The Darkening Dream (34 page)

Salem, Massachusetts, Sunday, November 16, 1913

A
LEX DROPPED A STACK
of books on the breakfast table in front of Sarah.

“We need two ingredients,” she said, looking down at an open volume she’d brought herself. “
Oil of bend over
and
red brick dust
, extra strength. Who comes up with these names, anyway?”

“I don’t know, but you can bend over if you like.” He reached behind her and placed a hand on her bottom. She shook him off with her evil eye.

“We only have a couple of hours until the twins bring Emily.”

“I couldn’t help myself.”

Sarah returned to the book. “I bought some of the oil. It’s made from calamus, licorice, and damiana. Similar to the commanding oil used in the original spell but it has a few extra ingredients. Hopefully they’ll lend a little more potency, enough to dominate.”

“You bought it?” he asked.

“Emma knew a lady.”

“A store for witches?”

“Alex, we do live in Salem. Any idea about the brick dust?”

“Ahead of you there.” He’d been slogging through Grandfather’s generous occult library. “I have everything. We can make it now, but you aren’t going to like it.” He brought over two bowls filled with powder.

“The white is lye, the red is crushed brick I smashed with a sledgehammer yesterday. It’s a symbolic substitute for the original, more powerful ingredient.”

“Which is?” Sarah asked.

“Um. Dried blood, from a woman.”

“Why are you looking at me all funny?”

Alex couldn’t decide if he was uncomfortable on principle or because the subject was secretly fascinating.

“Special woman’s blood, you know.”

“I’m well aware,” she said. “The brick works though?”

“It’s supposed to.”

“What do we do with the powders?”

“This is the part you won’t like,” Alex said. “We mix them with urine to form a paste.”

She laughed but turned red. He found it fetching.

“Take them to the outhouse and do your thing,” she said.

“Well… it needs to be from whoever’s controlling the ritual.”

She rolled her eyes. “Point me to a room with no windows and a locked door.”

Alex mixed the powders, led Sarah to the canning pantry, and placed the bowl on the floor.

“It doesn’t lock from inside,” he said, “but I swear I’ll stand guard.”

Sarah entered the tiny room. “If you fail, you won’t have a life to swear on.” She slammed the door closed.

By the late afternoon they were almost ready. Yesterday, Sarah had given them all an earful about the importance of ceremonial white clothing, but he’d no complaints as hers was a sheer white dress. The house was fairly cold, so she’d thrown her overcoat on top and pulled on dark stockings. It was a peculiar look. Alex tried not to stare, but he found himself looking forward to the time when she’d remove the jacket. He went to kiss her.

She pushed him away. “Not tonight. You’ll upset the purity of the ritual.”

Grandfather wheeled his chair into the room.

“Sir,” Sarah said after greeting the old man, “none of these occult books agree on how this is done. They either have no details or they’re full of incomprehensible instructions. Do I pick one to go with or do I combine elements from each?”

“I’ve seen a wizened patriarch banish leprosy using only the desiccated finger of a saint,” Grandfather said, “and I’ve seen an African witchdoctor knit a broken bone with mud, a boar femur, and his own blood. Each man was a conduit for a power greater than himself.”

Sarah sighed. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Still, I’m confused. What power did Pastor Parris use to curse Emily? My father is convinced that he himself couldn’t break the spell because he doesn’t believe in it, at least not the way the pastor does.”

“The pastor is a Lutheran of sorts, but witchcraft is not a Christian magic,” Grandfather said. “Some demon or other power must have brokered his binding. There’s always an exchange, and nothing’s ever free.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Sarah said.

The old man chuckled.

“As for your original question — you should include those elements
you
think will be the most effective.” The clock chimed.

“Alex,” she said, “the Williamses will be here soon. Go upstairs and dress. All white, and no metal, jewelry, or leather.”

He went to his room and changed into some old linen Feast Day clothes. He debated what to do with Grandfather’s wolf’s head medallion. Sarah had been clear about no metal, but he didn’t want to part with it, so he tucked it under his tunic.

Returning, he paused at the door.

“Sir,” he heard Sarah say, “I’m going to be blunt. When your wife Isabella died, did she become a vampire?”

Alex didn’t dare walk in now. Jesus only knew how the old man would react.

“I was wondering if you might think that,” Grandfather said.

“I’m right?”

“My brother arranged my earlier marriages, but with her… We fell in love the night we met.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarah said. “Is that why you hunt the undead? Because they killed her?”

“Her death is behind everything I do.”

“She isn’t still around, is she? Undead, I mean,” she asked.

Alex’s head was beginning to pound. These blasted headaches. Images flashed through his head. A wolf with bloody jaws. Dmitri wrestling with it.

“No,” the old man said. “The monsters destroyed even that a long time ago.”

“Who are they? Was it Nasir, or the beetle—”

Alex swooned. The room spun and he crumpled to the floor.

After Sarah helped him up, Alex ate a whole plate of
dolmades
and tossed down a glass of wine. His headache was mostly gone — as long as he didn’t think too hard.

He heard the sound of gravel under the Model T’s wheels. When he opened the door, Sam carried Emily inside, bundled in blankets. Alex hadn’t seen the poor girl in a week, but she looked like she hadn’t eaten since then.

“What did you tell your parents?” he asked Sam.

“Anne convinced Aunt Edna to invite them to dinner.”

“This better work,” Anne said.

Sarah led them to the room Dmitri had cleared. Even the rugs had been removed, so only the wall decorations and a too-large-to-move cabinet remained.

“Put her on the floor,” Sarah said. “I know it’s not the most comfortable, but we don’t need any extraneous elements intruding into our ritual space.” She pulled off her jacket and stockings and folded them in the hall outside the room. As Alex suspected, the white dress was thin, and its sleeves ended at the elbows. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Sarah’s elbows before.

She knelt barefoot to light the circle of candles. He could just make out the shape of her knees and thighs, which forced him to fight down an unseemly erection.

“Nothing impure can cross the line of candles,” Sarah said when she was done.

He hoped thoughts didn’t count.

“Mr. Palaogos,” Sarah said, “please remain outside the circle, as your chair might pollute the space.”

“Happy to oblige,” the old man said.

Sarah pointed back at the door. “I need you men out of the room so Anne and I can prepare Emily.”

In the hall, Sam pulled off his jacket, belt, and shoes. The white pants and shirt he wore underneath were several sizes too small, absurdly tight.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “I look like a guy who stole a midget sailor’s suit.”

“Aye aye, matey!” Alex said.

When Sarah let them back in, the bedroom reeked of
oil of bend over
, sweet and medicinal, like a tonic so bad it could scare the cough right out of you.

“Step carefully over the candles,” Sarah said, “and sit on the cardinal points of the compass. Alex here on the north, Sam here on the south.” She tapped their spots with the ball of her foot.

Alex sat crossed-legged, facing Emily in the center. She was curled on her side in the fetal position, wearing only a white nightgown. In the flickering candlelight, her skin looked slick and shiny. Alex had never seen so much girl-leg. This was going to be a problem.

He tried to use a nearby painting by Caravaggio to distract himself. According to Grandfather, this 1601 rendering of Saint Peter’s crucifixion was intended for Santa Maria del Popolo in Rome. Apparently the church had forced the artist to paint another version, where the saint’s face didn’t so viscerally reflect being nailed upside-down to a cross.

“In case you’re wondering,” Sarah said, “Anne and I smeared the
oil of bend over
on Emily’s skin. It’s supposed to help us compel her to reject the curse.” She held the bowl containing the paste of lye, red brick, and urine. “I’m going to make a circle around her with this to contain and reflect the evil essence of the spell. No matter what happens, stay inside the candles and outside the circle of paste.”

Sarah grimaced as she worked. The reddish stuff probably smelled like piss, but the cloying odor of calamus had pretty much killed Alex’s olfactory sense.

“Everyone hold hands,” Sarah said after she finished her circle.

They all had to scoot close to the red line to reach each other. Sarah was on Alex’s left, Anne to his right. The hand holding started to excite him again — that
oil of bend over
had some powerful aphrodisiac qualities. He tried a second time to distract himself with Saint Peter’s final hours.

Grandfather wheeled into the room and positioned himself outside the line of candles. Sarah began to chant.

Emily stirred. She looked feverish, not fully conscious. Alex found himself focusing on her legs again and had to close his eyes. She was sick, and far too young. He watched Sarah instead. Her hand was soft but slick, hopefully not because of any lingering piss paste.

As Sarah continued chanting, Emily’s body began to thrash.

“Look at the bracelet—” Anne said.

“Shhh,” her brother said.

Emily was kicking her feet, but Alex thought he saw tiny tendrils of black smoke coming off the anklet, writhing about like snakes on a Gorgon’s head.

His hands grew warm. At first there was just an itch on his palms, but it gained intensity, then subsided, then again became fierce. Emily’s twitching seemed keyed to these pulses. As each wave crested she extended her limbs, and as it declined she relaxed. She began to moan, then pressed her hands across her chest and belly, caressing. Then moved her hands between her legs and began to rub.

Alex was horrified — and aroused. Everything felt so wrong. Sarah’s eyes were closed, but her expression looked concentrated. The twins both stared at their sister in horror.

Anne pulled on Alex’s hand, trying to free herself. She leaned forward on her knees.

“We have to stop this. Look what she’s doing!”

“Don’t break the circle,” Grandfather said. “The evil spirit must be exorcised before she can be free.”

Anne settled back.

The tendrils of smoke were at least six inches long now. Diffuse, they whipped and coiled back and forth around Emily’s foot. Angry welts ran up her leg.

The energy crested again. Emily gripped her groin, spread her legs and pressed her feet outwards. Impossibly, they found purchase at the border formed by the red brick paste. One foot hung in the air in front of Alex’s face, the flesh indented as if pushing against some unseen wall.