Mercy laughs at the apparent confusion upon my face and George’s.

“Can it be you still do not know where I learned of your location?” Mercy asks. “Of this trade post and your names?”

George and I say nothing, though my mind races with Mercy’s mention of a traitor.

“Your friend”—Mercy grins as she looks on George—“Andrew Martin.”

I reel at Mercy’s claim.

“That cannot be,” I say, seeing George also confused. “Andrew loves my brother more than his own soul. He would never betray—”

“Whiskey loosens the tongues of men,” says Mercy. “And a pretty face fetches more answers still.”

“No.” I shake my head. “You lie.”

“Do not name me liar,” Mercy says, her voice rising. “Would you have more proof from me? Let you ask Andrew of his bride to be, Susannah Barron.”

George flinches beside me.

“Ah. Does it surprise you I know her name?” Mercy asks. “Let that speak to my truth.”

“How do you know her?” I ask.

“Who should have guessed a little bird from my past would spawn another to aid me in the present,” says Mercy. “It seems only natural a daughter of my Salem sister came to me, especially with news of her engagement to a fiancé hailing from the wilderness.”

My face pales at her words.

“Oh,” says Mercy. “But do not take my word for it. After all, you both yet think me a liar. Might I suggest you bring Andrew here?” She sneers. “Let the truth of his face speak plain the moment he sees me among you.”

“Aye,” says George. “I would judge the truth of it in such a manner.”

George storms out of the stable so quickly that he does not witness the smirk draw across Mercy’s lips as I do.

I chase after him, catching my brother before he leaves the barn.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“Finding him,” he says. “If Andrew truly led her here…if Sarah and the others in your village died because of him—”

“But what if Mercy is lying?” I ask. “Perhaps all her actions and words distracts us from preparing for war against Two Ravens and the second war party she spoke of.”

George sighs. He runs his hand through his hair then shakes his head. “Perhaps she does,” he says finally. “But I must learn the truth of it.”

He leaves me to guard Mercy.

Turning back to the barn, I wonder if I should revisit her. My thoughts wander to Andrew, fearing what it will mean if she spoke true of him, wondering what George would do to him. Worse still, what I might do.

I watch from afar as George knocks on Bishop’s door. Seeing the old man appear in the entry stabs my heart. We must tell him of Sarah soon too, though my mind warns it will not take him long to know the truth of it upon seeing me again so soon and us preparing defenses.

My palm brushes the hilt of Father’s dagger, and I find myself walking toward the stable.

“Back so soon?” Mercy asks me. “One might begin to wonder if you and I are drawing close to one another.”

“The only time I will draw close to you is—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she says. “To kill me and take my pretty hair.”

I glare at her returning my hate with a spiteful grin.

“Still, you have had many a chance now and not done so,” says Mercy. “Why?”

“Do you hate living so that you would tempt me?”

“No,” she says. “I much prefer life. But my curious nature would understand your reasons. I said you and I are much alike, yet now I doubt myself.”

“Perhaps I think you yet have some little value left,” I say. “Though it lessens as time passes.”

“Then you grow wiser,” says Mercy. “But you are also foolish. I should never have brought you to stir chaos within my own home on the eve of war.” She grins at me. “Then again, you are no product of Salem.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“Cotton chose me wisely,” says Mercy. “He sees talents in people and recognized mine in Salem, furthering them after. Place me where you will, girl. Whether at church in Boston, supping in the wild with savages”—she holds her bindings up in a mocking show—“or tied in the enemy’s stable, I find a way to prove my worth.”

“Your worth runs low.”

“Perhaps,” she says. “But you shall need my talents yet when Two Ravens comes to claim vengeance on you and yours.”

I look out the stable when hearing my brother and Andrew approach, though both are yet far off.

“I would ask your forgiveness, Rebecca,” says Mercy, her ears also pricked in their direction. “For the lie I earlier told you.”

Curiosity takes hold of me. I spin back to her, my face plain in question for the lie she speaks of.

“I told your brother he were better at this game than you,” says Mercy. “That were proved wrong the moment he left to search out Andrew Martin. George would have done well to listen to you—”

I alter my gaze between her and George. Nearing the barn, grimness clouds his face that seems to surprise Andrew also. Bishop hobbles behind them, and I wonder for what purpose he comes.

“It were a small seed I planted in your brother’s mind,” says Mercy. “Now you will see it watered and blooming.”

My tongue cannot form the words to halt George as they round the stable corner. He guides Andrew through first, keeping careful watch of Andrew’s face.

“What is this you would have me see, Geor—” Andrew’s eyes round at the sight of Mercy and me. “Mercy?”

George grabs Andrew by the collar of his shirt, and flings him against the stable wall. My brother draws his knife and puts it to Andrew’s throat.

Andrew shrinks at the blade. “What are you doing?”

“Quiet,” George says. “You listen to me now, Andrew.”

The confusion in Andrew’s face cautions me step forward. “Brother, let you stop this—”

“I said quiet,” George says, turning his gaze back to Andrew. “Answer me, and let you be honest.”

“I have ever been honest with you,” says Andrew. “What cause would I have to lie?”

“How do you know this woman?” George jerks his head toward Mercy.

Andrew’s mouth works wordlessly, and I near doubt he can speak at all.

“Come now, Andrew,” says Mercy. “You and I—”

“Rebecca, keep her quiet,” George yells.

I move to obey his command, kneeling beside Mercy and drawing my own blade to her throat. Her throbbing veins beckon me, and I think how easy it would be to end this now and let my brother gain his senses without further plots from her. Instead, I hold my blade ready, awaiting George’s command.

“What is the meaning of this?” Andrew asks. His voice pained with concern.

“How do you know this woman?” asks George.

I think Andrew dazed, he looking from Mercy to George as if puzzled. “It be Susannah’s Aunt Mercy,” he says. “You know well my bride’s mother and father did not approve of us courting, George. When they were in a foul mood, Susannah often bid us meet at her aunt’s home so we might be alone with one another.”

“You stayed with this woman?” George points to Mercy.

“Aye, many a night,” says Andrew. “She were always kind enough to take me in.”

I look on Mercy, and think her happy as a tomcat with a mouse between its teeth.

“And you,” my brother’s voice breaks. “You told her of us? Of our family?”

Andrew looks from me to George. “Aye.”

My brother’s shoulders sag and his knife drops from Andrew’s throat.

“What?” Andrew asks, bewildered. “She often asked of my kin and trade.”

George releases his dagger, dropping it into the straw. He backs away as one dazed. “You have killed us all,” he whispers.

Andrew looks to me. “What is this?”

I shake my head and sigh, turning my gaze from Andrew.

“Mercy?” he asks. “What are you doing here?”

“You have killed us all,” George’s voice rises.

“I don’t understand,” says Andrew.

My brother has Andrew off his feet and pinned against the wall before I can think to stop him.

“You have killed us all!” George rages, his face blistery red. Tears streaming down his cheeks. “My sisters, me, and my…my wife….”

“George, I—”

“You have kill—”

“That’s enough, lad!”

Bishop leans against the stable. He wipes his brow with the back of his forearm, then wheezes as he looks on all of us each in turn, stopping on George and Andrew.

“That one’s yer brother,” says Bishop to George. “I know yer angry and ye’ve a right to be. It’s a damned fool what runs his mouth off to strangers, especially old hens who’ve nothing to do but blather on about the tales they’ve learned.”

“Bishop—”

“No, ye listen to me now, lad,” says Bishop to George. “Let him go.”

My soul cries for the pain in George’s eyes, the confusion in Andrew’s face.

“The pair of ye are brother’s,” says Bishop. “In soul, if not in blood. Remember that night so long ago and all he did for ye and yer family then. Know he’ll do the same again if they come this night for us.”

My brother’s hesitation leads me believe he may well thrash Andrew.

“He loves ye, lad,” says Bishop quietly. “Loves ye with everything in him, else he’d have eaten a bullet from the end of his rifle long ago.”

My brother trembles as he releases Andrew and backs away to the opposite side of the stable, collapsing.

“I don’t understand,” says Andrew. “What did I—”

“Damn ye to Hell, lad, shut yer fool mouth,” says Bishop. “Yer the one what led this Mather bitch here.” He looks on Mercy. “Isn’t he?”

“Aye,” she says. “But you speak true, old man. Andrew does indeed love this family with all his heart.”

I glare at her, even as she continues to speak.

“You will have further need of him to live out the night,” says Mercy. “As you shall also have need of me.”

“We’ve no use for wenches here,” says Bishop.

“Perhaps not,” says Mercy. “But by my count, the witches I left behind to hunt down any who escaped us will arrive here this eve, if they stuck true to commands.”

“If and perhaps,” Bishop grunts. “I’ve some of me own to share with ye. If some of yer powder-snortin’ bitches and savage lovers happen to come here, then perhaps I’ll get me wish to kill more of them.”

I grin at the conviction in his voice, the edge of a thrill I have not heard in him for many years.

“There will be more of them and to spare, old man,” says Mercy. “They will overrun this place.”

“Well, now.” Bishop limps closer to her, putting a hand to his ear. “I don’t hear the banshee wailin’ me name just yet. Methinks I’ll be around a lil longer. Though it’s a shame ye won’t be seein’ yer friends tonight.”

“You would be wise to trade me,” she says.

“I’d be wise to string yer lyin’ carcass up in the middle of the yard,” says Bishop. “Hang a dead crow and ye scare off the others. Think it might work for witches, lass?”

“Aye,” I reply.

Mercy looks me in the face. “You have kept me alive for a reason and know well what heads this way. Cotton ordered only that I bring back the offspring of Simon Campbell.” Her eyes flit to George. “Give me to my people and let you and your brother come with me to Boston.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I will see to it the others here will live,” says Mercy. “Andrew, Hannah, the savage boy, and even this old man.”

“Don’t ye be listenin’ to her, lass,” says Bishop. “A bleedin’ harpie in disguise is all she is.”

I stare into Mercy’s eyes and the black painted line across them. I think on my
manitous
, of Mercy’s earlier words she adapts to each situation, and what such words might mean for my family and I now. What lessons I might learn from her.

“What of Two Ravens?” I ask. “You said he comes for us also.”

“Aye,” she says. “Have you ever heard it said, ‘The enemy of my enemy is friend to me,’ girl?”

I nod.

“Good,” says Mercy. “Agree to my terms. Swear that you and your brother will follow me to Boston should we survive, and my people will fight alongside yours against Two Ravens and his men.”

“The words of a lyin’ Salem wench,” says Bishop. “What’s that worth?”

I turn and look on him, and George and Andrew also. I think of Sarah and the night Hecate came for us, how my family lives only thanks to her sacrifice.

I study Mercy’s face, thinking on the night she destroyed my village. Of Two Ravens and all his men.

“You will not fight,” I tell her. “I would have you beside me the whole battle, bound and gagged, to keep your witches loyal.”

Mercy’s eyes glitter with my words, even as she seems to ponder them. “They will fight and die for me,” she says. “And when the dead lie in the dust and we three remain, swear that you and George will go to Boston.”

“I swear it,” I say.

Mercy flinches, as if I mean to trick her. “Swear it on your sister’s soul.”

I take the blade from Mercy’s throat, run it over her hand, and draw blood. Then I do the same to my own, slicing my palm, watching both hers and mine ooze red.

I grip Mercy’s hand tight, letting our blood mix, binding my pact.

“I swear it on the good soul of my sister, Sarah,” I say. “We will go to Boston and meet your master.”