The MG crested the Beverly Bridge and Paul turned left, taking the back streets along the harbor into downtown Salem.
Ann Chase lived down by Derby Wharf in a yellow house on Orange Street. It was the same part of town where Callie had lived with her mother and Rose and the Goddesses.
They parked and got out of the car. Callie noticed a plaque on the side of the house: 1727.
“It was once owned by an arresting officer for the court,” Paul remarked. “Not long after the hysteria ended. Ironic that a witch lives there now. But that’s Salem.”
It was a small home. The door was open, and, as they walked in, Callie first noticed the huge fireplace, which took up most of one wall. There was a fire burning, fragrant with herbs and pine, with a cauldron full of hot mulled wine that hung from its lug pole. The house smelled the way real estate agents want houses to smell, Callie thought. Like apple pie and cookies.
It was crowded. There were several young women in the living room, dressed in variations of black, some serving food and drinks, some standing around chatting. In the far corner, standing next to a man dressed as a pirate, was a towering redhead in a long purple crushed-velvet cape. It might have been the way the floors tilted, or it might have been her stature, but Callie realized that all paths and all eyes led directly to her. Feeling their presence, Ann Chase turned to face them. She looked Callie over seriously and then looked at Paul.
She broke into a slow grin.
Ann walked over, kissed Paul on the mouth, and extended a hand to Callie.
“Have we met?”
“If I’d met you, I’m certain I’d remember,” Callie said. It was almost exactly what Paul had said to her the night they met, but the meaning was completely different.
Ann laughed. “Let’s get you something to drink.”
She led them to a smaller L-shaped room, low ceilinged with sparse furniture: a rocking chair, an antique spinning wheel. On the far wall, herbs were drying over its fireplace, and on the facing wall were the portraits: dark oil paintings made darker by time. There were depictions of gods and goddesses and other Wiccan imagery: Pan, Bacchus, Samhain fertility beasts, expertly lit and hung sixty inches on center like a gallery show.
“Ann is a collector of sacred imagery,” Paul said. “Her collection has become almost exclusively Celtic, which is why she donated the Roman painting, but you’d be surprised how many of the same images occur in early Christian art.” He pointed to some of the pictures. “Sacred fish, trees, crosses. All Pagan symbols that were later appropriated by the early Christians.”
“Interesting,” Callie said, looking more closely at a painting of a harp. It appeared to be made from the branches of a tree. The title read: THE FOUR-ANGLED MUSIC.
“What’s this?” Callie asked. “A tree?”
“Uaithne. The Oak of Two Blossoms,” Ann said. “It belonged to one of the Celtic gods and was stolen by his enemies. But the god had bound the music, and the harp would not play until he commanded it. When he called to it, the harp sprang to life, killing nine of his enemies with the music it made.”
“I thought harp music was supposed to be comforting!” Callie said. She’d been considering learning to play, or at least getting some recordings of harp music for her practice. There was evidence that the harp could play vibrational tones that had a soothing effect on both humans and animals, though the human ear could not detect them.
Paul noticed the discomfited look on Callie’s face. “Ann knows quite a bit about Irish mythology,” he said. “As well as sacred imagery. She’s helped identify many of the images we’re finding in the rock churches we’re restoring in Matera. Contrary to my father’s remarks, she and I are actually doing some research here.”
Among other things.
Ann looked at her and broke into a grin, as if reading Callie’s thoughts. She motioned to a young woman carrying a tray of drinks. “Help yourselves.”
“What’s in it?” Paul asked.
“Eye of newt,” Ann answered. Then she said, “Seven-Up, cloves, Hawaiian Punch. And just the tiniest sprinkle of fairy dust.”
“Will we fly?” Paul asked. He took a glass of punch and handed one to Callie.
“Not unless you’ve ingested something earlier from Mummy’s medicine cabinet.”
“Not today,” Paul replied.
“So,” Ann said to Callie. “Tell me about yourself.”
“There’s nothing much to tell.”
“Oh, I’m certain that’s not true.”
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself first?” Callie said. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about herself to this woman.
“Oh, I’m just your average little witch, from your average little town. Let’s try this another way.” Ann took Callie’s right hand and held it while looking into her eyes.
Luckily, it wasn’t the hand with the scar. Callie felt the warmth from Ann’s hand travel up her arm.
“You’re a healer,” Ann said. “There’s a strong connection with music. And a stronger one with Salem, I see.”
“Callie’s living in Salem,” Paul volunteered.
“Only for the past few weeks,” Callie said. She fought the urge to reveal that she’d lived here before, but she couldn’t escape the feeling that Ann knew who she was. If she did, she said nothing.
“You have a prodigious gift. It scares the hell out of you…as well it should.” Ann started to drop Callie’s hand, then held it for a moment longer, a strange look passing over her face. “You’ve suffered a great deal of loss. And, oh my dear, much worse.”
She looked at Callie as if to say, I know exactly who you are. You’re not fooling anyone.
Callie pulled her hand back, but it dropped limply to her side. It seemed to take a moment for Ann to shake something off, but, when she regained her composure, she took Callie’s hand back and held it in both of her own until, slowly, from the fingers up, Callie’s sleeping arm began to awaken.
“What the hell?” Callie demanded. Her whole arm was tingling.
“Parlor tricks,” Ann said. “As well as being rude and invasive, I did a little binding spell on you. Please accept my apologies.”
A binding spell. She’d heard the phrase before, just as she had heard the curse Rose had uttered earlier. Once again, she had no idea what it meant.
“We’ll talk later,” Ann said. “When there aren’t so many people around.” Other guests arrived, and Ann moved off to greet them.
“Not if I can help it,” Callie muttered.
“Don’t worry, we’re not staying much longer,” Paul said with a laugh.
They finished their drinks and Ann returned, carrying a package she handed to Paul. “Herbs for Mummy,” she said. Then, so quickly Paul didn’t notice, she slipped a small packet to Callie. “Use it,” Ann whispered in her ear. “It works.”
Ann turned and walked away, her purple robe floating behind her.