Chapter 11
Heresy
The farmhouse felt like it was breathing down my neck, like the walls were squeezing in, tighter with every damn creak. Each gust of wind rattled through the cracks in the boards, setting my nerves on edge. And let me tell you, I ain't the type to scare easy.
Fear ain’t something I deal with often. Hell, chaos and violence? That's my wheelhouse. But this place? There was something about it that crawled right under my skin and wouldn't shake loose. And Salem? Well, shit, she looked like she was feeding off the vibe, like she belonged in the middle of the goddamn nightmare.
I stayed close, even though I acted like I wasn’t hovering. Didn’t matter if it was smart or not—getting involved with a Hell on Heelz prospect was the kinda shit that could get me strung up by my own club. Not by my Prez who was hooking up with one himself, but the rest of them who weren’t happy about Prez and threatened the rest of us to resist the truce or else.
But here I was, shadowing a Heel’s every move like some half-assed bodyguard. I knew better. I did. But Salem? She was a whole different breed. She had this magnetism about her, this pull that made me forget how fuckin’ dangerous it all was.
We sat in silence for what felt like hours, the wind screaming through the cracks, shaking the windows like it wanted in. The broken mirror, candles flickering out—Salem poking fun of me. That was all bullshit, but it was the kinda shit that made you feel like you weren’t alone. I wasn't about to let her see it, though. I could feel her watching me from the corner of her eye, probably hoping I'd lose my cool. Yeah, she was enjoying seeing if I’d squirm.
Salem shifted, pulling her jacket tight around her, and her voice sliced through the stillness. “You look like you’ve seen some shit,” she said, like she was fishing for something.
I snorted, my breath coming out harsh in the cold air. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“Try me,” she shot back, her tone sharp, almost daring me.
I glanced at her, sitting there with her arms crossed, her whole body tense but somehow still relaxed, like she was expecting to hear something that would make her flinch—but wouldn’t let it show if it did. The light from that last stubborn candle flickered over her face, and damn if there wasn’t something about her. Dangerous, reckless energy, like she thrived on walking the edge.
“I’ve done things I ain’t proud of,” I muttered, surprised as the words started spilling out. “People got hurt ‘cause of me. Hell, some of ‘em didn’t make it.”
She didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. Most folks would've given me a look like I was some kinda monster. Not Salem. She just stared at me with those sharp-ass green eyes like she was seeing me for the first time.
“And now?” she asked, her voice soft but steady. “You still doin' that shit?”
I shook my head, combing my fingers through my hair. “Tryin’ not to. But it ain’t easy.”
She leaned back, settling her boots on the table like she didn’t have a care in the world. “I get it,” she said, her voice quieter than I’d ever heard. “You’re not the only one with a fucked-up past.”
I raised an eyebrow, not expecting her to open up like that. “Yeah? What’s your story?”
She hesitated, like she wasn’t sure if she should trust me with it. For a second, I thought she’d just brush it off, but then she started talking, her voice softer, almost vulnerable.
“I lost my family,” she said, her eyes drifting to the floor. “Car accident. I was just a kid. After that... I got obsessed with death, with what happens after. Witchcraft... it became this thing I used to cope, I guess. Made me feel like I had control over something I couldn’t stop.”
I stayed quiet, letting her get it out. There was this raw edge to her words, like she was letting down some guard she kept up around everyone else. I wasn’t the type to dig into someone’s past but fuck if I wasn’t feeling it. That pain she carried? It wasn’t so different from my own.
“After the accident,” she continued, her eyes finally meeting mine again. “I was pissed at the world. At everything. Ran away when I could, found trouble in all the wrong places. Eventually that led me to the Heelz? They gave me something. A place to belong. A reason to give a shit again.”
Her words were laced with emotion and for a minute, all I could do was nod. It hit harder than I thought it would. I knew what it was like to need that—loyalty, family, a fucked-up sense of purpose. The Slayers gave me that, and even though they weren’t perfect, they were all I had.
“So, you joined the club for what? Family?” I asked, leaning in, curious as hell.
She nodded, a sad smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. Sisterhood, family, whatever you wanna call it. It's the closest thing I've got now.”
I didn’t have shit to say to that. I got it. More than I liked to admit.
“Why witchcraft?” I asked, trying to lighten it up a little. “Seems like a strange choice.”
She shrugged, like it was nothing. “I like the idea that there’s more to this world than what we see. Magic, spirits, the unknown... it’s all real if you’re looking for it.”
I frowned, not buying it completely, but curious all the same.
She gave me a look like I was missing the point. “I believe in what I can feel. And some things? They ain’t just about what you see.”
She said it like it was a challenge. Like she knew shit that I wasn’t ready to deal with. And maybe she did. All I knew was I couldn’t pull myself out of this thing with her. Whatever this was, it was pulling me in, deeper every second we sat in that dark, haunted house, shrouded in storm and silence.
“You really believe that? That magic’s real?”