

Spellbound  
Secrets, Spells and Tales

By: Liz Rau

A Smashwords Edition

Though the Salem Witch Trials were a very real historical event, this book is a work of fiction. Any references to this period are purely used for creative purposes. Any events, names, characters, things, situations or places are one of two things: created from pure imagination or used fictitiously; and any parallels otherwise are coincidental and unintended. And as far the author is aware, there are no mentions of gypsies included in any reference on any history book page in relation to events included in this book.

All rights reserved by author.  
©Liz Rau

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or presented to a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form without written consent of owner.

Published by Smashwords, Inc

Also available in paper format

eBook ISBN-13: 9781370098521

Edited by: Liz Rau, Lindsey Buckles, Sue Rau & Candace Viertel

Cover Design: Liz Rau

Information: www.lizrauofficial.com

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Other Liz Rau Books!

The Trials: Secrets, Spells & Tales (2016)

Pieces of Accordance (2016)

I dedicate this book to Clayton, Alexis, Peydan, Cole, Kayleigh and Elizabelle.

Twinkle brightly my little stars.

"There's a little witch in all of us."

(From the film 'Practical Magic')

PREFACE

Had someone told me a year ago that I was the descendent of a gypsy I would have never believed them. It's not that I, Sarah Elizabelle Ellison, was a skeptic. I had just never known any one person who truly believed in magick – the power of gypsy blood.

Magick appears in many forms for a gypsy I have discovered. Through whispers I've found some may call a gypsy a psychic or a fortune-teller, and in many places in this world being called a gypsy isn't a well-liked title. But for me, this is my history and my truth that I was longing to know. I have real magick racing through my veins and it's so much more than predicting the future.

In the last year, I've experienced what I now understand as memory walking, or being known as a Walker. This is similar to dream walking, except what I step into isn't created from my own subconscious, rather it's a reflection created from a strand of connections through the threads of time. However, it seems I cannot step into any memory, only those somehow connected to my ancestor Dooriya or the curse Tituba cast on the Porter and Putnam families.

I've also experienced visions – Kirsten calls them premonitions – as well as empath abilities to a small degree, and on two unintentional occasions, I've missed Harry so much while he was at sea that I accidentally astral projected my spirit to his ship The Craft. Astral projection is supposedly a very rare gift for gypsies and even more so in the witch magic world, according to Kirsten.

Thank the Goddess for Kirsten. Without her, I'd be sorely lost and scared of stepping outside onto the cobblestone streets of Salem. I may recognize my own gut instincts and know where to search when something seems out of place, but learning I had the strength to break a black curse nearly a year ago – a curse that was more than three hundred years in age – was a terrifying yet enthralling experience.

Breaking a curse that clicked so many missing puzzle pieces into my life and introducing one Harold Tucker Ellison was also exceptionally rewarding. Every time I twirl the sapphire and diamond band around my finger – the one with gold vines woven between the sparkling gemstones – I can hardly believe I have been married to him for the past four months. Time has flown like a witch on a broomstick across the moon. Our bond, the union that broke the Porter and Putnam family's curse, is so powerful that I am positive a lightning bolt cannot break our ties.

I often wonder if Tituba knows this from wherever she is in her afterlife. You see, it was Tituba who was responsible for cursing the two families. For eternity, she cast a curse that the two quarreling Porter and Putnam families would not know a home until their burden was buried and a bond was born. What the surviving witch of The Trials, Salem's most notable piece of history, hadn't expected was to be tied to the curse by my ancestor Dooriya. Nor had Tituba known of the gypsy's magick that created a link to my bloodline, which remained hidden for centuries.

The witch had remained steadfast in her black curse, so sinful in her dark spell. Through the shadows of time, Tituba watched and waited for the last leaf of the Porter and Putnam family trees to fall. But through her proclaimed vengeance, she was blind when it came to my heritage – my link to the curse and ultimately its end.

Granted, I was also oblivious to this link, having been adopted. But Dooriya was waiting for me, sent me signs that led me to Salem and when ready, led me into memory walking. My ancestor showed me the truth of my person – that I am a descendent of Thomas Putnam Jr. and Dooriya's child, a child born out of wedlock and hidden from the connection to her lineage. The union has remained a secret to this day in Salem, with only Kirsten, my wisdom, and Harry, my heart, knowing the truth.

In Salem, I found a new family and a second unbreakable bond – the gift of friendship. From the moment my toes stepped onto the cobblestone streets of a place that became my own familiar, I knew I was home. Falling madly, deeply and irrevocably in love with a thirty-year-old Porter descendent, who also happened to be cursed, was simply a bonus.

As I sit here in the kitchen of my inn, The Spellbound Inn, I can feel the threads of time wrapping around me like a warm, fuzzy blanket. This room was originally part of Dooriya's log cabin and had been waiting for one of her daughters to return home to it. This is where Dooriya had given birth to her daughter – Tom Putnam's love child. And it's the place where I found a golden vine wrapped sapphire amulet that remains steadfast around my neck.

The Spellbound Inn is where I awoke to my truth and my magick – the magick of a gypsy.

Sarah Elizabelle Ellison

Chapter One

The sound of the river's tide washing over rocks was the woman's only companion as she watched her newborn daughter float away in the darkness of the night to a family waiting to raise her as their own. Dooriya, still as a statue with a barely beating heart, let out the long-awaited breath she'd been holding. It could be seen against the coolness of the dark night.

"Why persist in observing my sorrow, daughter of mine?"

Sarah stepped out from the shadows of the tree lined riverbank, her soft blue dress a stark contrast to the ominous gloom of the night.

"I come to you, Dooriya, so that you are not alone in your sorrow."

"Ah, you must remember that I will never truly be alone, daughter of my daughter. Thy gifts come with spirits and many are always there to keep me in pleasant company."

Dooriya's fingertips brushed over her sapphire amulet absentmindedly. It was the same amulet that graced Sarah's neck, now only as a shadow, as this was now always the case when Sarah was walking. Even still, Sarah swore she could feel the sensation of Dooriya's cooled fingers against her own skin. She watched as Dooriya moved those ice-cold fingertips against her lips, closing her violet eyes in a small silent prayer before blowing a kiss in the direction of where the boat, carrying her baby girl off to a new life, had still been visible just mere moments earlier.

The scene before her eyes was surreal. Sarah was still held in awe from the sensations she experienced when walking. Surroundings, sounds and all her senses were much more delicate. It was as though she was viewing these memories through a silver gleaming bubble of a lens, and at the same time this memory was created from parchment that could crumble at the slightest disturbance from her.

The alarming sound of a twig snapping broke the two women out of their trances, with Dooriya's head whipping towards the noise. Her long onyx mane was wildly blowing around her as her back remained rigid with apprehension.

"We must go my child. Follow me now, hastily dearest." A barefoot Dooriya hiked up her thickly woven maroon skirts and rushed away from Sarah, up the river's edge, racing against the current.

More visible, now that a full harvest moon chose that exact moment to appear in the blanketed dark and cloudy sky, Sarah quickened her pace. Dooriya's unprotected bare feet were much more nimble along God's natural green floor than her chocolate laced-up ankle boots.

No more heels when walking, she grimaced to herself. But apart from Sarah's clothing, the women could have been mistaken for twins as they ran in the light of the silver-tinged moon with their long black hair wildly whipping in the wind – no matter how many centuries apart in age they may be.

Only the slightest differences could be noted in their appearances. Sarah's eyes were not the violet hue of Dooriya's, but rather a vibrant sapphire that sparkled like diamonds in the twilight sky – most especially when she had a vision. Dooriya's olive skin was also darker than Sarah's pale porcelain skin, which reflected Dooriya's Romani heritage much more clearly than her own – being centuries removed as it were.

Heritage, Sarah smiled as she realized she now knew something of herself, of her blood. After her adoptive family died, she'd been lost in an abyss of fear, in loneliness. But no longer and never again, she promised herself.

When Dooriya's swift toes met the mouth of the river that opened to Cat's Cove, she angled left and began to climb the embankment. In the distance, Sarah swore she could make out the shadow of Winter Island in the pale moonlight. As she turned to follow her ancestor, a path of stones created a makeshift staircase that led to a cabin door. Dooriya's cabin.

It was this very cabin where she'd discovered the gypsy's talisman. This is where her inn now stood, the building hiding the original cabin within its walls. As she climbed up the stone stairwell, that had seemingly appeared just for her benefit, Sarah crossed the small walkway to enter the doorway Dooriya disappeared through. Sarah felt that familiar sense of comfort hug around her like a warm blanket. She was home.

Finding Dooriya by the wood stove, Sarah moved to stand next to her beloved ancestor as she warmed her chilled hands. Eyeing the amulet that hung from her throat, Sarah paused as a violet haze fell over her.

"You are wondering where thy talisman originated from." It wasn't a question. With Dooriya, it almost never was.

"Was it meant for me to find? Did no one come sooner?"

"Fates align the moons, not I, my daughter's daughter."

"Where does the necklace come from?" Sarah found herself staring at the gem once more, enthralled with its beauty.

A deep sigh of sadness left Dooriya's lips. "This talisman was forged from the combined power created from the love of two families – my parents. It was a bond never known before to be so strong in my people's history. My parents were born into two of the longest Romani bloodlines – and the most formidable of my kind, both powerful in magicks of their own right. My mother was second-sighted and known for her gifts of visions into both present and past. But father, he was the fiercest in the Romani bloodline of all."

Dooriya paused, clearly saddened by the wistful look showing in her violet eyes. Sarah wished so badly she could soothe her.

"I was the only child born of this bond, this love, that survived birth. With only a daughter to carry on their bloodline and name, my parents chose to break a most sacred vow of the Romani law. They chose to use blood magicks."

"My dear, blood magick was frowned upon for many reasons." Dooriya quickly continued after seeing Sarah's alarmed expression, "In this case, it means they combined their magicks into one thread. But unlike those that tried before to attempt blood magick, my parents did not intend their spell craft to create a stronger shell for themselves, but rather to ensure I could protect thyself. With their blood united, my parents lit a fire under the balsamic moon and drew every talisman symbol of their own, a total of thrice, into my bare skin, releasing their gifts into one – into me. And as their magicks transferred and fused, so did the colors of the metals into a plait." Dooriya's slim fingers skimmed over the braided chain of delicate gold that wrapped around the sapphire with vines. As she did so, a ruby bracelet gleamed under her sleeve and it momentarily hypnotized Sarah. "With the gift of these talismans, my parent's gifts came to be my own. And this one," she held up the necklace to the light of a candlestick, "has come to be yours, just as I allowed fate to decide."

Dooriya moved away from the wood stove to the adjacent wall – the same wall where Sarah had found the amulet. "My parents used the last of their souls to gift me their magicks and with this, the last of their breaths. Unable to recover from their blood magick, the high ranking men in the clan were charged with raising me in the Romani ways. This did not last long, though, when their many wives began to discover I was more gifted than they realized. So, on the eve of my sixteen years, by the glow of a crescent moon, it was then I was to come into the full light of magick by morning. I foresaw the women's plans for thou gifts. Greedily, they desired my blood in hopes of appropriating my abilities. These talents were the last of the sacred gifts my family left me and the jealous wives knew I could do things others had not yet ever seen before, certainly not traits of their own bloodlines. Strength in gifts was viewed as power, and even in my time, history was truth to the fact that humans would do anything for power. Even murder."

"Oh Dooriya! I am... I am so sorry! That is no way for a young girl to live. The fear you must have felt!"

Dooriya stared at her, unsure of how to accept Sarah's empathy. "This was customary for my time and my people," she explained, "but I could not stand the idea of my parents sacrificing themselves not to fight for my protection, for my survival. For your survival."

Sarah watched as her ancestor began to remove the necklace from her being as a glimmer of silver gleamed in the firelight under her long sleeves. "So, in the still of the night, you spelled the camp into slumber and fled."

A small, knowing twinkle played on Dooriya's lips. "Intuition is growing stronger in you, my child's child. Yes, I fled and eventually came to find passage to the New World. I believe fate's irony weaved my path into Salem Village and those who feared people so similar to my own nature."

The harrowing nature of Dooriya's tale had a vexing effect on Sarah and from habit she reached for her amulet in solace, only to find a shadow in its place. "Dooriya, if you encompassed such prevailing magick, how was I not fully awakened earlier in life? Did the talisman ignite my truth?"

Again, a knowing smile crossed Dooriya's features as Sarah finally asked the question she'd been waiting for. "Because, my dear daughter, I spellbound the stone. Eventually I knew I would be discovered, but I promised the spirits that my bloodline – my parent's bond of strength, love and pure magick – would live onward into a new light under a different moon.

Dooriya shifted away and pulled a familiar brick lose from the interior wall as if it was no more than a simple desk drawer. Sarah, with her feet now frozen to the cold ground, watched as her ancestor retrieved an onyx box from the space and crossed back into the firelight, placing the gleaming onyx next to the flickering lights.

In one hand, she now held a small blade with a carved wooden handle, and in the other Dooriya held the amulet with the stone tightly secured in her palm.

Silent in her awe, Sarah watched as Dooriya took the small blade and sliced an incision across the same palm as the stone, her tanned skin now reflecting ruby red around the sapphire. She listened to the words carefully spoken next,

Blood of thy blood

Blood of thy spirits

Bound thy charmed stone

Bound by curse still unknown

Unbind only by fate thyself

Unbind but bind to thy blood ever more.

Dooriya dropped in the amulet into the box of onyx, placing the lid over the blood-fused sapphire and covering her still ruby red palm over the gleam of the onyx. Barely audible, "so mote is be" was whispered.

Sarah's gemstone eyes, now more brilliant than ever, widened in shock as vines of silver and sapphire thread into the onyx, woven into the gleam by Dooriya's spell. Again, on instinct, Sarah reached for her amulet and felt surprised when her fingertips closed around the stone hanging from her throat on a delicate gold woven chain – the talisman of her gypsy heritage a shadow no more.

She gasped as the room shifted and like a ghost, Dooriya and her cabin faded from her vision as the room spun. At the sound of a meow that seemed like a clear scolding from Hanks, Sarah realized she felt a new warmth of love wrapped around her. Fluttering her lashes open, she realized she was once more back in the kitchen, on the floor, of The Spellbound Inn. Sarah stared up into the ocean blue eyes peering down at her.

"Hello wife," Harry mused as he held her in his arms.

Chapter Two

It was a rainy day on the cobblestone streets of what was an oddly cool Thursday morning in early September as Kirsten splashed through the puddles covering the Salem Commons. With a latte from The Broom & Cup in one hand and her starry night adorned umbrella in the other, her bouncy blonde curls leapt with every dance-like step as she moved and hopped across the raindrop covered ground towards her book shop, Candlesticks.

Slowing her pace as she approached the heavy black wooden door with golden trim, Kirsten cautiously glanced behind herself to ensure no one could be watching nearby. An ominous feeling had settled into her gut that morning and though her dear friends knew she was a practicing white witch – and she did live in Salem for spell's sake – keeping unnecessary attention away was priority one for her.

Stepping into the entryway of Candlesticks, Kirsten subtly placed a fingertip on the gold handle and whispered, "Lock, Unlock." Hearing the familiar click of the door, Kirsten smiled cheerfully as the door opened. Never gets old, she thought.

Like a dancer, Kirsten gracefully swayed through the entryway, the starry night umbrella snapping shut and placing itself into an antique-crockpot-turned-umbrella-stand as she did. The design of the umbrella echoed the aged ivory pottery with indigo blue painted symbols coloring the piece of furniture.

A barely audible whisper of, 'lights" caused Kirsten's book shop to brighten instantly. First, the icicle lights encasing her storefront window lit, which made the Candlesticks sign glow against the rain soaked glass. Then, as if by magic, twinkle lights adorning the walls and hanging above each bookcase brightened. Star-like twinkles reflected throughout the shop as if highlighting the romantic ambience of the tales hidden away on the bookshelves. And lastly, and Kirsten's favorite part of her opening ritual, small recessed bulbs creating an illusion of a night sky began to radiantly shine against her midnight blue ceiling, glowing at the exact same time every candle in the window and on the store shelves behind the counter flicked to life.

The effect was a brilliant result and quite literally magical – but only she needed to be aware of the latter part. After the All Hallow's Eve ball, which only occurred once a decade on October 31, Kirsten had become strongly inspired by the romance of the event. The man in the moon had hosted the night underneath a blanket of stars. It was an evening of magical enchantments. And unforgettably, it was the night her best friend Sarah Felix – now Sarah Ellison – had broken the black curse against the Porter and Putnam families.

Kirsten was still in awe of how fate twisted their lives into one. Had Sarah not entered her bookshop that day, and Harry not dumped an entire latte into Sarah's shiny new Audi, would these two have ever connected? Would Sarah have felt the need to hop in her car that same breezy afternoon and drive along the coastline, discovering what is now The Spellbound Inn? It was a discovery that later led into finding a long-lost family heirloom, one that brought Sarah into her being a keeper of inherited gypsy magick, thanks to her ancestor Dooriya.

Shaking her head, Kirsten still found it amazing that there was so much she didn't know about the connections to The Trials. What other secrets have been kept all these years? Her Book of Shadows had never mentioned Dooriya or her ties to the Putnam family. Her ancestors, from Betty to her grandmother, never included gypsy magick in the book either.

Magick was a new concept for Kirsten. Sarah's gifts showed similarities to her own, but were still distinctively different as well. For one, Sarah didn't seem to possess the ability to cast a spell like she could, but then again, she certainly wasn't a Walker like her friend. This particular gift was most unusual, but it allowed Dooriya to teach Sarah about her past and that alone was invaluable. The two women researched these mysteries over and over, but it seems magick wasn't a well-documented subject on the internet. Kirsten suspected the gifts were kept very well hidden within families and was curious to know the reason.

The drip-drop sounds of the rain pelted her storefront window Kirsten moved to the glass as she watched the water dance against the flickering hue of store. There was something about a day such as this one that spoke to Kirsten. Rain was a very soothing balm on her soul and these days it calmed her overly inquisitive nature. Often, she felt as though rain was simply mother nature's tears washing away the sorrow of the world. Perhaps this was an ideal that overly romanticized the weather, but it was one Kirsten believed in. On some days, she thought it may rain for a month and that would be perfect fine by her.

A figure in a dark raincoat caught Kirsten's attention. She was surprised to see any activity on the cobblestones so early in the hour. As the person came closer, Kirsten could make out the shape of a very large man and he was swiftly approaching her shop. Dread began to settle into her stomach and she stepped away from the window, hoping he would change direction.

A chime on the door seconds later proved otherwise. Not only was the raincoat dark, but the man himself was covered with a black aura. Oddly, Kirsten could see the aura wrapped more thickly around his wrists than elsewhere on his person. Curious to know what that's about, she thought.

"May I help you, sir?"

Kirsten wanted to cringe as the large man stood in front of her, towering in both height and frame, with piercing black eyes that studied her face as they looked down his hooked nose. Stonily, she felt herself pull a protective layer over her thoughts and emotions like a shield. As she did so, she sensed this man attempting to do the same. Curious indeed.

"I believe you can help me, descendent of Betty Parris." The stranger's voice echoed the danger his presence alluded to. It was deep and his words were so rough around the edges it almost made Kirsten wince.

Frozen to the floor, Kirsten stood in silence unsure of how to respond. Only Sarah knew she was a descendent of the Parris family. It was a secret she kept almost exclusively. Betty Parris was the child who accused Tituba of witchcraft, claiming afflictions and creating a stir of mixed troubles that ultimately led to The Trials. What the community, that had been turned into a mass of paranoia, hadn't known was that Betty herself was a witch. Her father, Reverend Samuel Parris, removed her from their household and placed her with his cousins, the Sewalls, in his attempt to remove her further from The Trials and to cure her ailments. From all outside appearances, it was thought to be that Betty Parris was never involved with witchcraft again. The Book of Shadows passed down from generation to generation spoke of the importance of that secret. How did this man know?

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid you've lost me."

"Ah, I don't believe I have." The man took a step closer and crooked his head. "You look just like her. You could be Betty herself."

Hadn't Sarah made the same mention of this? Kirsten stepped away from the foreboding stranger and moved to stand behind her store counter. The barrier between them was a comfort.

"If you don't want people to know you're a witch, perhaps you should not use spells in public. Keys open doors, switches turn on lights."

He had been watching her! Kirsten should have been more careful. Inwardly, she chastised herself.

"You shouldn't be scared of me, Kirsten. After all, we are family."

"How do you know my name?"

"Salem is a small town, always has been. Even when it was Salem Village."

"What's your name?"

"Hawke. Hawke Baron."

"I don't believe that's your real last name, Hawke." Kirsten knew this without shadow of a doubt. Baron was the last name of Betty's shoemaker husband, Benjamin. And out of their four children, only one bore them grandchildren, two girls. The last name of Baron never continued in the family tree.

"Belief by you doesn't guarantee truth, white witch".

"I think you should leave." Kirsten was done with riddles and the stranger seemed to offer no valuable information. He's just trying to scare me.

Hawke stepped backwards and turned towards the exit. "We'll meet again. I guarantee this, witch."

The door chimed once more and Sarah blew into the bookshop like the wind, not knowing Hawke stood in her path and Kirsten watched as she slammed right into the dark stranger. Hawke reached out to steady her and immediately withdrew his hands, his skin shocked by their touch. He gazed at his palms as though Sarah had burned him by touch.

"Oh sorry! I picked up static electricity this morning and have been shocking things all day!" Sarah, now steady on her feet, finally popped her head up. The joking expression slumped right off her face.

As the two stared at each other, the room shifted slightly. It was a sign from the universe that balance was out of order with the three of them in one small space.

Hawke appeared to recognize this, slamming past Sarah and leaving the shop, seemingly still shook by the contact with her. Kirsten had to admit that the girl seemed to have that effect on people.

Chapter Three

Sarah was rooted to her spot in the entryway of her friend's book shop. Never had her newly inherited empath abilities shaken her so much as the anger radiating off the ominous stranger that barged right through her in order to leave Candlesticks as quickly as possible. Being able to emotionally tune into the violence of his anger laying just below the surface of the man's exterior nearly gutted her. But there was another feeling there. Familiarity? How is that possible? I've never seen that man in my life!

"Sarah? Sarah, are you okay?" Kirsten was standing in front of her now, concern coloring every feature of her heart-shaped face and round chocolate eyes.

"His name was Hawke, wasn't it?" Intuition nearly choked her as the dark stranger's name rolled off her tongue and a vision suddenly shook her to the core so badly she cried out in alarm as she crashed painfully to the floor, her knees collapsing in shock.

"Sarah! What is it? What do you see?"

Quickly, images flashed through her mind at a dizzying pace. "A.... darkness flying over water? A baby with black ribbons binding its wrists?" Sarah took a sharp, ragged breath and opened her eyes. "Tituba." Her sapphire eyes met Kirsten's and the two sat in silence for a moment. What could this all mean?

"Let's get you to a chair." Kirsten helped Sarah stand up and walked her over to a small loveseat near the front of the shop and placed her gently on the cushions.

Barely noticing, because Sarah thought she was going to throw up from the speed in which her visions hit her, she was surprised to see a cup of hot chocolate suddenly being offered to her.

"The sugar will help," was all Kirsten offered. Her friend took the seat next to her and waited, sitting in silence until Sarah was ready to talk.

How did I just do that? How did I know his name? Sipping the beverage, warmth began to seep back into her hands. She hadn't even noticed the chill she felt until then. Darkness flying over water? A baby tied up with black ribbons? Tituba? What could all of that mean? How was she to interpret this? And why had it happened after meeting a stranger whose name she suddenly knew?

"That man, his name was Hawke. You were right, Sarah. Your gifts are becoming stronger. And somehow, you must be connected to him in order for such a strong reaction to occur." Kirsten stated this in such a matter-of-fact way that only she could. No wonder people thought she could read minds.

"His energy was dark Kirsten, violent almost. What was he doing here?" Calmness floated in serene steadiness throughout her limbs almost as though Kirsten had spelled the hot chocolate to do so.

"You saw it, too? His aura was black."

"No, I saw nothing. I felt it. Anger radiated off of him. And... familiarity. I can't make sense of it."

"There's definitely something unsettling about him. For starters, he knows I'm a witch."

Sarah's eyes nearly popped out of her head. "How?"

"I don't know," Kirsten shook her head. "He also tried to tell me he was related to Betty Parris. But he can't be – I've studied every inch of my family tree. I thought he was trying to trick me at first."

Sarah gave her friend an empathetic look. "Haven't we learned from last year that not all bloodlines seem to get documented?"

"It's more than that. My bloodline... it's something I can sense. And I know Hawke isn't of any blood descended from Betty Parris. But he is trying to pass his name off as Hawke Baron."

"Baron? Betty's marital name? If he was trying to trick you into something, wouldn't he have chosen Parris as his last name?"

Kirsten took Sarah's empty cup and moved to throw it away. As she turned, the lights dazzling throughout her store glowed brighter. "I think it was a test. He was searching for recognition from me somehow."

After walking with Dooriya last night and then being slammed by the most powerful vision and empath abilities she'd ever experienced before, Sarah didn't think these things had occurred coincidentally. Dooriya had said that fate aligned the moon. Did that mean fate had brought Hawke into their lives as well?

Sarah stood and walked over the counter where Kirsten was now finishing her opening process. "I went walking last night with Dooriya. She was adamant that fate aligned so that I would be the person to break the curse Tituba set so many years ago."

"I would agree with that."

"So, what if there's more than one talisman? What if she aligned another talisman to another curse?"

Kirsten briefly closed her eyes and Sarah heard the lock click on the front door. She then watched as her friend walked silently to a familiar Celtic engraved chest and opened the lid to remove her Book of Shadows. This was Kirsten's most prized possession because it gave her every kernel of truth, history and power that linked her family tree for more than three hundred years. Sarah wished Dooriya's heritage came with such a source.

"The Porter-Putnam curse was in this book. Betty wrote about it. But over the years, no other curse tied to The Trials was in this book."

"That doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Dooriya had more than one talisman and I suddenly feel so strongly she used each one in the same manner as this one," Sarah reached up to trace the sapphire amulet hanging from her neck. "Her parents died giving her every gift they held within, and Dooriya fled to protect those gifts. I watched last night as she spelled this amulet so that only the fates could allow the right person to find it."

"What does this have to do with Hawke?"

"Something tells me her showing me this last night, and encountering him today, isn't an accident. Something, perhaps someone, wanted these events to occur."

Kirsten placed her Book of Shadows back into the chest and closed the lid. Then, almost as though she was second guessing herself, Kirsten placed her hand on the lid and whispered a spell that Sarah couldn't hear.

"If he knows I'm a witch, I don't trust him. And I get the sense he's not done – with either of us. I saw his aura wrapped around his wrists... and you said you saw a baby with black ribbons tied to its wrists?"

"Yes, but I could only see the hands, not the baby's face."

With an aura so dark, perhaps he's been magically blocked. Perhaps as a baby?"

"Do you think?"

"I don't know, to be honest. But we've got to find out who he really is because I don't trust him."

Sarah wasn't so sure they should dig. For some reason, perhaps it was Dooriya's influence, she felt that intuition would guide her when needed.

Chapter Four

"Hey old man! Aren't you done yet?"

Though his temperament had calmed over the last year and his bad moods were all but gone, Harry Ellison still had to admit that Callen knew just where to poke and prod his patience for a reaction. It was like watching a gently rolling tide turn into a typhoon. Pickering Wharf was bustling with the early morning seafood market traffic as the two men were in the midst of prepping The Craft for one last sail before the fall season settled in. Even though it was only the first week of September, the weather had been oddly cool that year and Harry didn't want to risk the Atlantic waters any more than necessary. Especially now that he had a wife who would be eagerly waiting and watching for The Craft to return home.

Amazement overwhelmed him when he thought of Sarah. Had it really just been a year ago that he'd first laid eyes on his mystical and mysterious love? Harry's ocean blue eyes drifted to the balcony where she often watched over him while drawing in her sketch pad with her raven black hair billowing in the breeze. Of course, even when Sarah wasn't on the balcony, the gypsy heiress could still see him.

Knowing of her magickal roots was something that still bewildered Harry. Salem was known for The Trials – a horrific stamp on the pages of history books – and tied to all things of the witch realm. Harry's own family, the Porter's, was cursed by Tituba during those days thanks to their partial responsibility and involvement of The Trials.

What would never be mentioned in Salem are the magickal ties of the Putnam family – Sarah's ancestors – that created a love child that no one ever knew about. That is, not until last year when his wife showed up in Salem and a curse over three hundred years old came to light. Together, he and Sarah overcame Tituba and broke her hex on their families once and for all.

And Sarah's heritage awoke inside of her. Nerves rattled Harry and he took a deep breath. While he would never admit his fears to his wife, her ever growing powers shook him. Before she even knew The Spellbound Inn was indeed once her ancestor's dwellings, she had purchased the building from a cantankerous plump old man and seemingly set fate in motion.

Just the other night he'd awoken to find Sarah gone. At once he knew she was at the inn and had gone in search of her. The place seemed to hold a trance over her and Harry was afraid of what might happen to her while she was Walking – something else that was becoming more and more common. It was as if she couldn't resist stepping into Dooriya's world – a world that was also once Tituba's. That was the most nerve-wracking part for him.

"Earth to Harry! Are you done yet old sea dog?"

Uncomfortably jarred from his thoughts Harry replied, "Call me old one more time pup and you might be lost at sea in a few days."

Callen's ever charming smile lopped sideways across his face. "Kirsten would undoubtedly find me."

The two of them shared a knowing look. Yes, Kirsten would find Callen in the depths of Hell if she had to. What had taken years to get those two together, mostly due to Callen's chickening-out nature, seemed like a lifetime ago. Kirsten and Callen's bond was stronger than the glue between puzzle pieces. Somehow, even though Callen had no gifts of his own, nor any ties to Salem, The Trials, or witches, the two of them were more intertwined with one another than even Harry and Sarah – which was really something in itself.

"Are you two ready for the masquerade ball at Spellbound on All Hallow's Eve? Kirsten's been dreaming about it I think."

Harry sighed, not sure if the ball was even a good idea given Sarah's mystical draw to the property. "I'm sure she is more nervous about the opening of the inn than the party itself. Sarah's been putting in long hours to make sure it's perfect prior to taking patrons."

"The whole town seems to have fallen for her, you know. Sarah has the support of every local business in Salem. Spellbound is going to be a rousing success, mate. No need to worry!" Callen's carefree attitude about the inn, as he rolled down the sail he was testing for the third time on Harry's command, echoed the town's sentiments accordingly.

The whole village did appear to have fallen in love with his wife. His good buddy Mat was one of those loyalists to Sarah, having easily stepped into a brotherly friendship with her while she assisted during Ally's maternity leave. The Broom & Cup patrons loved her cheerful mannerism and kindness. The fact that the two quipped back and forth at each other, like siblings do, added an unquestionable amount of entertainment. In return for helping Mat and Ally in their time of need, Sarah's artwork was sold at the coffee shop filled with mismatched – but somehow still matching – furniture, which meant at least a third of the town now had one of her pieces.

Well, all except any drawings of The Craft. Those pieces were going into The Spellbound Inn because Sarah said they were too special to sell. That was understandable to Harry because he knew she'd begun to draw his ship before they'd ever met.

"Callen, have you ever felt... unsettled by Kirsten?"

"What do you mean?"

"By her... talents. Does it ever worry you?"

Callen tied the sail and then pulled away, walking over to the railing where Harry stood. "Honestly, yes and no. She doesn't usually say or do much around me that's... you know," he wiggled his fingers at Harry, "but I can tell she's holding back from me. It worries me more that there's something she doesn't trust me with knowing." Callen looked out onto the wharf for a moment, watching a little girl carry a bucket of bait alongside her father. The grin on her face said this was most likely her first time fishing with him. "But her gifts? Those make her who she is."

"Callen, do you think she's hiding something?"

"Maybe Kirsten doesn't realize she is? Or perhaps she's only comfortable sharing so much of her gifts with me. But yes."

Harry slapped a consoling hand on his shoulder. "In due time, you'll know what it is." A grateful feeling of contentment washed over Harry because he knew, above all else, Sarah never held back her feelings, questions, or what she experienced when she went Walking with Dooriya. The thread between time would always be woven between them, he supposed. Acceptance of that was just more difficult to swallow than he would be willing to admit.

"Good thing we will be back in time for The Spellbound Inn's first All Hallow's Eve masquerade night. There's something about the last day in October that makes everything align accordingly as it should."

Chapter Five

"I cannot thank you enough for helping me out with the masquerade party!"

A very tall man with dark blonde hair curling underneath his ears and a red-tinted scruffy beard rolled his light green eyes for what must have been the twentieth time that morning. "Sarah, you never have to ask for my help. After you saved my arse more than once while covering for Ally during her maternity leave, I am your indentured servant, milady."

In lieu of having to respond, Sarah took a giant sip of her cinnamon soy latte and pursed her apple red lips at the man. The Broom & Cup would have survived just fine without her help over the last few months. Mat was the one who needed the support, but she wasn't going to make him the wiser of that fact. Empath abilities, though not as strong at that time as they are now, allowed her to calm his first-time father fears without him even realizing it. Sarah couldn't cure his fears, especially since it was a rational and expected approach to the situation, but she could balm his emotions with calmness for the sake of the coffee – at the very least.

"How are we going to make this party a success? It needs to enchant the town enough that they'll support the inn. Not to mention it will be tough to outshine last All Hallow's Eve."

"Sarah, relax! Spellbound is going to be amazing! Plus, you still have the mystery thing going on, so people will be curious to know more about you." A boyish grin slanted across his face.

"Mystery thing?"

The boyish grin began to fall into an uneasy frown. "Well..." Mat began, "you have an unusual look about yourself, you do know that Sarah." Mat's eyes uncomfortably moved around the room. "Half the town must own your artwork by now and some people, not me," the coffee shop owner exaggeratedly pointed to himself, "feel there's something very mystical about it – even for Salem's standards."

A raven brow raised skeptically over her sapphire eyes. "Sketching and painting makes me mysterious?" Sarcasm rolled off her tongue like a pumpkin rolling down a hill.

"Well... that and Harry's madly, deeply and cheesily in love with you. It's a far cry from the elusive – and quite moody – bachelor this village knew a year ago."

"Ah. Geez, I'm fodder for the gossip mills?"

"Yup." Mat answered in a way that let the word pop from his lips.

Anxiety settled into her shoulders and Sarah could feel Mat's realization of what he'd said. It felt an awful lot like regret and before he could feel any shame towards telling her she was the odd girl in the classroom, Sarah pushed away from the bar top and weaved a path through the mismatched – yet still matching – tables that were a signature to The Broom & Cup, and walked along the back wall covered in her artwork.

Her childhood reflections were full of memories colored with blue feelings of loneliness, times where kids were so cruel to her because she didn't look like anyone else, times where they ironically called her a witch. Sarah shoved those memories out of her mind's eye as she stopped in front of her new favorite painting. It reminded her of how close she was with the finishing touches to her inn. Romanticism and comfort were her two inspirations for the décor of Spellbound, and Sarah wanted to cover the family style dining room table with large black pillar candles that always looked melted, and bright white candles of the same style adorning the adjacent mantelpiece above the wood burning fire place. There, encased in an antique gold frame on the wall of The Broom & Cup, was the painting that came before the realization of what she had created with her art.

In the stillness of dawn, with a bushy-tailed Hanks snoring on her toes on her balcony overlooking the wharf, Sarah found herself in front of a canvas. The morning was dusted with a cool breeze dancing across a lavender and silver sky, and before she knew it, Sarah focused on a painting of glowing white candles, softened from heat, warmly flickering against the rusted chocolate walls of Dooriya's cabin. The image had floated with clarity into her mind's eye from an unknown memory – a sensation she was becoming quite accustomed to.

Images were always gliding into her vision now and flowing to her fingertips from somewhere else – and someone else. Someone she was connected to but had yet to discover which thread in time was connecting her to the vision. Being a daughter's daughter of Dooriya, Sarah instinctually knew her gifts came from her connections to others, and the images in her mind's eye would eventually link together in one fashion or another. Whether this was through a person she had yet to meet, or a memory she had yet to walk, Sarah wasn't always certain. Her gifts were the continual element of surprise.

"What is it about these candles that entrance you so much?" Mat nudged her elbow with his version of a peace offering.

Sarah took the green and white polka-dotted mug from him and sipped the homemade soy latte. "I think it's the flickering light. I can see it so clearly in my mind, the flame, that I sense it's light and warmth."

Mat and Ally weren't aware of Sarah's gifts, so she inwardly prayed he only heard an artist speaking nonsensical things and not a gypsy in the midst of re-living a vision.

"Flickering lights?" Curiosity colored his face until his eyes lit up. "Hey!" he snapped his fingers. "Why don't we release lanterns on All Hallow's Eve?"

"Midnight lanterns?" A sense of instinctual inquisitiveness washed over her. A thread was pulling on a puzzle piece to her suggestion, but she could not quite see what the piece was.

The question was for herself, but Mat answered. "Sure, if that's what sells you on the idea."

Ignoring the odd look her friend was giving her, she answered, "Yes, yes, midnight lanterns I think will do nicely." Again, something tugged on the string to Sarah's magickal heart. Something... this meant something to her, midnight on All Hallow's Eve, but she could not grasp what the something was.

Ice washed over her soul in a quick, sudden splash and electricity shook through her core, crawling up her spine, and Sarah's eyes bolted towards the window to see a dark stranger peering into The Broom & Cup. Hawke.

The man, still dark and looming as her first impression marked him as, was staring down his hook nose at her, his eyes shadowed and sinful.

What does he want with me? Sarah jumped as another electric current drenched the skin of her palms. The sensation caused her to release her mug, coffee splattering the floor like a mosaic.

Sarah turned to glare accusingly at the ominous figure, but the man was gone. It was a situation all too familiar to her. Déjà vu washed over her and intuition confirmed that somehow, someway, Tituba was connected to this man.

Dread filled Sarah's stomach.

Chapter Six

The end of another gloomy day concluded with a green hue over the twilight dusk of closing hour for the shops in Salem Commons. Kirsten's once magical raindrops now clung to a portentous feeling in the muggy air as she closed up her shop, turning the locks on the door and listening for each bolt to click into place.

Peering out onto the cobblestone streets, she searched for any stillness in the busy movement amongst those patrons now heading for happy hour or on their way home to have dinner with their families. The stillness she watched for was the man named Hawke. The odious creature confessed to have been watching her and she knew he was nearby. But why?

Kirsten refused to feel threatened in any fashion by this stranger, for she was a descendent of Salem Village itself, not to mention a very old and powerful line of witches. Hawke was lying about his relation to her. Even if she didn't know her family tree backwards and forwards, she was still confident in her reading abilities when it came to people. The loathsome being was dishonest in nearly every word. The only truth she had sensed was that Hawke was connected to Salem somehow... but not through the Parris bloodline. Why lie?

The man was also tightly wound, controlling his temper when engaging her, but Sarah had sensed his anger rolling off in waves. Kirsten wasn't surprised by that with his aura being as black as sin. A black aura could be interpreted many ways – anger, negativity, hatred, unresolved karma, lack of forgiveness – and Kirsten was certain all applied to this man. Curious, though, how the aura intensified around his hands. That was a new sight for wise eyes.

Seeing no stillness in the twilight of the green mist, Kirsten took a deep breath and turned off the store lights, manually, and strolled through her shop to the work room. Shutting the midnight blue door behind her, she whispered, "Peribolus" as she held her palms parallel to the frame. Closing her eyes, she felt a wall of energy surround her. Safety first, she thought. Kirsten wasn't taking any chances of Hawke watching her in this moment.

The edges of the violet and indigo circular rug curled up from the aged hardwood floors, rolling tightly up against the wall with a twirling flick of Kirsten's fingers. Stepping forward, she knelt down in the center of the room, placing both of her hands on a particular floor board, and lifted the piece of wood from its puzzle as though her palms were magnets. It was a blood spell that would only work for a member on Betty's lineage.

Laying the wooden piece of the walnut flooring to the side, she reached into the hole, removing a small antique chest that was centuries old. The metal work was engraved with silver and gold roses, Betty's favorite flower. Inside were her journals she began after leaving her father's house to live with her relatives, the Sewalls.

These books were Kirsten's most prized, treasured and beloved possessions, next to her Book of Shadows, and not every generation of the bloodline were gifted them to protect. In times where Kirsten needed strength and knowledge, she turned to these writings for answers. Not even Callen knew about their existence. Sifting through the aged brown leather books, Kirsten came to the volume she was searching for – the final journal Betty had written. The cover appeared as though it had once touched flames as the corners seemed slightly tinged with heat. Magic always left a trace, even small bits of nothing sometimes, for a caster to sense.

Kirsten fanned the pages until she found the entry she was seeking. With her full attention, she studied the passages she had read so many times before.

A darkness follows me in and out of my shadows. Is this my justice for my failures in youth? For betraying thy friends? Is the black man, the Devil himself, back to imprison me once more? A darkness clouds the light so long fought for. His indigo has long been hidden, long been chained. The recondite cloud will cease thyself, thy thoughts, thy light.

It was commonly thought that Betty Parris had lost her mind in her older years. Some historians belatedly and incorrectly diagnosed her with a bipolar disorder. But in truth, Betty's unknown journals provided the clarity of her having been cursed. As to whether the curse contributed to the demise of her mind, Kirsten could not be certain.

A dark cloud followed her? Was Hawke a dark cloud? His aura alluded to that much. Did Kirsten believe he was the Devil reincarnated? No.

The Devil was a fear strongly associated to The Trials and to witchcraft itself. So little was honest to an outsider's knowledge concerning those with gifts and abilities. Betty Parris's own father, the Reverend, removed Betty from his home and from Salem altogether when she claimed as a child that the man visited her in her sleep. It's no wonder Betty would fear him still has an adult. To her, it was a very real and natural association that bad feelings, omens and circumstances would be from the result of her strongest fear.

But in truth, Kirsten became consumed by the idea of Betty being cursed. A dark cloud... who would've done this to Betty?

Tituba, her thoughts hissed at her.

Could it be? More than one curse from that wicked woman? Had vengeance taken more than one name as its prey? Kirsten's thoughts began to speak to each other, thoughts that she did not want to say out loud. But Tituba is gone... after Sarah and Harry's curse lifted...

Maybe Betty's descendants weren't cursed. Or if they were, perhaps there was someone else involved. Who is Hawke? Until Kirsten could answer that question, nothing else would click into place. And if she was cursed and it had been Tituba, would Kirsten turn into a nut like Betty?

Kirsten placed the journals back into the chest as carefully as she could and sealed the case into the walnut floor once more. As she stood to retrieve her tarot cards, the rug placed itself back in the center of the floor, flat as a pancake. Kirsten grabbed a white candle from her shelf, and sat crossed-legged on the indigo and violet rug, placing the large white pillar candle on a star carefully hidden into the carpet's design, and whispered, "Accendere". As a flame ignited, its reflection flickered in her eyes and a violet haze seemed to wrap around her blond curls.

Kirsten fanned the tarot cards out on the rug so they made a semi-circle around the white wax already melting to the carpet. The cards were meant to be read after twilight as this is when a reading is said to be its truest in form. Answers were needed and Kirsten was choosing the simplest way to know what lay ahead for her.

Choosing three cards, Kirsten flipped each one over and her breath caught.

The High Priestess. Guidance wiser than my own will be needed. Stronger knowledge.

The Wheel of Fortune. Conflict is coming and I won't be able to stop it.

The Star. Don't be fooled by the weaver of dreams.

Never in all her life had she drawn these three cards together. What could it all mean? How did it relate to Hawke? On one end, she wanted to confide in Sarah – maybe Dooriya would know this darkness coming? But was Dooriya the weaver of dreams?

For the very first time since they'd met, Kirsten wondered if she could trust Sarah. Once she'd arrived in town, and her gypsy magick awoke, hadn't the stillness also come? Kirsten didn't believe in coincidences, but until she drew The Star from the deck, she had always trusted her judgement.

Sarah was a Walker, but was she also a Weaver? Was Dooriya?

Chapter Seven

Lines drawn on paper had never been more of a release for Sarah than that afternoon on her favorite bench in Salem Commons. Time had lost all sense and meaning as her fingertips flew over her sketch pad in flashes of movements that seemed to have control over her thoughts. Her thoughts were haunted by this man and there was a gnawing sensation at the puzzle buried deep in her mind, and she was trying desperately to unlock it. Rubbing the amulet with her left hand, thinking of Dooriya, her right hand began to depict a crueler thickness of hostility into the portrayal forming in front of her sapphire eyes.

Awareness of the twilight hour settling into the air barely registered as she allowed her mind's eye to take control of her motions. Shock trickled into her heart as Sarah realized a man's face was staring back at her. Calmly she stuck her black chalk pencil behind her ear, where it would surely get stuck in her wild raven waves, and studied her drawing as the street lamps clicked on all around the commons with their lights reflecting on the emerald grass throughout the park.

Darkness wafted off the man now covering her sketchpad and a certain clandestine ambiguity left no secrets to decipher in his piercing black eyes. Shadows appeared to be chasing the stranger with the hook nose and cleft chin, with a particular obscurity gathering at his hands. Strangely, the shadows weren't part of the man though, but they weren't attached to him like a dark cloud.

What could that mean? Sarah's thoughts wandered once again about Hawke. Anger radiated off him even when he was on paper but so did familiarity and... a plea? A plea for what? And what was it about this stranger that felt as though he was calling out to a far off distant memory to her? What can't I recall?

Sketching was her version of a crystal ball – though she had one of those too – and her visions on paper usually showed her what her subconscious knew already. Hoping the answer would come to her with a clear mind, Sarah closed her eyes and let her breath out slowly. Seconds turned into minutes and Sarah opened her right eye and peeked at her sketch. Nothing. Frustrated, she tried once again. Inhale... exhale.... inhale... exhale... Sarah peeked at the drawing through her left eye. Ugh! Too many questions were rolling around in her head and Sarah just couldn't quiet her thoughts.

The man staring back at her had raven hair, like herself, but it was straight and muddled with grey strays that matched the stubble on his chin. Even though he was a stranger, Sarah could see that he had lived a stressed life and survived a tough upbringing. Was he looking for family or a missing puzzle piece – just as she had been? That angle had not occurred to her until just then. Perhaps he was related to Kirsten. Where he came from somehow didn't seem as pressing of an inquiry so much as what did he come from? And what was holding him back?

Sarah focused her mind's eye on his wrists and made a mental note to ask Dooriya during their next Walk. Anger did exude from the man but the dark energy wasn't surrounding him, only his wrists and hands. Was the energy controlling Hawke? Sarah would certainly be angry if she was being controlled. Throughout her life, Sarah knew what it was like to feel suppressed – that is until she found Salem, Harry, Kirsten and Dooriya.

A sudden chill stung her back and Sarah's thoughts were lost in the twilight wind as she whirled around on the bench, her raven mane wildly wrapping around her shoulders. Someone was watching her – she could sense it.

Across the Commons in the park was a gazebo. The twinkle lights that regularly adorned it in the evenings were still not shining bright since there were still a few whispers of daylight clinging to the air. But it wasn't the lights that had caught her attention, it was the shadow hidden on the other side of the gazebo. Was someone watching her? Was it Hawke?

Sarah turned back around to glance at Kirsten's shop for help, but it appeared to be closed. Did she close up shop and walk right by me? Shoving her sketchpad into her oversized purse, she stood and began walking towards the gazebo when she heard her name.

"Sarah! Where are you going?"

A smile plastered across her face as she stepped backwards two paces and spun right into the arms of her beloved husband like a well-choreographed routine. "Hello darling," she grinned up at him. His ruggedly charming handsome face was still making her feel like the luckiest girl alive.

According to Mat, Harry Ellison was the town's most eligible bachelor until she moved to Salem. Apparently, he was the most oblivious bachelor as well. Her ginger-haired, ocean blue eyed sailor, without a freckle on his face, was a six-foot-tall drink of water. Muscularly broad shoulders encased her warmly as she inhaled his musky scent. It was intoxicating and she missed it dearly when he was away.

Truly, Sarah wished he would get more involved with his restaurants. She thought it was amazing that he'd started his own line of pubs right after college called The Brew, and the food was amazing. But superstition ran deep with Harry, and he couldn't get used to the fact that everything he touched wouldn't turn to ash – metaphorically speaking.

"Hey love birds, ready to go to dinner?" Blonde curls were bouncing out of the Candlesticks doorway. The three of them were supposed to be meeting for dinner at The Brew with Callen.

Odd, I thought she had already locked up? When Sarah looked back towards the gazebo, all the twinkle lights were lit and the shadow was gone.

"Yeah, let's go."

\---

Sitting in the corner booth at The Brew was becoming unnerving for Harry and his broad shoulders were racked with anxiety. Repeatedly his friends told him he was nuts for still believing he was cursed where his good luck was concerned. There was no help for it other than the test of time though, because Harry had spent his whole life walking on the eggshells that was the curse itself that had befallen the Porter family, his grandfather instilled the burden on him very early during his childhood.

Yet here he was, sitting in his first-ever pub he opened after college. Striking out on his own entrepreneurial journey that he had somehow managed to maintain all these years. Having barely set foot on the old world floors likely helped. Although Harry was highly involved in the designing, hiring and planning stages, he was absolutely hands off when it came to the management of staff or the day to day operations. In fact, he came in so rarely that the staff acted like he was a ghost. The servers were tripping over their trays and the bartender became overly busy with polishing almost every whiskey glass he could find. Maybe it wasn't the idea of the curse giving him anxiety, but rather the idea that if he was seeing all of this weirdness amongst his staff, so were The Brew's patrons that evening.

Too bad I can't wish their nerves away, he thought. When a joyful laugh knocked Harry from his thoughts he turned to stare at his wife, his gypsy-empath-Walker-wife. God, she was breathtakingly stunning. Never in his life had Harry seen or been magnetically pulled to a woman like he was with Sarah. Their bond was the glue between perfectly fitted puzzle pieces that took centuries to match.

Sure, their bond broke Tituba's vengeful hex – but it was something more. Sarah told him that the fates aligned in order for them to find one another. Remembering a world before her was challenging for Harry because she was now considered in every decision he made because he didn't want to be away from her. And he was proud of Sarah finding such strength in discovering her heritage. She was a very strong woman and a person who rarely cried. Sadness only found Sarah when she thought of her family for she missed her parents deeply. In fact, Harry suspected, that was probably why being a Walker didn't scare her – it gave her a chance to still be a part of a family when she could speak with Dooriya. But her gifts were what made Harry so hesitant to leave her tomorrow. There was no guarantee she could walk in his dreams, and now that he finally had a home, he realized what a home was.

"You ladies really have to learn how to sail. I can't believe you're going to leave me with his ol' Irish temper for weeks!" Callen's mocking face caused Harry to roll his ocean blue eyes upwards.

"You know I'm not Irish, mate."

"But the crew doesn't and you do have a temper mate."

"Maybe he used to...", Sarah smiled up at her husband and his stomach melted into mush.

Tempers had flown high over the seas like a bird when The Craft would navigate back to port in the past. Harry's ginger-kissed hair lent to the Irish rumors, but after the past year Callen was well aware of his Porter family lineage. But his first mate's need to get a rise out of his captain remained steadfast.

Harry was about to ask Kirsten for help when he noticed her absence from their conversation, but stopped short when he noticed the look on the friendly witch's face. Her chocolate eyes were rounded and entranced. Sudden stillness at his side meant Sarah now noticed Kirsten's behavior as well and he glanced sideways to see what had taken their full attention away from dinner.

On the far side of the room, at the very end of the handcrafted, smoothed dark wood bar was a stranger by Harry's knowledge. He knew everybody in Salem. Was it a tourist that held Kirsten's attention? Flashing his eyes between the two, Harry was positive that this was the person captivating Kirsten's attention. But why?

A sudden hitch in Sarah's breath pulled his face back to hers, and her sapphire eyes gained golden highlights around her irises – she was having a vision.

"The lights," Sarah whispered, air barely crossing her lips.

"Wha---," Harry began to ask when shock encompassed his whole body as the light bulbs above their booth popped. "Look out!" Diving to cover Sarah, Harry pushed her down in the booth. Another snap was heard from across the pub and Harry bolted up to confirm his suspicions. The second lightbulb that burst from its socket was right above where the stranger had been.

Kirsten blinked her eyes as though she was coming out of a trance and rapidly fluttered her eyes around the to seek out the man. She hadn't even checked on the others in the booth and Callen's face was frozen with an odd look. It wasn't quite fright but it wasn't curiosity either.

Reaching for Sarah's hand, Harry was shocked to discover her palm was ice cold. Harry imagined for a moment that was what death felt like and a shudder ran up his spine. Studying her face, Harry worried about what was happening. Sarah was paler than a Salem ghost, and her eyes were midnight dark as she stared at the doorway. Harry turned to look just as a shadow slipped through the doorway and exited the pub through the bar entrance.

What the Hell?

"Ladies? Is there something you forgot to tell Harry and I?" Callen's face now held a solemn and stern appearance, which brought Harry's alarm level to a new high. Callen was never grim with his words.

Squeezing Sarah's hand and noticing the warmth of her blood had returned to her fingers, Harry widened his eyes at her in question.

Kirsten cleared her throat and awkwardly began, "So... there may be a new curse in town."

Great, Harry soberly grimaced. Maybe his ol' Irish temper did still exist.

Chapter Eight

Electricity raced through their veins like tingling threads of excitement as Sarah and Harry strolled the wharf at dawn with their fingers intertwined. It was so early the moon was still clinging to the skyline. Sarah felt sadness in the morning mist as her husband's last sail of the season had arrived and left a hollow hole in her chest in its wake. Harry held her hand as long as possible before letting go, for they both savored the feeling when their touch connected – a spark they hoped would never fade.

The Craft, Harry's magnificent schooner ship boasting three masts and billowing sails that sang of sea traditions passed from generation to generation of the Ellison family, sat mockingly in the port echoing the reality of her husband's early departure that morning. His return would not be until a week prior to All Hallow's Eve – the night of Spellbound's masquerade ball. Normally she was not such a glum gypsy when Harry was setting sail, for she knew the ocean was his favorite place to be, but even her hair hung gloomily at her waist without a single wavy strand blowing in the breeze.

Hawke's arrival fed a sense of dread into her gut and unease into her soul, leaving no foresight within her mind's eye to see Harry's safe return to Salem. Normally, there was a vision of his sun-kissed handsome face returning to port, or a sense of anticipation greeted by happiness upon his return, that Sarah could feel wrapped around her shoulders for comfort when she had to say goodbye. Today, however, anxiety was mixing into a cauldron of shadows. She swore she was so frazzled with nerves that even her hair manifested its apprehension in the form of tightly-wound raven ringlets that were more wild than normal.

"You are awfully quiet this morning."

"I'm already missing you." Sarah's eyes were glistening that exact sentiment. Rarely did she cry, but the dread and anxiety overwhelmed her, and combined with her empath abilities growing stronger and stronger on a daily basis, she could sense his own hesitation at the thought of leaving her in this state, which added a layer of guilt to her emotional levels. Harry was the first person Sarah loved wholly and unconditionally, he was the glue that held together the puzzle pieces to her heart and soul. Harry Ellison was simply her everything.

"What's wrong?"

"How do you know something's wrong?" She peered up at her husband with her sapphire eyes round and wide in an attempt at appearing innocent with her question. Of course he knows something is wrong silly, she thought. He would know even if he was halfway around the world. That's what soulmates are.

"Well, I'm just a man and not always great at reading signs," he began with his charming, lop-sided grin in an effort to lighten her mood, "but you're nearly in tears for starters. Secondly, I don't know that I've ever seen you be so quiet."

Well, that was true. Sarah often found herself carrying on a conversation for the both of them. Taking a deep breath as the morning grew brighter with daylight, "I have a bad feeling, Harry." More like ominous. "Something... Something is off."

"But... you don't know what that is?"

"No. I can't see anything at all it seems. It's like I'm blocked where you're concerned."

"It will come to you, my dear. And when it does, visit me in your dreams. I'll be waiting for you."

"You know very well, Harry, that I cannot control when I Walk. What if it's bad and I cannot get to you?"

"There's a first time for everything," Harry said optimistically as his boyish grin returned to his face, which brought out a small smile of her own.

"Is that a challenge?" Somehow, her husband had an uncanny ability to draw her out of her gloom, even if only for a moment. Standing on her tippy toes, Sarah wrapped her arms around his neck, which caused their electric hum to course throughout their bodies, hugging them with warmth on that cool morning.

"You bet it is." Harry leaned his forehead so it gently laid against her own. "Do me a favor though? Stay away from Hawke. I don't like that he's made you feel so uneasy, and if need be, stay with Mat and Ally."

"You don't think Hanks and I will be safe?"

"I know your black furball of a cat thinks he's a ferocious black lion with attitude, but he's still pint-sized," Harry smirked. "I want you to always feel safe. Always."

"I love that about you. But, I will be fine. Kirsten and I haven't even seen Hawke since that night at The Brew." Whatever that odious man was up to, Sarah had no real clue, but she'd heard nothing of him recently, no whispers or rumors even from the town chatterboxes. "Plus, I have plenty of work to keep me busy between now and Halloween with my inn."

"Glad to hear it, babe. I'll be back in plenty of time to make the grand opening masquerade ball. I promise."

"You'd better be!"

A rather drool-worthy smile cheerily reached his ocean colored eyes as the sun gleamed against his ginger-bronzed hair, emphasizing even more clearly his tanned face with not one freckle in sight. "Sailor's promise."

Sarah tilted her head back, goofily grinning at his response, and caught site of Kirsten's never-ending nonverbal goodbye to Callen – still very much in progress. Chuckling, she rolled hers eyes at the twosome.

"Honey, you two might be left behind if you don't begin to speed up the process of your goodbyes."

"Oh, they'd never leave behind the captain. Callen, on the other hand, may be a different story. He seems to have inherited my formerly infamous Irish temper."

She laughed at the inside joke and kissed him quickly, feeling herself relax as a breeze kicked up and her raven hair began to sway in the wind once more. Things would be okay, she could at least sense that sentiment now.

"Goodbye my handsome husband. I'll see you tonight, in the moonlight hour under the stars reflecting off the sea."

\---

Hanks purred as he curled himself into a ball in her lap later that morning as Sarah watched The Craft sail away into the rosy glow of the horizon, taking Harry with it. The miniature black lion – he really did act quite regal sometimes – began to snore softly into his fur, comforting her spirit but not enough to settle her anxiety. Now that she'd found Harry, she felt a crack in her heart whenever he sailed into the Atlantic and away from Salem Harbor.

As her eyes fluttered closed, frustration arose when she could still not foresee his safe return. Even with her mind cleared, the future was not clear – not that it ever was really. Fate could sometimes be no more than an elusive trickster. But something else was forming in her mind's eye and her gypsy soul felt a chill when she realized she could see a black mist forming around The Craft – it was almost as though it was attached to the vessel.

Never before had Sarah come across this type of vision, but she immediately expected the mysterious shadow in the commons played a part in this somehow. The nagging feeling of familiarity was also putting her mood into a foul crux. What am I not piecing together?

A soft meow drew her attention to Hanks as he stood and circled himself once more in her lap, positioning his furry self so his fluffy tail fell over her legs as he sat facing her with his big yellow eyes peering up at her own. She smiled as she scratched under his chin and Hanks leaned in for a nuzzle, so she kissed his nose. Hanks was always there when she needed a little extra hug mentally and spiritually.

Suddenly, quicker than a lightning bolt flashing against stormy seas in the night, her mind's eye saw Hawke sitting at The Broom & Cup. Though the image was brief, Sarah was certain it was a premonition. Kirsten was in it as well, pouring black coffee into a green and white polka dotted oversized mug – the one Mat typically reserved for Sarah.

The two of them? Together? While Kirsten was oddly distant as of late, Sarah did not think that it was because her friend was trying to get acquainted with a long lost relative.

Before she could ponder about her vision further, her cell phone buzzed with a text message alert – it was the sound of wind chimes. Hanks plopped off her lap as she reached for the phone, giving her the tail as he went back inside to sleep on top of the refrigerator instead. It was from Mat and he needed help at the shop. Apparently, Ally and the baby were both sick and it was a caffeine emergency for him.

I really hope that premonition was for today, she thought.

Chapter Nine

"Hey, where's my hot water I asked for? It's been ten minutes already!"

"Slow your broomsticks, Charlie. The unopened tea bag will keep." Kirsten was ready to kill Mat. When he texted saying he needed help, he somehow managed to neglect mentioning his shop was overrun with tourists off the never-ending cycle of tour buses that roll through Salem seven days a week. This would have been a prime opportunity for Candlesticks. She'd even ordered extra glow-in-the-dark wands this year for occasions such as days like this! But no, she was doing a good favor for her life-long buddies because, well, she felt sorry for them. Mat and Ally were completely in over their heads as first time parents with the precious newborn bundle of joy – that never stopped crying, puking or pooping. Ever.

"Water's hot Charlie, so be extra careful!"

Kirsten glanced up to see Sarah's wild raven waves flying by like a broomstick with a tray full of mismatched-matching teacups and saucers. Thank the witch moons for her, she thought. Her friend's instincts were increasing with a vigorous might above and beyond every second that passed, and Kirsten was beginning to think Sarah may become more powerful than any witch she'd ever known. It was fifty percent scary and fifty percent thrilling to witness.

As the door chimed, Kirsten was on the move once more. Who knew The Broom & Cup was such a hot spot, she mused to herself. Weaving through the antique sofas, dissimilar yet coordinated in style, Kirsten's every step flowed in a dance-like rhythm to the chatter of the patrons. With a coffee pot in each hand, the crowd calmed once they no longer were left in waiting for their fresh brews, and she watched as they began to socialize with one another over tourist maps and different lists of the things that were considered a must-see in her hometown, while others played chess or perused the local artwork hung along the back wall.

Mat's a wimp, she decided as she and Sarah simultaneously returned to the bar and began to restock their supplies. As she put on another pot of fresh brew, she noticed Sarah retrieving a cheesecake from the bakery case and Kirsten lifted an eyebrow in question.

Blushing from her general know-how, Sarah simply stated, "The silver-haired gent at table five will be asking for two slices in a few moments."

"And people think I read mi-"

"That cheesecake looks absolutely delectable! May I get two slices to go?" A tall middle-aged fellow with a preppy haircut that color of snow stood at the bakery case now, charmingly smiling at the two girls.

"You sure can, sir."

Kirsten smirked as she returned her focus back to the machine at her fingertips. It was nice to hang out with her friend again, but she felt guilty for doubting Sarah after reading the cards. Intentions anything other than honorable would show in an aura, but Sarah's was still a combination of blue and yellow, with slight hints of silver along the edges. The colors represented her spiritual awakening, calm disposition and deep sense of intuition, and Kirsten would bet a month's earnings that it was the marking of a gypsy. Absolutely nothing about her friend radiated negativity.

As the door chimed yet again, a chill blew through her blonde curls. Thinking it was just a chill, Kirsten didn't put any thought towards it until the piano keys began to sing a hollow, haunting melody. The chill crept into her bones then. Hawke.

"I'll handle this," she cautioned Sarah as she threw a towel on to the bar top. Winding a path through a section of pale pink tables, Kirsten began to feel a sense of frustration from her "relative" as the black aura increased around his wrists and arms as he continued to play.

"Why are you here?" This was less of a question and more of a demand, but Kirsten didn't care. She was all business with this character now.

"Is that anyway to treat your cousin?" The deep timbre of velvet voice did not portray an ounce of humor in his statement, nor did he even glance up in her direction while his fingers continued strumming the melancholy tune. With no music before him, he appeared to be playing the piece purely from his memory.

"You are not my cousin, Hawke."

"Uncle then? Several times removed of course."

That reply earned her a glance with an eyebrow lifted in question. Did he really believe they were of the same Parris bloodline?"

"We aren't family. You are not related to Betty Parris."

"Why do you say this so confidently?" he asked as the music continued.

"Because... I just know. Certain things I can sense."

"Can you now?" Hawke started the song over and let the melody lurk for a short moment. "Tell me, has a black cloud begun to follow you?"

He knows about the Parris curse, she realized. That doesn't prove anything.

"I hate to disappoint you, stranger, but it's all rainbows and clear skies here." Kirsten waiting in baited breath as she was greeted with silence while the man seemed to be sewing his thoughts together.

"Tell me this, then. What is with the gypsy?"

"What gypsy?" Kirsten wasn't sure what she would do if he came after her friend.

"You know very well what she is, Parris witch. In my experience, gypsies do not make good friends.

"Good thing I don't need your experiences to make friends then, mate. I base my relationships upon the quality of the person, their heart and their kindness. Not their gifts."

"Fair enough." More silence ensued as the piano continued aching its reverberant tune.

From Kirsten's vantage point, she could see every patron in the coffee shop. Not one person took note of their interaction, nor even seemed to notice them. It was odd. The music.

"I am a direct descendent of Betty Parris, Kirsten. And... I carry the curse. Every male in the bloodline does from the moment they are born."

At least he's creative in his lies. "I take it you want something from me?"

"I want your help – without the gypsy."

"Hmmm... so sorry, but I can't. I'm not available."

"The curse will come for you, Parris witch. I've been observing you and we both know it's only a matter of time. Soon you'll be limited in the very way of life that I have always known."

Kirsten was a too strong of a woman to be backed into a cowering corner by the dark stranger, and her nerves were beginning to tick.

"When things begin to occur, find me. Black magic is coming and we'll need one another's support and trust to stop it."

Before she could quip a rebuttal, Hawke pushed away from the piano bench, letting the noise of the coffee shop pollute and overwhelm her senses as he exited The Broom & Cup with the chime of the door. An awareness snapped into her limbs like whiplash. What just happened? Wandering back to the bar area to resume helping with the restocking of supplies, she mulled over the idea of the Parris curse. Could it be true?

"This gypsy may be bad company, but I happen to have excellent hearing. Don't help him Kirsten, whatever you decide. When he's in the room, it's like ice water is rushing through my veins. Something very bad is attached to him."

"I don't intend to help him." So, his spelled music did not work on Sarah? Grabbing the pot of freshly brewed coffee, Kirsten redirected her thoughts as she spun on her heels to return serving the paying customers who were once more holding hold depleted coffee mugs.

What Kirsten hadn't expected, though, was tripping over her own feet, bumping into the counter, and watching in horror as the entire set of stone white dessert plates crashed to the floor. Even she had to admit that bad luck was following her around more often these days when a lightbulb popped loudly over the piano just then – right in the exact spot she was standing in mere minutes ago.

Chapter Ten

Just as the twilight hour struck across Salem and the indigo sky was dusted in rosy hues, Sarah slowed Harry's truck to a stop as she arrived at her inn. Hanks popped up in the passenger seat and placed his two fuzzy black paws on the window, taking note of their new destination. Quizzically, his head turned back towards her as though he was questioning her decision-making skills with his widening yellow eyes.

"We'll be fine," she advised her furry companion as she placed her hand on the door handle. "Now, let's go, shall we?"

The cat took three bouncy steps – his tail straight as an arrow to signal his acceptance of their mission – into her lap. Scooping Hanks into her arms, together they walked up the stone steps to the threshold of the Spellbound Inn, Sarah's high-heeled ankle booties clicking with each stride. Often, she felt as though Hanks really was her guardian protector – he'd been her constant companion since the death of her family – and she was comforted to know he'd be watching over her.

After the interactions between Kirsten and Hawke the other day in The Broom & Cup, Kirsten was being distant once more. Is she upset I heard their exchange? Clearly, Hawke had not intended this, for not one patron overheard their words thanks to his mystical and captivating piano skills. Answers were needed to questions not yet asked, and Sarah knew just whom to speak with. Dooriya.

Gracefully entering through the main doorway, the scent of sage and thyme tickled her nose just as it had the first time she'd entered this storybook cottage a year ago. Tapping her laced-up booties across the hardwood floors, waxed to perfection and gleaming with reflective light, she realized how excited she was to have her inn open to the public soon. It was home for her... she'd finally found her home. The feeling was as comforting of the scent of the herbs, and it wrapped around Sarah like her old favorite sweater did.

With a soft bossy meow, Hanks jumped out of her arms and began to lead the path to the kitchen, hopping up on the cooking island once there and curling himself into a ball for napping, but still in a position that he could keep an eye on her. Smarty cat, he already knew what she was up to. With his yellow eyes scrutinizing her movements, Sarah retrieved four large white pillar candles and a white fuzzy throw blanket from her oversized purse – careful not to let her sketch pad fall out.

Unfolding the blanket, Sarah draped it across the wood flooring, then placed one candle at each corner. She settled herself into the center of the blanket only after lighting a large orange flame on each candle, giving the illusion of four oversized flickering nightlights. Without possessing all the gifts Kirsten was blessed with, she blew out her old-fashioned torch – a match.

As a newly born Walker, Sarah could still not control when or how Dooriya met her in her unconsciousness. This kitchen, however, was the space in which she felt her ancestor's presence the most, and the candles improved her efforts to balance her nerves with a layer of serenity. Allowing her silent meditation to quiet all whispers in her head, Sarah began to drift into a state of slumber so deep, so quickly, shock greeted her as she found herself suddenly standing in a swathe of stillness. Did I do it? Did I control my Walking?

"My dear daughter's daughter, your confidence in your gifts is mesmeric. Strength follows this, naturally, as does endurance and instinct."

"Dooriya! Oh, how I have missed your presence greatly."

"The spirit of our ancestors is always with us, my child." Slightly slanted violet eyes, full of unending wisdom, now stood in front her as Dooriya reached for her hand – her fingers warm against her own chilled hands. "Come."

Though it was a movement command from Dooriya's lips, Sarah felt the one word spell drop them instantaneously into a world and time that was drastically different from anything she knew. The sensation was dizzying as she fell through the hardwood floors of her kitchen into a sudden halt that was downright jolting. Is it possible to vomit when I'm Walking?

Fluttering her eyes open, Sarah saw she was standing in an unknown cabin. The room was fairly small, barren with belongings for the most part, and smelled like malodorous bread. Everything was brown, or shades of it, and the room was stifling with heat thanks to a fire crackling in the mantle on the far wall. Where was she?

"I know of the information you seek, my child."

"How? I've not yet even formed the question in my mind yet."

Still holding Sarah's hand, Dooriya's tanned fingers took her palm and placed it against her heart. She could feel it pulsing as Dooriya placed her own palm against Sarah's heart – and felt each core beat thrice in its pulse. Her sapphire eyes widened in a mixture of surprised alarm.

"My daughter's daughter, the heart bleeds of thine, thou breath born of thine, thy inquisitiveness descended from our minds before you. All is weaved into one thread. From soul to soul, spirit to spirit, every existence is derived from our experiences. I am of yours, as you are of mine."

Far away giggles broke their trance and Sarah idly wondered why the sound seemed so distant in such a small space. Turning to glance over her right shoulder, Sarah noticed a tiny table in the very corner of the room, partially hidden in a shadow. Cautiously stepping closer, she realized the giggles grew louder... from a mirrored glass. Of course! She could only step into the memories of those she knew, and Dooriya's information had sometimes come by the gypsy in the way of a vision.

Peering into the mirrored glass, a sharp gasp escaped her lips. The sounds of laughter were from none other than a young Betty Parris, with a version of Tituba that appeared to be... pleasant? Happy? It was an unknown emotion to associate with the woman who cursed her entire line of ancestors all the way back to The Trials.

Studying the image, Sarah realized exactly what Dooriya was presenting to her. The reason both Tituba and Betty were so happy is that Tituba was training the girl to study witchcraft – there was a Venus glass on a table in front of them. Betty Parris was the only girl to show any real promise, Tituba's words from that day on the docks echoed in her head. This was the time, that very moment, everything had started for both women. Betty – learning she had real and powerful gifts, and Tituba finding a student with whom she could share her knowledge. Had Dooriya known then what would become of them?

As she glanced to Dooriya in question, the scene shifted and Sarah felt her stomach drop once more into a lurch. She was positive she may never get used to the sensations of Walking, especially with Dooriya. Her ancestor seemed to possess a bit of flare for the dramatics in this instance.

Any nausea she had subsided when Sarah realized that a much older Betty Parris stood before them now. Her movements were hectic and crazy, unclear words sprang from her lips in distorted tones. Dooriya was no longer standing next to her, but near a wooden bassinet with a creamy white quilt. A boy? Is Hawke telling the truth?

"Dooriya! The black man! He holds thy wrists!" Betty screamed out in agony as she pleaded help from Dooriya. "Bounded by evil, cursed with darkness! The Devil is here for me!"

"See."

Another one-worded command from Dooriya changed the focus of Sarah's sight. Taking in a deep, steadying breath, she relaxed her body as her mind's eye reveled in the new light. The blanket was placed over a crying infant glowing in white – no, light blue – luminosity. And, more fearfully frightening, was Betty's real appearance. A black haze was wrapped around the frantic woman like a... like a shadow, Sarah realized. As her vision focused on the colors she would never otherwise see, Sarah's eyes traced the black outlines of the woman speaking in mad nonsensical phrases about a Devil and punishment. The witch's shadow was more securely fastened around her arms, growing darker and solidified as the hues reached her wrists.

Suddenly and sharply, Dooriya grabbed Sarah's wrist and the scene began to fade. "We are no longer safe, my daughter's daughter."

Hectically, Sarah took in the scene and absorbed what she could as it faded. That's when she saw her... Tituba. The Porter and Putnam families weren't the only ones she cursed, Sarah realized. Anxiety filled her heart as she remembered something else Tituba said on the docks. Pity, I hear she went a bit crazy in the end. I don't think back stabbing worked out too well for her, the poor dear. Betty Parris had been cursed by her former friend and mentor.

"Oomph!" She moaned as Sarah woke up abruptly to a black fluffy furball pouncing on her stomach, waking her from the walk. Hanks had woken her the moment she was no longer safe in her sleeping state, and Sarah was eternally grateful for her little black guardian lion.

Chapter Eleven

Brilliant traces of the fall season swirled through the air as Candlesticks bloomed with tourist after tourist, each buying sets of tarot cards, glow-in-the-dark wands and books on The Trials themselves. It amazed Kirsten, each and every year when the season began, how little of the actual history and disturbing nature of the reason Salem was such a tourist attraction the visitors really knew. Personally, Kirsten found it a little sad the way history wasn't truly respected. But then again, not one person outside her small circle of friends knew of her ties to those involved in the town's darkest marring.

As the busy October day began to wind down and the walls started to become visible again, Kirsten began the process of turning off her displays. Never did she push her luck with magic during the tourist season, so she needed the extra time to disable her twinkling lights manually. Leaning over her storefront window display to reach her signage, Kirsten wasn't the least bit fazed to see Sarah sitting on a bench with her sketchpad.

Guiltiness swayed within her soul then. She'd been avoiding her best friend since her run-in with Hawke. Did she trust Sarah any less because Hawke said gypsies weren't good company? No. Did she trust herself less because of Hawke knowing so much about the Parris curse, or at least appeared to? Yes. And how can I explain that to her?

How could Kirsten explain to her formerly cursed best friend that she too suffered a family curse? Only there was not an unbreakable bond of love that would break the Parris curse and keep Kirsten's potential crazy at bay? Deep down, she knew her friend would understand – even empathize – and that made her feel even more hollowed out with guilt.

What was worse, still, seemed to be the connection between her erratic emotions and her magical self-control. Cards weren't making sense, reading futures for tourists – an old habit for someone like Kirsten – weren't accurately impressive anymore. Then, when one added in the accidents and exploding lightbulbs, Kirsten was afraid people might notice she actually was a witch, albeit a poor excuse for one. Typically, those with gifts kept to themselves and did not strive for attention.

With the chime of a door, Kirsten cleared her mind. Sarah needed to talk if her face was any indicator. It was a look of sheer determination that was familiar to Kirsten. Déjà vu washed over her.

"I swear, that better not be another sketch of one of my ancestors, Sarah." A year ago, her friend drew such a likeness of Betty Parris, outside of her hair color, that no one would mistake Kirsten's lineage. The two women were nearly identical, right down to the curvature of their small button noses.

"Well, perhaps it's a more current ancestor..."

A baited breath was sucked into her pink lips as her blonde curly hair hung solemnly still at Kirsten's shoulders. "Come again?"

As Sarah rustled in her bag, she chewed on her lip. "I saw something last night," she began. "Something I'm not sure you want to hear." Pulling the sketchpad from her oversized purse, their eyes met in hesitation as she flipped the drawing over.

A very intense man was nearly leaping off the page of the sketchpad, but couldn't because he was being held back by two largely woven chains binding his wrists to a stone wall. As Kirsten stepped closer, she carefully studied the sketching of the man with piercing black eyes and a hook nose angrily staring back at her. No, not angry... dejected, she realized. The man appeared defeated, sad and woeful.

"I've never seen Hawke give an indication he was vulnerable, that he was human."

"Have you ever seen a person that was bound before?"

"Bound?"

"Hawke isn't cursed by nature, Kirsten. He's been spellbound."

Kirsten quirked an eyebrow at her friend.

"The irony isn't lost on me, but what else would you call a person whose gifts are bound?"

Spellbound. Hawke was... spellbound? "So, he is not cursed?"

Sarah turned, locked the door and hit light switch. Without saying a word, the two girls moved into the back of the shop, away from any prying eyes or magically inclined hearing aids.

"I didn't say that, Kirsten. He is cursed, but I don't know if it is off of Betty Parris's lineage. I saw Betty last night, with Dooriya. Kirsten, did you know Betty went crazy a few years after The Trials?"

Astonishment washed over Kirsten's face, with guilt following any sense of amazement. Turning away from her friend and looking at the melted candles lining the wall of her storage room, one word quietly escaped her lips, "Yes".

It was like a dam broke as the tears began to cascade down her cheeks. If she saw it in Dooriya's memories, it must be true. Betty did go cuckoo and so will those in her bloodline.

"Kirsten, dry it up! Betty was cursed by Tituba."

"What?" Her head snapped up so quickly the tears rolled back into her eyes. "What do you mean she was cursed by Tituba?" That was not anywhere in Betty's journals. Could it be true? Had Betty not even known? "Tell me what you saw."

"After Hawke cast a magical tune over Mat's shop, I went to my inn and asked Dooriya for help. First, I was able to see the friendship Tituba and Betty built. They were friends at one time, and I think Betty was her apprentice or something."

"Hells bells," Kirsten muttered.

"That's not the bizarre bit though. I then walked into a memory of Dooriya's with a much older Betty Parris. Kirsten, it was scary. There was a glowing white blanket placed over a baby boy in a wooden bassinet."

"It's a layer of protection. If it glowed white, it was protection of the purest white possible." It was a symbol Kirsten had seen only in dreams as a little girl, when she was scared of the monsters under her twin bed.

"Your ancestor was acting wild and peculiar. Betty kept talking about black bindings and the devil, pacing the floor and screaming at Dooriya for help. From all outward appearances, she gave the impression of needing a fast track pass to the nearest looney bin."

"Did Dooriya help?"

"Everything halted when Tituba entered the walk. She shouldn't have been able to enter it, but Dooriya said it wasn't safe anymore. But the look on her face, it was... it was of pure pleasure. There's no doubt in my mind that Tituba not only cursed my ancestors, but yours as well."

Kirsten paced the room as she twisted her curls around her fingers. "If Tituba placed the curse, does that mean it can be broken? Will I go crazy, too?"

"I'm not sure. When we first met Hawke, I had a vision right after he touched me, remember?"

"A baby in black ribbons, shadows over water... and Tituba."

"I'm not sure you're the carrier of the curse. I think Hawke is."

"But that would mean Hawke is related to me and I don't believe that."

"I don't either, but I think Tituba thought the baby in the bassinet belonged to Betty, and that Betty may have spread the curse herself. Why else would Dooriya have cast a spell of protection?"

Why else indeed? Kirsten needed answers and she now had more questions than ever.

"Let's go to Winter Island. I have something to show you and I don't want to be seen."

Chapter Twelve

As the shiny black Audi crossed the slim path that passed Fort Pickering, Sarah was having difficulty controlling her driving with Kirsten's anxiety rolling off her in oppressive, crushing waves. Being an empath had some downsides and this was one of those moments. The ability to shield herself worked much better when the party in the heavy emotional freak out wasn't a witch.

"Kirsten, I need you to relax."

Kirsten's head snapped towards Sarah in confusion, but then noticed her white-knuckled grasp on the steering wheel. "Sorry," she mumbled and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Where are we going Kir?"

"To a place that I like to think, a place I can connect with nature."

Sarah's curiosity peaked as the narrow road turned from gravel to dirt and the lane began to curve. Less than ten seconds after taking the bend, Sarah realized where it was Kirsten wanted to be. On the water's edge of Salem Harbor stood a tall lighthouse capped in an onyx color that cast a glow across the rocky beach. With an orange sunset hypnotically radiated across the sea, the spot was stunningly mesmeric.

"Wow."

"You should see the sunrises."

Sarah could only imagine. As she turned off her sporty car, Sarah let her walls down and felt her goosebumps rise as the spot of nature's beauty spoke to her senses. There. Not only could her friend feel magic, but Dooriya's magick was also rooted here and it wasn't speaking – it was screaming at her. Opening the door, Sarah didn't even bother to close it as she stepped closer to the water, Kirsten only mere footprints behind her.

"You feel that?" Kirsten thought the spot whispered only to her, but by the brightness of Sarah's aura, the truth was otherwise.

"Dooriya, I sense her. And I sense witches as well."

"I imagine this spot has attracted many with gifts over the centuries. Nature is the best anchor for magic." Kirsten glanced over her shoulders, ensuring the women were alone. "C'mon, let's get started." From her indigo braided and leather-worn purse, she retrieved a brown journal from the interior pocket - one that carried the same symbol as her book of shadows. It was the diary of Betty Parris.

Kirsten spilled the secret of Betty's journals to her once they began the drive to Winter Island. Was it all too coincidental? Hawke showing up stating she was cursed? The Parris bloodline believing they were all sentenced to a crazy mind before their deaths? Dooriya showing her the white magic of the baby? Was this all coincidence or fate? Why was that debate always rising forth in her mind?

"Do you have your sketchpad?"

Kirsten's question jarred her from the swirling thoughts in her mind. "Do I leave home without it?"

"Bring it over here. I need you and the drawing of Hawke near me."

Stepping closer, drawings in hand, Sarah frowned. "What are you up to?"

"I think we can trace the magic of this journal and find out whether Betty was truly crazy... or truly cursed. A witch's essence remains with her treasures. That's part of what makes ancestral gifts so important to those with gifts like ours."

The golden braid around her neck weighed more heavily with her friend's words. Sarah reached for her sapphire amulet tucked into her knitted maroon shirt and held it tightly inside her palm as her eyes fluttered closed. As the stone hummed through her veins, Sarah felt a thread of strength weave itself into her core. Dooriya's essence. When she opened her eyes, the world took on shades of silver, blue and yellow.

"Give me your hand."

With her vision in seer mode, Kirsten guided her to sit against the lighthouse. Sarah's toes dipped into the water. The coolness of the waves sent tingles and tickles through her nerves. "What do we have to do?"

\---

Kirsten stood back in awe of her friend. Never had Kirsten's gifts taken her over like that. Again, it was half frightening and half exciting to witness. Although, she had to wonder, how much control did her friend really have?

"I've never done anything like this, so I'm winging it here. But I'd say by the looks of your eyes, you're already doing what you need to do, friend."

Kirsten sat down next to her friend and entwined their fingers. Warmth spread through her as she was once again reminded of her friend's good intentions and kind heart. Hawke was an idiot, but one she may be able to help in part thanks to her friend with a gypsy soul like Sarah's.

Placing Betty's journal in her lap, the book opened and its pages fanned until it was nearly at the end of the book. The section opened to when Betty was being visiting by the Devil in her dreams again, just as she'd seen as a child. It was the first time that darkness seeped into her words and the sinister mood was palpable. "Tell me what you see, Sarah." Closing her eyes, she let her palm hover over the pages and whispered in words unfamiliar to her friend.

"Virtus, et lumen. Verum ostendere, ostenderet voluntatem." Her voice was deeper in tone than normal and her blonde curly hair tightened with tension. Kirsten did not like to be anywhere near dark magic and now here it was, in her palm.

"Shadows, I see shadows," Sarah whispered, her body as still as stone.

"Ostende vero!" Kirsten's voice boomed over the salty waves as the lighthouse reflected on the sunset waters.

"White, as fine as silk and airy as clouds." Sarah's voice was small but confident.

"White?"

"White. Pure as snow."

Betty was cursed! White magic was in the essence of these pages, of Betty's gifts, of her soul. Of my soul. She wasn't going to go crazy? Black magic was the root of Betty's hysterics and manic behavior. And if Sarah was correct, Tituba was the reason for it.

"Sunshine and bluebirds."

Kirsten's head snapped towards Sarah quicker than a witch could cackle. "What?"

"Daffodils and bluebells."

"Huh? Sarah, you aren't making sense."

"This is what I see," she whispered with a chill in her voice so eerie Kirsten wasn't sure it was natural.

Looking at the sketch, Kirsten realized Sarah's palm was laying directly on the sketching of Hawke, right where his hands were bound by a thick heavy shadow. Except, he was no longer bound and the blackness was floating into the air, swirling into the wind, while thin, delicate ribbons of golden yellow and vibrant blue were wrapping around Sarah's palm and threading into the sketch pad. The markings of a gypsy wrapped around Hawke's portrait.

"Dear Goddess..." Hawke wasn't her relation, he was Sarah's. Sarah had living family. Holy crap.

A sigh from her friend let her know Sarah returned to her normal state of mind. Kirsten studied her and could see the toll her magicks had taken. The girl was absolutely drained of energy. Kirsten shoved everything back into their bags and moved to put an arm around her friend so she could help Sarah back to the car.

"Come on, let's go before someone sees us."

"So sleepy Kir," her friend mumbled.

"I know, that's why I'm driving." A part of Kirsten couldn't help but be slightly gleeful about that. And she couldn't wait to brag to Callen about it when he returned.
Chapter Thirteen

Groggily, Harry sat up in bed, moaning when he realized it was only three in the morning. What could possibly have woken him up from his dream? A wry smile spread across his half-woken cheeks as he recalled the way Sarah had visited him earlier in the evening. With only a few days left at sea, she was missing him desperately.

Sometimes, when Sarah would walk to him in their dreams, the two would relive memories or simply go on a date. It was the perfect time to talk – no one could overhear them. But tonight, Sarah has chosen to sit with him on the deck of The Craft, under a blanket of stars, and simply lay her head on his shoulder. It was a statement of complete contentment when she was with him. Harry still found it difficult to believe sometimes, but she loved him, and every ounce of himself loved her in return.

Swinging his legs over the bed in his cabin, he reached for his water bottle and missed. What? Looking around, he saw it was on the floor. "That's odd. The forecast was calm seas tonight." Harry monitored the weather radar and the wind constantly while sailing. He refused to have another near-death experience if he could prevent it.

Now fully alert, he pulled on trousers and left his quarters to allow Callen a break. The overnight shift was most difficult job and Harry knew the man would take him up on his offer.

Climbing the stairs to the main deck, he paused. Something did not seem right. Cautiously stepping onto the deck, Harry surveyed the ship. The wind was still and there wasn't a soul breathing above deck. Where is everybody? There were to be three crewmen at watch at all times.

A shadow caught Harry's eye and he whirled himself around, but no one was there. Raising his eyes, Harry found it odd that even Callen wasn't at his post. What the Hell? That wasn't like his friend and first mate. Something was indeed wrong.

Clambering quickly, Harry was almost to the helm when the shadow came forth once again. It was a man, well at least he thought it was. Living in Salem, Harry was dispositioned to believe in non-normal things but a shadow the size of a very large man? That was new for him.

"Hey! Hey you!" Harry screamed over and over as the shadowed man reached for the helm and – with a force more powerful than possible by man – yanked so brutally on the wheel that that ship began to spin. The waves started to roll around The Craft and the water started colliding with his ship. Harry gripped the railing with bare white knuckles as tightly as he could.

"Hey!" Harry yelled once more but the boisterous and booming thunder drowned him out as rain launched from the clouds. Visibility was meager at best and Harry could no longer make out the shadow.

Lightning cracked in the sky as Harry was tossed from his bed onto the hard floor of his ship. Alarm bells went off in his head as he realized he'd been having a nightmare. Thunder reverberated through his bones once again and he realized the storm wasn't a figment of his nightmare at all. Bounding out of his cabin and up the stairwell, Harry flew into Captain mode.

The squall was unforeseen and too dangerous by the half of it. Had Harry not woken when he did, there was no telling whether Callen or himself would've gotten to the ship's alarm in time to wake the crew.

Was that dream real?

"Harry! Watch out!" Callen's scream bellowed through the storm just as a rogue wave surged onto The Craft and threatened to carry Harry out to the chilly Atlantic.

Chapter Fourteen

Hanks stretched as his padded paws stepped outside onto the balcony, communicating a moody meow in Sarah's direction as he sat down by her feet and curled into a fluffy black ball. Sarah couldn't blame her precocious cat – she didn't exactly want to be up at three a.m. either. But after Walking with Harry ended abruptly, her nerves were spread far too thin with apprehension.

Staring off into the midnight sea, Sarah stilled her thoughts, allowing her mind's eye to see what she could not. Lightning. Monstrous waves. Howling winds. Where was The Craft? Where was Harry? Closing her eyes and holding her amulet tightly in her fingers, she tilted her head upwards and said a silent prayer for Harry and Callen's safe return. Once again, she wasn't able to see Harry and it worried her as frustration wove itself into her anxiety-threaded psyche.

Sighing heavily, Sarah was about to turn in when something caught her eye on the water. What is that? Gripping the railing and leaning over to get a better look, Sarah realized she was seeing a shadow. And it was... flying? How was the possible? Hanks popped up and stuck his whiskers through the bars and hissed a low growl. Whatever it was, her furry miniature black lion did not like it.

Scanning the wharf with her eyes, Sarah noticed a man standing behind an overly large aged maple tree with plum-red leaves that had already begun to fall. Glancing to the water's rough edges again, Sarah could distinguish the shadow more clearly now and as she studied its movement, realization dawned on her as she discovered the shadow was headed straight for the man! Should she warn him? Hide from him?

Just as she decided she should help the stranger and yell for him to watch out, the stranger stepped out from behind the tree. Hawke. Sarah's sapphire eyes nearly bulged out of her face as she stared onward, mouth gaping open, as the shadow lined up with the mysterious stranger and mirrored his perfect image. Disbelief bowled her over even more as Sarah witnessed Hawke stride into the shadow – his shadow – step for step, palm to palm, and merge with hazy silhouette.

What the broomsticks? Was she frozen? She felt frozen. That was, until Hawke turned – newly reunited with his shadow self – and stared intentionally at her.

"Stay there," she said. Without hesitation, Sarah spun on her heel and headed out her front door in her purple robe, pajamas and fuzzy slipper-clad feet. There wasn't a question in her mind that Hawke hadn't heard her. Exactly four minutes and one elevator ride later, her assumption was proved to be correct when she opened the exterior door to her waterfront front and Hawke was calmly waiting for her.

"I would've waited for you to put on real shoes." His deep voice showed no signs of humor, just poor temperament and disdain for her.

"What are you up to, Hawke? Where's my husband?"

Curiosity washed over the stranger's face. "Well," he started as he squinted in the darkness, scanning the docks, "by the lack of his magnificent schooner in the wharf, I'd say he's either sailing or his boat sunk. Perhaps he's with it?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. I just saw everything you did. Suddenly, it's all stormy seas and cloudy visions, and you have a shadow-self flying across the currents. What are you up to?"

An odd look marred his face and for once, the ominous creature didn't look quite so stern. "You don't know? I thought you were a gypsy?"

"I may be a descendent of Dooriya, but I've only just learned of my heritage. And that doesn't wholly determine who I am, Hawke."

Again, the man looked puzzled. "Who is Dooriya?"

That caused Sarah to pause in thought. Had she been working under the assumption that this man knew everything about them? Clearly not the case, was it? She decided to change her tactic and give him a little less information.

"Why do you think you're related to Betty Parris?"

"Why would you think I'm not?"

"Because you aren't."

"Yes, I am." His voice rumbled throughout the darkness.

"You're also not cursed," Sarah forged ahead. Holding her ground, she lifted her chin to him in confidence.

"Listen, gypsy," Hawke growled. "You know nothing of my curse."

"I know that you're bound. Spellbound."

"Didn't it occur to you that I'm bound because I'm cursed to it?" Anger was rolling off him as sprays bounced of the sea.

"Did Tituba bind you?"

"What do you know of that wretched witch?"

"What do you know of her?" Sarah nearly stumbled back with lost breath as Hawke's hatred boiled into his emotions. The experience was overwhelming and Sarah truly hoped she never held blackness like that within her heart.

"I've watched her for years. Hauntingly, she would come for me in my dreams, forcing me to relive the extremes she wrought to torment Betty Parris. Driving her mad, beyond the realms of sanity. And eventually she bound Betty with darkness... darkness that she herself put onto others for she had no control of her mind anymore. And these binds are a curse dammit."

As his voice cracked, Sarah began to consume another of his emotions and she was overwhelmed once again. Empathy? For him?

"Tituba punished Betty by forcing her to chasten her own child, newborn and innocent. She convinced Betty that her own child was the son of the Devil himself, and that magic had to be rebuked, or evil would come for them, always."

"You're telling me... Betty cursed the baby?"

"By the emotional tormenting hands Tituba played in the scheme."

"How do you know this?"

"Part of the family legacy is that this curse was passed to every generation born of the bloodline."

"How can that be? Kirsten isn't cursed."

Confusion washed over Hawke then and he took to a nearby bench to mull over his thoughts. It was a welcome relief to Sarah and the empath rollercoaster she was on.

"Kirsten has baffled me, I have to admit. She's the first descendent I've met that isn't bound. I wonder if it's she who is not part of the bloodline."

Replaying the scene in her mind where she'd confronted Kirsten last year with her doppelganger sketch of Betty, Sarah was not falling for that idea. "Oh, she's a descendant all right. But how did you even find out about her?"

Hawke dropped his head into his hands and his shoulder drooped. "Tituba used to prowl my subconscious, waiting for any moment to plague my dreams. Then, a year ago on Halloween, the nightmares just... stopped. And my father then told me of a relative he thought could help – Kirsten."

"Your father?"

"Yes, he used to live here, but he moved away last year after he completed a job he was tasked for."

"Oh." For some reason, Sarah felt a stirring inside her. Hawke had family and he might be related to her, so she might have family too.

"Hawke, those bindings on you –"

"You mean my dark magical handcuffs?"

"Well, yes."

"I've managed to loosen them over the past year – since Tituba stopped haunting me."

"You... you what?" Realization smacked her in the face. Hawke has access to magic? What if he was bound for another reason? What if he truly was born of a dark nature? Anxiety began to creep up her neck.

"For thirty-four years, I've known of my family's blighted afflictions. Nightmares, magical prowess with no actual power? But when the nightmares ended, I decided I would break our bonds. I've not succeeded yet, but I think with Kirsten's help, I just might."

"There's only one problem with that, Hawke."

"Oh yeah, what?"

"You aren't related to Betty Parris. The markings under your binding, they are the markings of a gypsy."

"But gypsies make for bad company."

Maybe the man did have a humorous bone after all.

Chapter Fifteen

Sitting on an antique wood bench in the Willows Park, contraband coffees in hand, Kirsten glanced at her friend. Sarah woke her early that morning and said they needed to speak. Dreary and heavy-lidded, her friend appeared to have not slept a wink. Once Sarah explained about Hawke and his shadows, Kirsten understood why.

"So, Tituba did curse Betty?"

"I'm not so sure she meant to curse the generations after though. I think she set out only to torture Betty. According to Hawke, Tituba intended for Betty to think she was going mad." Sarah took a giant gulp of her soy latte.

"So, Betty really never knew? That explains why her journals don't mention Tituba."

"Furthermore, I believe it was Betty who set Hawke's family curse – as he says – in motion. When Tituba was driving your ancestor mad, I believe Betty somehow bound her child... maybe by accident even. If dark magic was controlling her, everything she knew would've been thrown off."

"But I'm not bound! And I still don't believe Hawke is related to me."

"Then who am I related to?" A deep voice shook the girls and they jumped up from the bench, having been scared from the unknowing addition to their conversation.

"Hawke! Don't do that!" Sarah placed her hand on her rapidly beating heart, grateful it hadn't popped out of her chest cavity.

"I'm sorry."

Was Kirsten going daft, or did Hawke have a small smirk on the corners of his mouth? I guess he's not always so scary, she mused. "How did you know we were here?"

The man actually fidgeted. It was almost comical to see a tall, dark and sometimes ominous stranger look just a little bit nervous.

Pushing his long dark hair out of his face, he looked her square in the eye. "I have my ways."

"Your shadow magic," Sarah declared. "That's how you've been watching us, isn't it?"

"Maybe." He pursed his lips and looked away like a child who had just been caught breaking the rules.

"I knew it! I knew I saw a shadow that day in Salem Commons!"

"I'll admit, you were very perceptive to it. Kirsten was not."

Folding her arms, Kirsten was slightly offended. "I've had other things on my mind, Hawke. Like an evil looking man showing up and saying we're long lost relatives. Or worrying that I'm going to go crazy like Betty."

The man quirked his head slightly. "You think I look evil?"

The women looked at each other and in unison said, "Yes."

"Totally ominous," Sarah added.

"Dark and twisty, all the way," Kirsten quipped, blonde curls bouncing.

"Um, wow. Okay." Hawke kicked the dirt and glanced down as he considered their words. "I get that. Also explains why you were so hesitant to speak with me."

Kirsten and Sarah giggled, unintentionally of course, but they just couldn't help it. The man hadn't approached them with anything other than pure abrasiveness.

"Well, gypsies aren't good company."

"I believe a gypsy is responsible for this mess."

"What? That's crazy. Tituba's responsible for your binds."

"How do you explain the gypsy markings then?" Anger began to color his debate with Kirsten.

"I'd say it's rather obvious that your blood is part gypsy!" Irritation colored Kirsten's face.

"No! No, the story goes that Betty's children had their powers stripped and bound their magic to save them from the Devil. And that Betty Parris asked a gypsy to do the spell. But gypsies collect power, and they took the white magic of her child – a newborn son – and left the dark magic there."

"You're saying Dooriya led to this curse?" Sarah's voice was small but both Kirsten and Hawke turned to face her, neither taking note of her pale face. With their emotions heightened, an empath would absorb everything and she was struggling with the balance.

Kirsten wasn't believing that for a moment. "That can't be, we know Tituba was there."

"We know Tituba drove Betty mad enough to hurt her children. We don't know that she had anything to do with the magical binds that have effected every generation since 1697." His tone was once again dark and Hawke's eyes were hooded with his narrow vision.

"Sarah said your binds are loosened since last All Hallows Eve. And that Tituba no longer haunts your dreams. Is this true?"

"What's that have to do with a gypsy?"

"Tituba crossed over last year, thanks to Sarah. That's why she's gone. And if she had nothing to do with your curse, the binds wouldn't have been loosened."

"What do you mean cross over? She was still here? In Salem? That's impossible."

"Listen, it's a long story man," Kirsten stated, as though she didn't know why he wasn't understanding what she was saying. "But you aren't the only one dealing with a curse leftover from the time of The Trials."

That rooted Hawke to his place and he turned his head to stare at Sarah. "You were cursed? Why?"

The words barely squeaked from her lips, "Putnam descendant," she whispered.

"Sarah?" Kirsten moved to her side and took her chilled hands.

"Calm... down... please," her friend choked out.

"Holy witches, Sarah. I'm so sorry! I forgot!" Her friend was drowning in the heating emotions of Kirsten and Hawke's argument because of her empath abilities. They really had to find a way to help build her strength up so she could wall herself off from others sometimes and take a break.

"Is she okay?"

"She's an empath. And we're overwhelming her." Kirsten held her best friend's coffee to her lips and told her to sip. The warmth of the latte would help.

Intrigued, Hawke's aggression faded in an instant and he sat on the other side of Sarah, filled with curiosity. "Really? I've never met an empath. I thought gypsies were limited to visions."

"You really need to brush up on your occult studies mate. Sarah's gifts are anything but limited."

Taking a deep breath, Sarah began to feel steadied once again. "Please don't argue again." Standing, she took a step away from them and their unleveled emotions and whirled to face them. "Dooriya didn't curse any child. She would never bring any harm to a child. And considered she left her caravan because they tried to steal her magick, she wouldn't take another's. There's a missing link here. Something I cannot see."

Silence followed as Sarah chewed on her lip, deep in thought. Kirsten knew only a few things for certain here. Hawke was not her relation and his bindings were not a part of him. Perhaps he wasn't supposed to be bound at all by their curse. Perhaps the baby was supposed to be given dark magic, but why? What sense did that make?

"Hawke, I don't think you're of gypsy blood, but I see the markings of a gypsy under your binds. Somehow, magick is involved, but I have a very strong feeling it's not part of your spellbound conundrum."

Anger flared again and even Kirsten caught a gaze of a bright red edge to his aura. "Hells bells, man. We just told you to control your emotions! I understand why you're mad, Hawke. I'd be mad if I couldn't spell a few words either. But you're going to kill her if you keep getting livid every time we think of a new theory."

Sarah's cellphone rang then, a haunted version of 'I Put a Spell on You' sang out from her purse. Reaching for it, she felt a pit in her stomach. Mat.

"Mat, what's wrong?"

"How'd you – never mind. Sarah, it's Harry. The Craft isn't answering their radio calls for a wellness check from the Coast Guard. No one knows where their ship is."

Silence was the only sound she could respond with. Paleness washed over her once more as she tried to sense Harry and couldn't locate his essence.

"Sarah, they fear The Craft may have gone down in the storm the other night."

Chapter Sixteen

Kirsten was worried. Sarah didn't typically ignore her calls or text messages like this. No, typically her bestie knew the phone was about to ring and would answer a call on its first jingle. Callen and Harry were missing, no doubt about that, but what could they do but remain positive? The cards were read and Kirsten's witchy vibes told her all would be well. Eventually.

As she approached The Spellbound Inn, she saw her friend's magnificent and vibrant aura first. Guess that explains why she isn't answering her phone. Popping out of her car, she walked past the stone steps to the storybook inn and turned towards the embankment overlooking the water. There, sat Sarah, on stones that created a makeshift staircase on the hill. Unless someone knew the rocks were there to begin with, the stones were completely obscured. Leave it to Sarah to find a hidden staircase in plain public view.

Stopping right behind her, Kirsten took in the scene. Blank pages of Sarah's sketchpad were held tightly in her friends clutches as her aura grew brighter and more vivid, enveloping her in the afternoon sunlight. Kirsten didn't have to ask her friend what she was doing, it was obvious. She was searching for Harry and Callen. Maybe she'll have better luck, Kirsten weakly hoped. Her locator spell had been a total bust for Callen.

"Sarah," she cautiously started, "let go. They'll be okay, they always are." They have to be.

A small sob, nearly inaudible, escaped her friend's lips. Kirsten stared at her with a mixture of shock and empathy. Sarah never cried and was always so strong. The sound emotionally twisted her witchy soul. Dear Goddess, please Dooriya, help us. Give us a sign.

Sarah's eyes fluttered open and Kirsten took a seat on the blanket of fall-colored leaves next to her. Noticing Sarah's eyes, she could see how strongly connected her friend's gifts were to this place. Her large, normally sapphire blue eyes were almost completely silver now, showing how far cosmic her friend's mind had gone just then.

"I love him, Kirsten."

"I know. I love Callen, too."

Tilting her head, Sarah smiled at her then. "I know." It was an unspoken thing with Kirsten, she rarely said the words, but the emotions involved were always obvious.

Reaching out, she grabbed Sarah's hands. "Let's go inside, shall we?"

Sighing, Sarah agreed. "I need to cancel next week's masquerade ball."

"Why ever so? All Hallow's Eve is the perfect time for your grand opening."

"I can't do it without Harry."

Bravely as she could muster, Kirsten hugged her friend. "You won't have to. They'll be here – you have to believe in that. Okay?"

A skeptical look greeted her in reply.

"Trust me, okay?" Wrapping her arm through her friend's, they started up the embankment. Sarah with her royal blue dress and her usual laced up boots, and Kirsten in her shredded denim jeans and oversized black sweater looked like quite the pair together. Appearing to be so opposite on the outside with their raven and golden hair casting a ying and yang image, their souls were kindred spirits on the inside.

"Well, would you look at that."

Kirsten's head popped up. "Wicked!" Thank you Dooriya!"

A thickly braided silver chain of mist appeared in front of them as they approached the inn. Kirsten studied it, noting that it extended from where they connected with each other, and seemed to be leading them around the building. Déjà vu washed over her as she realized what this must be. Last year, it was Sarah's aura extending from her being, but this time, Kirsten suspected it was Dooriya's.

"I think Dooriya's sending us help, Sarah. Or you, at the very least. Let's follow it."

Around the corner of the stone façade of the inn's charming vine-wrapped exterior, the silver chain glowed mystically warmer as they approached the back door of the kitchen. Makes sense, Kirsten realized. The kitchen was the original part of the inn that had once been Dooriya's cabin.

"It leads into the cellar."

"Please don't let there be any spiders," Kirsten whispered.

By the look on Sarah's face, she echoed that sentiment whole-heartedly. "Let's do this," she said in a tone that didn't sound brave what-so-ever. For gifted women such as them, they were chickens when it came to creepy crawlers.

The old damp cellar wasn't as bad as she thought it would be. One side was stocked vastly with wines from all over the New England region, the other side appeared to be storage for overstock of everything else an inn needed for supplies. The broadly woven silver chain was leading to the back of the cold damp room though – the dark part.

As they warily proceeded to the area, Kirsten realized it was actually leading them through the wall. "The shelf! I think it moves!" Grabbing Sarah's hand so their connection wouldn't be disrupted and the path wouldn't disappear, Kirsten shoved against the bookcase with all her might. Nothing happened.

"Push it to the side?" Sarah shrugged, signaling it was worth a try.

Together, they leaned against the edge and heaved with all their might, throwing their body weight into their shoulders. It moved! Only a few inches, but it moved!

Excitement washed over them. "Again," they said in perfect unison.

And so, the witch and the gypsy elbowed, rammed and propelled their bodies against the wooden shelving until the passageway behind it was exposed wide enough for them to pass through.

Inside was a small, obviously untouched space. "Accendere!" Kirsten's voice boomed throughout the cavernous hole as white pillar candles in all corners of the room began to glow.

"Impressive," Sarah praised. "I would've just used my cell phone, show off."

Kirsten grinned, "That thought never even occurred to me, my friend."

The room was aged with dust and cobwebs, and appeared to have been untouched for centuries. The dirt floor had only one set of footprints, small and narrow, and the walls were covered in artifacts that must've been Dooriya's few possessions. A metal coffer, heavy and ancient in appearance, took up a large space against the far wall. Homemade candles littered the walls and floor throughout the space, and a pile of clothes laid in the corner – to the exact spot the silvery mist was tugging them to.

"C'mon," Kirsten said as the excitement and apprehension both escalated in perfect accordance of each other. They knelt on the cold dirt floor to take a closer look.

The clothes in the corner were neatly folded and the sets laid out for each person. One set, a woman's, was made of woven threads of maroon and indigo blue cloths, rough to the touch and well worn. The second set was actually a brown blanket, small and delicate – a baby's swaddle cloth. The image was full of sorrowful melancholy and to know Dooriya had clung to the memory of her child throughout the rest of her years was enough to wet Kirsten's cheek as a single tear of sympathy rolled down her cheek.

Sarah reached her left hand, careful to not loosen her grip on her friend and lose the connection, and gently pulled the infants clothes into her lap. As she did, a stone in the wall gently shifted and she reached for it. As the small piece of the wall tugged lose, the candlelight dazzled brighter than ever. In the pocket-sized hollowness laid a brilliant scarlet satchel – no bigger than Sarah's palm, with silver tassels.

"So much for the full renovation of the foundation," Sarah mumbled.

"Personally, I think the gypsy-witch pirates have found treasure once again." Kirsten's eyes gleamed at the suspense the small sack baited her with. "Open it."

Taking a deep breath her friend opened the patch and emptied its contents into her palm. Glistening in the firelight was a silver braided cuff with a vine of rubies, red as blood, wrapping around the bracelet like a serpent. The rubies, though tiny in their threading, shined in the dark room as the candlelight illuminated the gemstones. It was mesmeric.

"Another of Dooriya's talismans?" Kirsten couldn't take her eyes off the twinkling rubies.

"It must be."

\---

Silent as possible, Sarah sat as still as could be as she took in the scene in front of her. A baby girl with golden ringlets cooed as she clung tightly to her mother's embrace – Betty's embrace.

Confusion rocked her as Sarah realized this version of Betty seemed younger, sane and in perfect control of herself. There was no frantic pacing, no mumbling or craziness seeping from her whatsoever.

Dooriya stood next to the bassinet, waiting on Betty for something. She watched as her ancestor lit a white candle under the wooden bassinet.

"Betty, it is time."

Sarah's eyes widened as the smiling child dressed in all white fabrics was placed in the crib. "Dooriya, bless ye."

Once again, she was Walking in Dooriya's memory, but this time Dooriya wasn't walking with her. Sarah watched as the two women – so stark in contrast with their appearances – held one another's palms over the wooden cradle as they whispered a prayer of protection. Amazement bowled Sarah over as she witnessed a sheer white layer of magic wrap around the giggling infant girl. Pure white magic, Kirsten was right.

Did it shock her to know Betty and Dooriya were friends? No, perhaps not. Perhaps time had a way of repeating itself until things in the universe worked themselves out. Maybe it was her and Kirsten who were meant to finish this story.

Sarah's view shifted and the edges blurred. When the world righted itself once more, she realized she was still in the same room, but many years had since passed. Betty paced the room as she held her hands in front of her face.

"It's the Devil's work! The black man has returned for me!"

An evil, maniacal laugh escaped the corner of the room and Sarah realized she was no longer Walking, but was dreaming instead. Or was it more of a nightmare?

Tituba stood in the shadows, an evil grin spread across her face. Images of her confrontation with Tituba a year ago rose to the surface and Sarah felt as though she was back on the wharf again, standing in Tituba's rain of frustration and anger. The woman was scorned and revengeful, and Sarah should've realized she would go after others involved in The Trials as well.

Curled up in a ball on the floor, Betty began to rock herself. "Devil, it's the Devil," she kept repeating as she threaded her hands through her mousy brown curly hair.

Sarah gasped as the loony woman's finger then moved to her belly – a pregnant belly – and whispered the words, "It's the Devil's bindings."

As Sarah woke abruptly in her bed to Hank's growling as she accidently tossed him to the floor, she realized two things right away. First, Tituba was responsible for driving Betty mad and yes, it was likely a curse. Second, perhaps Hawke was related to Kirsten after all. But no matter what, it was clear Betty never realized her former friend's involvement in her later years and she must've truly thought she'd gone mad.

Chapter Seventeen

Sitting crossed-legged on the indigo and violet rug in Candlesticks storage room, Kirsten held Betty's diary in her hands. The aged brown leather-bound journal was the proud owner of a well-worn spine. Kirsten traced it with her fingertips and sensed the essence of all those that came before her, all those who had read the same pages. Had they interpreted them differently? Were there clues to the curse Tituba had laid?

Sarah had come over first thing that morning and told her of not only Tituba's involvement, but also of Dooriya's. That was a shock, for there was no mention of her on the pages either. Kirsten was just as lost as Sarah when it came to the magickal background of gypsy blood. Clearly, they were known to be travelers, but Kirsten had incorrectly assumed that trait was more of the nomadic variety. Sarah traveled through time when she walked! That was amazing and dangerous at the same time, and Kirsten wouldn't be making assumptions again. If only Betty had written of her friend on these pages!

Fanning the pages, Kirsten closed her eyes and allowed touch to guide her senses. On the pages where Betty's magic was pure white as mountain snow, the pages were warm, but when the darkness set into the pages, she felt only coldness on her fingertips. Will I go dark? What if I can't stop the curse? What if I cannot break Hawke's bounds? Kirsten didn't know exactly what the curse was – not that they knew it was indeed a curse. But unlike the Porter descendants, the Parris lineage line hadn't known of Betty's bane and other than her ancestor thinking she'd gone batty, there was no documentation of Tituba's involvement either. Kirsten supposed she should be glad the woman no longer marred her dreams like she used to – before Sarah's arrival.

Maybe Tituba hadn't realized what she'd done either. If she had, wouldn't she have tortured her more in the past? When Kirsten used to have nightmares, Tituba simply called her on the carpet for being a link to The Trials. Never did she feel anguish, confusion or anything more than minor emotional punishment.

Drumming through the pages once more, Kirsten paused as she felt something new. One page was slightly thicker at the darkest part of the diary – it was nearly ice cold. What?

Kirsten must've read through this diary four hundred times in her life and never had she come across this anomaly. Upon closer inspection, Kirsten realized the paper edges were stuck together with a magical adhesive – purposefully concealed. By who? Betty?

If the original Parris witch spelled these pages, only one anecdote was likely possibly – blood magic. It wasn't something Kirsten was always fond of doing, for a witch's blood was powerful and in the wrong hands it was a tool that could be perilous.

Sighing, Kirsten flicked her index finger against the camouflaged pages and gave herself a paper cut. "Ow," she gritted, running her ruby stained finger along the trimming of the binding and edges of the pages.

Ever so gently, the book glowed, for only a moment, in rainbows of white, indigo and violet. Kirsten scrutinized the diary as, second-by-second, the pages began to curl back on the corners and the bound pages rolled apart. The hidden journal entry breathed air for the first time in centuries.

A child not of my own, how can thy break thou binds? Shadows haunt thy light, extinguish thy miraculous bequest and thou infant is covered in darkness forevermore. I pray for thy angel to present herself once further and save the Devil's curse from his own creation.

Mayhap, what if this unborn cannot be saved? What if the Devil engulfs him? Please angel, pray for thee. Luminosity shall mantle the binds I affected.

Kirsten read over the passage several times and still wasn't sure she understood it. Betty thought her child was the Devil's son? Cursed from birth? Was that even possible? It would explain his black aura, she sarcastically thought. But why hide this page?

Wait a minute. Did this mean Hawke was a Parris descendent?

Chapter Eighteen

The next evening as the moon, nearly full in its formation, shined through her bedroom window, Sarah laid restless as she worried about Harry. Was he all right? Was he on his way back to her? Still not being able to see or sense his essence, Sarah missed him terribly.

With a meow of attack, Hanks jumped up on the mattress and pounced on her belly. The midnight black furball appeared to be restless as well.

"Good evening to you, too," she mused as she scratched behind his ears. Questionably, Sarah watched as the cat began to nuzzle her sapphire amulet that she never removed from her neck. Then, with a meow of disinterest, Hanks jumped off her and over to her dresser, where he began to bat items to the floor.

"Really?"

Meow.

"Uhhhhh, fine. I'm up." Flinging back the covers, flipping the bedside mercury glass lamp on as she padded over to the dresser, Hanks stilled. That was curious.

As she studied her four legged child's strange behavior, a shimmering glint of red shined from under his paw. It was the bracelet from Dooriya's hidden cave under The Spellbound Inn. And her cat was giving her a message.

"Do you think, Hanks?"

Meow.

Retrieving the bracelet, Sarah was slightly hesitant as she wasn't conclusively sure what this talisman was created for. Or with what gift. The amulet clearly strengthened her natural gifts as a gypsy, so would this do the same? The silver represented the power of the moon, just as the gold chain around her neck represented that of the sun. Rubies were often more ambiguous in their meanings, for this stone could symbolize the power to fight fear and darkness, to help against the hostility of evil spirits. Rubies were also a fire sign. But the stone also represented love, royalty and beauty, and even contained healing properties.

Sarah clung to the idea of fearlessness. In her whole life before Salem, she'd held herself back having never felt like she fit in anywhere. But after finding Salem, Harry, Kirsten and her true heritage, Sarah had never felt so brave. Slipping the bracelet around her wrist, she crawled back into her comfortable bed and snuggled in as Hanks chose to curl up on her feet.

In a nanosecond of her raven waves hitting the fluffy pillow, Sarah felt her world shift as she was transported into another world. Blinking until her vision cleared, she found herself to be Walking side by side with Dooriya.

"Good evening, my daughter's daughter. Beautiful night for a stroll, no?"

Sarah glanced around and decided it really wasn't. It was a cold night with snow underfoot and a chilly breeze in the air. Dooriya herself was clothed in a hooded, long dark cloak.

"The cloak is concealment, my dear."

Once again, Sarah never even had to ask the question. Instead, she said, "I found the second talisman." Looking down, she saw it was only but a mere shadow on her wrist.

Dooriya hid a smile, but remained quiet as they approached a dark home with only one light lit. Without knocking, Dooriya entered quietly and beckoned Sarah to do the same.

Mumbling could be heard from a back bedroom. Dooriya followed the sound. Hesitantly, Sarah did the same.

The home was comfortable, she supposed. A dim fire lit in the hearth, homemade quilts scattered about and perfectly folded, homemade bread on the table and soup slowly cooking in a kettle. As she looked along the far wall, she saw three small blonde babes with ringlets sleeping peacefully on a small cot – tucked in and warm – blissfully unaware of what was occurring in the back bedroom.

Standing in the doorway, Sarah's suspicions were confirmed. This was the home of a very grown up Betty Parris, the one she shared with her husband and children.

Betty was laying in the bed, covered in quilts and tossing about. "The binds, stop him," she mumbled in her fitful sleeping state. "Darkness will come, the binds."

It was completely understandable why the world had written Betty off to be crazy – she did sound like a nutter. But Sarah knew better. She knew Tituba was controlling the woman's dream state and turning it into a nightmare. Sarah had to wonder when Tituba chose to follow this path. Was it after the scorned witch discovered she'd inadvertently tied herself to the Porter-Putnam curse? Before?

The woman appeared the same as she had the last time Sarah saw her. Same age, same possessed-like state of madness, but the room was different. Across from the bed was a second cradle with a child swathed inside.

Approaching the infant, Sarah saw a baby boy with dark hair and deep blue eyes quietly staring at Dooriya. Her ancestor and mentor knelt beside the wooden cradle and placed her left hand – the one wearing a silver cuff with a ruby vine coiled around it – and spoke to the child.

"There will come a day when my daughter's daughter will return to me. With her arrival, these cursed rules will change and my magicks released. Bounds will loosen, child, and blackness will lift." A small braid of misty ribbons vibrantly wove colors of yellow and royal blue around the infant's arms. "Innocence must be protected, always."

The baby was innocent? Pure?

"Dooriya?" Sarah had so many questions!

"The poor woman realizes not where she is in this realm, or what she does. But she has known darkness before and strength doesn't prevail her. And her tormentor realizes not what has been done."

"Tituba?"

Dooriya nodded solemnly.

Chapter Nineteen

"So let me get this straight. Tituba cursed Betty, but Betty had children pre and post curse?"

"At least three that I saw."

Kirsten was in Sarah's condo, sitting on the ugly cream sofa her friend insisted on buying because it was "comfortable", and hunched over her book of shadows studying the Parris family tree. "Betty did have four children, three girls and one son. Only two of her daughters gave her grandchildren." Searching the pages for concealment, Kirsten wondered if the tree had been altered like the diary had. What if one child wasn't documented by Betty? What if she tried to keep someone safe?

Sarah was telling the truth, her aura always bared its honesty. But she still was not able to trust Hawke, partly because she had no clue what his true nature was thanks to his bindings – and those were definitely evil. Kirsten did admit though, Sarah's retold accounts agreed with what he'd told them. Well, almost. Dooriya appeared to be protecting the children, not harnessing their gifts for herself.

A path needed to be chosen. Did she believe Betty's own written words? Sarah? Hawke's seemingly semi-plausible story?

"I just don't think I'm related to that odious creature, Sarah. I don't trust him."

"I'd say it's time for another talk with him, then."

\---

Blonde curls spread across her pillow as she laid in her bed, wide awake and staring at the starry night sky painted across her ceiling. Often, Kirsten and Callen would stare at these stars and quiz each other on constellation names.

"Goddess, I miss him," she whispered to the moon. "Please bring him home."

Mat told her the coast guard still had no updates or contact with The Craft. Kirsten was convinced she would know if something was wrong. Wouldn't she? Rolling over in a huff, she was shocked to feel like she was falling as her bedroom tilted in her line of vision.

"Hey sleepy head."

"Sarah! Where are we? And don't do that ever again." If that was what Walking felt like, Kirsten was more than happy to go without that particularly nauseating gift.

"I'll admit, I'm still not used to it."

A breeze rustled her golden ringlets. "Wait, why are we on your balcony?"

Mischief sprinkled across her face and the silver and ruby cuff glimmered on her wrist. "I have an idea, my friend." Sarah reached for Kirsten's hand and intertwined their fingers. "This is the night I confronted Hawke – and when I saw his shadow magic."

"Shadow magic? I all but forgot about that."

"It's difficult to explain, but, I saw a shadow flying over the water that night. So, then I thought, what if I put myself back in my own memory?"

Bewilderment crossed over her pretty features. "You know I'm not following this."

"I want to know where that shadow went."

"You can follow it? You can do that?"

Her friend took a deep breath and reached for her amulet – the sapphire and rubies on each respective talisman shone brighter with her movement. "Dooriya said my strength is connected to my intuition." Turning to face the sea, Sarah nodded. "I can do this."

"My body isn't going to get split in half or anything, is it?"

"Suck on some eye of newt, will ya."

"Geez, aren't we grumpy when we're trying something new. In the dark. That could be dangerous."

Sarah rolled her eyes and Kirsten took that as, "I'll try my best to split your body into irreparable damage."

Letting a small shimmy ripple through her body, Sarah told her to clear her mind and be prepared. "We have to wait for Hawke to arrive."

A few seconds ticked by and her nerves threatened to creep up her neck. She was ready to complain about this plan one more time when a movement caught the corner of her eye. "There, on the left of the maple."

"Time to go."

"Wha-" Kirsten started as she felt herself lurch forward in such a jarring manner that she was sure to hurl as she fell to her death from Sarah's condo balcony. Only, she wasn't falling – she was floating!

"Do not let go, do you hear me?"

Sarah's words sounded like whispers in the wind as they followed the shadow out to sea. It was a dizzying effect astral projection. How did her friend deal with it? Kirsten's eyes focused on the sapphire and suddenly she felt dumbfounded for not recognizing something sooner. Talismans often represented elements and a sapphire specifically represented air. Of course her amazing friend could soar like a zephyr!

Sapphires also represented knowledge, inspiration, wisdom, strength of memories and faith. Everything that echoed her friend's natural gifts.

Kirsten's awe was quickly replaced with dread and she realized the shadow was approaching The Craft. Callen.

Just as their astral toes touched the aft deck, Harry appeared through the door from the living quarters. Kirsten sensed Sarah's moment of relief being able to see him. Where is Callen?

Together they watched in horror as the shadow of a man took to the helm and rocked The Craft right into an oncoming storm. Lightning flashed and the shadow disappeared and Callen stood at the helm. Wind howled and waves crashed as the ship begin to spin.

As they screamed out their fears, the two women instantly transported back to Sarah's balconies, and their bodies. Each tried desperately to gain control of their breathing, still terrified from their experience.

"What was that?" Sarah gasped for air as tears rolled down her cheeks.

"He's a dead man! He's a dead man, Sarah. Did you see," Kirsten cried frantically. "Hawke is dead. I know so, because I'm going to kill him after seeing what he did!"

"We don't know for sure what we saw, Kir. What if they're alive?"

Chapter Twenty

Driving along the Massachusetts coastline was exactly what Sarah needed as her Audi whipped around the bends of the coastline, zipping through the fall foliage. As long as she could remember, the wind in her hair aided in her breathing when she was emotional. Her inn was supposed to open in two days, Mat's last update on The Craft was that there wasn't any update, and Sarah still felt so confused on what she'd seen last night with Kirsten. Had Hawke purposefully tried to hurt her husband? It sure looked that way. I just don't know what to do.

Oh she was just so confused on her path at the moment. Since meeting, Harry hadn't just been the means to end a centuries old curse. No, their bond was a connection that allowed them to find each other even in their dreams. The perplexity of the situation was that she didn't perceive any danger for him – and wouldn't she? If Harry were really in trouble? Wouldn't her gut be twisted into knots so thick they were never to be untied?

Harold Tucker Ellison was a smart sailor and he always knew what to do when he was at sea. But Sarah was doubting her gifts because she couldn't see his return to Salem. Images of The Craft limping into port a year ago flashed through her mind and all she could do was hope that the severity of their situation wasn't any worse than that, for Harry and Callen still made it home in that particular instance.

It must be the shadow magic, she surmised. Sarah couldn't pretend Hawke's presence didn't throw her off when he was around. Often she couldn't get a proper reading on him and neither did Kirsten. Anger was palpable, oh yes, but she was beginning to wonder if that wasn't actually Tituba's anger she was sensing. Or Betty's.

In a way, Sarah did feel empathy for Tituba. The pain she'd expressed last year on that day at Pickering Wharf was the hatred she'd become consumed with from the death of her friends during The Trials. On some level, her grief was truly understandable. Didn't that same thing still happen today? What was it Kirsten said? The world still fears others who are different. And a witch hunt by any other name is still a witch hunt. Sarah hoped Tituba found peace, wherever she went.

Slowing her car down as she came to a grassy knoll on a cliffs edge, Sarah realized she was near Forest River Park. Feeling a tug on her intuition thread woven through her entire being, she got out of the car and strode to the edge as her raven hair and plum dress billowed in the wind like a sail, leaving her black laced-up boots exposed with every step.

She was in a small clearing with trees encircling the area, giving Sarah the upmost privacy. Others have been here before, she realized. Is this Witch's Point? It was a fabled part of The Trials, or at least believed to be, that local witches would gather under the moon here and dance naked under the stars. Sarah didn't know if that was a true story, but this area definitely felt mystical and familiar. Dooriya's been here.

Retrieving the silver cuff with a thin vine of rubies wrapped around it from her skirt pocket, Sarah's sixth sense told her to put it on her left wrist. Clutching her sapphire amulet with her right hand, she kneeled in the soil. Something told her nature would connect her more strongly to her intuition and her fingers dug into the dirt.

"Dooriya," she whispered in a nearly silent prayer as she closed her eyes. "Show me."

In an instant, visions entered her mind's eye and Sarah took a deep breath to steady herself. Keep control, she mentally instructed herself.

Before her was Betty, crazed and babbling about bindings again as she was wrapped inside a blanket on her bed, rocking back and forth. Dooriya was there too and holding the baby.

"The bounding is done, my friend, they cannot be undone by me." Dooriya rocked the baby on her hip and kissed his forehead. She continued to tell Betty she would help her, she would find a way to control the baby's binds or at least contain them.

"She needed me and I failed her. I failed her again."

Who? Tituba?

"You were asked to protect this babe and you will. I will find a family to care for the child and he will not go mad. One day from now, curses will cease and his son's son will return to this land. Discovery and enlightenment will guide him, and gypsycraft will make amends." She grasped the child's wrists with her hand and the silver bracelet reflected the candlelight in the room.

Dooriya protected the baby boy just as she'd protected her own child. And just as her own family, the boy's descendants would also be cursed until... until she came to town. Somehow this was connected to her – maybe more so than to Kirsten. Tituba's words haunted her mind. Don't you know that gypsy magick is different than a witch's magic? It can weave into the threads of connections without any living soul ever knowing.

Sarah watched the scene has her ancestor blessed the infant and white magic seeped into the boy's heart. So Hawke wasn't inherently evil, but was his shadow magic?

Releasing the soil from her fingers, Sarah rose and stood facing the sea as her raven waves flew wildly in the wind. Clearly the cuff was meant to help Hawke escape his curse, but if he'd hurt Harry, Sarah wasn't sure if she would manage to finish what Dooriya had started.

And just like that, a missing puzzle piece threaded itself into place. Of course! Sarah finally realized why Hawke seemed so familiar.

Chapter Twenty-One

Candlesticks was in full swing with tourists as the end of October neared. The glow-in-the-dark wands were already sold out, as were the extra witch hats Kirsten ordered two weeks earlier. She should have been happy that business was booming but all she could think about was Hawke's shadow magic and Callen.

Her mood was glum – to say the least – irritability was chewing on the edges of her usually perky disposition.

The work hours ticked by as orange and yellow leaves fell into the Salem Commons. As the twilight hour approached, light by light clicked on in the square and the gazebo began to twinkle on that chilly October night.

Finally, she thought with relief, closing hour. As the last guest bought a book on divination, the store emptied and Kirsten began to close up shop. As the door chimed, she froze behind the counter. Hawke was standing in her shop.

"Get out."

Perplexity marred his features and she was surprised it wasn't nearly as angry as usual. A quick glance show is aura was still black as sin, but the border had taken to a decidedly dirty grey haze. Has that always been there? It was the marking of a blocked aura.

"You tried to kill my boyfriend. I saw it."

Hawke held his hands in the air like it would hold back her fierce anger and contempt. "I would never harm anyone," he stated defensively.

"I saw your shadow magic attack the boat."

Curiosity crinkled in his dark beady eyes as he looked down his hook nose at her. "You don't know what you saw, witch. It certainly wasn't an attack."

Stubbornly she crossed her arms, "Oh yeah? Then what would you call it?"

"Protecting." His deep voice was firm and he held her in his gaze.

The answer surprised Kirsten, she truly had not been expecting that word. "Protecting?" Disbelief dripped from the question. "Is that what sending The Craft straight into a storm is called?"

"I didn't send them into a storm. I..." Hawke stopped to gather the right words. "I was alerting them to its presence."

She rolled her eyes, "Why should I believe you?"

"Because we're family."

"No we're not!" Her control failed her as she let go of her composure. "We are NOT family. You are NOT the descendant of Betty Parris and I don't have to trust you."

"Fine, don't believe me," he begrudgingly said. "But tell me this, won't you? What happens when I'm right and you're wrong?"

"Well, that's just never been known to happen." Kirsten's eyes narrowed on him and a smirk smattered across her lips.

The shop's telephone ringing loudly on the wall interrupted their fight and she painfully pulled her eyes from their stare down and moved to answer the call. After a few minutes, Kirsten hung up and turned to Hawke.

"Sarah wants to see us at Spellbound Inn."

"How'd she know I was here?"

"Don't ask."

\---

A portly and tart fellow set in the cottage garden of Sarah's inn with her as they drank iced tea and spoke in hushed whispers. Kirsten recognized the man as the old grump who used to own the place. What's he doing here?

"Finally, you're here. Hawke, I believe you know my friend." Sarah gestured at the chubby fellow as he stood from the white wicker chair.

"Son, why do you insist on going by Hawke. Your name is Hunter."

"Dad, not now." A hint of a petulant child's tone seeped into his voice.

"Wait, what? Son? Dad?" Kirsten held her index finger up. "Come again?"

"Kirsten, we've never met. My name is Warren. I recognize you from your store."

"Lovely to meet you, sir." She shook his hand for the first time. His demeanor seemed more pleasant. Stepping back, she studied him and trailed her eyes down to his wrists. He's bound too! Thin ribbons of back rope laced around the perpetually grumpy man's wrists – only his laces were interwoven with even thicker dark grey ribbons. His aura was indeed similar to Hawke's. Or Hunter. Or whatever his name was.

"Ah, I see you've already figured everything out," the man gruffed. "Have a seat and let's get everything out into the open, shall we?"

Kirsten followed his request and took a seat, but really because she didn't understand what was happening anymore. Looking to Sarah for a clue, her friend gave her a calm smile of reassurance and Kirsten clung to that like a security blanket.

"First, you ladies should know, my son and I have long since been tied to a curse that leads back to The Trials and to Betty Parris."

"And, as I was just explaining to Warren, it was tied to Tituba as well."

"Yes, thank you. That actually makes sense, after everything you've told me." The man stopped to sip his tea and cleared his throat. "You should know, part of my family's legacy was to guard this house until you came, Sarah. Generation after generation took care of this place, knowing one day a girl carrying the mark of gypsycraft would come back to Salem."

"Gypsycraft?"

"Ay, you may call it magick?"

Kirsten's friend nodded.

"It is the same, my dear. And the second this house led you to it, I sensed your arrival. Finding you standing in the kitchen, I knew who you were."

"Then why did you kick me out?"

"These binds," Warren began, holding up his wrists, "the darkness of them tend to affect my moods."

That... actually makes sense, Kirsten thought to herself. Hadn't Hawke even become a slight bit more amiable as his binds had loosened?

"I think I need to show you all something," Sarah said hesitantly. "Do you trust me?"

Kirsten looked at Hawke, then Warren and finally Sarah. "I trust you, my friend." She held her palms up to her side and waited for Warren and Hawke to each take one. Sarah did the same.

Simultaneously the men took their fingers and Sarah's vision transferred through their minds. Betty was giving away her baby to Dooriya and they were able to see the blessing of protection the child was given. By all appearances, it looked as though the child was Betty's. But she let someone down – who?

With a deep breath, they all disconnected.

"Who did she let down?"

"My guess was Tituba, or maybe even Dooriya. Betty wasn't in her right mind, so it's hard to say."

"I told you we were related, Kirsten," a deep voice said with a smart attitude.

"No, we are not."

"Wow, what have we missed?" A familiar voice sang.

"Harry!"

"Callen!"

The girls sprang forth in a jubilant glee as they ran to the weather worn sailors standing on the hill by the garden entrance.

"I told you I was protecting them," Hawke admonished.

For once, Kirsten didn't care if he was right and she was wrong.

Chapter Twenty-Two

On his life, Harry could not fathom how himself, Callen, the crew or The Craft survived this last sail at sea. The storm surge they'd entered had been brutal and he, himself, nearly lost at sea.

None of this made sense. The Porter-Putnam curse was broken a year ago, but it sure didn't feel like it. And it sure as hell hadn't appeared like it had when a black fog encircled The Craft and all their instruments died after the storm blew over.

Had he not been thrown from his bed during a dream about a shadow, Callen and the night crew would've never been able to turn away from the main path of the squall in time. Heavy lightning fried the radar system and the crew used old school star navigation to sail home once they determined their location.

What was strange is that Harry could've sworn each night afterwards that a black fog was still following them. Or was it pushing them?

Determined to return home to Sarah – and keep his promise that he'd be at the opening of The Spellbound Inn – helped keep his temper in check and eye on the horizon. When Salem came into view, Callen nearly jumped overboard and swam to Kirsten. Harry couldn't say he was far behind him in that wanting need to see his wife.

To find out how much drama kept her company in his absence disturbed him. Hawke certainly made his impression on the two mischievous women, and they clearly had a difficult time staying out of mystical trouble.

Now his wife, who was revealed to now be the proud owner of two ancestral talismans, wanted to end Hawke's curse tomorrow night on All Hallow's Eve.

Harry was slightly disappointed that Sarah wasn't making the night a celebration about herself and all the hard work and long hours that were put into the remodel of her inn. He was also put out that they weren't celebrating the anniversary of their first real date. Okay, so that was a selfish thought but he was a hopeless romantic sometimes.

At least they had tonight. His and Callen's homecoming was met with quite the welcome party and Harry was going to enjoy it while he could. Then he was going to take Sarah home and show her all the ways he missed her.
Chapter Twenty-Three

The thirty-first of October was actually her slowest business day of the year at Candlesticks. Odd, considering she lived in Witchville USA, but she typically closed at noon since the tourist and locals alike would start preparing for the numerous parties around town that evening. Between the trick or treating, costume parties and Spellbound's masquerade ball, her shop emptied out pretty quickly that morning. Since Kirsten's stock of tourist items was now completely depleted, she didn't mind flipping her closed signage on the door and turning the lock early that day.

Drifting back to the 'About Salem' section of her bookshelf, Kirsten picked up a copy of the same book she'd given Sarah last year, "The Secrets of the Trials". Flipping through the photos, she came to a photograph of the memorial erected in Danvers, once part of Salem Village, and studied the photo.

In Memory of Those Innocents Who Died During the Salem Village Witchcraft Hysteria of 1692

As her fingers traced over the words of the memorial, guilt crept into her heart. Her ancestor accused so many of those who had died – and never apologized. Perhaps that is why Tituba chose to haunt her mind.

Snapping the pages shut, Kirsten returned the book to its rightful place. Shutting off the lights with a one word command, she retrieved the diary from the hiding spot in her stock room and left her shop. An idea had struck and she was limited on time.

\---

"What are we doing here?"

"I know you're busy setting up for the party, but I promise you, it's more important that we're here. Park over to the side, under this old oak tree."

"Won't this memorial be really crowded today?" Sarah asked.

"Not as much as you may think. Most people don't know the rules of All Hallow's Eve and visit at midnight." Kirsten's sly smile spread across her face as she became more and more confident in her idea.

"Rules?"

"Supernatural spirits may walk the Earth on All Hallow's Eve – all day."

The idea was ingenious but it was actually recycled from Sarah's own trail of thoughts last year. Today was the day spirits could freely roam the world and there was someone she needed to speak with – Betty Parris herself.

As the two friends approached the memorial, a feeling of hollowness washed over them. This was a place of sadness, grief and regret. And yet, it still shocked Kirsten to see very few flowers at the site. Laying a bouquet of gladiolus and frangipani blooms under the names of the accused and hanged, a single tear rolled down Kirsten's cheek as she whispered, "I am truly sorry for your suffering," as her fingers touched the wall.

"Thou are of great heart. Certainly, more gracious than mine was."

Kirsten whirled around so quickly her mind spun along with her blonde curls. "Dear Goddess," she exclaimed. "You are here."

Betty Parris stood before her with a blank look on her face. "I am no Goddess, child."

Turning to see her friend equally frozen in disbelief, Kirsten gazed at Betty once more. "I am sorry, I am just surprised to see you."

"But you came for me. And I am here. Why would you be surprised?"

Purpose snapped back into Kirsten's reality and she moved forward to where Betty was standing, with one hand on The Book of Life, a frozen erection of the symbolism from The Trials. The girls had all stated that the accused signed the Devil's Book. This part of the monument was to suggest that the innocents who died were given eternal life. Kirsten hoped that was true.

"Betty, we need to know about your curse."

"The Devil..." she began.

"No, no. It wasn't the Devil, Betty. It was Tituba. She was still here and casting darkness on your mind. On your heart. Tituba cursed the families involved in The Trials."

"But the darkness left me."

"What do you mean?"

"The darkness of the Devil left... when he left."

"Who? When who left?"

"Abigail's son. She died in childbirth and I swore to protect her infant. But alas, the Devil's work was too strong and the baby absorbed that energy. The woman – the gypsy – she said she would save him." Pale blue eyes reflected mournfully at them as she recalled the grief and sadness of such a loss.

Betty peered at Sarah then and her friend realized the importance of the words just spoken, awareness taking root in her sapphire eyes. As Sarah moved closer to Betty, Betty's appearance became stronger in presence.

"Dooriya was able to control the curse, but we need to know how to break it," Sarah explained calmly, like she was approaching a skittish kitten.

"Tituba wouldn't curse me. She was my friend."

"A friend you accused of witchcraft." Kirsten thought bluntness would work best for this moment.

Betty's face froze in a quizzical manner. "Thus, it was not a fabrication."

"No, but she became... revengeful," Kirsten started. "And seems to have cursed all who were involved with The Trials." Kirsten wondered at that for a moment. Had Tituba intended to curse Abigail Williams' child? So much of why she felt no connection to Hawke now made sense! Abigail and Betty were cousins – both accusers as well – but their bloodlines would not have been close enough in relation for the family tree to have tracked her lineage. Furthermore, there was no record of Abigail after 1697, so most historians assumed she died. But apparently, not until much later.

"I thought the child's father would've come for the baby."

"Who was the father?"

"A Porter, I believe."

Son of a witch! Was there no family tree that was correct? Time and history really hadn't changed all that much, with infidelity and lust apparently ruling over the heritage and bloodlines in Salem since the beginning of time.

"This... just makes so much sense now," Sarah realized out loud. "The familiarity I felt. It was from knowing Hawke's father and his long, lost cousin Harry."

Kirsten placed her hand on the stone book alongside Betty's – had her spirit been solid, their fingers would've touched. "How do I break this curse? What do we have to do?"

A weak smile appeared across Betty's face. "My child, I do not know. But I truly regret my actions knowing that they still affect those alive in your life. I am sorry for those I have harmed." And with those parting words, Betty faded away into the sunlight.

"Perhaps she's found peace," Sarah whispered.

Kirsten was immobile. With Betty's words, something inside of her unlocked. It felt like an old rusty chain and lock had been wrapped around her soul, without her ever knowing it. As the chain fell away, Kirsten suddenly felt light as a feather floating through the air and saw everything surrounding her in a brand new clarity. The burden of Betty's guilt was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Four

The Spellbound Inn was wrapped in a captivating warmth of shimmering lights, from the icicles framing the inn, to the gleaming lanterns and torches adorning the garden, to the fireplaces, tables and windows holding large white pillar candles glowing with flickering flames. The whole effect was enthralling.

Harry marveled at the changes Sarah installed in the storybook inn, like the large porch covered in comfortable rocking chairs that would allow guests to take the morning coffee with a view, or the large ornate stained glass window that portrayed an image of the harbor in the pink hued early light of dawn. The cottage garden was blooming with colors as fragrant herbs like rosemary, sage and thyme teased his nostrils. A smile traced his curved lips as he took in the lavender by the garden gates. Sarah and Kirsten both had explained, multiple times, that this was a symbol of luck.

Laughter engaged his ears as children frolicked through the garden paths and along the hill by the water, which was lit in silvery light itself by the crescent moon and blanket of stars. If he didn't know better, Harry would have sworn Kirsten had bewitchingly enchanted the sky to shine brighter than ever.

Harry turned to enter the inn, finding Callen inspecting the jack-o'-lanterns that trimmed each step, framing the entrance to the residence with even more fiery luminosity to light up the night. Mat and Ally provided these pumpkins after hosting a carving session at The Broom & Cup just mere days earlier. Harry was particularly fond of the pumpkin that displayed The Craft in all its glory and refinement.

Both men were dressed to the nines in their black tuxes and domino masks that matched their date's gowns. As they crossed through the threshold on the inn, a sense of whimsy floated into the air as Sarah and Kirsten approached the top of the grand mahogany staircase. Harry's heart skipped a beat as he drank in the site of his wife.

Memories floated through his mind as he remembered how time stood still only one year ago on All Hallow's Eve when Sarah had arrived in a carriage, sparkling in gold and surrounded by twinkling lights. Tonight, she stunned in a black corseted gown that faded into a shimmering silver skirt that skimmed the floor. Her hands were covered in matching lace gloves that perfectly showed off the ruby and silver cuff on her left arm. The raven mane that he loved so much was braided into an intricate design of twisting curls atop her head and bedazzled with ruby, sapphire, silver and gold pins that cohesively tied into her ancestral jewelry. A lace mask laid over her face, making her bejeweled eyes pop with a draw-dropping effect. Harry was pretty sure he was drooling as he had no idea how she was able to get more and more beautiful.

Callen was held speechless by the magnificent sight of Kirsten in a Caribbean turquoise evening dress that snug her small frame and trailed along the stairs behind her with a silvery train worthy of a glamorous starlet. Her arms bore long sleeves that belled at the wrist and Callen let out a low whistle of appreciation as he took in the deeply cut V-neck trim that showed off a radiant crescent moon necklace made of small diamonds that hung from a fine white gold chain – a gift from Callen himself. Kirsten's normally bouncy blonde curls were straightened and woven into a side fishtail braid that wrapped around her left shoulder and her eyes were masked with a layer of tiny sparkling opal gemstones that glued her entire effect into a fluidity that any man would be more than proud to stand next to.

The women were clearly dressed to impress and it was working. Harry took note of the silence that had befallen over the crown and the fact that all eyes were on the two women. He also noted a blush crawling along Sarah's cheeks as she too felt the attention that was on her and could see a shyness beginning to take root in here with every descending step she took. Gracefully striding across the hardwood floors that still creaked in certain places, he held out his arm so she could take it and feel more comfortable in her own skin. After all, this was a night that should be celebrating all she'd accomplished in one short year and Harry was going to make sure she had a night to remember.

Callen followed Harry's lead and soon the ladies were being led through a crowd that greeted and congratulated Sarah with a warm reception of appreciation for her accomplishment on remodeling and opening The Spellbound Inn with success. Many had tried over the years to purchase the place from Warren, but he was waiting for Dooriya's ancestor to return – though this was a secret only Sarah and her friends knew.

"Congratulations Sarah. I suspect this inn will be very successful."

As a deep voice pulled Harry's focus from greeting the guests, he whirled Sarah around with him and found himself standing face to face with Hawke as his wife's black and silver skirt swished against his legs. Last night his wife patiently explained to him everything he and Callen had missed while at sea, including the fact that Hawke claimed to have saved them from the storm. Studying the man, Harry did have to admit that some of the ominous energy usually surrounding the dark stranger did seem to have dissipated since that night in The Brew.

"Hawke, good to have you join us." Harry held out his hand in good faith. Much to his surprise, Hawke took it and greeted him in return with a strong handshake.

A short portly fellow joined their conversation and, at first, Harry didn't even recognize the man. The former inn owner, and Hawke's father, Warren Beeley's face was grinning from ear-to-ear and he seemed downright jubilant. The former grumpy attitude seemed to have disappeared overnight. What's gotten into him?

As if Harry's thoughts were spoken out loud, Warren piped up. "Sarah, dear girl, I think we need to speak somewhere more... private. Please, bring Kirsten."

Chapter Twenty-Five

As she and Kirsten led Harry, Callen, Hawke and Warren through the wine cellar and showed them Dooriya's hidden ritual chamber under the inn, a sense of instinct took root in her core and she felt her mind's eye open with clarity of the situation. In that moment, Sarah discovered she knew the answers she'd been searching for. She knew how to lift the binds.

"Why is it so dark in here?" Callen asked.

"Let me," Sarah said before Kirsten could cast a spell. Holding up her left arm, she closed her eyes and through her mind's eye she saw the rubies gleaming in dark. With an outward flick of her wrist in a slow gesture, one that allowed her fingers to gracefully unfold one-by-one until her palm revealed itself with a glowing ball of red light that reflected off of Kirsten's gown. Deliberately, Sarah folded her fingers so the tips formed a point and the red light bounced around the dirt room in a zig-zag pattern until every candle was lit with a flickering hue of crimson and orange flames.

Audible sounds of gasps were heard all around her and Kirsten's gentle murmur of the words, "fire symbol" as Sarah felt the warmth on the silver braided cuff with the rubies snaked around the bracelet like a serpent on her left wrist. The warm feeling was soothing and she felt her gypsy threads weave cords of blue and yellow ribbons through her soul.

"Well, that's new." Harry was staring at her with a mixture of awe and curiosity.

"That's wicked," Callen breathed.

Kirsten, standing next to him with their hands intertwined, heavily rolled her eyes. "Are you telling me that I could've done magic in front of you this whole time and you would've been cool with it? I thought you would freak if I used my witchy-woo around you, Callen." She twinkled her fingers in his face that was a manner very reminiscent of something her boyfriend would do. Callen sheepishly shrugged in response as a lopsided grin flopped across his features.

"Warren, you wanted to speak somewhere quiet. Will this do?" Sarah's wrist still felt warm and her eyes were drawn to the metal coffer against the back wall.

"Warren, your bindings. They're nearly gone. And your aura," Kirsten whispered. "It's changed. It's purple."

"That's what I wanted to speak about. This afternoon I felt a shift within myself, like a weight was lifted right off my shoulders. What happened?"

Sarah and Kirsten glanced at one another. How was it possible that meeting Betty Parris had broken his binds?

"But I'm still bound." Frustration colored Hawke's grimace.

"Your binds have changed because Betty apologized for her sins during The Trials. It set her soul free."

A familiar voice in the corner by the infant's clothing had everyone whipping around to see who had joined them. Except Sarah. "Hello Tituba. Thank you for joining us."

A woman with caramel-kissed skin moved towards Sarah and studied her features for a moment. "You have changed, gypsy. You're stronger." The woman's eyes narrowed as she took in the ruby bracelet gleaming in the candlelight. "Ah," she nodded in understanding.

"I know you," Hawke said in an accusing tone. "I've seen you in my dreams."

Tituba's face snapped to his, then to Warren's. Circling them, the witch sniffed the air and then moved to Kirsten, who remained rooted next to Callen. Looking between the two, Tituba seemed to realize her mistake she'd made so many years ago.

Stepping next to her, Sarah held out her hand. "It's time to right was has been wronged, Tituba."

Nodding her long locks in acquiescence, Tituba agreed. "I was foolish in thinking revenge was my foretold path so many centuries ago. My rage blinded my vision and I cursed those I would never come to know, gypsy. My pride was my own hex that haunts me even now."

"You have not found peace?"

"I have not yet settled all debts, have I gypsy? No, I have been between planes, waiting for All Hallow's Eve to complete my penance."

Taking in a heavy, ragged breath, Sarah spoke softly. "You've changed too, Tituba." No longer did she sense the malice of the woman who'd confronted her last year.

"If my binds have lifted, why haven't Hunter's?" Warren asked.

"It's Hawke, dad."

"Not now, son." There was a small twinkle of delight in Warren's eyes that noted to a humor a father found when embarrassing his grown son.

Stepping forward, Tituba sniffed again. "You have no gifts, no binds would be necessary to hold you down. I cursed darkness upon the descendants of Betty Parris, or so I assumed," she said as her eyes flickered to Kirsten. "But you are a descendent of Abigail Williams and she held no magical claim. Alas, she was simply a lost child seeking attention. Today, when Betty apologized for her sins, the lock and chain broke upon the binds with her guilty acknowledgement."

As the words sunk into to all of them, the question still pursed on Hawke's lips. Sarah moved towards him and placed a hand on his wrists that were clasped together as though cuffs were holding him still. A vision of a gypsy came forth so quickly in her mind's eye that a silvery haze weaved into her irises. A gypsy with hair as black as night, and eyes as violet as a storm at twilight, was peering into a crystal ball. The word Salem floated through into it, written in black smoke that disappeared in a poof when Sarah blinked her eyes. Familiarity.

"Hawke's mother was a gypsy. This is why he's still bound."

Shame briefly crossed over Warren's face. "I made a mistake, once, in wrongly assuming the identity of Dooriya's descendent."

"Dad?" Hawke looked stunned.

"Your mother left when you were born, son. Other than her coloring, you seemed nothing like her. I thought it best to let her identity die with her disappearance. Once your mother, an imposter posing as Dooriya's descendent, couldn't access Dooriya's gypsycraft, she was gone."

"And thus, darkness has clung to you as it acknowledges your gifts, but Dooriya's binds have kept you from harnessing this dark hex. Her binds protected each generation of Abigail's children from going mad. My arrival last year loosened the binds and your own magick created a shadow form," Sarah explained.

"Tituba, you have to release the darkness from him." Kirsten released Callen's hands and stood next to Sarah, threading her fingers through Sarah's own. "How can we help?"

"This is my burden, children." Tituba placed her hands on the shoulders of Warren and Hawke, closing her eyes.

Darkness spooling, unwind this weave  
Mark thy heart, color thou sleeve  
Untie and mend what has been done  
Fix upon thee, so mote it be.

Callen and Harry's eyes widened as the wind picked up from the floor of the small dark room and black ribbons began to uncoil from Hawke's wrist, unthread from the hearts of father and son, and then laced through Tituba's hair, arms and body... it was a sight neither could've ever imagined, let alone have possibly seen before.

As the wind began to ease, Sarah motioned for Kirsten and they placed their own hands on Hawke's wrists. Sarah's sapphire and ruby talismans brilliantly glowed in the night and a silver thread of mist appeared and three mystical beings touched at the same moment.

Unbind and set free  
Unbind and set free  
Unbind and set free  
So mote it be.

The thick braid of silvery mist wrapped around Hawke's wrist and tightly snug itself to his tanned skin. And then, almost hypnotizing as it threaded its path, the blue and gold binds wove into the silver chain. Once the weaving ceased, the silver chain, now intertwined with yellow and blue ribbons, released its coil on Hawke and lifted into the air above them, hovering over their heads for a moment. As Sarah and Kirsten released their hold on Hawke, the braided chain disappeared.

The chain hadn't gone too far though, as Sarah felt it click into her threads wrapped around her soul and spirit. Dooriya's magick had gone home, to her. It was another gift. Thank you Dooriya, she mentally appreciated. Dooriya never did anything that wasn't part of the bigger picture. In this, Sarah trusted her more than ever.

"I feel... lighter." Hawke stumbled for the right word and a smile plastered across his features that showed he contained the same jovial spirit as his father, Warren. "Thank you."

"I apologize for my sins, children of The Trials," Tituba said, all attention refocusing upon her.

Kirsten and Sarah approached her, lacing their fingers back together as they did. As Kirsten stood to her left, Sarah noticed her ruby talisman glistening in the reflection of Kirsten's sea-blue gown.

"We forgive you," Kirsten spoke softly.

"I never realized, until this moment, the power true forgiveness held." Tituba's lips curved into a weak, humble smile. "Thank you."

As she began to fade into the evening air of All Hallow's Eve, Sarah heard Tituba's voice in her head. My child, your battle for your ancestor is not over. It has just begun and it will not be with me. Someone is watching you. Sarah's eyes widened at Tituba's placating stare as the witch drifted into the night air, into solace at last.

"Um, I'm not sure what just happened, but can we get back to the party now?" Callen's puzzled look told her, Kirsten and Hawke that he, Harry and Warren had not seen the binds break.

They all laughed at his question and Sarah replied, "Sure." Harry took her hand, the beloved hum of electricity weaving up their arms, and one-by-one they all left Dooriya's hidden chamber. Sarah stole one last glance at the heavy metal coffer along the far wall and made a mental note as Callen and Hawke returned the bookshelves to their home, closing the door on another one of Dooriya's secrets.

"You okay?" Harry whispered into her ear.

"Never better, my love."

Chapter Twenty-Six

"Where have you been? Everybody loves the inn! You are a raging success, Sarah!" Mat picked her up and twirled her in a gleeful happy dance. "And the food is the best part, obviously."

"Well, I had the best caterer and partner in crime, didn't I?" Sarah grinned back at the tall, scruffy-bearded man. Mat was such an integral part of her success. Like a brother, he'd mentored her on how to operate a business, train staff, find the right management and even helped in selecting the best breakfast menu. In actuality, she wanted him to be a partner in the business but he'd declined, saying their newborn baby girl was too much of a handful.

Ally approached them and Sarah noted the dark circles under her eyes. Her friend was wearing a plum sheath dress and in lieu of a mask, Ally had adorned her chocolate curls with lavender daisies. The effect was both simple and stunning.

"This party is amazing! You must be so proud!" Ally exclaimed as she enveloped Sarah into a hug.

Silver mist spun around Sarah's sapphire eyes as she saw the exact reason their baby girl was such a handful. In her mind's eye, she saw a tiny child with dark curls and large green eyes laying on her back with a mobile of stuffed animals levitating above her. Oh my, she thought. I should let Kirsten know. Maybe she can help them. Mat and Ally's baby girl, Bridget, was a teeny little witch.

Pulling away from Ally, Sarah empathized with them. She couldn't imagine having a child with gifts that didn't yet understand their meanings. Being an adult and discovering magick was scary enough for her. This winter was going to be more adventurous than Sarah had thought.

"Come on! We have lanterns to release, ladies!" Mat was a kid himself sometimes and was obviously excited for this. He pointed towards the bank that led down to the water's edge.

While Sarah was in the chamber breaking another one of Tituba's curses, Mat lined up tiki torches along the embankment. Firelight glowed and her own joy rose to the occasion.

"Let's do it!"

As Sarah, Harry, Kirsten, Callen, Mat and Ally led the party guests towards the torches, she glanced up to take in the glimmer of the crescent moon and thought of Dooriya. Looking down again, Sarah was startled to see that she and her ancestor were now alone underneath the blanket of sparkling stars.

"You have done well, my daughter's daughter. You have found love. And family. Yourself."

"I wish you could be here with us, Dooriya."

"But I am. I will always be with you, my dear."

Sarah's eyes watered as she realized the truth in Dooriya's words. "Does Hawke know he's my cousin, Dooriya?"

"Not yet. But now that he's unbound, be careful my child. Your magicks are stronger and you must use them wisely."

Sarah inhaled deeply, gazing at the moon once again. When her eyes lowered, she was standing next to Harry and holding a lantern. Glancing around, she saw Hawke and Warren holding their own lantern, blissfully happy and seemingly at peace.

As the crowd began to hold their lanterns over the torches, each one began to flicker to life and balloon over their heads. The effect was stunning as Sarah took in the scene above her. It made every guest at The Spellbound Inn's masquerade ball appear to be holding glowing stars in their hands. Serenity took over her mind and she stared into Harry's eyes.

"I love you, Harry."

"Not as much as I love you. Happy anniversary of our first date." The tall sailor leaned over and placed a longing kiss upon her lips. "Every mystical thing about you enchants me more and more, every minute of the day," he whispered.

A soft meow came at their feet as Hanks weaved his way through the crowd, clad in a tuxedo collar made of a shimmering azure fabric, and sat at their feet just as Mat began the countdown to midnight.

"Happy All Hallow's Eve," she told her precocious cat.

At the exact stroke of midnight, one hundred lanterns released into the starry night sky. The crowd removed their masks and cheered, for the effect was dazzling. Light was floating all around them and Sarah took in the happiness with her empath abilities. Never had she felt such a pure feeling of bliss from so many people at once.

Kirsten slung an arm around her shoulder and they smiled, so carefree in the moment and they let the events of the night slip out of their minds.

"Now that's magic, my friend."
CONCLUSION

Had someone told me a year ago how much my life would change after finding my ancestor, I wouldn't have believed them. The girl I used to be seems so far away from who I am now.

Confidence colors my demeanor and happiness lights my way. It sounds silly and cheesy, but realizing my true nature and finding love with Harry has given me so much in life after losing my parents. I'm grateful I found my family here in Salem.

More family than I bargained for, in reality. Hawke isn't aware of it yet, but the familiarity I sensed in him was the similarity in our bloodlines. I don't know, just now, where the connection links in the branches of our family trees, but finding out who his biological mother is will be the best place to start.

Dooriya's warning from All Hallow's Eve gives me pause. Do I want to let Hawke know of our ancestral correlation? Will he do to me as others did to Dooriya? Would he try to steal my magick?

Kirsten finally came clean to me about the tarot cards she'd pulled and her fear that she shouldn't trust me. When she pulled The High Priestess, the guidance that we were looking for was Betty's. We needed to know the truth of the child and the bindings, and only Betty Parris knew of this truth. The Star is the card that had cast her doubt on Dooriya and I. It's a natural assumption, I suppose, since we are Walkers. However, the weaver of dreams stirring up the conflict The Wheel of Fortune predicted was, in fact, none other than Tituba.

Tituba was held back from crossing over by serving a year of reflection for her atonement. Though a powerful witch, her pride in that she knew who to punish in her streak her revenge, and how, ultimately became her downfall. Not only had she tied herself to the Porter-Putnam curse, she'd hexed the wrong baby and ultimately bound Abigail Williams non-magical descendants. The bewitchment caused a dark personality on the family until the boundaries loosened. Warren no longer seemed like a grump, but a rather jovial chum who carried a twinkle in his eye.

We may never know the whole story of Betty's curse. It's clear that Tituba was haunting the dreams of a very pregnant Betty Parris, but evidently missed the fact that the baby she darkened with a magical hex wasn't a newborn. When I saw the vision, Betty was still pregnant when Dooriya bound the infant from Tituba's dark deed. Tituba blamed Betty for starting the accusations during The Trials and all she wanted was her former friend's apology. In reflection, this was so much revenge for what could have easily been such simple words of comfort for Betty to offer Tituba at one time. Perhaps, though, Betty needed longer to learn the repercussions of her actions.

Kirsten, who was supposed the be the spellbound descendent of The Trials, has been using magic for everything now that she felt a renewed sense of purpose in life. Learning that Callen wasn't terrified of her gifts was just an extra boon and now she held absolutely nothing back from him.

Harry and I were worried about Mat and Ally though. My friends still aren't aware that I know about baby Bridget and we weren't quite sure how to tell them. Kirsten was convinced she and I could just show them our own powers, but after seeing how overwhelmed they were about their teeny little witch, I wasn't sure that would work. Anything that wasn't normal seemed to completely overwhelm the small family.

As I sit here on my balcony, paint brush in hand and Hanks snoring on my feet, I paint the cascade of floating lights across a starry night sky – lit by a crescent moon – onto my canvas. The beauty of the scene from All Hallow's Eve had mesmerized me and I've decided to make the masquerade ball an annual event from now on.

I'm already looking forward to releasing lights over The Spellbound Inn next year. The moment was, and always will be, absolute magick.

Sarah Elizabelle Ellison

This Tale's End.

Aura's – What colors can mean

Red – Red aligns itself to the most powerful of colors and often is a fleeting color. The element attached to the color can be either positive or negative, as it can reference anger, lust, passion or even heart-related conditions as red also represents blood.

Pink – This color is often indicative of love and that of a sensual person. Pink can also indicate the owner of the aura as an artist or psychic. Dark pink, however, can mean dishonesty and immaturity.

Yellow – This color often indicates a playful nature, as well as inspiration and spiritual awakenings. A paler shade of yellow often indicates a repurposed sense of exhilaration or a spiritual ability discovered later in life; perhaps found on a spiritual journey of discovery.

Orange - People with orange auras can be the life of the party, but are also likely to be consumed by mood swings. Often scientific minds or those that have perfectionism needs carry an orange aura as well, as this color indicates a love for details and challenges in the mind and body.

Purple – Purple hues can be associated with those that daydream often. Often this aura reflects a compassionate and calm individual. Violet hues represent visionaries and indigo tones may show a seeker that can peer in-between worlds.

Blue – Blue can often represent a calm mannerism in moments of strife or crisis; clairvoyance and a deep sense of intuition.

Silver – Silver is supremely positive and often represents spiritual abundance.

Green – Green often reflects on those that find themselves to be healers, teachers or a natural communicator. A dark green could represent a jealous nature though.

White – White, often associated with angels, represents purity.

Black – Black can easily indicate anger, but it also symbolizes a change in energy, as well as an unforgiving nature.

Grey – Grey can often refer to blocked energy.

FUN FACTS ABOUT SPELLBOUND

This is a sequel to The Trials: Secrets, Spells and Tales. It's also the first chance readers get to view the story from Kirsten's perspective.

There are multiple times Kirsten uses Latin during her spellcasting: 'Peribolus' translates to 'Wall', 'Accendere' means 'To Light', and 'Virtus, et lumen. Verum ostendere, ostenderet voluntatem', translates to 'Power a light. Show the truth, show the will.

Kirsten takes gladiolus and frangipani flowers to the memorial of the witch trials. Gladiolus flowers represent faith, constancy, and believing in great blessings. Frangipani flowers represent celestial magic.

Sarah's amulets are made of sapphire, gold, silver and rubies. Sapphires symbolize the element of air and are considered very powerful as they protect against jealousy and envy, strengthen memories and are considered the talisman of wisdom. Gold represents the sun just as silver represents the moon. Rubies represent the element of fire and symbolize the ability to combat fears and overcome darkness, as well as love and happiness for the wearer.

Abigail Williams was born in 1680 and was thought to be the cousin of Betty Parris. There is no record of Abigail after 1697 and it has been presumed that she died after John Hale wrote that an afflicted girl from the trials suffered from "diabolical manifestation" until her death and died as a single woman. Technically, this could have been Abigail Williams, Mary Warren or Elizabeth Hubbard, as there's no record of any of these girls since 1697.

Betty Parris never did confess to her accusations. She married a man named Benjamin Baron in 1710 and gave birth to four children: Thomas, Elizabeth Jr., Catherine and Susanna. However, some websites note that she had five children and thus, a story idea was born.

Sleeping at Last's version of, "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic," is my ultimate writing inspiration for this book, as was Earl's, "Good Witch". I also love Nathen Lanier's, "Torn" and Within Temptations, "All I Need".

The name Sarah was chosen for the main character's name because Sarah was the most commonly repeated name on the accused list, totaling twenty-one Sarah's accused of witchcraft.

Ellison was chosen for Harry's last name because it's a family name. Sarah and Harry are married in this book.

Bridget was chosen as the name for Mat and Ally's daughter in dedication to Bridget Bishop, another accused from the trials in 1692.

Kirsten's name was selected because I was a super fan of Days of our Lives in 1999 when Kirsten Storms played Belle Black. Thanks for the hairstyle inspirations in eighth grade Kirsten!

Harry's name was chosen in dedication to my grandfather, Harold. I miss you every day Grandpa.

I just liked the name Callen – no reason needed.

I had a good friend Allison in middle school and her nickname was Ally. Mine was Lizzy.

Warren is also a family name in my ancestral tree many generations ago.

Magick is pronounced Mah-Geeek, (rhymes with chic).

Several things in the book were fan voted:

  * Hunter and Hawke were fan voted names and tied for first choice. Since a hawk is a predator, I found a way to incorporate both names into the story.

  * The ruby was chosen for the new talisman stone by Facebook voters amongst the choices ruby, amethyst or emerald.

  * Sarah and Kirsten's masquerade ball gown color options were also chosen by fan votes: black for Sarah and turquoise for Kirsten.

  * The book cover color was also FB voted. The choices were purple, orange, green or grey. Purple won.

The memorial Sarah and Kirsten visit on All Hallow's Eve is real and can be found in Danvers, Massachusetts.

It took me exactly ten months to write and complete this novel. The original outline was written on October 31, 2016 on a plane.

This is the first book cover I've designed on my own. I downloaded Photoshop and created it based on the concepts Mat Jennings (Blue Bamboo Creative) and I discussed for The Trials.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Major thanks to my parents! My Dad could be my book manager! I love that my books get passed around his office. Mom, thank you for being the first person to read my stories! Sorry that I always have so many mistakes!

Lindsey and Candace, THANK YOU for editing Spellbound! I appreciate and value your feedback!

Mat, Tony and Georgia, thank you for helping me learn Photoshop. Amateur does not even begin to describe my level with the program and your assistance was kind and very helpful!

My Russian, thank you for being my idea soundboard and my tech support. I'll pay you in homemade apple pies for life.

Facebook Fans, thank YOU for your feedback! You've made choices in this novel that will have an effect in Book 3...

To all my friends in the travel industry, thank you for reading my stories and being excited for my journey as an indie author. I value our friendships:)

Lastly, thank you Gordon Jewelers for selling my books locally in my hometown of Boonville, MO. As an indie author, your support is very generous and means the world to me.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Boonville, Missouri born and raised, Liz Rau now resides in Denver, Colorado. As an avid and passionate supporter of the performance arts community, Liz's background & hobbies include dance, choreography, theatre and writing.

With a Bachelor of Science degree in Mass Communications from Southeast Missouri State University, Liz continues her education in communications while currently employed in the sales field; and actively travels throughout the world to the places that inspire her. No one is ever poor when traveling enriches your life.

With six nieces & nephews, she often considers her role as an "Auntie" as one of her greatest pleasures in life. She also dotes on her two cats, one of which is black & fluffy...perhaps the real-life inspiration for Hanks?

October is Liz Rau's favorite month and time of year, and this season she will be posting #31DaysOfOctober on her website, so make sure to follow along at www.lizrauofficial.com.

Follow Liz Rau on social media!

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Other Liz Rau Books!

Pieces of Accordance (2016)

The Trials: Secrets, Spells & Tales (2016)

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pieces of accordance

pieces of accordance.

His eyes were still roaming over her. Sasha had felt uncomfortable from the moment the man strolled into the small corner coffee shop. She had been trying to write about her new Queen Anne Victorian house, just over on High Street, but hadn't gotten far when the door chimed and her eyes popped up in time to see him enter.

Gosh, he was handsome, unparalleled so. Sasha guessed he was thirty years old or so, and at least six feet tall. There was a phantom ache in her neck from the idea of what it would feel like to stare into his eyes. The blue-gray three piece suit he wore somehow accentuated his rugged frame, ginger-red hair and crystal blue eyes. The same eyes that pierced hers when she first saw him in the doorway - and she had sensed them on her ever since.

Just keep your head down, act like you're working, Sasha kept telling herself. Avoid attention. The pencil in her hand absentmindedly traced doodles in her notebook. Curious though, she thought. He looks Scottish but I didn't see a single freckle on his face. That's odd for a ginger-haired man. Taking an oversized gulp of her bittersweet mocha, Sasha bent her head down to her lap top once more and started typing.

Why is it so hard to concentrate? I just want to look at him again. He was not exiting her mind as she wished. Was she not used to his unusual eyes? That must be it. She was sure of it. His face was just a novelty.

"Is this seat taken?"

Sasha jumped in her chair, looking up into those pale blue eyes, only this time they were talking to her. She couldn't even speak, too startled from her thoughts. Was this a small town greeting? Nobody in the city would ever dare walk up to a stranger. Apparently, this is country hospitality, she smirked to herself.

Shaking her head, the pretty blue eyes breezily sat down across from her, and managed to not even so much as blink as it might break their gaze. The owner of the bakeshop smiled as she decorated a wedding cake. Sasha could feel the woman's giggle as though someone slapped her across the cheek, snapping her back into reality, and broke their staring contest by shutting her laptop.

"You're new here, right? I know everybody in this town."

The hypnotic blue eyes were so warm and generous. And they come with boyish dimples.

"My name's Henry." He stuck his hand out and showed off a smile so brilliant it could compete with his eyes. Almost.

Somehow she found her vocal cords. "Sasha. I just moved here from New York". Reaching across the table, she shook his hand and instantly became goosepimply all over. Sasha wasn't a believer in love at first site, or even love. But lust...well that was possible.

"Oh right, you bought the house just over on High Street?" The deep timber of his voice sent thrills up her spine.

She was taken aback and arched a curious eyebrow. "Yes that's right, but how did you know that?" Sasha wasn't the biggest fan of receiving attention.

Henry chuckled. "The whole town's talking about it. Don't you know?" He paused for her blush. "Nobody stays in that house very long. People are placing bets on you." His deep voice had an underlying and velvet-like Southern charm about it. It was soothing.

"Why? They don't even know me. I can handle a small town." Sasha folded her arm, her defensive side up and ready for anything the beautiful strange man could have to say. She didn't like being told the whole town was talking about her. It very much felt like judgment.

Henry's face blanched. He wasn't so attractive then, Sasha almost preferred it. "No! I'm sorry!" his hands offensively flew up, "that came out wrong. It's the house the townsfolk are gossiping about." Henry leaned forward. "You see...it's over a hundred years old and said to be haunted by its original mistress. Well, some people say that."

Sasha felt her defensive walls drop with ease. "And what do you say, Henry. Is it haunted?"

"No not in my opinion". He leaned back and took a sip of his tea.

Peppermint? Sasha recognized the smell from her grandmother's trunk, having found an old peppermint oil bottle that had leaked on the interior fabric lining. It was a wonderful reminder of her grandmother and now whenever she opened the lid to the trunk, the minty smell wafted through her senses.

"I think a house can choose its owner sometimes. But you are the one living there. What do you suspect?" he asked, taking another sip of tea.

It was Sasha's turned to grin, "That's how I feel. The house isn't haunted though, you can lay that rumor to rest. I did wonder how some of the original furniture was still there, now I know. It must have been abandoned, everything left behind."

"Have you searched the attic yet? Or the basement? Is it really unfinished?"

"Yes, it's stone. Someone has taken the time to update the plumbing and heating/cooling systems. The ducts are separate though, between stories, so I hope it won't be too expensive to heat." Why was she talking about plumbing and bills? What was wrong with her? Why do I ramble when I'm nervous!

There was an awkward silence between them as Sasha idly stirred her coffee without realizing it. Henry appeared to be studying her for an question he already knew the answer to. Sasha nervously chewed on her bottom lip and the silence grew.

"You can read people, can't you Sasha?"

Sasha was taken aback, but nodded her head in answering, "Yes." She allowed herself to gaze into his eyes then, and she felt her nervousness begin to melt. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because I rather got the impression you were people-watching, just before I entered the shop."

"I was. I like to know people's stories." She let go of her bottom lip.

"Really?" His interest piqued. "What do I do for a living?"

"Lawyer." There was no hesitation in her reply.

"That's amazing. How did you know that?"

A twinkle sparked in her eyes. "You're drinking tea, and there's not nearly as much caffeine in it as in coffee. It'd be awfully bad to be high strung in court. Also, your morning newspaper is turned to the police records, so you're probably wondering who'll be calling you this morning. The suit's pretty snazzy too."

Henry grinned and nodded, "Touché Sasha. Touché."

