Bones of a Witch (18 page)

“Well, I don’t remember exactly.”

“I don’t either, but I’m sure it
didn’t say we were actually at Gallows Hill. It only
mentioned
Gallows Hill.
And earlier, didn’t you have trouble getting us there? Why was
that?”

Dominic scratched his head lightly. “Don’t
know, really. It’s Google Earth. It didn’t exactly provide GPS
coordinates for Gallows Hill; it merely referenced it with a not so
well-placed icon.”

“Then fire it up again, or try different search
criteria. Let’s find the real Gallows Hill—and quickly. I know
we’re running out of time.”

I said, “Why don’t we just ask
someone?”

They both looked at me with astonishment; as
though I hadn’t a better idea in my life. We spotted a blue-collar
gentleman leaving a local bar and approached him. I flashed my
badge and then asked about the marker we saw earlier.

“That’s a pseudo marker,” he said, explaining
that no one really knows the location of the real Gallows Hill.
“It’s just a pretty site and a nice place for tourists to take
pictures.”

“So it’s not where the hangings took place?” I
asked.

“He shrugged. “Could have been, but then again
maybe not. The old-timers believe the hill was more north of here;
say the prevailing summer winds would have blown the evil spirits
away from the town center. But historians think it was the mound
immediately south of the marker. It’s closer to the site of the old
courthouse and not nearly as steep; would have made it easier to
cart off the condemned, seeing that the spring rains wouldn’t have
made it too muddy to traverse.”

Tony asked, “Are there still trees on them
hilltops?”

The guy made a face like we had just asked him
if flowers bloom in spring. “Of course there are trees on them.”
But then he qualified that by adding, “Well, on two of them anyway.
The hill by the church has but one tree standing right up on top:
an oldie, too. Some think it could be the hanging tree used in
1692. Others disagree.”

I thanked the guy. “You’ve been a big help,” I
said, and I let him go about his business. “Well, what do we do
now? We can’t effectively stake out all three locations
together.”

Tony’s gaze drifted off in cold solitude. He
looked more scared than I had ever seen him before. “You’re right,”
he said. “We don’t have time to investigate all three hills. Maybe
we should spilt up, take one each.”

“Why don’t you scry?” said Dominic.

“He’s not gonna cry,” I said. “He just
worried.”

“No,” he pulled on Tony’s coat sleeve, “I mean
use your witchcraft. Maybe scrying can help you determine her
whereabouts so we don’t have to split up.”

He shook his head. “No, I couldn’t. I don’t
think I know how to—”

“Sure you do. You said yourself you’ve been
practicing when Lilith’s not around.”

“Oh, sure I’ve lit a few candles and tried my
hand at a couple of spells, but….”

“But nothing. You have to at least try. I know
you can do this. Carlos, tell him.”

“He’s right, Tony. You had success with the
whisper box that one time, didn’t you?”

“Twice,” he said, and smiled boyishly. “No,
wait, three times. I forgot about that time with the
tequila.”

“No,” I assured him. “I saw Lilith that night.
That was the tequila.”

Dominic added, “What about the Grossman Jewelry
heist? We were going to have to let that scumbag walk for lack of
evidence until you figured out the guy hid the jewels in a rented
lock box at Jefferson station. Now don’t tell me you didn’t somehow
get into his head and read his mind. You even knew what locker
number to look in.”

“All right, fine,” said Tony. He checked his
watch and began searching for businesses along the street that
might still be open. “I’m going to need some rice or
beans.”

I looked at him strangely. “You
hungry?”

He palmed my chest and shoved me
back a step. “
Dry
beans or rice, you idiot, for scrying.”

Dominic held up his finger. “Wait here a sec.
I’ve got an idea.” He turned and ran into the bar that ol` blue
collar had left just moments earlier. Moments later he came back
out with several bags of salted peanuts. “Will these
work?”

Tony considered the offering with a suspicious
grin. “Peanuts, Dominic?”

“Yeah. I got them from the snack machine. They
should work, yes?”

He took the bags. “I guess we’ll see, won’t
we?”

“I can get more if you need `em.”

“No, let’s try this.”

“Let him get more,” I said. “You don’t want to
have to come all the way back here.”

Now that suspicious grin fell on me. “Why,
Carlos, do you want some peanuts?”

“No. Well, you know it wouldn’t hurt to have
extra just in case.”

“We have enough.”

Dominic waited till Tony looked
away before tapping me on the arm. “Hey, don’t worry,” he said in a
hush. “I didn’t forget about you.” He put his hand into his pocket
and pulled out a
Snickers
candy bar. “Here you go.”

I took it with a buried smile. Tony gave
another look around and said, “We’ll have to get away from here.
There’s too much dolomite around to do any real scrying. What do
you say we head back to the parking lot by the old
marker?”

“Let’s do it,” I said. And so we
rolled.

Dominic Spinelli:

From the moment we arrived in Salem I got the
feeling that Tony wasn’t himself. We had gone to a location just
west of downtown that we thought was Gallows Hill, only to learn
later that it wasn’t the actual Gallows Hill you read about in all
the history books. While there, however, we stopped to ask some
kids if they had seen Lilith, alone or otherwise. When they didn’t
give the answer Tony wanted, he picked one of the boys up by the
throat and nearly decked him. If Carlos hadn’t stepped in when he
did I think it might have gotten really ugly. Afterwards, when
things calmed down we were sitting on the bench and Tony started
reading Carlos’ thoughts. I mean for real. The witch is in him,
man. The witch is in him.

Later we got into town and learned a couple of
things: first that the entire town is lousy with dolomite, a
sedimentary rock that apparently prevents witches from working
their magic; and secondly that no one really knows where the real
Gallows Hill is, on account of it never was an official name for
the maps. After learning this, I got the idea of having Tony try
his hand at scrying to maybe learn of Lilith’s whereabouts. That’s
when I found out how much Tony had been secretly practicing
witchcraft behind our backs. I think it’s because he doesn’t want
anyone to see when he fails, and so he keeps his victories to
himself. Carlos thinks it’s something I mentioned earlier about the
town soaking in witchcraft residue. Whatever the case, Tony
obviously has the power.

We arrived back at the parking lot of what we
first thought was Gallows Hill. There we felt reasonably sure Tony
would not feel the effects of all the dolomite around town. A lone
streetlamp glowed atop a pole at the foot of a dirt path leading to
the bench and granite marker erroneously declaring our presence at
Salem’s historic hill. Tony cleared a patch of dirt below the
light, using his foot to form a near-perfect circle about the size
of a manhole cover. He got down on one knee, keeping just outside
the circle, but crowding it enough that his body partially blocked
the light from the lamp above. Carlos and I assumed a similar
position, only not quite as close to the rim.

“I’ve never done this without Lilith,” he said.
“I’ll have no way knowing if I’m right until we get where we’re
going.”

“You’ll be right,” I said. “I just know
it.”

He looked at me with a hooked
brow, as if to say,
we’ll
see
. Then he tore open the first package
of peanuts and spilled them into a neat pile in the center of the
circle. After tearing open the second bag of peanuts and adding
them to the first, he paused to study the collection, appearing to
give the sum careful consideration. I was just about to ask him if
he thought there was a problem, when he reached into the pile and
removed a single peanut. Carlos and I both thought it queer, but we
held our tongues. Finally, Tony tore open the third package and
spilled a single peanut from the bag, replacing the rogue peanut he
had discarded. When it appeared he was satisfied with the final
collection, he set the open bag aside. Carlos (as if I didn’t see
it coming) pointed to it and asked, “You gonna need
those?”

Tony gave him a look of disbelief before
handing him the bag. To see Carlos’ smile you’d have thought he had
just discovered the prize at the bottom of a Crack-A-Jack box. I
smiled as well, but only because I saw it coming. As Tony prepared
himself mentally for the scrying, I readied myself too, settling in
on both knees and rocking back on my heels with hands folded neatly
on my lap. Somewhere out beyond the reach of the streetlamp, the
wind flirted through the trees, their autumn leaves rustling softly
like rippling water. In their whispers, I heard echoes of distance
voices, and imagined the spirits of ancient witches gathering
around us to help Tony in his charmed endeavor. A sense of
otherness filled me. I looked to Tony and saw that it had consumed
him. He seemed at peace, his eyes closed in meditation; his
breathing synchronized with the pulse of the wind. I knew then that
the scrying would work. I only hoped we would not be too late when
our questions were finally answered.

After what seemed like exaggerated minutes,
Tony opened his eyes and gazed down on the peanuts with resolute
faith in their utility. I held my breath and swallowed, watching as
he bent over and scooped them up in cupped hands. He then raised
his hands high above the circle’s center and in one quick motion
allowed his hands to drop away. The peanuts fell to the ground in a
cluster, scattering upon impact in an asymmetrical pattern like
random hail. I saw Carlos looking at Tony, his eyes wide with
expectation. I know he wanted to say something, but his better
judgment kept the words from parting his lips. I, too, bated my
enthusiasm, realizing that Tony first needed to study the results
of the drop before reaching any firm conclusions. His verdict came
after much agony, considering a wrong interpretation would likely
cost Lilith her life. After wiping the dirt from his hands on his
pant leg, he looked up at us and declared, “We need to go
now.”

Lilith Adams:

You know I would have thought the courthouse
might empty out like an Argentine soccer stadium: mayhem controlled
by devised disorder and restrained havoc. I truly expected a mob
scene complete with burning torches and thrusting pitchforks
stampeding through the streets on their way to Gallows Hill with me
riding the rail at the head of the heard. Instead, the place
emptied out like a Sunday congregation on a summer’s eve; men and
women exiting arm-in-arm in a sauntering stroll, peeling off left
and right alternately and disappearing into the breezy night. Only
Putnam and Hilton stayed with me, each flanking one side and
pinching the back of my arms above the elbows to keep me from
running. My hands were still tied behind my back, but I had managed
to loosen them some by stretching the ropes while seated on the
witness stand. Still, with the witch’s stone around my neck, it
left me in no position to effect an escape.

“In you go,” said Hilton, pointing to the limo
door that Putnam had just opened.

“To the gallows in style,” I said. “You do know
how to make a witch feel special.”

He smiled. “We try,” and he shut the door upon
entering behind me. As the limo pulled away from the barn, he said,
“You know, Miss Adams, I hope you don’t take any of this
personally. It’s just that we have a delicate balance to protect
here.”

“We? You speak for the entire town?”

“Better; I speak for the Almighty.”

I shook my head. “I don’t believe in God the
way you do, but if I did I should think you have a twisted
understanding of how He works.”

He laughed faintly. “No, you don’t understand.
I don’t work for Him. I minister for Lucifer. I provide the balance
that the church seeks to disrupt. You see, in the old days we had
everyone convinced that witches like you were evil, but the
reality, as you know, is that they are the enemies of Satan because
they do not worship God, and only followers of God wage war. That
has always been the compromise between God and Satan. In death, God
get the souls of innocent soldiers and conscientious objectives,
while Satan gets the war mongers, dictators and
murderers.”

“Sounds like a tidy arrangement,” I said. “So
why kill witches?”

“Why?” His brows rose, crowding the lines on
his forehead, making him look older by several decades. “Because
witches threaten to change the face of world religion back to total
pagan dominance.”

“No we don’t. We’re not out to change the
world. And we certainly don’t go around trying to convert anyone.
The witch’s creed states, if thee harm none, then do as thou
wilt.”