How to Hang a Witch (12 page)

I
don't get three steps into my foyer before Vivian yells, “How dare you come home this late and not call!”

I haven't had time to process what I saw, and Vivian's yelling only agitates me further.

“You're filthy. Where were you?” She's talking at me, not to me.

“I was with some girls from school.” I don't apologize, not after what she did today.

“Why didn't you answer your phone? I called at least five times.”

Ignoring her never gets a good reaction, but it's not like I can tell her what I was doing. “I didn't want to talk to you.”

She stiffens, and I know I've gone too far. “I'm surprised you have any friends with the way your principal says you behave. But we both know they won't last long.”

“Really? You had to say that? I bet you feel awesome about yourself for finally getting me into counseling. Maybe I can use my time to talk about what a crap parent you are.”

“You just bought yourself a week before you see your father.”

“You can't keep me from seeing my dad!”

“I can and I will until you learn how to behave.”

I head for the staircase.

“You don't want me as your enemy, Samantha. You won't like it.”

I don't bother to turn around.

I open the door to my room, and Elijah's sitting on my window seat. He takes one look at my expression and my clothes and stands. “I will leave you.”

“Why would she say that?” I demand.

He shakes his head. “I cannot say.”

“Why would anyone do that? It's just mean.”

“Yes.”

“Am I really that awful?” My bottom lip trembles.

His brow furrows.

“If I don't have my dad, I don't have anyone. I'm all alone.”

He turns toward my window and doesn't answer. I just need someone to be nice to me right now. I've hit my limit. “Forget it. You can't stand me, either.” I kick off my muddy boots.

He stares out my window. “I was just remembering that I once had a very similar conversation with Abigail.”

His comment surprises me. “Really? About what?”

“It is a long story.”

Does that mean he might tell me? I wouldn't mind hearing about someone else's life right now. “That's okay.”

For a moment he hesitates. Then he turns, his face etched with emotion. “Sit.”

I look down at my legs. “My jeans are muddy. Turn around.” I don't care if he's been dead for three hundred years. He's the closest thing I have to a friend besides Jaxon.

He looks at my legs, and seeing that I'm right, turns to the window again. I slip off my clothes and into my sweats.

I look back up at him and realize my reflection is visible in the windowpane. Was he watching me? I sit cross-legged on my bed. “You can turn around.”

He grips his hands behind his back. “You already know that Abigail loved black-eyed Susans. She thought them the beauty of New England, said we were lucky to have them. She used to pick them during the late summer, and I would find them the rest of the year pressed in books and journals, and even in my accounting paperwork.”

I wrap a blanket around my legs. “That's sweet.”

He nods. “That bed you are sitting on. I had it made for her, along with all the furniture in this room. I rode to Ipswich to have it designed and surprised her with it on her sixteenth birthday. You should have seen her face when she first saw it. She ran her fingers over the flowers and cried.”

“So you're the one that had the secret compartment put in the back of the armoire? And the secret door in the library? You really like hidden things, don't you?” What I want to ask is, What were you hiding? But I know better. He's always just out of reach even without any instigation.

He almost looks amused by my observation. “Those letters you found, they were love letters between Abigail and a boy we grew up with. He was a few years older than her—my classmate and my friend. I always knew there was something between them, but I never let on. I did not want to cause her any embarrassment.”

His respect for his sister makes me feel self-conscious about trying to read her letters.

“One day, she confided in me that she was in love. She asked that I carry a letter to him in secret. I agreed but was nervous for her, knowing his family was pushing for him to marry the governor's daughter. If their love became public, they would have been kept apart. Or Abigail's propriety would be questioned. Pretty soon, I became their direct line of communication.” He looks at the armoire in a nostalgic way. “The hidden compartment was intended to give her a place to keep her private things.”

“Did they wind up together?” William's words in the letter I read sounded apologetic.

“No,” he says.

I wait, but he doesn't continue. “Thank you for sharing that with me. When I found those letters, I knew they were special. Now I know why.”

His face softens. “I have not spoken about her in hundreds of years. It is not entirely comfortable.”

“I get that. Not the hundreds of years part, but I don't share personal things, either. I don't have friends long enough. And when I do, they tend to use the things I say against me. It's just easier not to talk.”

“I hate to think that we have something in common.” He sits next to me, and for the first time, I think he's joking.

“Yeah, that would be terrible.”

The corners of his mouth move ever so slightly in the direction of a smile.

“Are you smiling?” I ask.

“Absolutely not.” His mouth lifts a tad higher.

“Be careful. I might actually think you like me.”

“I will be sure to leave you another book, then.”

“Or another rock,” I reply.

His smile disappears. “I did not throw that rock through your window.”

“Really?” I pause. “Do you know who did?”

He shakes his head. “Did you speak with the Descendants today?”

The events of my night rush back to me. “Yeah, they agreed to help. But…we went to the hanging location and, um…”
How do I say this?
“And we performed a ritual or a spell or something?”

His face turns serious. “You practiced witchcraft?”

I can't help it. I laugh. It sounds crazy. And now that I'm not in those terrifying woods, I'm starting to think I imagined it. “I guess.”

“What happened?”

His tone worries me. I trace the lace pattern on my bedspread with my fingers. I thought if anyone would say witchcraft doesn't exist, it'd be him. “The girls' faces blurred and became other faces. Then everything went black and I saw a guy crushed under a piece of metal.”

He stands. “Whose faces?”

“I honestly don't know. They were older, though.”

“You must return to the hanging location with the Descendants. I will observe this for myself.”

“No way! I'm not doing that again. I almost threw up, I was so scared.”

“Unless you can think of another way to see those faces, we are returning to that hill.” His tone indicates that I'm not going to get anywhere by arguing.

“There's obviously something you're not telling me. What is it?”

“I took it upon myself to read some journals belonging to descendants in the years with more deaths. Most of what I found was useless, mundane musings. But there was one thing that stood out. One hundred years apart, two individuals saw faces like you are describing.”

“And then what?”

His forehead wrinkles. “They died shortly after.”

I
scan the lunchroom tables. Alice, Mary, and Susannah are at their usual place near the window. I so wish I had asked them to go to the hanging spot in homeroom. And if I don't do it now, school will be over, and tomorrow's Wednesday—Remembrance Day. I just need to do this, even if Alice embarrasses me in front of everyone.

As I close in on their table, people's heads turn in my direction. I've never seen anyone approach them during lunch. It's like walking up to the throne without an invitation. I stop at the edge of their round table. This is much worse than in the garden. I'm on display here.

“Take a seat, Samantha,” says Susannah.

I look at Alice. “Stop standing there like an idiot,” she says.

Usually someone calling me an idiot would not inspire feelings of relief. But in this case, it does. I pull out a chair and sit down. “I really don't know how to say this, other than to just say it. We need to go back to the hanging location.”

“That's your big announcement?” Alice exudes confidence. “We know. We'll go after the witches and warlocks party tonight.”

“I wasn't invited to the party.” Why did I say that?

They all pause. Then Susannah says, “Come to the party, and we'll go together after.”

“Okay, but this is on you,” Alice warns Susannah.

I'm not sure if I should say thanks for the invitation or ask Alice what the risk is. Is it because Lizzie hates me? Alice definitely isn't my biggest fan, either. Also, why were they keeping yesterday a secret from Lizzie and John? Whatever. This is about my dad, not about being friends.

Alice breaks the momentary silence. “Are you done? Or did you have any other brilliant ideas?”

“I think other descendants might have seen those blurred faces we saw in the woods. In previous years where a lotta people died, I mean.”

Mary shifts uncomfortably. “You're just full of good news.”

“You think or you know?” asks Alice.

“I know.”

“How could you know that, Samantha?” Susannah asks.

“I can't explain that. But there's something you should know about it. The descendants who saw those blurred faces—”

“I don't know whether to be embarrassed for you or disgusted by you,” says Lizzie's voice behind me.
Oh, crap.
What is she doing in the freshman-sophomore lunch period?

Alice gives me a look that says
It's your own fault, for trying to sit with us.
I stand and face Lizzie, but she looks past me to the Descendants. There are about twenty juniors in the lunchroom, including Jaxon.

“This better be a joke,” Lizzie says to the girls.

“Well if it is, the punch line sucks,” says Alice.

Lizzie looks unsure. I'm confused, too. Was that directed at Lizzie or me? I try to exit the group, but Lizzie grabs my arm and her nails dig into my skin.

“I can break you if I want to,” she says before she lets go, her brown and green eyes issuing a warning.

Jaxon watches me from a table across the room, and I decide to just walk away from her. I really don't wanna cause a scene in the middle of the cafeteria when half the school is watching.

“What was that?” Jaxon asks as I walk toward him. He pulls an impressively large lunch out of a bag.

I take the seat next to him. “Nothing, don't worry about it.”

“Didn't look like nothing.”

“I was just talking to the Descendants, and Lizzie got mad.” I try to act casual about it.

“No one talks to them at lunch. Believe me, I've seen people try. They're just met with blank stares until they feel so self-conscious they walk away.”

“I believe that.”

“You wanna tell me what's going on?” Jaxon offers me a peanut butter, banana, and honey sandwich.

“You sure?” I ask.

“I have two.”

I laugh and take the sandwich. “What're you doing in my lunch period?”

“Teacher was sick and the sub never showed. You weren't handing out pastries again, were you?” He grins. Does he not know they came from his mother's bakery? Maybe Vivian didn't bring it up to Mrs. Meriwether after all. That's a relief.

I smile and bite the delicious sandwich. “Do you know something about a witches and warlocks party tonight?”

“Yup.”

“Is that all you're gonna say?”

“Depends. Is that all
you're
gonna say about the Descendants?”

I shake my head at him, amused. But in reality, I don't know what to say. I don't want to lie, but I can't tell him the truth. If I do, I might compromise the civility I have going with the Descendants and then they won't go back to the hanging location with me. “Susannah left her notebook in homeroom, and I was just returning it.” Weak, but not the worst.

“Kinda looked like you were sitting at their table. Like you were friends with them.”

“Come on. No way.” I
was
sitting there. I
was
being friendly with them. But that doesn't mean we're friends. Right?

He's not convinced, but lets it go. “Costume party. Alice's house. Descendants throw it every year right before Remembrance Day. It's a tradition.”

Costume party? Hosted by Descendants? Not my idea of a good time. But if I don't go, they might not wait for me to go back to the hanging location. “Are you going?”

“I look very good in a warlock costume. Wouldn't seem right to deprive people of that.”

“Yeah, the school might never forgive you.”

Jaxon gives me a choice of pastries from a small box tied with string. I wonder if I can somehow convince Mrs. Meriwether to pack my lunches.

“I'll pick you up at nine, nine-thirty?” asks Jaxon.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Do I have to wear a costume?”

“You won't be let in without it.”

L
ine dancing, costume parties, and public speaking are at the top of my slow-death-through-embarrassment list. My clothes are spread out on every available piece of furniture in my room. I so wish I didn't have to go to this thing.

“Sam! Door!” yells Vivian from downstairs.

I glance at my cell phone. It's 8:17 p.m. Could Jaxon be that early? I scoop up some clothes and shove them back into Abigail's armoire in a messy pile. “Coming!”

I make it down the first couple of stairs before I stop dead in my tracks. Vivian's talking to Susannah in the foyer.

“Hey,” I say, and they look up.

“I didn't know you girls were going to a theme party,” Vivian says in a friendly tone as I make my way down the rest of the stairs.

That's because we haven't spoken a word to each other since last night. I shrug.

“I might have something in my closet for you,” Vivian says. This is a perfect example of our current relationship. Fight, and then ignore the fact that the fight ever happened.

“I'll be fine.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” she says, and clicks down the hall.

Susannah is wearing a flattering black Victorian dress with a full skirt and a high neck. Her hair is fashioned in an elaborate version of her usual bun.

“Whoa. You look awesome.” There's no way I'm going to be able to match that.

“Thanks.” She smiles.

“I was just getting ready. You want to come up?” She obviously came for some specific reason, and I don't want Vivian overhearing whatever that reason is. She already thinks I'm unstable; all I need is for her to hear I'm inadvertently practicing witchcraft.

“Sure. This is a beautiful old house. I always wondered what it looked like inside.”

We walk up the stairs together. “I spent about three days getting lost in it.”

“I can imagine.” She takes note of the dimly lit sconces in the hallway.

“Here we are,” I say, opening the door to my room.

“It's like stepping back in time.” She repeats my exact thoughts when I saw this place.

“So what's up? I know you didn't just happen to be in the neighborhood.”

“No, I didn't.” She looks down at the antique silk purse at her side and pulls out an envelope. “This is a letter from your grandmother to mine. I found it when I was helping my mother go through some old boxes this summer. It talks about the mysterious deaths.”

“So you did know about them?” I was right in the garden. There was definitely something they knew and didn't tell me.

“Sort of. To be honest, I thought your grandmother was, well, unbalanced. It was
my
grandmother's response that worried me. It was shoved into the same envelope. She never sent it.”

“Okay,” I say, unsure.

“Samantha, how did you know other descendants saw blurred faces?”

“Is that what that letter says? The one from your grandmother?”

“Yes. I showed it to Alice, and she agreed that there might be something to it. Then you come into school saying that other descendants saw blurred faces.”

I'm beginning to see why Alice is so suspicious of me. The information I have would seem weird to me, too, if I were in her position.

“My grandmother never sent the letter. So how'd you find out?”

“I can't tell you.”

“I know we haven't given you any reason to trust us, with writing on your locker and the hair pulling and all the rumors—”

“And the rock,” I say.

“Rock?”

“The rock you guys threw through my window that said DIE on it?”

She scrunches her delicate features. “I don't know anything about that. That's horrible.”

Maybe Lizzie and John did it and she didn't know? “Yeah, well. You can see why I'm not exactly jumping at the chance to trust you.”

“I get that. What can I do to change your mind?”

“I don't know. I guess to start you can tell me why Lizzie's been following me around.”

She glances toward my window, which doesn't lessen my suspicions or comfort me one bit. “It's complicated.”

“Does it have anything to do with why you didn't invite her or John that day you met me in the garden?”

She touches the lace around her collar. “Yes.”

I wait, but she doesn't continue. “Susannah, if you won't even tell me why Lizzie's doing all these awful things to me or why you guys are hiding the fact that you're hanging out with me, how am I ever supposed to change my mind about trusting you?” This comes out more forcefully than I intend. But really, I feel like I'm being attacked from all sides here. And if Lizzie has some master plan, I wanna know what it is.

She nods. “You're right. We shouldn't hide it. That's wrong.”

We stand in awkward silence for a few seconds, but she doesn't explain further. “Okay, then I guess we can just go to the hanging location tonight and then go our separate ways.” Saying this out loud hurts. I didn't realize how much I was hoping things might be different.

She grips her thin fingers together. “My little sister has cancer, Samantha. She was in and out of hospitals a lot last year. For a while we thought she was getting better. Just recently, though, they found more malignant cells. Now you understand why I'm so worried about this pattern of deaths. We both have so much to lose.”

The weight of her words takes me by surprise. “I'm so sorry.” That's why Jaxon approached her about my dad. He thought she would be sympathetic.

“I don't expect you to trust me right away, especially with everything that's happened. Just, please, think about it. We can't go our separate ways, because then…”

She doesn't need to finish for me to understand the fear at the end of that sentence. I know it all too well. “Okay. I'll think about it.”

She nods. “I'll let you get ready. I can show myself out.” She walks out my bedroom door, and part of me wants to tell her that everything's going to be okay. But the truth is that I have no idea if it is.

Instinctively, I let my gaze fall on the pictures of my dad, resting on my trunk. “I'm gonna figure this out, Dad. I'm doing everything I can. I'm falling down seven times, and standing up eight.” Which means I now need to go to this party so that I can figure out what those blurred faces were all about. Even if all I want to do is camp out in the hospital.

I check my cell. It's 8:39. I swing open my armoire and examine the mess inside. On top of the pile is a neatly folded black lace dress.
What's this doing here?
I carefully pull it out, and it swishes to the floor. It's the prettiest thing I've ever seen.

“Elijah?” No response. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” I wait, but there's no answer.

I pull off my ripped jeans and shirt. Did he do this because he wants to make sure I go to the hanging location with the girls? Or was he just being nice?

I examine myself in my vanity mirror and feel self-conscious. I slip on a pair of lace-up boots and shove my wallet into one of them. Somehow that detail makes me feel more like myself.

“That's a beautiful dress. I don't remember it,” says Vivian from my doorway.

I turn around, but don't answer.

“Looks like an antique,” she continues.

“Maybe.” I pull out my jacket and put it on my bed, avoiding eye contact.

“You can't wear a leather jacket with that dress. Especially a fake leather jacket. It won't look right.”

I want to yell at her to get out of my room, but I'm afraid she won't let me go out if I do.

“Sam, take my black cape. It'll match perfectly. Consider it a peace offering.”

That's the closest Vivian ever gets to an apology. “Can we go see my dad tomorrow?”

She sighs. “Don't you think I want to see him, too? I was just worried about you last night. We can definitely visit him tomorrow.”

Some of the tension leaves my chest. “Okay,” I say. “Let's see that cape.”

She smiles, and clicks toward her room at the opposite end of the house. I follow as she talks about clothing eras and how the cape's from such and such a time period. She goes straight into her bedroom and then to her closet.

I have no idea what she means by all of it. I'm just relieved that I'll see my dad. I punctuate her fashion talk with a “Great” occasionally. On her dresser, I spot the corner of a medical bill. Note to self: come back when she's not home.

“Here,” she says, and hands me a heavy silk cape. It's actually quite beautiful.

She always dressed me up as a kid, like I was her personal doll. Funny thing is, I used to like it. The attention made me feel special.

Vivian sat down on my bed and placed a shiny black box in front of me.

“What is it?” I asked, sitting up against my pillows.

“The only way to find out is to open it.”

Vivian used the same tone of voice with me as she did with adults. She never treated me any differently because of my age. I liked her for that.

I lifted the lid and pulled aside the tissue paper. Inside was a cream dress with intricate beading patterns. “Whoa. It looks like yours.”

“It's exactly like mine. I had it made. You know why?”

I could not believe that I was holding a replica of my very favorite thing in Vivian's wardrobe. And that was saying a lot, considering the size of her closet. “For my fifth-grade graduation?”

She nodded. “A twenties-style dress will match your short hair perfectly. And when everyone is admiring your bold fashion choices, you can give those girls who chopped your hair off the finger.”

I laughed.

I put on the cape and she inspects me. “Hmmm,” she says to herself, and digs through a jewelry box. She slips a silver necklace over my head. It has a pendant made of silver loops entwined to form a knot. “Much better.”

She straightens the cape on my shoulders, and I suddenly feel the heavy awfulness of the fights we've been having lately. Maybe I've made the wrong decision, keeping what's happening in Salem from her. If Elijah was right, and my dad is in serious danger, doesn't she deserve to know? At least some piece of it?

“V, do you remember when you had that twenties dress made for me?”

She smiles. She always likes it when I call her V. I haven't done it in months. “Back when you had the brains to follow my fashion sense.”

I laugh. “Yeah. I was really scared to go to my graduation that year and face everyone. That dress made it a lot better.”

“It didn't hurt that one of those punks fell on her way up to the stage, either.”

I grin. “Nope. That didn't hurt one bit. Anyway, thanks for all this.”

She tilts her head slightly. “You're welcome.”

The tension in the air is thinner, at least for the moment. I can't help but think how nice it is. “I was just thinking that maybe we could spend a little time together, like we used to. I know I've been weird lately…and difficult. I've just been overwhelmed.”

The grandfather clock chimes downstairs. It's 9:00. Jaxon will be here any minute.

Vivian's expression softens. “You want to talk about it?”

“Yeah, I think maybe I do. I have to leave in a minute, but could we talk tomorrow?”

“Dinner. I'll make it a good one, after we visit your father.”

“Deal,” I say. If we were the hugging types, we probably would right now. Instead, I smile and she nods and I walk quickly down the hallway toward my room.

I examine myself in my vanity mirror. I'm too dressed up to be a witch. Green face paint would help. Wait, I'll make a wart. At least that gives me something witchy. I draw a dot in the middle of my cheek with my eyeliner.
Better.

“Sam, Jaxon's here!” Vivian yells.

I turn my light off and head into the hall. I stop at the top of the stairs and look down at Jaxon. He smiles. I take the steps cautiously, to not step on my dress. Reaching the bottom, I turn to face him.

“What?” I say after a few seconds of silence.

“You're beautiful.”

My cheeks get hot. “Thanks.”

“I like the whole Marilyn Monroe mole thing.”

“What? No, it's a wart,” I say. Jaxon laughs.

We cross the foyer and Jaxon holds the door open for me. He wears a black vest with gold buttons, black pants, and a floor-length black coat. “I have to say, I'm impressed.”

“That I opened the door for you? Or that I was right about looking good as a warlock?” Jaxon walks toward his driveway and offers me his hand. I take it.

I shake my head. “With your costume, stupid.”

He opens the passenger door of a pickup truck and helps me in. “There are a lotta costume parties here. I'd start preparing, if I were you.” He walks around the truck.

“I'm sure I won't have to worry about it. I highly doubt I'm at the top of everyone's invite list. You got your mom to lend you her truck?”

“It's actually mine.” He starts his engine and backs out of the driveway.

Come to think of it, I did wonder why Mrs. Meriwether had two trucks in her driveway. “Why don't you ever drive to school, then?”

He grins. “Because I was doing donuts late at night with my friends and she caught me. I only convinced Mom to let me drive because you're wearing heels.”

“What made you think I was gonna wear heels?”

“Just a good guess.”

“Well, I'm not.”

“Whoops.” His grin widens.

“You're the worst,” I say, smiling.

“You mean I'm the awesomest, because now you don't have to walk in a dress.”

“ ‘Awesomest' isn't a word.”

“It is now.” He reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out a small box. “Oh, and my mom sent this for you.” He places it on my lap.