Authors: Kevin
The arm shifted up slightly, then slid quickly back into place.
“See, Miss. All better.”
And with that bit of work done, Edward picked
the young woman up and laid her down in the back of his wagon, fastening her snugly to some lumber with a rope so she wouldn’t be tossed around in transit.
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“Not to worry, Miss,” Edward said to his new
passenger in the back as he picked up the reins. “You’re in capable hands. I shall see that you get well and are well taken care of.”
Edward cracked the reins. The horses kicked and
clopped their hooves into the dirt, and the wagon rolled down the road.
*****
“Why, you are in Angelwood, of course,” a gaunt, old woman replied.
Susanna looked up into her kind, wrinkled face.
“Who are you?” Susanna asked.
“I am Elethea. I am Edward’s mother.”
“Edward?”
“Yes, my son. He found you lying along Sutter’s Road.
You were really in such a state. You could have died out there.
Not many people travel that road anymore, just Edward as far as I know. You are quite fortunate. He only uses that road once every week when he rides up to Portsmouth for supplies.”
At fi rst, it took Susanna a while to realize what had happened, but then she remembered. She had been sure she was destined to die on that road, but fate obviously had another destiny for her to fulfi ll. What it was she wasn’t yet certain of, but having been snatched from the grip of Death, she knew it was important.
“Tell me, child,” Elethea said. “What is your name?”
“Susanna...Susanna Harrington.”
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“Well, Susanna, can you tell me what happened to you that you were found in such a wretched state?”
Susanna parted her lips as she was about to speak, but hesitated. She hesitated, not because she failed to trust this woman -- she did. She trusted Elethea more than people she had known during the entire course of her life. There was something about this woman that compelled a person to trust her. Something about the eyes. They were kind hazel eyes that beamed with goodness. There was nothing particularly striking about them, but they drew you in and fi lled you with warmth.
No. Susanna didn’t hesitate for lack of trust. Not even for fear that the woman wouldn’t believe her. Susanna hesitated because, for a moment, she had actually forgotten. She didn’t want to remember, but she knew she had to, and this time there were none of Ambrose’s enchantments to prevent her from recalling the events of the past six months.
She hesitated an additional moment simply because she had diffi culty believing what had happened to her herself.
It all seemed like a nightmare, and it seemed like forever since it had all happened.
Susanna squeezed her eyes shut tight, wrinkling the fl esh of her lids as she choked back her tears. Remembering was painful. She shook her head slightly from side to side, wishing this was a nightmare and that she would awaken soon and everything would be all right again. But when she opened her eyes and saw Elethea looking down at her with concern, she had to face the realization that she hadn’t been dreaming, and she wept.
Her sister was still dead; she was still a refugee; and Ambrose was still her husband and the warlock who had raped her at the Witches’ Sabbat. Nothing would ever be the same again.
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“My husband...” she sobbed. “My husband...is a
warlock... He bewitched me...into marrying him...and I...I ran away.” Then she broke down completely.
“There there, child,” Elethea said, pulling Susanna up to her bosom and cradling her there as she swayed with her back and forth. “All will be well again, child. All will be well again. I promise.”
They stayed like that for several minutes, then
Susanna’s tears fi nally began to abate.
Elethea drew back a little so she could look into Susanna’s face.
“Where are you from, Susanna? Where does your
family live?”
“Salem,” Susanna replied, sniffl ing. “Salem Village.”
“Well, not to worry, dear. You shall be home soon enough. Edward will take you home when you are well to travel, and then you will be with your family again.”
Susanna nodded. Her eyelids looked heavy, so Elethea laid her down, and Susanna fell asleep.
*****
on her face.
“How is she?” Edward asked, waiting impatiently at the bottom of the stairs.
“She has been through a terrible ordeal, but I think she will be well in a few days.”
“Has she said anything?”
“Well,” Elethea sighed. “She says her name is Susanna Harrington of Salem Village...”
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“What is it, mother? You look disturbed.”
“The girl told me she was bewitched into marrying a warlock. She told me it was he she fl ed from.”
“A...warlock?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I am afraid I do. She is weak, but not delirious. And it is not my inclination to think she is mad.”
Edward’s mouth fell open a little. This was more than he had been prepared for.
“I had better inform the magistrate. If this be true, then the warlock may come here to look for her.”
“Yes. That is a most prudent idea. Inform Judge
Townsend. I cannot send the poor child away in her present condition. I should think she will need several days to recover from her injuries, then we can send her back to her family. Let us hope this warlock does not come here to look for her.”
“I shall not be long,” Edward said, then left to see the judge.
*****
matter how hard he tried he couldn’t conjure Susanna’s image in his mind’s eye. He knew he would have to resort to artifi cial means in order to achieve the proper state of mind necessary to perform the operation.
He put the stone down and unfolded his legs from the position he had been seated in for the better part of three days since Susanna’s disappearance, getting up only when the discomfort of thirst or excretory movements necessitated. He was adept at ignoring hunger pangs and therefore didn’t eat.
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He didn’t have time to eat. He had to concentrate on fi nding Susanna, whether she was dead or alive.
He stood up and went upstairs. He went to the
bedroom, passing Jessica’s room on the way, but he ignored her.
Jessica was inside, lying on her bed awake, miserable as always since Ambrose fi rst met Susanna. Her eye was black and swollen. Ambrose had hit her when he returned to the house without Susanna, and he hadn’t talked to her since. She knew better. She had been weak and let Susanna get away when he expressly requested her to watch her while he was out. She had failed him, and now he was punishing her by shunning her. Jessica realized this was a light punishment considering his substantial powers and capabilities, but she was sure she would rather be fl ogged or killed than endure this kind of suffering.
After thinking about it for a moment, she knew if Susanna was never found or found dead, she may very well receive such punishments.
Jessica cried quietly into her pillow.
Ambrose walked over to the dresser and opened
the cedar wood box seated on top. Inside lay his pipe and an ample supply of opium, enough to kill three or four men. He removed the pipe and tore off a small hunk of the sticky, black drug and stuffed it into the bowl of the pipe.
He didn’t want to try the stone this way—the visions came more readily but were less reliable because of the intoxication and the effects of the drug on his perception—
but he felt he had no choice. If he didn’t fi nd her soon—if he didn’t act soon—it could be too late. For all he knew, it was already too late. He had every reason to suspect she was dead.
Ambrose stuck the mouthpiece between his teeth and lit a match. He brought the fl ame to the bowl and sucked then released. He did this several times until the opium was ignited 172
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and smoldering sweetly. He inhaled deeply as he looked at the glowing red-black ball of opium burning in the bowl, holding the smoke in his lungs for as long as a minute each time.
As he puffed away, he thought of Susanna. If anything ever happened to her, he would never be able to forgive himself...or Jessica. He loved Jessica too, but she would most defi nitely have to be punished if Susanna came to harm.
There was no excuse for allowing Susanna to get out. Mere reprimands would simply not suffi ce.
The drug was taking effect. A perverted,
uncontrollable smile rose behind his beard. He staggered for a moment in the middle of the room before backing up and plopping down on the bed. He laughed lightly, then berated himself for doing so. This was the fi rst time in months he had decided to smoke opium, and he had underestimated its potency and overestimated his dosage. He was far more inebriated than he had intended to get, but there was nothing that could be done about it now.
He leaned over and dropped the pipe on the night table, ejecting the dark clump onto the tabletop. It smoked for a few minutes, and then went out.
Ambrose swooned, his eyes half lidded. He knew
he was far too intoxicated to even walk. He had left the shew stone downstairs. There was no way he would be able to use it anyway. He needed to maintain the right posture and that was impossible at the moment.
He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. He hadn’t slept for four days now, and it took a Herculean effort to stay awake. He couldn’t use the shew stone, but perhaps he could travel in his subtle body to fi nd her.
Normally, Ambrose would describe a circle of
protection around the place he planned to project from to keep the demons away should he be seen, but he was so intoxicated 173
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he neglected this precaution. He was aware of the possible consequences of leaving himself so vulnerable, but he could already feel his body separating as a result of his drugged state, and he was anxious to see Susanna again and know she was well. It wasn’t long before his subtle body parted from his corporeal one and fl oated to the ceiling and beyond.
All he ever had to do to fi nd someone when he was in his subtle body was think of that person and in an instant he was there. This time, however, he was having diffi culty. He just drifted above the treetops aimlessly, like a lost pigeon.
Perhaps it was the drug; perhaps it was the fact that he was never all that much of a seer; perhaps Susanna was dead; or maybe...perhaps...she was unconscious. He hadn’t thought about that possibility before. If she was so unconscious that she wasn’t even dreaming, it would be almost impossible to fi nd her. After all, it was the mind he homed in on, and if that wasn’t producing thoughts, he had nothing to guide him. She could simply be sleeping. He knew from the arcane teachings of his previous masters that a large part of the sleep cycle was spent without any thought whatsoever and that dreams only comprised a few minutes, at the most, of that cycle. It wasn’t unlikely for Susanna to have been unconscious during those times he tried to fi nd her, those times when he wasn’t too tense and was actually capable of fi nding her.
But it was the middle of the morning. She shouldn’t be sleeping now, should she? He didn’t think so, but he had no way of knowing for certain.
He fought against his desire to sleep and concentrated on fi nding her. He had to remain relaxed but focused. It was diffi cult, but his efforts were rewarded.
*****
Ambrose and what he had done to her; what he had done 174
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to Bridget Bishop and the Hawks brothers; and what he was doing to Salem.
She dreamt he was there with her now, at her bedside, watching her, touching her face.
She awoke feeling a pain spread down the side of her cheek. Her eyes sprang open. She screamed.
Ambrose hovered over her at the side of her bed, caressing her cheek with his hand. He was transparent: she could see through his body to the painting mounted on the wall above the dresser behind him. It was a painting of a bleeding, thorn-crowned Christ exposing His glowing, bleeding, thorn-crowned heart. The effect of seeing that painting through Ambrose’s body was horrid. She cried out, holding her face, and pulled away, falling out of the bed and crashing to the fl oor.
“Stay away!” she screamed. “Go away from me!” she shrieked.
Ambrose frowned gravely and turned toward the
window. Then he looked back at Susanna and vanished, leaving her to think it was a dream or a hallucination.
Edward threw the door open and stormed into the
room followed by Elethea.
“What happened?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
Susanna didn’t say anything. She just sat curled up against the wall under the east windows, trembling with her head buried between her knees.
Edward looked at his mother, urging her with his eyes to do something.
She walked over to Susanna and knelt in front of her.
“Susanna,” she said. “Susanna, child, are you all right?”
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Susanna shook her head.
“Are you hurt?”
Susanna raised her head. Her hair was covering her face.
Elethea reached out and brushed the hair out of the way. She pulled back immediately with a horrifi ed expression on her face.
“What...” she stammered. “What happened...to your face?”
A puffy, black bruise ran down the side of Susanna’s face from temple to chin.
“Ambrose...” she said. “His specter visited me...and touched...me.” She wept.
“Come, child. He knows where you are now, and he will come looking for you. It would be best if you weren’t here when he arrived. Edward,” she said, turning to her son. “Get the horses ready. It is well time we saw Susanna back to her family in Salem.”