Vera
The sky is blue velvet, riven with stars faded by the glowing silver dinner plate of the full Wolf Moon. It’s all I can see
as I come to, my head tilted unnaturally backward, neck aching, head a siren of pain.
Am I dreaming?
Someone has hung the lights in the trees the way we used to when Agnes was still alive. The air is frigid; my hands and feet,
my face numb as if I’ve been out in the cold for a very long time. I sense rather than really see I am in the field beside
the graveyard where the women in my family are buried beneath the big weeping willow. As things come into focus, I see that
someone has gone to the trouble of lighting that, as well, with tiny twinkling blue bulbs. Nearby, a bonfire roars and the
night is filled with the smell of wood smoke.
I am bound to some big chair fashioned of wood. It’s rickety beneath me, the ties at my wrist and ankles tight and painful.
With effort, I lift my head. I see them seated at a long table before me, waiting patiently.
Lisander, with Camille and Bree standing sentry behind her. The two of them have grown up before my eyes; they are strong
now, Lisander’s enforcers. I’m guessing one of them pinned me to the ground and administered The Deadly Trance.
April sits to Lisander’s right; she looks pale and clammy like she might be ill.
There are others here, too, all around us, forms that seem to slip from the trees. Some of them I recognize as Lisander’s
students. Others I have never seen before.
The Cove has grown large and diffuse since Agnes’s passing. This gathering used to be boisterous, joyful. Tonight, it’s silent.
I try not to panic, though I feel my heart thumping, my throat achingly dry. I won’t let them see me flail against my bindings
or let them hear me raise my voice in fear.
Instead, I turn my gaze on the quorum gathered before me. I imagine they have come in judgment. But who are they to judge
me? I give them my most pitying smile.
Lisander rises, all flowing black robes and crystals dangling from chains around her neck, her long gray hair wild. The candlelight
flickers in the breeze.
“You always did have a flair for the dramatic,” I say, my voice croaking.
What would Agnes have thought of Lisander’s little show?
In the years since Agnes’s death, there has only been this loose leadership of The Cove, no one to really steer the ship.
That’s why it has become so diffuse, practitioners of all disciplines scattered about, posting on social media, selling their
services like Iggy. If I had taken my seat, as Agnes wanted, maybe I could have kept things tighter, more organized. But it
wasn’t my calling, or my wish. When she died, we were still angry with each other—about what she did, what she wanted from
me, and what I refused to give her.
“Where’s Ana?” I ask.
“Ana’s on the run,” says Lisander heavily. “We tried to bring her in to answer for herself. But she stabbed April and has
disappeared.”
Is that true? Did she stab April? If she did, it was because she felt cornered. A glance at April reveals that she is seriously unwell.
Would Ana just run away, leave me and the kids behind? Leave me to face The Cove, and leave Grant and Coraline without their mother or their aunt?
The truth is I’m not sure.
There’s a code between sisters, Sadie liked to say. You don’t always have to be happy with each other. Sometimes you might not get along, or even like each other that much. But
you always have to be the backup, the ride or die. When the phone rings, you answer.
No one could say I haven’t been there for my sister. As I sit bound beneath the Wolf Moon, I think about all the dark and
dangerous things I have done for her, and I wonder where she has gone. If she’s okay. I’ve never really had to call on Ana
for help; it’s always been the other way around. But I need her now.
“Vera Blacksmith, daughter of Sadie, niece of Agnes.”
Lisander makes her voice deep, and it resonates, bouncing off the trees all around us. A stiff wind blows the smoke from the
bonfire in our direction. And somewhere I hear the faint call of the screech owl.
I have tolerated but never felt affection for Lisander. She was Agnes’s star student, her protégée before Ana and I arrived
at the house. So, there was always a bit of tension between us. Then on that night long ago when Agnes named me as her successor
to lead The Cove, that subtle tension turned to a deep resentment on Lisander’s part. The fact that I declined didn’t seem
to improve our relationship. I discarded something she wanted so badly, and it only made her dislike me more.
“Tonight, before your peers, you stand accused of violating the laws of The Cove.”
See. That’s my whole problem with the so-called Cove. It’s not a real thing. Like all religions, it’s just a doctrine that
is only validated by the zeal of its followers. And over the years, what was really just a loose band of Wiccan women who
practiced the healing arts, helping and protecting each other in a world where the persecution of female power was the norm,
became something else.
“We, the council of The Cove, formally charge you with the murder of your father, of your aunt, our beloved leader Agnes, and of Paul Hayes.”
The accusations land like blows, each one of them hurting in a different way. I opt for silence.
On the table before them some of the flickering candles go out in the stiff wind. The scent of sage is heavy on the air.
I am afraid because I know what these women are capable of.
I keep my face still, my breath even. They won’t see my fear. I’ve never let anyone see it, though it dictates so many of
my choices and actions.
All eyes are on me, looking at me. All I see is judgment.
“Vera, how do you answer to these charges?” asks Lisander.
Still I say nothing.
“Your father was abusing your mother,” Lisander said. “So, I understand that. Why you might decide to end him, put the death
cap mushrooms in his beef Wellington. Agnes never believed that Sadie would kill Mac; Sadie loved that man too much. Agnes
did, however, believe that Sadie would die to protect you or Ana.”
I still feel the rise of acid in my gullet when I think about this. My mother’s choices, such as they were. The choices I
had to make because she was too weak to protect us properly.
Lisander offers a solemn nod. “I know you have always felt that Agnes was responsible for Sadie’s death. That she was pressing
you into a life you didn’t want. You hated her, didn’t you, Vera?”
Hate is a strong word. I wouldn’t say I hated my aunt. I wouldn’t say I ever really loved her. And, yes, I did hold her responsible
for my mother’s death. It was a complicated dance—the bouquet she brought to Sadie, my mother’s willingness, maybe even her
desire, to die. But Agnes could have intervened, or at the very least not made it so damn easy for my mother to end her life.
“So, I can almost understand what motivated you to kill Agnes. You were young, impulsive, and angry.”
I bristle at this. These are words usually used to describe Ana. Not me. I am none of those things. And thanks to Sadie, Mac,
and Agnes, the inept adults in my life, I have never been young.
“But what about Paul Hayes?” Lisander goes on. “Why take that kind of risk? Killing him like that.”
Oh, there were myriad reasons for Paul Hayes to die.
First reason: The women he psychologically abused and manipulated at the workplace, and those he drugged and raped. Jessie
Parker, for one. The rumors about Paul made their way to me through the whisper network when Ana started seeing him.
Second: There was the damage Paul did to Esme’s reputation and business when they were both in the running for that Business Journal article. That she was a drunk; that she was being investigated for tax fraud. Both completely untrue. Brad happened to catch
wind of it after the article ran. I didn’t share it with her when we spoke because she was already angry enough. But what
damage would Paul have done to Esme in order to win the award for which they were both nominated?
Then: It was the fingerprint bruises I saw on my sister’s arm at the July 4th barbecue. Don’t get me wrong. I know my sister
has a taste for violent sex. But in Paul’s eyes, I saw the shine of the sadist, the rapist, the hater of women who walks among
us doing harm in overt and subtle ways.
Finally: Paul posed a threat to my husband’s business, the livelihood that makes it possible for me to provide for our children.
No one, and I mean no one, fucks with my family.
Paul Hayes was a disease that badly needed a cure.
“I don’t suppose I get a lawyer?” I say. “A trial, perhaps?”
No answer from the group, remaining candles flickering, then going dark. There are murmurs all around me. I can feel the unease
of the crowd, but also the edgy excitement.
“No?” I say, raising my voice a little when Lisander says nothing. “You’re right. We should just go back to the 1600s when women were accused of crimes, named as witches, and put to death because people feared them and their power.”
“Where is Amanda?” asks Lisander.
“I have no idea. I had nothing to do with Paul Hayes’s murder.”
“The evidence against you is substantial.”
I bark out another derisive laugh at that.
“That’s what they all say, isn’t it? How many women over the centuries have sat before a row of judges, accused of crimes
they didn’t commit, fallen under suspicion for reasons of fear, ignorance, or just good old-fashioned jealousy?”
Lisander glares.
“Because isn’t that what this is really about? All these years, you’ve been so jealous that Agnes loved Ana and me best. That
she wanted me to take over The Cove. And you’re just a poser in a seat you can never quite fill.”
In the heavy wooden chair, I’m slowly working my wrists. But the binding is tighter than I thought at first. My head throbs
from The Deadly Trance, which I’m lucky didn’t kill me already. There’s no one in this group skilled enough to handle a substance
like that. Fortunately, they must have taken it from Agnes’s storeroom. I mixed it and put it there myself. You never know
when a good anesthetic will come in handy.
“Is the irony of this lost on you?” I ask Lisander but look at each of the women sitting at her table. “So what’s it going
to be? Pressing? Drowning? Burning at the stake?”
Lisander clears her throat and keeps at it.
“Witnesses saw you and your husband, Brad, carrying something large wrapped in a tarp from your car and into the woods leading
to Black River Park where Paul’s body was found.”
That’s a lie.
“The toxicology report states that the toxins in Paul’s blood were consistent with those found in hemlock and wolfsbane, which we all know grow copiously in the garden.”
That’s true.
“And no one believes that Agnes had a heart attack,” Lisander continues. “Everyone saw how much you hated her the night of
the Wolf Moon when she named you as her successor. You and Ana used the same substance on your English teacher, Mr. Danvers.”
I did lash out at Agnes that night, railed against her in front of everyone for killing my mother. It was ugly. Our relationship
never really healed after that. I left for college a few months later and didn’t return to the house again for a long time.
Lisander has more to say.
“April overheard you and Brad discussing Paul, how he was talking about Brad behind his back after Brad declined his services.
Your company lost clients because of the rumors he was spreading. And then there was a fire. Brad suspected that Paul might
have been involved.”
I look at April, who can’t meet my eyes. I’ve always trusted her, let her into my home, paid her to take care of my children,
cook in my kitchen. Ana never liked her, but I thought my sister was just jealous, being territorial as she can be. I see
it now, what Ana saw. There’s always something going on behind those eyes. She was lurking in my house, listening to our private conversations. I’m angry, but also hurt. And annoyed with myself for
trusting her.
Meanwhile, it’s news to me that Brad thought Paul might have had something to do with the fire. If he did think that, he never
said so. And we most certainly did not dispose of Paul’s body together. That’s a complete lie.
“None of this means anything,” I say easily. “You have no proof. No evidence. Explain to me the doll they found at the burial
site, Lisander. Everyone knows that’s your thing. That you taught April how to make them, as well.”
Lisander just smiles wanly. “Are you suggesting that I killed Paul?”
“I’m suggesting that you don’t know what you’re talking about. That perhaps you’re being manipulated. You know, that’s one
of the reasons Agnes didn’t name you to lead. She thought you were weak. That you were too easily swayed by opinion and rumor.”
I’ve hit my mark, though antagonizing the person who wants you dead is probably not the best tactic. Lisander flushes and
clenches her fist. “Enough,” she barks.
“And what about Iggy?” I ask. “Her symptoms are consistent with the effects of amatoxin. And who was working in the kitchen
that day? Your little pet, April. She’d know well how to do that. After all, her own mother, Trina, tried to poison her, just
a little bit at a time.”
There’s a gasp. April has gone even grayer, her eyes angry now. She even has the audacity to look hurt. It was a low blow,
I know. But did they expect me to just sit here, begging for mercy? They’re all a bunch of witches, guilty of a thousand crimes,
and they’ve gathered to judge me. I’m not going down without landing a few blows.
“What reason would she have to do that?” asks Lisander.
“Why don’t you ask her?”
But Lisander just keeps her eyes on me. And then I understand.
They are all against us. Both Ana and me. They think we killed Paul Hayes together. The Cove is ending us.
Fear turns to anger. Anger for this injustice, for the betrayal from these women, for the safety of my sister, my children.
“Vera Blacksmith,” Lisander says, voice cool as gunmetal. “Your actions have brought danger to The Cove and its members. You
have created more harm than necessary and used your practice for your own benefit. For these violations, you have been sentenced
to take the cure.”
There are anxious murmurs from the crowd.
From behind me a voice cuts through the night. “Well, that’s not going to happen.”
I turn with relief, expecting to see Ana. What took you so long?
But it’s not Ana.
It’s Coraline.