The Darkening Dream (48 page)

Parris remained, drifting alone in a sea of misery, until the priests wandered off. If he didn’t act soon, he would succumb to the pain and drown in this wretched realm. Fixating on some of his own blood he chanted:

Power of the warlocks rise, course unseen through the skies.

Come to us who call you near, come to us who call you here.

Down roads of fire and flame, come forth to bring pain.

Blood to blood I summon thee, blood to blood return to me.

Betty must have been waiting for him. She parted the flames to perch on the lip of the tank.

“Toy, I find you a bit worse for the wear.”

“I’m not even sure I can walk.”

She hopped down and waded over to him. Her dirty corset was soon soaked, and his eyes tracked the saggy curves of her breasts. She reached out and caressed his burnt peeling face.

“My poor, poor Toy. I liked both your eyes.” She extended her purple tongue to lick the burned half of his face. It was agonizing, but when she was finished, the pain receded.

He clung to her wet skin, the texture of a fish washed up on shore days before. She helped him to the edge of the tank, carried him down the ladder and up to the portico, where it was obvious that Mr. Nasir’s long unlife had finally come to a tragic end. She fetched a golden coffer from the outer sanctuary, and they collected every fragment they could find, including the hideous skull. Mr. Nasir would wish to be buried in his homeland or, failing that, one never knew when the bones of such a creature might come in handy.

Then down the stairs and into the flame.

Crossing through, Betty brought him to the muddy shore of a misty lake. Far in the distance, he heard the sounds of clashing arms and the screams of the dying. On the shoreline squatted a tiny hovel with a roof of dried dung.

Inside, Dr. Faustus’ lost grimoire lay on a filthy pallet pushed up against one wall.

“You got it for me?” he asked.

“You left the fire burning in the vampire’s hearth,” she said. “I thought it the least I could do.”

He tried to kiss her, but the pain made him swoon.

“You can recover here,” Betty said. “Then I’ll take you back to your world. Unless you decide to stay, of course.”

Desiccated fish heads hung from the rafters of the tiny dwelling, and flies buzzed thickly about discarded piles of offal.

She’d never before invited him home.

Sixty-Two:

Bedwarmer

Salem, Massachusetts, Friday before dawn, November 21, 1913

S
ARAH FINISHED IN THE
upstairs bathroom. It was after three in the morning, and she should try to get some sleep.

Anne was outside waiting when she opened the door to the hall. She held a candle — the electricity had shorted. Sarah’s room had been spared the worst of the destruction, but her parents’ bedroom was open to the sky, and snow fluttered down through the gaping hole in the roof above the stairwell. Anyway, for tonight, Papa slept on the living room couch. Snoring.

“What did your mother say about Emily?” Sarah asked.

“We didn’t talk long,” Anne said, “but apparently she’s up and chattering away like nothing happened. She’s thin and weak but ‘has a healthy appetite.’ Which for my mother is the definition of wellness.”

“That’s wonderful.” Sarah had been tense with worry for so long, she hadn’t quite let it go.

“Come to our house tomorrow. See for yourself.”

“I’ll ask Papa.”

“Lovely,” Anne said. “But now I want to know about you and Alex — you haven’t mentioned him in days and you’ve
never
really given me the story. When did it start and how far has it gone?”

Sarah was surprised Anne had waited this long before cornering her.

“Since the night on the boat. Not
that
far. And it hasn’t all been smooth sailing.”

“Tart!” Anne smacked her arm. “Is the kissing good?”

Despite the freezing air, Sarah’s face felt hot. “With everything that’s been going on, I’ve hardly had time to think about it.”

“Are you going to tell your parents?” Anne asked.

“I just can’t,” Sarah said. “I care about him, more and more. But if we got married, Papa might disown me.”

The wind whistled through the hole in the roof, so raw it cut through Sarah’s robe.

“I don’t think he’d go that far,” Anne said. “But would you?”

Alex slipped into her room before she fell asleep.

Sarah let him under the covers. Sam had turned off the boiler because broken pipes were spraying water, so the whole house was freezing.

She curled against his chest, and as she hoped, he kissed her. The feeling didn’t compare to anything else, except maybe magic. The sensation of their lips pressed together wasn’t that special, but she just wanted to keep on doing it, long past the point where any other activity engaged in for so long would have bored her.

“Aren’t you afraid your father will catch us?” Alex asked.

“Holding the gateway open exhausted him. I think he’s out for the night.”

He ran his fingers through her hair, tangling them in the curls.

“Why does something so wrong have to feel so right?” she said, nuzzling his neck.

“I’m all for moral rectitude, but in this case I have to cast my vote for impropriety.”

“Tomorrow, I’m going to visit Emily.” She gave his neck a little nip. “You should come.”

“It’s a date, then.” He kissed her again. And again.

Sarah put her legs around one of his and pressed them together. She’d never felt like this before. Reckless. Excited. Maybe almost dying did this to you.

They kept kissing. When he unlaced the tie around her neck and slid a hand underneath her nightgown, she held her breath but didn’t stop him.

Just a few minutes more. Then she’d make him go back to his room.

Sixty-Three:

A Surprising Gift

Salem, Massachusetts, Friday, November 21, 1913

D
ADDY HAD SEEMED A BIT
stiff this morning when he brought Emily the new puppy, but two dogs were going to be so much fun. This one came with a weird name Emily shortened to Nuby, which suited his delicate silver limbs, and she’d tied a blue ribbon to his collar. Daddy didn’t know his breed, but she’d fetched the kennel club book from downstairs and Nuby looked like a funny Mexican dog called the Chihuahua except his ears were pointier and his snout longer.

The door to her room opened and Mr. Barnyard zoomed in, followed by her mother.

“Emily, the gang of four has come to visit you.”

Mr. Barnyard stood beside the bed, a low growl in his throat. Jealous already!

“I’m feeling great, Mom,” Emily said. “Send them up.”

Nuby was on his feet now, his little tail held rigid. He growled at Mr. Barnyard, tiny teeth bared, but the pitch was so high he sounded silly.

Mr. Barnyard started barking. Not silly.

“You two,” Mommy said, grabbing both dogs by their collars, “are going out back to settle your differences.”

Sixty-Four:

In the Land of Moriah

Salem, Massachusetts, Friday, November 21, 1913

A
FTER VISITING
E
MILY,
Sarah and Alex held hands as they descended the stairs into the Williams foyer.

“We can leave in a minute.” He looked embarrassed. “But I need a quick visit to the outhouse first.”

He left and she noticed Mr. Williams standing near the coat rack.

“I didn’t see you there, sir,” Sarah said. “Congratulations on Emily’s recovery.” She stepped forward to give him a hug.

He skittered back. “You’d best keep your distance. I’ve brought home a bit of a bug from my sister’s.”

He did look pale, and stress over Emily’s illness had made him thinner, emphasizing his height.

Alex stomped back into the room.

“Ready to go?” He noticed Mr. Williams. “Sir, your new dog killed a squirrel in the back yard. He’s making a mess of the innards.”

Mr. Williams sighed. “He thinks himself something of a ratter.”

Alex whispered to Sarah, “We could go over to my house, if you like.”

“I promised Papa I’d be right home.” He had that puppy dog look. “I’ll come over this evening,” she said. “It’s
shabbos
, so I’ll be there right around sunset.”

“I’ll see you both soon,” Mr. Williams said, backing out of the room.

Sarah followed Alex out to the car.

“I can’t wait to get you alone,” he said as he pulled out into the street.

“We’re only talking about a few hours.”

“We’ll have privacy,” he said. “Grandfather’s hardly going to get out of his chair and harass us.”

The ride was only about two minutes long.

“Don’t you have services tonight?” he said when he pulled up to the curb.

“I’m feeling reckless,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow.

She didn’t dare kiss him in front of the house.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

Sarah found Papa in his study. Mama had once compared him to a spider, waiting in the middle of a web for prey to come to him.