Here there be witches, p.26
Here There Be Witches, page 26
Iris ran her hands through the air, palms up, letting the energy flow through her. The air held a strange charge, neither light nor dark, something in between—something that could be molded, depending on your intention. Such was the magic of the liminal space that Iris loved to work with. Alexa preferred the witching hour of midnight. Hattie fancied the morning hours, and Iris favored those moments suspended between day and night when time could be stretched and sculpted into something completely new.
She worked best outside the bounds when the veil between realms grew thin, and she could glimpse the other side. Those were the moments when the fae revealed themselves to her ever so briefly. She’d sat out on the porch at sunset every night since they’d arrived for those momentary encounters with the world she’d always longed to touch. During those liminal times, the magic flowing through her veins surged, no longer restricted by the natural laws that governed the rest of the hours of the day. Everything felt possible in those moments when the world seemed to hold its breath and time stood still for a few breaths.
Things were shifting. She’d felt it since Alexa had found them. The hunters were circling them, growing closer with each hour. This could be the last time she’d have a moment to breathe for a while, the last time to savor the peace of these transitional intervals.
As the sun sank further, the last rays of the sun painted the sky in deep pinks and violets. If there was ever a time to work with the fae, this was it. During these twilight hours, there were no boundaries, no limitations. What was once unseen, was now visible. Iris ran her hand through the herbs she’d gathered in the wooden bowl her mother had gifted her years ago. As the mixture flowed over her fingers, a gathering energy began to build. A doorway slowly opening, only accessible for a brief moment in time.
A shiver ran through her. Night was coming, but it wasn’t here just yet.
“It’s time,” Iris announced. “We don’t have long.”
They’d have to work quickly to harness the energy when it was most potent. It might be fleeting, but it was powerful to work with the energy at these thresholds when transitioning from one state to another, untethered by any rules. At these crossroads, anything was possible.
“Ready,” Alexa said, holding up the freshly made poppet from her sewing basket.
“It’s convenient that you just happened to have one.”
Alexa shrugged. “I had an inkling we’d end up here. Plus, I needed something to keep my hands busy with when Jack was feeding the animals every morning. Looks like it’s going to be put to good use.”
Iris smiled as they linked hands over the doll. Tonight, it would just be the two of them. Hattie had retired to bed after an early dinner. She’d barely been able to keep her eyes open after a restless night of sleep. Iris was just happy she’d been able to drift to sleep this evening after the cup of chamomile tea Mrs. Ogden had brewed just for her.
Iris locked eyes with Alexa. “Let’s begin.”
Iris closed her eyes again and called on the forces that lingered between day and night. She pushed out her energy, feeling for any response. Tiny sparkles of light flickered in the fading light near the window.
A smile crept across her lips.
“They’re here. You can begin. They’ll add their energy to boost the spell.”
Alexa nodded and began to chant, speaking quickly to capture the energy before the last of the sunlight disappeared.
“Stop the witchfinder in his tracks.
‘Tis time for him to turn right back.
Pierce his skin with each prick of these pins.
And do not let up until he relents.”
They both placed pins in the heart, groin, right arm, and head regions of the poppet.
Alexa began to sway, connecting to the witchfinder’s energy.
Iris sat pensively, watching her sister link with the man who would stop at nothing to string all three of them up from the nearest gallows. It had always unnerved her that Alexa could tap into his energy so easily. If she could feel him, could he sense her on the other end?
Alexa opened one eye. “I can feel you fretting.”
Iris sighed. “How can I not?”
“Do not worry. We may be linked, but he has no access to my mind unless I want him to. But I know his intimately—his fears, what haunts his dreams.” A smile flashed along her lips. “Mostly it’s of my own doing.”
Iris shook her head. “You’re playing with fire, sister. Make sure not to get burned.”
“That is a fight for another day. The light’s fading fast.” Alexa closed her eyes again, refocusing. She chanted quietly to herself, pleading with their ancestors to confuse the Witchfinder General and throw him off course.
Iris held her breath, steadying her energy so the fae could work through them both. She could feel their magic flowing through her hands and into Alexa’s as her sister chanted.
“I call the mist from behind the veil,
Arise and block the hunter’s trail.
Hide us now from his sight.
Bring forth the fog, thick as night.
Obscure his path; confuse his eyes.
Come, dark mist, I call you to rise.
Dark as night and cold as rain,
Turn him back from whence he came.”
Alexa smiled. “I can see him now, blinded by the mist that gathers. It’s working! He shall not make progress on his route tonight.” She twisted another red pin into the heart of the poppet while Iris twisted two more pins into the head.
“Curse magic always carries a risk. Let us pray we have not compounded the situation,” Iris said, her brow creasing.
Alexa stuck her final pin in his right leg and twisted forcefully. “He leaves us no other choice. He’s had ample chances to turn around. This is for our protection, not for spite.”
Iris cocked her head at her older sister, noticing the mischief dancing in her eyes. “I think you take some joy in it.”
Alexa smirked and shrugged. “Well, maybe a little. But he’s taken far more from our kind than we could take from him, so this evens the playing field a bit more.”
Alexa closed out the spell, releasing a deep breath.
The moment the spell was complete, Iris peered out the window, just as the last drop of faint light disappeared behind the cliffs.
“Just in time.” Iris’ chest fluttered. These liminal moments were what she lived for. That’s when her true magic came alive.
They tidied up quietly, trying not to wake Hattie who slept in the adjacent room.
Alexa breathed easier. “I think this will put Hattie at ease. He won’t be able to breach the line of trees bordering the meadow. We should be safe for a few days at least.”
Iris nodded in agreement. She snuffed out the candle, praying this spell would turn him around. She’d hate for things to escalate. This was as far as she’d like to take it. She detested the thought of turning to curse magic. Their mother had instilled in them a healthy respect for the type of magic they conjured. She’d always taken such care not to step on another’s free will when spellcasting, but Alexa was right. If it were a matter of the Witchfinder General or them, she’d choose her sisters’ protection over any consequences every time.
He had to be stopped one way or another.
CHAPTER FORTY
Matthew Hopkins
Cliffs near Wimbish Green, October 23, 1645
Hopkins’ horse refused to advance on the road despite him cracking his whip against his hindquarters.
“Move, stubborn beast!” he shouted.
The horse whickered, refusing to budge.
Exasperated, he jumped down to explore the thick fog ahead that had descended from the rocky cliffs above as dusk approached, shrouding the landscape in an eerie veil. The dense mist blanketed him as he tried to navigate his way down the winding path along the woodland of distorted trees.
“Where did this bloody fog come from?”
He looked back down the path he’d just ridden down, searching for Magdala, Lenora, and Stearne. They’d gone suspiciously quiet. He squinted, searching the darkness for an outline of his fellow travelers, but the fog had covered the entire road.
They were lost again.
He called out but got no response. He took his horse firmly by the bridle and tried to force him to move.
The horse whinnied, bucking his head.
Hopkins cursed, pulling the bridle again. Pains shot through his chest and his leg. Bending over at the waist, he wailed. The pricking stings covered his body from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet.
Was this Magdala’s doing? Had she led him here just to blind him and abandon him? Had this been her plan all along?
Or had Stearne’s ignorance cursed them? They’d come upon a witch’s bag in the woods near a crossroads a ways back. Hopkins had cautioned him to leave it be. Magdala had agreed with him for once, warning that whatever the witch had wished to be rid of could transfer to them. He’d told John to leave well enough alone, but once again, their minds had split on the matter. And now look what it had cost them.
Another round of pin pricks assaulted his legs.
He raised his fists into the air. “Damn you!” His voice echoed, but only silence followed.
The strange dark mist curled around him, boxing him in. He struggled against the dense haze, but how could he fight an enemy he couldn’t see?
He pressed on, stumbling down the same path without any sign of a clearing up ahead. The vapor distorted his surroundings, twisting the gnarled trees into grotesque shadows that contorted at the edge of his vision.
Had Magdala slipped something in his drink at the inn?
The mist muffled all sound, leaving him in an unsettling silence broken only by the occasional neigh of his horse.
A flicker of movement caught his eye. He froze, his hand reaching for the hilt of his dagger. Through the swirling haze, he glimpsed a cloaked figure, swaying with unnatural grace to the whistling of the wind. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets.
Her voice rang through his head—the witch who haunted his dreams.
Turn back, witchfinder. There’s nothing for you here.
He tried to lunge toward the figure, but his boots sank into the damp soil with each stride. As much as he tried to reach for her, the otherworldly figure only eluded him, gliding effortlessly through the mist like a wisp of smoke.
Aggravation gnawed at him as he realized he had been led astray, lured deeper into this labyrinth by a force beyond his understanding. The mist thickened around him. Choking, he fought for air, his lungs filling with the noxious vapor. His head began to swim, his tongue scraping the bitter taste against his teeth.
“God, please guide me. Lift this fog so I can see the path forward.”
Turn back while you can, the witch warned.
His gut told him to turn around and go back the way he’d come. The path was too treacherous to cross without visibility and with a defiant horse hellbent on sitting this one out.
A chill clawed up his spine as a memory floated to the surface. There’d been stories of old winding roads like this with sightings of ghostly hooded figures parading souls to the other side. “The way of the dead,” they’d called it.
He was in over his head.
Frustrated at circling round and round the same maze, he turned back. He’d heard many stories about people finding themselves pixie-led on the moors. He must have crossed onto their land without realizing it.
He grimaced.
Magdala should have guided them down a safer path and spared him this humiliation. What was she playing at?
Laughter rang through the air, stilling him. His skin turned cold.
He lifted his brow slightly, careful not to draw more ire from whoever was watching him. Those who lost their way in the mist ran the risk of losing a grip on their sanity. He didn’t want to become stranded out here alone in the dark. Some that had met this same fate had never found their way out. And he’d be damned if this was the way he went—bested by the witch he was tracking. Better to cut his losses now.
He limped back to where he’d left his horse, careful not to put weight on his right leg. The sharp pain only increased the more he walked. He pulled his cane out of the bag strapped to his horse. He turned his horse around and led him back the way they’d come. Something didn’t want him traveling in this direction, and he wasn’t keen to push his luck tonight. Whether it was pixies, witches, or death himself, he didn’t really want to test them. All three delighted in torturing confused souls, and they had the advantage out here in the dark. He’d have to save that battle for a day when he had a fighting chance.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Alexa Wardwell
Wimbish Green, October 27, 1645
***
A low, sorrowful yowl echoed through the house. Alexa’s heart quickened with each howl. She threw on her shawl and crept to the door, cracking it slightly.
In the moonlight, a large black hound materialized, its eyes gleaming in the glow of the moon. Alexa walked onto the porch, meeting the dog’s gaze. It emitted a deep, guttural growl that sent shivers down her spine. Understanding seemed to tug at her, hovering just out of awareness. Part of her was rejecting the message. If ever she could turn off her knowing, now was the time she wished she could block it all out.
The hound turned away and wandered toward the barn on Jack’s property, stilling her. How had she ended up back at Jack’s place? Her body went cold, dread freezing her in place as understanding washed over her.
***
Alexa yawned, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table. She hadn’t slept much before the sun rose. The bright morning sunlight filtered through the two small kitchen windows, casting a warm golden glow on the wooden table set with mismatched cups and plates.
The twin’s mother, Samira Ogden, scooped a sampling of her custom breakfast tea blend into each of the cups sitting on the table while telling stories of how she’d met their father, Hugh, when he worked for the East India Company. He would stop by her family’s tea shop often on his travels for a cup of his favorite masala chai. After two years, he’d convinced Samira to return with him to England to take over his father’s farm, and they’d cared for his parents as they’d aged. This land had been in the family for nearly a century. They’d fallen in love with the place and chosen to raise their daughters here, but the recent witch hunts had them spooked. Samira had stopped going into town for fear of crossing paths with the witchfinders and leading them to her daughters. She had often given free tea leaf readings to the locals but had since refrained from it out of fear she’d bring too much attention to the family.
“I miss reading the leaves,” Samira lamented, pouring hot water into the cups, the herbal aroma mingling with the scent of freshly baked cinnamon bread. “Back home in India it was commonplace in our neighborhood.”
“You can read mine this morning,” Hattie offered cheerily.
“Mine too,” Iris echoed.
A bright smile formed on Samira’s lips.
Alexa left her tea to cool long enough to visit the library the twin’s father had been telling her about last night. Hugh had kept immaculate records of their family lineage, the history of the neighboring towns, and books on the fairies that were rumored to border these lands. He’d also told her that he’d collected clippings from the local newspapers since the beginning of the raids, and she was eager to see if any had news of Jack’s mother. He’d given her permission to look through his collection for any clue to her whereabouts.
The library smelled of a blend of tea leaves and the musty richness of old books. Alexa ran her fingertips along the spines of the books on the shelves—cookbooks, tasseography manuals, and the almanacs for the past few years. She pulled the tea leaf reading manual off the shelf and flipped through it. She came across a page full of omens often found in tea remnants—axes, crosses, arrows, snakes, foxes, and goats.
A chill traveled across her shoulders. She rubbed the base of her neck, working out the kink. She thought of the dream she’d had that still gnawed at her. Fate was barreling toward them, and she felt powerless to steer them out of its path.
Her body shuddered.
She quickly returned the book to its place on the shelf and moved over to the desk in the corner topped with a pile of newspaper clippings detailing the arrests of local witches in recent months. She combed through the stack, noticing similar copies that Jack had amassed, but one pulled her eye for a neighboring county dated just over three months ago, shortly before she’d arrived at Jack’s farm. She hadn’t recalled seeing this one in Jack’s collection. She quickly scanned the names of the women apprehended, and a name stood out from the rest—Sarabeth Sutton.
Her heart skipped a beat. Her eyes quickly skimmed the details of the arrest. She was amongst a group of women apprehended at Haverhill and taken to the jail at Bury St Edmunds. Then a note at the bottom of the article clarified that often the jail would reach capacity, and the accused would be delivered to Ipswich Jail.
Her arm tingled.
This is it. That’s where she must be!
No wonder Jack was having a hard time tracking her. They were moving them around so often because the town jails were overstretched due to so many awaiting their trials.
Her finger traced her name, and her heart fluttered. She’d found her!
This was the break Jack had been hoping for. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of seeing him again. Finally, some good news she could carry back to Jack. She’d known since her dream last night that she would need to head back as soon as she could. Jack was in danger still, even though she’d fled. She had hoped to take the heat off him by leaving for a bit, but there was no mistaking the message of the dream last night. She knew the howl of a grim and what it represented. And she knew time was of the essence. At least she could return with news he’d longed to hear since the day his mother had been taken.
Alexa returned to the kitchen.
