“Why do you think Emory was trying so hard to split us apart? She knew that we’re stronger as a group and that the only way they could destroy me was to destroy all of us,” I said. “So maybe I am their target… but I have the ultimate weapons.”
Everyone was silent as they let what I said sink in. I could see them start to perk up, and when they turned back to what they were working on, I knew it was with a renewed energy.
“Freaking Emory,” Jasmine muttered. “I can’t believe she duped us all.”
“How could she sit in our witch lessons for years and then just decide to betray us one day?” Sascha asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Sure it does,” Fallon said.
We all looked over at him, surprised that he seemed to be defending her.
“How do you figure?” I asked.
“She’s evil,” he said, matter-of-fact. “You heard her. Emory and her family wanted power at any cost. The Parrishables offered her that and she took it. It’s actually not all that complicated when you think about it.”
“How can going against your own coven be uncomplicated?” Jasmine asked.
“Easy,” I said, getting what Fallon was trying to say. “When you don’t care about the people you’re screwing over, you can do just about anything without remorse.”
“Emory didn’t care about anyone but herself and what she could get by joining the Parrishables,” Fallon said. “We were just obstacles to be worked around.”
“I could kill her,” Jasmine said, her hands balling up into fists. “Speaking of, when are we planning to take these suckers out, anyway?”
That’s what I’d been asking myself since Emory had run off. Because she knew exactly where we were hiding, it was no longer a good hiding place. Which meant we didn’t have a lot of time before they came looking for us.
And I was through with being ambushed. The next time we went up against the Parrishables, we were going to be ready and it would be on our terms.
“Tomorrow,” I said. I was guesstimating how long it would take for Emory to make it back to Samuel and then for them to find the cabin. And though it was sooner than I’d have liked, we would be prepared. “The war starts tomorrow at dusk.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Before I knew it, it was nightfall and the others started to filter in from outside, but the five of us remained in the room, memorizing spell after spell. There wasn’t enough time to practice, and besides, most of the ones we’d deemed useful for our impending battle weren’t exactly the kind of spells we wanted to try on each other. No one was volunteering themselves as guinea pigs, anyway. I’d have tested a few out on Asher, but I wasn’t ready to see him yet—besides, I had much worse things in store for him.
At one point in the evening, one of the younger girls brought up some sandwiches for us to eat. We didn’t bother stopping, just shoved the peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches into our mouths as we worked. There was a sort of rhythm to our flow of learning. One of us took the book, read the spell, wrote it down, and then passed it on. Then we’d commit it to memory during the time that it took for the volume to make its way back around again, when we’d choose yet another spell to master.
By 3 a.m., every one of us was falling asleep sitting up and it was clear that anything we were trying to memorize wasn’t going to stick. And if we were going to be fighting the Parrishables in the next twenty-four hours, we needed some rest. So we slept right there in our spots, giving way to all the wicked dreams our minds could come up with.
By now I knew mine weren’t just products of my imagination. It was a fact I’d started getting used to of late. Tonight, I almost welcomed it, because I felt there was something I was still missing, some piece of information that Bridget or Christian could give me that would pull everything together. I couldn’t imagine that the universe would bring me this far only to let us lose. No, there had to be something that I was missing.
So when my eyes itched with sleep and my lids grew heavy and threatened to drop, I lay down, snuggling into my covers next to Jazzy, and allowed my mind to be opened up to whatever wisdom the past had for me.
Before long, I was no longer in the cabin. I was standing on uneven ground and my feet were warm, as if they were wrapped in a heating blanket. The smell in the air was acrid, a mixture of smoke, ash, and the slightest bit of something foul. Like burning hair. Or flesh. The combination almost made me retch.
Fighting back the bile that threatened to come up, I realized exactly where I was. And then I saw it: I was standing on the site where the Parrishables had massacred the Cleri. My parents. My friends’ parents. All cut down because of an immortal man who was insane with power. A man who saw us as a threat and would stop at nothing to ensure that he stayed in control of the magic world.
As I took a step across the rubble, and then another, ash began to cling to my shoes and coat them like mud. But I couldn’t worry about my clothes right now, because I was brought here for a reason—though I still had no idea what it was.
Why was I here? To pick something up, perhaps? To learn something? No answers came to me, so I continued to walk across the still-burning ground.
I was alone in the makeshift graveyard, with only my thoughts to keep me company. This was a dark place to be. Especially when all I had on my mind was revenge. I wanted the ones who were responsible for this destruction to suffer. Horribly.
“You realize this couldn’t have been avoided.”
The voice came from behind me, in a space that had been deserted only a few seconds ago. The sound both startled and comforted me. I realized quickly that I’d been expecting it all along. I whipped around to find myself staring at someone I knew well. However, up until then, I’d never actually had a conversation with her. I’d only ever been a witness to her life, never an active participant.
Right there in front of me, looking stunning in a bloodred frock, was my long-lost ancestor, the infamous Bridget Bishop. She looked nothing like the woman I’d seen in jail on the day of her death; here she was cleaned up, immaculate even. Her hair fell in gentle waves around her face and shone a vibrant midnight black color. A slight smile played on her lips, giving the impression that she was hiding a secret or had just told a dirty joke. And knowing what I did about her, this very well could’ve been true.
I’d seen her at her worst: dirty, helpless, proud, and fearful, but today she was prettier than I’d ever imagined. I could see now why women worried about their men when Bridget was around. Then I wondered if I had inherited that particular gift, too.
Before I could say anything, she continued. “It was a tragedy, yes, but there was nothing you could have done, my dear girl,” she said, looking straight at me.
I didn’t want to be impolite and keep staring at her without responding, so I cleared my throat and took a step closer. The air around us was hushed but for the crackling of fires that hadn’t yet burned out. It almost seemed like there were little screams among the sounds, and I imagined everyone being caught in the flames.
“But I could have,” I said, almost pleadingly. “If I’d just tried harder, followed my mom when she got that call. Maybe then I could’ve gotten everyone out in time.”
She shook her head sadly. “The interesting thing about time is that it is fleeting. And it was their time to go. As it was mine long ago.”
“That’s not fair,” I said. I knew I sounded like a little kid, but I felt like throwing a tantrum at the injustice of it all. I restrained myself from stomping my foot, but I didn’t have as much control over my quivering lips and teary eyes. This poor woman, who’d suffered through more horror than most of us could imagine, didn’t need to see me have an emotional breakdown. Not with how brave she’d been that day in 1692. I couldn’t cry in front of her. It would be too embarrassing. So I changed the subject. “What about Samuel? He’s like four hundred years old and he’s still walking around like he owns the magic world. I think it’s far past his bedtime, don’t you?”