The Book of Unwritten Stories (Salem Sisters #2)

Prologue

Lucine wiped her brow with her sleeve, glad she had worn her linen cap to cover her silver hair under the heat of the midday sun.

Knee-deep in soil, her fingernails caked with mud, this was where she was at her happiest, weeding the herb and vegetable patch that she had so lovingly nurtured since they had moved into the wooden homestead that bordered the edge of the woods in Salem village.

They had chosen this house because it was far enough from the other dwellings to give them the privacy they sought.

Her sisters, Lenora and Seraphina, did not care much for the villagers, but they did their best to help and heal them should they call on them for elixirs and potions to ail their illnesses.

Today, Seraphina and Lenora had gone to market, and Lucine had left her four-year-old daughter, Isadora, asleep inside. The child had a fever and had not been in good health the last two days. As she looked up Lucine saw a strange glow inside of the cottage, shining out through the windows.

Her first thought was that there was a fire. She threw down the hand trowel she had been digging with and screeched. Gathering her petticoats in her hands she ran as fast as she could towards the house. She had to get Isadora out.

Bursting through the door she saw that there was no fire and remembered that they hadn’t set one for it was too warm outside. Isadora had been burning up enough and Lucine hadn’t wanted to make her hotter.

Lucine cupped a hand over her mouth at what she saw.

Isadora lay on the floor. Next to her was the wooden chest. And she held the book.

The precious book Lucine had been hiding from her.

The book of spells that her beloved John had given her to take care of.

The book she was afraid to use or even have out of the box for Lucine knew if any villagers were to see she had a spell book then she would be held on witchcraft charges.

The book was open in front of Isadora, who was tracing her tiny fingers over the pages.

Were gold and blue sparks flying from the hand-carved leatherbound cover, or was she imagining it?

She thought of the man who had given her the book; his smell of leather and soap filled her nostrils, she could almost feel his strong arms around her shoulders, his warm touch.

The man with dark hair who made her feel as if she could never love another.

A high-pitched giggle from Isadora shook Lucine out of her daydreams and back to the here and now.

The faster Isadora moved her fingers the brighter the sparks grew, until it looked as if there were a thousand fireflies dancing above her daughter’s head.

She ran across the room and scooped the child into her arms, shocking her so much she began to cry.

The room went dark, and all of the blue and gold lights went out much to Lucine’s relief.

If someone from the village had walked in here and watched her daughter, they would all be swinging from the end of a rope before the end of the week.

For she could not explain it, and they would call them witches.

‘Shh, Isadora. I am sorry, but you must not play with the book, ’tis not for you, there is much danger within the pages. Have I not told you before about this, child?’

Isadora sobbed. ‘Yes, Mamma.’

‘It is not a thing to play with; it is very precious and has to be kept locked away where it is safe. For if anyone from the village were to see it, they would steal it and then it would not be ours. Your father gave that book to me and one day I will give it to you, now is not that day. You are too young to understand, I know this, but thou must listen to me when I tell thee to never unlock the box unless I tell thee to.’

Isadora sobbed into Lucine’s shoulder. Her small body was burning still from the fever, and she wished she had not scared her so much.

It was not the child’s fault the book fascinated her.

Lucine feared that the book and the power it held inside of it was making her child just as powerful and were that to happen among a village full of strict Puritans it would be a death sentence for them all.

She kissed the top of Isadora’s head softly, inhaling the sweet smell of fresh straw she had used to stuff the mattress and the milk she had spoon-fed her before she had gone to work outside.

She put Isadora back into her bed and scooped up the book; it was heavy and she wondered at the strength it had taken little Isadora to lift it out of the chest but there was no light coming out of it as there had been moments ago.

Where had it gone, this power, magic? Whatever it may be, it scared Lucine, and she wished for the hundredth time that John had not given the book to her for safekeeping.

He had said that it might save her life one day, though Lucine did not agree.

She thought that it would be the very thing that could end it.

The wooden chest had been locked, she was sure of that; her fingers felt under her linen dress for the key in case she had lost it.

No, it was there, she could feel the strip of leather with the tiny metal key pressing against the base of her throat.

Somehow Isadora had managed to open it without a key – she must hide it better than this.

She looked to the child who had sobbed herself back into a fevered sleep once more and whispered, ‘I will keep thee safe, child, but how can I stop thee from using powers that I have no control over?’

Lucine picked up the chest and looked around for a better place to store it.

She began to pull the straw out from her bed and placed it underneath, then covered it over again with the blankets.

It was the best she could do now, and she just hoped it was enough until Isadora could understand the danger the book may bring to them all.