Home > Spells Trouble (Sisters of Salem #1)(2)

Spells Trouble (Sisters of Salem #1)(2)
Author: P. C. Cast

Rosemary muddled through the mid of night,

Shall now make thee fumble—make thee lose sight.

 

Grant gasped as she began the spell. His face blanched to milk while he staggered and wiped frantically at his eyes. Blindly, he stumbled back. His gait was awkward—as if he could not quite make himself awaken from a nightmare. He dropped heavily to his knees while he continued to wipe at his face.

Heavy are thy thoughts

Upon waking you shall remember naught.

 

“Satan’s whore!” he slurred, and lurched to his feet.

Undaunted, Sarah continued her spell.

Deep shall be thy sleep

But first thrice I say to thee—drop the key, drop the key, drop the key!

 

“I shall not succumb to you!” Constable Grant reached blindly into his pocket for the iron key ring as he stumbled backward, toward the door. “Witch! You shall never get—” His words broke off as his feet tripped over the Bible he’d dropped. He fell, arms windmilling. Grant’s head hit the corner of his desk and he collapsed unmoving to the floor. The constable’s hand opened and with a musical jingle the keys dropped against the stone.

“Hurry, Odysseus!” Sarah spoke to the feline, who bounded off Dorothy’s lap, drew in another deep breath, and squeezed back through the narrow bars. He padded to the ring of keys and picked them up with his mouth, carrying them to the jail cell.

It took only moments for Sarah to open the door. She and Dorothy rushed out and Sarah locked the door again before returning the keys to the constable’s deep pocket.

Odysseus growled softly.

Sarah nodded. “Yes, yes, I know. But he will awake with no memory of what happened and an empty jail cell. He shall spread the story of how the Goode witch and her spawn magically flew through iron bars and disappeared into the night—likely on the back of Satan’s steed—which would be you, my Odysseus.”

The huge cat purred as he wound around her legs.

“His tall tale will do more to make the townsfolk pause before tracking me than if I tied him and locked him away.”

Odysseus chirped contentedly as Sarah took Dorothy’s little hand and cracked open the door.

The night was dark and still and filled with the scent of rosemary. Sarah waited impatiently for the next ghastly creeeeak—snap! Thunk! of the gallows. Predictably, the men’s laughter and applause followed, covering any sound she, her child, and their faithful familiar might make as they darted from the jail. They hugged the side of the courthouse, then dashed from shadow to shadow, making their way from the center of town.

“Mamma! Mamma!” Dorothy whispered urgently and tugged on her mother’s hand.

Barely pausing, Sarah bent and picked up her daughter. “What is it, little love?”

“You are going the wrong way.”

Sarah jogged across another dark dirt road and past two clapboard houses before she answered. “We are going to a new home—one that is far, far away.”

“Is Father not coming with us?”

Sarah’s jaw set. She caressed her daughter’s matted curls and reined in her anger. “No, love. Your father did not keep us safe. So forevermore that will be my job.”

Beside them Odysseus chirruped up at Sarah. She smiled and corrected, “My job and Odysseus’s.”

Dorothy’s expression was somber and she suddenly appeared much older than her four years. “We shall keep each other safe.”

“Indeed we will, little love. Indeed we will.”

The predawn gloaming had begun to turn the sky the gray of a dove’s breast when the three fugitives finally made their way to the apple grove that divided the west side of Salem from the farmlands and forests beyond. Sarah slowed, then, and allowed Dorothy to walk beside her while Odysseus trotted with them, weaving between the fruit-laden trees as she made her way to the oldest of the apple trees.

At the heart of the grove Sarah approached the ancient tree respectfully. She placed her hand against the rough bark and whispered, “Merry meet, old friend. I give thanks for you to our great goddess, Gaia.” Sarah smiled up as the leaves above her quivered in response, though the lazy night breeze had completely died. She walked to the north side of the tree, where two massive roots had broken through the surface to form the V of a divining rod. There she dropped to her knees and, using a sharp stone, began to dig.

It didn’t take long for her fingers to touch the wooden box. Sarah didn’t bother to pull it free. Instead she cleared the dirt from it, opened the lid, and pulled out the cloth satchel she had buried the day before they’d come for her. It held her treasures—the means to a new future: travel cloaks for herself and Dorothy as well as a change of clothes, a leather purse filled with every coin she had saved, and her grimoire disguised as a prayer book. Beneath the book was a piece of cloth, carefully dyed the deep green of moss and of her daughter’s eyes. Within it was wrapped a tin of salt and a precious walnut-sized opal that glimmered lazily in the wan predawn light.

“Sit here at the base, little love,” Sarah told her daughter as she poured a circle of salt around the ancient tree. Then, with Dorothy by her feet and Odysseus beside her, Sarah drew three deep breaths and held the opal to the center of her forehead as she invoked.

By stone and salt I call to thee,

Guide mine steps from this fair tree.

Gaia, goddess good and kind and just—

In you I have always placed my trust.

Now I beseech, show me thy way

I am yours to command—yesterday, tomorrow, today.

Lead me to a place of power

Where never again will your daughters fear and cower!

 

With the last word of her spell Sarah closed her eyes and imagined that she peered out through her own forehead, into the flaming opal, and past it—to the magic it revealed.

“Oh, goddess be blessed! Thank you, Gaia! Thank you!” The words rushed from Sarah as green light lifted from the floor of the grove. Under her feet a ribbon of emerald pointed westward. As Gaia’s power channeled through the opal to enhance her sight, the path blazed and pulsed with energy, building in intensity in the distance. She felt its pull as if she had been tethered to it.

Sarah opened her eyes then and bowed her head reverently. “I shall follow your path—now and always. Blessed be, Earth Mother.” She kissed the center of the opal and then turned to the ancient oak. On tiptoes Sarah reached up to press the stone into a niche in the bark. “Thank you, Mother Apple. I shall always remember how you stood sentry over my future.” Again, the leaves above her shivered in response.

Only then did she gather their supplies, rebury the now empty box, and—with her daughter’s hand in hers and the feline familiar at their side—Sarah Goode broke the salt circle and headed west, following the ley line of power that thrummed like a heartbeat beneath her feet.

 

 

Present Day


GOODEVILLE, ILLINOIS—SALEM COUNTY

 

 

One


Goode Lake was postcard perfect with its tree-lined banks and sandy shores that gradually sloped into the crystal blue water. The lake always looked good, but somehow today it looked better. Maybe it was because today was Hunter Goode’s sixteenth birthday. Or maybe it was because Hunter was looking for a reason to procrastinate. Either way, she had charged down to the edge of the water, towel in hand, shimmied out of her T-shirt and shorts, and now waded into the calm blue.

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