Chapter 12

The place we were transported to was not one we were expecting. In truth, I had no expectations, considering the spell had been written by someone possibly conspiring with the enemy. But we found ourselves on a street lined with curiosity shoppes. That’s the only way I could describe the oddities dangling in the store window beside us.

Abby was still doubled over clutching her waist. Travelling in this method wasn’t easy for first timers. “Guess I should have warned you. Porthole spells have a wicked kickback.” I shrugged.

It took a few moments more for her to snap out of her nausea enough to straighten her carefully placed animosity and return to throwing eye-daggers at me.

I panned around, scoping out the buildings surrounding us. Salem Witch Museum. Salem Witches’ Brewery. Salem Souvenir Shoppe.

So, we’re in Salem I take it. That was our target? Seemed rather on the nose.

“Well, our kind isn’t exactly easy to find. It’s not like you can just stand up and shout to the world, 'I’m a witch.' There’s never been a time in our history where anything good ever came from that.” She pointed to a road named Blackbird Lane. “There’s a place I read about located there. My mom’s mentioned it, too.” She glanced at me in earnest. “We should start there. Get a reading... divination or something. They might be able to help us find Peterson. I mean, that has to be why we landed here, right?” She set off across the street.

I rolled my eyes. Twice. Because once just didn’t seem enough for this foray into the ridiculous. The only thing we were going to find in this place was a plastic cauldron and a “Kiss me I’m a witch” t-shirt. “Wait up.” I jogged after her.

“Salem has a rich history of witchcraft,” she countered my silent argument. “If anyone can help, or at least understand why we need help, it’s someone here.”

“Yes. Of course. It's either that, or they'll sell us a fake crystal ball and glowing bat pen on our way out the door.”

“Don't mock.” She leaned forward to peer at the store names. “Anyway, we're here. Too late to turn back.”

We stopped curbside to a row of shoppes with witch-themed items. Everything from kettles to clothing lining the windows had something witchy.

The heat here was stifling, almost as oppressive as the mockery they'd made of my entire being. I pulled my hair up into a messy bun on top of my head and crossed onto the cobbled walkway. My heel immediately got trapped in a crevice and I had to yank my foot out to get it free.

“Why didn’t they consider high heels when they created these streets?”

“Why don't you wear sensible shoes? Come on. This is the place.”

My heels clicked slowly against the uneven bricks as I followed.

“This one.” She pointed at a shoppe with a withered broom dangling over the doorway that read ‘Under My Spell.’

"They really do love their broomsticks,” I muttered, resisting the urge to roll my eyes a third time. “Truly, who invented these silly stereotypes?”

Abby ignored my opposition and entered brusquely. The sweeping cathedral-like building looked ominous or would have had it not been flanked by stores with flashing witch hats and toad nightlights. No magical being of any worth or substance or self-respect would ever spend time in such a place. Plastic skulls with removable jaws lined the counter, green-faced witches swung from dusty brooms, and jars of fake candy insects were strategically placed within a child's reach.

Oh yes, this had the makings of a colossal waste of time. I was ready to head back to the street, but Abby had already engaged the shopkeeper in conversation. What could she possibly hope to find here? Other than a bottle of—I reached for a glass bottle filled with a green substance—“Zombie Blood?” I set it back down with a sigh.

“Venus, come on.”

She actually had the nerve to be frustrated with me right now? I waltzed to the counter and fixed the woman standing behind it with a withering glare.

I swept my arm around. “Is any of this supposed to pass for genuine, because I have to tell you—"

Abby's elbow to my ribs cut short my rant. “Be nice,” she muttered beneath her breath.

The crinkly woman eyed us both with a healthy mix of surprise and fear.

I smiled. “You wouldn’t happen to be Peterson, would you? No? Didn’t think so. Cause that would’ve been far too easy.”

Abby pushed past me. “Hi. We’re just passing through and thought we’d check out your store,” she said, all smiles and dimples and sugary sweetness.

I picked up a card and read the address. “Under My Spell, potions and casting by Luna Blue. Salem, Massachusetts. Hm. I assume you’re Luna?” She barely nodded her head in reply.

I suppose this was an interesting destination. Any place with such a gaudy history of murder and mayhem was interesting. The very ground we stood on reeked of death. It seeped from its invisible pores. Witches, murdered for being who they were. Women murdered for being human. Power stripped away from women out of nothing more than fear. At least in my world we had genuine reasons for killing someone. Revenge, hunger, boredom…

“You girls are a long way from home, now aren’t you?” The older woman stared with narrow, beady eyes fixed on my every move.

I frowned a little. “Nothing like a girls road trip to Salem.” I flashed a quick grin.

Abby brushed past me. “We’re looking for someone,” she explained. “Someone who we hoped you might be able to help us find.”

The greying woman narrowed her eyes. “Someone named Peterson, I take it,” she said. Her voice was soft, doll-like. But her eyes, they revealed the soul of something else entirely.

Abby took a step back. “Um, yeah. That’s right. How did you... I mean, do you know him? Or where we can find him?”

The woman circled from behind her counter and wandered to a side table laced with novelties worthy of any tacky tourist shop. Her eyes landed on me again, and although she spoke to Abby, her gaze never wavered.

“I’ve no idea where this Peterson could be, but he certainly isn’t here,” she finally said.

I turned to Abby. “Satisfied? Can we go home now? If we leave right this moment, I might make it back in time for dinner.”

“Stop thinking about yourself for five seconds, will you?” She hurried to the table and sat down in front of the woman. “You practice magic, don’t you? Dabble in the art of witchcraft? Paganism? Wicca? Well this man, Peterson, he’s a threat to all of that. Is there any way you can help us?”

Her eyes shifted to me. “I can. We will need sage. Do you have sage?"

Abby looked bewildered as she shook her head. I tried my best not to laugh.

“You can purchase a bundle back there.” She pointed to an opening behind her.

“Oh, so the freak shoppe has an annex. Wonderful.”

“Will sage help us find Peterson?”

The woman shook her head. “Sadly, though. I’m a seer, not a witch,” she said. “I cannot help you. But I may be able to help her.”

A pointing boney finger made me its target. Loonie Blue thinks she can help me now? It nearly made me laugh out loud.

“Help her how, exactly?” I tilted my head, genuinely curious.

She shuffled a deck of tarot cards on her table, then peered up at me. “See the truth.”

I cocked a brow. “Truth. Right. Of course. Abagail,” I called out to her, “if this Peterson guy is hiding out in Salem, my guess is that he’s not wasting time in its gaudiest gifts shops.” I glanced at the woman. “No offense.”

“No offense taken, miss. We don’t object to dark words in these parts. Only dark deeds. Those who appease their inner chaos by creating outer chaos. That’s something we take great offense with.” She tapped the deck of tarot cards and fanned them across her table and flipped over six cards.

“See here.” She tapped on one. “There are spirits, six of them. Deadly. Exacting their cruelty without malice. Fire and ice, air and water, earth and wood. Whether they burn, freeze, choke, drown, bury, or stake you, their will shall be your fate.”

Amateurs. I rolled my eyes, then pulled a card and flipped it over to reveal a tree. “How nice. Death by greenery.”

Her dark eyes crinkled in a scowl. “You mustn’t mock. The trees have memory, and their memories are unforgiving."

I puffed out an exasperated sigh. “The forest fire? Is that what this is about?” I threw up my arms. “Well, you can tell the trees I’m sorry. It was a different version of me that set their relatives ablaze.”

The woman flipped another set of cards, but I’d grown disinterested in what they had to say.

“Tarot cards.” I scoffed under my breath with a knowing nod. The mark of a true phony. No witch worth her wand would rely on pedantic parlor tricks. Why would the gateway in Lorelei’s grandmother’s spell book have led us here of all places? Abigail was so certain it would lead to Peterson, but clearly this woman would be no help in finding him. It made no sense. The whole thing was a waste of my time, and time was something I had very little of to waste.

“If you’re going for realism—” I leaned across the counter toward her, “—you should try runes.”

She glanced up at me with a contemptuous smile. “Runes?” She repeated the word. “Runes... runes...”

“Yes,” I snapped. “Runes. Casting stones. Seeing rocks... runes. You can’t do any real divination without them. And I’m betting your fake divinations would be more impressive, too. Honestly. Tourists would eat that stuff up.” I winked at her.

“Isobel,” Abby warned, her hands full of sage, “don’t be rude. There’s tons of stuff back here.” She smiled, still trying to make nice so the woman would do the impossible and help her. “I’ll look for some runes, and maybe we’ll get a reading,” she added brightly. As she reentered the side room, she pointed to a hand-written sign that read, Get a Divination Reading and receive a free astrological forecast and synthetic gemstone for $80.00 each.

Another eye roll. Because, how could I not?

The woman peered at me with an interest that was most unsettling. Either she was sizing me up or seeing right through me. Hopefully it was the first, because the last thing I needed was for anyone to recognize who I really was. The woman’s a fraud. And she’s not from Drearyton. What difference does it make if she sees through my glamour? I was being paranoid, but I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling I got when she looked at me. Which was frequently.

“Look, if you haven't any, just say so,” I snapped when her piercing gaze became too much. “Abigail, I’m ready to leave now.” I strode purposefully toward the door, not really caring whether or not if Abby followed, when the old woman called me back.

“Wait.”

My hand hovered over the door handle and an unnerving thought stormed to my mind in that moment. She knows something. Something damaging. I should leave. Run. I pulled in a calming breath. I lowered my hand and turned to face her. “All right. I'm waiting.”

Her beady little eyes narrowed as she studied me. “You might find this of more use than your seeing stones,” she said and held up a small bottle.

I squinted into the haze at the vial filled with glowing powder.

“Okay, what is that?” I took a small step back toward her.

Abby returned from the side room and paused.

“I am surprised you don’t recognize it,” the woman continued. “Desiccated sassafras leaves, to help see the truth more clearly?”

She opened the bottle and shook a little onto her palm. The tiny crystals lit the room with a pale pink glow.

I backed up another step. “I don’t need to see the truth,” I said.

Abby was shaking her head, her mouth gaping open, but not a word fell out.

The old woman smiled, and that was when I knew coming here was a very big mistake.

“No, you don’t, but everyone else does.”

With a breath, she blew a gust of powder at me. I tried to run, but it overtook me with the speed of a summer breeze.

I coughed and sputtered, choking on the dust until it filled my lungs. A moment later, the glow faded and the dust glittering around me disappeared.

Glaring, I lunged at her. “What did you do to me, old woman? And I suggest you tell me the truth.”

She grinned her eerie grin and held up a chipped mirror. “Look... and see for yourself.”

Abby seemed to find her voice, because she stared at me wide-eyed, and gasped. “Oh, this is so not good.”

I blinked once, then glared at my own reflection. At the violent-green eyes staring back at me, framed by the blood-red hair draping my shoulders. Gone were the pretty blond locks and baby blues. All traces of my glamour disguise had melted away. No, this is definitely not good. Not good at all.

I tossed the mirror against the wall and turned back to the woman. “You crazy, senile, old—“ It took me a moment to realize I was talking to an empty space.

“Save the profanities. She’s gone,” Abby said, picking up the runes and sage she’d purchased. “Here. If you take these and leave now, maybe no one here will kill you before you make it back to your world. Maybe.”

I frowned, staring at a fragment of mirror at my feet, at the vision of my true self, mocking me. “I can’t just leave,” I said. I could, of course, and I would have no other choice soon enough. But Vivienne and I had made a connection. A fragile one, and I couldn’t leave without seeing that through.

“Well, then you’re taking your life in your own hands. There are a lot of people who know what you did, Venus. It would probably be a lot less messy for everyone if you just disappeared.”

She was right. I had made it this far without raising suspicions or causing any scenes. Well, not including this one. But I’ve never run from trouble.

Deciding it was best not to push it, since we had no way of knowing how long the porthole would remain open, we left. Apparating in the middle of Vivienne’s kitchen looking like my true self—the person who torched her family business, killed her longtime friend, and tried to kill her—wasn’t going to earn me daughter of the year award. We decided it was best to aim for the forest behind the school. But teleportation magic was tricky for even a skilled witch, something Abby was not. Destination setting with portholes was all about thought and intent. At least that’s how it was supposed to work. I was in a foul mood. It made no difference to me where we landed. We were no closer to locating the Peterson man Abby so desperately wanted to find.

We travelled back through the porthole to Drearyton Cove in stone cold silence through a cloud of blinding fog.

“Lorelei’s house is that way.” Abby pointed when she retrieved her breath.

I stared into the evergreen forest and the darkness beyond the first row of trees. Home. Or what should have felt like home.

“Well, thank you, Abigail. This hasn’t been a waste of my time at all.”

She rolled her eyes.

“No, truly.” I lifted a shoulder. “You’ve been a—tolerable travel companion.” I said it with a smile.

“And you’ve been, well... less you than last time, so I guess that’s something.” She gave a light shrug.

“Okay. This is getting awkward. Go home, Abigail.”

It wasn’t until after she’d crossed the school parking lot, piled into her little car, and drove away, that I made my way back to the one person I was now terrified to see again.