Chapter 7
At the rattling of the latch, Theo looked up from the flickering lamplight and closed his journal, his body stiffening with tension.
He curled his fingers around his journal protectively as he listened for the sound again, but after a few moments there was nothing.
No footsteps, no voices. Breathing slowly in relief he relaxed his shoulders.
It must have been the wind tugging at the barn doors and for the moment, he remained, as he preferred, alone.
Dipping his hand into the deep pocket of his jerkin, his fingers closed around his most prized possession, a stick of lead wrapped in string.
He’d traded his bible to a passing traveler for it.
He closed his eyes as his fist tightened around the innocuous object.
His father would turn in his grave if he knew.
He supposed he should feel more than a passing guilt, but he carried enough already, and his bible certainly hadn’t brought him any peace.
Dismissing the thought, he settled himself on a low bale of hay, setting the lamp securely atop another so it wouldn’t topple and catch light.
He could have stayed in the house in front of the fire.
After all, it was empty, so he certainly wouldn’t be disturbed, but he simply had no desire to do so.
He may have grown up in that house, but it wasn’t his. It now belonged to his brother, Logan. But while he’d inherited it after their father’s death, it was Theo who’d stayed to tend the lands and the herd while Logan had…
Theo shook his head, pushing away the dark, resentful thoughts. He wasn’t in the mood to dwell on his brother. Instead, he turned his attention back to the stick of lead in the palm of his hand, he pulled a leaf of paper free and began to sketch in quick, confident strokes.
The face which began to take shape was painfully familiar to him, haunting his dreams almost every night for years now.
He could draw every line and curve of her with his eyes closed.
Her hair was dark, spilling loose curls over her shoulders and down her back.
Her eyes, he knew, were tones of honey and whiskey, and her rose-colored lips were soft and full, curved into a small half smile.
He wished he could convey the colors of her to the page but with only his stick of lead it was impossible.
This was the first time he’d dared put her likeness to paper, but he wasn’t sure why now. Maybe it was because she’d always been his and his alone, a secret deep in his heart that he didn’t want to share with anyone else.
Tracing his fingertips reverently along the curve of her jaw, he could hear her voice in his mind as clear as a bell and as fragile as a whisper.
“Infernum exists, Theo, and we must find it first or Hell will be unleashed on Earth and Mercy will be the gateway…”
He did not understand the meaning of her strange words. How could mercy be a gateway? The words made no sense, but he had heard them so many times in his mind that he had them committed to memory. He could feel her urgency, her desperation… her fear.
A small, frustrated sigh escaped his lips.
It was impossible, there was no way to find her, even if he knew where to start looking.
He would never be able to escape Salem. He would never escape his brother.
His life now, such as it was, had become his prison.
Maybe he deserved it, he thought ruefully.
Maybe it was his punishment for the terrible things he’d borne witness to and done nothing to stop.
For the lies he’d told and the secrets he’d kept.
Shaking his head in resignation, he folded the picture and tucked it carefully inside his jerkin as if it gave him some sort of comfort to keep it close.
His head snapped up at the unmistakable thud of hooves approaching, followed by the disgruntled snort and nicker of a horse. The door rattled suddenly and swung open as a familiar man entered, dragging two dirty, ragged children in with him.
“Stephen,” Theo greeted him evenly, his voice ice cold with contempt. “What are you doing here?”
“Theodore,” the other man replied, his tone just as flat and unfriendly.
Theo’s gaze tracked over to the two small, grubby children huddled together beside Stephen, their hands bound with a curious rope that seemed to be entwined with some sort of tiny white flower.
“Who are these children?” Theo asked.
Stephen’s lip curled into a sneer as he and Theo eyed each other with mutual distaste. “That’s not your concern. Your brother told me to bring them here,” he replied indifferently.
“My brother?” Theo scowled. “Why would he do that?”
“It’s not my place to question and neither should it be yours.” Stephen shrugged, although the smug set of his lips implied he knew more than he was admitting to. “I hear Nathaniel himself wants to question them.”
“Nathaniel?” Theo’s eyes went flat.
Nathaniel Boothe was a man Theo took great pains to avoid, not an easy feat when the man was constantly in the company of his brother, Logan. There was something about Nathaniel that made Theo’s blood run cold.
“But they are children.” Theo scowled. “What could Nathaniel possibly want with them?”
“It means nothing when the devil’s work is at play,” Stephen stated piously as he pulled the girls along by the ropes binding their wrists. He shoved them into one of the stalls and turned back to face Theo. “They are still old enough to do his bidding.”
“You cannot honestly believe that they are witches?” Theo’s eyes widened in horror as he glanced at the girls huddled together in the straw. They were barely older than his sister Temperance had been when she died. “They are no more than babes.”
“That’s for Nathaniel to determine.” Stephen smirked. “He has not been wrong so far.”
“No!” Theo grabbed Stephen’s forearm as he moved to pass by.
Theo was suddenly overwhelmed by a maelstrom of images and sensations, as sometimes happened when he touched someone.
He’d get a glimpse deep inside them, a look at their true selves, but when he touched Stephen’s arm a wave of disgust so powerful swept over him that Theo had to swallow against the sudden flood of moisture in his mouth to stop himself from vomiting.
Stephen was not a man of God; he was not even a good man. He was sick and twisted. He enjoyed pain and torment. In that moment, Theo could see the truth as clear as day and it made his stomach roil.
Stephen had become aroused as he’d watched those women violated and tortured for their false confessions. Worse still, Stephen had a dreadful hunger for the younger ones, the younger the better.
Unable to help himself, Theo’s fingers clenched in fury, and before he realized what he was doing, he’d pulled his fist back and punched Stephen so hard he heard bone cracking.
Stephen stumbled back, spitting blood on the straw strewn ground and cursing. “What did you do that for?”
“Nathaniel is not having them,” Theo told him, fighting back a wave of anger as he stepped toward the stall. “I’m done standing by and letting the innocents suffer when I know it’s wrong.”
He reached for the binding at the girls’ wrists, pausing when he felt the sudden coldness of a knife edge pressed against his exposed throat.
“And I said Nathaniel will question them,” Stephen growled.
Theo turned his head slowly. Stephen’s eyes were fixed on him coldly, his teeth bared and stained with blood while a thin stream of bloodied drool hung from his lip.
“I won’t allow it,” Theo replied in warning. “Walk away now, Stephen.”
“Or what?” he sneered. “You’ve never had what it takes to stand against the court. You stood by and watched all those women die. You’re as guilty as all of us. You’ll be one of us until the day you die.”
“I was never one of you,” Theo whispered.
“Maybe you’re right, traitor.” Stephen grinned maliciously as his gaze tracked across to Theo’s makeshift writing desk made from a bale of hay and a lamp, his eyes lingering on the journal. “Tell me, what secrets do you squirrel away in that book of yours?”
Theo’s eyes hardened.
“Perhaps I should take a look?” Stephen continued his expression sly. “From the look in your eyes, I’ll bet it’s something you don’t want Nathaniel knowing.”
Theo’s jaw tightened as his eyes went flat. “Don’t threaten me, Stephen,” he warned.
“You know what I think?” Stephen peeled his bloodied lips back in a snarl.
“I think it’s you who’s betrayed us. Your obvious sympathy for the accused leads me to believe that you are in league with them.
Perhaps I’ll just lay my concerns out for Nathaniel when he gets here, and he can judge for himself. ”
“Nathaniel won’t touch me.”
“You think the fact that you’re Logan Beckett’s brother will save you?
” Stephen scorned. “If Nathaniel wants you dead, you’ll be dangling at the end of a three-foot rope from Proctor’s Ledge before you can blink.
I can’t tell you how badly I want to see your face turn purple, your tongue protrude from that insolent mouth of yours as you hang by the neck, pissing and shitting yourself in front of everyone you’ve ever known…
” He leaned in closer, a dreadful kind of manic glee in his eyes, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“Makes my cock hard just thinking about it.”
Theo stared, his expression unreadable. “If anyone deserves to die here, it’s you, Stephen. I know the truth about you,” he whispered. “I know how much it excited you to hurt those women.”
“Yes, it did.” Stephen smiled as he licked the dried blood from his lips. “The young ones were the sweetest. How they cried and begged. Would you like to know what I did to them as soon as I had them alone?”
“I don’t need to know.” Theo swallowed back the bile rising in his throat, trying to shut out the images that had flashed through his mind when he’d touched Stephen. “God will be your judge, although I have a feeling your soul will be traveling in the opposite direction.”