Charmed by the Salem Witch Read online

  “Pay for what?” Sarah asked, voice rising in frustration. “I’ve never hurt any of you.”

  Priscilla spoke up. “You must pay for the sin of your ancestor. We’re all descended from executed witches. Judge Hathorne condemned them, and he never repented for his crimes.”

  Despite the fear and pain, Sarah couldn’t help the snort of disbelief. “I didn’t even know I was related to Hathorne until I came to this school. Why should that matter, anyway? I’ve nothing to do with that ancient history.”

  Rebecca threw up her hands. “I’m done with this. Sorry, Ann. The whole thing is pretty nuts. This hasn’t gone the way we’d planned. I’m done.”

  “Me, too,” Bridget said quickly.

  “Better keep your mouths shut,” Ann hollered at their retreating figures. “Remember, I’ve got a binding spell on you.”

  The two deserters hurried off into the night.

  Good. Two down, two to go. That increased her odds of escaping. Ann jerked at Sarah’s bound hands. “Start walking.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  Ann whipped in front of her and raised a hand. A whoosh of air, and then a loud crack as her tormentor’s palm slapped her cheek and right ear.

  The side of her face burned, and her ears rang. Sarah couldn’t help the tears that leaked down her face.

  Surviving Halloween was going to be hell.

  Free at last.

  By the amount of work Higginboth had unloaded on him, you’d have thought Salem’s official holiday was of no consequence.

  Tanner glanced at the clock. A quick peek at the files of the last two coven members, and then Sarah should be here to pick him up for the party. With a few strokes of the keyboard, he skimmed the first dossier. Nothing important there. Perhaps this idea had been a dead end after all. Sighing, he brought up the last girl’s record.

  Quickly, he scanned her academic record, then moved onto her family history. A name caught his eye, and he gave a low whistle. But he needed more. If Ann knew about this, how badly would it devastate her?

  Or anger her?

  On a hunch, he went into her medical records and read them with increasing concern.

  Oh, hell. Sarah might be in deep shit.

  Where was she anyway?

  9

  Over a dozen nooses hung from the red maples.

  Sarah stopped walking and fiddling with the binding rope on her hands. She stared, transfixed at the swinging ropes of death.

  “Twenty nooses,” Priscilla informed her matter-of-factly. “One for each of the twenty executed witches. Women and men that your ancestor helped condemn.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Sarah began to shake uncontrollably, a relentless combination of cold and fear. “That was hundreds of years ago. I had nothing to do with any of it.”

  “Sins of the fathers must be—”

  “Shut up, Pris,” Ann grated out.

  She stepped within a foot of Sarah. “You want to know the real reason you’re here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because our father couldn’t keep his fucking dick in his pants, that’s why.”

  Our father? “What are you talking about?”

  “I mean that he ruined my family. He screwed around on Mom, and when she found out, that was that.”

  “Liar!” Sarah’s defense was immediate. Not that she had ever known him, but surely her father would never—

  Ann landed a vicious slap across her face, and Sarah stumbled backward, blind from the pain. Her ankles gave way and she lay flat on her back on a tangle of bittersweet vines. She raised her legs, ready to kick and defend herself from further abuse.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Priscilla cried out. “What’s this stuff about your father? I thought—”

  “I told you to shut up! Damn, you’re so fucking stupid, Priscilla.” Ann glared at Pris, hands on hips. “If you had half a brain, you’d have realized the whole ancient history thing was a ruse.”

  Ann stopped her tirade and did a three-sixty circle, scanning the woods. “Where the fuck is Claudia?”

  “Must have slipped away,” Priscilla mumbled. A tear slid down her long, plain face, and her shoulders hunched, as if bracing for another blow.

  Ann’s curses rang through the woods—shrill and maniacal.

  How could she have guessed the evil in that heart? Ann had hidden it so well.

  Sarah rolled away from the two of them, taking advantage of the distraction. If luck was with her, Priscilla would bail on Ann, like Bridget and Rebecca and Claudia had done. Maybe one of the coven defectors would even get help.

  And then it would just be her and Ann. Still hardly a fair fight since her wrists were bound, but a lot better odds than it had been at the start of this hellish evening. Sarah worked the rope at her wrists, finally feeling a little bit of give. She struggled to her feet, only to be tripped up.

  “You aren’t going anywhere.” Ann loomed above her. “You are going to sit right there while Priscilla starts a fire. Pris and I will have our full moon ritual, and when it’s over, I’ll deal with you.”

  “What are you going to do?” Sarah whispered.

  Inexplicably, Ann’s face transformed from fury to delight. “Kill you. If it wasn’t for you, my parents would still be together.”

  “What you think our parents did isn’t my fault—”

  Ann kicked Sarah’s left thigh, sending a bruising pain up her leg and spine. “It’s what I know happened. My mom might have forgiven an affair, but Dad having a bastard child was too much for her. She kicked him out. Because of you. Mom kept her mouth shut because having a bastard child wouldn’t look good for a judge. Could ruin his career. And she needed that precious alimony check. Not to mention, news of you would be embarrassing if it ever got out.”

  Bastard child. Me? Sarah fought through the pain. If she wanted to live to see tomorrow’s dawn, she’d need to keep her mind as sharp as the athame that Ann surely carried.

  “If that’s true,” she said, trying to appeal to Ann’s sympathy, “then we’re half-sisters.”

  “We’re nothing. And after tonight, you won’t even exist.”

  So much for appealing to Ann’s sympathy. Maybe there was a trace of logic left in her mad mind. “Killing me won’t solve anything. It won’t change the past.”

  Ann dropped to her knees beside her. Sarah smelled her sweat. Ann’s hot breath and blazing eyes pinned her like a rabbit with its hind legs spiked by a steel trap.

  “Listen, bitch. For years, my dad has paid child support for you, even after your whore mother died. How the fuck do you think you got into WCS? The scholarship fairy? Dad’s paying for that, too.”

  “I—I’m sorry. I’ll leave. I don’t want his money.”

  “It won’t do any good. He’ll only pay where you go next. He’ll always pay. You’ve cost us everything.”

  “Please, Ann. I’ll go away. Somewhere he can’t find me. I promise.”

  “Oh, Dad will find you. He’ll spare no expense.” She snorted. “He even suggested that I make friends with you. As if I’d want anything to do with his bastard.” Ann glanced over her shoulder. “Tie her feet up, Pris. And then . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Pris?” Louder, angrier. “Pris? Where are you?”

  There was no answer, only a silence that was broken by tree limbs quivering in the wind. From far off, an owl hooted. Its predatory cry signaled the hunt was on.

  A harbinger of death. She’d read that somewhere, but couldn’t remember where or why or who believed in that omen.

  She refused to dwell on superstition. Pris was gone, and that was a good sign. The only one that mattered.

  Ann faced her. “Seems it’s just you and me now.” Surprisingly, her voice was calm, her features relatively composed, except for a smoldering resentment that lingered in her light blue eyes.

  Ann slowly reached a hand toward Sarah’s face, and Sarah flinched and ducked to the side. Gently, fingertips glided over the edge of her jaw and down her neck. She
didn’t move, hardly dared to breathe. What new game was this?

  Pain exploded, the loci at the center of her throat. Now she couldn’t breathe even if she’d wanted to—her windpipe was constricted by Ann’s fingers pressing into the hollow of her throat. Her peripheral vision narrowed. Black specks danced and coalesced, expanded until there was nothing but darkness.

  And then the pressure lifted.

  She drank oxygen down through her bruised windpipe, sounding like a banked fish gasping for air.

  A weight pressed down on her body, but she didn’t care. What mattered was breathing air. Deep inhales and exhales, until mind and body at last eased their hold on terror. Sarah lifted her head to understand why she couldn’t move.

  Ann lay atop her, facing the opposite direction. Something tightened around her swollen ankles. Too late, Sarah realized Ann’s plan. While she’d been passed out from the surprise attack, Ann had swiftly tied her ankles together.

  Her half-sister rolled off her body. “Now I’ve got you.” She smiled as if announcing a mild change in the weather.

  “Please let me go,” Sarah whispered past her damaged throat. “I won’t tell anyone what happened tonight.”

  Ann laughed. “Damn straight you won’t.”

  “Your parents are alive, Ann. You’re lucky. They love you, I’m sure. Your dad paid bills for me out of a sense of obligation, not love.” She swallowed past the raw burning. “I’m no threat to you.”

  “Love?” Ann shook her head, lips twitching in bemusement. “You think this is about love?”

  “Then why?”

  Ann’s jaw clenched. “A week before the semester started, I saw Dad’s attorney leaving the house. Later that night, I crept in Dad’s office and went through his papers. He’d changed his will, leaving almost everything to you. He wrote . . .” She faltered, face crumpling, then took a deep breath, evidently composing her emotions. “The will stated that I had mental and emotional problems. That my instability rendered me unable to manage a large estate. That what money he’d left me should be earmarked for psychiatric treatment.”

  So this was about money.

  “And if I die, you’ll get all the inheritance. Right?” asked Sarah.

  “Exactly.”

  It made sense—in a demented, evil kind of way.

  “I don’t want the money. If I got any, I’d transfer it back to you. I don’t know your father. Don’t want to know him either. Okay?”

  Ann scooted a few feet away, where Priscilla had left a large bag of witch supplies. She pulled out a trio of candles—black, white, and orange.

  “Are you going to have a ceremony by yourself?” Sarah grasped at any desperate idea that presented itself. “I’ll participate with you. Start the fire like Pris usually does.”

  Ann didn’t bother looking up as she spread out an alter cloth of the moon and stars on a purple sky background. “Shut up or I’ll bind your mouth, too.”

  Evidently, her sister was crazy, not stupid.

  Ann struck a match that hissed like an ill-tempered cat. In the flare of light, her face had settled again to calmness. There was a reverent precision in the way she arranged the candles on the perimeter of the cloth. She pulled a few more items out of the bag—an athame, a silver chalice, dried herbs, and a black feather with a skein of red thread woven down its spine.

  Sarah’s own spine tingled in recognition. Its twin was still in her possession.

  “You put a binding spell on me,” she accused. “That’s why I had those nightmares about the witch trials.”

  Ann sighed and pulled a square of black cloth from the bag. “Good thing I came prepared.” She crawled over by Sarah’s side. “You never wanted to obey me like the others.”

  “You were the real leader of the group,” Sarah said flatly. “I never realized. Why the binding spell and the nightmares?”

  “To divert you from investigating the truth.” Ann raised the cloth. “Be still, and it will go easier for you.”

  “I promise not to—”

  “Silence.”

  Sarah didn’t fight the gag. No one could hear her scream, anyway. The important thing was to keep working at the hand ties while Ann’s attention was diverted. If she managed to free her hands, then she could undo her ankle bindings.

  The cloth was placed between her upper and lower jaw and secured at the back of her head. Satisfied with her handiwork, Ann returned to her altar.

  “Hail to Hecate,” she said, raising her arms to the moon. “Mistress of the underworld.”

  Sarah stealthily maneuvered her fingers around the hemp rope, determined to unravel the knot and free her hands. One of the loops slipped, and her heart beat faster.

  “On this Samhain’s eve, in this cycle of death, I remember you. I worship you.” Ann held a dried stick of herb above the orange candle. The sweet, pungent scent of rosemary carried over to Sarah in the smoke’s drift.

  “Be present with me, Hecate, as I do that which needs to be done. As the earth is now dead and dormant, I now call on you, Dark Mother, to—

  Another couple of inches, and she’d loosened the binding enough to free her right hand.

  Ann took no notice of her, intent on her solitary ritual.

  Sarah didn’t attempt to remove the dangling cord that remained bound on her right side. Cautiously, she drew her legs to her knees and untied the ankle bindings.

  “—and during this witches’ sacred sabbat I ask you bless me as—”

  Free!

  The urge to dart off into the woods warred with the wisdom of quietly sneaking away. She took a step, and pins and needles raced up and down her ankles. Another step, and the sound of crunched leaves exploded beneath her feet.

  Ann jumped up, startled. “Nooooo!” she screamed and scooped up the athame, brandishing it with her right hand. The silver blade gleamed under the full moon’s beams.

  Sarah was missing.

  A heavy dreadfulness had festered as soon as the sun had set and increased with every minute that passed. He’d tried to call Sarah over and over, but got no answer. She’d planned on shopping downtown with Claudia that afternoon before getting ready for their party, but he hadn’t heard from her since lunch. He’d found Claudia’s last name and number from the WCS student director, but Sarah’s friend didn’t answer her cellphone, either.

  If anything happened to her . . . no, he couldn’t bear to even think of her in danger.

  Once he’d read of the familial connection between Ann and Sarah, he’d known something was very wrong. It was the proof he’d needed to pin the coven with the string of harassing incidents against Sarah. He couldn’t figure out the exact reason for the hate campaign, but it centered on the sibling connection. The certainty clicked into place like a missing link, as it always did when he puzzled out a disappearance.

  “Hurry,” he urged. Uncle Ralph hit the car’s accelerator and sped through the narrow street. “And don’t forget to call the cops again to make sure they’re on the way.”

  “Will do,” he said. “I’ve called campus security, too. They might get there quicker.”

  Uncle Ralph, no stranger to magic and Tanner’s gift, understood the peril immediately when Tanner had rushed into his office seeking help.

  Clara Hall was festively lit. Dozens of women paraded the grounds in Halloween costumes, with a plethora of witches and fairies as the preferred attire. Tables set with orange tablecloths were loaded with food, and a band played on a raised wooden platform

  He spotted his beat-up truck parked in the semi-circular drive. Had Sarah dropped off Claudia and decided to stay and visit longer?

  No. He trusted the familiar inner voice that warned him Sarah was in trouble.

  “Drop me off at the door,” he told his uncle. Obligingly, Uncle Ralph sped to the front and abruptly hit the brake. Tanner took off, barely aware of the security guards scrambling in his wake. Claudia’s room number was 418-A. A quick dash through the parlor, and the elevator waited at the end of the
hallway. He started through the parlor, then paused and turned at the flash of red hair in his peripheral vision.

  Bridget, Claudia, the fake blonde, and the plain girl were huddled in a corner, talking. Tanner strode over. “Claudia? Have you seen Sarah?”

  The collective guilt on their faces couldn’t have been more obvious.

  “Where’s Sarah?”

  Plain Priscilla swiped away tears running down her long face. “Outside with Ann. She’s . . . in trouble.”

  His heart beat in triple time. “How bad?”

  “Ann threatened to kill Sarah,” Priscilla admitted.

  And yet these girls hadn’t called the cops? He glared at them, incredulous. Bridget and Claudia dropped their eyes, but Rebecca lifted her chin.

  “We didn’t know Ann wanted to kill her,” Rebecca claimed. “At first, I thought it was a prank, but—”

  “Where are they?” he demanded. He’d make sure those girls paid later for their role in this. For now, he needed to find Sarah.

  “About a half a mile into the woods behind the dorm. I’ll show you,” Priscilla volunteered.

  Tanner waved over to the guards entering the parlor. “Sarah’s being held hostage in the woods. This girl will lead us to her.”

  One of the guards gave him a flashlight. “The police are on their way,” he said. “I’ll call them back and advise them we’ll need a search helicopter above the perimeter to provide lighting and backup.”

  Tanner nodded, grabbed Priscilla’s arm, and headed for the exit.

  Hold on, Sarah. I’m coming.

  He only hoped it wasn’t too late.

  10

  “Hurry up, Priscilla!”

  Tanner scowled at where she’d stopped, bent over double and clutching her stomach.

  “I c-can’t.” She took a deep breath. “Give me a minute.”

  “We don’t have a minute,” he snapped.

  “Almost there,” she panted. “On the other side of the creek. Only about thirty yards.”