Page 127 of Demise

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 & Brews before stopping on the shop beside it.

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m moving towards the shop. It’s painted black on the outside, with intricate wood trim framing the large windows. In the window, the etched name of the shop sprawls across it, with glittering crystals and rocks on display.

Luna’s Apothecary and Gift Shop.

“Sky, where are we going?” Asher asks as we cross the road.

“I just want to pop in here for a minute.”

Asher shakes his head as he follows beside me.

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