Here there be witches, p.42
Here There Be Witches, page 42
“Why don’t you?” She squared up against him, knowing he didn’t have the stomach to do it himself. She knew egging him on would just result in more torture, but she wouldn’t stay silent. Too many had held their tongues for fear of incurring his wrath. The rest of the world might have gone mad, but somehow, she’d stayed sane, imagining the day he’d reap what he’d sown.
“Your tricks are nothing new, witch. I’ve seen your ilk before. You’re nothing special,” he spat.
“I assure you, witchfinder, you have never laid eyes on the likes of me before. In fact, there will come a day when you’ll curse the day your eyes met mine.”
In a flash, his hand was around her neck, squeezing the air from her lungs.
Alexa’s face reddened as she gasped for air, but she showed no fear in her eyes. He couldn’t hurt her anymore. The only power he’d ever held over anyone was the fear he aimed to strike through them with the warrants he’d been granted to conduct these witch hunts in the first place. He hid behind a persona she’d long ago seen through. The intimidating figure she’d remembered from her childhood dreams was now diminished. And she refused to cower before this hollow shell of a man. No. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing an ounce of fear on her face.
She’d already resigned to dying in this dungeon or just outside on the gallows. She didn’t care if it was by his hand or the noose he wrapped around her neck. They’d already taken Jack from her and ripped away her future with her daughter. He held no true power over her anymore.
She’d already been preparing to make the transition from this world to the next should it come quickly. That was always a possibility she’d seen in the glimpses she’d been shown. Jack had tried to convince her things might not be as set in stone as she’d thought, but there was a reason she never doubted her gut. It had been proven right time and time again. She knew it had comforted Jack to have hope, so she’d let him win those arguments to hold that dream brightly in his heart.
Alexa smiled, thinking of Jack.
Hopkins’ grip tightened, the snarl on his lip deepening.
She was so tired. Tired of fighting to stay alive in this hell hole. Tired of being the Witchfinder General’s scapegoat.
Darkness crept closer and closer. Her eyes grew so heavy she couldn’t keep them open anymore. Death beckoned her seductively. It could all be over in a matter of moments. No more pain; no more grief. She could just let go and exit this weary body, leave it behind like an old worn-out dress.
She fixed her eyes on the Witchfinder General. If this was to be her last breath, she wanted to look him in the eye as he took it from her. She’d make sure he never slept another night without seeing her face, haunting his dreams until the day he left this earth.
Hopkins glared at her defiantly jutting chin, as if she were claiming victory even in the face of death. Her lips curled into a dark smirk that stilled his hand. He lessened his grip and released her.
She bent double, gasping for air.
He shook his head at her. “I’ll rid you of that defiant streak. You will relent before this is over.”
She glanced up at him and straightened her spine, hatred burning in her veins.
“Tell me, witchfinder, is it the fact that you can’t control my mind that gives you the notion you can lay your vile hands on my body? Because you are sorely mistaken if you think either my mind or body will ever bend to your will.” She cocked her head. “Perhaps that’s why you have such trouble wooing a woman. We are not playthings for your twisted amusement.”
His eyes darkened with an intensity she hadn’t seen yet, cold and beady like a crow’s eye. “Your fate is the gallows, and I will swing on your heels, Ms. Wardwell.”
He didn’t have to remind her of her fate. She’d dreamt of it countless times, even here in this dungeon. It was hard to sleep here, but when she did, it was of the noose roped around her neck, pulled tight, choking the last breath from her body. She’d imagined the crowd the witchfinder would assemble to watch her body twisting as she fought for air. He’d want to make a spectacle of marching her up the gallows—the prize he’d most lusted after. It made her sick to think he’d gain any satisfaction from her death. The only thing that brought her comfort was imagining reuniting with her father and Jack, both on the other side of the veil, waiting for her to cross.
Her fiery gaze landed on Hopkins. “Your threats can’t hurt me. I’ve accepted my fate. Have you accepted yours?” The corners of her lips curled upward. “Your mistake, witchfinder, is that I’m the first real witch you’ll have killed. The rest were innocent bystanders, caught up in the war you declared in the name of your god. You may have skirted the consequences of your actions until now.” She clicked her tongue. “But not this time.”
Hopkins’ top lip twisted, a low guttural hiss escaping his thin lips. “Is that so?”
Alexa studied the knowing look he brandished now as if it were a weapon, a renewed vengeance dancing in his eyes. He turned toward Cormac. “Bring them in.”
The witchfinder’s face shifted. His devious grin sent a chill through Alexa’s heart.
She could feel it now, marching toward her—her worst nightmare. She’d dreaded this day. She’d known when Magdala had been released a month ago that this day was inevitable.
She turned her head, not wanting the witchfinder to see her undoing. Part of her wished Hopkins would have ended her just now. Then she wouldn’t have to face the torment coming down the corridor.
She’d spoken too soon. There was still one way he could hurt her—by ripping out the rest of her heart and tearing it to pieces, shattering her entirely.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Alexa Wardwell
Colchester Castle, April 29, 1646
Horror settled in Alexa’s stomach, hard, like a heavy stone, sinking her further into the depths of grief.
No, no, no! Hot tears streaked her dirt-stained cheeks. She didn’t have to see their faces. She could feel their energies as the guard marched them through the dark corridor of the castle to the dungeon. And the smug expression on the Witchfinder General’s face said it all.
“Bring them here,” he commanded, gesturing to Alexa’s cell.
She closed her eyes tightly, hoping this was a dream. She wanted to wake up in their cottage on a crisp autumn morning and snuggle near the fire with her sisters. She wanted this nightmare to be a distant memory. This couldn’t be how their story ended.
“Open your eyes, witch! You have company,” Hopkins roared, giddy at his accomplishment.
She shook her head, stealing away one more moment of denial.
One of her sisters whimpered as Hopkins’ struck her.
Hattie. Sweet, sweet Hattie.
Bile snaked up her throat, burning its way, higher and higher. If she could spit fire, she would. Her eyes opened slowly, her stomach as heavy as a lead anchor. Her gaze landed on Iris and Hattie huddled together in chains just a few paces in front of her cell. Alexa shook her head, tears rolling down her face. She’d hoped they would both be far away by now, far from this wretched place and the fate she’d envisioned all those years ago.
“Fitting that you’re all reunited. And just in time. A day later and dear sister here would have already been hanging from the gallows out front,” Hopkins said, glaring at Iris and Hattie. “She just wore out my last nerve.”
Alexa seethed, her jaw clamping down on the scream clawing its way out. She fixed her fiery stare on the witchfinder. She wanted nothing more than to watch this witch hunter burn just as her ancestor, Agnes Sampson, had. She was sure she could light him up with just the fury boiling within. He’d raised Hell and unleashed it upon their community, but she wanted to be the one who sent him there indefinitely.
“Confess now and walk free,” he offered, turning to Iris and Hattie.
The rage building within Alexa’s core surged. The lies rolled off his tongue so easily. He profited off each and every witch he secured. He only got paid after they were hanged. He wasn’t about to let any of those coins slip through his greedy fingers. They were all damned no matter what they chose.
Her jaw clenched. She’d never cave and give him the satisfaction of hearing a confession drip from her lips. If only he knew how close she’d been to breaking so many times before, but seeing her sisters again filled her with renewed strength and rage. Now, she would hold her tongue just to spite him.
He loomed over Iris. “Confess and you and the younger one can go free.”
Alexa shook her head as they locked eyes. Surely, her sister could see through his lies.
Iris remained silent.
He moved on to Hattie, but even she stood firm as he pressed them again.
“What makes you so sure we’re guilty of inflicting any harm? You have no real proof,” Iris said.
“I have all the proof I’ll ever need.” He smirked. “You three were named.”
“By whom?” Alexa asked. She figured he was bluffing. The only time she’d used curse magic was to hex the witchfinder after he’d targeted her.
“Your sister, Hattie, was married once, wasn’t she?” he asked Alexa, glancing over at Hattie.
A lump formed in Alexa’s throat. She shot a look at Hattie, hoping this wouldn’t dredge up agonizing memories she’d worked so hard to put to rest.
“Mark McCallum, right? He went missing a few years back,” Hopkins continued. “Maybe no one in Broomfield noticed, but his mother never forgot. She said she last saw him the week before the moon turned red. A sacrifice, maybe?”
Alexa rolled her eyes. Of course, he’d be ignorant enough to believe the myth that witches had something to do with the blood moon.
“Word is he was prone to violence and very wary of witches. Care to explain his disappearance?”
Alexa pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
Damn that man.
He was still stirring up trouble for them even in his absence. The only thing they were guilty of was a banishing spell to rid themselves of Mark. They’d assumed he’d wandered off and taken up residence elsewhere. But she couldn’t admit to the ritual. They’d hang for that offense alone. His mother was certain to testify against them if given the chance. She’d never approved of Hattie and had tried repeatedly to pressure him into leaving her. Alexa wished he had. That would have saved them a load of trouble.
Hattie opened her mouth, but Alexa cut her off. “It is true that he was violent. Hattie moved back in with us, and he disappeared shortly afterward. We have no idea what happened to him from that day on. As far as his mother is concerned, he was always complaining about her being in his hair. Maybe he found it easier to start over somewhere down the road and let her think he was dead. That is none of our concern. We were happy to be rid of him, whatever the reason.”
“So, you haven’t seen him in two years? That’s your testimony?”
Alexa gave a single nod.
Hopkins turned his head toward Hattie. She nodded in agreement with Alexa’s declaration.
His face reddened. Her reluctance to confess had left him with impotent rage. Although it didn’t help their case to anger him, it delighted Alexa to turn him inside out whenever she saw the opportunity. She couldn’t help herself. It was almost too easy to wind him up.
Growing tired, he had one last offer. “Either you all hang together, or one of you can confess and the other two will go free.”
Alexa thought about offering herself up as a sacrifice in hopes that her sisters would go free, but her gut told her it was another trap. He just wanted the satisfaction of seeing them turn on each other. Sowing chaos was his weapon of choice.
Iris had the same thought. We all go together.
Alexa’s gaze met Iris’ as her heart leapt into her throat. There was no way out for any of them. They’d run out of time and options.
Hopkins paced in front of each of them. “Final chance.”
Each of the sisters hung their heads; their fate was sealed. They would exit this world together.
“So be it. Have it your way.” He turned toward the guard. “Summon the executioner. These three will hang at sunrise. And confiscate anything that could be used as a weapon in case any of them decide to cheat the hangman.”
Cormac patted Iris and Hattie down. “Which cell should I put them in?”
“Put them in with her for all I care. There’s little they can do at this late hour to affect the course of things. But put a guard on them until morning.”
“What about the other one?” Cormac asked.
Hopkins cocked his head.
“Alice Grey. Samson’s still holding her in the corridor. Is she to be hanged tomorrow as well?”
Alexa’s eyes grew wide with horror.
Hopkins shook his head. “No. Find room for her in one of the cells upstairs. If we track Marlena back down, I want her to have a crack at her and see if we can finally get the rest of those names of Ms. Wardwell’s coven.”
“Lost one witch to gain three?” Alexa spat, glancing at Magdala’s vacant cell.
Hopkins spun his head around and faced Alexa. “Small price to pay I’d say to complete the set,” he replied, shifting his gaze to her sisters.
“I could have warned you not to let your guard down around Magdala Blackwood. She’s been waiting for the chance to bolt.”
“Don’t worry we’ll track her down.”
Alexa shook her head, knowing he wouldn’t have jailed half the women he’d claimed to have apprehended himself had Magdala and Lenora not helped him locate them in the first place.
Must she have to do everything herself?
Alexa closed her eyes and searched for the energetic signature of her amulet. After several moments, she landed on Magdala’s dark aura. She hadn’t discarded the talisman yet, unaware that it would only do Alexa’s bidding.
As much as she hated to enter her nemesis’ thoughts, she was compelled to track her down just as she’d tracked her sisters and poor Alice. It might have felt wrong for Alexa to help the witchfinders hunt another witch had she not been the one responsible for their date with the gallows tomorrow and her father’s death twenty-five years ago.
She focused on the pulse of her amulet, wading through a barrage of Magdala’s memories, tracing her last movements. One memory stopped her in her tracks—Jack’s farm.
“Lenora, check the barn,” Magdala instructed as she headed toward the farmhouse.
Magdala opened the door to the house, not knowing what to expect. If she caught Alexa by surprise, things might escalate quickly. Instead, the house was empty. The roaring fire in the hearth told her they weren’t far, though.
Lenora shouted for her outside.
Magdala grabbed a torch near the table and thrust it into the fire. With the torch lit, she ran to the barn.
“Leave at once! I don’t want to have to hurt you.”
Magdala recognized the man yelling at Lenora straight away—Alexa’s lover. She’d seen them in bed together in her vision. He was busy saddling the horses, sending them on their way one at a time.
“Where’s Alexa Wardwell?” Magdala demanded.
The man finished strapping the saddle to the dark mare in the stall furthest from her. “I don’t know who you mean. I’m the only one here.”
Magdala cocked her head. “Well, we both know that’s not true, don’t we, lover boy?”
The man’s face fell. He whispered something to the horse and slapped her hindlegs, sending her running at a full gallop past Magdala.
“And who the hell are you?” he shot back, grabbing a rake and jabbing it in her direction.
“That doesn’t matter. But I asked you a question I intend to get the answer to one way or another. Where’s Alexa Wardwell?”
“Who’s she to you?” he asked, his brow furrowing.
Magdala took a step toward him. “I should ask you the same.” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you know she’s a witch? Or didn’t she tell you that?”
He didn’t answer.
“You really love her, don’t you?” She chuckled. “How do you know you’re not under a spell? Has that crossed your mind?”
“You won’t find who you’re looking for here.”
“Is that so?”
Her face contorted. Suddenly she bent over in pain, a swirl of tangled black and red strands hovering over her and Lenora. The strands unraveled in the air, the red strand coiling around Magdala, the black circling Lenora.
“She’s broken the hex on the cattle,” Magdala muttered, agony etched on her face. She fixed her stare back on him, vengeance swirling in her eyes. “I’m running out of patience. I won’t ask again. But know this, I’ll extract that information from you by whatever means I have to. If you tell us willingly, we’ll be on our way, and you won’t see the likes of us again.”
He huffed, loosening his grip on the rake. “She headed that way toward Kedington. There was a steady stream of women running through here headed in the same direction. That’s all I know.”
Magdala glared at him. She pulled Lenora back and pushed her toward the barn door. “Go. Wait for me outside.” Her eyes landed back on the man covering for Alexa as Lenora fled the barn.
“You should never lie to a witch.” She clicked her tongue. “I see why Alexa was drawn to you—loyal till the end.” She tilted her head, a wide smirk spreading across her lips. “But you told me everything I needed to know.”
Magdala threw the torch into the nearest horse stall. The hay caught fire almost immediately, flames climbing up the wood slats in the next instant. Magdala dashed out of the opposite side of the barn from where Lenora had fled. She closed the doors, and barred them, locking Alexa’s lover inside.
Alexa bent double, sick with grief. She hadn’t expected to see Jack’s final moments locked inside Magdala’s twisted mind.
It was all her fault. Magdala had tracked her there. But why not let Jack live? There had been no justification for his death beyond malice and sheer cruelty—Magdala’s specialties.
Rage blazed hotly in her chest, burning like hot coals. A vengeance renewed, boiling within like a monster she couldn’t contain anymore. It had burned inside her this whole time, right under the surface. Their hatred for one another binding them together, woven across time. It had cost her Jack. Magdala couldn’t allow her this one indulgence.
