Spells A Bayou Magic Novel - Kristen Proby Page 0,15

with her phone already in hand. “On it.”

“Let’s get all of these people back. Sorry, folks, but I need you to stand back.”

“Uh, Mil?” Dahlia says and gestures at the bench. I turn and feel my blood run cold.

It’s a hand. A severed hand, resting on the bench, its fingers clenched in a fist. Except now, the fingers are relaxing, opening, revealing something in its palm.

“Goddess, that’s gross.” Esme scrunches up her nose.

“What’s in there?” I murmur, bending down to get a closer look. “It looks like…a bloodstone.”

“Yeah, and covered in blood,” Esme says and then keeps talking to the 911 operator. “That’s right, the hand is holding a stone, covered in blood.”

“Don’t touch it,” Dahlia orders.

“I’m not.” It’s like I’m in a fog now, and all of the people standing around, Esme and Dahlia and all of the bystanders, feel farther and farther away. I know I shouldn’t, but I want to touch that stone. I reach out, and as I do, the raw gem seems to light from within, shining through the thick blood surrounding it, then pulses as if it has its own heartbeat.

Just before I make contact, there’s a spark, and I’m falling to the ground.

“You’re under arrest, Millicent, charged with witchcraft.”

I shake my head and stare into faces so familiar to me. These are my friends. This is my community. I’ve lived in Salem since I was born.

How can this be happening?

On one side of me stands John Anderson, pulling my left arm. On my right is my darling Lucien, also pulling me as if taking me to jail.

How could my own husband betray me like this?

I’ve been so careful. Never given anyone any indication that I’m anything but a Puritan, a devout Christian woman. I know that to do otherwise could be deadly, especially since young Elizabeth Hubbard and her friends started accusing women of being witches.

Women who most certainly are not.

I’ve seen innocents swing by their necks from trees.

And now they’re taking me away? This is lunacy.

“I’m no witch,” I say, pleading with the men to let me go. “Please, I have children to see to.”

But they’re not listening. The men are yelling as they drag me through the town square. But suddenly, Lucian leans in and whispers in my ear. “Stop fighting, my love. I’ll get you out of this. Just trust me.”

Of course, I trust him. Lucien is the love of my life, has been my husband for almost ten years. But how can he get me out of this mess? I just don’t see how it’s possible.

And I don’t know what these men could have found to use as evidence against me.

I’m taken directly to a courtroom, where several judges sit on a platform, clearly waiting for my arrival.

“Millicent Abbott, you’re charged in this court with first-degree witchcraft, which is punishable by death. How do you plead?”

“N-n-not guilty.”

“Put her in a cell where she’ll await trial. Next!”

Trials have been taking months. Some have died while being held.

I have children!

I’m tossed into a small cell with a dirt floor. There’s a bucket in the corner. No bed. I sink to the floor and cry, full of despair.

I’m alone for what seems like hours. The shadows on the ground shift with the movement of the sun. I could open the locks with just the snap of my fingers, but that would surely give me and my abilities away, and I’d be taken to the gallows without a trial.

The moon has just risen, a full blue moon this month. It’s All Hallows’ Eve, and the moon is full. I’m praying fervently to the goddess to help Lucien set me free when I hear footsteps, then keys jangling. Finally, my cell door opens, and the man I love so stands in the threshold.

“You’re free to go,” he says. But the light has died in his eyes.

“Lucien?”

“Go home to our children, Millicent.”

“Why aren’t you coming with me?”

He quickly pulls me to him and kisses me hard, the embrace filled with both longing and regret. When he pulls away, he brushes his fingers through my long, blond hair.

“I love you, a stór mo chroí.”

“I love you, too, my treasure. Come home with me.”

“I can’t.” He swallows hard. “You can leave, but this is where we say goodbye. In this lifetime, at least.”

“What do you speak of?”

“I turned myself in. I told them the truth, that I’m the witch in the family, and you’re the innocent.”

“That’s not true. I’ll tell them—”

“No.” He grips my shoulders. “You’ll say