The villagers that remained in the square in front of the meeting hall buzzed with excited conversation as they waited for the wagon that would carry the witch Flynn Carsen and his demons to the hanging tree. DuLaque's gaze swept the steadily growing crowd with satisfaction. Word had spread like wildfire about what happened at the Parsonage this morning, and it looked as if most of the townsfolk and many of those who lived in the environs closest to the village were now eagerly huddled together in the frigid early afternoon sunlight. Some were drawn by curiosity, while others were drawn by the sheer novelty of a hanging; there was almost a festive feel in the air now that the sentence had been pronounced. As the minutes ticked by with no further action, the crowd began to become restless, impatient for the gruesome spectacle to begin.
The Head Magistrate scowled. Where was that wretched sheriff? How long did it take a man to hitch a pair of horses to a wagon? An inner voice, one that had served him well over the years, warned him that something was afoot, and the old witch-finder hadn't made it this far in life by not heeding his instincts. He looked over at one of the men guarding the prisoners.
"Go to the stables and find Sheriff Stone, help him if he needs it! I want that wagon here within five minutes!" The man nodded curtly and hurried off in the direction of the stables.
DuLaque mounted the meeting hall steps until he reached the porch at their summit, turned and raised his hands into the air above his head. The crowds quieted, eager to hear what he had to say.
"My friends!" DuLaque began somberly, "For those who are latecomers to these proceedings, I am sorry to inform you that there is, indeed, a witch among us in Endor!"
At the reaffirmation of the rumors flying around the village, the crowd burst into loud anxious buzzing. DuLaque let them run for a few seconds, then lazily raised his hand again for silence.
"Yes, my friends, it is true; a witch!" he repeated, turning his head to take in the reactions on the dozens of upturned faces. He glanced at the accused themselves. Eve Carsen was still standing ramrod-straight, her face a hard mask of defiance. Flynn Carsen had regained consciousness by now, but he remained sitting on the ground, pale and dazed by the blow to his head. Cassandra Cillian had managed to inch her way closer to the snow-white wolf. She could reach no further than one of its massive rear paws, but she stroked its toes gently as she huddled on the frozen ground, shivering with cold while she murmured comfortingly to the beast. The sight brought a sour, irritated look to the magistrate's face for a moment, but he decided to let it pass for now. Soon enough the beast Companion would be nothing more than a swaying corpse hanging from the gallows, its spirit sent back to the Void with its tail between its legs. The image brought a smile to his thin lips.
"They sought to embed themselves into the very heart of our village!" he bellowed as he raised a hand and jabbed an accusatory finger in the direction of the miserable little group. "The Reverend Carsen and his "wife", Goodwife Carsen, as well as Doctor Jenkins—all have been exposed this very morning as creatures in league with Satan himself!" he thundered, and the latecomers in the crowd burst into gasps and chatter again. DuLaque held up both hands this time to get regain control.
"Peace! Peace, friends!" he called out, soothingly now, and the noise died away.
"I know that good, God-fearing folk such as you are frightened to hear of this infestation of evil in our midst!" he went on, sweeping the crowd with blazing blue eyes as he shook a reproving fist for emphasis. "And you are right to be alarmed—but do not be afraid! For God has finally deigned to reveal the treachery of this false minister who apes being a man of the cloth!" He swung his long arm around to point at Flynn in case there was any doubt as to his identity.
"God himself has also exposed the identities of two—TWO—demons that Flynn Carsen has confessed with his own mouth to having summoned into this world! Yes, friends! Actual demons that have taken on human form and have been calling themselves Goodwife Carsen and Doctor Jenkins!" At the mention of demons the atmosphere in the large gathering again became tense and fearful as DuLaque continued to whip the village into a panic. Witches were one thing; at least they were human beings and could easily be dealt with once they had been caught. Demons were another matter entirely.
"These be serious charges, Head Magistrate," said Magistrate William Cavendish, an elderly man, spoke up timidly. He was standing at DuLaque's left hand, an expression like that of a frightened rabbit on his face. "Reverend and Goodwife Carsen have lived among us for many years, we know them well. How is that we have all missed so grave a defect in these people as the practicing of witchcraft? Perhaps a mistake has been made? Perhaps we should wait until a judge can be summoned from Boston and a proper trial—" DuLaque whirled on the old man and glared down at him, smoldering rage in his eyes. Cavendish quailed before him.
"We dare not wait, Magistrate Cavendish!" he shouted, then turned to look out over the crowd. "They have already nearly corrupted the soul of Mistress Cillian; we dare not wait and give them time to attempt to corrupt any others in Endor!" DuLaque lowered his voice, his tone one of reason and logic as he continued his argument.
"Evil is not bold and open when it comes to tempt the people of God away from the straight and narrow path of righteousness! No! Evil is subtle, seductive, striking at the weakest portion of a person's character, just as the serpent did with Eve in the Garden of Eden!" DuLaque raised a hand, his index finger pointing heavenward as he continued to cajole his enraptured listeners.
"Remember that serpent in the Garden!" he shouted, taking on the fiery cadences of a preacher. "Remember how it whispered into Eve's ear and tempted her with knowledge equal to that of Almighty God himself! Remember how weak, fallen Eve then transmitted her own disobedience to her husband, Adam, eagerly whispering Satan's lies into his trusting ears! And now here is another Eve, doing the very same to another man of God!" There were mutters of agreement amongst the members of the magistrate's audience.
"But their disobedience was discovered soon enough, was it not?" DuLaque asked rhetorically, a smug, wry tone to his voice. "And Adam and Eve were punished for their willfulness and their hubris, were they not?" At that moment, the old man's eye caught the sight of a familiar figure at the edge of the crowd. He smiled inwardly with satisfaction at the sight of Jacob Stone slipping through the onlookers until he was finally standing near the front, a burlap sack in his hand. DuLaque was puzzled at that. He looked around; where was the wagon? But he turned his attention back his impromptu sermon and raised his hands to make sure he had everyone's attention. The magistrate's concentration was so focused on Jacob and the crowd that he did not notice a second figure, slight in build and wearing old clothes with a floppy-brimmed hat. It moved adroitly through the crowd on the opposite side from Jacob, steadily making its way toward the prisoners.
"And did not the Almighty curse the wicked serpent as well?" DuLaque continued, "Did God not condemn that master of lies to crawl forever upon his belly as the lowest of all the creatures? How can we, then, turn a blind eye to the evil that has slithered into our very midst?" He dropped his finger to point at one edge of the crowd and swept it across, taking in all.
"And lest any cringe at the thought of a hanging, I remind you: It is our Christian duty to rid ourselves and the world of this menace! Did not our Lord not send a legion of demons into a herd of swine and then see that herd destroyed as they leaped into the sea?"
"You are the only serpent in this village, Magistrate!"
Amidst a burst of gasps and murmuring, DuLaque's head snapped to and fro as he sought the heckler in vain.
"Who said that?" he bellowed.
"I said it!"
DuLaque looked toward the sound of the voice and discovered Cassandra glaring furiously up at him. When she saw that she had his attention, she clumsily climbed to her feet. She raised her shackled hands to point an accusing finger back at him.
"You are the only demon here, Magistrate!" she shouted fiercely, "You have used your wealth and your power to crush this village beneath your heel like a worm!" She tried to step closer to the stairs of the meeting hall, but the man guarding her held her back. She threw off his hand and turned to stare DuLaque in the eyes.
"You are a vile man, Laurence DuLaque! You are selfish and cruel and full of hate and greed—and if you are an example of what makes a good Christian, well…well…" The next words stumbled on the tip of her tongue, but it took only one glance at her chained and beaten friends to embolden her to let them escape completely.
"Then I want no more to do with the Christian God, or with his church, or with his so-called chosen ones if it must be peopled with poisonous, treacherous vipers like you!" Behind her, the villagers burst into shocked outcries. On the porch of the meeting house, DuLaque stared down at the defiant woman with a stony face.
"Witch!"
Someone in the crowd behind her hurled a stone at Cassandra. It struck the back of her head, and she cried out in pain as she stumbled forward. Her shackles hobbled her so that she lost her balance and crashed onto her knees. She stayed there, and though she could feel blood trickling down the back of her neck, she refused to give these people the satisfaction of seeing her so much as raise her hand to stop it. DuLaque stepped down a few steps and halted.
"You risk much, Mistress Cillian," he said, his voice low and thick with warning.
While DuLaque was distracted by Cassandra, the mysterious figure, now slithering on its belly, finally made its way to where Flynn was still seated on the ground and facing Eve. The figure pulled an oddly-shaped bit of iron from beneath its patched, dirty cloak and surreptitiously reached out between the legs of the man guarding Flynn. It reached around the groggy Flynn to insert it into the lock of the shackles binding the witch's wrists. The cuffs suddenly released their biting hold and Flynn, his head still pounding, forced himself to look around slowly. He was astonished to see the grinning face of a man he recognized as DuLaque's slave, Ezekiel. The man gave Flynn a saucy wink as he slipped the lockpick into Flynn's hand, and then he melted back into the crowd.
Meanwhile, a slow smile of triumph had spread across Cassandra's face in response to DuLaque's words. "You may address me as Goodwife Jenkins," she called out loudly, so everyone could hear.
"Cassandra! No!" Hearing the declaration, Flynn tried to turn around and face her, but his warning came too late. Cassandra ignored him.
"Doctor Jenkins and I were married by Reverend Carsen!" She clambered back onto her feet and turned around the face the villagers. "And our marriage has been consummated—we are lawfully wed!" She turned back to smirk at the thunderstruck magistrate.
"You will never have me!" she coldly spat at the stone-faced magistrate. His reptilian eyes narrowed. He waved his hand and one of the guards dragged Cassandra back to her place, viciously shoved her back onto her knees.
"Mistress Cillian has just confessed to consorting carnally with a demon!" DuLaque thundered as he raised his head to address the hushed crowd. It would've been much easier to claim her inheritance with Cassandra alive to present to the solicitor in Boston, but he felt confident that he could still make the claim without her. Though it was a pity he wouldn't be able to take the little bitch to his bed and teach her some respect for his authority.
"Witchcraft is one of the gravest of offenses in the sight of God. Despite my most ardent hope otherwise, it is clear now that Mistress Cillian is far too corrupted for any possibility of redemption!" he shouted. He paused and shook his head with exaggerated sorrow. "If a pure soul such as that once possessed by Mistress Cillian can give itself over to the rankest of debauchery with one of Satan's minions, then what hope have we?" He allowed a moment for his words to sink in, then DuLaque threw his hand straight up into the air, his bony finger pointed skyward.
"There is only one course of action left open to us!" he raged, "The Almighty himself ordered that no witch was to be allowed to live, and though I had thought it possible to save at least this poor woman, it is now clear that we cannot allow any part to remain, lest the evil planted within her grow and spread until it finally causes all of us to sin and our souls are lost to God forever!" The renewed murmurs of assent from the crowd effectively quashed any further resistance from Cavendish or any of the other magistrates. Too vigorous a protest now would be viewed as collusion with the accused in their nefarious doings, and hence lead to a trip to the gallows for anyone foolish enough to argue further.
As DuLaque railed above him, Flynn slowly and quietly unlocked the shackles around his ankles, being careful not to let the ones on his wrists fall away just yet. He then inched toward Eve and freed her, first her ankles and then her wrists. She glanced down at him only once, astounded to see what he was doing, but at once ripped her eyes away to stare ahead of her again, lest anyone see and she give her witch away. When he was finished with her, Flynn began to slowly, painfully, make his way over to Cassandra.
"W-well said, Head Magistrate!" Cavendish rushed to say meanwhile, "May we assume that you have evidence or witnesses to validate your accusations? Just to make certain that everything is done properly and so we cannot be charged with misdeeds in the future should the Province authorities hear of what has happened in Endor…?" A predator's smile curled the corners of DuLaque's mouth.
"Indeed!" he called out and raised his hand, waved it toward Jacob Stone. "Sheriff Stone! Please come forward and—for the sake of proper legal protocols—give your testimony before the Council and the people of Endor!" Stone looked around nervously for a moment; he spotted the heavily-disguised figure at the very edge of the crowd. The figure nodded once, then seemed to disappear before Stone's eyes. Nevertheless, it was what he was looking for. Jacob squared his shoulders as he strode confidently up the meeting hall steps, taking the burlap sack with him, and stood next to the Head Magistrate. He set the sack down next to him as DuLaque smiled at Stone benevolently, but the sheriff could see the tightly-reined fury in the magistrate's eyes.
By now, Ezekiel had made his way around the edge of the gathering to the bound and chained wolf that he knew was actually Doctor Jenkins. The ex-slave produced a knife from his worn boot and carefully reached out, began sawing its blade through the rope that was tied around the wolf's rear legs. Cassandra caught the movement in the corner of her eye and turned her head; when she saw Ezekiel, her eyes widened in shock. Ezekiel slowly shook his head in warning, held up the knife and looked pointedly at Jenkins. He then glanced at something behind her and Cassandra slowly, casually turned to see what he was looking at. She was even more astonished to find Flynn Carsen giving her a knowing look as he carefully made his way toward her. When he was close enough, he inched his hands toward hers. She saw him slip the lockpick into her wrist shackles and heard the faintest of clicks, then felt the pressure around her wrists disappear. Her heart nearly burst with hopeful excitement as she realized they were going to attempt to escape.
While Flynn was working to free Cassandra, Ezekiel crawled on his stomach to the wolf's head. When he was close enough, he barely whispered into one of the beast's huge ears.
"You freed me, Doctor; now I am returning the favor!" There was a soft huffing sound from Jenkins in acknowledgement as Ezekiel sliced through the rope on his front legs. He then began to carefully cut the rag that bound the wolf's jaws shut.
"Now, Sheriff," DuLaque was braying in an officious tone, oblivious to what was happening below. "Did you go to the Parsonage this morning?" There was sharp nod from Jacob.
"Aye, sir, I did," he said, loudly and clearly.
"For what purpose?"
"To arrest the Reverend Carsen and his wife on the charge of practicing witchcraft, on your instructions," Jacob answered steadily, turning to face the crowd listening eagerly to his every word. He saw Flynn and Ezekiel working to free the others; the sheriff began to move around on the porch of the meeting hall, pacing and gesturing wildly in order to keep the audience's attention—especially that of the guards—focused on him. "I was also ordered to arrest Mistress Cassandra Cillian, the daughter of Doctor Samuel Cillian, and Doctor Galeas Jenkins, both for the same charge!"
"And you found all four at the Parsonage?" DuLaque asked conversationally. Another nod from Jacob.
"I did, sir!" The magistrate raised his head, let his eyes sweep the enrapt audience. He paused before asking his next question, savoring the anticipation he felt before they heard the details of what had happened in the Parsonage, eager to see their reactions. Without looking at Jacob Stone, he continued, his tone arch.
"And what happened at the Parsonage, Sheriff, when you and your men arrived to fulfill the Council's wishes?" Jacob stared around at the faces staring back at him. He finally found Ezekiel, already at the back of the crowd now. He gave Jacob two slow nods of his head, the signal that all of the prisoners were now free. Jacob nodded back, barely perceptible to the younger man. Ezekiel began running in the direction of the stables, while Jacob cast a fervent silent prayer for success heavenward as he took a deep breath.
"I found nothing untoward, Magistrate!" Jacob proclaimed loudly, "Only Reverend and Goodwife Carsen preparing breakfast for their guests, Mistress Cillian and Doctor Jenkins!" Had the situation not been so dire, Stone would've burst into laughter at the confused, shocked look on DuLaque's face as the old man's head snapped around to stare at him, while below the crowd burst into loud, excited chatter. The guards, all of whom had accompanied Jacob to the Parsonage that morning, exchanged confused glances with one another.
"This is not a time for jests, Sheriff!" DuLaque squawked with rapidly mounting anger. He swept his arm at the small motley group of captives strung out at the bottom of the steps. "Here are the guilty parties! They have confessed and you brought them here in chains yourself, did you not?!"
"Aye, I did!" Jacob agreed sourly, refusing to back down. "Only at your order, Magistrate, as I said. But I declare to all here present this day that they have done nothing wrong! They were forced—by you, Magistrate—to confess to witchcraft!" Jacob suddenly spun around and raised his hand to jab an accusing finger at the tall man.
"You, on the other hand—you are the only true witch in Endor!" As the crowd burst into noisy exclamations of shock at the sheriff's accusation, Jacob leaned over to pick up the burlap sack, his eyes never daring to leave DuLaque as the old man's face went nearly white with rage.
"Are you mad?! Do you have any idea of what you are saying?" he demanded, his voice shaking with emotion as he ground out the words. "Do you actually accuse me of wrongdoing?!" Jacob smiled at the magistrate.
"I do!" he called out loudly, so all could hear him, "I accuse you, Laurence DuLaque, of practicing witchcraft!" The crowd exploded and the palpable feeling of oppression that was in the air just a moment before Jacob's accusation now suddenly shifted, like a thin crack of daylight seeping into pitch-black room. Stone's men, the ones who had accompanied the sheriff to the Parsonage that very morning and had seen for themselves what had happened there, exchanged confused, anxious glances with one another, but none moved to interfere.
"How dare you!" DuLaque raged, breathless. He repeated himself almost immediately, his voice now loud and vehement. "How dare you!?" He took a step toward Jacob and loomed threateningly over the shorter man. "I will see you swing from the gallows this day if you do not take back your false words at once!"
"My words are not false!" Stone shot back fiercely. He reached into the bag and pulled out the strongbox hidden within it, held it up for all to see. DuLaque halted and gaped at the box for several seconds, perplexed, but then he recognized it as his own strongbox, and his face flushed red with renewed outrage.
"How did you come by that?!" he shouted, "That box is mine! Give that back to me at once!" He lunged to grab it away, but Jacob deftly dodged his grasp.
"I have proof of my accusation, right here in this strongbox," Jacob snapped back coldly in a voice loud enough for all to hear, "And all have heard Magistrate DuLaque claim it to be his own just now!" Jacob lifted the lid on the unlocked box and turned it over. The onlookers nearest the steps of the meeting house cried out in horror as they saw the single scroll made of parchment bounce lightly down the meeting house steps. Almost as one the people in the front backed away from the scroll as if its touch would contaminate them, for all could tell by its ghastly appearance that this parchment was not that made from the hide of a cow or a sheep.
Jacob pulled worn gloves from his shirt and slipped them on as he descended the steps. Though every fiber of his being was revolted at the idea of touching the horrid thing, Jacob grabbed the rolled-up scroll. As he pulled it open, his lip curled as he turned to shoot a disgusted look of his own toward the Head Magistrate. He turned back to the crowd and held it high over his head as he displayed the parchment to it.
"You!" the sheriff barked at a man nearby, one of the men who had been with him at the Parsonage and known to be DuLaque's man. Jacob thrust the parchment toward him and the man immediately backed away from it as though it was something poisonous. "Do you see the seal?"
"Y-yes!" the man said, his grey eyes wide with apprehension.
"Whose seal is it?"
"I-it is Magistrate DuLaque's seal!" Murmurs rippled through the onlookers as Jacob then turned his eyes to the scroll and began to read from it in a ringing voice.
"'I, Laurence DuLaque, Head Magistrate of the village of Endor of the Massachusetts Province, do hereby freely renounce each and every one of the spiritual and corporal gifts which may accrue to me from the Christian God, from all of his saints, and from his Church on earth," Jacob's voice boomed out over the stunned faces of the crowd. No one dared breathe; everyone strove to hear every word as Stone continued to read from the scroll. "And to you, Lucifer, my sovereign master now before me, I just as freely give myself to thee—body, mind, soul and spirit—all of this I sign and attest and affix my seal to.'"
The villagers exploded in a cacophony of panic-stricken cries and babble. DuLaque's face twisted with hatred as he took a threatening step down the stair-steps.
"You LIE!" he roared, stabbing his finger at the placid sheriff. "Why would I join a pact with a demon?" A lopsided smile pulled one corner of Jacob's mouth up, his blue eyes glittering with eagerness as he dropped them back to the parchment and forged ahead.
"'I, Lucifer, agree to accept the gift of your soul and hereby give to you, Laurence DuLaque, Head Magistrate of the village of Endor of the Province of Massachusetts, the faculty and power of authority over said village of Endor, and beyond Endor, even to the whole of Massachusetts, all being yours to command and control, men and women, in any way you may so desire; in proof of which I sign myself—Lucifer, Lord and Master of Hell.'" As soon as he had finished reading, Stone turned to the crowd and held up the document again for all to see.
"Look for yourselves! The pact is written in blood! It is signed—in blood—by both DuLaque and by the Devil himself! It is sealed with DuLaque's own seal!" He threw the vile scroll to the ground, and the crowd backed away from it as if it would strike out at them. "If you need further proof of this man's wickedness, go to his house; there is a secret staircase behind the fireplace. It leads to a chamber beneath his house where he practices his evil magic—including the sacrifices of men and women to his demonic lord!" For a split-second, there was look of sheer incredulousness on DuLaque's face.
"How do you know—?!" He began, his stunned voice nearly choked off with disbelief. DuLaque caught himself, but it was too late. There was an undeniable, now unstoppable shift in the undercurrent of the crowd. Magistrate Cavendish—who owed a great deal of money to DuLaque—saw his opportunity and seized it with both hands. He dashed down the steps and bent low over the parchment to examine it for himself, though he refused to touch it. After a few seconds of peering closely at the writing, he turned to the frightened villagers to deliver his own verdict.
"Sheriff Stone speaks the truth!" he called out, relief and hope unmistakable in his reedy voice. "'Tis the Head Magistrate's signature and seal on the pact, and I can smell the foul ink from here—'tis dried blood, in truth!" He turned and dared a look of triumph at his oppressor. "Magistrate DuLaque has, indeed, sold his soul to the Devil in exchange for power over Endor and the entire Province!"
"You are as mad as the sheriff!" DuLaque spat in disgust, barely audible over the astonished reactions of the crowd.
"Magistrate DuLaque has deceived us all!" Cavendish continued with rapidly mounting confidence, raising his free hand to point at the tall man. "He has been in the village longer than most, certainly longer than the Carsens or the Cillians! He is clearly the founder of this coven and in league with these confessed witches and their demons!"
"Your tongue will dig your grave, you old fool!" DuLaque scoffed, his cold glare warning, but Cavendish ignored him.
"You sent Sheriff Stone to arrest these, your foul coven members!" he shouted loudly instead, "Did one of them decide to challenge your leadership? Did they threaten to denounce you to the authorities, and so you had to find a way to silence them for once and for all?" Cavendish then turned, back to face the crowd. "I propose that we send a party to examine the magistrate's house and confirm the sheriff's words in regards to the existence of this secret chamber. If it is confirmed, then I propose that all of the accused hang this day for the practice of witchcraft—including Laurence DuLaque!"
Almost as one ravenous entity, the crowd surged forward, roaring its approval of Cavendish's plan, driven by their collective hatred for not only witches, but for DuLaque in particular. As a group of council members formed to go and investigate Jacob Stone's testimony regarding the secret room in DuLaque's house, the Head Magistrate, his pale blue eyes glittering with contempt, suddenly thrust his arms into the air.
"Abraxa maladitat ma'am!" he shouted. Villagers and councilmen stopped in their tracks and cowered fearfully; they knew that a spell had just been cast, and all looked wildly around for any sign of its manifestation. At once, the men guarding the Carsens and the Jenkinses went slack-faced and their eyes glazed over to a solid black. Their arms fell to their sides limply, the firearms that they had been carrying almost—but not quite—slipping from their fingers. Sneering with satisfaction, DuLaque dropped his arms, then lazily waved one hand toward prisoners at the bottom of the steps.
"Destroy them, including Sheriff Stone!" he roared, "Destroy them all!" DuLaque then turned to shove his way through the stunned cluster of minor magistrates, and he disappeared into the meeting hall to take refuge. The enchanted henchmen took several steps back from the line of prisoners and then each one whipped up a firearm to point it at one of the shackled people, as well as Jacob Stone.
"NO!" she screamed as one cursed man took clumsy aim at Cassandra's shocked face. The huge white wolf next to her was suddenly on his feet, viciously shaking his head free of the cloth that had bound his muzzle closed and the heavy chains from around his neck. She began to scrabble out of the way just as the man pulled the trigger. Snarling in rage, Jenkins leaped forward just at the man fired. Lead and fire spewed from the barrel of the gun just as Jenkins managed to place himself between the muzzle of the gun and his beloved sorceress.
With the shot all chaos was loosed.
The poorly-aimed shot struck the wolf only a glancing blow in his left shoulder, but it was enough to re-open his still-mending injury from the earlier fight with the wolves. Jenkins howled in pain, stumbled and fell as his left front leg collapsed beneath his great weight.
"Jenkins!" the sorceress shrieked, and her heart stopped in her chest as saw fresh blood beginning to stain his fur and spread. Two village men instantly made a beeline for Cassandra. They flanked and grabbed her by her arms, then roughly hauled her to her feet as she screamed Jenkins's name again. She struggled madly against her captors while they pulled her up from the ground, and the loosened shackles fell from her wrists and ankles and clattered to the frozen earth.
"Her chains!" man in the crowd gasped, staring at the mound of iron in stunned confusion for a moment. He then turned and shouted, his eyes wild now as he looked around at the crowd. "Her chains—she has freed herself from her chains!"
"WITCH! WITCH!" People began to shriek, panic-stricken. The enchanted men tightened their already-painful grip on Cassandra's upper arms and they began to drag her away. As more and more people began to realize that the demon-wolf was also free, the few remaining howls of bloodlust quickly turned to screams of terror as villagers scattered in all directions, fleeing for their lives. Fearful of being separated from her Companion, perhaps forever, Cassandra clawed at the men holding her like a wildcat as she screeched Jenkins's name a third time.
"JENKINS!"
At the same moment that Jenkins went down, there was a sudden burst of brilliant golden light where Eve Carsen stood. In its wake appeared a giant lioness, her ears back, teeth bared, long tail angrily lashing back and forth. In a heartbeat she leaped onto the back of one of DuLaque's men aiming his pistol at Flynn's back as he struggled to get to his own feet. She sank her fangs into the meaty part of her victim's shoulder where it met his neck; the man screamed and reflexively fired the flintlock in his hand, hitting nothing but the frozen dirt near Flynn's feet. The attacker tried to swing the pistol at Eve over his shoulder in an attempt to club her in the head with it, but Flynn was on his feet by then. He lurched forward and grabbed the man's arm with both hands. He wrenched the gun away, and, while still holding onto the man's arm by his wrist, Flynn drew back his hand and swung it, clubbing the man squarely in the jaw with his own gun. There was sickening crack as the lower mandible shattered, blood and broken teeth flying. The man dropped like a sack of grain, howling and writhing in pain. Eve released the man's shoulder and bit down on the back of his neck instead, putting an eternal end to the man's suffering. She then leaped to her witch's side while Flynn swung around to see where Jenkins and Cassandra were.
Cassandra had managed to twist free of one captor's grip by now and she whirled to face him. The other man held on, his grip so tight around her upper arm that it felt like the bone would snap. The man's partner grabbed a discarded pistol from the ground and pointed it at her head. Jenkins saw and leaped onto the man from the side, knocked him to the ground just as he pulled the trigger. Cassandra instinctively ducked to one side. She heard the ball sing past her face, felt the burn as it barely kissed her cheek on its way straight into her captor's heart. He fell into a heap behind her, dead before he even hit the ground. The other man, her would-be killer, had just enough time to cry out in terror one final time, his last sight in this world that of an enraged white wolf lunging for his throat. The man's scream was brutally cut short as Jenkins clamped his jaws onto the man's neck and then savagely ripped his throat out in a spray of blood.
Cassandra stared at the carnage, momentarily frozen with shock. The wolf turned his burning eyes onto her, and the sight his blood-soaked muzzle and chest made her feel ill. Despite the pandemonium going on around them, she had to turn away for a moment before she became sick enough to vomit.
When she turned back, her heart nearly stopped dead in her chest. A villager, one who had not been enchanted by DuLaque, had taken possession of one of the abandoned flintlock rifles and was now aiming it at Jenkins. The entire world around her instantly changed; suddenly her senses seemed to have become supernaturally sharp and Time slowed to a crawl. Stunned and confused, Cassandra looked around her. She saw Jacob Stone punching one of DuLaque's men, his fist smashing into the henchman's gut at a snail's pace. She saw Flynn's pistol arcing with painful slowness toward his attacker's jaw, while Eve kept one of his arms clamped between her lioness's teeth.
Cassandra turned back to Jenkins and the man pointing his rifle at her Companion, noticed that only she still moved at a normal speed. She could clearly see the man's finger tighten on the trigger of the rifle, could see the striker begin its painful lurch forward, could see the spark of the flint. Horrorstruck, she saw the blinding flash of gunpowder slowly flower upon ignition, then the rifle barrel belching fire as the exploding gases rammed the lead ball through and into the air—so slowly and distinctly that she could see the scratches and imperfections from the barrel on the ball's surface. It was about to strike the wolf from point-blank range. Cassandra screamed.
"NO-O-O!"
She threw her arms forward as if to stop the shot with her bare hands, and to her astonishment the heavy ball slid lazily to a halt and then hung in mid-air. She suddenly noticed the blur of numbers and symbols racing through the air around the deadly projectile. It was then that Cassandra realized that she was the reason for the shot's faltering trajectory—she had stopped the shot, somehow, with magic, without even thinking about it. For a moment that seemed to last years, Cassandra locked eyes with the equally-shocked villager. She almost burst into delirious giggles at the shared moment of surprise, wonder and fear, but then she saw movement in front of her, realized it was Jenkins, turning his head in slow motion to see what his mistress was staring at.
The laughter died within her at once. She could feel her eyes and her expression harden, could see the other man's reaction to the change in his eyes and face. She saw his fear turn to fear and panic, saw a shadow of regret bordering on apology for his actions pass through his wide green eyes, but it was far too late for that now. With a blood-curdling shriek, Cassandra watched her small hand flick sharply. The warped sense of Time dissipated. The noise and chaos returned as the lead shot suddenly flew backwards toward the villager with lethal velocity. It struck him in squarely in the forehead, ripping through his brain with devastating effect. Cassandra saw the light of life disappear from his eyes before he even began to fall backwards to hit the ground as a lifeless corpse. Cassandra glanced at the wolf, their eyes locking for a moment; even in his wolf form she saw surprise in her Companion's gaze, and not a little satisfaction, as well.
The sorceress then spun around, wildly looking for Flynn and Eve. She saw the lioness Companion on top of another screaming man in defense of her witch, while Flynn was rushing toward another villager in an attempt to intercept the man. The villager had an axe in his hands, raised over his head in preparation to strike the lioness as he rushed toward her. Cassandra raised her hand to ward off the axe-wielding villager, her face hard-set with determination and Time again decelerated. Another flick of her hand, and the axe flew backwards from the stunned man's hands. Cassandra saw Flynn's head swivel slowly as he followed the course of the axe in the air above them, a look of confusion on his face while the axe whirled through the air in a large lazy loop, spinning end over end, until it was directly in front of the villager. With a curt nod of Cassandra's head, Time resumed its normal speed and the axe shot forward. It buried its sharp blade into the man's chest, killing him instantly.
She turned again, looking for anyone else who was threatening either herself or her friends. By now, other villagers were taking notice of what was happening. What courage that had kept them lingering in the square until now quickly evaporated in the face of undeniable, deadly magic. They turned and ran away, shrieking panicked warnings to those who hadn't yet seen the carnage wrought by the red-haired sorceress and her minions. Without a moment's hesitation, Cassandra dreamily raised her hands to strike down the fleeing mob. These people, so willing to see her and her friends hanged from a tree branch only moments ago, now expected pity and mercy, now expected to escape just punishment—HA! She would make them pay—every last one of them. For what they had done to her parents, for what they wanted to do to her, and Jenkins, and the Carsens. All would pay!
A huge, bloody hand suddenly gripped one of her wrists, breaking her concentration and distracting her from her mounting desire for vengeance. Annoyed, her head whipped around to see who was foolish enough to do such a thing; she was surprised to see Jenkins, in his human form now, his worried face staring back at her intently. She blinked and the spell was broken; she was suddenly confused.
"No, Mistress!" he said sharply.
"Jenkins? What—?" she said faintly. Before he could say anything, Cassandra cried out loudly as pain ripped through her skull, blinding her completely. She clutched the sides of her head and dropped to her knees. Something wet and cold ran from her nose and over her upper lip, seeped into her mouth. When it touched her tongue a detached place in her mind recognized the taste: Blood.
Jenkins caught her as she fell, saved her from striking her head on the hard ground and possibly doing herself more injury. He looked around for anyone to help him and found himself face to face with the huge lioness, her muzzle and face dyed scarlet with the blood of her victims. Flynn was next to her, his face anxious as he looked down at Cassandra.
"We must flee, Flynn, now!" Jenkins snapped, his voice tight with worry for his mistress's safety.
"I know," Flynn answered, his voice taut, "But how? Cassandra—" Jenkins cut him off.
"Put her on my back! Quickly, before the village regains its courage!" he ordered. In the blink of an eye there was a blueish flash and then he was a wolf again. Flynn hesitated only a moment, then bent to gently pull the half-conscious woman back onto her feet and turn her towards her Companion.
"Cassandra," he said to the woman, "Climb onto Jenkins's back! Can you do that for me?" Cassandra moaned with pain. There was an urgent whine from Jenkins as he encouraged her to do as Flynn instructed. She managed to grasp handfuls of the soft, thick fur as she clumsily swung her leg over the wolf's back.
"Yes, that is the way! Good!" Flynn praised her, "Now, hang on tightly to his fur! Tightly! Yes, excellent! Do not let go now!" The young sorceress lay flat and limp against the wolf's body, buried her face into the back of his neck.
"Reverend! Mistress Cillian!" Flynn turned and saw Jacob Stone running toward them, his face bruised and the knuckles of his right hand torn and bleeding. When he saw them looking at him, Jacob skidded to a halt while still a distance away and held his hands out to show that he wasn't armed. "Do not fear—I am a friend, now! This way! Hurry!" He gestured frantically with his hand, urging them to follow him. Flynn turned to Eve and Jenkins.
"Come!" he ordered. He turned and began to run after Stone. The two Companions exchanged a quick glance, then they, too, galloped off to follow Flynn. Jenkins, mindful of Cassandra clinging dazedly to his back, kept a slower, gentler pace and he quickly fell behind the others. He soon caught up with them at the entrance to the blacksmith's forge next to the livery stable. He was surprised to see Ezekiel was there now as well, the bridles of two saddled horses in one hand and a look of anxiety on his young face.
"There were only two horses in the stable!" Ezekiel was saying as the large wolf padded up to the small group. He swept his gaze over the lioness, the wolf and the nearly unconscious girl before he looked back at Stone and Carsen. Suddenly he thrust the bridles at Jacob. "You take the horses; I will stay."
"They will kill you when they find out you helped us," Flynn said at once, shaking his head. "And if they don't kill you for that, then they will surely kill you for being DuLaque's slave! They will never believe that you are not a witch, too!"
Jacob's hand shot out to tightly grip Ezekiel's wrist. "We all go," the sheriff growled fiercely, his eyes locked onto the younger man's. "We all go!" He then looked around at the others. "There is nothing left for any of us here anymore; we must leave Endor—we must leave the Province!" No sooner were the words out of Stone's mouth than they heard the sharp crack of a rifle shot. A wooden board in the wall next to Ezekiel's head exploded into a shower of splinters. Angry voices shouted in the distance, but were getting closer.
"Here! They are at the stables! Hurry!"
Jenkins barked and then growled, began to dance anxiously as he fixed a hard stare at Flynn Carsen. Flynn looked hesitant, but only for a moment, then he gave a curt single nod of his head before turning back to the two men.
"You two take the horses!" he ordered them. Eve came to stand next to her witch.
"You will never outrun them!" Jacob cried, but Flynn only grinned at him and then swung his leg over the huge lioness, straddling her like a pony.
"Will we not?" Flynn asked cheerfully. Another shot was heard, instantly followed by another shower of wood chunks as another board in the wall was splintered. "Go! Before their aim improves!"
The lioness and the wolf turned and lunged straight into a gallop, taking the small road that led out of the village and connected several miles away to the main road to Boston. Jacob and Ezekiel each scrambled into the saddles of the horses, kicking them into a gallop before they were even completed seated. They raced after the two Companions and eventually passed them. Even so, the four fugitives easily out-distanced their pursuers, at least for the moment, running at break-neck speed. Suddenly Jacob and Ezekiel heard Flynn call out behind them and they pulled their horses to a stop. When they turned to look back, they saw that he had dismounted the lioness and was standing in the middle of the dirt road, waving at them frantically to come back.
"Here! Hurry!"
Jacob hesitated, then urged his horse to go back, quickly followed by Ezekiel. When they reached the minister, Flynn pointed into the thick forest that edged the roadway.
"This way! Quickly! I know a place where we can hide!" Without waiting, Flynn then turned and plunged into the heavy undergrowth, Eve right behind him. Ezekiel cast a questioning look at Jacob, and the latter shrugged.
"In for a penny, in for a pound, I reckon," was all the sheriff said with a careless shrug of his shoulders. He kicked his horse as he turned him toward the forest and charged after Flynn, Ezekiel hot on his heels, with Jenkins and Cassandra bringing up the rear.
As the clamor outside died down, DuLaque emerged from the meeting hall and took a tentative few steps out onto its porch. The air was hazy and reeked of gunpowder. The small square in front of the meeting hall was littered with around a dozen bodies, most merely unconscious, but others were clearly dead. The only figures still on their feet were a handful of his enchanted men; they continued to stagger drunkenly, their faces slack and vacant as they shambled about in search of their master's "enemies".
DuLaque descended a couple of steps as he looked around again. The Carsens, Doctor Jenkins and Cassandra Cillian were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Jacob Stone. As he stood at the top of the steps and stared at the bleak landscape in front of him, angry voices drew closer until a large group of men entered the square, some bearing firearms. One man spotted DuLaque and pointed at him.
"There! There he is!" the man shouted. Unarmed members of the mob immediately snatched up stones, sticks, the discarded guns—anything that could be used as a weapon. While some of the villagers fell on the remaining henchmen and beat them senseless, the rest marched straight for DuLaque while shouting curses at him. The magistrate watched them approach, a contemptuous sneer on his lips. One man hurled a stone at the old man and caught him squarely in the side of his head. DuLaque staggered backward from the blow and almost fell, his hand going to the painful spot. He stepped backward up the steps and onto the porch of the meeting hall again as he glared angrily down at this new mob of villagers.
"Curs!" he snarled, "You will all die for this!" He raised his long arms and his pale blue eyes suddenly turned black as ink.
Several pairs of rough, strong hands seized both of DuLaque's arms from behind and wrenched them back behind his thin body. DuLaque cried out in pain, then began spitting curses at the men who had sneaked up behind him using the rear entrance of the meeting hall.
"Silence him!" a battered Cavendish shouted as he stepped out of the meeting hall, fearful of more spells. A farmer at once stuffed a filthy kerchief into the struggling man's mouth. The farmer yelped in pain when the old magistrate viciously bit his fingers. He jerked his hand back and, with a growl of long pent up rage, the stout farmer drew back his arm and savagely punched DuLaque in the mouth, splitting his bottom lip.
The victorious captors then dragged the old man forcibly down the steps and out onto the square. DuLaque's henchmen had been subdued by then, and others quickly joined the group of vigilantes now holding the once-feared official. Emotions ran high as they shouted a debate amongst themselves as to what they should do with their prisoner. Meanwhile, others snatched up a set of the iron shackles that had been cast off by Flynn and they bound DuLaque's hands behind his back with them in an overabundance of caution. After several minutes of fruitless discussion, one man finally looked at Magistrate Cavendish, the only ranking member of the Village Council still present.
"What say you, Magistrate?" the man demanded, and the others fell silent. "What should we do with him?" Flush with this surprisingly easy triumph over his loathed superior, Cavendish paused for a moment, savoring his new position as leader. As he stood and stared at the former Head Magistrate of the village, another man ran up to Cavendish, his face pale and grim.
"Magistrate!" he greeted curtly, "Some of us have been to Magistrate Dulaque's house." He paused and cast an uneasy glance at the bound official.
"Well?" Cavendish prodded him impatiently, "What did you find?"
"It is as Sheriff Stone said," he replied in a rush. Behind him, the group of village men muttered in shock amongst themselves. The informant hurried on.
"We found the secret room, in the foundation of the house. It is full of all manner of items and tools used for witchery. We…we found the parts of human beings, Magistrate—fingers, hair, bones. One jar held...the head of a man, pickled in brine." The words poured from his mouth as though speech would rid him of the foul images burned into his memory. "And on the floor is a great summoning circle, painted in human blood and bearing the face of Satan himself!" The mob burst into angry buzzing. Cavendish turned away, stunned at the report. He had always known that DuLaque was a wicked man, but he had not suspected anything on this level of depravity. He thought for a moment, then turned to the waiting men.
"It is clear as water that Laurence DuLaque is guilty of witchcraft, and as he himself told us not more than an hour ago, there is only one punishment for witchcraft," he said loudly, so all could hear him clearly. He looked around at the hard-faced men. Last of all he looked straight into DuLaque's eyes, now burning with cold hatred and contempt. Cavendish raised his head proudly, defiant.
"Burn Magistrate DuLaque's house down," he ordered, "I want it razed to very ground it stands on before this day is done!"
"And what of the witch?" a man shouted eagerly from the crowd. Cavendish's eyes never left DuLaque's.
"Take him to the gallows at once."