The Once and Future Witches - Alix E. Harrow Page 0,109

her lip cracks and bleeds.

That evening, just as dusk purples toward night and the first stars open like white eyes above them, Juniper opens the tower door. Her pockets bristle with witch-ways and her cloak drapes dark and long behind her. She hardly seems to feel the wounds and bruises still mottling her flesh.

The problem with saving someone, Bella thinks, is that they so often refuse to remain saved. They careen back out into the perilous world, inviting every danger and calamity, quite careless of the labor it took to rescue them in the first place.

“Where will you go first?” Bella asks.

Juniper looks over her shoulder with a fey wink. “Oh, I don’t want to spoil the surprise. You can read about it in the papers tomorrow.”

SUSPECTED WITCHES

ESCAPE FROM SAINT JUDE’S

WORKHOUSE FOR WOMEN; FIVE

WOMEN NOW AT LARGE

June 24th, 1893, The New Salem Post

. . . the five women—four of whom were taken into custody on the last full moon, in the midst of a Satanic ritual conducted in the heart of the New Salem cemetery—were still in their cells at the workhouse on the evening of the twenty-third. In the morning the guards found their doors locked but the cells empty. One witness on the street reports seeing six bats flit from the workhouse that night; another claims it was an owl carrying a long golden rope. All of them agree that they saw a dark-haired woman with a pronounced limp in the vicinity.

Our readers are asked to report any sightings of this young woman or the escaped suspects—Victoria V. Hull and Tennessee T. Hull; Frankie U. Black; Gertrude R. Bonnin; and Alexandra V. Domontovich—to the New Salem Police Department.

BREAK-IN AT THE HALL OF JUSTICE

June 26th, 1893, The Times of Salem

The New Salem Hall of Justice ought to be the safest place in the city to store one’s belongings, but officers confirmed this morning that the personal effects of Miss James Juniper Eastwood—including a number of ungodly herbs and potions as well as an antique locket containing human hair—have been stolen . . .

Several other alterations were made to the Hall during the night, including the disappearance of several warrants and bonds, and the vulgar alteration of several officers’ badges.

DOCTOR MARVEL’S ANTHRO-POLOGICAL EXHIBITION SHUTS ITS DOORS

June 29th, 1893, The New Salem Post

Following the disappearance of most of its occupants, Doctor Marvel’s Magnificent Anthropological Exhibition will be closed to the public.

This beloved attraction, designed to educate the public about the many fascinating peoples of the world, is no stranger to difficulties and irregularities. Doctor Marvel himself recounted to The Post the many occasions on which his subjects have resisted his efforts to educate the public. “Had a pair of Indian witches last summer that ran off three or four times before I found their little satchel of shells and bones. And a little Hungarian girl last Christmas cursed her handler so that the smallest ray of sunlight burned his flesh. But I’ve never had anything like this.”

At approximately ten-thirty last Sunday evening, the Last Witch Doctor of the Congo began to laugh. She continued laughing until several staff members left their beds to investigate, and found all the members of the exhibition missing. Where the Witch Doctor ought to have lain, they found only rusted chains and a white, grinning skull; each staff member who saw the skull that night has since been plagued by bad dreams and poor sleep.

A DECLARATION FOR

NEW CAIRO

July 4th, 1893, a letter from the editors of The New Salem Defender

The recent raids conducted by the Police Department have left seven buildings burnt in New Cairo and ruined the livelihoods of several hardworking families. The editors of this paper soundly reject the Council’s argument that such raids are necessary for public safety and note that none of them produced any evidence of witchcraft at all.

. . . If the authorities of New Salem insist on maintaining this adversarial position toward our neighborhood, perhaps it is time for New Cairo to follow that hallowed American tradition: secession.

Maiden, Mother, and Crone,

Guard the bed that I lie on,

One to watch,

One to pray,

One to keep the shadows at bay.

A warding spell, requiring salt & thistleseed

Agnes Amaranth is nothing, these days.

She used to be something—the city is wallpapered with her face, beautiful and terrible, her name written large above her crimes—but neither the face nor the name now belongs to her. Thanks to the ladies of Salem’s Sin, Agnes’s hair is the dull, forgettable color of sewer-water, and her face is pocked