The Timeless Ones: A Timeless Story, #1

By Susan Catalano

A legend awakened…A race against history…A bond that is timeless…

 

Merry Chalmers, accused witch, has a secret so hidden that she's nearly forgotten what she really is. All she desires is for the witch-hunts to end and to marry her secret love, William Darling. But hysteria has taken hold in Salem Village, and the Tall Man, spawned by tales of his existence, is born to fulfill his dark purpose.

 

Soon Merry and William find their lives taking unthinkable paths. For when Merry leaps from the 17th century into modern-day Salem, she must accept that unlike others who were accused and hanged for being a witch, she truly is one.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Catalano
• Release date: Jul 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9798215301425

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The little girl pumped her legs, swinging higher and higher in the sweet summer air, breathing in the ocean’s salty scent. She giggled, and with that came the rainbow. She loved the colors that often imbued her world. Her mother did too. She’d capture them in pretty crystals, saying she wanted to keep a part of her.

Mama! she called out. Catch me!

Her mother ran toward her, the smile disappearing from her face as the girl let go of the swing’s chains. The little girl flew from the seat, airborne through the colors, her mother running, nearly there. Her father stepped outside, and in the split second before her mother’s arms wrapped around her, he shouted her name. Then everything the little girl knew disappeared.

They stood on a road made of dirt. Her mother held her tightly. She was shaking.

Mama?

Make the rainbow, OK, sweetie? Just make the rainbow again. Tears streamed down her mother’s face.

What’s the matter, Mama? Why was Daddy scared?

Her mother cried harder.

Where’s Daddy, Mama? Where’s Daddy? She clung to her mother.

You have to make the rainbow, baby. Make the pretty colors. Can you do that for Mommy?

The little girl sniffled back a few tears.

"You hear me baby?

She wanted her Mom to stop crying. Wanted her to smile again. So she tried. She really tried, but the colors wouldn’t come. I can’t, Mama. The little girl sobbed.

Shhh, shhh, it’s OK, baby. Her mother stroked her hair. She lifted the girl and walked. Lulled by the rhythmic pace of her mother’s gait, the little girl fell asleep. When she awoke, she was inside a house, cradled in her mother’s arms by a warm fireplace. A lady with kind eyes sat in a chair opposite them.

Somebody’s awake, the lady said.

The little girl ducked her head against her mother, stealing peeks at the lady now and then.

Hello, little one. I’m Rose.

The little girl waved her chubby fingers at the lady. I’m hungry.

Rose laughed. Well, let’s fix that, shall we?

They ate at a small wooden table. Another woman, Rose’s sister, joined them. Her mother showed them a crystal filled with the pretty colors. The little girl grew tired. Her belly hurt. She promised to try to make colors the next day. Then the next. The colors wouldn’t come. The pain in her belly wouldn’t go away. She was so sleepy. Her arms and legs grew heavy. She curled against her mother, finding comfort in her familiar embrace. Don’t cry, Mama.

Her mother’s body spasmed as she wept. Someone lifted the little girl, her mother’s arms giving no resistance.

I’ll make the colors, she shouted. I’ll make them Mama! She wriggled away and ran back to her mother, taking her too warm hand in her little ones. The girl squeezed her eyes shut. Her small body shuddered. But no colors came. She tried to remember how to make them. She’d never really had to try before. They just happened. When she was playing. When she was happy. They wouldn’t come now.

I love you Mama.

She leaned in close as her mother breathed out her last words. I love you, my little rainbow.

1

ACCUSED

Merry stood in the tall Indian grass, just able to see over the feathery green heads. They tickled her cheek as a soft breeze stirred, and she smiled as she pushed them away.

Until the townspeople regained their collective sanity, she and William had to meet in secret. The same whispered accusations that had put her life in peril had saved her from an ill-matched marriage. She’d been promised to another in childhood who no longer wished to pursue the betrothal amidst all the scandal. To Merry’s mind, this was just as well. She didn’t dislike Jonathan Parrish, but she loved William.

From her vantage point at the top of the hill, she saw the grass separating below, indicating William’s arrival. He moved fast in her direction. She wondered at his urgency though she also felt it in her own heart. He waved, arms flailing as though he were drowning. She ran towards him, her eagerness replaced with alarm as she neared and saw his face, red and frantic.

He shouted her name, his voice hoarse and panicked. Run, Merry! To the woods! Quickly! Run!

Merry stopped and stared. Many men followed William into the meadow. Her heart raced at the realization that they were coming for her. She shook her head in denial, but when several men cried, Witch! her denial turned to fear.

Gathering her skirts, she hurried toward the woods. Those gentle feathered heads that had tickled her only a short time ago whipped mercilessly at her face as she sped by. William shouted for her to run; her pursuers shouts grew closer as well. She didn’t dare look back. A thick copse of trees lined the horizon ahead. If only she could make it to their shelter, perhaps she’d have a chance of escape. She pushed onward, her breath harsh and fast. Her skirts tangled around her legs. She stumbled, shrieked, and ran harder.

At last, she came upon the wood at the edge of the field. The thickly threaded trees presented a challenging route, forcing her to leap over raised roots and dodge low branches. As she made her way deeper into the wood, silence prevailed. A lone yellow bird twittered from a low-hanging branch. She paused, her heart racing.

There she is!

Merry’s face filled with heat as she recognized John Indian’s booming baritone. She ran blindly. Her lungs burned. Her legs tired. She broke through the tree line into a small clearing, the ocean beyond. Merry screamed and flailed as her momentum nearly sent her over a cliff. She teetered on it’s edge for a moment before falling backwards to the ground, then scrambled to her feet and ran back towards the woods.

As she neared the trees, Jonathan Parrish burst into the clearing. Both halted, shocked at the sight of one another. Merry stared into Jonathan’s widened eyes. Despite the fact that he’d never held her heart, she’d never treated him with anything but respect and kindness. Was it too much to hope for the same from him now?

Merry took a step backwards. Jonathan.

He shifted his eyes from her pleading gaze. Merry took another step back. Then, a hand that had once held hers with gentleness, clamped painfully around her shoulder. The barest hint of remorse flitted across Jonathan’s face before he shouted, I’ve got her!

His words were cut short as William hurtled into the clearing, crashing his shoulder into Jonathan’s chest and wrenching his grip from Merry’s shoulder. Both men went down with a loud thud. The sounds of men running through the woods grew louder.

Merry froze.

William shouted for her to run. The woods were no longer an option. The cliff lay before her. She looked back. Jonathan sat up, holding his head. William rose from the ground and locked eyes with her for what seemed an eternity. She ran.

Merry! No! William shouted as she raced toward the cliff.

Anger fueled her movement. She didn’t deserve this fate. None of the accused did. Forced to decide between the noose or the ocean was no choice at all. But she was a good swimmer, and if she could get enough speed to make it beyond the rocks, she might have a chance.

Tears blurred her vision, and she fought the urge to run back to William. Then just beyond the cliff, a woman in robes of black appeared, standing on nothing but air. A bright light infused with what appeared to be a swirling rainbow framed her against the blue sky.

Either she was losing her mind, or an angel had come for her. Rather than finding comfort at the thought, her head tingled with warning. Merry slowed.

Don’t stop! Hurry! Or all will be lost, the angel commanded.

Merry glanced at the fierce bunch of men who were nearly upon her, then looked at William’s tormented face. She turned to the woman again. She knew of no angel who wore black, but the colors…

The angel smiled. You will be safe.

Merry took one last look behind her, the imminence of capture forcing her to make the only decision she could. Then, she leapt over the edge into the spiraling mass of colors.

2

LOST

It was a sickening sight, I tell you, Reverend Parris grumbled.

Jonathan slammed a hand against the doorframe. And to think I was to marry the witch.

Poor William. Cast a spell on him, she did, James said. Look at the lad. The witch is dead and still he’s lost.

William sat on a stool near the empty fireplace in Ingersoll’s Ordinary, his heart as cold as the barren hearth. He couldn’t look into the eyes he knew were upon him. They’d killed her, sent his Merry to her death. But she’d not gone alone. Three fools had leapt off the cliff after her. The men had shouted terrible curses before rushing toward the edge. And screams, the likes of which William had never heard, had erupted from the men as they plummeted to their deaths.

Not his Merry, though. She’d gone quietly, her arms stretched out as if she were a bird leaving its nest. He fought the tears he couldn’t shed in front of the other men.

And the fire surely proves the lass is of the devil. Reverend Parris’ voice boomed.

Indeed, that had been a strange thing to see. When the men had jumped to their deaths, flames had streamed from their fingertips. William believed it a trick of the bright morning sun, but the rest of the men were convinced they’d witnessed the fires of hell only a witch could summon.

Then there’d been a moment between the last scream and a call to action, a moment of stunned silence induced by the savagery they’d delivered, a moment when nothing could be heard but the ragged breaths of men who’d run a good race.

A moment in which Merry called his name.

He’d heard it plain as day, as did the other men atop the cliff. They’d inched toward the drop ever so carefully, afraid they’d too be pulled over. William was the last to peer over its edge.

The bodies of Joshua and Thomas were piled atop one another upon an outcrop of rocks. Jacob’s body lay a short distance away, his torso submerged in the rolling waves, his long hair waving like fronds of seaweed about his head.

William, Merry called, fainter now, as though she were moving away.

She calls, Reverend Parris said. The witch calls.

She means to claim us all, John Indian said, backing away from the cliff until he was nearly in the woods. Several others joined him.

William scanned the base of the cliff, the rocks, the sea for any sign of her. Two men pulled him back from the edge, afraid, no doubt, that Merry’s siren call would lead him to his death as it had the others.

But they’d not found her. She’d vanished.

Several men had gone out hours ago to recover the bodies of their friends from the rocks and to search the seas again for Merry. At least she hadn’t been dashed upon the rocks, William thought. Her leap must have sent her far enough out to land in the water. The shallow sea wouldn’t have saved her, but perhaps it offered a less violent end. Less violent. How could being chased to her death be anything but violent?

A rising commotion sounded outside the inn. A young boy came to the doorway to announce the search party’s arrival. The men were up at once. William reluctantly followed. If they had found Merry, he didn’t want to see her. Not after she’d fallen. He wanted to remember her as the girl in the tall grass. Sweetness and laughter. Alive.

Two horse-drawn carts steered by tired men approached at a speed that reflected their energy. The large wooden wheels stirred up clouds of dust that settled upon the sweating faces of those who lined the street to watch the morbid procession.

Two bodies lay in the first cart, one in the other. Caleb, the blacksmith’s son, reined the horses in and at the same time declared, The witch could not be found.

His words had the effect William suspected he’d intended. Amidst the sorrow, anger spread through the crowd. Grumbling voices, low at first, grew braver. The wives of the three dead men ran toward the arriving party screaming the names of their lost husbands. Children followed, scared and forgotten. The village came to life as everyone came to see what the witch Meredith had done.

She eludes us yet, said someone in the crowd. She could be watching us now, cackling with the Devil himself.

Fools! William thought. Wasn’t it obvious the tide had taken her body away?

Another voice came from the crowd. Mayhap her lover knows of where she is.

With a sickening dread, William recognized his mother’s voice. All eyes turned towards him. His body shook as he shouted, Have ye all gone mad? The tide took her body, and that’s all. Haven’t ye enough fill of her blood?

He turned to leave when a blood-chilling scream stopped him.

His hands! My Jacob’s hands! a new widow cried.

William pushed his way through the crowd toward the back of the carts. Aside from the gruesome toll the fall and rocks had taken on the men’s bodies, each had suffered severe burns. The men’s shirtsleeves were stiff with ashes. Lines of raw skin flowed up each of their arms as if fire had tried to race to their hearts.

No, William thought. Not my Merry. She was no witch. But, how then the fire?

William understood too late that all eyes were once again upon him, and before he could manage an escape, the righteous men of Salem Village grabbed hold of him.

3

LANDED

Merry’s hands flew over her face, checking to make sure everything was as it should be. She continued the frantic search for injury down her body. Nothing. Her eyes widened in astonishment. She glanced to the top of the cliff high above then surveyed her body again. Nothing broken. No blood, no pain, not even a scratch that hadn’t been present before she’d jumped from the ledge.

It should have been impossible to have fallen from such a height unscathed. Other than a bit of dizziness, a minor nausea, she felt fine. She recalled a familiar calm as she’d leapt through the colors, almost as though she were remembering their swirling arms. Men had been close. Too close, and she’d spun mid-leap, pushed out with her hands. There’d been fire. Then this scrap of safety at the base of the cliff.

Maybe she was a witch.

Or maybe an angel had indeed delivered her from her fate. She lifted her gaze to the cliff again. William? she called out, expecting to see a face or two peering over the ledge. Wouldn’t the men want to know whether she was dead or alive? Wouldn’t William? Merry shuddered and called his name once again to no avail. Perhaps they’d leave her to the sea.

Hello! someone shouted from behind, causing Merry to jump.

Ah, they’ve come. She turned around, shoulders back, head high. A strange vessel approached.

It resembled a boat in that it was floating on the water; otherwise, it appeared foreign to her. The vessel was made of a material other than wood, with a large shiny object attached to it which the young woman appeared to be using to steer. And the woman! She wore the shortest pants Merry had ever seen. Her legs were visible all the way to her thighs, her breasts barely covered by a small strip of bright blue fabric.

Hi, the woman said when she was close enough to reach land. How’d you get here?

Stunned by the appearance of this strange person, all Merry could manage was to point up. The woman followed her pointing finger then scrutinized Merry with raised eyebrows.

Did you climb down? In that dress?

I jumped, Merry replied.

You jumped, the woman repeated.

Merry nodded.

OK. The woman drew the odd word out. They stared at one another for several awkward moments. Then the woman said, Looks like you could use a ride. I can take you back.

No, I… Merry couldn’t return to Salem Town. It would mean her death, of that she was sure. Already six people had been hanged for the crime of witchcraft, and they were as innocent as she was. Nay, they were more innocent. Merry backed up, stumbling over the rocks.

You can’t stay here. The tide will be in within the hour, and it can get pretty rough out there. The woman gestured toward the open sea behind her. She patted the unoccupied seat in the boat. Come on, climb in before my boat gets chewed up by these rocks.

Merry hesitated. This woman was strange. Nothing about her was right. Not her short, spiky hair, not her clothing, not the boat she sat in. Not even the words she used or the way she said them.

Again, the woman patted the empty seat. An aggressive wave lifted the boat for a moment before slapping it back to the water’s surface, sending spray everywhere. Time’s running out, she said. C’mon, I can’t leave you here.

Indeed, she was right. Only a few feet of sand separated Merry from the ocean. Before too long, there’d be nothing left for her to stand on. Merry took a step toward the boat. She had no desire to wait until the sea claimed her. She would have to face whatever lay ahead. With her foot, the woman pushed aside a basket filled with bags made of a clear material that held freshly picked plants, making room for Merry as she climbed into the vessel.

I’m Liz.

Merry settled onto the opposite seat. I am Meredith. Merry.

Hold on, Merry.

With a lurch and a vibrating rumble, the boat thrust forward. Merry screamed and clutched the sides of the boat.

Hey relax, Liz said. I’ll slow it down.

Despite Liz slowing the boat, it still moved faster than any sea-faring vessel Merry had ever seen in Salem Harbor. The land melted into a stream of color, and Merry struggled against the dizziness and sickness that threatened. Each wave they charged over made it more difficult. After what seemed an eternity, the boat slowed and with it, Merry’s queasiness.

She turned her head to the land and felt ill anew. Buildings stood where there had been none, taller and more numerous than she remembered. Sunlight glinted off fast moving land vessels. Ahead in the harbor, dozens of compact, sleek boats bobbed upon the waves instead of large, weathered fishing boats. Everything looked foreign and wrong.

What is this place? she whispered.

This is Salem, Liz said.

Impossible, Merry thought as she took in the unfamiliar landscape. Salem Village? she asked, her gaze never leaving the approaching shoreline.

Just Salem. They dropped the ‘Village’ part long ago.

Long ago. How long ago?

Liz shrugged. I don’t know. A few hundred years, I guess.

The world tilted as shock and dizziness overtook Merry, and she fell forward onto Liz in a dead faint.

Shadows danced against Merry’s closed eyelids. She’d somehow fallen asleep in the meadow while waiting for William. The corners of her mouth eased into a small smile. None of it had happened, not the hunt nor the leap off the cliff. None of it. When she opened her eyes, she would wake to William’s beloved face.

Hey, hello, wake up.

Someone shook her shoulder.

Come on, please wake up.

The light beckoned. Merry’s eyelids fluttered open.

Good, Liz said, relief in her voice. You scared me half to death.

Merry fought the urge to scream.

Can you sit up? Liz gently shifted Merry’s weight off her into a sitting position. How do you feel?

Merry vomited over the side of the boat.

Not good, I guess.

Merry scooped some cool ocean water into her hands and splashed her face.

Here. Liz thrust a clear bottle filled with equally clear liquid into her hands.

What is this?

Water.

Merry frowned. Is it poisoned?

Poisoned? Why would I give you poisoned water?

Much of the water is dirty and unsafe where I live.

Seriously? What do you drink if you don’t drink water?

Ale, of course. Mostly. Cider. Sometimes wine, but only rarely.

Liz’s eyebrows rose. It was obvious that she thought Merry odd. They felt the same about one another then, thought Merry.

Well, she said, I forgot to bring ale, wine or tea, so I’m afraid it’s the water. And, trust me, it’s not poisoned.

Still, Merry hesitated. Even if Liz spoke the truth, the bottle was forged from a material foreign to her. She studied it a moment longer.

Go ahead, Liz said. Drink up.

Merry thrust the bottle back toward Liz. How do ye open it?

With a flick of her thumb, Liz flipped the blue top up. Merry brought the bottle toward her face and sniffed the contents. She took a sip.

Well?

Tis good. I feel better, now. Thank you.

Liz nodded and steered toward some pilings, tossed a rope around one and pulled the boat snug to the dock. With Liz’s help, Merry climbed onto the unfamiliar shore.

No wonder you fainted. You must be hot in that costume.

And ye must be cold as death in yours, Merry said, indignant.

Liz held her hands up. Not judging.

She reached into the boat, lifting the basket of water plants as Merry looked toward the odd land called Salem. Her stomach hurt.

Are you lost? asked Liz.

Merry tore her gaze from the view. It occurred to her then that Liz didn’t mean her harm. She didn’t know Merry had been the quarry in a witch-hunt. She wasn’t holding her captive. She wanted to help. I am a bit disoriented.

I hate to leave you on your own. How about I make sure you get to where you’re going safe and sound?

Merry smiled. That is kind of you.

Liz’s face reddened. Yeah, well… I just need to secure my boat, and then we’ll go.

Merry watched Liz as she tied the thick rope around the piling. The manner of clothing she wore just covered her buttocks. To her astonishment, many of the women walking about the dock wore similarly scant clothing. What happened to her Salem? Was it still her Salem? Liz had said the name, Salem Village, was lost hundreds of years ago. But Merry had walked through its center mere hours ago. Certainly, by the appearance of her surroundings, Merry could believe hundreds of years had passed.

Ready? Liz piped up behind her, startling Merry from her reverie. Are you sure you’re OK?

Merry offered a faint smile. She liked this person, despite her oddities. I am most fine, thank you. We shall walk?

We shall, Liz replied, shaking her head. She pulled a thin garment over her head, covering her upper torso, then led Merry toward some shops. More people in strange dress went in and out of them. Children scampered about. Babies and toddlers were pushed along in chair-like carriages.

G’wife Penney would love one of those, Merry said, pointing at one of the strange contraptions.

A stroller?

Aye. Her wee one is most heavy. She fairly topples over if she carries him for too long.

Merry noticed the confusion on Liz’s face and thought better of commenting on such things. They walked in silence for some time, Merry’s attention drawn to a continuous parade of unfamiliar sights. She couldn’t be dreaming, for she could never imagine such a world. One man rode by on what appeared to be a noisy bicycle, yet he didn’t pedal. Shiny, fast vehicles passed by, and finally Merry had to ask Liz what they were.

The cars? You don’t know what a car is? Where are you from?

Salem Village is my home.

Liz didn’t speak for a moment.

Maybe we should stop at the hospital first. Do you remember hitting your head when you jumped or fell or whatever?

My head is fine, Merry said, unsure what a hospital might be. Take me back and all will be well again.

Fine.

They continued walking. Merry saw no horses. No carriages. No dirt roads. Rather, cars moved upon hard, rock-like surfaces. At times, the cars would stop moving altogether, allowing walkers to cross the road. After a few crossings, Merry surmised the vehicles were responding to colored lights suspended on wires above the roads. Red appeared to make them stop, green made them go. Yellow apparently made them move faster.

The clop of horse’s hooves and the creak of wooden wagon wheels were replaced with the constant hum and whoosh of cars. The buildings rising around her were mostly brick and much taller than the wooden structures that had lined the street she’d walked down this morning. She wondered if it was even this morning anymore. They continued past brightly lit shops, oddly dressed people, and buildings with plaques bearing dates of origin circa 1785, 1800. Merry’s fears were confirmed. Somehow she’d leapt into the future.

Liz said she needed to stop to visit her cousin and led Merry down a wide cobblestone walkway. They stopped outside a small shop, its windows filled with black cooking cauldrons and odd pointy hats. Round glass balls of varying sizes reflected the bright pinks, reds and oranges of the silky fabrics they were strewn upon. Though festive and alluring, the shop’s window left Merry with an unsettled stomach and the thought that something was not quite right. The sign that hung above the entryway boasted a witch astride a broom, validating her wariness. She looked at the surrounding shops, many adorned in much the same manner.

I’ll only be a minute, Liz said. Horror tangled with the fear welling inside Merry’s gut as Liz disappeared inside. She peered through the window as Liz deposited the basket of floating plants on the glass counter and spoke with the young blond woman standing behind it. The woman, presumably Liz’s cousin, regarded Merry.

Was everyone a witch now? Perhaps she should run. The thought inspired more fear than the window displays did. If she went back to the cliff and jumped again, she might return to her time. More likely, she’d meet the death she’d averted.

An incongruous ruckus of angry voices and laughter, sounded behind her and Merry turned to see a procession of people headed her way. Her heart leapt.

A young man, no older than herself, held the arm of a woman struggling to get free. Merry’s mind couldn’t make sense of it. Had others traversed time as she had? These people were dressed in the same manner as she, though the woman’s bright red waistcoat was uncommon. Only one woman she knew would wear such a thing. Bridget Bishop. And she’d died over a month ago. She’d been the first to hang.

A crowd followed, but they were dressed like Liz. The centuries blurred. Merry stood transfixed as they neared.

A young man dressed in a black vest shouted into the crowd Who will speak for this woman?

A few responded with, She’s a witch! Laughter followed the damning words.

I am no witch, the woman in the red waistcoat protested.

Are you not Bridget Bishop? her captor asked.

The woman repeated her proclamation of innocence. Merry couldn’t fathom why she didn’t also deny being Bridget Bishop. These men clearly had the wrong person.

The young instigator addressed another older man, dressed in a dark brown doublet and breeches. Sir, is this your wife?

The man didn’t hesitate to answer. I know not this woman.

Bridget screamed as the words fell unto the crowd. The audience grew hungry, chanting witch, witch, witch. Merry could tolerate no more. She pushed her way into the midst of the throng until she stood guard in front of the woman, her arms outstretched as though she could stop the inevitable.

Stop, she shouted. This woman is no more a witch than you or I!

For a moment, confused silence flourished. Then the crowd came back to life.

She’s a witch too! shouted a man in the back. Again the laughter, and then witch, witch, witch.

We should take her as well! said the young man in the black vest, only fueling the crowd’s lust for action. Merry backed up as the crowd tightened around her.

Nay, said another man. Let us get to the courthouse for the trial at hand.

For a moment, Merry thought the dark-vested man would ignore his cohort’s wisdom and take her anyway. But he dismissed her in his eagerness to proceed with the business at hand.

Aye! To the courthouse! Come, Bridget Bishop, and let ye be judged. He led the woman away. As they passed, he leaned toward Merry and winked. Good job.

Merry recoiled, stepping back as the fusion of past and present paraded by. A few individuals aimed small shiny objects at Merry as they passed.

Liz’s voice came from behind her. You’re a celebrity.

Excuse me?

People are taking pictures of you. Probably think you’re part of the show.

Show?

Trial of Bridget Bishop. Happens everyday. Tourists eat it up. Liz watched as the crowd disappeared around the corner. I will say it is one of the better attractions.

Merry was speechless. Attraction? Show? Such a despicable act was entertainment to these people? And do they applaud as she hangs?

Much to her surprise, Liz smiled. That’s funny.

Merry thought it was the least funny thing she’d ever said.

Liz walked away in the opposite direction Bridget had gone. C’mon, let’s go.

Merry watched her for a moment, once again debating whether to go her own way, whatever that may be.

Every day. Bridget couldn’t die every day, especially since she was already dead. Merry knew that woman wasn’t Bridget, who’d been much older when she’d hanged. Liz had called it a show of some sort. Perhaps no one was hurt in the end. She ran a few feet to catch up with Liz and, as they walked, asked her if her understanding was correct. Liz assured her it was. She felt better for it, though she still didn’t understand how anyone could watch such a spectacle and call it entertainment.

Liz stopped in front of a large, foreboding structure guarded by a black iron fence. Windows, filled with an infernal red light, arched across its facade. People stood about waiting to get inside. A sign proclaimed the building to be The Witch Museum, the date 1692 etched below the words.

Merry’s hands grew cold and sweaty.

What is this place you take me to? she whispered.

Isn’t this where you belong?

Merry trembled.

Liz reached out to her. Hey, hey, take it easy now. Merry jerked away, and Liz dropped her hand. Without warning, the heavy wooden doors opened up, and the crowd began to enter. Another set of doors to the right of the main entrance opened to let a stream of people out. Women dressed in a fashion similar to Merry’s emerged. She scanned their faces, recognizing none of them.

One of the women noticed Merry and looked hard at her. Merry knew she was as unfamiliar to these women as they were to her. Yet the woman lifted her arm and waved, inviting her to come closer.

I guess your friend noticed you, Liz said.

I know not this woman.

Liz looked at Merry, her eyebrows clenched together in thought. Maybe you should take the rest of the day off. I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but you look ill.

Merry’s legs turned to jelly. Her heart plummeted as the woman who’d waved to her now walked toward them and stopped in front of her. You must be the new girl, the woman said. You’re a bit late, but come on in. There’s a lot of traffic today. She smiled as she attempted to guide Merry into the building.

Merry held her ground. I’ve done nothing. Nothing. Merry couldn’t understand how this stranger could know her. Liz tugged Merry to her side, keeping a protective arm around her shoulders. Several people began to gather.

She’s had a little accident, Liz said. If you don’t mind, I’ll take her home. She needs to rest.

The woman raised skeptical eyebrows as she watched them walk away.

Liz waited until they were out of earshot before speaking. Do you work here? I just assumed…

Nay, Merry replied.

Liz frowned. We’ll go to my cousin’s condo and get my car. Where do you live?

By Beaver Brook on Maple Street. Merry had a sinking feeling that she wouldn’t find her home in this strange land. She also wondered what a condo could be.

Maple Street. Doesn’t sound familiar. Is it in town or further out?

’Tis not in town, said Merry. It had taken her a good half-hour in the carriage from her home to town this morning, and another back. Liz led them across a grass-filled common, through wrought iron gates, across a street and stopped in front of a large, robin’s egg-blue, three-story structure.

Come on. My car’s around back. They walked down a path around the house where Liz paused in front of a red car. Merry jumped as the car emitted a chirping sound. Liz held the door open for her. Get in. Go ahead, it’s OK.

Merry eased herself into the vehicle. It had an unfamiliar but pleasant odor. Liz walked around the vehicle and sat in the seat next to her.

Merry inhaled. It smells pleasant in here.

Liz smiled. Everybody loves new car smell. She inserted the key into the column attached to the wheel and turned it. A harsh noise blared inside the vehicle, so loud that Merry’s heart pounded along with it. She gripped the edges of the seat.

Liz punched a button with a quick finger, silencing the noise.

Sorry, she said. I like my music kind of loud.

That’s music?

Liz grinned. Not a fan of rock, huh?

Merry didn’t answer, suspecting Liz wasn’t referring to the rocks on the ground. She imitated Liz, pulling a strap across her body and securing it in a receptacle on the opposite side of the seat. Liz smiled at her. Merry returned the smile, proud she’d done something to make her think she might not be mad after all.

The vehicle moved backwards at first then forward. Liz tapped a few buttons and cool air permeated the car. Merry refrained from remarking on her first car ride, which was a hard thing to do.

Do you get car sick? Liz asked.

Merry recalled her reaction to the earlier boat ride and hoped the answer was no. I don’t believe so.

At the first stoplight, Liz tapped on a small square of glass set into a panel that spanned the front of the car. Liz called it GPS. Pictures and letters appeared on the device, and Liz asked for Merry’s address.

Chalmers Farms, Maple Street, Salem Village.

No house number?

I’m afraid not, Merry answered.

After a few seconds of pressing the screen, Liz leaned back and sighed in frustration.

Is something wrong? Merry asked.

I’m getting a Maple Street in Salem, but there are no farms in the area. Too congested.

Mayhap you need to indicate Salem Village, rather than only Salem.

No, Salem Village doesn’t exist. I… Liz paused, hitting the heel of her hand against the steering wheel. Of course, she said and typed into the GPS device again. This time, she smiled at the results she received.

Maple Street, Danvers. Gotcha!

What is Danvers?

Next town over, a few miles away. Used to be called Salem Village.

Salem Village is called Danvers now?

To her credit, Liz spared her another incredulous look. Yup, you may want to call it that too, going forward.

But Merry didn’t want to go forward. She wanted to go back. The light turned green, and as the landscape blurred past her eyes, Merry worried forward might be all she had left.

4

VISION

Sophie was getting a headache. Sophie felt sick. She tightened her grip on the hand she held. Lots of colors, fire, falling, and a feeling of great loss. A face appeared. She dropped her customer’s hand. Gravity pulled it to the table with a loud thump.

Ouch, said the hand’s owner.

Sophie tried to apologize, but it amounted to a few mumbled words. More images flooded her mind, and they had nothing to do with the woman sitting at her table.

Madame Sophie, are you all right? asked her customer, whose name, for the moment, escaped her. And she, the psychic.

Sophie fought the vision. She hadn’t asked for it, and she didn’t want it now. Or anytime, if anyone asked.

Oh my God, you see something! Something awful!

Yes, she did see something awful, but it needn’t concern this poor soul.I feel like I’m going to be sick. Sorry, but would you mind coming back tomorrow? No charge.

Thankfully, the woman accepted the suggestion, first almost knocking her chair over then nearly running into the wall in her hasty exit. If Sophie hadn’t been so frightened, she might’ve laughed. Instead, she ran to the bathroom and threw up.

She awoke to the cold, hard bathroom tile. For a moment, Sophie welcomed the cool comfort. Then the disturbing realization of where she was and