How to Hang a Witch (13 page)

It's a tiny pink pastry box from her bakery, tied up with black and gold ribbons. I pull at the bows and open the small lid. Inside is a bunch of black and purple violets sparkling with sugar.

“It's a corsage,” he explains as we pass a large house with white columns wrapped in white lights. Each window has a candle in it. Must be Alice's. Jaxon parks his truck in the first available spot on the crowded street.

“No one's ever given me a corsage before,” I say in a quieter voice than normal, lifting the delicate flower arrangement out of the box.

He turns toward me and takes it from my hands. “She says it's edible. So when the party's over, you can eat it.” He carefully pins it to my dress. “I told her this wasn't prom, but you know my mom. There's no telling her no.”

I smile at him. “It's beautiful.” Maybe this party won't be so bad after all.

“Let me get your door,” he offers.

But before he makes it to my side of the truck, I open it myself. I step tentatively onto the uneven sidewalk so that I don't catch my dress on anything.

Jaxon laughs. “Sam, you're the most stubborn girl I've ever met.”

“And just think, this is me in a good mood.”

He puts his hands on either side of my waist and pulls me close to him. His woodsy smell encompasses me. “Good thing I find stubbornness hot.” His face is inches away from mine.

I lean forward, and the edge of my boot slides into one of the sidewalk cracks. I take a step to keep from falling. “Do you also like girls who can trip standing still?” I ask.
That's the closest he's come to kissing me since the woods, and I trip?

He laughs and grabs my hand. We walk up the lawn to the front door.

“Welcome to the Parker residence,” says a butler at the entrance. “May I take your coats?” I give him my cape.

My stomach drops when I realize this party's like Vivian's dinners on steroids. It's a high school party. Why's it so fancy? Everyone stares at us in an obvious way. “Let's get something to drink.”

“Sure,” Jaxon says.

“Hey!” calls a familiar voice as we make our way toward a beautifully arranged table covered with autumn treats. It's Dillon. And he's standing with the pretty girl from our history class who always flirts with Jaxon.

“Hey,” Jaxon says. He nods at Dillon and gives the girl a hug. She wears a lace-up corset and a skintight short black skirt. I don't get the as-close-to-naked-as-possible costume thing. Dillon, on the other hand, threw on every black item of clothing he owns with no real thought. If he wasn't clean-shaven, with coiffed hair, he'd look homeless.

“You know Dillon, and this is Niki.” Jaxon gestures to them. “This is Sam.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say to Niki, but she keeps her attention on Jaxon.
Well, this is gonna be fun.
I glance at the costumed people. The whispers and stares are blatant.

Dillon hands us hot apple cider from the table and pulls out a flask. He dumps a shot in each of our cups, and tucks it back into his many layers. “We have a real Mather at a party full of witches. I'll drink to that!” He lifts his cup.

He's dopey, but I kinda like him. I take a sip of my cider, and it's delicious.

“You'll drink to anything,” Jaxon says.

Niki looks at me for the first time. “You have something on your face.”

It takes me a second to figure out what she means. “It's a wart.”

“Oh.” She sounds skeptical.

I scan the crowd but don't see the Descendants. Strangely, I notice I'm also looking for Elijah.

“That's what I like to see,” Dillon comments as I take a big sip of my drink, and I realize I've just about finished it. “We'll do shots later, Sam.”

I'm already starting to feel a little light-headed.

“Or maybe we won't,” Jaxon says. “I'm gonna show Sam around. I'll find you guys in a bit.”

“Okay, man,” Dillon says.

Niki says nothing, but her disappointment is clear.

“Samantha!” Dillon yells as we walk away. “He likes you!”

My cheeks flush. I'm sure Niki wants to kill me.

“Shut up, dude!” Jaxon yells over his shoulder.

“Don't break his heart!” Dillon yells, but we're already making our way through the crowd.

Jaxon grins. “Don't listen to that clown. He's obviously drunk.”

“So you talk about me to your friends?”

“Maaaybe I said something about liking you.” Jaxon blushes, and we step into a formal sitting room decorated with a copious amount of black candles.

“It's hard to believe anyone likes you,” Lizzie says from the chaise longue, and I stop short. “Get out.”

Please don't let this happen right now.
I can't leave until I come up with a plan with the girls.

“Shut up, Lizzie. It's not your house,” Jaxon says.

Lizzie gets up. Her skintight dress brushes the floor. It has a lace collar that stands high in the air behind her head and makes her more terrifying. “It's my party, Jaxon. Why don't you just step aside and let me deal with her. Unless you want me to start on your crazy mother.”

Mrs. Meriwether?
That's so mean. For the first time since I've met him, Jaxon gets really mad. If she were a dude, I'm pretty sure he would punch her.

Before Jaxon has time to respond, John interrupts. “What the hell?” He holds out his arms for Lizzie to see. A severe rash of red ovals covers his hands.

We all stare. “It looks like bite marks,” he says, his voice unsure. A girl screams and we turn. She has the same rash on her face. Dread drops an anchor in the pit of my stomach.

Lizzie points at me. “Did you do this? No one's forgotten about that pastry stunt you pulled.” Her voice is loud enough that all the people within twenty feet of us start whispering.

I glance at Jaxon, mortified. But he's looking at his own hands, which also have red marks on them. Oh no.

Lizzie chews on the side of her mouth. I try to focus on a possible out, but can't. I wish I didn't drink that alcohol. I take a step backward. Lizzie grins, and she mutters something under her breath.

Susannah, who I didn't know was in the room with us, interjects, “Lizzie, don't.”

Is she standing up for me?

“Walk away, Susannah.
I'm
going to deal with this problem because you clearly can't.”

Susannah grabs Lizzie's arm. “No, Lizzie. I want her here.”

All the amusement on Lizzie's face drains away. Only anger remains. “You disrespectful little shit. You have no loyalty!”

I don't know what Lizzie planned to do, but I'm pretty sure Susannah just saved me from it. “Susannah, you don't have to do this,” I say, feeling bad that Lizzie's anger is now focused on her.

Lizzie glares at me and throws her drink at my face. I try to step to the side, but I'm not fast enough and the cider splashes on my hair and cheek. I look at Jaxon. He's scanning the hysterical crowd, not paying attention to the Descendants. His rash is worse and the house is in chaos. Everyone's screaming.

Lizzie walks toward Susannah, who steadily backs away. Lizzie raises her hand, and Susannah's eyes widen. Glasses crash against the floor and people run.

“Sam, let's get out of here,” Jaxon says.

“I can't leave Susannah like that.” But really, I can't leave. I have to go to the hanging location.

“She'll work it out on her own.”

I look at poor Susannah, who's now backed against a wall by Lizzie. Alice pushes past a group of screaming people to get to her. I break away from Jaxon and move toward the girls. Jaxon grabs my arm.

“Stop—I have to tell them something,” I say.

“No, you have to get out of here right now.”

Alice pushes Lizzie away from Susannah. “Alice!” I yell, but she can't hear me.

“Sam, people think it's you,” Jaxon says.

I pause, realizing I'm the only one without bite marks. And Jaxon's right; my name is being flung around. “I just have to say one thing.” I try to push past some hysterical girls.

“Leave, Samantha,” Elijah says, appearing by my side. “It is not safe.”

Alice and Lizzie are yelling at each other. Jaxon pulls on my arm.

“I will follow the Descendants,” Elijah says.

More people push in around me. The wedge between me and the Descendants widens.

“You did this!” a girl I've never seen before yells. She lunges at my face with her marked hands. She misses but manages to rip off my corsage. I don't resist anymore. I run.

Tables are knocked over, and the floor is strewn with broken glass. Jaxon and I move quickly through a formal dining room, into the kitchen, and out a door.

He sidesteps a crying girl on the ground.

“Jaxon, it's on your neck,” I say as we loop around the house to the front yard. I hold my dress in my hand so I don't trip. “The rash.”

“There she is!” yells a guy from my homeroom, and he points at me.

A group turns toward me. Jaxon and I sprint to the truck. My breathing's heavy. Someone shouts my name as we get in. Jaxon turns his key in the ignition, and the yelling guy pounds on my window with the side of his fist. I smack the lock button, and Jaxon's truck screeches away from the curb.

“What was that?” I ask, not sure how to process the wild scene.

“I've never seen anything like it in my life.”

I look at the bite marks on his neck as he drives. “Does it hurt? The rash?”

“No, not really. Just looks gross.”

“Jaxon, come on. People were screaming and throwing themselves on the ground. There is no way it doesn't hurt.”

“Yeah, I guess it stings a little.”

“Or a lot.”

“I don't know how you avoided it.”

“I swear I didn't do that,” I say, touching my dress where the corsage used to be.

“That's so weird, 'cause I totally thought you bit everyone at the party.”

I smile despite all the stress. Still, I'm not sure it wasn't my fault. What if it's part of the curse? We sit in silence for a few blocks.

Jaxon pulls into his driveway and parks. We both jump out fast, like we can somehow get away from the experience we just had.

He flips his hands over, and the red marks look a little less angry. “It's so weird that you didn't get this. I mean, I'm glad you didn't.”

“I told you people around me get hurt.” I can't erase this guilty feeling I have.

“Just don't start telling me to stay away from you again.”

I can't stay here, though. I have to go change, and wait to hear what Elijah says about the Descendants. There's still a chance we can go to the woods. “I gotta go.”

“Sam—”

“It's not about that. I just gotta go.”

Seconds pass. “Fine.” He turns around and walks toward his house.

My heart tightens. I want to say thanks. I can only imagine what they might have done to me if he hadn't pushed to leave when he did. But instead, I watch him walk away.

I turn toward my house, and Vivian is standing in the doorway. “Where's my cape?”

I pull the necklace off and hand it to her. “I left it.” I walk toward the stairs.

“Real nice attitude, Sam.”

I
run my hands through my wet hair to make sure all the cider's out. I lock my bedroom door and pull out my phone. Nothing. There's no way that rash was coincidental. Either someone set me up or I caused it in some weird way.

Elijah appears in front of me.

“Good. You're here.” I grab my boots. “Let me get a jacket and we can go.”

“You are not going into the woods tonight, Samantha. At least not with the Descendants.”

“But we have to! We don't know how much time we have left,” I almost yell.

“The police are at Alice's house now, and a good number of parents. A lot of people are blaming you. They are already nervous about all the recent deaths in Salem, and this only makes them more anxious. They are not thinking clearly.”

The hearse I saw with Jaxon, the purple roses by the lamppost, the woman outside the funeral hall, and John's great-grandfather all flood my thoughts.

“It would not be wise to go back there. You will have to go tomorrow.”

My voice wavers. “But my dad…”

“You have to calm yourself. You cannot solve this without a clear mind.”

I take a deep breath and try to stop myself from crying.

Elijah takes my hands. “I will help you, Samantha. In whatever way I can.”

His gray eyes are kind. I take my hands back and wrap my arms around him. I bury my face in his chest. For a moment he's still. Then slowly he returns my hug. He smells subtly of burning logs in a fireplace.

“Will you stay for a little while?”

“If you like.”

“Will you tell me about Abigail?” I want to talk about something other than my fear.

“Yes,” he says into my wet hair, his cheek resting on my head. “What would you like to hear?”

I'd really like to know what happened to her, but I know better than to ask. “Who painted the portrait of her downstairs?”

“I did.”

I pull away to look at his face and I realize he has a tiny freckle on his bottom lip. “You're a painter?”

His eyes smile. “There were no Puritan painters. Idle action was discouraged in all forms.”

“Then how?”

He releases his arms from my body. “It started as drawings for Abigail when she was little. But after our parents died, she did not speak for a long time. I was looking for ways to make her happy.”

I sit down on my bed and scooch up to the pillows. “But that painting is beautiful. No one does that on their first try.”

He appears embarrassed. “Lots of time in the evenings. Not much to do then. I practiced. No sports or dancing or music. People believed they led to laziness and to sin. Poor Abigail. She loved to make up songs but could only do it at home.”

I motion for him to sit next to me, and after a moment of hesitation, he does. “I've seen drawings of that time, and everyone wore bonnets and ugly black dresses. Where did she get the blue silk gown in the painting?”

“A merchant by the harbor made frequent trips to Europe. Same way I got my paints and canvases and the extra candles by which to paint.”

“So you were a Puritan rebel?”

“Earning that title took minimal effort. Laughing too loudly would probably suffice.”

I smile at him. “Did anyone ever find out what you were doing?”

“One person, yes.”

“Who?”

“My fiancée.”

My eyes widen. “You were engaged?”

He looks away for a moment and the happiness in his expression disappears.

“What?” I ask gently, hoping he'll let me in a little.

“I told you my sister was in love with William. She was happy, Samantha. I have never seen anyone so happy. I also told you that William's family wanted him to marry the governor's daughter. They were stupid, snobbish people. William assured Abigail, however, that she had nothing to worry about.”

Reliving this memory makes his eyes heavy and his voice strained.

“This was concurrent with the time when people became hysterical about witchcraft. As you know, it escalated and they arrested many townspeople. By July, Salem was dangerous and untrusting. People looked suspiciously at their neighbors and closest friends. I was most fearful for Abigail's safety, so I arranged passage for us on a ship to Europe. But she refused to leave William.”

My stomach tightens. “Please tell me they didn't accuse her.”

“There were rumors about Abigail over the next couple of months, about her singing to the devil. William came to me, nervous about the gossip. I begged him to elope with her and get her out before any official accusations were made. But his mother had fallen ill, and he did not want to leave his family. As time went on, the rumors got worse. Officials showed up at our door and questioned her.”

“You must have panicked.”

“I was sick with it. But my sweet sister was calm. She was confident that good would prevail. Then, somehow word of their relationship got out and William stopped talking to her. He denied all of it.”

“He abandoned her?” My voice rises.

“I went to talk some sense into him. He said the stress was bad for his mother, and he could not tie his family to an orphan suspected of witchcraft. That he had to protect his good name. I wanted to kill him. But I knew that if I took action it would be worse for Abigail. It was all too much for her, first the town turning against her, and then William. She would not talk or eat. She just lay in her room, drawing black-eyed Susans. Doctors came, but they had no solutions. So I sat by her bed, watching her day after day.

“Then the officials came back.” He pauses. “They would have arrested her, Samantha. They had every plan to, but I dissuaded them on account of her being so ill. I told them that if they took her and she died from their lack of care, they would be sure to rot in hell. For everyone knew my sister would not hurt a soul. I never told her that.”

The extraordinary weight he had carried.
“Did William at least check up on her?”

“No.” For a second his fist clenches. “She did not give up hope, though, not until we got the news. He was engaged.”

“To the governor's daughter?”

“Yes. When my sister heard, she let out a single scream. Two weeks later she died of a broken heart.”

“I would've killed him,” I say.

“At first I was angry. But more than retribution, I wanted answers. It did not take me long to track the rumors back to my fiancée. The worst betrayal of my life. I had told her things that led to my own sister's death. I confronted her. She admitted it. Said she was jealous of my relationship with Abigail, and she did not mean for everything to escalate. After that, I was furious with everyone. Most of all with myself.”

My heart hurts for him. I'm not sure if I could stand something like that. “How did you ever get through it?”

His eyes look haunted. “I hanged myself from the balcony of the general store in town in the middle of the night. The townspeople found my body with a note that read ‘It is the greatest evil of all, to separate people who love each other. I blame all of you.' ”

I cover my mouth with my hand. “I never heard that story.”

“That is because no one wanted to remember it.”

No wonder he's heartbroken and furious. I would be, too. “What can I do?”

“You can save your father. I failed to protect Abigail, and I have never forgiven myself.”

I wish I could make his sadness disappear. It seems so unfair that he had to go through all of that. I gently slip my fingers into his. He looks from my hand to my face. “Samantha.” We lock eyes. For a second, his expression softens, and I want to pull him close. But he lets go of my hand and walks to the window.

The hold he had on my body dissipates, and I examine my hands. Why am I feeling this strong connection? And why am I embarrassed? “Why did you bring me that dress tonight?”

“I could see you were badly in need of assistance.”

“You were watching me?”

He doesn't respond. He just stares out the window.

“Thank you. That was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.”

He almost smiles. “Yes. It looked well on you.”

My body warms with the compliment. My phone buzzes. It's a text from Jaxon. “Rash is better. Sleep tight and don't let the zombies bite.” Elijah disappears.