The following is a chapter from the follow-up to Hunting For Witches — Salem’s Burning
The sun was setting and Lucy and Agatha had been sitting in the coffee shop for most of the day. Across the street was the Bruegel Building, which held the offices to the prestigious law firm that handled all of the Scarlet Council’s legal affairs and the offices for Babble Industries. Lucy's ability to see demons was supposed to be their trump card, allowing her to spot anyone with ties to the Council who were visiting. Unfortunately, the day had been a total loss; other than a couple of sightings of Ashton and Marcus, they hadn't spied anyone with a secret connection to the shadowy organization.
“Seen anyone new yet?” Agatha asked restlessly.
Lucy peered through her camera's viewfinder, focusing on people coming and going. “Nope. No dice.”
It was fortunate that Ashton hadn’t noticed her when he visited the coffee shop that morning. Lucy knew she looked different than the conservative church girl he had a couple of encounters with back in Little Salem. Regardless, she thought it best to hide her face and not call any attention to herself now that he was their enemy.
It was also fortunate that Agatha had been in the restroom when the Council boys stopped by. Lucy noticed that the alluring redheaded enchantress was making a lot of quick trips to the toilets these days, but she wasn’t going to pester her about it. Ashton would have recognized Agatha in a heartbeat with her fiery red hair and flashy red designer dresses that hugged all her curves and drew the eye to her well-endowed assets. She was at least sensible enough to be wearing a black trench coat to look more inconspicuous but was hardly someone who could avoid drawing attention. Not with her stunning looks and unnatural ability to fill a person with lust with only a glance or a word from her juicy red lips.
Agatha was mainly there to keep Lucy company, meticulously filing her nails to pass the time while tapping her leg. She definitely wasn’t as invested in their assignment as Ada would have hoped and wasn’t reluctant to admit this.
“I can’t believe we’re both sitting here when I could be somewhere with my legs in the air,” Agatha moaned. “Hey, Lucy. Who’s your favorite movie monster?”
Lucy scrunched her face up while considering her answer. “Jason? No—Leatherface.”
Agatha smiled with approval. “Can’t go wrong with ol’ Leathers. OK, quick—Kill Bang Marry with movie monsters. Hurry.”
“You’re so gross.”
“Don’t think about it, you prude! Give me your answers!”
“OK, um um—Marry...Black Phillip. The guy though, not the goat. Bang...Dracula maybe? But, like, the cool and sexy one. Kill that bitch from The Ring.”
“Ugh. I know, right? That hair! Pretty decent list, babe. Except for Dracula. Vampires are so two-thousand-and-late.”
Lucy playfully stuck out her tongue. “What about you?” she asked.
“Kill Dracula, marry Hannibal Lector—”
“And bang?”
“Creature from the Black Lagoon.”
“You’re sick.”
“You love it. What? He’s got nice lips. And he’s not a talker. Never cared much for the talkers.”
“Sooo, you’re saying that McAllister wasn’t much of a...”
Lucy instantly clammed up as Agatha’s body went stiff.
“I’m sorry. I won’t mention him.”
“It’s no biggie,” Agatha said, now appearing more restless than ever. “Why would I be bothered if you mentioned him?” Her eyes darted around the coffee shop in agitation. “Oh, for heaven’s sakes. I need to get out of this place before I die of boredom! Let’s wrap this up and grab some mojitos and man-ass already.”
Lucy forced a smile and aimed her camera out the plate glass window. When she placed her eye against the viewfinder, her body suddenly froze like she’d been plunged into ice water.
To the average person, the man her vision had landed on cast a fearsome presence. A black Armani suit accompanied a chilling alligator grin while multiple gold necklaces bounced against his chest. His tall stature, greasy hair, rings on every finger; all these aspects paled in significance to what Lucy alone was seeing: clutching the man’s back was a bloated black demon covered with battle scars, snarling and wheezing at every person it passed.
Agatha noticed that Lucy’s hands were shaking. “Are you OK? What’s up, baby doll? What do you see?”
The words were only white noise as she stared at the man across the way from her. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she fell to the floor in a heap.
“Lucy? Lucy!”
At the Star 69 loft, Agatha was pacing liked a caged tiger while Lucy sat on her bed, hugging her knees with discomfort.
“He was a Council member,” Lucy said. “I’m dead sure of it.”
“The guy was so greasy and gross!” Agatha added.
Z turned to Morgan, both of them listening with captivation from their respective corners. “Think he could be one of our guys with the strange signatures?”
“He could be one of y’all hoes’ favorite drunken uncles for all we know,” Agatha grumbled.
“Hey!” Morgan growled. “Watch it, Red.”
“Am I interrupting something?”
The girls all lowered their heads in shame, recognizing it was Ada calling out to them. The moon was already out, and Lucy’s news had distracted them from remembering the plans for that evening.
Ada forced a smile after her question was met with silence.
“Good. Shall we begin?”
In preparation for the night’s activities, the first thing the witches did was cleanse their surroundings, burning sage and fanning the smoke all around them before lighting candles and forming a circle at the center of the room. With the five girls gathered together, Agatha led them in a banishing spell. Afterward, they took a seat and Ada opened their ritual with a short incantation:
I am a stag: of seven tines
I am a wind: on a deep lake
I am a tean: the Sun lets fall
I am a hawk: above the cliff
I am a thorn: beneath the nail
I am a wonder: among flowers
I am a WITCH: who but I
Sets the cool head aflame with smoke?
The five girls were sitting cross-legged on top of the colorful Afghan rugs, looking sharp and focused. With all eyes glued to her movements, Ada started lighting five white candles with long stick matches and passing them around the circle.
“The ancients used to refer to magic as the language of birds,” Ada said. “A language of nonsense that only makes sense to those with the capacity to decipher the secret nature of the universe that surrounds us.”
Ada passed a candle to Z, who passed it to Morgan on down to Agatha and then to Lucy, each girl receiving a candle in turn and placing it in front of them to form the outline of a five-pointed star.
“Today, we will be employing the magic art of the cut-up,” Ada said. “A method devised by William S Burroughs and Brion Gysin, whereby cutting up and refashioning language, we will uncover hidden truths about ourselves.”
She removed from her coat a sealed plastic bag filled with scraps of paper and placed them into her hat. “I have cut up portions of the poem The Waste Land by TS Eliot, which we will all draw one by one,” she explained. “Then, we will rearrange the text and discuss our findings with the group. Lucy, I’d like you to go first.”
Lucy directed a tense look at Ada and nodded hesitantly. She really didn’t want to be the first one being placed on trial, but she also didn’t want the others to think she was a wimp by trying to weasel her way out of it. Once the hat was passed in her direction, she drew two scraps of paper and placed them next to one another, observing the combination of words in front of her.
“OK, this doesn’t make much sense…”
She read the message aloud:
“‘The corpse you planted la/de in the mountains
‘Has it begun to sprout? W/er and snarl
‘Or has the sudden frost dis/ked houses
‘Oh keep the Dog far hence / if there were water
“I don’t… what?”
She released a nervous laugh.
“What am I supposed to get from that?”
Lucy looked to the others, finding a sea of blank faces staring back at her—except for one. Ada, her eyes now closed, was slowly moving her head from side to side like she was locked in a trance.
“Ada?” Lucy mumbled in confusion.
“Shh,” Agatha instructed. “She’s hedge-crossing.”
Lucy gulped. She’d heard of hedge-crossing. It was a term that witches used to describe the process of casting aside the veil and crossing over into the spirit world. Nott every witch could accomplish this feat, and it wasn’t at all shocking that Ada had mastered the ability. What was surprising was how easily she seemed to make contact with this world without the use of spells or offerings. She just had to will it, and she was there, presenting the observations from the spirits in a slow and hypnotic tone.
“Lucy, my love...” Ada muttered. Her eyelids were pinched shut like she was straining to hear—to understand. “You still have much to learn. I see stormy weather up ahead.”
Lucy looked riddled with confusion. “Um... What?”
“She means you have a lot of growing up to do,” Morgan said.
All eyes were fixed on Ada as she delivered one final instruction to the youngest member of the coven: “Choose your friends wisely.”
After this, she opened her eyes and noticed she had rendered Lucy speechless. She forced a smile and glanced at the girl to her left.
“Agatha, you’re next.”
Agatha tensed up but quickly recovered. She snatched the hat from Lucy and drew two scraps of paper, placing them on the carpet to observe a message that seemed just as impenetrable as the one before her.
“HURRY UP PLEASE ITS / upon the shore
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS / behind me
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lo/ in order?
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight. /wn falling down falling down.”
Agatha directed a coy smile at the others.
“Well. How dandy.”
The focus of the four girls shifted to Ada, who once again had her eyes closed, head moving in circles.
“Agatha... I see you speeding to your destruction. You must slow down. Your friends may not be there to protect you in the future.”
Agatha released a nervous laugh. “Uh, this body only goes one speed. And it ain’t slow. Your turn, Glamour Girl.”
She tossed the hat to Z, thrown off-guard from the action. Now under the spotlight, Z glanced at Ada with apprehension before pulling two scraps of paper for herself. She gazed at her selection and read the combination aloud like the other girls before her:
“Dead mountain mouth of / TIME
Here one can neither stand / get on with it, I said.
There is not even silence i/ if you can’t.
But sterile thunder wit/won’t be for lack of telling.”
Z looked to Ada, noting her eyes were closed, face strained.
“Z… What secrets are you hiding?”
Z’s mouth dropped open, taken aback by the question.
“I’m not hiding anything!”
“We all know that’s a lie,” Lucy hissed.
“Hey! Back off, preacher’s kid,” Morgan snarled.
“It’s always the quiet ones,” Lucy growled. “I don’t trust her.”
“Yeah, ditto,” Agatha grumbled in agreement.
“Good lord!” Morgan screamed. “This exercise is supposed to be bringing us closer together! Haven’t you dunces been paying attention to what Ada’s trying to accomplish?”
The stringy brunette was fired up and ready to go to war if she had to tolerate any more insults. Her boldness left her when Ada raised her head and opened her eyes.
“Your turn, Morgan.”
Shrinking into herself, Morgan accepted the hat from Z and drew two scarps of paper, turning pale as a sheet as she observed the words in front of her.
“What’s it say?” Z inquired. “What’s it say, Morgan?”
Morgan leaped to her feet, abandoning the circle in a state of agitation. Faster than one could blink, Agatha snatched up the scraps that were drawn and read them aloud:
“So rudely forced; yet there / the key
Filled all the desert with in / turn once only
And still she cried, and stil/ in his prison
‘Jug Jug’ to dirty ears. / confirms a prison.”
Agatha glared at Morgan, standing several feet away from her with her back turned. “Oh, get out—you’re still obsessing about that? What I tell you, Ada? I told you this was going to be an issue!”
“Shut up!” Morgan shrieked.
Agatha leaped to her feet. “McAllister wasn’t himself back then! We’ve been over this a million times!”
“You weren’t there!”
“Uh, I’m sorry, but I did know him.”
“But you weren’t there!”
“Oh, bloody hell…”
Morgan turned to Ada, wearing a desperate and spiteful look as the bright-eyed waif watched her in silence. “Ada,” Morgan snarled. “I know he was your stepbrother and that you thought he was the bee’s knees. But I’m glad he was killed! He was a killer! He hurt people! Killed people!”
“We hurt people. Kill people,” Z calmly rebutted. “How are we any different?”
Agatha grimaced with disgust. “Because we’re the good guys, you dopey bitch!”
Ready to snap, Morgan shoved the redhead across the room. “Don’t you call her a bitch, you slut!”
“Slut? Eat me.”
“Agatha!”
Lucy placed herself in between the two girls, but it was no use.
“He saved your life that day!” Agatha spat. “If it wasn’t for him, they’d be out there looking for your scrawny, witchy ass! You’d be dead! Fucking dead! The Council would’ve hunted you down and sent you off to meet your fucking maker! But poor little princess here would rather just forget all that!”
Nerves on edge, Morgan swung around and stormed to the elevator. Agatha turned away as well, stomping to her corner.
“Screw this party. Lucy, get changed. We’re going out.”
“But I—”
“We’re going out!”
Lucy obediently returned to her corner while Z stared blankly at Ada, who was quietly gazing at the floor.
“Well…” Ada offered joylessly. “That went well.”
Ada was well aware of the quick-tempered and volatile nature of the personalities she had assembled. Star 69 wasn’t at all like her first coven where everyone had been chosen not only for their special talents but according to how much balance they brought to the rest of the group. This new group was different—everyone was there because of a particular skill set that would be beneficial when engaging in a much more direct confrontation with their enemies. They weren’t so much a “Dream Team” as a witchy “Nightmare Brigade.”
It wasn’t lost on the witch how many of the skills her girls possessed were tied to personal traumas they continued to struggle with. It was something she didn’t hesitate to comment on to Sanchez while he was driving her around the city later that night.
“What a strange and disturbing world we live in,” Ada said. “All these accidental encounters with each other... They all leave scars.”
When Morgan returned to the loft, Z was the only one present. Feeling exhausted from her sporadic run through the city, she fell onto her mattress and frowned at the ceiling.
“Everything OK?” Z asked, carefully studying her friend.
Morgan’s eyes narrowed reflectively.
“Where do you think she goes at night?”
The witches had been living at the loft for weeks, but Ada was staying elsewhere. It was evident that she had her own private quarters she went to each evening, but none of them knew where this was. Meetings with Ada always happened in two places: at the loft and at La Peste. They assumed she must have accommodations close to one of these, but what she did there was another mystery to add to their lengthy list of uncertainties.
That night, after driving around while Ada had a long think about things, Sanchez eventually dropped her off at the monochromatic French restaurant that served as her current base of operations. He made sure that she got inside without encountering any problems before returning to his spot behind the wheel and driving off.
Upon entering, Ada locked the door behind her and crossed wearily through the restaurant. When she arrived at the kitchen in the back, she made a left into a small storage area, pushing open a black door that was hidden in plain sight and descending a rickety wooden staircase. In the dark and gloomy basement, Ada sparked a match and proceeded to light the candles that were positioned all around the room. The setting was mostly unfurnished with a hard wooden floor, walls decorated with faded wallpaper, and a couple of piles of clutter in different places. In one corner, Ada’s dog-eared copy of Aradia sat on a stack of books alongside McAllister’s copy of The Book of Pleasure and a pile empty liquor bottles. In another, her laptop was open to an astrology webpage, the sleepy amber eyes of her black cat, Maggie, watching her while curled up on an old stuffed chair next to a small shrine to the goddess, Eris.
Once the candles were lit, Ada peeled off her black tank top and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. She crossed to a black steamer trunk, popping the brass snaps and removing McAllister’s tattered black sweater, sniffing it nostalgically before pulling it over her head to cover her slender naked form.
She crossed to the protection circle that was painted on the floorboards, the perimeter surrounded by a pattern of runes. After entering the circle, she sat on the floor in the lotus position with a Tibetan singing bowl filled with spring water placed in front of her.
The fire was lit. The preparations were set.
She was ready to commence with the ritual.
In front of the bowl, Ada placed the three pictures Z gave her, staring at them without expression before directing her gaze forward. The front wall had been transformed into a “murder wall” with multiple photos and documents pinned to it. Photos of all the “sires” were at the bottom, including Ashton, the Chapter Nines boys, Dave (the young bearded man who had wounded her at the chemical plant) and three other young men with X’s marked through them, one of them being Billy (Dave’s friend and associate who she had dealt with personally back in Little Salem).
Above the sires were several photos that also had X’s on them, including Sir Godfrey, the guests at his dinner party, and Lucy’s father, Reverend Palmer. Pictures of Wilbur and Dr. Franklin Baker, the Witchfinder General, were present but were off to the side and free of any distinctive markings. There was also a group that included Ruth (an X over her photo), Ada’s mother, Ursula, her stepfather, Emmanuel, and Barton Green (his photo also carrying an X).
Next to nearly all of these photos was a note marking a guess for the person’s secret society rank:
“PRINCE?” “DARK MOTHER?” “RANK = ?” “???”
The details on how the Scarlet Council was structured were still a mystery. Even with the identities of three additional Council members to add to her wall, they wouldn’t provide any answers.
Or would they?
With the sleepy amber eyes of her darling familiar watching her curiously, Ada stared hard at the wall before turning her gaze to the photos placed before her. She closed her eyes and straightened her posture, allowing her body to get comfortable, preparing once more to pull back the veil and petition the spirit world for answers.