The following is a chapter from the follow-up to Hunting For Witches — Salem’s Burning
Ashton zipped his black duffle and took one last look at his apartment. The place was almost completely bare; he’d already thrown out or given away everything that couldn’t fit into a single suitcase and dropped off his orange tabby to live temporarily with his mom. At this point in his life, he wanted to disconnect from his former living space and all the painful memories associated with it—especially the ones involving his girlfriend, Mercy, who disappeared while she was cat-sitting over spring break.
Before leaving, Ashton’s eyes hung on the back wall of the bedroom. It had recently been repainted but he could still remember what was waiting for him when he returned from his week in Little Salem. On the wall, spray-painted in black, was an Algiz rune and the letters, “lol,” written over it; the seal of Ada’s coven, “The New Lords” aka “The Lords of Light.” Ashton had been confused by what the graffiti was doing there, but Miles cleared this up for him. After Miles showed him the surveillance video of Ada strolling through the lobby on the night Mercy went missing, he knew that she was the one responsible for the disappearance and that she was his enemy.
There was a lot about the whole ordeal that still didn’t make sense. Ada had warned Ashton about the path he was about to embark on—maybe she already determined they were fated to be at odds with each other and attacked prematurely to show she meant business. Regardless, the specifics didn’t matter. It was like Miles had told him: he couldn’t trust her or anyone like her. She was a witch, and Ashton was on his way to being initiated into a group that was involved with protecting the world from her kind.
After taking one final long, hard look at the painted-over wall in his bedroom, Ashton exited his apartment with his duffle over his shoulder. His eyes softened when he reached the street out front and spied the figure that was waiting for him. A handsome young man stood next to a flashy red Porsche, dressed exactly like him in a burgundy blazer over a white button-down shirt and tailored slacks.
The sight of the stranger was somewhat unnerving due to how much he reminded Ashton of McAllister, Ada’s stepbrother and a former assassin for the secret society he was on his way to joining. Like McAllister, the young man had blonde hair, angelic features, and a distinctive choice of transportation. But there were some definite differences between them—he had short, dusty blonde hair as opposed to McAllister’s icy platinum, was tan as opposed to unnaturally pale, and lacked the feral cat-like intensity of McAllister’s disposition. He had a charming smile and a temperament that suggested he was eager to please and hungry for praise and affection.
As Ashton approached the dapper fellow, the young man lowered his designer sunglasses and flashed a pearly white grin.
“You Ashton? Nice threads.”
Ashton smiled at the comment as his newest associate reached for his bags.
“Let me get that. Name’s Marcus.”
“Nice to meet you. I thought Miles was picking me up.”
“Well, he was, but the higher-ups thought that since you and I are going to be roommates, we might as well get to know each other before the big meet-up.”
“Huh. Whatever. What’s this big meet-up all about anyway?”
Marcus stifled a chuckle while flashing his infectious grin.
“I literally haven’t a clue.”
Moments later, the boys were ready to hit the road. Ashton couldn’t help but marvel at the elegant interior of the expensive vehicle. Still, he remained silent, his face quiet and reflective.
As Marcus took his seat in the driver’s, he noticed Ashton’s expression. The contrast in mood seemed to pressure him to offer some consoling words to his passenger. “Listen,” Marcus said. “Word on the street tells me you don’t know a whole lot about this fraternity of ours. Don’t worry. I can already tell you’re going to fit right in.”
Ashton forced a smile, but he remained distracted. Once they hit the road, he thought they were being followed by what appeared to be McAllister’s vintage Cadillac DeVille. The sighting caused him to tense up until a closer look revealed a silver-haired Asian woman who was driving. It was no one he recognized as being associated with Ada, which meant he was probably being paranoid.
After a short drive through the city, they arrived at their destination, which was located on Beacon Street across from Boston Public Garden. The area was crowded with tourists and residents visiting the local shops and admiring the red-bricked Federal-style architecture. After parking out front, they crossed to the entrance of a gray building that would have been relatively nondescript amongst its ruddy-colored neighbors except that it looked like a giant concrete mausoleum: two stories, no windows, with thick double doors out front.
Marcus punched a series of numbers into a keypad, and when the doors clicked open, he and Ashton entered into the front hall. It was a large open space with four doorways on the surrounding walls and a shiny checkerboard-patterned floor beneath their feet. At the far end was a dark cherry oak staircase laid with scarlet carpeting, leading to the second level. At the top of the stairs, a pair of heavy wooden doors stood closed, the hallway branching off in two directions with a pair of doors on each side of the landing that remained visible from the ground floor. All the walls were painted dark red with plush velvet curtains lining the doorways, which were decked with lamps made to resemble torchlight. The opulent chandelier overhead provided the finishing touch, projecting a notable sense of old-world prosperity, and Ashton admired the scenery with muted fascination.
“Council Chapter Nine,” Marcus said. “Structure was built in the 1830s. Started as a fraternity for undergrads before becoming an informal dormitory for graduate students. Future Council candidates like you and me.”
Ashton poked his head into the doorway to his right, observing a windowless room containing a long dining table accompanied by fancy high-backed chairs and faded tapestries as decoration.
“That’s the dining area,” Marcus noted.
Next, Ashton crossed to the doorway across the way, finding a room with the same black carpeting and hosting several plush chairs and tall bookcases piled high with thick volumes on every wall.
“Reading room,” Marcus explained. “Pretty cool, huh?”
Ashton noticed a reader occupied one of the chairs. He was a frail, pigeon-chested young man who, like Marcus, looked to be the same age as he was and was wearing a burgundy blazer as well. While outwardly refined and well-groomed, Ashton was taken aback by the young man’s odd bowl haircut and the smarmy rodent-like quality of his face as he glared at his observers with hollow indifference.
“Hello, Ian,” Marcus said, forcing a grin. “Please, don’t get up.”
“Hey,” Ashton said, waving at his fellow resident and receiving a dismissive sneer in response.
Marcus spoke in a low voice as they crossed back to the entrance. “Don’t mind Ian,” he said. “He’s a bit of the antisocial type.”
Ashton spotted a tuxedoed gentleman with an eerie, mummy-like appearance gathering their bags from the front doorway.
“I can get that,” Ashton offered.
“Just doing my job, sir,” the man said. “I’ll show you to your room.”
The boys followed the decrepit butler up the staircase, saving an inspection of the remaining rooms below for later. Ashton was buzzing with questions, with even more on his mind after every comment from Marcus. “So let me get this straight—we’re all enrolled as grad students at the university? That’s news to me.”
“Oh, don’t worry. It’s not like we’ll be attending classes,” Marcus said. “The Council will be keeping us busy with much more productive activities. Tanner!”
Ashton looked up as a muscular young man with a short-cropped military haircut descended the staircase. One look confirmed him as a guy whose wardrobe consisted mostly of workout clothes and that he ate weaker mortal specimens for breakfast.
“Sup, Marcus!” Tanner barked with a heavy Boston accent. “This the new scrub?”
“Tanner, Ashton. Ashton, Tanner.”
“Sup, scrub,” Tanner said, giving Ashton a firm handshake. “Hey, Marcus. Wanna do some boxing later?”
“I think I learned my lesson the last time.”
“Psh. Pansy. Laters.”
Tanner replaced his AirPods and started jogging to the front door while Ashton and Marcus reached the top of the landing.
“Gym’s on the first floor,” Marcus quickly mentioned. “That’s where you’ll usually find Tanner.”
“How many others are there?” Ashton asked.
“Let’s see—well, there’s you, me, you already met Miles and Ian and Tanner. Five at home, five in the field.”
“Five in the—?”
Marcus smiled widely as they followed the butler to one of the two doors to the left and the door was opened for them. “This is us.”
Peering inside, Ashton found a large bedroom with a monochromatic color scheme, richly furnished with two large beds, lounges, and desks. He assumed there had to be no more than three other rooms just like this, presenting him with a heady reminder for how he was being offered a truly elite experience. But he was still confused as to how many people were out there just like him.
“You said something about five at home, five in the field?”
Marcus glanced at him as they descended the stairs. “Right. Well, right now, there are five of us here—at home, right? The Council’s sires for this year.” Ashton reminded himself that “Sire” was the supposed rank he was starting with as a Council initiate. “Meanwhile, there are five sires working in the field. At least, there’s supposed to be. A few of them are missing, thanks to—”
“Thanks to my departed offspring. And a certain witch we’re all familiar with.”
When they reached the ground floor, the boys turned to spy Ashton’s former history professor, who had just spoken. Emmanuel was crossing to them from the shadowy archway in the back wall with a young African-American man accompanying him.
“Hello, Ashton,” Emmanuel said. “You remember Miles.”
Ashton nodded, noticing Emmanuel was dressed in his usual dusty academic attire and that Miles was donning a burgundy blazer instead of his usual smart threads. But what was most startling was what his former professor had just mentioned.
“Then, McAllister—?”
“Deceased,” Emmanuel affirmed sternly. “The Lords of Light won’t be causing us any more trouble in the future. The coven disbanded after all that mayhem in Little Salem.”
Emmanuel flashed a saurian smirk at Ashton’s new roommate. “Marcus, why don’t you show Ashton the neighborhood? Dinner will be served promptly at seven.”
Marcus nodded congenially, and Ashton followed him to the entrance. He noticed a framed art piece hanging above the front doorway: a blood-red circle broken on the left side, the ruddy pigment dripping down the canvas. As usual, the sighting of the Council's seal filled him with a potent mixture of unease and fascination. He was also familiar with the Council's motto, which Emmanuel recited as they left the compound.
“Everything is under control, gentlemen,” Emmanuel announced proudly. “Everything is under control.”
When they exited the building, Marcus turned to Ashton with interest. “Is it true what Professor Emmanuel said back there? Did you really cross paths with McAllister?”
Ashton nodded uncomfortably. “Yeah. And his stepsister.”
“Wow—Ada as well? And you’re still living? Rock’ n’ roll.”
Ashton forced a smile onto his face as they headed to the public park that was situated across the way from them, passing a stray dog that was sitting outside the compound for some reason. For the second time that day, he thought he was being watched, catching sight of a gangly brunette dressed in black skin-tight jeans and a black flight jacket, loitering not far from the entrance. Once again, the girl wasn’t Ada or anyone she was close to, so he put the observation behind him.
Ada seemed to be running through his mind non-stop, along with thoughts of Mercy, so it wasn’t surprising that random sightings of strangers wearing dark outfits would be having such an unsettling effect on him. The knowledge of the grisly fate of Ada’s fake stepsibling only compounded these stormy thoughts and reflections as he explored the park with Marcus, the area littered with visitors relaxing on the grass or strolling along the asphalt paths winding through the peaceful tree-lined setting.
“Ada and McAllister are a bit infamous around here,” Marcus noted—his thoughts were also consumed by the fearsome duo. “It’s like Emmanuel said: they’re the reason there aren’t so many sires in the field right now. You know, McAllister was a sire at one point.”
“Yeah, so I was told,” Ashton stated humorlessly.
Marcus glanced at his companion skeptically.
“You weren’t friends, were you?”
Ashton tightened his jaw and clenched his fists. “My girlfriend went missing on account of those two. Thinking about them makes me sick.”
That was all that Ashton wished to say about the subject, but Marcus seemed satisfied. “Just making sure you know which side you’re on,” he said. “The only good witch is a dead one.”
After leaving the park, Ashton was given a quick tour of the surrounding neighborhood, and once again felt like he was under observation. This time, he caught a glimpse of a redhead wearing a black trench coat—a sighting that was a bit more unnerving as it was the first person in Ada’s circle he thought he recognized. When he glanced back to confirm her identity, the woman was gone, and he convinced himself that his mind must be playing tricks on him. All this talk of Ada and McAllister was doing his head in, and he looked forward to forgetting about those two misfits once he put all of his energies into his initiation activities.
As Ashton and Marcus stood on opposite sides of their bedroom, changing into formal attire for the celebratory first night at the compound, Ashton decided to question his roommate further about this whole “Scarlet Council thing.”
“If this is only your first year here, how is it you seem to know everything about this stuff?”
“We all went to school together. Tanner, Ian—our dads were... Well, you went through the same initiation process as the rest of us. Funny, I think I met your dad at my house a couple of times.”
“Yeah? What was he like?”
Marcus let loose a light-hearted chuckle.
“Magnanimous? Is that a good way to describe him?”
“I really wouldn’t know,” Ashton replied coldly.
Several minutes later, all of the newest Council candidates were sitting in the dining hall with Emmanuel at the head of the table. The polished professor tapped his fork against a champagne flute, beaming enthusiastically.
“Friends, welcome to Council Chapter Nine,” Emmanuel said. “The first stepping-stone to becoming full members of our elite organization. I’ve had the pleasure of knowing many of your fathers, and I know they would be very proud of all of you for making it this far. To know that you have all made it to this very moment.”
Ashton spotted Marcus and Tanner smiling at this admission while Ian remained dispassionate and Miles maintained a stony expression. As usual, Miles was the perennial outsider in the group and the only one at the table who wasn’t Caucasian.
“A toast to you all,” Emmanuel said. “Eat, drink, and have a good rest tonight. Like many of the great men who came before you, tomorrow you will start your journey as leaders for many future generations to come.”
Emmanuel raised his glass, and the others followed his lead.
“To the future.”
Hours later, the advice about rest was summarily ignored with Tanner convincing the group that they should celebrate their new positions with a wild night on the town. The champagne served with their meal had the boys feeling up for adventure. The notable exception was Miles, who was keen to keep to himself that night.
In the end, it was Ashton, Marcus, Tanner, and Ian who piled into Marcus’s Porsche and sped off to the nightlife district in Bay Village. There, they took to the streets like an unruly gang of Kurbrickian droogs, eager to parade down the boulevard with their chins held high and their burgundy blazers on full display. The night felt promising, but when Tanner spotted a sire “in the field” and he invited the group to his dance club, Ashton declined the offer, leaving him and Marcus to wander on their own.
“Still thinking about your old girlfriend?” Marcus asked him.
Ashton kept his stormy gray eyes facing forward, tightening his jaw reflexively. “I just want to find someplace quiet. You know.”
Marcus studied his fellow initiate with sympathy before scanning their surroundings. “How ’bout this place?”
Ashton glanced at what had grabbed his companion’s attention: a classy French-style bar with a black and white striped canopy over blacked-out windows. The sound of light-hearted chatter could be heard from inside, and a closer look at the refined setting allowed the observers to catch the painted name out front:
LA PESTE.
Ashton stared at the location quizzically, experiencing the strangest feeling of familiarity even though he knew he’d never seen the place before.
“Ever been here?” Ashton asked.
Marcus shook his head. “Must be brand new.”
Ashton frowned and headed inside, feeling curiously unnerved by the setting. He was unaware that he was being watched by a waifish figure across the street, her girlish features hidden behind the billowing hood of a long black velvet cloak.
Inside, the bar was packed with customers drinking and socializing in what was a relatively lavish and ritzy venue. Cozy black booths lined the walls, and small black café tables filled up the remainder of the modestly-sized room. The walls were papered in black and white stripes and swirly designs, giving the place a distinctly modern appeal, and a small low stage at the back supported a grand piano and a microphone stand.
A playlist of loungey ditties oozing out of hidden speakers complimented the atmosphere while Ashton studied the lively scene from close to the entrance.
“Standing room only,” Marcus said. He handed Ashton a drink he retrieved from the bar. “Fine place for a nosh, a little chat. Maybe even some...music?”
Ashton’s eyes narrowed as he spotted a large barrel of a man slouching across the stage until he was standing at the microphone. His massive form had somehow been squeezed into a black tuxedo, and a white Phantom of the Opera mask covered most of his face.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the man announced. “Thank you for joining us this evening. If you please...”
Once the background music was lowered, the man had a seat and began to play a moving piano piece. A young woman in a black hooded cloak glided to the microphone. Her black-nailed manicured fingers sensually grasped the stand, and her soft pillowy lips sang a sultry version of the Pet Shop Boys’ “It’s A Sin.”
As she sang, the audience watched her in captivation, fanning themselves and wiping their brows. The sexual tension in the air rose exponentially the longer the enticing songstress was engaged in her stirring performance.
But this was only a warm-up for what was to come.
When the singer reached the chorus, she untied her cloak and let it drop to the floor, revealing a pixyish physique in a sparkling black gown with a long slit down the side. With her face now revealed, Ashton received the surprise of his life, glaring in startled recognition at the pair of otherworldly blue-violet eyes gazing back at him.
The eyes were unmistakable, but there were other aspects that were different than those of the fascinating creature he remembered. Her wild dark hair trailing down to her waist was now worn perfectly straight, and her backless gown revealed a pair of black angel wings tattooed on her back. Her eyes seemed different as well; they still shone like a pair of mesmerizing mystical jewels, but there was now an impenetrable hardness to them despite the effortlessly seductive quality being used to bewitch the audience. Those striking eyes were gazing into him as they had so many times back in Little Salem while displaying not even the tiniest sliver of surprise that he was present—as if she had planned the encounter and was expecting him.
The notorious witch, Ada van Dreyer, was once again standing before him. But she was more than the mysterious beauty who had captivated and bedeviled him in the past. This was a brand new Ada—Ada Version 2.0. And Ashton was watching her, speechless, his body tense and rigid with her eyes locked onto him like a tractor beam as a familiar impish smile formed on her lips.