Cotton Mather.
That hateful preacher had been the reason for half the recent trouble over in Salem, even while he’d kept himself here in Boston most of the time. And now, he was coming for her.
She knew most of the accused were innocent. Guilty of the crimes of being too poor, or too smart, or too lucky or unlucky. But not of witchcraft. Most of these idiots wouldn’t know real magick from a recipe for pork stew.
She, though. She was different. Silence Matthews had learned all manner of magick, and had worked it, too. She didn’t think they’d ever catch on, so distracted were they by fantasies of witches flying off on poles to meet the devil in the woods. So obsessed with every luck charm, protective sign, and healing salve. Nobody was watching for signs of real magick. Nobody was going to notice a true witch.
But they didn’t need to notice she was a true witch, did they? No, all they needed to believe were the same jealous accusations and hateful rumors that had doomed so many others. Lies people had told on her before, and she was always able to push them away. Had always been able to deny, even turn the suspicion around onto her accuser.
But this time was different, she knew. This time it was Cotton Mather, and he believed her guilt. He knew something more than some silly girl saying she made an evil sign with her fingers to sour somebody’s milk. He knew, and he was on his way.
Silence darted around her small house, unable to decide between looking for a place to hide, or for something to use as a weapon. Her hands snarled her dark, curly hair in panic.
<Calm ye now, girlie>
“Toady?” she asked, stopping her frenzied pacing. The voice was a familiar one. She touched the necklace she always wore, a large, green stone with several smaller black ones in a silver setting.
<Aye, girlie>
“Toady, what can I do?” she asked, the anxiety rising again. “They’ve questioned me before, but they mean to hang me this time, I’m sure of it. There’s no place to go!”
<Ye be a witch, lovely. Remember what ye know.>
“But I know nothing powerful enough to save me. I can’t fight them, I can’t escape. They’ll put me in Boston Gaol, and that be a terrible place. Sarah Osborne from Salem Village died there in May. And so many more was hanged this summer.” Silence felt a phantom rope tighten around her throat, even as she spoke the words.
<Aye, lovey. But they be not witches. Not like ye. Ye have power they know not. And ye have me.>
This was true. The imp had been her mentor and her familiar, right from the start. Toady Spiderlegs had led her to the spellbook hidden in a hidey-hole under the floor. Toady had guided her through every page, nurtured her thirst for knowledge, for power.
She clasped the pendant in her hand. The necklace had once belonged to her late husband’s mother and grandmother. The necklace, unlike the book, had been given to her openly, though her husband had been ignorant of its power, of the imp trapped within. “What do I do, Toady? I know nothing to save me from this. What can you do to help?”
<Ye’ll be makin’ a door>
“A door?”
<Aye. A magick door, what’ll port you far away>
There were references to such things in the book, but no instructions beyond a strange symbol and the words: for opening the magickal doorway. “I don’t know how to make a door,” Silence argued.
<Aye, girle. But I do. Do as I say…>
Silence unclipped the sewing scissors from her belt. These were her primary witch’s tool, hidden in plain sight. The judges and preachers looked for charms, books, and dollies, but none of them ever questioned scissors, kitchen knives, wooden spoons.
She followed Toady’s guidance. She had to start over several times, her panic making her clumsy and causing her to lose concentration. She gestured with the point of the scissors, altering the fabric of the world around her. After a time, she could indeed see a ripple in the air before her, the beginning of the door Toady promised. “It’s working!” she exclaimed.
<O’course it is. Ye be a powerful witch, what deserves a good imp.>
A noise outside interrupted Silence’s work. She whipped her head around to see shadows against the curtain.
<Pay attention, girlie!>
She turned back to her half-completed door. The ripple in the air was gone. She’d failed.
<Finish what ye started!>
She lifted the scissors again. She made the gestures Toady described, repeated the words he said. Soon, the ripple was back, and growing.
And none too soon; they were gathering outside, readying to come in. “Silence Matthews!” a man shouted, pounding his fist against her door.
<Ignore him. Ye’ll be gone ‘fore he comes through that door if ye pay attention!>
Silence bent down, placing the point of her scissors where the edge of the ripple in the air met the floorboards.
The men outside banged on the door, demanding entrance.
Silence drew the scissors up, standing as she moved. She raised the point over her head, then across, then back down, describing the outline of an imaginary door.
If this worked, it wouldn’t be imaginary for long.
<Good. Good, girle. Now draw the shape from the book at the middle. The one what looks like a two-ended hook.>
Silence used the tip of her scissors to draw the symbol, hoping she was remembering it correctly, like the first letter of her name but with one curve smaller than the other. She drew an X in the larger curve and a circle inside the smaller one. She was about to draw the long, straight line down the middle when her front door landed on the floor with a BANG.
<Finish!>
Silence tried to continue, but the tip of the scissors shook. The line she made was jagged and off-center. Her heart beat so loudly in her ears she could no longer hear Toady’s voice over the pounding. She lowered the arm holding the scissors, accepting defeat.
But then, the doorway opened.
Right in the middle of her house stood a rough-edged doorway leading into a dark forest. It was so amazing she forgot, momentarily, about the men standing behind her.
“Dear God in Heaven!” one of those men exclaimed. “Witches!”
And indeed, witches it was. For on the other side of the doorway Silence had created stood five figures, clearly witches all. Three women and two men, wearing black robes. The one in front, a tall woman about Silence’s age, with long, dark blond hair, wore a star inside a circle around her neck. Silence knew that sign from the book.
The people on the other side of the door looked at Silence, looked at the men behind her.
Silence spared a glance over her shoulder, to see the men frozen in place. These men had spoken long and loud against witches, had insisted on the reality of magick and the Devil, had preached for years about the very real, very present, threat of evil amongst men. But faced with this clear evidence of the invisible world, they were all struck still and dumb.
As was Silence herself, until Toady shouted in her mind, urging her to act.
<Move, girlie! This be your chance!>
She had no idea who these robed figures on the other side of the doorway were, no idea whether they were friend of foe. But she knew, without a doubt, the threat posed by the men behind her. The choice was an easy one.
She ran forward, through the doorway and into the unknown forest beyond.
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