Suffer a Witch (36 page)

“George wants to see you, Em,” Mary Ayer said. “He’s heading out into the storm.”

Em got up from her seat. The women walked together toward the store.

“You are making something yummy tonight, aren’t you?” Mary Ayer asked.

“I hadn’t thought of it,” Em said.

“Think of it,” Mary Ayer said, with great intensity, which caused Alice to laugh.

“I’m happy for you, Mary,” Em said. She leaned in to give Mary Ayer a hug. “Thank you for all you’ve done. You’re a real life saver.”

“If I can help — really, anything — I’m there,” Mary Ayer said.

Em smiled. She walked ahead to find George. She walked past the area where Martha Carrier and Wilmot were doing tarot readings. The energy in the store was warm and happy. Em grinned. If she’d ever had time to dream what she’d wanted to create, this would most certainly be it.

“Em!” Wilmot said.

Em stopped walking and waited for Wilmot to catch up with her.

“How are the readings going?” Em asked.

“Fun. Really fun.” Wilmot leaned close to Em. “I haven’t read in this time. The people — they are almost as open as in the ’20s.”

Em grinned. In the 1920s, Wilmot was a famous mystic who dressed in tight-waisted floor-length, red-velvet dresses which pushed her breasts almost to her chin. She fleeced the wealthy while giving nearly every penny to the desperate poor. Em’s eyes flicked to Wilmot’s chest, and Wilmot laughed.

“Did you talk to Mary?” Wilmot asked.

Em gave a quick nod.

“We really tried, Em,” Wilmot said with a sigh.

“I know,” Em said. “It’s not your fault. Certainly, you both worked your butts off.”

“We want to help.” Wilmot’s voice held an edge of desperation. “You think that detective is okay?”

“He’s a descendant of Lydia’s,” Em said with a shrug. “He’s smart, disorganized, goofy. . .”

“Sounds perfect for Mary Ayer,” Wilmot said. “Are you going to find me a lover, too?”

“Would you like one?” Em asked.

Wilmot lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. Laughing, Em continued toward George.

“Oh, Em?” Wilmot asked.

She grabbed Em’s arm, and Em stopped moving. Em turned to look at her.

“I just. . .” Wilmot said. “Um. . .”

Em tipped her head to the side.

“Uh. . .” Wilmot said.

Wilmot looked like she wanted to melt into the carpet. Em hugged her tight.

“Mammy,” Em whispered Wilmot’s nickname in Salem Village. “Thank you for caring.”

She kissed Wilmot’s cheek and started off again. Wilmot trotted to catch up with her. Em stopped walking.

“If you know something — or even think you do — I would love to hear it,” Em said.

“I just. . . well,” Wilmot winced and looked up at Em. “Have you ever wondered why he, the demon, I mean, looks like the one we feared? I mean, Alice described the demon you saw upstairs in the classroom. He is the spitting image of the devil we Puritans feared. Maybe it was different in Salem Farms than in Marblehead, where me and my Samuel lived, but. . .”

“What?” Em asked.

“I mean, we believed the devil was real, flesh and blood, cloven feet, furry legs, charcoal skin. . .” Wilmot said with a nod. “I was sure that creature lurked in every shadow. He was the terror of my childhood. What do they call it now?”

“Boogeyman,” Em said idly.

“Boogeyman,” Wilmot said. “That’s right.”

“Exactly this one?” Em asked.

Wilmot nodded. Em looked down for a moment to think.

“And. . .” Wilmot said. “The others, the ones we saw on the Common this morning?”

Em nodded.

“You could see people,” Wilmot said.

“The elders I’d met,” Em said with a nod. “I figured they came because I knew them.”

“I didn’t see them,” Wilmot said.

“But you said. . .”

“I saw demons,” Wilmot said. “Shadows, almost smoke, against the pure white of the falling snow. I felt a chill over my very soul. I was frightened, but my eyes could not discern what they were.”

“And the one who held the child?” Em asked.

“Wisp of a shadow, more indistinct than the ghost that he was holding captive,” Wilmot said.

“Really?” Em asked.

Wilmot nodded.

“You must ask the child,” Wilmot said. “George saw what I saw, but Alice, she saw what you saw — that horrible creature holding the ghost. So did Mary Ayer and the girls who went back with you to Gallows Hill. I talked to them when we were setting up, before you talked to Detective Donnell.”

Em bit her lip. She was sure that Wilmot was saying something important. She just wasn’t confident she understood it yet. She wasn’t even sure what question to ask.

“Alice had seen him through your mind before,” Wilmot added.

Em’s eyes flicked to her face.

“And Mary Ayer had met Argos,” Wilmot said. Her head bobbed up and down in a nod.

“Are you saying that they were there for me, only?” Em asked. “That’s why I’m the only one who could see them?”

“I don’t know,” Wilmot said. “Honestly, I don’t.”

“But?” Em asked.

“I. . . What’s clear to me is that these creatures are real,” Wilmot said. “If we were of this generation, we might think they were aliens or something like Bigfoot. But we’re Puritans, so we see them as demons.”

“But they are real?” Em asked. “I’m not imagining them?”

“Oh, no, you’re not imagining them,” Wilmot said. “They are very real. Malevolent, as well. They’re natural, holistic. That’s all.”

“Like yin and yang,” Em said. “I’ve thought of that.”

Wilmot nodded and looked at Em expectantly. Em shrugged her shoulders and raised her eyebrows.

“Oh,” Wilmot said. She winced. “I don’t mean anything by this. I really don’t. I just. . .”

Wilmot swallowed hard.

“Yes?” Em asked.

“I wondered if you see what you want or, maybe, need to, see,” Wilmot said. When Em didn’t say anything, Wilmot pressed on. “That means that you’re a part of this.”

“A part of what?” Em asked.

“You are connected to these creatures,” Wilmot said. She looked up and sighed with frustration. “I’m not saying it right. . .”

“Thank you for all your help,” Em said. She gave Wilmot’s forearm a warm squeeze. “I’m grateful.”

“Don’t you see?” Wilmot said. “If you’re part of it, then you know what to do.”

Em’s mind flashed to the memory of the day they found John Proctor’s remains. The transvestite Martha told Em that only she knew the truth. She swallowed hard and squinted at Wilmot. Wilmot nodded and then shrugged.

“That’s the best I can say it,” Wilmot said.

“Em!” George said as he walked toward them. “There you are!”

Em gave Wilmot a nodding kind of bow before turning to him.

“I need to head out. . .” George said. He looked at Em and then Wilmot. “I’m sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

“We’re done,” Wilmot said. She grinned at him. “I love giving these fortunes. So fun.”

“I know,” George said. “People today are so spiritually open and receptive.”

Wilmot gave him a little wave and walked back to where she and Martha Carrier were giving readings. George gave Em a probing look.

“Are you all right?” George asked.

“Good,” Em said. She gave him a bright smile. “I’m kind of sad that you’re leaving.”

“It tears me in half to leave you both,” George said. He put his hands over the bump in her belly. “Detective Donnell said they’re having the damnedest time getting the homeless inside. They asked for my help.”

“Go,” Em said. “We’ll be here.”

“I heard we’re hosting a big community dinner,” George said. He grinned at her. “You are very kind to do things you don’t know anything about.”

“Such is the suffering of this witch,” Em said.

He grabbed her with such intensity that she gasped with surprise. He held her close.

“I never thought I could love you more,” George whispered with great intensity. “But I only love you more and more as time continues.”

He let her go. Without saying another word, he turned and walked away from her. For a moment, she could only watch him go.

“Em?” Shonelle asked from behind her. “The register’s out of paper, and I can’t find any more.”

Em watched George for another moment before turning toward Shonelle.

“We’d better go find it,” Em said.

She put her arm around Shonelle, and they walked toward the storeroom.

Em sat watching the white snow from a window seat in Bridget’s Beacon Hill mansion. The sun was finally peeking out from behind the clouds. From where she sat, she watched the sparkling sea of white snow covering the Common and the bright blue sky. She could almost see the very spot where she’d sent the demon to the outer reaches of the universe.

The snow had lasted almost three full days and dropped a record-setting 24.6 inches of snow on Boston. The weather speculators called Juno, the snowstorm, a “freak storm” which was unlikely to happen again. It was the sixth-largest snow in the history of Boston. After all, there hadn’t been a snow like this in more than ten years!

Em knew in her heart that her beloved Boston would endure more storms before the battle with her demon was resolved. She only hoped the battle with the demon would not kill them all. She sighed.

“Here it is,” Bridget said as she came into the room. “Sorry — everything is a mess since the storm. My staff has their hands full cleaning up. I had to make this myself. I hope it’s okay.”

“I’m sure it’s perfect,” Em said while taking the tray from Bridget. “You were very kind to take in everyone.”

“It was fun,” Bridget said. “Please sit down. When I came in, you looked so. . .”

“Pensive?” Em asked with a smile.

“Sad,” Bridget said. “Resigned.”

“I wanted a chance to talk to you and Giles before everyone came over,” Em said.

“John and Mary are downstairs with Giles,” Bridget said. “Should I get them?”

“Let’s have our tea,” Em said. “You know John can never resist a hot cup of. . .”

“Is there tea?” John said from the doorway of the sitting room.

He winked at Em and took the tea tray from her. He took a whiff of the tea and scowled. He set it down on a nearby table. Mary Eastey waddled into the room. She and Bridget exchanged a strained hug over their enormous bellies.

“Did you make this?” Mary Eastey whispered to Bridget. When Bridget nodded, she added, “Why don’t I make a refresher? Can you show me where to. . .?”

Bridget grinned at Em. Mary Eastey picked up the tray and left with Bridget. John gave Em a hug.

“How are you?” John asked. He looked into her face. “How’s the baby?”

“Good,” Em said. “I’m good. The baby’s good.”

To convince him, Em nodded her head up and down with some vigor. John shook his head. They knew each other too well for her to fool him. He hugged her again.

“Before the others come,” John said in a low tone. “I want to. . . well. . .”

Em gestured for him to join her on the window seat. He took a long look at the view before sitting down next to her.

“We have only a minute,” John said. He looked at the door to the room. Em nodded. “I know why you’re pulling everyone together.”

“You do?” Em asked.

John nodded.

“There’s no way for me to publicly support your proposal,” John said. “I’ll be the usual ass that everyone expects.”

Laughing, Em knocked into him with her shoulder.

“Privately,” John said. “Between you and me, I’ve got your back. I just want to. . .”

They heard Mary Eastey and Bridget laughing in the hallway.

“Remember the hand,” John said.

“What?” Em asked.

“That’s what the statue in Laos said to say to you at this very moment,” John said. “After he reminded me that I owe you. . .”

Bridget and Mary Eastey came into the room carrying two trays of with pots of tea on them. Mary Eastey also brought some of her caramel-chip cookies.

“Everything,” John said in a low voice. “You have my life.”

“And your hand?” Em asked in the same voice.

He nodded.

“Now, what are you two plotting?” Mary Eastey asked. “You’re not trying to convince John to be a pirate again, are you, Em?”

“I thought he already was,” Giles said as he entered the room.

Confused by Giles’s attempt to make a joke, they turned to look at him. When he laughed, they laughed as well.

“You know me too well, Giles,” John said with a grin.

John got up to greet Giles. The men fell into an easy conversation about the upcoming Super Bowl. Bridget passed out hand-painted china teacups while Mary Eastey shared the cookies. Knowing there was a purpose to their visit, they settled into chairs grouped around the window seat. A few minutes later, George jogged into the room. He waved to John and Giles and kissed Em on the cheek before sitting down at the window seat.

“Reverend,” Mary Eastey said as she poured him a cup of tea.

She gave him the cup and then passed him the cream. Em stifled a chuckle when he had to bite his tongue rather than complain about adding cream
after
his tea was poured. When he looked up, Mary Eastey held out the plate of cookies.

“Oh, my favorite,” George said. “Bless you, Mary.”

Mary Eastey flushed and smiled at George.

“Why are we here, Martha?” Giles asked. As he usually did with Em, he gave her an order. “Tell us straight. Don’t leave anything out.”

As usual for Em, she raised her eyebrows at his order. He winked at her, and she grinned.

“Honestly, there isn’t much to tell,” Em said. “You know about the demon. You know that Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. You are their descendants.”

Em looked at each of them as they nodded in agreement.

“My ancestor ate from the Tree of Life,” Em said. “This gave me, and, in turn, you, an extended life.”

Em looked down at her clasped hands. She sighed and nodded.

“I have learned that when Eve, and then Adam, ate from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, they internalized the darker side of themselves. They became both good and bad, yin and yang, opposites but whole.” Em refused to look at any of them. George pried her hand away from its mate. He held her hand between his hands. “I have only the one side. Call it good or evil — my ancestors are all one sided. My father was the same way. My mother was a descendant of Argos, the one who actually ate from the Tree of Life. She passed this, for lack of a better word, ‘recessive trait,’ to me.”

“Like blue eyes, Em?” John asked. When Em nodded, he explained to the others: “You know how two dark-haired people can have a blue-eyed person or vice versa? Because blue eyes are a recessive gene.”

Mary Eastey looked at Bridget. They both looked at John and nodded. Giles gave an easy nod. John looked confused at Giles’s easy understanding.

“I breed world-class racing horses, John,” Giles said with a grin.

“Oh, right,” John said.

“Please continue, Martha,” Giles said.

Em looked up at Giles. Their eyes held for a moment before she looked at each of her witches in turn. She gave a quick smile to George.

“What I’m about to tell you is really more of a best guess than fact,” Em said.

She waited for them to interrupt, but they were simply waiting to hear what she had to say.

“I need to combine with the demon,” Em said.

“No!” Bridget exclaimed at the same time Mary Eastey said, “Goodness, Martha! That’s insane!”

George squeezed her hand tighter, while John and Giles just looked at her. When everyone settled down, George tugged on Em’s hand.

“Why?” George asked.

“I can see no other way,” Em said. “It’s combine with the demon or die. Someone or something has killed every single person of my kind.”

“Except the statue in Laos,” John said.

“Get to the bottom line, Martha,” Giles said.

“You live as a kind of extension of me,” Em said. “For example, you were capable of getting pregnant because I was on Rousay.”

“We live because you gave us the choice,” George said with a nod.

“You are bound to me,” Em said. “It’s clear to me that if I don’t combine with the demons, I will be killed, and you will die.”

“But Em, that’s crazy!” Bridget said.

“The demons were fighting my father when they killed a quarter of the population in London during the Great Plague of 1665 and at least as many in the Great Fire of 1666,” Em said. “I have no question that they will take out the entire city of Boston and, possibly, the entire US. They will exact their revenge on all of Adam and Eve’s descendants.”

The witches were so still that Em looked up to see if they were still paying attention. Their attention was riveted to her.

“Are you sure, Em?” George asked.

“As sure as I can be,” Em said. “The only way to avoid killing every human on the planet is to combine with the demon who says I belong to him. But. . .”

“What will happen to us?” Bridget asked.

“Exactly,” Em said. “If I don’t do this thing, you might die. If I do this thing. . .”

Em shrugged.

“You have no idea, do you?” Giles asked. He gave a slow shake of his head.

Em shook her head.

“We could all die,” Em said. “We could lose our immortality and stay in this time. We could lose our ability to perform magic. It’s possible that we’ll be returned to the spot we were when I. . .”

Em’s quick breath in shared the quality of a sob.

“Because the demon is repelled by the dark that lives inside you, I feel safe to say that this is likely to kill you,” Em said. She put her hand on her stomach. “And I don’t know what will happen to our children.”

Mary Eastey gasped.

“I won’t do anything until we have a chance to talk it through,” Em said. “I wanted to talk to you alone because of our children.”

“Then we wait until the children are born,” Giles said. “It’s only a few months now.”

“If we can,” Em said. “That’s my hope. But. . .”

“The demon told you that they would not allow you to increase in numbers,” George said in an even voice. He looked up at Giles. “They’re not going to allow us to have these babies.”

“Please give it some real thought,” Em said. “Unless something forces my hand, I will not act until I hear from everyone.”

She gave them a sad smile.

“We have an added burden,” Em said.

“What about Elizabeth?” Mary Eastey asked. “Sam? Why aren’t they here?”

“She lost her baby,” Em said. “She was out in the snow when she and Sam checked our houses. That was before I sent the demon away. She miscarried a few hours later.”

“From the snow?” Bridget asked.

“It seems like it,” Em said.

The witches looked horrified.

“She had seven children in Salem,” Mary Eastey said softly.

“And no miscarriages,” George said. “That’s why Sam believes the snow caused her miscarriage.”

“The others will be here any minute,” Em said. “George has agreed to tell them what’s going on. I’ve been up since the snow started. I am exhausted. I’m going home to rest. That gives you a chance to talk among yourselves without fear of hurting my feelings.”

Looking into each of their faces, Em willed them to know her love for them. When no one spoke, she left the room. They began arguing the moment she stepped out of the room. Their voices chased her from the house. She walked across the Common to the Mystic Divine. Gratefully, the store was quiet. Upstairs, she took off her shoes and climbed into bed. Wide awake and fully dressed, she pulled the heavy comforter over her head. Tucking herself into a fetal position, she began to pray.

Hours later, George came into the bedroom. He stood at the door for a few minutes before going to the bed. He flipped down the covers. She was still hugging her knees, wide awake, and praying. She didn’t move.

“What did they say?” she asked.

“As you predicted,” George said.

“They won’t go through with it and don’t want me to,” Em said.

“They don’t see the necessity,” George said. “After all. . .”

“It’s been more than three hundred years,” Em said. “Why would we have to deal with this now? When things are going so well?”

“Exactly,” George said.

“Thanks for trying,” Em said.

She reached for the covers and pulled them over her head. Sometime later, he joined her in bed. Long after he was asleep, she lay in a fetal position, praying.