Charmed by the Salem Witch Page 6

  She paced the bedroom, restless with worry. Not only was her journal writing not an option, but she also didn’t have her mom’s spell book to read, either. She had finally relinquished it to Tanner for safekeeping. Now she wished she hadn’t. She’d read the grimoire hundreds of times, of course, but it was always soothing to touch her mother’s handwriting, to feel her presence in that small, intimate contact.

  Call Tanner? Sarah pulled out her cellphone, then stopped. No. This was her problem. Besides, she was still angry at him. Sighing, she crawled into bed with her French textbook. There was always homework—it might help keep her mind off her troubles.

  After two pages of conjugating verbs, Sarah gave it up. Her temples throbbed, and her eyes grew heavy. A little nap. She stared out the window at the gathering darkness. She’d get up in an hour, refreshed, and call Claudia to meet her for coffee.

  Her body sagged into the mattress, weak from the emotional turmoil of the day.

  And she was there.

  Elizabeth was dead. Of course. She’d been hanged.

  But there was always some new victim with each new dream. This time, her name was Mary. In the courtroom, Mary gazed around at the spectators, her rheumy eyes vague with confusion. As if she didn’t understand quite where she was or how she had arrived. The accused woman was in her own nightmare.

  The judge wore a long, black robe and a white powdered wig. His nose was hawkish, and his expression foreboding. He sat behind a raised wooden podium, staring down at them through wire-rimmed glasses. “Do you have anything to say in your defense?” he asked.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, her voice thin and wavering. “Somebody said I poisoned their livestock?”

  The judge sighed impatiently and reread the charge. “Ye have been found guilty of the horrible Crime of Witchcraft. An offence against God and country.”

  Mary slumped, almost falling to the floor, and Sarah longed to rush over and help. To scream and stop the entire travesty. But the screams were trapped in her lungs, escaping only as low moans. Her leg muscles twitched, but she could not stand and walk.

  “Instead of passing judgement, we’ll conduct a test. Recite The Lord’s Prayer without an error and prove you aren’t a witch.”

  Mary wet her lips and began speaking, in a faint, trembling voice. “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, they will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread . . .and . . . and . . .” Her eyes widened with terror as the crowd hissed.

  The judge motioned at two large, burly men, who clasped Mary’s arms on either side.

  “Where are you taking me?” she cried. “I want my husband. Seth, where are you?”

  Mary was pushed down the aisle in the middle of the courtroom. The spectators watched with grim, stoic faces. A few smirked.

  “Seth?” Mary’s voice sharpened. “Seth! Help me!”

  But there was no help for the condemned.

  No. Nonononononono.

  Sarah jerked to a sitting position, chest heaving. The room was dark and still. She’d been asleep for hours. She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and walked to the window. Moonbeams glittered on frosted trees, and snow coated the campus grounds. A tall, lone figure in a black jacket crossed the Clara Hall courtyard, heading to her side of the building. She instinctively shrank back against the wall.

  Ping. A small thud against the glass sent her scrambling further from the window. Was it the strange man outside? A bird?

  It came again. Louder.

  Cautiously, she peeked out the window.

  He stood not far from her window, a handful of pebbles in one hand. A bit of moon shone on his angular face. A face she knew intimately. Relief made her knees jelly.

  Against the black and white backdrop of the night, a lone spot of red blossomed—Tanner holding a rose.

  6

  “How romantic,” Claudia breathed.

  Sarah felt the grin splitting her face. “He really is. The makeup with him was almost worth the fight.”

  Every time she pictured Tanner standing in the snow, clutching a flower, Sarah’s insides glowed. He despised the cold. Claimed he’d never truly warm up again until he’d spent an entire August in Alabama. Yet, he’d ventured out in the snow last night and humbled himself, promising to never violate her privacy again.

  She’d forgiven him instantly. Totally. Her brain and heart were mush when it came to Tanner, although she hid her vulnerability. He was confident enough without that knowledge.

  “If you weren’t so sweet, I would just hate you,” Claudia said as they shuffled into their Lit class. “Not a single male student on campus, and you manage to date the one hot guy that works here. Not fair.”

  Sarah winked. “I should ask if he has any available friends that we could hook you up with.”

  “Ugh. No more blind dates for me. I’ve never had one that turned out good.”

  They slid into their wooden seats and opened their textbooks. A little of Edgar Allan Poe’s poem, “The Raven,” and Sarah was immersed in gothic enchantment.

  Quoth the Raven ‘Nevermore.’ The words shuddered down her arms and back. And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting . . .

  A sharp rap at the door, and two older gentlemen in suits shuffled into the room with graven faces and solemn eyes.

  Who died? Sarah’s hands tightened on the desk’s rough pine. It was just like in junior high when she’d been called out of math class and delivered the news of her mother’s death.

  The men conferred in low tones with Mrs. Prendergrast, and the professor’s eyes beamed like a ray of doom on Sarah. A heavy knot tightened in Sarah’s throat, choking the breath from her windpipe. Black specks floated into her vision. Sarah fisted both hands so tightly that her fingernails dug into the tender flesh. The pain sharpened her focus.

  “Sarah, you are excused from class,” Mrs. Prendergrast said.

  She stood carefully and stepped forward. It’s okay. Everything will be okay.

  One of the older gentlemen, the one with a clipped white beard, pointed toward her desk. “Bring all your things with you.”

  Dutifully, she returned to the desk and gathered her books and purse, trying to avoid Claudia’s wide, sympathetic eyes. If she allowed anyone to attempt comfort, she’d surely break down in tears. The books felt as heavy as a load of bricks in her arm as she followed the men into the hallway.

  “What’s happened?” she asked when the door had latched behind them.

  The bearded guy motioned for her to walk with them. “We’ll speak in my office.”

  She stole a glance at the other gentleman, who merely spared her an indifferent, assessing look.

  Whatever happened, it wasn’t good. She had the distinct impression she was in deep trouble. But for what? She’d broken no laws. Wordlessly, she followed them out of the building and to the administrative building. They passed the Info Tech wing, but Tanner was nowhere in sight. Her nervousness increased by the minute. They entered an elevator and went to the top floor. Upon exiting, they were in a lobby where two secretaries, scarily efficient-looking, sat opposite one another at huge wooden desks, pecking away at their keyboards.

  Sarah followed the men into a suite marked ‘President’s Office.’ Holy Shit. Seated at the head of a massive, gleaming conference table sat a 40-ish older man she recognized from WCS pamphlets and websites. Neatly-clipped brown hair and a politician’s smile with gleaming white teeth. Why the hell would he want to see her?

  “Miss Welch,” he said, not rising from his chair. “Have a seat.”

  At the opposite end of the conference table, Sarah clumsily dropped her books and purse on its shiny surface, waiting for the bad news.

  “These are WCS attorneys,” President Marston informed her gravely. He introduced their names, but she was too nervous to take in what he said. Get to the point, she wanted to scream.

  “Some disturbing information has reached u
s. Do you have any information about WCS stolen property?”

  Her panicked mind went blank—and then, a memory surfaced. Rebecca pulling out the old Book of Shadows at the coven meeting. Bridget, smirking, her red hair flaming in the darkness of the new moon night. “You’ve taken a vow of secrecy,” she’d said.

  Oh, hell. Her mouth went dry.

  The men waited, staring, and she swallowed hard. “No,” she whispered.

  The president leaned forward. “You sure about that?” he asked softly.

  What did she owe her former friends? What did these men know? She clasped her hands in her lap. She’d made a promise, but it had been tricked from her. After the way they’d treated her . . . she couldn’t do it. She’d go to them tonight, tell them the heat was on and to sneak the book back in the library. This way, she wouldn’t break a vow, and the property would be returned. These men couldn’t prove anything. She was innocent in all this.

  So why did she feel so horrible? So guilt-ridden?

  “I—I’m sure,” she told them.

  “Then you won’t mind if we search your dorm.”

  “I guess not.”

  They rose immediately.

  “We’ll go now,” the president informed her.

  The four of them exited the suite, and both secretaries paused from their work, eyeing her curiously. Sarah could imagine how an inmate felt walking the path of the condemned—all eyes upon her, judging and pronouncing guilt.

  The irony of her nightmares didn’t escape Sarah. Only this time, she was the one accused. Although it was only a couple of blocks from the administrative building to Clara Hall, the men ushered her into a large sedan. No one spoke during the short ride. At the dorm, only a few students were present to witness her humiliation. Most were in class, as she had been.

  Small blessings.

  She led them to her room and unlocked the door. One of the attorneys went straight to her closet and pulled down a cardboard box from the top shelf. It held some photos and scrapbooks, a set of jacks, and a few paperbacks.

  He set the box on her dresser and pulled out a thick, worn tome . . .

  . . . the pilfered grimoire.

  Sarah couldn’t move. Couldn’t tear her gaze from the Book of Shadows. How had it gotten there? But she knew. They’d planted it there. The coven’s revenge for her rejection.

  “This belongs to WCS, not you,” the man said. Both attorneys turned to stare at the president.

  Her vision swayed, and she sat on the edge of the bed. What would they do to her? She envisioned cops arriving, cuffing her hands behind her back and parading her out of Clara Hall and into a paddy wagon—bound for jail.

  The college president frowned. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “I didn’t do it.” She hung her head, dispirited and ashamed. “But I don’t expect you to believe me.”

  “Then how do you account for the book being in your possession?”

  “I can’t,” she whispered, not even daring to look at their faces.

  “That’s unfortunate.” His voice hardened, each syllable as sharp as tacks digging in her skin. “Pack your things at once and leave. At the Women’s College of Salem, we expect high moral conduct from our students. Cheating or stealing will not be tolerated. You are hereby expelled.”

  This can’t be happening. It’s too fast. Too final. “Please—”

  “Today. This semester’s tuition will be refunded to you.”

  “What’s your girlfriend’s name again? Sarah—?”

  “Welch.”

  His uncle nodded, a curious, hesitant look ghosting across his kindly face.

  Tanner rose from behind his desk, tendrils of dread creeping up his back. “What’s happened?”

  “She’s in trouble. Seems she stole a valuable artifact from the library’s rare book room.”

  “No way!”

  Uncle Ralph drew his white brows together. “Are you sure? How well do you really know this girl?”

  “Well enough. Sarah would never do that.” He grabbed his jacket from the hanger and shrugged into it. He had to warn Sarah. Quickly.

  “President Marston received an anonymous tip this morning on the stolen book. Said it could be found in Sarah’s dorm room.”

  “Look, don’t let Marston say anything to Sarah until I’m with her. She’ll freak—”

  “Sorry, son.” Uncle Ralph shook his head. “He and two of his staff attorneys are already on the way to summon her from class. She knows by now.”

  Damn. This had to be the work of whoever had been stalking Sarah and trespassing in her room. “Where’s Marston’s office? I need to talk to him. Explain that there’s extenuating circumstances.”

  “My understanding is that they plan to head straight to the dorm with Sarah and search for the artifact.”

  “I gotta go.” He dug car keys out of his pocket, fumbling in his hurry. “She needs me.”

  Uncle Ralph frowned. “I’ve never seen you like this. So . . . desperate.”

  Yep. That pretty much described it.

  “Sarah has no one. No family at all. Uncle Ralph, can’t you do something?” As Dean of Students, his uncle had influence. “I promise, she didn’t steal anything.”

  His uncle nodded. “I’ll try. Marston’s a bit of a pompous hardass, but he’s generally known as a fair man. We’ll go in my car and try to catch them at the dorm.”

  The tightness in Tanner’s chest released a fraction. “Thank you. Really.”

  They hurried to the parking lot and climbed into his car. Uncle Ralph backed out and cast him a curious, sidelong glance. “Now explain those extenuating circumstances you mentioned earlier.”

  “There’s this . . .” He hesitated, unwilling to say the word ‘coven.’ His parents had never said if this branch of the family practiced The Craft or not. He assumed they did, but it was never discussed between them. “This group of girls that dislike Sarah because she, um, rejected them.”

  Uncle Ralph shot him a skeptical look.

  “Anyway,” Tanner rushed, “you can check with the RA at Clara Hall. Just last week, someone pinned a mouse to her dorm door. And Sarah’s been missing things. Someone’s been trespassing in her room, too.”

  “Has she reported any of this?”

  “About the missing stuff? No, I tried to get her to, but she hoped it would all blow over.” Tanner gripped the dashboard as his normally staid, academic Uncle Ralph rounded a curve too quickly, breaks squealing.

  “It would make our case stronger if she’d done so. But let’s see what we can do with the facts we possess.”

  His uncle illegally parked in front of Clara Hall and nodded at the sedan parked in the VIP spot. “Marston’s already here.”

  Shit. Tanner jumped out of the car a moment before his uncle hit the brakes, already on the run. He had to get to Sarah. She must be so scared and feeling so alone.

  “Room 202,” he shouted toward his uncle, momentarily backpedaling. “Meet you there.”

  He ran. His breath formed miniature clouds in the frigid air. A campfire in his chest burned. But none of that mattered. Tanner crashed through the front door, ran down a hall, and up a flight of stairs. On the second floor, a murmur of voices wafted from Room 202.

  Almost there. Quickly, he spanned the distance between them and stood in the open doorway.

  He barely noted the men in suits, all his attention focused on Sarah, who sat on the edge of the bed, her knees hugging her chest. Her creamy skin was as pale as he’d ever seen it.

  “Sarah,” he breathed.

  She looked up at him. The fear and misery in her eyes tore at his heart. Sarah tried to smile, but her mouth trembled and shook, betraying her emotional turmoil. Wordlessly, he held out his arms, and she rushed into them, burying her face against his chest. He rubbed her back and whispered in her ear. “It’s going to be okay, Sarah. Everything will work out. I promise. Believe me?”

  She nodded but didn’t raise her head.

&nb
sp; Tanner regarded the men. “She’s innocent.”

  One of them shook his head, not unkindly.

  President Marston held up a thick, crumbling book. “Sorry, kid. Stolen property.” He motioned to the others. “Let’s go.”

  Sarah pulled out of his grasp, more composed, but leaned one side of her body against him.

  The kinder one pulled out a business card from the front of his suit jacket and handed it to Tanner. “She can reach me here with her new mailing address, and I’ll refund her tuition immediately.”

  “Wait,” Tanner pleaded. “Give her a chance to explain. If you’ll check with Clara Hall’s RA, you’ll find that she’s been targeted by another student. The stolen property was planted to get her in trouble.”

  “They’ll never believe that,” Sarah mumbled, low enough for his ears only.

  Marston paused near the doorway and turned. “Sounds a bit far-fetched.”

  “We owe it to Ms. Welch to discover the truth,” said Uncle Ralph as he entered the room. “My nephew, a valued employee in our IT Division, vouches for her character. He’s explained to me that Sarah has had problems with other students trespassing in her room and taking her property.” He put a hand on Marston’s arm. “I know you’d never want to unfairly accuse someone of a crime and put a black mark on her record with an expulsion. There’s enough evidence here that, as Dean of Students, I believe she deserves an academic disciplinary hearing. What do you say?”

  Marston crossed his arms, rubbing his chin. He glanced at the attorneys. “Do you agree?”

  “Absolutely,” the kinder one spoke up, while the other fellow shrugged indifferently.

  Marston nodded. “Very well. I’ll set one up within the week. Until then . . . perhaps we should consider suspension.”

  Uncle Ralph spoke quickly. “In the meantime, I recommend that she agrees to live off campus, is restricted from using the library, but can continue her classes. If she’s found innocent, even a few days of missed assignments and classwork could affect her grades.”

  “I agree,” the kind one said. “This would also give her no grounds for future claims against the college.”