Cassandra opened her eyes and blinked sleepily at the morning sunlight joyously spilling into the bedroom's single small window. She quickly became aware of a heavy weight against her back, warm and reassuring. Memories of the night before flooded her and the happiest of smiles spread across her face as she twisted her body around in the bed. She was delighted to see that her memories were not merely remnants of some wonderful dream; there was Jenkins, his left arm draped over her protectively, sound asleep—or so she thought. She gasped when his one visible eye popped open and he grinned wickedly at her. In response, she playfully smacked his arm.
"Stop doing that!"
"Did you sleep well, Cassandra?" he asked, ignoring her rebuke, his tone bordering on smug. He tightened his arm before she could answer and easily pulled her close. The injuries he had received from his fight with the wolf seemed not to affect him in the least now. Cassandra giggled, feeling almost drunk with happiness.
"I did!" she replied as she snuggled against his smooth, bare chest, turned her face upward to look at him. "I did not mean to wake you."
"Immortals need very little sleep," he answered. To her surprise he waggled his eyebrows at her playfully. "But after all of last night's 'activities', I did need to doze off for an hour or so!" Cassandra laughed quietly in response.
"I know that you had some apprehension about the Ritual, I am pleased that you decided to proceed," he went on, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "That was very brave. I am humbled to have been chosen to be your Companion." Cassandra saw the look of worshipful adoration in his eyes. She raised her hand and stroked his cheek.
"I was afraid of all of this talk of magic and witches and Companions—at first," she admitted, "There were times that I wanted to forget that I had ever heard what was in Father's letter. But now, I am so glad that I did hear it, because now I have you!" Her hand still on his face, she stretched her neck as she squirmed upward and kissed him softly on the mouth. "I love you, Jenkins."
"I love you, Cassandra," he murmured, then turned to kiss the palm of her hand. "I have a gift for you." Her eye widened in surprise.
"A gift?" she repeated. She wriggled upward until she was sitting up in the bed and held the blankets up to cover her chest. Jenkins pushed himself upright and adjusted his seat as he spoke.
"A Binding present," he explained shyly, "It is traditional for a Companion to give a gift to their witch on the day of their Binding, to mark the occasion and as a sign of our loyalty." Before Cassandra could make any sort of protest, he held up a fist. Something suddenly dropped from his hand and dangled in mid-air, glittering in the morning sunlight: It was a huge pearl set in gold and hanging from a thick gold chain. Cassandra's eyes grew large as plates.
"That…that is the pearl I made from the pea!" she gasped, and turned her eyes up to meet Jenkins's. "But that is Eve's pearl! It was meant for her ring…!"
"She gave it to me. She thought it more appropriate for you to have it," he answered happily, "Besides, it is far too large for her ring anyway!" He looped the chain over her head, and the pearl came to rest between her breasts. Forgetting her modesty, Cassandra allowed the blanket to fall from her as she lifted the pearl and stared at it in wonder.
"Oh, Jenkins, it is beautiful!" She clambered to her knees and threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you! I shall treasure it, always!"
The Companion's dark eyes glowed as his chest swelled with pride at having pleased his mistress. His hand ran up her bare back and into her hair, then gently turned her head to face him. Their lips met and the kiss grew more ardent and insistent with each passing second. Cassandra whimpered softly deep in her throat. His hand slipped from her hair to trail his fingertips deliciously down her spine. When he reached her buttocks he grasped her right cheek in his huge hand and squeezed. She sighed into his mouth as she felt her stomach flutter and then fill with warmth.
Still locked in the passionate kiss, Cassandra slipped her arms around his neck and rolled over onto her back, urging him on top of her. As he settled his weight over her on his hands and knees, Jenkins grinned and reluctantly broke the kiss to look down at her.
"Surely not again?" he asked, feigning shock and dismay. In answer, Cassandra's hands slid downward between their bodies until she found his manhood. She wrapped her fingers around him and squeezed, mimicking his fondling of her buttock of a moment ago. Air hissed between his gritted teeth as he sucked in a breath. He gave her a longing, hungry look. He hadn't thought it possible for his mistress to be even more beautiful than she already was, but the jewel glinting between her lovely breasts only enhanced her beauty, as if by magic itself.
"Again it is, then!" he rumbled in mock reproof, "You are proving to be an insatiable mistress, Cassandra Cillian!" The simple, sweet smile she gave him, paired with her own lustful gaze as she squeezed him a second time, was more than he could resist, and he happily fell upon her as his desire for her overwhelmed him.
Eve Carsen's eyes popped awake in the bedroom of the Parsonage. Flynn was in the bed next to her, snoring quietly. Eager to check up on Cassandra and Jenkins, Eve rolled over and began to roughly shake her witch's shoulder.
"Flynn! Wake up! Wake up!"
"Mrrrff…I 'm awake!" Flynn snorted to life thickly and his eye cracked open slowly.
Eve got out of bed and dressed quickly. While Flynn dragged himself out of bed and dressed more slowly, she hurried along the narrow hallway towards Cassandra's bedroom. Eve's heart filled with pity for the young sorceress. Cassandra had so much to deal with right now as it was; worrying over an injured Companion was only adding more stress to nerves already stretched taut. And then there was the Ritual of Binding that had to be performed soon, as well—how was Eve going to convince the reluctant Cassandra that everything would be fine, that she had nothing to fear and everything to gain from the Binding?
Eve's face already had a deep frown of worry on it by the time she reached the closed door. She raised her hand to knock, then froze, her expression going from worried to alert instantly. There were sounds coming from within—groans of what sounded like pain. Alarmed, Eve lifted the latch and started to enter the room, her mouth open and Cassandra's name on the tip of her tongue as she prepared to call out to her.
Instead, Eve's jaw dropped at the sight that greeted her, and her astonished blue eyes flew open wide. A very naked Jenkins, on top of an equally naked Cassandra, her legs propped against his chest and shoulders as he rhythmically rocked against the young sorceress with gusto. His hands were underneath Cassandra's buttocks, lifting and holding her in place, while Cassandra's arms were thrown wide, her fingers gripping the bedding as tightly as she could. Both had their eyes closed, both were panting and moaning softly as their passion built in intensity.
"Harder, Jenkins! Harder! Oh, yes! My magnificent beast, yes! Yes! Please! Harder! Yes! YES!"
The last thing Eve saw before she threw herself out of the room and quickly, silently closed the door again was Cassandra's hands releasing the bedding and flying up to grab the Companion's forearms, digging her nails into his skin, her back arching, crying out her Companion's name as her pleasure prepared to overtake her.
Eve stood and gawped at the door. Flynn walked toward her from their room, carelessly tying his cravat as he approached the dumbfounded Companion.
"How is Cass—?"
"SHHHHHHHH!"
Eve's head whipped around to him as she hissed at him to be silent. Flynn yelped in surprise when she grabbed him by the back of his collar and dragged him down the stairs and into the kitchen, Flynn squawking in confused protest the entire way. When they were safely inside the kitchen, Eve released him. He gave her a sour look as he straightened his clothes.
"Eve! What is the matter with you?" he began to upbraid her, but he stopped when he saw the glow of barely concealed joy in her eyes. He cocked his head in puzzlement. "Eve? What…?"
"We do not have to worry about the Ritual of Binding any longer!" she informed him, her voice low and breathless, as if afraid of being overheard. Flynn only looked back at her blankly, so she lifted her head and pointedly looked up at the ceiling. Flynn followed her gaze, still not understanding. The room over the kitchen was now Cassandra's bedroom; did that mean something? Had something happened to Cassandra? Had something happened to Jenkins? As he continued to stare blankly at the ceiling, he could just make out the faint sound of wood creaking in a regular, familiar pattern. He frowned as he tried to place the rhythmic sound—and then he suddenly had it: It was exactly the same sound his and Eve's bedframe made whenever they—
Flynn's eyes goggled when understanding hit him and his hands flew to cover his mouth before an excited squeal could escape him.
"Do you mean…?!" he loudly whispered. Eve nodded with a grin and Flynn hastily covered his mouth again to stifle his elated giggles while he practically danced a jig in the middle of the kitchen.
"But this is wonderful!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining. "And the timing could not be better!" A look of wide-eyed urgency suddenly fell over the giddy minister. "We must celebrate! Come, Eve!" He grabbed her arm and pulled her to the kitchen's fireplace.
"We will begin with a celebratory breakfast! A decent breakfast! A feast! The usual corn pudding will simply not do today!"
Jacob Stone put off reporting what had happened at the Grimstead farm until the next morning. He didn't even try to go to bed that night; instead, he spent the long dark hours sitting before his fireplace, staring sightlessly into the flames as his mind replayed again and again the things he'd seen, striving to find a reasonable, logical explanation for it all. The sheriff was a sensible man, not one given to superstition. Witchcraft was a very serious charge, virtually equal to a death sentence for the accused witch. He wanted to be absolutely certain before he began pointing fingers at anyone.
Jacob shifted his position in the chair and sighed heavily. Magistrate DuLaque would expect his assessment first thing in the morning. The sheriff's face took on a look of disgust at the thought of the magistrate. Jacob tried to be a good Christian man in his day to day life, but he hated Dulaque with a passion. DuLaque was a cold, cruel man concerned only power and wealth and there seemed to be no end to his lust for both. The man had ground the people of Endor and its surrounding settlements beneath his boot-heel over the years until now it was nearly unthinkable for anyone to challenge him.
Including Jacob Stone, thanks to his father, Isaac.
Jacob picked up the iron poker and viciously jabbed its tip at the coals forming in the fireplace, sending a plume of dancing embers up into the chimney.
Isaac Stone had once been a prosperous man, a skilled stonemason whose work was much in demand, in Endor and even as far away as Boston. But when his wife died, the heartbroken Isaac took to drink in an effort to numb the pain. Soon the crutch became a necessity, and it came to the point where Isaac was drunk nearly every waking moment of his life. With hands that shook so badly that he could no longer hold a chisel or hammer, Isaac lost work, and because of his drinking no one else would hire him for other work. He next lost his friends when they grew tired of supporting his drinking and disgusted with his weakness.
But there were still bills to pay. Jacob recalled with a sick twist in his stomach those lean days when he often went to bed hungry. He had been a young man then, in his teens, but he was strong and a hard worker. He managed to hire himself out for day labor on occasion, and he was often fed by his sympathetic employers in addition to the odd shilling he'd make in wages. Jacob squirreled away as much of the cash as he could, with the goal of using it one day to go to Boston and seek his fortune there, away from Endor, away from his father.
He had managed to save up almost a full pound when he went one day and dug up the leather bag he had buried in the barn for safekeeping. On that day, however, he knew at once that something wasn't right; the bag was far too light in feel as he pulled if from its hiding place. With trembling fingers, Jacob untied the bag's neck and pried it open—only to find that every penny was gone.
Jacob knew instantly that he father had stolen the money, and had doubtless spent it on ale. Jacob, his heart numb with shock, had sat back on the ground and wept bitterly. It was all he could do.
In the space of only a few months the Stone household went from comfortable and happy to the auction block in order to pay Isaac's debts—the house, Isaac's tools, the land around it—everything. Not surprisingly, the highest bidder was Magistrate Laurence DuLaque.
The magistrate gave his permission for the Stones to remain in the house, on one condition—that Jacob begin working for DuLaque and DuLaque only. Jacob had no choice by then; they were penniless. His father was useless for work now and was clearly set on drinking himself to death. They had nowhere else to go. Jacob agreed with a sick heart to DuLaque's proposal, even though he knew it likely meant years, if not decades, of what amounted to indentured servitude.
Isaac was gone now, dead many years, but the debt to DuLaque continued. Here was Jacob, DuLaque's handpicked sheriff, desperately trying to decide what he should do about Doctor Jenkins and Mistress Cillian. She may very well be innocent—there was no way to connect her directly with what happened to Grimstead's cattle. But no matter how Jacob tried to explain things away, he knew in his heart that the white wolf had been Doctor Jenkins—and therefore a witch.
A low growl of frustration sounded in Jacob's throat and he tossed the poker to the floor next to his chair. But how could Doctor Jenkins be a witch? Granted, the man had lived in Endor only a few weeks, but from everything Jacob had heard, the doctor was a good man. He was kind and patient with those who came to see him, he charged nothing for his services. He was cheerful and pleasant to be around. He was intelligent and knowledgeable, skilled in the practice of medicine, yet he never talked down to people or treated them badly. How could someone like that be a witch? Doctor Jenkins was the exact opposite of what everyone knew a witch to be like.
On the other hand, witches were creatures of evil. It was not inconceivable that a witch might act like a good Christian in order to evade suspicion and lull true Christians into a sense of comfort with him, then suddenly allow his true nature to come to the fore and do the most damage, like—
Jacob sat upright in the chair, his heart pounding in his chest.
Like a wolf in sheep's clothing.
"A white wolf, you say?" DuLaque drawled thoughtfully as he gazed through narrow, assessing eyes at Jacob Stone after sunrise that same morning. The sheriff was standing uneasily in front of the dais in the village's meeting hall. Jacob had decided to report fully what he had seen the day before and let the chips fall where they may. If Doctor Jenkins was a witch, then he deserved to be hanged for it. If he was not a witch, however… Jacob refused to allow his thoughts to go any further in that direction. Jacob Stone was a simple, uncomplicated man who wanted nothing more than an equally simple and uncomplicated life. Going against Magistrate DuLaque and the Village Council would complicate his life greatly.
DuLaque was seated on a chair behind a long table that had been set up on the dais, an arrangement used by the Village Council as their judgement seat when hearing matters brought before them for resolution by the villagers on public meeting days. DuLaque's slave, Ezekiel, was standing on the floor at the end of the dais, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes fixed vacantly on the ground in front of him. At the servant's feet was a large oaken chest encircled with reinforcing bands of iron. At present the three men were alone in the meeting hall, and DuLaque listened intently as Stone dutifully reported what he had seen the day before at the Grimstead farm. When Stone was finished, DuLaque had leaned back in his chair and pursed his lips as he steepled his fingers beneath his sharp chin.
"Aye, Magistrate," Jacob confirmed, "A large one, almost the size of a black bear it was! And twasn't one of those beasts that you see upon occasion with white fur and red eyes either. This one had white fur and dark eyes, not light in color like a regular wolf's." DuLaque raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"How do you mean?" he asked. A troubled look came to the sheriff's eyes.
"They was dark gold, sir, but like no shade of gold I have ever seen in a regular wolf before," he answered in a troubled tone, "They was almost…man-like." He paused and shuddered at the memory, while on the dais DuLaque's thin lips barely formed a smile.
"And then when the attack was over, you say that Doctor Jenkins acted strangely?" he asked in a conversational tone. Stone nodded.
"Aye, sir," he replied, "The wolf's tracks led straight to the barn, but Doctor Jenkins said that he had seen no wolf. And though he was well when we arrived at the farm, suddenly he acted as if he was sick or hurting in some fashion, though he tried mightily to hide it. As soon as I found the horses we came straight back to the village." Stone paused a moment.
"It was well after dark by then; that is why I asked for a meeting this morning." He cast a furtive glance at the statue-like slave. "I know that you are usually at home after dark and that you dislike being disturbed when you are home."
DuLaque drew a deep, slow breath through his nose and sat upright in his chair, a serious expression coming to his face as he looked at the village's sheriff. "Do you understand what all of this means, Master Stone?" The man before him said nothing, but the troubled face Stone wore answered the question for him. He had to fight to keep a gleeful smile from coming to his thin lips; this plan was going more smoothly than he had hoped!
"This is a heathenish land, Sheriff," DuLaque went on in a dark voice, "We English have been here only a few decades. And though, by the will of God, we are working hard to tame and civilize this wild place, we must never forget that we are yet surrounded by deviltry!" DuLaque saw with satisfaction the fear that sprang to the sheriff's eyes at the word "deviltry", for where there were devils, there were also—
"Witches, then!" Stone growled quietly, his voice low and tight. He glanced again at the silent Ezekiel, but the man only met his gaze briefly before lowering his eyes again. Stone took a step closer to the dais. "You fear that we have witches among us, Magistrate?" DuLaque raised his head slightly.
"Cattle drop dead overnight for no discernible reason? An unnatural creature in the form of a giant white wolf appears in the same location from nowhere and then disappears in like fashion?" The old man shrugged and raised his hands as if in helplessness. "How else are we to explain these things if not by black magic, Sheriff?"
"But…we know all who live in the village," Jacob protested, suddenly torn. "I know everyone in the village is a God-fearing man and woman!" He shook his head in denial, unwilling to believe that anyone in Endor could be in league with Satan, not even Doctor Jenkins. "There must be another explanation!"
"I know it is hard to believe, Sheriff," DuLaque sympathized mournfully, "But we cannot allow emotion to blind us to what is right before us, especially not while we still have time to cut down the weed before it spreads throughout the field!"
"What do you mean by that?" Stone asked as a cold, hollow feeling opened up in his chest.
"I mean that we must root out the witch—or witches—in our midst, now, before they do any more harm or can spread their evil to others," DuLaque answered at once, his voice hardening. He stood up and walked around the table as he spoke, stepping down from the dais to stand before the increasingly troubled sheriff. "Fortunately, my experience as witch-finder gives me a clue as to where we may begin our hunt." Stone looked askance at him, his unease solidifying into dread.
"Where?"
"Think, Sheriff," DuLaque purred, and laid a fraternal hand on the younger man's shoulder. "What has changed in Endor recently? Who has come among us that we do not know nearly so well as the others of the village?" Jacob blinked as his heart sank within him.
"Doctor Jenkins," he replied, but then immediately shook his head. "No, no—it cannot be Doctor Jenkins! He is a good man—generous and humble! He has treated many in the village and he has taken nothing from anyone in payment!" A cat-like smile spread across the magistrate's face.
"That alone should be enough to warrant suspicion!" he said, a slight note of reproof in his voice, "For how is it that a man practices his craft yet charges no fee for his services? Does he not need money as the rest of us do? How does he pay for the things he needs if he has no gold in his pocket?" DuLaque removed his hand from Stone's shoulder and clucked his tongue.
"A man must have gold, even if only a few pieces against future hardship," he continued, answering his own question, "But what good is gold to a demon…?" Stone's blue eyes widened and his mouth fell open.
"Doctor Jenkins—a demon?!" he gasped in disbelief. Stone looked over at Ezekiel again; this time even the stone-like servant wore a shocked expression before quickly hiding it again. DuLaque shrugged dramatically.
"Consider, Master Stone," the old man said, "A giant white wolf with human-like eyes—your own words!—appears out of nowhere and then disappears after being injured in a fight with a normal wolf. Doctor Jenkins, a man with white hair—and who has yet to set one foot inside of the meeting hall for Sunday services, mind you!—suddenly seems ill after the mysterious white wolf disappears. And do not forget the dead cattle!" DuLaque leaned forward in a conspiratorial fashion.
"Five healthy animals die in the middle of the night without an explanation—or so Doctor Jenkins, the one who examines them, claims."
"True," Stone agreed with reluctance, "But I still cannot believe that Doctor Jenkins is a demon nor had anything to do with it!"
"You are a good, faithful man, Jacob Stone, and so I know that it is difficult for you to believe such terrible things of your fellow man," DuLaque went on smoothly, "But there is something else that you must understand." The old man leveled a stony gaze onto Jacob.
"In order for there to be a demon, there must also be a witch to summon it!" The weight of dread doubled on the younger man's chest.
"You already know who the witch is," he said.
"I do," DuLaque replied lazily and began to fuss with the sleeves of his expensive black doublet. "As I said, my many years as a witch-finder in England have sharpened my senses for this sort of thing. I have been watching this person for some time now, waiting for the right moment to reveal her true identity to the village; I think that time is come." He dropped his arms and looked up at Jacob.
"'Her'?" Stone echoed weakly.
"Sheriff Stone: As the Head Magistrate of the village of Endor, I order you to take Doctor Galeas Jenkins and Mistress Cassandra Cillian into custody on the charge of witchcraft." Stone's jaw dropped in shock.
"Mistress Cillian?" he gasped.
"I also order you to take into custody the Reverend and Goodwife Carsen," DuLaque went on, ignoring the other man's outburst, "On the charges of sheltering a witch and aiding in the practice of witchcraft."
"You… You are jesting with me, surely, Magistrate?" Jacob exclaimed, the dread nearly crushing him now. "Reverend Carsen and his wife?" The old man half-turned and snapped his long, bony fingers.
"The box, boy—bring it here!" he barked. Ezekiel obediently picked up the chest and carried to the men, struggling with its weight. He dropped it onto the floor and Jacob heard the faint rattling of metal from within it.
"Use these irons to bind them all," DuLaque went on, nodding at the chest next to the sheriff's feet. Ezekiel quickly unlocked the box and threw open the lid to reveal several sets of heavy shackles and chains.
"A souvenir of my witch-finding days. They are made of cold iron and have been blessed by the holiest of God's ministers in England," DuLaque rattled on as Ezekiel stepped away from the men. "They will prevent the witch and her demon from escaping. I suspect Flynn Carsen of being a witch as well, but that will need further investigation to prove. In the meantime, the chains will keep them from being able to cast curses or spells upon you and your men." At the mention of curses, Jacob's eyes stared at the box as if it contained poisonous snakes and then up again at DuLaque.
"You know much about these things?" he asked. The smile that slowly bloomed across the magistrate's face sent a chill down the younger man's spine.
"Indeed, I do at that," DuLaque replied proudly, his expression one like that of a contented cat. "As I said, when I was a younger, spryer man I earned my living solely by hunting witches and extracting confessions from them." His gaze and smile hardened in the blink of an eye and his voice was cold as he snapped his final order.
"I know that there are witches here, Sheriff; I know the signs of it! And, if it puts your mind at ease, I have proof of the charge against Mistress Cillian, at least." DuLaque reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of thick paper and held it up. Jacob spotted a blob of red wax—a broken seal. He was unable to see more of it than two stars impressed into the wax, enough to recognize it as the seal of the late Samuel Cillian.
"Written proof in her own father's hand that Mistress Cillian is a witch," the magistrate sneered. "And after I have…interrogated her, I am certain that she will gladly give up the names of her confederates." He shoved the letter back into his coat and glared coldly at the stunned sheriff.
"Now, get the men you need and take those I have named into custody—at once!"
By the time Cassandra and Jenkins descended the stairs late in the morning, Eve and Flynn had a sumptuous banquet laid out on the table, one that would have scandalized their Puritan neighbors if they had seen it. Roasted fowls, venison, beef; pastries, bread, porridge; fresh fruits and vegetables; meat pies, cakes, puddings. A large flagon of red wine was also available, something almost unheard of in this staid rural area of the Massachusetts Province. It was a feast worthy of any royal table in Europe—and all had clearly been summoned through magic. As the pair approached the table, Jenkins swept it with approving eyes, while Cassandra, who had never seen such bounty before in her life, squealed and clapped her hands in delight.
"Congratulations!" Eve cried joyfully as she hurried around the table and threw her arms around Cassandra to hug her warmly. "I am so happy for you!" She let go of the startled young woman and stood back to look her into the startled blue eyes.
"Everything went well?" she asked in a low voice. Cassandra's cheeks turned pink as she dropped her gaze.
"Y-you know? But…how?" she whispered, a look of horrified embarrassment coming to her face. Behind them, Flynn clapped Jenkins heartily on the back in congratulations and began pouring the Companion a large glass of the wine.
"Oh, yes!" Eve whispered back excitedly. To spare Cassandra any further mortification, she quickly made up a small lie to explain her knowledge. "I could sense it the moment I woke up this morning!" Relief flooded the young woman's body and she again beamed with happiness.
"Everything was...wonderful!" she gushed finally in a giddy voice. She cast a shy glance at Jenkins as Flynn shook his free hand and gave her Companion another fraternal slap on the back. She turned back to Eve and leaned in close. "We did it two times last night, and then again this morning; i-is that too much?" she whispered, a slight look of anxiety in her eyes. Eve's eyebrows arched and her mouth fell open a bit in astonishment, but she quickly recovered and shook her head.
"There is no right amount or wrong amount," she said, "If you and Jenkins are satisfied, that is all that matters. But..." She glanced at the men to make sure they weren't listening, but Flynn was busy pouring wine for everyone else now as he continued to chatter excitedly at Jenkins. "I must say that three times in one night is very impressive! Well done, Cassandra!"
Cassandra burst into nervous giggles and hugged the Companion again before they joined Jenkins and Flynn at the table. Jenkins handed Cassandra a glass of the ruby-red wine. They then turned to face Flynn and Eve, and the minister raised his hand to stop everyone from taking a drink from their wineglasses.
"I wish to say something before we begin feasting," he announced, suddenly serious again. He cleared his throat and looked directly at Jenkins. "Jenkins: Do you accept Cassandra as your lawful wife?" The Companion looked at the women, confused.
"My wife?" he repeated.
"Do you accept Cassandra as your true witch?" Eve, unsure as to what Flynn was doing, quickly interpreted for Jenkins, using terms that she thought the magical being would understand. Jenkins frowned in puzzlement.
"I know what a wife is, Eve! And of course I accept her!" he declared, almost offended by the question as he turned back to Flynn. Before he could say anything more, Flynn turned to Cassandra.
"And do you, Cassandra, accept Jenkins as your lawful husband?" The young woman's head nodded at once and she turned to gaze lovingly up at her Companion.
"I do!" A visible look of relief fell over Flynn's weathered face.
"Then by the authority given to me by Almighty God, I now declare you husband and wife!" He picked up his wine and raised the glass high. "To Doctor and Goodwife Jenkins!"
Eve picked up her glass and did the same. "To Doctor and Goodwife Jenkins!" As the Carsens drank, Jenkins looked between them in bafflement.
"I...do not understand..." he said faintly. Flynn set his glass down and beamed at him.
"The Ritual of Binding does not legally protect Cassandra from would-be suitors—like Magistrate DuLaque," he explained happily, "But what I have just done—as the duly-appointed minister in charge of all of the souls in the village of Endor—is to legally marry you!"
"DuLaque now has no claim on Cassandra whatsoever!" Eve exclaimed excitedly as she saw the clever trick her witch had just pulled. She turned to explain to Jenkins. "In the eyes of the law and the church she now belongs to you; DuLaque must leave her alone or risk severe legal consequences!" Instead of happiness, however, a look of horror fell over the tall Companion's face.
"But...Mistress Cassandra is my mistress!" he protested vehemently, shocked, "I belong to her! She cannot possibly belong to me! A witch cannot be owned by a Companion! That is—!"
"It is only a ruse, and a clever one at that," Cassandra said quietly as she laid her hand on his shoulder and looked up at him. "We must pretend to be like every other couple in the village or we will raise suspicions." She smiled up at the troubled Companion. "Besides, we have already discussed this, have we not? We are equal. Neither belongs to the other." She reached down and picked up her wine, turned to him again, her eyes glowing with happiness.
"To Doctor and Goodwife Jenkins!"
Before the wine could touch her lips, the front door of the Parsonage exploded inward and the room was suddenly filled with several large burly men, all armed with flintlock pistols or rifles. As they leveled the weapons at the startled couples Cassandra screamed, the glass of wine slipping from her fingers. It crashed to the floor unheeded, glass shattering and wine spreading like blood across the stone floor. Jenkins and Eve instinctively moved to stand in front of their respective witches. Jenkins was closest to the intruders; he glared at them balefully, just waiting for one of them to move toward his mistress, determined that any man who dared to touch her would live just long enough to regret his foolishness.
"What is going on here?" Flynn demanded angrily, "What is the meaning of this?!"
The men stood still and silent, though, content to keep the four under arms. A few seconds later, Jacob Stone worked his way through the cluster of men and emerged in the tight quarters to face the Carsens and the Jenkinses. He took one look at the sumptuous, impossible spread on the table and his expression darkened. DuLaque had been right; there were witches here—and they were the Carsens, Cassandra Cillian and Doctor Jenkins.
"By the order of Head Magistrate DuLaque, everyone here is under arrest for the practice of witchcraft!" he snarled, his blue eyes cold as they swept the stunned faces in front of him. He waved blindly behind him. "Bring the irons!" Two more men came from behind the armed men, carrying a wooden chest between them and set it on the floor. Jacob stooped and unlocked the chest, threw its lid back to reveal the mound of iron chains inside. Jacob stood up and away from the chest. He took the pistol from one of his men and waved its barrel at the shackles. Cassandra, her heart nearly stopped dead in her chest with fear, tore her eyes away from box and looked up at Jacob.
"No!" she whispered, mounting panic quickly choking off her voice. "Sheriff Stone—please! Let us explain!"
"Silence, witch!" Jacob snapped, ignoring her. He half-turned his head to instruct the men behind him. "Bind them. Hands and feet—all of them!"
Cassandra whimpered in mindless terror and tried to back away as some of the men moved to lay hands on their prisoners; others pulled lengths of chain from the chest.
"No! No! No!" she babbled, near to tears. Suddenly she felt the air around her change. There was a tingling feel to it, as sometimes happened during summer storms when there was a great deal of lightening. She unconsciously grabbed her Companion's arm, her heart pounding with increasing fear.
The sheriff's men began to advance, chains at the ready. Before they had taken three steps there was a blinding flash of blue-white light just in front of the young sorceress. The men halted and held their hands up to shield their eyes from the blinding glare, several crying out in fear. The light disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and in its place, where Jenkins had been standing just seconds ago, was the huge white wolf. The beast dropped his head, flattened his ears and bared his teeth, a low rumbling growl of warning sounding deep in his throat. The men instantly backed away, some dropping the chains in their hands, their eyes wide now with terror of their own. Some turned and fled the house entirely, unwilling to risk their very souls in a fight with a demon from Hell. Only Jacob Stone stood his ground, his face set with determination. He calmly raised his flintlock pistol and leveled the weapon at the center of the wolf's massive head.
"You do not frighten me," Jacob said, his voice also a growl. "Submit, demon! Or I will send a ball of lead through your skull!"
"NO!" Cassandra screamed. As the Carsens cried out in fear for her safety, she darted forward to place herself between the muzzle of the gun and the wolf, holding her arms wide as if that would protect Jenkins from the lead shot.
"CASSANDRA! No!" Eve and Flynn both shouted in unison from the other side of the table. Both moved to come to her aid, adding to the growing chaos, while Jenkins yelped in alarm and tried to get in front of his mistress again. One of the sheriff's braver men lunged toward Flynn and, while the minister was distracted, managed to clap one of the shackles he was carrying around one of Flynn's wrists. Flynn cried out in alarm and tried to pull his chained hand away from the man, to no avail. When Eve spun around at his cry and saw what was happening, her Companion's instinct to protect her own witch overrode everything other concern. She turned and charged at the man trying to chain Flynn. There was a second flash of light, this one a golden yellow in color, and then suddenly there was a preternaturally large and tawny lioness leaping over the table, roaring her fury like thunder.
The man holding Flynn shrieked and let go of his chain just as Eve struck him in the chest and knocked him flat on his back against the floor. Her long razor-like claws made short work of the man's neck, slicing it almost to the spine and sending a fountain-spray of blood everywhere as the jugular was torn open.
The sight and smell of blood triggered a panic-stricken melee. A man ran toward Jenkins, still struggling to get Cassandra behind him. He just managed to loop his chain around the wolf's neck when Jenkins turned on him. Lunging, the wolf's jaws snapped viciously at the man, but the human was quick. He managed to wrap the chain around Jenkins's neck a second time, creating a sort of garrot as he pulled both free ends of the chain to tighten it.
The gigantic wolf at once began to struggle again his hold, violently thrashing his head to and fro. He managed to catch one of the man's forearms between his teeth and he bit down on it with all his strength, growling with satisfaction as he felt the bones crack beneath his sharp fangs. The man screamed in agony and dropped the chain's ends as he now struggled to free himself. They wrestled one another briefly until they crashed into the table behind Jenkins, knocking it over, sending food, glassware and dishes everywhere.
"Let him go!" Cassandra screamed. Desperate to free her Companion, she snatched up a carving knife from the floor and, without even thinking, launched herself at the man struggling to free himself from the wolf's jaws. She plunged the long blade into the man's back. He shrieked a curse and spun around just enough to viciously backhand her with his free hand, knocking the slight woman to the floor. Jenkins let go of his victim's arm and lunged at the man's throat, snarling with rage. Within seconds his bloody muzzle was clamped around the hapless man's neck. With the slightest bit of pressure, his vertebrae snapped and the man went limp. Jenkins opened his jaws and let the dead man drop to the floor in a heap, then turned to locate his mistress.
Suddenly the room was filled with a deafening roar and the stench of gunpowder as the flintlock in Jacob's hand went off. Momentarily stunned, all movement stopped as every ringing head twisted to find the source of the noise. Jacob Stone stood still in the center of the chaotic scene, the hand holding the pistol raised over his head, the muzzle of the gun aimed at the ceiling. He tossed the useless gun aside and snatched up another, loaded and ready, from the hand of another of his frightened men.
"HOLD!" he bellowed. He aimed the gun at Cassandra, cringing on the floor. He glanced between the barely-restrained wolf and the lioness eyeing him angrily from atop a second man she had just toppled and killed, the end of her tail twitching in irritation.
"You two—take your human forms again, or I swear I will shoot the witch here and now!" he shouted.
"Do as he says, Eve!" Flynn urged his Companion. There was a flash of yellow light and in place of the lioness there was Eve Carsen again, kneeling on her victim, her expression full of hate, her face, clothes and hands bloody.
"Chain her!" Stone ordered his men, then turned his attention to Jenkins, still in the form of a wolf. "I command you, demon, in the name of Our Lord Jesus Christ, take your human form!"
"He cannot!" Eve spat sharply even as she was roughly hauled up from the floor and shackled. "The chains around his neck block his magic; they will not allow him to transform while they are on him!" The sheriff gave her a surly look, but judged that she was telling the truth.
"Leave him chained, then!" Jacob ordered his men curtly with a sharp nod of his head. "Make them secure, though. I think Magistrate DuLaque and the Council will want to see this marvel for themselves!" He turned to address the rest of his men. "Bind them all, and be quick! Then tend the injured!"
The men moved with speed goaded on by fear, scurrying to finish shackling Flynn and then Cassandra, lastly securing the huge wolf before any more witchery could be done. As a man fixed the heavy iron shackles around Cassandra's small wrists, she stared hard at Stone, a mixture of pleading and disdain in her blue eyes.
"Please! Do not hurt Jenkins!" she entreated him, "He meant only to protect me! He would never have harmed anyone otherwise!" Stone turned disbelieving eyes onto the woman.
"I know about you, Mistress Cillian!" he snarled roughly, "How could you?! You had the opportunity to walk away, but instead you embraced your wicked heritage! How could you, of all people, take up with witches?" He cast a hard, hateful look at Reverend Carsen and his wife, now chained and under the guard of several of the men. "And how could you, Reverend—or should I call you 'witch' now, as well? How could you deceive the village in such a vile way?" He rushed to the minister, furious now, and struck Flynn hard across the face. Eve lunged at Stone, but was quickly pulled back by the sheriff's men before she could reach him.
"We trusted you, we believed in you!" Stone spat in anger born of the feeling of betrayal, "And now we find that you are a minion of Satan himself, mocking the Almighty by aping one of his ministers!" He struck Flynn a second time, then spun around and stalked to the front entrance of the Parsonage. He stood to one side of the still-open door. Outside, villagers could be seen gathering, trying to peer into the Parsonage after having heard the commotion within and the gunshot.
"Get them out of here!" he barked harshly, waving the flintlock still in his hand. "Take them to the gaol, lock them into it! Keep them all separated and leave their chains on them!"
"What of the wolf, Master Stone?" one of the men nervously holding Jenkins in place by one of the chains around his throat. "We cannot shackle the beast's legs!" Jacob stared at the subdued beast for several seconds, considering his options.
"Tie its jaws shut, tight!" he went on, "Tie up its legs and sling it onto a carrying pole. Take it to the gaol with the others and leave it bound, as well." Jacob turned his stony face to glare pointedly at the massive creature. "If it gives you any trouble, shoot it!"
"NO!" Cassandra shouted and struggled futilely against the men holding her. One of them cuffed the back of her head, making her cry out in pain and fall to her knees. Jenkins snarled angrily and tried to clamber onto his feet. One of the men holding him gave the wolf a vicious kick to his ribs and bellowed at him to be still, while Jacob watched everything impassively.
"You have your instructions; I will go and fetch DuLaque," he growled, then turned to leave the Parsonage.
But word reached Head Magistrate DuLaque long before Sheriff Stone had his prisoners under control. The magistrate had spies everywhere, folk who owed money or a favor to the old man in return for keeping them from financial or reputational ruin. They were always happy to accept his help in the beginning, but all quickly came to regret it. DuLaque was a harsh lender, using his knowledge of their misdeeds to extort "favors" from his debtors in lieu of cash again and again long after the original debt would have been considered paid in full by a more fair-minded man. But there was one chance to escape the trap, one slim hope: A man could sometimes buy his freedom with information or an action, if DuLaque found that information especially profitable.
Master Henry McKay was one such man. He was a chandler, the only one in the village, and as such he had grown very rich and prosperous. His prosperity, however, had come at a terrible cost. It was he who, after a night of heavy drinking, had set the fire that burned down the shopfront of his only competitor five years earlier, a fire that not only destroyed his competition's property, but had also killed his rival and the man's entire family as they slept in the living quarters upstairs. How Magistrate DuLaque had learned of his crime, McKay had no idea, but it wasn't long after the tragic "accident" that the crafty old man had called on McKay and recited for him every move the chandler had made that awful night, as though he had been standing next to McKay the entire time.
Knowing that he was now on the path to the gallows for his crime, McKay had thrown himself to his knees and promised DuLaque anything, anything at all if only the magistrate would keep his secret. To his astonishment, DuLaque had accepted the desperate offer—for a near-ruinous amount of money and for McKay's agreement to act as DuLaque's eyes and ears in the village, reporting to him anything that the magistrate might find interesting to know. McKay had agreed to the arrangement at once; what choice did her really have when the alternative was the noose? Thanks to Henry McKay, Magistrate DuLaque had grown even richer over the years as he used McKay's information to financially—and sometimes physically—destroy anyone who crossed the old man.
It just so happened that McKay was passing by the Parsonage this particular morning, on his way back from an early delivery of candles to one of the village's taverns, when he saw Sheriff Stone and several rough-looking men making a beeline for Reverend Carsen's house. McKay quickly reined the horses pulling his wagon to a halt and watched to see what was going to happen. Though he couldn't see inside the Parsonage, he could hear it clearly in the still morning air, and the moment he heard Jacob Stone bellow the word "witchcraft", McKay slapped the reins on his horses and turned his wagon to make a beeline of his own to the house of Magistrate DuLaque.
In the room he used for receiving clients, DuLaque sat comfortably on the richly upholstered armchair, occasionally sipping hot tea from a fine bone-china cup as he listened to McKay's report, the ever-present Ezekiel standing behind the chair. There was no other chair in the room, so McKay stood and anxiously wrung his hat in his hands as he recounted what he'd seen just a few minutes ago. The chandler had expected DuLaque to be surprised or alarmed by the news, but the official's only reaction was a small crooked smile of what could only be described as satisfaction.
"Excellent!" DuLaque said, and set his half-empty cup on the silver tray resting on the table next to him. "Take it away." Knowing that the words were addressed to him, Ezekiel gave a curt nod of his head from behind the armchair.
"Yes, Master." The young man hurried to the table and picked up the tray. In his haste, he bumped the chair with the silver tray, knocking the half-empty cup over with a loud clatter. Tea sloshed over the lip of the tray and cascaded down the front of Dulaque's clothing.
"You clumsy oaf!" DuLaque fairly screeched as he launched himself out of the chair, brushing frantically at the expensive fabric. Ezekiel dropped the tray back onto the table and snatched up a napkin. He hurried around the chair and began to dab frantically at the dark stain.
"Master! I am so sorry!" he gushed in a wheedling tone, "Please forgive me! Let me take your coat and I will wash it for you immediately…!" His hands darted in and out around those of DuLaque as he babbled his apologies until finally his master could take no more.
"BEGONE!" he thundered, and he shoved Ezekiel away so hard the younger man almost tripped over his own feet and fell. "Get out of my sight before I have you taken and flogged for your carelessness!"
"Yes, Master! At once, Master!" Ezekiel bowed stiffly, then hurried back to the table to retrieve the tea tray. "Forgive me, Master!" Before DuLaque could respond, the slave scurried away and out of the room, the china shuddering on the tray as he hurried across the floor.
"Half-wit!" DuLaque spat in disgust and turned back to McKay. "I am half-tempted to have him flogged anyway, and then send him back to Boston to be sold…!"
As soon as Ezekiel was in the corridor, he stopped, quietly set the tray down and then pressed his back to the wall just past the doorframe so he could listen to what his master was saying to the chandler. He glanced down at his hand, now balled into a fist, and grinned. He opened his fingers; sitting in the middle of his palm was a heavy gold signet ring, engraved with two eight-pointed stars surrounded by a wreath of oak leaves. He'd just stolen it from the pocket of his so-called master as he tried to clean up the tea that he had "accidently" spilled.
"Go and tell Sheriff Stone to bring the prisoners to the village meeting hall," he now heard the old man said, his tone that of one who expects his orders to be carried out at once and to the letter. "Then call the other magistrates together for an emergency meeting at once." There was a dramatic pause.
"Tell them we have a trial to conduct!"
Ezekiel, his face determined, jauntily tossed the ring into the air and caught it again before slipping it into his own doublet. He scooped up the tray and silently hurried down the hallway that led to the kitchen, a scheme forming in his brain as he went.