41. Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty

Skyla

A sher drives while Vincent and I sit in the back seat. I haven’t explored downtown Salem all that much. I’ve gone shopping and been to a few restaurants, but nothing too extensive, and definitely not to the historic side of town.

Asher parks on the street, but I can already see our destination. A large sign hangs in front of it saying Salem Witch Museum. It’s a large brick building that looks more like an old church than a museum. We all get out of the car and begin walking towards the entrance when Vincent’s phone rings. He curses as he looks down at it, muttering an apology as he stalks off in the other direction.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, princess,” Asher says as he laces his fingers through mine.

I give him a weak smile and nod as we walk into the building. Instantly, the stale smell that typically occupies older buildings surrounds me. My eyes are still adjusting to the dim lighting in the waiting area when an older employee comes forward.

“Hello! Just two of you toda—”

She stops shortly, her eyes rounding as they bounce between Asher and I.

“Oh, Mr. Putnam. My apologies. I didn’t realize you were coming. I—”

Asher holds up his hand, silencing her as he hands her a fifty dollar bill and moves past her. I follow along, but I give the clammed up staff member a soft smile. It doesn’t seem to ease her, though. She looks uncomfortable with us being here, borderline terrified.

“Have you been here before?” I ask.

“Of course,” he huffs. “There are only so many locations to go for field trips in Salem growing up.”

“No need to get short,” I throw back. “She seemed to know you well, I was curious.”

“Everyone knows me,” he says stiffly.

“Yeah, because you were a whore.”

He gives me a disbelieving look.

“She was like seventy-eight. You seriously saying I fucked her?” he asks in outrage.

I shrug, doing my best to hold in my teasing smile.

“She was a pretty seventy-eight. Age is just a number.”

He shorts, lowering his voice as he speaks into my ear.

“Is that what Ronan and Wes say so you’ll jump on their old ass cocks?”

I let out a laugh and shake my head.

“As if they have to talk me into anything, I love every minute of it,” I tease, and Asher swats at my ass before we come to the first exhibit. My eyes begin roaming around the room as I take it all in. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but wax figures depicting the events of the trials, from the first accusation to the hanging and pressing of supposed ‘witches’ and their accomplices, is not what I was expecting.

From the research I’ve done and the reading from Thomas’s journal, I feel pretty well versed in the subject now, but Asher explains every exhibit for me in detail. First, he’d explain the scene or event we’re looking at, then he described the Brethren’s version. Some of them line up perfectly. Others…don’t. At all.

I look down at a plaque, three names standing out above all else.

Bridgette Bishop, Sarah Osbourne and Elizabeth Proctor.

It takes me a moment to figure out why those names sound so familiar, and then it clicks. My dream, from last year when I first came to Salem. The one where I was trapped in the cemetery on campus, running and running with no way out, surrounded by three headstones.

Bridgette Bishop, Sarah Osbourne and Elizabeth Proctor.

“These women…who were they?”

Asher looks at where I’m pointing as he nods.

“Witches. Bishop was the first to be executed from the trials. Osbourne died in jail before she could be hung. Proctor was acquitted. She was pregnant when her and her husband were tried, and so while he was sent to Gallows Hill, she was put on hold until she had the baby, but by the time she gave birth, the trials had ended.”

“Wait…Gallows Hill. Like our school?” I ask.

He frowns like he’s disappointed in me.

“Did you not know that the university was built on top of Gallows Hill? That the cemetery on campus is where all of the witches were buried?”

A chill runs through me. Nope, definitely missed that piece of information in the welcome packet.

“Where did she go?” I ask, still in absolute disbelief.

How fucked up is this society? As if I have to ask.

“Not far. Her husband wrote her out of the will while they were in prison, so when she got out, she was virtually penniless.”

I cock my head to the side. “Why would he do that?”

Asher shrugs. “He was in there because he was defending her and other members of their family. He died because of it; maybe he was hell bent on revenge, maybe he assumed she’d be executed too and he wanted their money left to their kids.”

“They had kids?” I ask.

He nods. “All of them did. Those that didn’t had brothers, sisters, uncles, nieces. It’s why the Brethren was formed. What do you think happened once the trials had ended? You think everyone shook on it and decided to be friends?”

We move further through the museum as he continues, shaking his head.

“It was a bloodbath for months. Families of the witches were burning down homes, slitting throats in people’s sleep. The townsfolk of Salem were in more danger post trials than they ever were before. They had to do something, power in numbers and all that.”

“And thus the Brethren was born,” I say.

Asher nods as we come to an exhibit of a woman yelling out at the townsfolk, a noose around her neck. She looks to be late thirties or so, wearing traditional Puritan clothes and an angry expression as she stares at one figure in particular.

“That’s Thomas Putnam,” Asher says, gesturing to the man who seems to be the focus of her ire.

“It is?” I ask as I assess the man.

Who’d have thought a man capable of such evil could be decently attractive? Then again, look at Christopher. He’s horrendous but definitely not terrible to look at. Those Putnam genes have been strong for hundreds of years apparently.

“Who is she?” I ask.

“Sarah Good,” Asher explains. “She was one of the first three that were accused.”

“But not tried?” I ask.

“Oh, she was tried. She was heavily pregnant at the time of her arrest, so her execution date was postponed. The baby died shortly after being born due to the poor conditions in the jail and she was executed in July.”

My heart hurts for that poor baby…that poor woman. There is no way all of these women were truly witches, right? I mean, what is a witch even? Especially in those times?

“Do you think they were all witches?” I ask as I turn to him.

He continues staring at Sarah, as if he were back in 1692 living it before he shakes his head.

“I don’t know what to believe. The Brethren taught us they all were, that there were even more who weren’t brought to light. History says they were all innocent. Is it too crazy to believe there is a middle ground?”

I shrug. “What really makes you a witch, though? Magic flying from your fingertips? Brewing up spells in cauldrons?”

“Take her for example,” Asher says as he nods towards Sarah. “The words she screamed out right before her death to one of the ministers was, ‘You’re a liar! I’m no more a witch than you are a wizard! If you take my life away, God will give you blood to drink.’ Twenty-five years later, he died of a hemorrhage, choking on his own blood.”

My eyebrows knit together at that.

“Surely that’s a coincidence?”

“Or a curse,” Asher says with a shrug of his shoulders as we move through the rest of the museum.

My mind is racing, absorbing as much information as possible and not so discreetly searching furiously for my mother’s maiden name. Thompson was nowhere to be found, at least from what I saw. Which was equal parts disappointment and relief, I suppose.

We step outside to leave when my eyes catch on the street beside us. Several shops and restaurants are lined up, people milling about lackadaisically. My gaze moves to Charlie’s Burgers instantly Rachel’s pleasant demeanor shifts as she looks at Asher.

“You’re not welcome here,” she says, her voice taking on a violently low lilt.

“Trust me, I don’t want to be here,” he grits out.

I frown between the two of them.

“Do you know each other?” I ask.

“No,” Asher says while Rachel says, “Yes.”

They both glare at each other before she speaks again.

“We have no tolerance for your kind on our properties. Leave,” she says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small handful of some kind of powder, flicking it in Asher’s direction.

He swats it away angrily. “What the fuck was that?”

“Cumin, it banishes away evil,” she says with a lift of her eyebrows.

Asher sneers. “I’m not the one who worships the devil.”

Rachel shakes her head, rolling her eyes.

“Typical Puritan man and your assumptions.”

Wait.

“Are you a witch?” I ask, cringing at how that must sound.

If she isn’t, I no doubt just offended her, and if she is…well, I don’t really know.

Her narrowed eyes leave Asher before they come to me.

“I am.”

“Sky, can we go? Please?” Asher butts in.

I open my mouth to say…something to Rachel when Asher interrupts again.

“Now, Skyla,” he snaps.

I’m shocked at his attitude, but when I look in his eyes, I see the desperation in them, and I know it’s for good reason. Nodding to him, I go to hand Rachel back the vial when she closes my hand around it and shakes her head.

“You keep it. In his presence, you’ll need that and more.”

I can’t help but let out a laugh at that.

“Well, he’s my husband, so trust me, I’m aware.”

“Husband?” she asks sharply, eyes going wide. They move to Asher as she rakes her narrowed gaze over him judgingly before shaking her head. “You could do far better, love.”

Asher makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat as he opens the shop door, waiting for me impatiently.

“Thank you,” I say as I gesture towards the vial.

She nods. “You’re welcome back anytime. Just leave your…husband at home.”

I don’t really know how to respond to that, so I turn and walk out the door. I feel Asher give her a look but by the time I turn around, he’s facing forward, hurrying me out of the shop. His hand grabs hold of my arm, rushing me to the car.

“What’s going on?” I ask. “What was all that?”

“Fucking witches,” he snarls, reaching into my clenched hand and pulling the vial from it. He looks at it for a moment before throwing it to the ground, stomping his boot over it.

My mouth drops open as he shakes his head and keeps walking, yanking me along with him.

“Asher! What the fuck!”

“It’s evil, Sky. Made with witchcraft. You don’t need that shit infiltrating your life. We should have never stepped foot in a damned place like that,” he says with a shake of his head as we approach the car, Vincent leaning on the side of it.

“Where were you?” Vincent asks me.

“In Proctor’s shop,” Asher gnashes as he unlocks the car, practically tossing me into the back seat.

“What? Why?”

“Fuck if I know!” Asher says as he climbs into the driver’s seat, Vincent sitting in the back with me.

“Wait, Proctor? Like Elizabeth and John? From the museum?” I ask.

“From the trials,” Asher corrects. “And yes. One of the only families that didn’t get the fucking hint to leave Salem. If word gets out that we were seen in there…” he stops with a shake of his head. Instead of finishing, he fires up the car and takes off. We pass by the shop as we leave town, and I see Rachel on the sidewalk with a broom and a dustpan, collecting the debris from the shattered vial. I give her a sympathetic look as she shakes her head and looks back down to the ground.