The following is a chapter from the follow-up to Hunting For Witches — Salem’s Burning
Of all the Council candidates in a rush to prove themselves, Miles was at the very top. He had been waiting so long to reach the position he was destined for—and if there was one thing he hated more than everything, it was waiting.
Waiting. So much time wasted waiting.
Waiting for his life to begin.
After playing a starring role in McAllister’s grisly execution and helping to frame Ada for Mercy’s disappearance, Miles had stayed in Boston. He spent most of his time waiting—waiting in a small apartment for the month of September to arrive so he could begin his life as a Council initiate. This was the first time in longer than he could remember that he wasn’t busy preparing for Ada’s revenge or researching one odd thing or another to be as effective as possible in his magical practice. After years of devotion only to feel like a second banana when McAllister returned from exile, he had nothing but time on his hands and found himself struggling to find things to do with it.
In the dark hours of the night, while he was in bed and staring at the ceiling, he would often think of Ada and the friends he left behind. He thought of Rudy and the fun he had teasing him. He thought about Agatha’s dark sense of humor and the intense adoration of Izzy. He wondered if he'd been foolish not to reciprocate her feelings outside of the single night they were intimate. Looking back, he supposed that it wouldn't have changed the outcome of where she ended up. Most of all, he thought of Ada and the lasting influence she had on him. Like so many people who crossed paths with the witch, Ada had been an object of fascination for him right from the beginning. But knowing that he would always be denied the place in her life that he desired was too much to stomach and made his residual feelings more infuriating.
There was no denying that he missed his relationships with the members of Ada’s coven. To his knowledge, they remained too enamored by the one who brought them all together, which jeopardized any future interactions with them. The lingering affection for McAllister in the hearts of Agatha and Ada was equally infuriating—especially considering how unearned he felt this affection was. No, it was best to burn his bridges and use the light to guide his way. Once he became a high-ranking member of the Council, then he would finally gain the respect and admiration he deserved. It was frustrating that this position remained so out of reach for him, and all he had was time; time to be spent waiting for the new chapter in his life to begin.
One of the challenges of finding ways to pass the time was the discovery of how difficult it was to relate to the things that normals used to entertain themselves. There was a period where he spent a full week streaming various popular TV shows he had missed while he was off gallivanting with his former coven. The experience provided nothing but disappointment; he couldn’t relate to any of this programming at all. All these shows and movies had such a narrow understanding of what was really going on in the world—especially the ones that dealt with magic and the occult, or what was being passed off as such. They all appeared to be more about marketing a dull fantasy than challenging their viewers to see things for how they really were. The only show that struck a chord with him was an Italian crime drama where all the characters were irredeemable scoundrels trapped in a world that provided no other path for them. This felt like the closest representation of how the world he was familiar with really operated than anything else he found, and he watched the series several times when he couldn’t find anything else to satisfy him.
Music was another thing that he had a difficult time getting into, finding most of the popular chart-toppers to be unbearably saccharine and vacant. In the past, he mostly listened to movie soundtracks—music that wouldn’t distract him while he was reading. During his months alone, he found himself feeling desperate to connect to the rest of the world and was startled by just how cold and ambivalent he felt toward the things the slavering masses were getting so excited about. He did have a modest appreciation for some of the more popular rappers out there, and he enjoyed a lot of the music that Ada turned him onto but found he couldn’t listen to this anymore without feeling irritated. What he enjoyed most out of his newest discoveries was music by artists that were on the fringe: young black boys who tended to scream more than they sang or pansexual noise merchants forging earth-shattering textures from pirated DJ software. This was music being made by outsiders—people who couldn’t easily be categorized by how they looked or what race, gender, or identity they were. They were people like him, and it remained highly suspect whether a perennial outsider like himself would ever feel at home in a society of insiders and if he would finally find his place there.
Eventually, after growing bored with what the online universe was offering as entertainment, he abandoned the lonely confines of his apartment and started spending his days at the Boston Athenaeum. He spent his time reading up on magical subjects to help broaden his education while listening to all of his favorite soundtracks on his headphones. The return to regular habits provided a special type of comfort he couldn’t find anywhere else. Weeks later, he was surrounded by shelves of books in another lofty environment after receiving the letter describing where he would be placed as an initiate.
“The Council places you at Chapter Nine Library.” That was what was written on the note that was addressed to him. The instruction was perplexing, as the Council reading room was mostly filled with literary classics and dusty volumes about local history.
“Hello, Miles.”
Miles looked up and was startled to discover an enchanting vision in black standing in the doorway. Facing him was Ada’s mother, looking stunning as usual in her stylish all-black ensemble. At first glance, it would be hard to believe that this was the woman who sent him on a murder spree on orders from the Council leadership. Beautiful, poised to perfection; her eyes didn’t possess the same otherworldly blue-violet hue of her daughter’s, but it was clear which side of the family Ada got her good looks from.
“Ursula…”
He quickly rose to his feet.
“What on earth are you doing here, young man?”
“My card said to report to the Council library.”
“And you thought this was the place? Follow me.”
Miles cautiously trailed Ursula into the front hall and up the stairs to the heavy wooden doors at the top. Smiling with delight, she pushed the doors open, revealing a large, spacious office with a tiled floor and a high ceiling hosting a prominent skylight. The room was extraordinary, but it wasn’t the fancy décor that left him spellbound; two walls were lined with tall bookcases and impressive statue work dotted the scenery. Just like the front hall, a framed Council seal was hanging above the doorway, while at the far end was a large oak desk positioned in front of an elaborate stain glass art piece showing a fearsome red dragon facing off against a cowering knight.
Needless to say, it was the collection of books that excited Miles most of all. His heart skipped a beat when Ursula beamed in his direction and gestured all around them. “This…is the real library,” she exclaimed.
“This is the headmaster’s office,” Miles muttered.
The presence of Emmanuel seemed to suggest this. The mild, button-down professor was standing next to one of the bookcases with a man whose back was turned.
“Yes, that as well,” Emmanuel confirmed. “I suppose you haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Barry Starlite, our continent’s Seventh Scholar.”
Miles’s eyes widened in recognition of the odd fellow when he turned to face him. The smug, middle-aged, balding man had a colorful cravat adorning his neck, his pudgy belly straining against the shiny gold buttons of his tacky blue sports coat. The general public knew Barry Starlite as a famous horror author, but he also held a unique rank in the organization that Miles was now in league with. The rank of those that were tasked with keeping tabs on all the secret knowledge in the shadowy secret society’s possession.
“So,” Barry observed, “This is the young go-getter who retrieved for us the elusive Engelander Diary.”
Miles followed Barry’s gaze across the room to where a badly scorched book had been placed under. He recognized it at once as the infamous “Engelander Diary”—the item that McAllister was so determined to possess.
“Would’ve been nice if you received it before it entered the campfire,” Barry grumbled. “But no matter.”
Miles opened his mouth to assure the man that the book was already damaged when he found it, but Barry interrupted him. “It’s fine. I’ve heard the story. Professor Emmanuel tells me you’re a man of letters. That your first contact with the devil, Ada van Dreyer, was at your local bibliotheca?”
Miles nodded nervously. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“Well then, hot-stepper. To gauge your effectiveness as a future Seventh Scholar, we first must test your knowledge of magic books.” Barry gestured to the bookshelf standing next to him. “On this shelf, you will find two hundred and fifty-two copies of the Book of St. Cyprian. Are you familiar?”
Miles nodded confidently. “I’ve heard of it.”
He wasn’t lying. When it came to heretical magic books, the Book of St. Cyprian was one of the more famous ones in existence. It was a 19th Century Iberian grimoire attributed to a legendary pagan sorcerer that had eventually converted to Christianity. How Barry intended to use this work to test him remained a mystery—a mystery that would inevitably reveal itself as the celebrated author adopted a smarmy, self-important tone.
“The book has hundreds of editions, most of them fraudulent,” Barry explained. “You see, the thing about magic books is the ones that are most effective are those that come from a true master. All but one of these copies are forgeries. Find the original and give me a buzz when you do. Cheerio.”
Once Barry had left, Miles turned to Emmanuel and Ursula with excitement. “Is this really happening? I’m being tested to become a Seventh Scholar?”
Emmanuel cast a knowing glance at Ursula and smiled warmly. “We’ll leave you to it.”
When the door closed, Miles was left all alone to contemplate the task before him. The time he'd been waiting for had arrived: the time for him to prove himself and propel himself forward to the exalted position where he was destined to be stationed.
Fo the rest of the day, he surrendered himself fully to his special assignment until dinnertime and the humiliating group activity overseen by Ursula. After their ridiculous trial-by-lie-detector was through, the others were ready to move on and focus on other matters. But Miles, the dark horse candidate of the group, wasn’t going to wait for the next trial to take place, still striving to prove his worth to his superiors.
Waiting?
No.
He’d had his fill of all that.
Returning upstairs, he went straight to the Council library and planted himself in an armchair. He carefully studied one of the two hundred odd versions of the Book of Saint Cyprian before setting it aside and picking up another.
“Still at it? I’m impressed.”
Miles glanced over and spied Ursula in the doorway, watching her glide across the room to where the charred remains of the Engelander Diary sat on display. He saw her rest her hand upon the glass as she stared at the item with what could have been taken as a state of reverence—or obsession.
“The diary fascinates you as well,” Miles observed. “Barry gave me credit for recovering it, but what good is it now in the sorry condition it’s in?”
Ursula spun around and slowly crossed toward him. “True knowledge can only be passed down from one hand to another,” she replied. “Burnt or not, the book still holds tremendous power.” She sat on the arm of the chair, brushing his hand with her fingers. “And you helped us find it.”
Miles remained motionless as he stared into the eyes that reminded him so much of the girl who had rendered him so broken. Ashton’s affections for Ada had proven temporary, but Miles was fully enamored by the powerful vision standing before him: The mature woman who had given birth to his heart's infatuation. Her earlier behavior had angered him, but perhaps she would prove to be a helpful ally. Perhaps he shared even more in common with her than he did with her devious progeny—a delectable notion he found thrilling, even if he dared not to show it.