The Witch is Back

Chapter Twenty-Six




An hour and a half later, I stumbled upon what I assumed Colette had wanted me to find. Thirty minutes after that, I was positive I’d found it. And it changed everything.

“Moll Brenner was related to Sarah Good?” I asked, dropping the iPad onto my mattress and looking over at my roomie incredulously. Colette, who’d been practicing writing words in the air with colored magic residue, like a sparkler on the Fourth of July, paused and then began to write the word “Moll” in the air.

“Yep,” Colette answered, continuing to connect the letters slowly. “Moll was Sarah’s great-great-great-granddaughter.”

I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my chin on them as I studied her. Colette stopped casting as soon as she felt my eyes on her, and then relaxed back on her bed with a semi-sad look on her face.

“And Moll was your great-great-great-aunt,” I said quietly.

Colette just nodded in response. Looking down at her lap, she studied the fabric of her skirt.

“That’s why you’re so protective of Moll’s memory,” I said, everything beginning to fit together like found puzzle pieces.

“Not just because we’re related,” Colette insisted, looking up at me again. “Moll was innocent and they still subjected her to a horrible fate. Just like Sarah, and even her own daughter, Dorothy. People are so quick to persecute. Nobody takes the time to get to know anyone before making a judgment.”

“Is that why you don’t tell anyone you’re related to them? You’re afraid of what people will do?” I asked. “Colette, I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you. You can bet on that. You might not be in the Cleri, but you’re one of us as far as I’m concerned.”


“Thanks, Hadley. That means a lot,” she said, giving me a small smile. “But that’s not it. I don’t actually think people will hurt me. It’s more like . . . people assume things when they know where you come from.”

“Believe me, I know. But so what? Who cares what people think of you?” I answered. It was true. I knew I was a good, kind, strong person destined for greatness. If others wanted to think differently, the last laugh would be mine when all my dreams were coming true and they were still trying to come up with theirs.

“That’s easy to say when your relative is Bridget Bishop,” Colette said, sarcastically. “Bridget is probably the most famous witch in history, not to mention one of the most powerful. Of course you don’t worry what people think of you. Everyone treats you like the second coming.”

“That’s not true, Colette,” I said, even though there was some truth to what she said. When people found out I was related to Bridget, they did look at me differently. With a newfound respect, almost. One that I hadn’t earned, but was assigned. And though I never felt pressure to live up to her legacy, I couldn’t help but feel like I was constantly in her shadow. My hope was that someday my name would stand on its own. Of course, my name wasn’t holding much weight with my coven lately.

“People are far less impressed when they discover that your family is famous for being poor, adulterous, and crazy as a loony bin,” she said. “Witches in our family have worked hard over the last century to change that perception, so we can at least try to get a fair shake.”

“Colette, you’re not your relatives,” I said, forcefully.

“I know,” she said. “And I actually don’t mind who they were really. They were different and that should be okay. And that’s all I want: for others to accept me for who I am. Crazy outfits and all.”

I smiled. “Well, I think you’ve definitely succeeded in that,” I said. As we both let Colette’s confession sink in, my mind started to wander. “Hey, Colette? Can I ask you something about Moll?”

“Sure,” she said. “I’d rather you learn about her from me rather than through the gossip mill. What do you want to know?”

“What do you think happened to her that night?” I asked.

“I’ve had dozens of theories over the years about what it must’ve been like for Moll after those kids ditched her in the woods . . . but I honestly don’t know what happened,” she answered.

“Theories?” I asked, curious to hear what they were.

“Well, one was that she ran away and started a new life. I like to think this was true, because in my version she finds a life where she fits in and is happy,” Colette said. “But then there are the alternatives. Ones that aren’t so . . . positive. I worry that some sort of wild animal got to her and she was hurt and alone. Or that she was so upset over the kids’ prank that she took her own life. The worst is thinking that she might’ve wandered the woods until she had no more strength and just lay down to die, her ghost doomed to be stuck there alone forever.”

“So you think it’s possible she’s still out there? Like, her spirit’s haunting the woods or something?” I said, carefully.

“Are you asking if she was the one who did all that stuff to the boys’ theater?” Colette asked, a frown forming on her face.

“That, and maybe the whole vine in the woods and shower incidents? I’ve also been having these bizarre dreams . . . ,” I said, trying my best not to sound too accusatory. “I mean, after hearing everything that Moll went through, I wouldn’t blame her for being angry and lashing out. I’d want payback on all those little witches if they left me in the woods, too.”

“I don’t think it was her,” Colette said adamantly.

“Not even for payback?” I asked, knowing I was riding the line of pushing Colette’s good nature too far.

“It wasn’t her style,” she answered. “Trust me, our family has obsessed over this for more than a hundred years now. Moll’s younger sister, Mary, who was also my great-great-great-grandmother, ended up returning to Brighton three years after Moll’s disappearance to attend the intensive. As soon as she arrived, the rumors about the “Witch in the Woods” began. Mary never mentioned that Moll was her sister, and since she was Moll’s polar opposite, she became quite popular among the other campers. Ultimately, she ended up having the experience Moll had wished she’d had.

“Despite the warnings of the campers and counselors, Mary would often wander off into the woods. Sometimes it was just for thirty minutes, while other days she was gone for hours. She’d come back with batches of flowers and distribute them to her friends, giving them enough of a reason for her to be gone for such long periods of time. But Mary was on a mission. She knew what had happened to Moll and didn’t think it was the whole story. So, she started to do her own investigation.”

“What did she find?” I asked.

“Weird things started to happen,” Colette said, nodding. “But not in the ways you think. Or the ways that are told around here. For one, the flowers that Mary would come back with weren’t picked by her. No matter where she’d wander off to in the woods, she would find a pile of perfectly plucked flowers sitting alone as if waiting for her. Sometimes when she walked around by herself, she’d think someone was whispering her name. Other times, Mary would swear someone was following her. In letters, she told her mom that she’d see shadows beside her own when no one else was around.

“But it wasn’t just Mary who was experiencing stuff. Others at camp claimed they had, too. Things would go missing from the girls’ rooms, diaries would be left out as if they’d been read—all stuff that could be attributed to silly pranks. Only, no one was ever caught doing them and it began to happen year after year. Mary attended Brighton until she turned eighteen and then returned for a decade as a counselor. She told others that it was because her time at camp was the best of her life, but our family knew that it was because she was certain that Moll was still there. Mary wasn’t sure whether she was alive or if it was her ghost, but camp was the only time she felt close to her sister.

“So, see. Moll’s tricks were always innocent. Taking trinkets, leaving flowers, reading diaries . . . she did these things because she just wanted to be a part of a world that had never accepted her. Maybe it’s possible that she did the amphitheater thing. Maybe. But Moll wouldn’t have hurt innocent people like with the shower and hanging stuff. I’m certain of that. You need to find someone else to pin those on, Had.”

I could tell that she believed what she was saying and from what little I knew about Colette, I found this to be enough. She was a searcher of truth and she wouldn’t insist on something if she wasn’t totally sure about her facts. So, either she’d been misinformed by her ancestors, or she was right, and Moll wasn’t the one who was out to get me.

But then, that left me back at the beginning, with no real suspects. Well, one, but I was the only one who thought Brooklyn was a viable option for evil.

“Now, can I ask you something, Hadley?” Colette asked.

“Of course,” I said.

“You said that you were having weird dreams,” she said, picking at the dried food stuck to her skirt. “What were they about?”


I’d been hesitant to tell Abby the full extent of my dream, both because she had turned out to be one of the hooded figures in it and because I didn’t want to stress her out over something that might’ve been nothing. But Colette had just told me one of her biggest secrets, and I felt like I should reciprocate. Besides, it had begun to get pretty lonely keeping this stuff to myself. Asher had been spending more and more of his free time with the guys, and the girls had broomsticks up their butts about something and were ignoring me. Jinx was still recovering from her PTSD and I couldn’t put that kind of stress on her again. And even if Fallon and I had been closer, I wouldn’t have confided in him since it looked like he and Abby were sharing more than just a friendship.

Ew.

Colette was probably the only person close to me whom I could talk to without her either freaking out or scolding me for not trusting Brooklyn. So, I took a chance on a new friend.

“I dreamed that I saw someone outside, wearing a cloak and walking into the woods. I followed them and they met up with two others. They were chanting, doing some sort of a spell that I didn’t recognize. And then I noticed that they had my ring,” I said, holding up my hand for Colette to see. Her eyes grew wide as I spoke, but I continued. “Just when I was about to leave, one of the people raised their heads and I saw that it was . . .”

Should I tell her? I didn’t want to cast undue suspicion on Asher’s sister based on a silly dream. But I also didn’t want to lie to Colette. Not when she’d been so honest with me.

“I saw that it was—” I started.

“Abby,” Colette said.

My mouth dropped open as she finished my sentence.

“Uh, how did you know that?” I asked, bewildered.

“I had the same dream,” she answered, sighing loudly. “Only, I wasn’t walking through the woods. I was watching you walk through the woods. And I saw when Abby revealed her face.”

This was too unusual to chalk up to coincidence. “Does this happen to you a lot? Like, have you popped into other people’s dreams before?” I asked her, trying to get a grip on what she was saying.

She shrugged and then looked at me shyly. “Define ‘a lot.’?”

Oh, boy.

“Well, it’s not every night or anything,” Colette said, wringing her hair around her finger nervously.

“But this isn’t the first time?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Colette, this is insane!” I exclaimed.

“I don’t mean to do it. Sometimes when I share a room with people it just . . . happens. I’m really sorry, Hadley—” she stammered.

“Are you kidding?” I asked. “What an amazing gift!”

When she realized what I’d said, she blinked at me confused. “Wait, you’re not mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you, Colette? I might be a little annoyed that I don’t have that power, too, but mad? Not at all,” I said. “Look, not every witch is given specialty powers. You’re really lucky.”

“Wow. Okay,” Colette said, not sure how to react to that.

“What did you think of the dream? About it being Abby who was casting against me?” I asked.

“Well, dreams can mean a few things, depending on who you are and how your brain reacts to the world around it,” Colette said, going into smarty-pants mode. “For some people, dreaming allows their brains to try to work through problems they’re dealing with in their waking life. Oftentimes though, the issues become clumped together, to the point where the dreamer can’t make sense of it while awake, although their subconscious is able to make sense of it in its dream state. Then there are those who utilize a larger percentage of their brains while asleep than the rest of us. These people can tap into past and future experiences, memories, and really focus on self-awareness. In this respect, the sleeping life acts as a sort of psychic experience for the dreamer. Then, there are those who don’t remember their dreams at all. I know through experience that it’s not that those people don’t dream, it’s that they don’t have the awareness necessary to recall the information their dream life has provided for them.

“The thing about dreams is that they’re really there to provide us with insight into the world around us. It’s just a matter of how we use the information we’re given. People are quick to dismiss the warnings in a dream, because it seems too outlandish or confusing. But often, if you learn to listen to yourself and trust your instincts, you can really utilize all the talents at your disposal. Does that make sense?” Colette asked, looking at me for confirmation.

“Um. Sort of?” I said, not absolutely sure I followed everything she’d said, but getting the gist.

“Let’s look at it this way. When you dream, does it often come true in real life or help you to accomplish tasks when you’re awake?” she asked me.

That was easy. I’d had dreams of things that had taken place in the past (Bridget’s hanging, and more recently, the ones about Sarah Good, Tituba, and Sarah Osborne) as well as ones that had involved my mom in the present.

“Yes,” I responded.

“Okay, well then, chances are, your dreams are more prophetic than problematic,” Colette said. “This means that you can probably trust most of the contents of your dreams as they are, as opposed to trying to piece together the meaning like you would a puzzle.”

I wasn’t sure what to do with this info. “So, that would mean that Abby’s my enemy?” I asked, hating the way it sounded out loud.

“Well, dream-reading isn’t an exact science,” Colette said, shrugging. “And this is my first time in one of your dreams. I’m not sure if we’re looking at a perfect reflection of what’s actually happening or if your dream is just a distorted version of reality. This is where you have to search yourself and find the truth within your own heart. What did you think the dream meant?”

I took a deep breath, because once I said it, it would be out there forever. And somehow that made it all the more real. Also, I wouldn’t be able to ignore it anymore.

“I thought it actually had happened,” I admitted quietly. “The next morning, I even checked to see if my feet were dirty from running through the woods. But they weren’t, and I still had on my ring.”

“All that tells you is that you weren’t actually in the woods,” Colette said. “Not that the rest of it didn’t happen.”

“I hate to say it, but it would explain everyone’s behavior toward me lately. I wanted to chalk it up to catty-girl syndrome, but it can’t just be that,” I said, rubbing my face with my hands. “Did you recognize the spell they were doing?”

Colette shook her head. “No. And I’ve been thinking about it ever since. But it doesn’t even sound familiar.”

“Do you think they’re really casting against me?” I asked next.

“It’s possible,” Colette said, thinking. “Or it could just mean that you can’t fully trust those around you right now.”

“Ugh. Not again,” I said, groaning out loud. “I’ve done this dance before . . . the whole ‘there’s a traitor amongst you’ crap. What happened to being able to trust your coven members?”

“In a way, that’s the beauty of being on your own like me,” Colette said, partly joking. “No one to screw you over.”


“I guess,” I said. “But far fewer people to borrow clothes from.”

“I think my personal style is an acquired taste anyway,” Colette said, chuckling.

“True.” After a few seconds, I grew quiet as I thought about what this all meant. “So if the others have turned against me, then who made them do it?”

“What do you mean?” Colette asked, not following.

“Well, I know my coven and after everything we’ve been through, we wouldn’t betray each other if we could help it,” I said. “Meaning, someone has to be making them do this. Someone who wants me out of the way.”

“Are you saying—” Colette started.

“Yep,” I said, cutting her off. I didn’t need to mention Brooklyn’s name for Colette to know that’s where my head had already gone. “But even if she is behind it, what am I supposed to do? The others have made it pretty clear that they don’t think Brooklyn’s bad. They’re not going to believe me.”

Colette shrugged. “Then we get proof,” Colette said. “If Brooklyn’s forcing Abby and the others to sneak out at night to plot against you, then we wait until Abby thinks we’re asleep . . . and we follow her.”