“I thought you’d like them. You can borrow them, but you have to bring them back.”
“I’ll just come in on my day off and read back here.” She flops down on the sofa and starts to read. “I love the vibe back here, Mil. It’s so chill and serene.”
“I think so, too.” I grin as I fluff an orange pillow. “And I love that customers have been coming back here more and more to spend time. I need to add a table or two for those who want a quieter place to work on computers.”
“You could put them in that corner,” Esme suggests, pointing to the room’s only empty space. “Well, one at least.”
“And only one because there are fire codes, and I think more than that would block the path to the doorway.” I prop my hands on my hips and survey the space. “But one bistro table will do for now. Anyway, I have to run across the street to Dahlia’s to pick up a fresh flower bouquet. I’ll unlock the front door on my way out and flip the OPEN sign.”
“I guess that’s my cue to get my ass off this couch.” She laughs and follows me out to the dining area. Esme walks behind the counter, ready to take coffee orders, and I grab the to-go cup that I already made for my friend.
“I’ll be back in a few,” I say as I wave and head out the door and across the street. It’s way too early for Dahlia’s flower shop to be open, but she’s always in early and lets me come in to buy fresh blooms each morning. It always helps that I’m armed with free caffeine.
“Good morning,” she says when she opens her door and holds it for me, gratefully taking her coffee. “You have no idea how badly I need this today. I’m exhausted.”
“Not sleeping well?” I ask with a frown. “You know, I can give you something for that.”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” She waves me off. “I just have times now and then when my sleep is restless. I’ll rub some vetiver on my feet tonight. That should do the trick.”
“Drink some chamomile tea, as well,” I suggest. “And I really don’t mind whipping you up a sleeping aid. I have everything I need across the street.”
“I’ll let you know if it comes to that,” she says. “What would you like today?”
“I think I’m in a red mood,” I reply after thinking it over.
“Blood red?” she asks.
“Mm, yeah. Deep red for sure. And let’s add some purple to it.”
She nods. “I have just the thing. Hold on.”
Dahlia disappears into her large walk-in cooler, where I see her arranging flowers, choosing a stem here and there from a bucket, and then arranging some more.
When she returns, I blink rapidly at the arrangement she offers.
It’s very…different for Dahlia. Bigger. Not as symmetrical as she normally does.
“Interesting,” I say. “It’s sort of…wild, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” she looks at the flowers in my hand and then tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “Oh, I suppose it is. It’s early, and I’ve only had one sip of coffee. Here, I can spiff it up a bit if you like.”
“No, it’s fine. Thank you. Just add these to my tab.”
She nods. As I turn, I hear a blood-curdling scream.
“What in the hell?” Dahlia and I both run outside, and I see a woman staring down at the bench beside the Brew’s front door, screaming as if she’s being tortured to death. “What’s wrong?”
The woman points, and I glance down, immediately moving the other woman back.
“What is it?” Dahlia asks.
“Call 911,” I order her. “Right now.”
Esme comes running outside with her phone already in hand. “On it.”
“Let’s get all of these people back. Sorry, folks, but I need you to stand back.”
“Uh, Mil?” Dahlia says and gestures at the bench. I turn and feel my blood run cold.
It’s a hand. A severed hand, resting on the bench, its fingers clenched in a fist. Except now, the fingers are relaxing, opening, revealing something in its palm.
“Goddess, that’s gross.” Esme scrunches up her nose.
“What’s in there?” I murmur, bending down to get a closer look. “It looks like…a bloodstone.”
“Yeah, and covered in blood,” Esme says and then keeps talking to the 911 operator. “That’s right, the hand is holding a stone, covered in blood.”
“Don’t touch it,” Dahlia orders.
“I’m not.” It’s like I’m in a fog now, and all of the people standing around, Esme and Dahlia and all of the bystanders, feel farther and farther away. I know I shouldn’t, but I want to touch that stone. I reach out, and as I do, the raw gem seems to light from within, shining through the thick blood surrounding it, then pulses as if it has its own heartbeat.
Just before I make contact, there’s a spark, and I’m falling to the ground.
“You’re under arrest, Millicent, charged with witchcraft.”
I shake my head and stare into faces so familiar to me. These are my friends. This is my community. I’ve lived in Salem since I was born.
How can this be happening?
On one side of me stands John Anderson, pulling my left arm. On my right is my darling Lucien, also pulling me as if taking me to jail.
How could my own husband betray me like this?
I’ve been so careful. Never given anyone any indication that I’m anything but a Puritan, a devout Christian woman. I know that to do otherwise could be deadly, especially since young Elizabeth Hubbard and her friends started accusing women of being witches.
Women who most certainly are not.
I’ve seen innocents swing by their necks from trees.
And now they’re taking me away? This is lunacy.
“I’m no witch,” I say, pleading with the men to let me go. “Please, I have children to see to.”
But they’re not listening. The men are yelling as they drag me through the town square. But suddenly, Lucian leans in and whispers in my ear. “Stop fighting, my
