Chapter Twenty-Seven
Before I knew it, it was nightfall and the others started to filter in from outside, but the five of us remained in the room, memorizing spell after spell. There wasn’t enough time to practice, and besides, most of the ones we’d deemed useful for our impending battle weren’t exactly the kind of spells we wanted to try on each other. No one was volunteering themselves as guinea pigs, anyway. I’d have tested a few out on Asher, but I wasn’t ready to see him yet—besides, I had much worse things in store for him.
At one point in the evening, one of the younger girls brought up some sandwiches for us to eat. We didn’t bother stopping, just shoved the peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches into our mouths as we worked. There was a sort of rhythm to our flow of learning. One of us took the book, read the spell, wrote it down, and then passed it on. Then we’d commit it to memory during the time that it took for the volume to make its way back around again, when we’d choose yet another spell to master.
By 3 a.m., every one of us was falling asleep sitting up and it was clear that anything we were trying to memorize wasn’t going to stick. And if we were going to be fighting the Parrishables in the next twenty-four hours, we needed some rest. So we slept right there in our spots, giving way to all the wicked dreams our minds could come up with.
By now I knew mine weren’t just products of my imagination. It was a fact I’d started getting used to of late. Tonight, I almost welcomed it, because I felt there was something I was still missing, some piece of information that Bridget or Christian could give me that would pull everything together. I couldn’t imagine that the universe would bring me this far only to let us lose. No, there had to be something that I was missing.
So when my eyes itched with sleep and my lids grew heavy and threatened to drop, I lay down, snuggling into my covers next to Jazzy, and allowed my mind to be opened up to whatever wisdom the past had for me.
Before long, I was no longer in the cabin. I was standing on uneven ground and my feet were warm, as if they were wrapped in a heating blanket. The smell in the air was acrid, a mixture of smoke, ash, and the slightest bit of something foul. Like burning hair. Or flesh. The combination almost made me retch.
Fighting back the bile that threatened to come up, I realized exactly where I was. And then I saw it: I was standing on the site where the Parrishables had massacred the Cleri. My parents. My friends’ parents. All cut down because of an immortal man who was insane with power. A man who saw us as a threat and would stop at nothing to ensure that he stayed in control of the magic world.
As I took a step across the rubble, and then another, ash began to cling to my shoes and coat them like mud. But I couldn’t worry about my clothes right now, because I was brought here for a reason—though I still had no idea what it was.
Why was I here? To pick something up, perhaps? To learn something? No answers came to me, so I continued to walk across the still-burning ground.
I was alone in the makeshift graveyard, with only my thoughts to keep me company. This was a dark place to be. Especially when all I had on my mind was revenge. I wanted the ones who were responsible for this destruction to suffer. Horribly.
“You realize this couldn’t have been avoided.”
The voice came from behind me, in a space that had been deserted only a few seconds ago. The sound both startled and comforted me. I realized quickly that I’d been expecting it all along. I whipped around to find myself staring at someone I knew well. However, up until then, I’d never actually had a conversation with her. I’d only ever been a witness to her life, never an active participant.
Right there in front of me, looking stunning in a bloodred frock, was my long-lost ancestor, the infamous Bridget Bishop. She looked nothing like the woman I’d seen in jail on the day of her death; here she was cleaned up, immaculate even. Her hair fell in gentle waves around her face and shone a vibrant midnight black color. A slight smile played on her lips, giving the impression that she was hiding a secret or had just told a dirty joke. And knowing what I did about her, this very well could’ve been true.
I’d seen her at her worst: dirty, helpless, proud, and fearful, but today she was prettier than I’d ever imagined. I could see now why women worried about their men when Bridget was around. Then I wondered if I had inherited that particular gift, too.
Before I could say anything, she continued. “It was a tragedy, yes, but there was nothing you could have done, my dear girl,” she said, looking straight at me.
I didn’t want to be impolite and keep staring at her without responding, so I cleared my throat and took a step closer. The air around us was hushed but for the crackling of fires that hadn’t yet burned out. It almost seemed like there were little screams among the sounds, and I imagined everyone being caught in the flames.
“But I could have,” I said, almost pleadingly. “If I’d just tried harder, followed my mom when she got that call. Maybe then I could’ve gotten everyone out in time.”
She shook her head sadly. “The interesting thing about time is that it is fleeting. And it was their time to go. As it was mine long ago.”
“That’s not fair,” I said. I knew I sounded like a little kid, but I felt like throwing a tantrum at the injustice of it all. I restrained myself from stomping my foot, but I didn’t have as much control over my quivering lips and teary eyes. This poor woman, who’d suffered through more horror than most of us could imagine, didn’t need to see me have an emotional breakdown. Not with how brave she’d been that day in 1692. I couldn’t cry in front of her. It would be too embarrassing. So I changed the subject. “What about Samuel? He’s like four hundred years old and he’s still walking around like he owns the magic world. I think it’s far past his bedtime, don’t you?”
Bridget gave a chuckle. For a second I could imagine what things might’ve been like if I’d met her in her own day. Would I have liked her or would we have butted heads because we were so much alike? I wanted to believe that we would’ve been friends. We could’ve bonded over our mutual love of power and the color red.
“Samuel is a different matter entirely,” she said gently.
“But why? What makes him so different?”
“Well, for one, he chose darkness over the light of the universe. His heart is black. So is his soul, and when it is time for him to meet his maker—which I anticipate will happen soon—he will be punished for all he has done. The otherworld does not take kindly to those who defy its laws. Which is why we are always to be careful of where our alliances lie.”
Something Bridget had said stopped me. “Wait. So you think we actually have a chance of winning this thing? I mean, that’s what I’ve been telling everyone, but to be honest, I haven’t been so sure. . . .”
Standing among the ashes of my fallen coven members, I was finally able to admit it out loud: I thought there was a possibility we wouldn’t make it out of this fight alive. But here was the first person slain in Reverend Parris’s quest for total magic domination, and she was telling me there was a chance. We had a chance. Samuel’s reign of terror might be coming to an end.
“As I said, we must be careful with whom we align ourselves. If you ask the right people for help, you will triumph. But this is a decision you must make for yourself.”
“I thought we already had,” I said, growing confused and then frustrated. “Why aren’t you people ever clear about these things instead of talking in riddles? Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
“The Bishop women are beautiful and passionate, but one thing we are not is indolent. I cannot give you the answers, but when you come up with the right questions I will be here. We are all here for you whenever you choose to call us.”
“It doesn’t feel like it,” I mumbled, beginning to feel defeated. Between the vague advice and the fact that I was standing in the place where my mom had died, I was starting to think I’d rather be awake than dealing with all this.
“Look again,” Bridget said, gesturing widely.
I turned slowly to find the previously empty space before me now packed with people. The first face I recognized was my mom’s. She was standing at the front of the crowd, smiling at me. There were tears in her eyes, but I knew without asking that they were tears of joy, filled with pride. I resisted the urge to run to her and give her a big hug, because even though it was a dream, I knew that her presence wasn’t tangible. There would be no hugs, no kisses, no comforting hands on my shoulders. So I stayed where I was and beamed back at her, hoping she understood how much it meant to see her.
Then I began to pick out other faces in the crowd. Peter’s parents were there and so were Jasmine’s. Fallon’s hulk of a dad stood with his arm around his mom. Even my grandparents were there. But it was more than just my coven and immediate family. There had to have been hundreds of people standing in the crowd that was now stretching back as far as my eyes could see. Most of them I didn’t even recognize, but I knew in my gut we were all connected.
And just when I began to understand what was going on, I started to shake violently, until everything around me evaporated and I found myself back in my room staring up at Fallon.
According to him, I’d been murmuring in my sleep. Given the dream I’d had, it made sense. But I couldn’t worry about what he may have heard, because we were running out of time to do what we needed to do before the Parrishables showed up. There was no doubt in my mind that they were already on their way. Luckily, Bridget had given me the last piece in the puzzle of how to defeat them.
First, I let the others in on what I’d discovered through my dream. My theory, which I hoped would lead us to win, was a little far-fetched and I had expected some resistance—or worse, a flat-out refusal from Fallon—but everyone stayed silent as I explained what I believed Bridget was trying to tell me. By the time I was finished, the others in the room were on board.
Telling the rest of the Cleri had been easy, and afterward we went back to training in a last-ditch effort to prepare ourselves for what was about to happen. People were growing tired, and to be honest, we all could’ve used another month or so of intense practice, but by the time the afternoon started to give way to the night I knew we were as ready as we’d ever be.
I figured that the Parrishables wouldn’t strike while the sun was still out. It wasn’t that they couldn’t; they’d done it before. It was a question of comfort. Darkness craved darkness. It was when they moved best and did the most damage. The night sky was like a security blanket for people like them. And with Emory free to tell the Parrishables everything we’d been doing and where we were staying, we were practically sitting ducks.
At least that’s what they would think.
An hour before sunset, I gathered everyone together and went over one final time what we were going to do. I explained that just because the Parrishables had managed to get to us in the past, that didn’t mean we weren’t strong enough to stop them. This time for good. The exact words I used weren’t important. It was the feeling that rippled through our coven that mattered. The overwhelming knowledge that we were going to win. And when I told every last one of them how we would do that, I could physically see their spirits lifting up. They stood a little straighter and looks of fear were replaced with a determination and a confidence that hadn’t been there before.
I knew that in order to maximize our chances, we had to wait for the exact right moment to take action and until then, there was nothing else to do but wait. So I told everyone to take the next hour for themselves and get in the best head space possible before the battle—watching the sunset, getting lost in a book, painting, gossiping with a friend—whatever it was that gave them some modicum of joy and comfort. They deserved that at least, because it was a real possibility that not everyone would have the chance again.
How would you spend your last hour alive if you knew it was your time to go? A teacher had asked us this question in a creative writing class and my answer had involved going to Paris (the carb capital of the world); making wild, passionate love to Zac Efron (I heard he was into magical chicks); and dyeing my hair blond (I wanted to see if they really did have more fun). But when it’s actually a possibility, the reality is much different.
Now, instead of wanting to do things I’d never done before, I found myself wishing I could spend the time with my old faithfuls. I went upstairs and took a shower, taking special care to use all my favorite soaps and shampoos, getting lost in the scents that the different products created. When I got out, I carefully applied my makeup, opting out of using magic as a shortcut. Before life had gotten complicated, I used to love doing this. Taking the time to choose my colors, using opposing shades and blending them creatively across my eyes. Lining my lids with such intense precision that you’d have sworn I was born like that. Dusting the makeup brush lightly against my skin felt unbelievable. This was my quiet time. The time I let go of all the nonsense and stress that bogged me down.
I didn’t realize how much I’d missed the ritual until I was faced with the possibility of never doing it again.
Getting dressed was more difficult. What does one wear to a war? How to be fashionable yet functional? I turned to TV shows and movies for inspiration on what the modern femme fatale was wearing these days and ended up in a skintight catsuit the color of a fire engine with hidden pockets to hold a few spells I’d written out, plus my lip gloss. Black boots extended up my calves, just skimming the bottoms of my thighs. The heels were short for me, only three inches, but still stiletto. Anything more than that and I might break an ankle or impale someone during a roundhouse kick. And the latter would mean destroying another pair of shoes, which I was so not into.
Just as I was putting the finishing touches on my hair (pulled back into a tight ponytail with a braid around the base), there was a knock on my door. One of Fallon’s brood came in, wanting to update me on where they’d gotten with Asher.
Asher.
I’d somehow managed to forget about him a few times already that day, and for the last hour, I purposely hadn’t let myself think of him at all. Now all the feelings came rushing back, undoing every last bit of Zen I’d achieved while getting ready.
I didn’t want to think about him, but I needed to know what he knew.
“We’ve tried to get him to talk, but he says he’ll only talk to you.”
My stomach flipped. Talking to Asher was the last thing I should do. I didn’t want to go into battle with my emotions all over the place, and that’s exactly what would happen if I went to have a heart-to-heart with him now. But if I didn’t, what would that mean for the Cleri and our chances in this fight? He might have knowledge that could be helpful to us. And I had to do what was best for the group right now, which meant talking to him when all I wanted to do was kill him. After all, so much of this was my fault in the first place.
“Fine. I’ll be down there in a minute.”
As soon as I was alone, I started to feel sick to my stomach over what I was about to do. But I commanded my legs to move and before I knew it, I was standing outside the shed that had become my ex’s prison. Taking a deep breath to compose myself, I turned the handle and walked inside.
“Whoa. You look—” Asher managed to get out before I shot him a glare.
“Dangerous? Because that’s what it would be to try and hit on me right now,” I said, the threat hanging in the air between us. When he didn’t respond, I continued. “So, what couldn’t you tell the others that you can only tell me? And hurry up, I don’t have a lot of time before your friends get here and try to kill us.”
I avoided his eyes. Those dark, piercing eyes. The eyes that had made me swoon, that I longed to see myself in, that I wished were only for me. No reason to remind myself how I’d felt, considering we were about to fight, possibly to our deaths. Remembering my feelings for him would just make it harder for me to do what I had to do to survive.
“Had, you’ve got this all wrong,” Asher said in a voice so sincere that my heart ached.
But I ignored it. “So you weren’t sent here by Samuel and the other Parrishables to gather information on us?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“And you didn’t lie to me this whole time about who you were and why you were here?”
“Not exactly—”
“So your plan didn’t involve getting close to me and making me care about you, just so you could turn me over to our enemies in the end?”
“Dammit, Hadley, it’s more complicated than that!” Asher yelled in frustration. Hearing the shouts, one of the guards popped his head in to see if everything was under control and I waved him away while keeping my eyes on the cuffs that held my old flame in place. I’d taken a page right out of Samuel’s book and charmed the locks to make it impossible for Asher to do magic. I wasn’t sure if he’d tried to escape yet, but if he did, he was in for a rude awakening.
Once we were alone again, I crossed my arms and waited for him to speak. Sensing that my patience was dwindling, he sighed and softened his voice. “I’m sorry. I just need you to hear me out. . . .”
“Why should I?” I snarled back, the anger rising steadily in me like a flame.
“Because—I think I love you.” The way he said it made him sound broken. His voice cracked and he couldn’t continue.
I felt like I’d been socked in the stomach. Had he seriously just dropped the L-bomb on me after everything he’d done? He had to be kidding. Right? The thought was insane, yet something nagged at my chest, making me feel torn. Was it possible his words were more than just a plot to get free and finish what he’d started?
“Did you hear me?” he asked when I didn’t say anything in response. “I—”
“I heard you,” I said with less venom in my voice now. “I just don’t believe you.”
His face fell. “Look, did Samuel make me come here and befriend you? Yes, but it’s not because I’m one of them. You know how I told you my parents died a little while back? Well, Parris did it. My parents had a feeling that he was back and they were going to take us away, get us somewhere safe. But he hunted us down. . . .”
Horror flooded me as I imagined what he must have been playing back in his head right now. If what he was saying was true, he’d been through the same harrowing experience as me. But that didn’t justify him switching teams, and I told him as much.
“After he”—his voice caught on the words—“killed my parents, he took my sister and told me that if I didn’t do what he said, he’d kill her, too. So you see? I didn’t have a choice! She’s my sister, Hadley. What was I supposed to do?”
My anger began to fade as I realized I believed him. I tried to put myself in his shoes and knew that I would’ve done the same thing. Well, not exactly the same thing.
“Why would they come after your family, Asher? You’re not a part of the Cleri,” I said, not yet seeing the connection.
“Yours wasn’t the only coven in the Salem area that posed a threat to Parris and his plans back during the trials,” he said. “If you weren’t with him, you were against him. He must have been searching for us ever since our family fled from Massachusetts. Guess we didn’t run far enough.”
I let what he said sink in as my conflicted feelings battled it out in my head.
“You could have been honest with me, Asher,” I said finally, lowering my voice. I took a few steps farther into the room, still not daring to get close enough for him to touch me.
“Really? How was I supposed to do that? You know, you’re not the easiest person to get to know. And then once I did get to know you, I knew I couldn’t come out and tell you who I really was because I figured you’d react like this.” He motioned to the handcuffs with his head.
“Can you blame me?” I asked.
He paused and seemed to think about it. “I guess not,” he said, sounding defeated. “But you have to believe that once I realized I had feelings for you, all I could think about was how I could fix all of this and still save my sister. Because . . . because I can’t live without either of you.”
He was telling the truth. I knew it. And not in that naive he-wants-to-make-out-with-me-so-he-must-love-me kind of way. I knew it because I’d never been so sure of anything in my life. Closing the distance between us, I knelt down in front of him and took his hands in mine. The spark of electricity that had always been there between us felt like fireworks now. I could no longer deny it: we were meant to be together. But I still didn’t fully trust him, and for that reason, when I leaned forward to kiss him, I left his cuffs in place.
Our lips had just touched when a loud boom sounded to my right and I watched with horror as the side wall exploded into pieces around us.