"At times I almost dream
I too have spent a life the sages' way,
And tread once more familiar paths. Perchance
I perished in an arrogant self-reliance
Ages ago; and in that act a prayer
For one more chance went up so earnest, so
Instinct with better light let in by death,
That life was blotted out -- not so completely
But scattered wrecks enough of it remain,
Dim memories, as now, when once more seems
The goal in sight again."

~"Paracelsus" by Robert Browning

Prologue

The air felt heavy and stagnant, carrying the scent of salt musk from the sea. Though the watchman had returned to the upper decks for the night and not a soul save himself remained in the cargo bay, he sensed the glare of invisible, piercing eyes. Darkness closed in around him; but inside the dark, inside the inside, a spark lingered. Desperately he tried to hide from it, to draw himself so tightly behind a row of wooden packing crates that perhaps his shaking body would simply vanish into dust, spilling useless bones and blood into oblivion. But nothing could shut it out.

He closed his eyes and she was there, just as she had been for all his waking life—and unwaking life. Even before his heart stopped beating long ago, he had dreamt of her. “My muse, my goddess” he called her. Visions, impressions, and memories would kiss his eyelids as he slept, but when he woke, he could never remember her face. The sweet smell of her hair, the warmth of her soft body curled over his, the whisper of her breath—these things remained with him. More than once in his endless lifetime, he’d believed that he’d found her only to discover that she remained an elusive phantom. But now he knew. He knew because of the spark, and he remembered. He saw what had been, and he saw fractured pieces of what might be; and everything jumbled together into a tangled heap inside his broken mind. All he knew was that he needed to find her again. Soon he would be back—back to America.

Crimson water flowed through her fingers and pooled on the floor like liquid rose petals. Horrified, he pulled the knife from her grasp and cradled her palm in both of his.

“No,” she said, “Look.”

He watched as she slipped the blade beneath his flesh and gasped in surprise when her hand clasped his.

“Your blood is my blood. We are bound to one another. They cannot take that from us.”

Together their blood will be powerful.

“Stop. Stop. Stop. You show me just to take it away. You let me see what I can never have again,” he whimpered and cried out to the eyes in the darkness as the sounds and flashes violently assaulted him, “I don’t bloody want it, do you hear me?! Let me forget. Please God, I just want to forget.”

“One more night,” she whispered, tears heavy in her voice. Tears she only let him see. “I don’t want to face tomorrow without one more night with you.”

“I knew you and loved you and forgot you …She’ll never love me like this—not after what I’ve done. William is a bad man. He hurt the girl. Take it back. Please take it back.”

He lay sprawled on the floor of the Quick Mart while his life bled out of him.

“Don’t cry, love. And don’t forget the milk,” was all he could think to tell her.

“Blood. It’s always blood…That’s all life is,” he murmured as he drew a small knife from the pocket of his black leather duster. He tore his shirt from his body, drew the blade against his chest, and tried to cut it out.

~*~

Chapter 1

“For time is infinite, but the things in time, the concrete bodies are finite... Now, however long a time may pass, all configurations that have previously existed on this earth must yet meet, attract, repulse, kiss, and corrupt each other again... And thus it will happen one day that a man will be born again, just like me, and a woman will be born, just like you…”

~Heinrich Heine

“Today I came upon a stranger during my monthly journey to Wethersfield. For a fleeting moment, I thought her nothing more than a vision of my weary eyes…an angel meant to show me that purpose remains here, that light continues to balance the dark even if I have forgotten. When she saw me, I could plainly see a spark of recognition flare in her hazel eyes. We are the same, she and I. Strangers in this place…”

-~From the diary of William Wells; October 12, 1685

In her dreams, America had looked quite different. Elizabeth remembered lying awake in her straw bed at night and listening to soft whispers of the summer sea as pictures danced across her imagination. Behind her closed eyes, lush hills of emerald and amber stretched into the horizon. The town would be warm and friendly, and rows of colored cottages would have cheerful streams of smoke flowing from their stone chimneys. And there would be apple trees—of course there would be apple trees—bearing the brightest, most delicious fruit she’d ever tasted.

Dreams had forsaken her now, and the sting of reality brought tears to her eyes. Mother was dead. Her childhood was gone forever, but she did not yet know how to be a woman. The crystal blue skies and golden glow of Bermuda, her home since birth, had faded into memory in a matter of just a few short weeks. And now America, her beloved America, greeted her with dull browns and grays and heavy black clouds overhead. She shivered in response to the electric chill in the air, a totally foreign sensation, and pulled her shawl tightly about her slim shoulders. The garment was stitched together with patches of faded brown fabric, a perfect companion to the dreariness of her new world. Sullenly she glanced down at her plain, high-collared calico dress. It was like a costume, forcing her to pretend to be someone else. With a heavy heart, she thought of her last day at home.

Before packing her few chosen belongings for the long voyage, Nenna, the family cook, had grasped her arm and asked,

“What do you intend to wear, Miss Elizabeth, for your journey to Connecticut?”

In response, she had simply shrugged and gestured to her delicate gown made of crimson silk.

“Oh no, Miss. They think different up there. They’re not like us. I’ll make you something new, before you go—something right. ”

The old woman’s words had astonished Elizabeth. Why should anyone care about her dress? But now that she could finally see the land for herself, she began to understand what it meant to be part of it.

“Miss Summers? Beg your pardon Miss Summers, but it looks like rain’s coming soon. You should come below deck.”

She looked over her shoulder to see Alexander, the captain’s son, approaching. Of the ship’s few passengers, he had been the only one to bother speaking to her, and the two had forged a companionship over the previous weeks. With a sigh, she turned back to stare over the railing at the choppy, slate-colored water below.

“Miss Summers?” Alexander asked tentatively, now at her side.

“One moment, Mr. Alex. I am enjoying the fresh air…Will we be arriving soon?”

“I think ‘tis another hour or so up the river before we will arrive in Wethersfield,” he replied.

“Have you seen the town before?” she asked flatly.

“No, but I have seen the Bay Colony. I was born in Massachusetts and lived there a good while before my father got into the shipping business.”

“Does it always look like death?”

“Not always,” Alexander chuckled nervously, “The autumn here is actually quite lovely.”

“It is autumn now, is it not?”

“Well not quite yet. It’s only just past first harvest…You know you’re the only passenger we’ve had in a long time to spend the days on deck instead of below. Anyone ever told you you have good sea legs?”

Elizabeth smiled wistfully, inhaling deeply to enjoy the last bit of sea breeze before they traveled too far inland. “My father was a seaman. He used to take me sailing every day when I was a little girl.”

“That’s one thing you never lose Miss Summers, no matter how the years go by. Love of the sea, that is.”

“There’s no need for such formality, Mr. Alex. Please call me Miss Elizabeth. Or Miss Lizzie—that’s the name my mother called me.”

Alexander flinched at the mention of her mother, and his eyes shifted away from her gaze. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss—Miss Su—I mean Lizzie. In a way, I can understand—my mother passed away, several years back. At first I did not know how to go on without her, but you do…go on. Time makes it easier, I guess. I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you; first losing your mother and then immediately being uprooted from your home to live with an aunt and uncle you’ve never met. I—I’m sorry, you probably don’t wish to speak of such things. I’ll leave you to—“

“No it’s quite all right…I thank the Lord that Mother did not suffer in her passing. She was taken peacefully in her sleep. I hope you’re right—about it getting easier. My life has changed quickly, but…I suppose I will learn to be happy here. Mother always spoke kindly of Aunt Jenny. I’m sure she’s a dear woman.”

Icy, fat raindrops suddenly began to splatter across the wooden planks of the deck. Elizabeth took one last miserable look at the expressionless, wooded landscape beyond the riverbank and hurriedly followed the first mate to the chambers below.

---

Alexander offered his arm politely as Elizabeth struggled to lift the hem of her skirt and descend the narrow, slick steps gracefully. Once she stood safely on the dock, he retrieved her painted trunk from the deck, and with minimal grunting, hefted it to the ground beside her. The few other passengers that had remained after Saybrook Harbor had already begun to disperse up the hill toward town. Elizabeth took a few careful steps to see what America felt like under her feet and was soon surprised to find herself swaying beyond her control.

“Whoa easy there. Take it slow. It’ll be a few minutes before you get used to land again.”

“How strange…It’s almost as if the ground is rushing up beneath me. The horizon’s starting to spin.”

“I think you should sit down,” Alexander said, rushing to her side.

“No no I’m fine. I am not one of those girls, you know. Fainting all the time, requiring a man’s arm to steady her.”

“I would never think that about you.”

“I am just not used to living at sea for weeks on end. But I feel fine now, really. You may stop hovering.”

“Of course…Well we need to be off soon to make it to the next port on time, but I don’t want to leave you here by yourself. Do you know where you’re headed?”

Elizabeth’s heart thudded rapidly as her eyes scanned the bank for any sign of her relatives. She began to panic at the thought of being left alone.

“Shall I escort you in to town?” Alexander asked hopefully.

“No…thank you. They said they would be waiting. In the letter they told me they would be here when I arrived,” she said more to herself than to him.

Perhaps her new family had forgotten. What if they were not prepared for her arrival and never came for her? Elizabeth felt hopelessly lost and utterly alone. To make matters worse, a sprinkling of raindrops began to fall once more from the glowering clouds overhead.

“Aye, let’s go before a storm brews. We can find out where your aunt lives.”

“Elizabeth? Elizabeth Summers?” a shrill voice rang out from a short distance up the riverbank.

Elizabeth whirled around in surprise to see a young girl hurrying toward the docks. She looked about eleven or twelve years of age though quite tall for her youth. Her dark hair was pulled tightly under a lopsided white bonnet, and she wore a plain navy blue dress similar in make to the one Elizabeth wore and detested. As the girl began to run, she stumbled awkwardly in an attempt to simultaneously hold her shawl over her head as a mock shelter from the rain. The sleeves of her dress, obviously made too large for her bony frame, gathered around her upper arms to reveal knobby, bruised elbows. She skidded to a halt in the fresh mud and took a moment to catch her breath before offering Elizabeth a warm smile.

“Please forgive my tardiness,” she said with forced formality, complete with a rehearsed curtsy.

Elizabeth raised a curious brow, not wishing to be rude by posing her obvious question.

“I’m Dawn…Dawn Charlotte Redding? Your cousin. I guess Mother didn’t mention me in the letters. Well that’s not a surprise. Who’s he?” she asked, nodding to Alexander, “Your traveling escort?” she added coyly.

Alexander blushed, appearing flustered by the attention. “Oh no—I’m only—I work on the ship. In fact I should board soon so that we may keep schedule. I’ll take my leave, Miss Lizzie, unless you require assistance with your trunk?”

“I think we can manage it. Thank you for your help, Alex. I have enjoyed your company.”

“My pleasure Miss. Till we meet again,” he smiled shyly, removing his cap for a quick bow and nearly tripping over himself in the process.

“Goodbye. May your travels be blessed,” she waved as he departed in the direction of the anchored ship.

“Dawn—I’m sorry, I don’t believe your mother mentioned you in the letters; they were quite brief. But it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’ve been waiting forever for you to arrive! I have no brothers or sisters, so ever since Mother told me you were to live with us, I’ve been terribly excited to have a companion. If you should wish to be my companion—I promise I know how to be a lady. I’m really not just a silly child, though I suppose you wouldn’t know that from my behavior. Please do not tell mother that I was late…or that I ran down the bank or that I yelled. She’s always telling me I shouldn’t call at people as if they were cattle. You won’t tell her, will you?” Dawn went on a mile a minute, scarcely drawing a breath.

“Slow down. It’s all right—I promise not to say a word. And I’d like very much to be your companion.”

A great clap of thunder interrupted their introductions. “I think we should get to your home now, Dawn, before the weather becomes much worse. Can you help me carry this?”

The young girl eagerly bounded to one side of the trunk, and together they lifted it and started a slow trudge up the hill.

Not surprisingly, the town of Wethersfield looked nothing like it had in Elizabeth’s imagination. Instead of cozy, bright cottages, the buildings were made of dull, dark wood with layered, thatched roofs. Dawn led the way past streets made of dirt and cobblestone and lined with clustered box-like structures, most of them identical.

“The center of town is back that way. When we go to church or to the market or the blacksmith, we go down the main street. The mayor’s family lives in a brick house in the center near Town Hall. That’s where Father is now—discussing important business. They have gatherings every Saturday night. We live on the outskirts, because Father owns a good piece of land. Since he’s the Reverend, he was able to choose where we live.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth remarked in surprise, “I didn’t realize your father was a reverend. I don’t even…what is his name?”

“Reverend Nathaniel Redding.”

As they ambled onward, the hems of their dresses dragging through the muddy streets, the buildings grew increasingly sparse until fields of crops dominated the landscape. A dull, nagging ache spread across Elizabeth’s back. Her arms grew weary as well, and she realized that she simply did not have enough energy at the moment to match that of her young cousin.

“Dawn, I think I might need to stop and rest soon if it’s going to be much further,” she said breathlessly.

“We can’t stop now with the thunder getting closer. And we’re already here. This way,” Dawn instructed, turning down a winding path through tall grasses that led to a two-story house. Elizabeth’s spirits lifted slightly upon first seeing her new home. It was dull, yes, but seemed quaint enough, and it looked more like her idea of a country house than those box buildings in town. Two picture windows adorned either side of the front door, and a large vegetable and herb garden expanded from the left side of the house. An attractive woman wearing a stained, flour-covered apron bustled through the front door.

“There you are! I’ve been terribly worried over the two of you. Come inside out of this wretched weather. Oh my, I did not expect you to have such a large parcel, Elizabeth. Did you girls carry this all the way from the river?!”

“I—I’m sorry…I did not realize. I should have brought less,” Elizabeth muttered apologetically, feeling like an unwanted burden as she looked down at her filthy boots.

“Oh no dear, of course you wanted to bring as much of your home as you were able. The blame is on me; I should’ve sent the horses to pull your belongings. No matter now—come inside!”

As Elizabeth tentatively stepped through the door, she became instantly relieved to discover that it was warm inside. Soft heat radiated from the hearth in the kitchen, and the stew boiling in the pot smelled divine. After weeks of eating nothing but salted meat and dried fruit aboard the ship, Elizabeth welcomed the promise of a freshly cooked meal. She stood awkwardly in the entryway for a long moment, her eyes sweeping the interior of the house while Dawn chattered to her mother in the kitchen. The starkness of the rooms struck her immediately; she observed no artwork or décor of any kind. Only a few pieces of furniture stood in the common room across from the kitchen: two simple rocking chairs and a long table with benches on either side.

“You will be sleeping upstairs in the loft with Dawn,” Elizabeth’s aunt broke her reverie, “When the Reverend returns, he shall carry the trunk up for you, so you may leave it where it lies…Dawn, go and finish mending your father’s trousers. They must be in perfect condition for wear tomorrow.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dawn answered obediently, skipping up the steps two at a time.

“Walk, young lady.”

“Yes ma’am!” she hollered from the top of the landing.

“Insufferable,” the older woman mumbled under her breath, “Elizabeth, I’m sorry. Life is not always so hectic here. As I believe you already know, I’m Jenny, your mother’s sister.”

“Aye...I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Elizabeth replied, unsure if she should embrace her aunt, or if such a gesture would be deemed inappropriate. She opted instead to clasp her hands behind her back, because it seemed like the way a lady should stand.

“Your hair…do you not own a bonnet?”

“I beg your pardon?” Elizabeth asked as she self consciously touched her long, golden braid.

“You must wear your hair up in a bonnet at all times. You may borrow one of mine until you make one yourself.”

Elizabeth felt her throat tighten. She had never been taught how to sew. In Bermuda, Nenna had made her clothes and her mother had purchased her gowns from sea merchants. Jenny crossed her arms in front of her as she appraised her niece.

“You are very pretty.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied softly, though the comment did not quite sound like a compliment.

“Come help me with the cooking, dear. We must have the table set before the Reverend returns.”

“We continue her work despite the hopelessness...If the ignorant souls in that town had any idea of what I do for them, they wouldn’t shun me so hastily. Blindness will be their destruction…They won’t feel death if they fall asleep in the snow…Would it be evil to laugh at them?

~From the diary of William Wells; June 24th, 1685

---

With unpracticed, trembling fingers, Elizabeth imitated her aunt’s worn, skilled hands as she delicately cut the butter for cornmeal biscuits.

“I have wanted to meet you for many years, Elizabeth; ever since I received my sister’s letter telling us of your birth. It is a shame that tragedy finally brings us together.”

Unsure of how she should respond, Elizabeth kept her eyes buried in the task at hand and remained silent.

“I’m sorry for what you have lost,” Jenny continued, “I loved Joyce dearly, even though I had not seen her for nearly two decades…And now I will see her no more. But the past cannot be altered. The Lord leads us to our own ends to serve His purposes.”

“Were the two of you very close?” Elizabeth asked.

“We were inseparable when we were young, but…I did not agree with choices she made, and I am afraid we did not part on the best of terms.”

“You mean when she left the Bay Colony and moved to the Caribbean with my father?” Elizabeth spoke quickly, the words nearly running together, before she had the chance to decide against bringing up the scandalous topic. Joyce never shared much about her life in America, and Elizabeth had always longed to hear the romantic tale of her parents’ first meeting.

“Your father was a merchant and a Presbyterian. He was certainly not the man your grandparents chose for her.”

Elizabeth felt a flash of anger redden her cheeks. Her father, Hans Summers, had been killed at sea during a European voyage when she was only a small child. He had always been dear to her, imbuing her with his love of the sea, and she did not wish to hear anyone speak ill of him.

“I am a Presbyterian,” Elizabeth declared, feeling bolder.

Jenny looked up from rolling the dough, startled, and stated softly but firmly, “You will not say that again in this house.”

--

While Elizabeth set the bowls and flatware in proper order on the dinner table, a sudden gust of cool, damp air blew into the common room as the heavy front door swung open. A dark figure clad in a long cloak hurried inside out of the storm.

“Nathaniel! Goodness, I thought that meeting would carry on all night,” Jenny exclaimed as she emerged from the kitchen to take her husband’s hat and cloak before kissing his cheek. “What did you accomplish?”

Elizabeth stood stiffly beside the table with some apprehension, waiting to be introduced to her uncle. He failed to notice her quiet presence, however, and followed his wife into the kitchen.

“Oh, nothing but the usual business. There was much banter regarding the policies of the new governor, as I predicted. They’re calling him a Royalist, you know. He seems to favor the Crown’s opinions over allegiance to the colonies.” The raspy baritone of his voice sent a chill down Elizabeth’s spine, though she did not know why it should.

Jenny’s tone dropped to a hush so that her niece could scarcely make out the words that followed.

“Did anyone comment on…what occurred a few nights ago?”

“No, and there was certainly no reason to,” he whispered.

“But Mr. Townsend—“

“Is dead, Jenny.”

“Perhaps you should ride up to the pond to see if they’re up to anything.”

“No, I will not. There’s no need.”

“I still cannot believe you let that man—“

“Jenny!” he hissed more loudly, “I will not discuss this matter any further, nor will I stand for nonsense.”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose in perplexity, wondering at the conversation she was not meant to hear. Her own nerves, however, temporarily overwhelmed her curiosity.

“Yes…Yes, of course. Elizabeth, come here please,” Jenny called.

Elizabeth reluctantly passed into the opposite room and obediently stood before her aunt.

“Nathaniel, may I present my sister’s daughter, Miss Elizabeth Summers.”

The Reverend’s dark eyes flashed and his heavy brows furrowed as he seemed to carefully scrutinize her appearance. Elizabeth knew she looked strange to all of them with her golden hair and sun-tanned skin, and she desperately longed to flee and cover herself from the critical glares. When his silence became too suffocating to bear, she glanced up nervously. He had a regal appearance and possessed an attractive physicality for a man of more advanced age, though something in his countenance made her uneasy. His features, though handsome, were both striking and weathered; and she noted an old scar that ran from the corner of his eye across his cheek. Strands of silver shone in his dark hair.

She felt the need to speak out of her discomfort and found that her voice shook. “Thank you, sir, for opening your home to me.”

“You described a child, Jenny. She is much older than I anticipated. What is your age, Elizabeth?”

“I am not yet eighteen.”

“And why have you not married?” he asked coolly.

“I—I do not know.”

“We shall see about introducing you to the community so that you might acquire a suitor. You have reached an age where you should be running a household of your own. I cannot support you for very long, Elizabeth.”

“I…yes sir.”

“And I hope you have brought other apparel. This clothing will not be appropriate.”

“She will borrow some of my garments until she crafts her own. It will not be a problem, Nathaniel,” Jenny assured.

“I should hope not.”

--

Elizabeth folded her hands carefully on the table and stared down at her lap. Occasionally she took an inconspicuous peek at Jenny and Dawn to be sure she followed their movements precisely. Reverend Nathaniel stood at the head of the table, reading from the Book of Psalms. Apparently this was a household ritual before meals. The family had automatically taken their respective places at the table without saying a word, almost as though they were characters in a drama that played the same story every day.

“The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, and he delighteth in his way. Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down; for the Lord upholdeth him with his hand. Amen.”

“Amen,” Elizabeth echoed awkwardly with her aunt and cousin.

After Nathaniel took his seat, Jenny began to scoop a ladle into the pot of vegetable stew and filled each bowl. The women waited for the Reverend to begin his meal before they helped themselves.

“This is delicious, Jenny, and just what I needed on such a cold and dreary evening,” he nodded in approval. Elizabeth felt grateful to at last have the ritualistic silence broken.

“Yes it is quite good,” Elizabeth agreed, “It’s been so long since I’ve had the privilege of enjoying a cooked meal.”

She instantly knew she’d done something wrong when she was answered with a heavy hush and downcast eyes from everyone at the table.

“Elizabeth, you must not speak unless your opinion is required directly,” Jenny corrected softly, “She will learn quickly, Nathaniel.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks burned with anger and humiliation. How can I learn when you neglect to tell me what is expected? I just want to go home, far away from this town and its absurd rules.

She pursed her lips to keep herself from expressing her opinions, and instead focused on blowing her spoon lightly to cool the scalding broth. They ate on in a formal silence, which Elizabeth found both bizarre and quite sad. Her mother’s table had been a place of warmth and community where friendly discussion was always welcomed and encouraged. Joyce’s reasons for leaving this frigid place were becoming quite clear to her daughter. Elizabeth imagined her mother, once young and beautiful, her hair long and golden, being carried away from the dull misery of her life by the handsome sea-faring traveler Hans Summers…Perhaps one day a mysterious rescuer would come for Elizabeth as well; someone with whom she could sail the open sea, someone who would show her exotic places, someone who would not look on her with disdain, but rather with love and admiration. The notion was silly and childish, of course, but maybe fragile faith was enough to keep her spirit alive while she pretended to belong in this world.

Lost in her thoughts, she reached across the table carefully for the tray of biscuits, but soon realized it was just outside her grasp.

“Dawn, would you please pass the biscuits?”

As soon as the words escaped her lips, Elizabeth bit her tongue in horror. She thought she might simply apologize and that maybe they could forgive her this first day—but no, they would not. These people had an odd manner of social education.

“Leave this table at once,” the Reverend said gruffly under his breath.

“But sir, I did not intend—“

“I will not repeat myself, Elizabeth.”

Before hot streams of tears had a chance to cascade down her cheeks, Elizabeth fled from the room. Her feet carried her swiftly up the staircase and into the darkened loft bedroom that she would share with her cousin. She flung herself upon one of the small cots, buried her face in the quilt, and sobbed unapologetically. She cried for her mother, for her father, for Nenna, for all the friends she’d left behind, and for her beloved Bermuda, which, now she knew for certain, she would never see again.

--

“Elizabeth…Lizzie? It’s just me—Dawn. Are you all right?”

Gentle fingers stroked her back and smoothed tangled wisps of hair from the nape of her neck. Elizabeth shifted onto her side, propping her head up on her fist. She rubbed her eyes to clear her blurry vision and tried to muster a grateful smile for her cousin.

“I’m fine,” she said numbly, her voice hoarse with tears and fatigue.

“I brought you a biscuit and some warm milk. I mean, since you didn’t finish dinner…” Dawn gestured to the tray she’d placed on the wooden stool between the two beds. The room seemed friendlier in the warm glow of candle light.

“Thank you. Oh, am I on your bed?”

“No. That’s the one Mother made up for you.”

Elizabeth sat up slowly, her head throbbing. She must have been laying there for a long while. “What time is it?” she asked.

“Late. It’s after my bed time…are you sure you’re all right? Listen, Mother and Father aren’t bad people, Lizzie. Father is just strict because religion and propriety are very important to him. He wants to keep an orderly household is all.”

“Of course your parents aren’t bad people, I just…this place, everything about it is so different from what I know,” Elizabeth murmured as she took small sips from the tin cup.

“You’ll grow to like it once you get to know the town. Everyone’s nice, and we all care about each other. You’ll make friends soon, I promise.”

“I’m sure I will.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re feeling better. Well, I suppose we should get to sleep soon,” Dawn said as she pulled the covers back and climbed into her bed, “We have to be up early in the morning for church.”

Apprehension tightened Elizabeth’s chest as she pondered what church would be like in Wethersfield. She groaned inwardly.

--

Disoriented, she blinked her eyes and peered into the blackness of the small room. The candles had been extinguished long ago, and Dawn breathed slowly and evenly beside her, snoring lightly. Hushed voices emanated from downstairs, and holding her breath, Elizabeth strained to hear.

“…Nothing but trouble.”

“She’s grieving now Nathan, you must understand—“
“I understand—I understand that she is just like her mother.”

“But she can be disciplined.”

“After all these strange occurrences…and now with her being here…something is coming.”

“Whatever stirs…it has nothing to do with her arrival. She is my blood, Nathan. And you were uncharitable to her this evening. Dismissing her from the table was simply uncalled—“

“The girl is wrong. I knew it from the moment I first saw her.”

Elizabeth snorted. Just because she was different from them, that made her wrong? Surely one could commit a greater sin than being born a Presbyterian. Resolute to remain unscathed by the sting of their harsh and strange words, she pulled the quilt over her head in an effort to shut them out.

“I know quite well I shouldn’t think this way. Surely it will knock me out of my head if I don’t ‘move past my personal tragedy, do what I can with the resources I have, and continue the mission.’ His sodding words, not mine. Every night I see it happen—in my dreams, with my waking eyes…I’m running on a moonless eve, running so fast I can’t breathe, so fast I can’t feel anything but my own blood pounding in my veins. Just before I reach the clearing, my boot catches under a tree root, and I tumble to my knees. Brambles and thorns snag holes in my breeches, drawing blood. Then she screams my name. After that it is always the same. And I wonder…could I have done something differently? What if I had arrived thirty seconds earlier? What if I hadn’t fallen on that bloody root?...What if I were stronger? Every night I wonder…”

~From the diary of William Wells; April 14th, 1685

--

“Elizabeth, hold still. I’ll never get these pins in place with you moving your head every which way,” Jenny sighed in exasperation.

The morning was off to a late start, though Elizabeth was quite shocked to find that anyone deemed six a.m. “late”. Jenny and Nathaniel had accidentally overslept, no doubt due to their late-night conferencing of which their niece had caught only a tidbit. Naturally Jenny seemed quite put out when she remembered that her niece required a dress and bonnet to borrow, and grew even more irritated when Elizabeth meekly admitted to having difficulty tying her hair into the proper bun.

“Oh honestly, this is a mess. I’ll have to start again,” the elder woman seethed.

Elizabeth flinched, trying desperately not to yelp as her aunt brusquely pulled hairpins from her scalp. Gradually her abundant hair cascaded past her shoulders and fell in silken waves down her back. Tears welled in her eyes as Jenny pulled the comb through her locks in preparation to start with the pins again.

Be still be still, Elizabeth chanted to herself as her nose began to twitch, begging for a scratch. The girl staring back from Jenny’s dressmaker’s mirror looked like a distant relative of her former self. The black dress she had borrowed from her aunt fitted like a burlap sack. The sleeves and hem were far too long for her petite frame, and the bust was quite large, causing Elizabeth to look like a little girl under the bulky fabric.

“There,” Jenny said, sliding the final pin in place. “You should find a white bonnet in the top drawer of the bureau. Join us outside when you are ready.”

Bonnet in place, Elizabeth stood before the mirror, turned sideways, and observed her shabby new reflection. What would you say, Mother, if you could see me now?

--

“We sit in back with the other women and children. There will be reading responses in the service, but you mustn’t read aloud. Remember, we aren’t supposed to speak at all. Just don’t say anything and you will be fine,” Dawn whispered loudly, reiterating her warnings for the tenth time before they filed into the chapel.

“Yes I know, but you never explained why—“

“Lizzie—quiet. As in no sound,” she chastised with a smirk.

Jenny turned sharply at their hushed chatter and threw each girl a glare that could cut stone. Placing her hands firmly on Elizabeth’s shoulders, she guided her niece into a pew as if she were herding cattle. Once seated on the cold, wooden bench, Elizabeth sat up so straightly that her back ached; and she balled her hands into fists in a conscious attempt not to fidget. She’d had enough of her aunt’s corrections for one morning. A soft nudge from the elbow beside her nearly caused her to jump out of her skin. Elizabeth quickly looked up to see the sympathetic, smiling face of a young woman around her own age. Relieved at the prospect of discovering a potential friend in Wethersfield, she returned the warm smile and nodded a polite greeting. But before she had a chance to introduce herself, both girls were forced to resume formal posture when Reverend Nathaniel’s normally raspy, soft voice boomed from the pulpit.

“Our first reading is from John chapter three. Please retrieve your bibles and follow accordingly.”

--

Despite her attempts to sit up straight, Elizabeth felt herself slouching more and more as the service dragged on. Each time her aunt threw a stern glower her way, she did her best to appear attentive, though her mind drifted elsewhere of it own accord. When at last the Reverend began his sermon, it required all of Elizabeth’s willpower to listen to his words carefully instead of slipping into a doze. Since she assumed she would likely be asked to comment on the contents of the message, she definitely did not wish to go unprepared. After an introductory line or two, Reverend Nathaniel abruptly slammed the bible shut on the lectern, instantly garnering the attention of everyone present. Elizabeth flinched, her innate apprehension of him growing.

“Brothers and sisters, I needn’t remind you that we have entered an age of darkness that Christ our Lord shall dispel upon his second coming on this Earth. But until we see that glorious day, let me caution you to take care. There is evil in this world. The forces of Lucifer are unrelenting, and they will do anything in their power to ensnare you. But be comforted…because through prayer as well as through our own deeds, we have the power to protect ourselves. Many of you have expressed fears that the devil’s followers walk among us; that through a series of bad omens, the dark arts are encroaching upon our homes. To that I say this: the devil works his will in many ways, gossip being one of them. I will not tolerate any further inquiries, accusations, or useless speculations. This behavior is sinful, and your Father shall not stand for it. I will not say there is nothing to fear. Instead I will say this: as long as the Lord is with us, what can be against us? I will also add that there is no reason for any of you to be out of doors after seven in the evening. Anything you might do outside your homes at that hour will be considered sinful and you will be justly punished.”

He then transitioned immediately to the topic of the gospel lesson as though nothing were amiss. Elizabeth didn’t bother to pay attention as she tried to wrap her mind around his warnings. He’d said something the night before—strange occurrences, something coming…And why should he enforce a curfew for such an arbitrary hour unless there was a specific—

Just then she received a sharp poke in her upper arm and turned to see her aunt mouth the word “listen.” Realizing that the church service was probably not the best time or place to ponder and daydream, Elizabeth resigned to question the matter later.

After the benediction was finally given, the congregation began to disperse. Although she felt odd about the gesture, Elizabeth imitated the line of women before her and shook her uncle’s hand on her way out into the churchyard. The Reverend offered his niece the same cold “good day” he’d given to the other parishioners as if she were not a member of his own household. Surprisingly the morning was clear and fresh, showing no evidence of lingering rain from the night before. Crisp, early autumn sunshine glittered through branches of ancient oaks, and the sky shone an icy blue. The brighter weather gave Elizabeth a sense of renewed hope. Maybe she could be happy here after adjusting to the peculiar way of life. America would never be beautiful like her Bermuda, but it possessed a sort of regal loveliness in its own right.

While she waited for Jenny and Dawn to emerge from the chapel, she shyly glanced about the clumps of strangers surrounding her, speaking in small groups about such matters as “the Royalists”, “working the onion fields”, and “the new school”. She thought she caught a hushed whisper regarding something about a “Townsend family”, but those engaged in the conversation grew silent as she drew closer. Across the grassy yard, Elizabeth spotted the girl who had sat beside her in the service standing alone, appearing as lost and awkward as she herself felt. Quickly milling through the crowd, Elizabeth raised her arm to grasp the girl’s attention, and the two young women met before the front stairs of the church.

“Hello, I wished to introduce myself after the service, but I found you’d disappeared. My name’s—“

“Aye, I know who you are. The Reverend’s niece, Elizabeth Summers,” the girl said timidly, dropping her blue eyes.

“Oh really, I—I only just arrived yesterday evening. I’m surprised you would recognize me,” Elizabeth replied, a bit flustered.

“Word travels quickly in Wethersfield. Is it true that you came all the way from Bermuda?” the girl asked, her voice full of awe.

“Aye it was quite a long voyage.”

“I could hardly dream of a place so exotic! Oh I’m sorry, I um, my name is Tara. Stephen Maclay’s eldest daughter. My family recently moved from the Bay, so um, I know what it’s like to be new here. If you ever need someone to talk to about anything…”

“Thank you for your kindness, Tara. I would like very much to have a friend.”

Tara smiled, “Good then. Well, I suppose I should find Pa before he wonders where I’ve run off to. You’ll be at the bible study, I presume?”

“Bible study?”

“Young women’s bible study meets every Sunday afternoon at one of the houses in town. Dawn attends regularly, so…”

“I guess I’ll see you there then,” Elizabeth said, repressing a groan. Honestly, how much bible studying was she expected to do in a day?

“Till then,” Tara replied with a nod before stepping into the swarming group of church-goers.

--

Wrinkling her nose in bewilderment, Elizabeth again leaned over to whisper in Dawn’s ear, “A conversion? But if women are unable to speak in church, how on earth am I supposed to—“

“Elizabeth Summers, if you have any confusion regarding the lesson, I would ask that you please address your question to the group,” the leader of the discussion, Miss Eve Thompson, interjected haughtily.

The bible study had scarcely begun, and already Elizabeth couldn’t help but despise the woman, with her pointy chin and sparkling green eyes as wicked as a cat’s.

“Elizabeth?” she crooned, pursing her full pink lips and drumming her fingers impatiently on the bible resting in the crook of her arm.

“Um,” Elizabeth began uncertainly, rising to her feet. Across the circle, Tara gave her a supportive half-smile behind Eve’s back. “I am having difficulty with the whole matter of conversion. In order to be accepted into the faith and Christ’s family, I must provide evidence before the church that the Lord has worked in my life.”

“Yes that is correct,” Eve answered sharply, “I do not see the difficulty.”

“My difficulty is…if I cannot speak in church, how may I present evidence to the congregation?”

“You may make your conversion before this group when you are ready. As women, we may not fully become members of the congregation as punishment for the first mother’s great transgression.”

Elizabeth felt fury bubbling within and gritted her teeth to contain it behind her lips. “I am sorry, but that concept makes little sense to me. I, nor any one of you, should be held responsible for what Eve may or may not have done.”

A cacophony of shocked whispers erupted around the circle.

“You would do well to mind your tongue, Elizabeth. I am sure your uncle would not want to learn that you have questioned the church.”

“I am not questioning the church, I simply do not—“

“I think I understand,” Tara interrupted boldly. All eyes flew instantly to the typically quiet girl. “E—Elizabeth has never before encountered our faith, and she will need guidance in learning. I was a Quaker in Massachusetts, and the transition to a new path was not an easy one. As our Lord teaches us, we must not be quick to judge.”

Elizabeth met Tara’s gaze and smiled a “thank you”. The comment seemed to take Eve by surprise, and she responded with less confidence, “You do present a good point, Tara. In the future Elizabeth, please do not interrupt a lesson with unrelated questions.”
Realizing that her inquiries would never receive logical answers, Elizabeth returned to her seat and opened her bible to the correct chapter.

“We will now continue our reading from the Gospel of Mark. Elizabeth, go on from verse nine, and we shall recite clockwise around the circle.”

Elizabeth scanned a finger down the onion skin page and read aloud, “And Jesus asked him, what is thy name? And he answered, saying, My name is Legion: for we are many. And the unclean spirits went out, and entered into the swine: and the herd ran violently down a steep place into the sea …”

Once she had finished the passage, she paused to wait for Dawn to continue; but instead of reading the next verse, her cousin averted her eyes from the page and nervously twirled an errant strand of her dark hair around her finger. Eve cleared her throat to break the silence, and the girl seated on the other side of Dawn startled to find the correct line. Elizabeth studied her cousin in astonishment. A girl of her age should be proficient in reading English and Latin texts, and Dawn seemed both intelligent and intuitive. The fact that she should have such apparent difficulty in reciting a simple…Elizabeth’s confusion soon turned to incredulity as the situation suddenly grew clear in her mind.

--

“I’ve never heard anything so absurd in my life! He refuses to let you attend school?” Elizabeth cried in disbelief.

She paced about the small, loft bedroom while Dawn watched her from the bed.

“Sit down or you’ll wake Mother and Father with your stomping. Not to mention, you’re making me dizzy, Lizzie,” she giggled, “Dizzy Lizzie.”

Elizabeth flopped onto her bed and swiveled around to face her cousin. “All right, I’m calm. Explain this to me.”

“Father believes that it is useless to educate a woman, since she only needs to look after her husband’s home and bear his children. He says God intended for men to care for women, since males are the stronger and superior sex, guaranteeing them a place in Heaven—unlike us. A woman who knows more than she aught is dangerous—that’s what Father believes, anyway.”

“I could strangle your father, you know that?” Elizabeth drew a deep, shaky breath to keep her fury in check. “I’m sorry, Dawn. I understand that people here think differently than what I’m used to—and I’m trying to learn, to be accepting, to fit in, I really am; but some things are simply wrong despite perspective. You must agree with me in that. Can you honestly say that because your father is a man, he is somehow better than you and your mother? Should that give him the right to an education and to take that right away from you? And how can he presume to speak for God? I was taught to believe that we are all equal in God’s eyes.”

Dawn sighed, “You’re right. I know you’re right, but what am I to do? He’s my father Lizzie, and I must abide his rules while living under his roof. I can’t just go to school because it’s what I want.”

“Maybe not, but…wait a minute!”

Giddy with excitement, Elizabeth bounded to the foot of the bed to dig through the contents of her trunk.

“What?” Dawn asked, crawling to the edge of her bed.

Grinning at her scheme, Elizabeth lifted a heavy book from the bottom of the trunk and placed it on her cousin’s lap.

“What is this?”

“My favorite story. It’s called The Odyssey—a legend of the ancient Greeks. The tale is very exciting; it’s about monsters and lovers and wars and a long voyage at sea.”

“That sounds wonderful! We don’t have books like that here; everything we study is about the Lord…will you read it to me?”

“No. You’re going to read it to me.”

“But I can’t, you know that!”

“You will. I’m going to teach you. We will start with reading and writing your letters and then keep practicing until you can read every word in this book.”

“When would we do that? If Father ever found out—“

“He won’t find out. We can have a lesson every night before bed, how does that sound?”

“Oh Lizzie, I would be so grateful—but it would be such a burden for you. I do not wish to impose…”

“Don’t be ridiculous! It was my idea, was it not? And how about this, if it would make you feel better: in exchange for me teaching you how to read, you teach me how to sew.”

Dawn pondered the offer, and then beamed, extending her hand. “Deal,” she said.

“The night belongs to me. Under cover of shadows, I walk the streets of this town as just another creature living in darkness. None could discern me from the others … There is a soft yellow glow in her window tonight, though it is long past the witching hour. A strange desire tugs at my heart. I want to save her, even if I do nothing but watch these woods, even if she never knows my name…”

~From the diary of William Wells; October 15th, 1685


Weeks of late summer flew by, and second harvest drew closer as autumn reached its pinnacle. Alexander had been right—autumn in New England was breathtakingly beautiful. Elizabeth found great pleasure in her daily outdoor chores, especially tending the animals. The days were bright and clear, and the leaves turned to vivid shades of gold, copper, and ruby red. New customs and rituals slowly became routine, though Elizabeth still found many of them absurd. At least she was learning how to belong, and to her, that was something. She felt both accomplished and proud of her work.

After an endless day in early October spent working the fields, preparing meals, and practicing needle work, Elizabeth collapsed on her bed in exhausted relief. Working from dawn till dusk was definitely a new challenge. Just as she closed her eyes to settle into a deep sleep, she awoke with a start to the jostling of the mattress. Dawn hovered above, bouncing lightly on her knees.

“Are you going to sleep in your clothes tonight?”

“Mmm no,” Elizabeth yawned, sitting up slowly, “I should put on my shift.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Hmm?”

“Lessons, Elizabeth. You have to show me the progress you’ve made on the bonnet. And then we have to work on my verbs.”

“Oh very well. I’m awake,” Elizabeth mumbled in defeat.

--

The cousins worked far into the night until the taper candles burned down and they had no choice but to turn in. For a long while after Dawn began snoring softly, Elizabeth tossed and turned on the thin mattress, unable to get to sleep despite her weariness. She finally just folded her arms behind her head and crossed her ankles, staring up at the wooden beams on the ceiling. Back home, she used to lay on the beach at night in this contemplative pose, watching the constellations above and wondering what her future might bring. Sometimes Mother would accompany her and tell her stories of kings and queens on distant shores …Gusts of wind whistled through the trees outside; and the melancholic sound reminded her of the ocean in winter. Sighing wistfully, she remembered how much she missed the sea. The kiss of the sun on her bare shoulders, the velvet touch of sand trickling between her toes, the weightlessness of floating on crystal waves…though she had developed a certain fondness for her new home, she wondered longingly if she would ever again see the land of her birth.

The wind increased its intensity, threatening an oncoming storm, and through the sound of blowing leaves, Elizabeth could have sworn she heard the crying of a child. Startled, she rose to peek out the small, circular window. Beyond the nearby field close to the stables, she saw—or sensed—a shadow. Unsure of what possessed her to do so, she tiptoed out of the loft, down the stairs, threw the latch on the front door, and stepped into the chilly night.

No moon lit the sky, so Elizabeth navigated the terrain by starlight. As the wind picked up, her hair began to pull out of the loose braid until errant golden strands the color of corn silk billowed across her face and into her eyes. She hugged her middle to provide some warmth as her thin cotton shift blew around her bare legs. If she were caught by her aunt and uncle traipsing outside after curfew half-clothed, the consequences would no doubt be severe. But some desire or foreboding curiosity drove her onward. She winced several times as stones and twigs pricked the soles of her feet. A little more than halfway across the field, she heard it once more, and this time it was perfectly clear—the scream of a small babe. Elizabeth ran toward the cry, beyond the stables and into the woods. And there among a grove of pine trees, she knew the shadow lurked. It stopped when it seemed to sense her presence, dropped the bundle in its arms, and showed its face. Elizabeth felt paralyzed; time ceased to move forward. She saw it for only a split second before it was gone, and what she saw, she could not reason. The face was pale, ghastly, inhuman. Its eyes flashed gold in the starlight, and a thin line of crimson dripped from its lips.

--

“Elizabeth! Lizzie, wake up! You were supposed to cook the porridge for breakfast, and Mother is cross! Shall I tell her you are ill?”

Elizabeth gasped and flew upright, placing her palm against her thundering heart.

“Are you all right, Lizzie? You aren’t really ill, are you?”

Dawn gaped at her cousin from the foot of her bed, her brows knitted in worry.

“No, I’m fine. It was just a dream. A nightmare. But I’m quite all right now. Apologize to Aunt Jenny for me and tell her I’ll be down straightaway.”

After her cousin left the room, Elizabeth carefully sat up in bed and rubbed her temples in an effort to force the memory of that face out of her mind. It was only a nightmare. Swinging her legs reluctantly to the chilly floorboards, she found herself drawn toward the window. Her hands shook in trepidation as she peeked outside into the dense morning fog hanging over the fields. Everything looked the same. She saw no shadow. Of course, what was I expecting? Grow up, Elizabeth.

--

“You look haggard, Elizabeth. Have you not been sleeping well?” Jenny remarked as she served her niece a bowl of porridge after the rest of the family had already eaten.

“I’m all right. I guess I’m just not used to the cold weather.”

“You’ll need to become accustomed to it quickly. In just a bit over a month from now, the snows will come in from the north.”

“I’ve never seen snow before.”

“Well you shall see plenty of it before the April thaw…You know, I don’t think you should work the fields or the garden today, Elizabeth, in case you have an illness upon you. Do you feel up to running some quick errands for me instead?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll make a list for you. Come back as soon as you’re finished—no dawdling in town. I want you to rest for most of the day.”

“Yes, Aunt Jenny.”

--

Leaving the feed store with a basket of newly purchased supplies for the animals in tow, Elizabeth strolled toward the northern end of the main street in the direction of her final stop at the general store for a jar of beeswax. On her way, she dug through her satchel to be sure she hadn’t accidentally dropped the extra coins Jenny had given her from the month’s rag money. Glancing up to see the shop just across the street, Elizabeth stepped into the road.

“Good morning, Miss Summers!” a woman called from a passing buggy.

Elizabeth smiled, recognizing Tara’s mother. “The same to you, Mrs. Maclay!” she called warmly.

“Shall we be seeing you at church on Saturday for the corn husking festival?”

“Aye, ma’am, I wouldn’t miss it!”

“Wonderful! It’s always a splendid occasion for the young people. And I know Tara will be excited to see you there. My regards to the family,” Mrs. Maclay called as she pulled her horses onward.

“Good day,” Elizabeth replied with a wave.

Her eyes followed the buggy as it departed, causing her to unknowingly step into the direct path of a cantering red mare. The horse and its rider seemed to materialize out of nowhere; Elizabeth did not even hear the animal until it had nearly crashed into her. Frightened, she cried out instinctively and dashed out of the way, dropping her parcels and sending the horse into a wild panic. The mare reared up in agitation, and as Elizabeth quickly skittered about to retrieve her belongings, she could hear the horse’s owner gently calming the distressed animal.

“Easy Sunshine, easy. You’re okay, luv.”

When the horse finally seemed controlled, the man hollered in Elizabeth’s direction, “You oughtta mind where you’re walking, girl. Especially in the road.”

“I am terribly sorry. I didn’t see—“

She looked up then into a pair of sad, clouded blue eyes. Silently he knelt before her to help gather the scattered items into her basket. For a brief second, his fingers brushed hers, and Elizabeth felt a prickling on the back of her neck. After her parcels were in proper order, she stood hastily and intended to simply thank him, apologize once more, and then resume her business. However she found herself momentarily unable to move or produce sound. All she could do was rudely gape at him. Her eyes took him in slowly—high, gaunt cheek bones, curly dark hair, almost boyish features…but with the weight of age behind them…Something about him felt oddly familiar for reasons she could not explain. A chill ran down her spine as if she was seeing a ghost or someone was walking across her grave. He said nothing, and held her gaze so intensely that she had to drop her chin and look away. Strangely unsettled, she quickly nodded her thanks and fled in the direction of the general store without looking back.

Once inside, she pretended to examine a display of colored glass beads in the front window; but secretly she watched him hesitate before guiding his mare across the street to the blacksmith.

“Hello Miss Elizabeth,” Mrs. Hearn, the elderly, rosy-cheeked shopkeeper, greeted cheerfully.

“Good morning,” Elizabeth replied absently, “Mrs. Hearn, could you please tell me—who is that man across the street? I’ve never seen him before, and I thought I’d already met most everyone in town.”

The old woman stood beside her, squinting over wire-rimmed spectacles. “Ohh, Mr. William Wells, that is. You’ll want to stay clear of him, my dear. He’s nothing but trouble. You’ve never seen him, I reckon, because he and his father live outside the settlement, up near Raven Pond. His father never comes around here, but William’s about occasionally.”

“Why do you say he’s trouble?”

“Well, you didn’t hear this from me but…some pretty strange things go on up there at Raven Pond, and I just know those two are wrapped up in it somehow. Black magic or the like,” she whispered.

“What sort of strange things have happened?”

“Don’t go spreading this around now…I’ve heard folks tell of people getting right up out of their graves and coming into town, though they’re as good as dead. The burying ground’s near the pond, see.”

Elizabeth raised her brow at the outlandish claim, wanting more than anything to dismiss it as paranoid, small town gossip. But clearly something was amiss in Wethersfield. Something no one could speak of…She had a fleeting thought of her dreadful nightmare and shivered.

“William had a sister that lived up there with them, but she disappeared some months ago,” Mrs. Hearn continued, “I heard tell she passed away from the fever or some such thing. Must’ve buried her themselves without a proper service. Makes you wonder what they’ve got to hide. It’s all very mysterious.”

“How far away is Raven Pond?”

“I’m not too sure. It’s been a long time since I traveled out of town myself, but I figure it’d be about a day’s ride.”

“And you said that—he and his father are the only people that live there?”

“Aye. William’s father’s a shady sort of fellow, and he’s…he’s forbidden to come here no more. But that’s over and done with now. As long as he keeps far enough away, the town stays out of his dealings. A bit of an unofficial agreement, I suppose.”

“Mrs. Hearn, pardon my asking this, but I’ve heard some strange talk about a man named Townsend. Who is he? Is…is he acquainted with this Mr. Wells?"

The shopkeeper visibly blanched at the question. Her voice was quiet and somewhat shaky when she answered.

“Jack Townsend was serving man to the mayor. One night he was stabling the horses ‘fore turning in, and…there was an accident, Miss Elizabeth. The Reverend and the mayor buried him the day after without proper service. Two days later, he came back.”

“Came back?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

“I’ll say nothing more ‘cept to tell you to stay far enough away from Wells and his people. Nice, pretty girl like you shouldn’t get mixed up in anything unnatural.”

With that, the old woman scurried off to assist a customer at the front counter.

Across the street, the stranger lovingly pulled worn shoes from the mare’s hooves. While Elizabeth observed, he paused in his work and straightened, almost as if he felt her eyes on him. She knew she could not be seen from the street, and yet she felt almost certain that he saw her. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

--

“Dawn, do you know anything about William Wells?”

“Who?” the girl answered, dipping her quill into a jar of ink, “Does this sentence look okay?”

Elizabeth leaned over her cousin’s shoulder. “The t in ‘cat’ is backwards. You wrote it like a j. I ran into him today—“

“Blast!” Dawn huffed, scratching out her mistake, “Honestly, I can’t get anything right!”

“No don’t say that; you mustn’t get discouraged. See, the rest of the sentence is fine. ‘The black cat sat on the brown fence.’ I can read it—it’s legible…sort of.”

“Can I go to bed now?” Dawn whined.

“All right, but only because it’s getting late. You’re not giving up.”

“You mean like you gave up on the dress?”

“I so did not give up! I just—I pricked my fingers with the needle and needed a rest…a long rest.”

“If you say so, but the bodice had better be finished by Saturday.”

“Right. In time for that corn thing.”

“It’s a festival. We have it every October. There’s corn husking, and picnicking, and music…”

“Music? You people have music?”

“Indeed we do. So what were you asking about before? You met someone in town or something?”

“This man—William Wells. His horse nearly ran me over. Mrs. Hearn said he’s trouble, so I was just wondering if you’d heard anything,” Elizabeth explained evasively.

“Oh, is he the one who lives out near the graveyard?”

“Yes I think so. What do you know about him?”

“Just that Father says he should be banished from Wethersfield.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know exactly, but I think he’s a witch.”

“That’s nonsense…Can a man even be a witch?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen a witch before, I mean that I know of, so I can’t be sure exactly of what one looks like. Why are you asking about him, anyway?”

“There was something about him, Dawn…I—Have you ever lived a moment twice?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, have you ever been somewhere or seen something or met someone and felt as though…you’d seen them before?”

Dawn snorted. “No. What on earth are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

Elizabeth did not get much sleep that night.

“She was so close I could smell her—almost reach out and touch her. Her movement was both graceful and feral…the moonlight shone silver in her hair, invoking images of Artemis on the hunt. A sigh escaped my lips as I imagined the taste of that sweet skin and the warmth of her gentle weight above me, her golden hair spilling across my bare chest as she…Why do I care for some stupid, wealthy bint who has never known suffering?”

~From the diary of William Wells; October 17th, 1685

~*~

“How can you be shivering? It isn’t that cold!” Dawn giggled.

Elizabeth threw a peeved glare at her cousin while her teeth chattered audibly. The late afternoon sun stretched across the churchyard; and while she’d tried to find a sunny patch of grass on which to sit, it wasn’t doing much good as the shadows crept out. Tara reached into her leather satchel and unfolded a quilt which she tossed to Elizabeth across the circle.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said pointedly, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders and returning her focus to the pile of unshucked corn.

The largest crowd she’d ever seen in Wethersfield overflowed the land surrounding the little church; and the typically stiff, conservative atmosphere of the townsfolk had been replaced with uncharacteristic levity and merry-making. This annual celebration was one of the few occasions where both ale and music were not prohibited. A small group of musicians (consisting of a pennywhistle and two fiddlers) played a series of Scottish and Irish folk tunes invoking memories of elder generations that recalled a different homeland. Families and friends gathered in circles, singing along and laughing with one another while they picnicked and husked sweet corn.

Elizabeth and Dawn had been permitted by Nathaniel and Jenny to sit with a small group of young women from bible study; and Elizabeth found herself listening contentedly as the girls chattered and gossiped, the mood light and pleasant for once.

“Lizzie, don’t look up now, but I believe the mayor’s son’s giving you an eye!” Janice Durham, a girl closer to Dawn’s age, whispered excitedly.

Elizabeth found she must’ve drifted during the gossip concerning Wethersfield’s most handsome young men. “That’s ridiculous. Why would Riley Finn bother looking at me?”

Her interest peeked despite her, so she stole a quick glance over her shoulder. Indeed, the attractive young man appeared to be staring in her general direction over his companion’s shoulder. He hurriedly looked away when her eyes met his.

“Oh he was looking at you! And I swear he’s flushed now that you noticed him. I bet he thinks you’re beautiful!” Janice squealed in delight.

“He’s not—he could’ve been looking at any of us,” Elizabeth replied, trying to sound nonchalant as her heart raced in excitement.

Mayor Finn’s eldest son was certainly the most desired bachelor in town. Rumor had it that he’d courted women before, but he and his father had not yet agreed on a match.

“Of course it was you! You really are the prettiest, Lizzie,” Dawn interjected.

Elizabeth felt heat rising in her cheeks, not wishing to be the center of attention. She’d never really thought much of her appearance…But was it possible that Mr. Finn could think she was pretty?

“Why does everyone else have all the luck?” Janice whined, “Even Tara’s getting married and I haven’t a single suitor!”

Looking up in surprise, Elizabeth said, “Tara, you’re engaged?!”

Now it was Tara’s turn to blush. “Well, I um—it’s kind of soon, so I—we didn’t really want to tell everyone yet. Warren Meers made an offer, and my father accepted.”

“That’s wonderful!” Elizabeth exclaimed, “Are you happy?”

“I guess. Warren seems like a—like a nice man,” she said simply, falling silent.

Obviously the marriage was not of her choosing. Elizabeth’s heart sank for her friend; she couldn’t imagine having to spend her life with someone she didn’t want to be with. The awkward silence broke when Emma, another rather obnoxious young girl in town, jumped into the circle.

“Hey guess what?” she paused in anticipation, waiting for the other girls to beg for information. When they did not, she shrugged and continued, “So the Anderson family—moving out of Connecticut! Which is so unfortunate because Michael was just about to ask me to marry him, I know it!”

“Why are they moving?” Elizabeth asked, placating the blonde in hopes that she would leave sooner.

“It’s rather strange. Michael’s youngest sister, the baby—I forget her name—disappeared. They think some crazy aunt or something took her to Massachusetts, so they’re going to get her and then stay, I guess.”

“If that were true, it seems like we would all know about it by now,” Janice said skeptically.

“It’s true, I swear! I think they were embarrassed about it and didn’t want to say anything. Mrs. Anderson just told my mother.”

“When did this happen?” Elizabeth asked, paralyzed at once with a sense of dread.

“When did the child disappear? Like last week or something.”

“That makes no sense. Their child disappeared, and they assumed that some distant relative—what—came in the middle of the night, took the baby, and just left?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t catch the whole story, but that’s what it sounded like. And anyway, that’s not the point. Hello? Michael’s moving!”

“How do they know that—that something didn’t happen? That something—someone else didn’t kidnap the child?”

“Calm down, Elizabeth. I’m sure everything’s fine. They didn’t sound that worried,” Emma replied, raising a brow at Elizabeth as though the other girl had clearly lost her mind.

Emma chattered on with what gossip she knew, probably inventing some of her own in the process. Elizabeth heard none of it. A missing little girl—a child screaming in the woods behind her house—the ghastly face in her nightmare. Even Mrs. Hearn said that strange things happened in Wethersfield—things no one spoke of. People disappeared. And how convenient that no one seemed to worry, no one questioned…Though she longed to ask Emma what she knew about the graveyard and Raven Pond and a mysterious stranger named William, Elizabeth decided that the foolish town gossip was likely not the wisest source of information. And she had an uneasy feeling that it would probably not be in her best interest to be caught asking such questions.

--

After taking a small sample of ale, Elizabeth gradually felt warmer and more willing to put aside her worries for the time being. A drum and second pennywhistle added to the little band of musicians after the sun went down, and the townsfolk, satiated after the passing of ale, began to carouse a bit louder. The band started a round of the familiar tune “Four Green Fields” and the crowd clapped the rhythm in response. Elizabeth rose to her feet, slightly more wobbly than usual, and began to dance to the light melody. In the Caribbean colonies, she’d attended parties with song and dance that drew inspiration from both Irish and African traditions. So as she jumped and twirled to the beat of the drum, her feet recalled steps she had learned in years past.

“Lizzie! Lizzie, you must stop that at once before anyone notices!” Dawn hissed, tugging at the hem of her cousin’s skirt so forcefully that she nearly caused the older girl to topple over.

“Dawn, you should learn to let go and enjoy yourself once in a while,” Elizabeth replied breathlessly.

“Let go of what? Lizzie we shouldn’t do anything that might get us into trouble.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth spotted a thicket of oak trees at the opening of a wood nearby, and a brilliant idea came upon her slightly intoxicated mind. “Come with me,” she shouted over the din, pulling a reluctant, stuttering Dawn by the hand.

“Where are you going?” Tara called after them.

Elizabeth motioned for her to follow, and the three girls headed toward the grove of trees, laughing and stumbling along the way. When they were finally concealed from the crowd, Elizabeth once more began to dance. Dawn and Tara watched timidly with apprehension at first, and then slowly joined her, imitating her steps. They all shrieked with laughter, sharing something forbidden as they joined hands and spun in circles. Elizabeth hardly noticed when her bonnet tumbled to the earth, causing her hair to fall loose down her back. A light sheen of perspiration covered her brow, and as she twirled, she tilted her neck up to see the swirling stars glittering overhead. She felt alive for the first time in months.

If it were not for the absence of her inhibitions, Elizabeth might have sensed a pair of blue eyes watching her from the shadows.

--

A couple of days after the festival, life in Wethersfield slipped back into the same routine. Elizabeth cooked dinner by herself, a meal which, not surprisingly, included multiple corn dishes. Reverend Nathaniel was in an uncharacteristically pleasant mood over supper, and to the shock of Elizabeth, he praised the meal more than once. After the family finished, she rose to begin clearing the dishes to the kitchen.

“Please sit, Elizabeth. Jenny and Dawn will clean tonight,” Nathaniel declared cryptically.

Elizabeth returned to her seat, trying to hide her panic. Her uncle scarcely ever spoke to her, and now suddenly he wanted to have a word privately? She remembered what she’d overheard weeks earlier: The girl is wrong…Oh God what if he knows?! What if he knows that we danced? What if he knows that Dawn’s learning to read? What if he knows that I’ve been asking questions? Once they were alone in the room, he cleared his throat and Elizabeth braced herself for the worst.

“Elizabeth, I must say, I’m quite pleased with the way you’ve been adjusting.”

“I know, I can explain—wait, pleased?”

“Certainly. Your behavior, manners, and decorum have improved greatly.”

“Thank you. I’ve been trying, sir.”

“Much of the town has noticed as well, and you have become one of our finest, upstanding young ladies. Now I am very happy to share some good news with you. I have been approached by a young man wishing to court you.”

“Someone wants to—me? Really?”

“Not just anyone. The mayor’s son, Riley Finn, has expressed interest. Elizabeth, we must do everything we can to make this match work. Do you know what it would mean for this family to have you marry so well?”

“I’m honored,” Elizabeth replied, stunned.

“Of course. It is a great honor for all of us, that he would even consider you. Mr. Finn will come to the house tomorrow afternoon, and you must look and act your best.”

Elizabeth simply nodded, the surprising news not really sinking in.

--

“I saw you at the festival, and I could just tell that you’re special,” Riley said.

They sat awkwardly side-by-side on the front steps of the house. Jenny worked the fields out back while Dawn spied conspicuously from the window upstairs; and Elizabeth wished more than anything that one of them would assist her in making this slow conversation a little more interesting. What on earth was she supposed to talk about with the mayor’s son?

“Thank you…you seem special too.”

“What interests you, Miss Elizabeth?

“I don’t know. People, literature, the sea…What about you?”

“I studied at Harvard and intend to work in governing the people, like my father…You know, you’re sort of peculiar.”

“Peculiar, thank you. Just what every woman longs to hear.”

“I didn’t mean—not in a negative way. I just meant you’re different from most of the women around here. And I realize we don’t know each other well yet, but I think I like you, if I may be so bold.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you? Don’t you—isn’t there anything you’d like to say? How do you feel about me?”

“Well I don’t really know you, Mr. Finn.”

“I know, but you must have some sort of opinion.”

“I think…you seem to be a good man, and I am honored that you’ve come.”

Riley seemed to accept her vague reply, at least for the moment. She studied him out of the corner of her eye as he stared nervously at the dirt below their feet. He was tall, handsome, intelligent, and part of an influential family…what more could she hope for in a suitor? But it seemed to Elizabeth that something was missing, though she could not pin point it exactly. Surely after some time, after she felt more comfortable being alone with him, she could grow to like him and, perhaps, even love him. That was certainly more than most women ever had. Never in her young life had she experienced this fabled romantic love, but she always imagined it would feel like diving from a cliff into the sea at sunrise—something frightening and exhilarating, new and free. The man beside her could never give her that, he could never read Homer’s words and understand the passion they kindled within her. But he could give her a comfortable life, and maybe that was enough.

Elizabeth broke the long silence, “Um it’s getting late Mr. Finn, and I have some mending to finish…”

“Oh well go right ahead. I’ll keep you company.”

She held back a frustrated sigh and excused herself to the kitchen to retrieve a skirt that needed hemming. She returned to his side and began her work, longing to say something but at a complete loss for new conversation topics.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” she asked, “It must be terribly dull for you just to sit there.”

“Don’t worry about me, Elizabeth. I’m content to be here with you.”

While she appreciated having a suitor, she really wished that he would just leave already.

--

“You must tell me absolutely everything, Lizzie! What did he say? What did you do? What did he smell like?” Dawn squealed, pouncing on Elizabeth’s bed and grasping her hands.

“Really Dawn, there isn’t much to speak of. And I don’t believe he had a smell. Or I didn’t notice.”

“You were alone with him for almost two hours! There must be stories to tell!”

“Well, we talked for a bit, and then we ran out of things to say so I worked on my mending while he just sat there.”

“Your mending?! Oh you did not!”

“I just…I don’t know about him, Dawn. I know I should be happy that he’s interested, but well, he was a bit dull and he called me peculiar which I find sort of offensive—“

“What? Elizabeth, do you realize how lucky you are? Every woman in this town—in this colony—would give anything to be in your position.”

“I know—I know, and I’m not trying to sound ungrateful, because I am…grateful. It’s just that I always thought—or hoped rather—that marriage would be something more.”

“What are you talking about? What more could you possibly want?”

“Never mind. You’re right. I don’t know what I’m going on about. I can only hope that Mr. Finn will make an offer.”

“Of course he’ll make an offer. Oh I can hardly wait for him to be in our family! And the wedding—it should be in the spring. The flowers will be lovely!”

“Yes, I am sure they would be lovely.”

--

Darkness everywhere—closing in around her on all sides. She was trapped in a tunnel made of iron. The silence suffocated her like claws squeezing her neck—she couldn’t scream, she couldn’t go back—all she could do was move forward, her steps slow and heavy. When the quiet began to break, she heard the sound of waves crashing on a rocky shore, and then laughter and singing—a familiar lullaby. A voice she knew.

“Mother, is that you? Mama? Where are you? I can’t see anything!”

“You weren’t meant to see, Elizabeth.”

“Mama, I’ve missed you so much! Are you really here?”

“I’m here, Lizzie. I didn’t think you’d find me.”

“I want to go home, Mama. Can you help me get home?”

“No. I’m not the one you should follow.”

“But I’m wrong here. I’m peculiar. You’re the only one I trust. You’re the only one that knows who I am.”

“But do you know who I am?”

“You’re my mother.”

“Everything I did was for you, you know that, right? Everything good in me was you.”

“No that’s—that’s not true. Everything about you was good. But Mama you have to tell me what to do.”

“I don’t need to tell you what you already know. You’re where you’re supposed to be.”

“I’m not supposed to be here! You died and I had to leave our home.”

“Everything dies. But you—you have so much to do, Elizabeth. If you don’t finish now, there’s always next time.”

“I don’t understand. Please don’t leave. Mother!” she screamed. But the silence returned, and her mother was gone.

Abruptly the air didn’t suffocate like it had before. She could feel wind and heat on her face, and she began to run. There was a light—a spark in the darkness. It grew larger and larger until suddenly she was falling and the world was bright, so bright it seared her eyes with painful radiance. When she felt solid ground beneath her at last, she could finally see. The landscape before her was a place she’d never seen in her waking life, and yet she understood it. A vast desert spread into the horizon in all directions. No vegetation could be found—only gnarled, dead things, and sand that swirled into the dry wind. She stood, brushing dirt from her shift and squinting into the blinding heat. A man stood in front of her, looking out into the distance. She recognized him, though he was dressed in strange garments and his hair was a different shade.

“William,” she said, and he turned at the sound of his name. He’d been expecting her.

“Not everything dies, Buffy,” he murmured.

She said nothing—she simply stood beside him and waited. And in this strange place, there was peace.

--

Something woke her from a dead sleep. The dream dissipated, all but traces of it forgotten. She could only remember feeling warm. Squinting in the darkness, Elizabeth listened carefully to discover what had brought her to sudden wakefulness. Everything seemed calm—silent, but for Dawn’s sighs and a loon calling forlornly from somewhere deep in the night. The hour must be quite late indeed, she decided, judging from the western placement of the crescent moon outside her window…Something wasn’t right—misplaced. Elizabeth shook her head at her jumpiness and settled under the quilt, figuring that if she’d heard something, it was nothing more than fragments of a dream world. But there—she heard it again. The sound was small: a slight, unnatural rustle in the trees. Suddenly a strangled cry cut through the wind, and she flew upright instantly, for there was no longer any mistaking it.

Her feet carried her hastily down the staircase, and as she grasped the doorknob, she realized with a chill down her spine that she’d lived this moment before. Barefoot in the night, shivering, wearing nothing but a thin cotton shift…what if it meant it lurked in the woods? Elizabeth froze, torn as to what to do next. Briefly she considered waking her aunt and uncle and telling them about the voice outside. But she knew they wouldn’t believe it; they’d only chastise her, calling her “wrong” and “peculiar” behind her back. Before she could adequately talk herself out of it, the door closed behind her and an icy gust of wind whipped across her cheeks.

Swiftly running through the fields, she could see a commotion—and a shadow—beneath the cove of trees. Instinct told her to keep cover as she drew nearer—the same instinct that carried her onward. She crouched on hands and knees in the mud and underbrush and slowly crept behind a large oak tree. When she noticed her rapid breath making small puffs in the air, she clasped a shaking palm over her mouth and simply watched. Two men fought brutally in the clearing. Each of them seemed weary, battered and bloodied. One man kicked the other in the abdomen, sending his opponent flying through the air until he slammed his back against a tree. The injured one lay crumpled on the earth completely still for a moment, and Elizabeth felt sure that he was dead. But soon he began to choke and then spit out a mouthful of blood before rising painfully to his feet.

“You hit like a lil girl, Townsend,” the man said haughtily in a wheezing breath while he took a moment to recover, pressing one hand against his back.

He clutched something in his fist as he strode, limping, toward the other man—a piece of wood. The other one darted a blow from this weapon, and as he spun swiftly in the moonlight, Elizabeth could see him clearly. The face wasn’t human—pale skin, ridged brow line, protruding teeth, eyes shining like copper.

“This is for that kid you slaughtered, you piece of shite,” the man with the weapon hissed.

An expression of pure terror passed over the ghastly face just before its adversary shoved the simplistic weapon into its chest…and then the thing just disappeared—literally vanished into the air. And Elizabeth did the worst thing she could’ve possibly done: she screamed.

“Do you remember that oak tree outside the boarding house on Brady Street? You always snuck out to climb it when Mum was away. Each time I watched you swing from the old, gnarled, branches, I panicked, my heart creeping into my throat. I stood and watched you, even when you thought you were alone. I was terrified that you would fall, that in a quick second I’d lose my baby sister…So I stood there, ready to save you…But you didn’t need me, did you? I don’t think you ever did.”

~From the diary of William Wells; February 20th, 1685

~*~


The survivor whipped around at her sudden shriek, his long cloak billowing behind him.

“Who’s that, now? Show yourself!” he exclaimed.

The accent was odd—one she’d heard before. You ougtta mind where you’re walking, girl... Of course it was him! She simply didn’t see him clearly before under the cloak and scarf. So the town gossip must be true—William Wells was evil, a magician, a murderer. Surely that must be the reason he’d captivated her before; perhaps he could work a sort of charm. And now she’d seen him kill a man; it must’ve been a man. Most likely the body was merely hidden in the underbrush, its disappearance a trick of the moonlight. Panicked, Elizabeth found herself alone in the woods with a lunatic. Her only hope was to flee, so she ran. She ran as fast as she possibly could, her chest burning with adrenaline as she stumbled over stray roots and pebbles. The more ground she covered, the more she sensed him gaining on her.

“Oi wait a minute!” he cried.

“Help me!” Elizabeth screamed, “Please, someone help me—“

Mid-shriek, the air knocked right out of her and she found herself lying sprawled on the earth, weeds scratching her face. She couldn’t move, could hardly even breathe. He had her pinned on her stomach; and his powerful hands grasped her wrists, making it impossible for her to struggle.

“Hurting me—please,” she gasped in desperation.

“Aright listen here, Miss. I don’t wanna hurt you. If you promise not to start the wailing again, I’ll let you up. And then you can go right back to jolly ole Uncle Nathan after we have ourselves a lil chat. Agreed?”

“Yes…please.”

The second she felt his weight ease off her, Elizabeth swiftly flipped onto her back, kneed him in the groin, and staggered to her feet. He sucked in his breath and doubled over, taken completely off guard by her show of strength. After a brief smirk at her own victory, she flew toward the house.

“Uncle! There’s a murderer on your property! Reverend, help me!”

Before she could elaborate her pleas, William’s hand suddenly clasped over her mouth. Flailing her fists blindly, she struggled against him. She tried to sink her teeth into his palm, but bit through her own lip instead. Blood flowed into her mouth and trickled down her throat.

“See now I’m ticked off. This coulda been simple, really, but you had to go and make it difficult.”

In one fluid motion, he swept her up over his shoulder and sprinted back into the woods. Elizabeth clawed at his back frantically, but soon lost her endurance as she became dizzied from watching the ground fly beneath her. When he at last flipped her upright, her legs sagged under her body while the world spun circles. She couldn’t fight any longer as he grabbed her around the waist and hefted her onto the back of a horse. Noticeably wincing in pain, he grunted as he placed one foot in the stirrup and swung himself up. He used one arm to hold her firmly against him while the other reached around to take the reigns.

“Come on, Sunshine, that’s my girl.”

The mare responded accordingly, beginning with a slow trot that gradually picked up to a full gallop. Despite her pain and terror, there was a thrill in this dreadful situation that Elizabeth could not fathom nor describe. Gooseflesh crept up her bare arms and legs and butterflies danced in her belly. Each time the mare came upon a patch of uneven ground, William tightened his grip across her ribcage to keep her from slipping in the saddle. She’d never been so close to any man—he was so close she could feel the heat of his breath against her neck, so close she could smell his scent of dirt and sweat and a muskiness that was all his own. As her back pressed against his chest, she suddenly became keenly aware of her own lack of clothing. The combination of panic, shame, and confusion she felt left her befuddled and frightened.

They traveled down a beaten, winding path and crossed a small stream that sent muddy water splashing onto her legs. The land soon became unrecognizable as they approached the distant hills, growing steeper as the ride became rougher. William kept his grasp firm as she jostled on her seat. Throughout the ride, she waited in anticipation for him to say something—to threaten her, to begin the “chat” he’d suggested earlier, but he instead maintained a stony silence.

“Where am I?” she spoke up finally, nearly shouting over the clop of the mare’s galloping hooves.

“This way through the forest was cleared by a tribe of natives called the Pequot. The land belonged to them before the founders of your settlement forced ‘em out,” he answered coldly.

“I meant where are you taking me?”

When he did not respond, she continued, fear creeping into her voice, “You realize my uncle will find me and have you arrested immediately. He has a great deal of power in this town—he’s high Reverend.”

“Your uncle. Right. Bloke’s no reverend.”

“He certainly is and—and I’m engaged to the mayor’s son! They shall all be searching for me come morning.”

“I guess you’re a lucky girl then, aren’t you princess?”

Elizabeth pursed her lips and fought the growing lump in her throat. She would not let him see her tears.

Just when the golden light of dawn began to kiss the starry night, the land flattened at a higher elevation. Clumps of trees became less dense, and abandoned weed-scattered fields dotted their new landscape. To the left of their path, Elizabeth spotted a cluster of stones, which she soon discovered were grave markers for the dead. The burying ground stretched on into the edge of a pine wood. Jagged stones and carved crosses caught the silver light of the setting moon, causing them to appear like dancing skeletons. A chill rushed through her.

After they crossed the brow of a slight hill, a small lake appeared; its surface motionless, black and glistening. Raven Pond, she realized. A nondescript wooden cabin stood in a cove beside the water. The mare seemed familiar with her surroundings and slowed to a halt naturally without prompt.

“Don’t move,” William instructed brusquely before jumping down.

He led the horse to a post with Elizabeth still in the saddle. When he’d finished tying and securing the animal, he offered his arms up to assist her.

“Come on then,” he said, “We’re here.”

“I do not need any help from you,” Elizabeth snapped as she awkwardly leapt to the ground.

She spread her arms in front of her as she stumbled a bit on the landing, and looking down, realized that her muddied garment had been rendered nearly translucent. Startled, she clutched her arms across her chest.

“Relax, princess. Nothing I ain’t seen before.”

“You’re swine. And do not call me that.”

“Have it your way, highness. Now would you like to step inside or freeze to death out here?” he gestured toward the cabin, “…Actually there’s not much choice in the matter. Either you follow me or I drag you.”

Anger soon clouded her fear as Elizabeth fell in step in front of him. She wanted to stay outside, wet and uncomfortable, just to spite him; but she knew her physical strength could not match his.

William snatched a match from the pocket of his cloak and lit a candle after they entered the dusty cabin. It was rustic, with only a small living space and a kettle and pot in one corner to indicate a cooking area. Stairs in the back of the room apparently led to a second floor loft.

“Home sweet home,” William declared sardonically.

“What are you going to do with me?”

He removed his cloak and placed it on a hook near the door. Injuries from the brawl were clearly noticeable; he had an ugly bruise on one cheek with swelling under the eye, and dried blood matted his hair line. She watched him with a wary eye, keeping her arms crossed protectively over her torso.

He ran his fingers through his dark curls, sighing, “At the moment I’m not quite sure.”

Reaching into a trunk behind the door, he pulled out a knitted blanket and offered it with an extended arm. When she didn’t budge, he rolled his eyes and tossed it to her. She gratefully covered herself.

“Right, well, I figure we should get some rest and discuss this matter in the morning—or later in the morning.”

“Are you—I will not—I am not resting anywhere near you.”

“Fine by me, pet,” he snorted, grasping a length of rope from the cloak’s outer pocket, “Sorry about this, but I got to tie you to be sure you’ll still be down here when I wake up.”

“No! Don’t you dare touch me!” Elizabeth cried, darting away into a corner.

He followed in suit, seized her wrists while she spat and clawed at him, and bound her hands tightly behind her back before shoving her into a chair.

“Please, loosen my wrists. It hurts.”

He glared at her icily for a moment, his posture resolute. But soon he dropped his eyes from her pleading gaze and released a shaking breath along with a whispered “bloody hell”. He nodded and reached behind her. She waited until he drew just close enough and bit him.

“Get your teeth outta my arm, you stupid bint,” he said through gritted teeth as he attempted to pry her off him.

During the struggle, Elizabeth managed to pull the knot loose enough to free one of her hands. Promptly, she punched William in the nose with all the effort she could muster and tried to make a run for the door. He recovered much sooner than she’d anticipated, however, and stunned her by slapping her across the face.

“That’s it, missy. I’m tyin’ you to the damn chair.”

Elizabeth finally gave in and complied miserably. When he’d finished restraining her, she felt the burn of tears flooding her eyes. He looked away, shifting his feet awkwardly.

“Look, I’m not gonna hurt you, though god knows I’d like to. I couldn’t risk it, do you understand? You screaming like that—I couldn’t take the risk that you’d run in to bloody town square, crying witch…can you understand at all? No, I guess you wouldn’t.”

At that moment, they both jumped when the front door flew open.

An older man wearing a patched tunic draped around his shoulders, his stature bent and weary, stepped into the cabin with tired nonchalance. When he turned his back to the door after fiddling with the lock, however, he gasped in alarm at the sight before him. He squinted and slid his spectacles up the bridge of his nose as if to ascertain that the absurd scene was not a figment of his imagination.

“What the bleeding hell is going on here?! William, why, pray tell, is there a woman tied to a chair in my living room?”

“She saw me fighting in the woods and started screaming, threatening to run off and tell. I had no choice.”

“Have you gone completely daft?...Oh dear god, is that Redding’s niece? Well that is just wonderful, is it not? After all we’ve been through, after we’ve made an agreement, you would go and deliberately risk the mission—“

“Please, I only wish to go home. Let me go! I’m sure we can reach an understanding. Anything you desire—if it is payment you seek—“ Elizabeth interrupted shrilly.

“No, we do not need your uncle’s money,” the older man said, “Oh child, I am terribly sorry. You must be so frightened.”

“I had to bring her, Rupert. If I hadn’t, we woulda ended up with a mob on our hands.”

“And we won’t now?! I think you’ve done quite enough, William. Go wash up, you’re a right bloody mess.”

William clenched his jaw and stormed upstairs.

The older man sighed heavily and removed his spectacles to clean them with a pocket handkerchief. “Please forgive him, if you can find it in your heart. He’s rash and full of passion, but he’s a good man.”

“You cannot keep me here.”

“I know that. We’re not going to keep you. It’s just—there are some matters that we must discuss before we can let you go. You deserve an explanation for what you saw, and for what we do here.”

“What, kill people?”

The man laughed grimly, “No, dear Miss Elizabeth. We save people. Or that is the intention. Our work is a bit more difficult now than it used to be.”

“How do you know who I am?”

“Your arrival was known to us. Nathaniel and I—we tend to keep up with one another. You may call me Giles, my surname, if you would like. Never much cared for Rupert.”

“I’ve heard things about you. People say that you’re some kind of sorcerer and that you’re forbidden to be seen in town.”

“I can tell that you are an intelligent young woman. Surely you know not to believe everything you hear.”

Giles pulled a stool beside Elizabeth’s chair and delicately removed the rope. He lifted her chin with warm, gentle fingers.

“You’re bleeding…may I?”

She ran her tongue over the gash in her lip, realizing she'd almost forgotten the injury. He raised his handkerchief questioningly, and she nodded, averting her eyes. While he cleaned the wound, she studied him curiously.

“Is he your son? Mr. William?” she asked.

“Heavens, no. We simply ended up together, you might say. But we’ve become family. There’s no one else.”

Elizabeth longed to inquire about the girl that supposedly once lived with them, but she turned to her other questions instead.

“Do you have some sort of relationship with my uncle? Whatever it is that you do—does he know about it?”

“That’s a long conversation for another time, my dear…There you are. The bleeding’s stopped I think, but you might have a bit of a nasty bruise. My goodness, you’re all covered in mud, aren’t you? I have some clothes that would fit, if you’d like. She was about your size.”

He crossed the room and opened the trunk behind the door. After briefly rummaging through its contents, he retrieved a long nightgown.

“If you need any other clothing, you’re welcome to take what you please. There’s an extra cot upstairs, so I can sleep in the loft with Will. And you may take my bed—it’s in the corner there behind the stairs. You’ll have your privacy.”

She took the gown and almost thanked him.

“She didn’t die from the fever, did she?”

He paused for a moment before ascending the stairs. “Try to get some rest.”

I had a dream that she would leave before I woke, but when dawn broke she was still there, asleep in my arms, delicate and fair and achingly lovely. Before I left, I kissed her forehead and whispered that I loved her…This morning feels like a lifetime ago as I sit on the floor of an empty room, watching the clock tick vacant minutes. I found the ring abandoned on the windowsill, far too plain for her finger. Brushing my own lips, I know that the sweet taste of Cecilia will linger there for all the days of my life…She never loved me; I knew it this morning as well as I know it now…No one should be alone in Paris.

~From the diary of William Wells; January 16th, 1681

~*~



Another girl wore this garment. Perhaps she stitched it herself, or maybe it was purchased for her in one of the larger settlements near the bay. At one time this soft fabric had clung to her skin and kept her warm at night. She slept in this gown and lived in this cabin before she died. Elizabeth traced her fingers gingerly over the Brussels’s lace at the collar—far too ornate for wear in Wethersfield. Exhaustion finally overpowered her, and she slowly slipped into unconsciousness in someone else’s bed.

--

Everything hurt. Elizabeth woke unpleasantly to aching muscles and a painfully stiff lower back. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up slowly and almost called out to Dawn to ask whose turn it was to make porridge. Reality did not hit her fully until she blinked several times and ascertained that the foreign surroundings were not part of a waking dream. She remembered everything in a flash—riding on the horse, the graveyard, the cabin, the dead girl’s gown…Someone had draped a quilt around the open side of the staircase, creating a miniature room around the small cot in which she slept. For that she was grateful. Outside her simple sanctuary, booted footsteps creaked and thudded over the floorboards, and pots occasionally clanged together from the general direction of the makeshift kitchen.

Elizabeth hoped that it was Mr. Giles she heard. Maybe he would take her home before sunset, after he had the opportunity to explain their secret. She did not care what it was now; she would just agree to never tell a soul and then be on her way. Before she moved the curtain aside, she’d already rehearsed the beginning of the conversation in her mind.

“Mr. Giles, I want you to know that whatever it is you’re going to share with me, I promise that I will--“

“Just me, pet.”

She froze when she saw William stirring something that boiled over a tiny fire. The temptation to hide behind the stairs grew awfully enticing. He glanced at her with those piercing blue eyes and smug expression as if he were anticipating a retort.

“Where is Mr. Giles?” she asked coolly, choosing to look out the side window instead of meeting his gaze.

“Rupes traveled up north to the trading post ‘cause we needed some supplies that uh—well you can’t find ‘em in Wethersfield. Sorry to disappoint, but it looks like you’re stuck with me for the time being, princess.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“It’s what you are, in’t it? Royalty from the islands with scores of servants to wait on your every whim?”

Here he was, a stranger, and yet never before had someone possessed the ability to so easily infuriate her like he did.

She seethed, cheeks burning, “How dare you presume to speak as though you know me. When will Mr. Giles return to take me home?”

“Least a day or two. Maybe longer. Listen…” Something about him seemed to drop, deflate, and she glimpsed a peek of sad vulnerability behind the invisible mask he wore. “I’m sorry, all right? For last night, I didn’t intend to hurt you.”

“Oh you did not intend it. My, you are a gentleman—kidnapping me, bringing me up here, tying and beating me—“

“Hey now pet, I believe it was you that threw the first swing. If I take a hit that throws me off guard, I’m gonna react. Instinct’s what it is.”

“And you have no qualms with striking a woman, I take it?”

“Your colony has a law says it’s a man’s right to beat on a woman if he chooses.”

“This is not my colony.”

“Neither is it mine…Truth is I’ve known women with strength so far beyond my own they coulda beat me to a bloody pulp if they wanted. Don’t make me any less of a man to admit it.”

“Why do you speak so oddly?” she asked, keeping her tone an icy neutral.

“That’s cause I’m not a sodding colonial like the rest of you lot. I was brought up in London.”

“Surprising as it may seem, I have known several Londoners. Not one of them spoke as you do. None of them used such uncouth language.”

“Well I doubt we’d run in the same circles, luv. I was brought up in the bad side of London—streets of Whitechapel. Heard of it?

“Yes, actually. Isn’t that where the—well, the uh—“

“Prostitutes—ladies of the night—meet their wealthy clientele? You’re too dainty to say it, aren’t you? How typical. Yeah that was my home, jumping between boarding houses; my mum worked the rooms. I never knew a father and neither did my sister. She was the strongest, noblest person I ever knew, my mum, and I was never ashamed of her. So you can take that pretty blush outta your cheeks.”

“What happened to her?”

“Cupid’s disease, the black lion, took her just like the rest of ‘em that lived off the streets of Chapel. Susan and me were just kids.”

Elizabeth stiffened. He is only telling me this for empathy. He is a criminal—not to be trusted, she assured herself. Though for a fleeting moment, the pain in his eyes made her uncertain.

“I’m sorry,” she said haltingly, “My mother died some months ago. It’s the reason I came to live in Wethersfield. My father was killed a number of years back, and—and there was no one else.” Elizabeth bit her lip in surprise, shocked that she’d easily shared something so personal with a despicable stranger.

When he looked at her, she saw that expression again—the soft, gentler one that made her uneasy. She had expected some snappy comeback about how a little rich girl could never know suffering, but instead he remained silent for a long moment.

“It’s never easy,” he murmured, “Being alone.” And with that he turned his back to her and busied himself by fiddling with meal preparations.

“How did you come to live with Mr. Giles?” she asked, quickly changing the subject.

“He took us in, Susan and me, after we’d lost everything. And now here we are…Do you want something to eat? All we got’s some meat broth and a bit of stale bread.”

“I suppose,” she glanced down at the gown she wore. Does it hurt him to see me wearing it? “So…are you ever going to explain what you were doing the other night? I know what I saw, no matter how relentlessly I deny it to myself. You stabbed that man—that thing—and it disappeared. What are you, some kind of magician?”

William chuckled as he placed a loaf of bread on the table. He gestured for her to sit.

“I’m not much of anything, really. My sister was the Slayer. I just help out when I can.”

“What’s a slayer?” she asked before tearing off a piece of bread and shoving it hungrily into her mouth.

--

“Hey sorry again ‘bout the ties, but I can’t trust you outside. Not yet, anyway.”

Wearing a borrowed pale pink gown and cloak, Elizabeth rolled her eyes and huffed in response. Did it not occur to him that she could run just as easily with her wrists bound? He was proving himself an inept abductor, which gave him a decidedly less threatening heir. She chose not to run, however, because first of all, she likely would not get far without knowledge of the land; and secondly, it surely would not be much longer before she was found.

“My family is searching for me by now, you realize.”

Elizabeth walked briskly down the forest path to keep up with William’s swift pace. He obviously knew the terrain well and easily breezed through every root and ditch, while she struggled to keep her footing on the rough trail. After their meager lunch, he’d offered to show her around the land that surrounded the pond so she could get her bearings—as long as he kept a rope knotted pointlessly around her wrists.

“You sure about that?” he asked over his shoulder.

“What do you mean—of course I am sure!”

“Are they really your family?” William asked, his voice hollow, more distant, “Do they even know you?”

“That’s absurd. Yes they—well, my cousin, I…she is my family. I love her.”

“Right, and it ain’t like you’ll never see her again—but have you not listened to anything I’ve been explaining to you?”

Elizabeth sighed, resigning herself to placating him for the time being.

“Fine. Let me see if I understand this correctly: a demonic creature that takes a person’s body after death and feeds on the blood of the living?”

“Yeah. Vampires—you pretty much got it straight. Garlic, holy water, crosses, stake through the heart, beheading. That’s all you gotta know.”

“Beheading, lovely,” she muttered before raising her voice, “Do you have any idea how unbelievably insane all of this sounds? And good lord, can you slow down for half a minute?!”

“I do,” he answered, not slowing his pace in the least, nor bothering to look back as he spoke. “Seems like forever ago, but I remember hearing it for the first time. I mean I never even believed in God and then all of a sudden I find out the world is controlled by light and dark powers. Demons and slayers…Sounds like a bunch of rubbish, eh?”

“And your sister—Susan—she was destined to fight these things?”

“More like chosen. She was spotted as a potential by the Watcher’s Council early on. They sent Rupert out to Whitechapel to track her, and then when Mum died he took both of us and started givin’ her lessons. Those ponces told him to leave me behind—I was just a worthless kid, good for nothing. But Rupes brought me along and taught me to fight. I didn’t have her power, her gifts, but I proved myself useful enough.”

“Watch the what? Never mind. So you were trained in Europe?”

“Yep, and all over. Asia too. Romania, India, China…we didn’t stay in one place for more than a fortnight, it seemed. Then Susan got called—she received the power—and we were warned of some mystical upheaval in the New World; and hence, I’m now stuck here outside a town full of morons, battling evil eternally for nothing.”

“Surely it isn’t for nothing.”

“Right. Every night I defend their borders from demons, and what do they do? They call me a witch.”

Before Elizabeth had a chance to ask him sardonically if witches were real too, she became startled to see that they’d somehow stepped out of the forest. Trees, brush, and undergrowth which had been so abundant just a second before now laid way to barren waste. The expanse of land beneath her feet was the size of a large cornfield, and yet not a speck of weed or grass sprang from it. The soil hardly seemed like earth at all; it was too thin and grey, like ash. Everything here felt wrong, heavy, like nothing belonged. Even the air grew thinner, yet stifling, as though it threatened to suffocate anything that walked and breathed.

“What is this place?” Elizabeth asked in wonder, her voice falling flat in the oppressive atmosphere.

For the first time since they’d stepped into the cool afternoon sunshine, William stopped and turned toward her, hands stuffed in the pockets of his long, weather-worn cloak. He only stood a few feet away, though this place made her feel as if she were completely alone.

“I had to show you…I figured you wouldn’t believe the vampire bit, no one does, but once you set foot on this place—it’ll get to ya. Evil. It’s real. Can you feel it?”

“Yes,” she murmured, her brow wrinkled in perplexity, “I can’t explain, but I believe you…What--?”

“The Pequot people knew. Sukáyuw—Bitter land, they called it. The legend goes further back than that, though. Ever heard the phrase, “From beneath you, it devours?”

Gooseflesh crept up Elizabeth’s arms, and the skin on the back of her neck tingled. She had never heard those words before, but they were familiar nonetheless. Like the ghost of a nightmare, slipping from someone’s lips in a wordless cry…

“No,” she answered quickly, “What does it mean?”

“Something bad was here once, and it left traces of itself behind. Everything’s bitter: the air, the land, what lies beneath it. Now it’s a place of power. Dark things are born from it, feed on it. It infects all it touches and breeds the same evil that gave birth to it.”

“Wow. Could you please get a little more poetically vague for me?”

He let a quick smile slip at her sarcasm. Blue-grey eyes sparkling, his features softened as he watched her; and Elizabeth felt both surprised and troubled at the flood of warmth that the seldom-revealed smile released in her belly. Quickly clenching his jaw, the stony, angular face of her captor returned abruptly. “That’s all you need to know. Just don’t come around here, yeah?”

“Stay away from the evil, bitter grey field. I think I understand. Well I won’t say understand. How about I just agree to comply? Now can we get out of here?”

He raised a scarred eyebrow and shook his head. “Sure,” he replied, leading the way back into the forest.

Throwing one last glance at the wasteland behind her, Elizabeth shivered. It was so much simpler not to believe.

--

“Where do these…vampire things come from?” Elizabeth asked once they’d returned to the land surrounding the pond.

“I already explained that in a process called siring—“ William began, still walking ahead of her.

“No. I just mean where are they…around here?”

“They got lairs in the woods. Other places…the grave yard definitely, and the field I showed you. But no worries, pet, as long as you’re inside after dark they can’t get you unless you let ‘em in.”

“How comforting…” she mumbled as her eyes drifted to the water, “My hands are covered in dirt, and I’d like to wash in the pond. Will you remove this rope?”

He folded his arms, frowning. “Well that all depends. You gonna bite me?”

She glared at him icily until he relented, and to her amusement, approached with caution and a look of…could it be slight apprehension? When he loosened the knot, his hands were gentle. After hurling the rope into his chest and turning away, she rubbed at her sore wrists.

Elizabeth knelt on the bank of the pond and peered into the inky surface of the water. She gazed at patches of her reflection glittering back at her. The beginnings of an ugly bruise stood out just above her swollen lip. Brushing her fingers across the mark, she wished it would disappear, making her skin flawless and smooth once more. Immediately she berated herself for the desire. Oh honestly, this is no time for vanity.

Dipping her fingers into the chilly water, she rinsed some of the grime from her hands and forearms. The reflection of an angular, handsome face appeared rippling in the water just above her own.

“Why do they call it Raven Pond?” she asked, speaking to the face in the water.

“Blackbirds come around in the spring. There’s some children’s legend about the pond being made outta their feathers.”

“That’s sort of romantic…Can you swim in it?”

“Now? Are you bloody nuts, it’s freezing!”

“No not now. I mean, have you ever?”

“Yeah. It’s nice in the summertime.”

She glanced up over her shoulder. His expression seemed distant, as though he saw something she couldn’t reach. An odd sensation overcame her then. She wondered what it would be like to live here instead of in that horrible, stifling town; and what it would be like to wake with the golden dawn in mid July and bathe in the refreshing dark water, birds and crickets chirping all around. For a moment she envied Susan and the free, exciting life she must’ve led. Well, except for the whole vampire thing…and the dying thing.

“Do you?” William asked.

“Hmm?” Lost in her own thoughts, she’d missed his question.

“Do you swim?” he repeated.

Elizabeth stood, smiling longingly. “It was once my favorite thing. In Bermuda, I used to sea bathe every day. Mother and I would—“

William’s eyes met hers, his brow creased. Tentatively, awkwardly, he reached his arm out toward her. He hesitated before resting his hand on her shoulder and patted her gently before stuffing his hands back into his pockets. She accepted the odd comfort he tried to offer.

“Well, I suppose I’ll never be able to swim here. It’s a sign of witchcraft, you know,” she said once she’d found her voice again.

William chuckled, his laughter infectious. “Sodding Puritans. God, we need to get outta here.”

Elizabeth looked at him curiously, wondering at his choice in pronouns.

“Sun’s gonna be settin’ soon. Time to get inside,” he said, his words clipped.

“She looked so white, laying there. And it was so terribly wrong, because the one thing I always remembered were her rosy cheeks—pale pink with laughter and scarlet with fury. And her eyes were always so bright. I never knew what color they were. Grey and blue and green all at once. That terrifies me, that I’ll never be able to say ‘her eyes were green’ because I just can’t remember…When I found her, I didn’t say anything. The first thing I did was draw her, because I couldn’t forget. It was a terrible drawing but I couldn’t let myself forget. I needed something to keep…I’m fourteen and a man and I shouldn’t cry but Mummy is gone forever and I don’t know if I’m strong enough to care for Susan by myself.”

~From the diary of William Wells; August 10th, 1674



Elizabeth sat on the stairs, picking at flecks of dirt trapped under her fingernails. She studied William inconspicuously as he laid an array of weapons across the smooth oak dining table. He checked everything meticulously, making sure each piece was in working order, Elizabeth guessed. She recognized a cross bow, bo staff, crucifix, bottle of holy water, and several wooden stakes, their tips carefully sharpened to a fine point. His brows knitted in serious contemplation as he worked, almost as though he’d completely forgotten the young woman’s presence. Occasionally he sighed in aggravation if he seemed to discover something out of place, and more than once he raked his fingers through his dark curls impatiently. Watching him now as he prepared for battle, it was hard for Elizabeth to believe that she’d ever seen him smile. He certainly is puzzling. Usually she had a fairly good sense for people, her first impressions generally proving true. But with William…in every way he appeared to be a bad sort; gruff and rude, presumptuous and dangerous. Just yesterday she felt assured in her decision to hate him, but now…circumstances seemed increasingly complicated.

William threw on a coat made of cowhide over his white tunic, and he skillfully hid the stakes within its inside pockets. After placing a dagger through his belt loop, he slung his cloak over his shoulders and slid the crucifix and holy water into the large outside pockets. Tracing his fingers over the weapons that remained, he seemed to choose between the bo staff and crossbow. His hand finally settled on the crossbow, which he grabbed and hung from his left forearm. Snatching a hat from a hook beside the windowsill, he placed it over his hair, the brim sending his eyes into darkness. Outside the window, the last touch of pink sky slid behind the distant hills in the west, and shadows stretched across the floorboards of the cabin.

“Right then. I’ll be off,” he said shortly, not even looking in Elizabeth’s direction as he spoke to her, “There’s some bread and cheese in the sideboard there, if you get hungry. Sorry bout the lack of meats. Haven’t had a chance to hunt in a few days. I should be back ‘fore dawn. Just stay put, don’t open the door for any nasties, and you’ll be fine.”

“Take me with you,” she said, more of a declaration than a request, as she rose to her feet.

“No way in hell!” he exclaimed sharply, finally whirling around to face her.

“I just want to see…them. What it is you do. If I could see it, maybe it would be easier to believe. I promise I won’t get in the way.”

“Don’t much fancy company on the hunt, pet. And I really don’t feel like draggin’ your dead carcass back come morning after some demon gets a hold a ya.”

She raised her chin at his crass words. “I can look after myself.”

“Right,” he scoffed, “You’re stayin’ and that’s that. Don’t make me get the rope.”

“Oh I see. Back to the scary kidnapper act, are we?” she raised her voice and stepped toward him in as much of a challenge as she could muster.

She stood facing him; just a breath away, and despite her much smaller stature, she glared up defiantly.

“If you think you can fight me for it, princess, then be my guest. You’re not goin’ out that door.”

With the reemergence of that loathed nickname he seemed so fond of, she remembered why he deserved her disdain. She backed down, unsure of the sincerity in his threats, and returned to her perch on the stairs, lips pursed.

“Good girl. Remember, keep the door closed. See you in the morning.”

“How can you be sure that I won’t just leave here? Return home to Wethersfield.”

He hesitated briefly, his eyes flickering to the ground.

“With what’s out there? You’d never make it. I reckon you’d be the tenderest meat they’d ever tasted.”

For a moment, she detected a hint of insecurity in his cocky tone.

And with that, he vanished into the night. Elizabeth waited until the sound of his footfall dissipated, and then rushed to the window, watching after him. His shadow quickly disappeared beyond the trees and into the depths of the murky forest. The mare had been left behind, so she figured he must not be planning on traveling far tonight. She waited a few more minutes to make sure that he’d gone from the cabin’s view before throwing the former Slayer’s cloak about her shoulders and quietly slipping out the door.

--

The night seemed deeper here, if that was possible, so far from the glow of candles in windows. Boughs of trees groaned and creaked like bones as a mournful wind whistled through them. Something scurried over dead leaves, and Elizabeth startled at the sound, thinking of ghosts and demons and other dark, mystical creatures. Surely it was only a rabbit, or maybe a fox. I’ve heard such things before. None have brought harm to me. The cold wrapped around her body like a blanket; it was a harsh, bitter chill she’d never felt before. If this was fall, she wished to never see a New England winter.

She continued wandering through the trees, unsure of her destination and beginning to question her original purpose in following him. In the darkness, the forest path was lost to her, William nowhere to be found. The roof of the woods seemed to close in like swampy water over her head, and she held her arms in front of her to ward off…she knew not what. A flash of the vampire’s horrifying face raced through her mind, and a wave of sudden, nauseating terror seized her at the thought of being trapped in the shadows with that. Elizabeth realized too late that she really wasn’t made for fighting—or, in her case, lurking near—evil and wished hopelessly that she’d just swallowed her pride and remained in the cabin.

The sound of scurrying feet returned, this time echoing all around her. She froze. It no longer sounded like a familiar small animal. Perhaps it was simply her own fearful imagination getting the better of her, but the source of the noise definitely seemed larger, heavier, and more powerful. Just ahead at an indiscernible distance, a strange blue glow emanated from two small pin pricks, which hastily darted into the underbrush in tandem and disappeared. Elizabeth blinked dumbly. Rabbit’s eyes. Rabbit’s eyes could appear blue in this dim, silver moonlight. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she turned and began walking back the way she’d come. The problem with tracking her steps backward, however, was that she’d already wandered so far from the main path that she was now unable to find her way back to it in pitch darkness. Looking to the stars for cardinal directions proved impossible due to the canopy of gnarled branches. A sliver of moonshine just barely showed behind a wisp of cloud, but it wasn’t enough to lead her out of the maze of trees.

Somewhere in these same woods, William hunted, probably killing all sorts of wretched things. If she called out to him, there was a high probability that he’d hear. She’d have to deal with his temper, of course, but at least he could lead her out of the forest. Or perhaps…if she somehow found her own way, she might be able to make it back to Wethersfield by morning. They’re not coming for me. It’s been a day; they should have made it in a day. They’ve given up or…I was not meant to be found. This could be my only chance to escape. I can rely on no person but myself now. Shockingly, Elizabeth found herself hesitating at the opportunity. Did she really want to go back to that town, back to existing only as the Reverend’s niece and Riley Finn’s betrothed after tasting a bit of freedom at the hands of a kidnapper? She stood, pondering her conundrum, when she felt a powerful grip seize her ankles at once.

Without warning, a tidal force pulled her legs from beneath her body, sending Elizabeth flying onto her back. Overcome by shock, confusion, and not least of all, terror, she scrambled about wildly on the earth in an attempt to escape her unseen attacker. Before she could run, it was on her in a flash; and she found herself staring up into a pair of blank, ghastly eyes, lit by an otherworldly blue light. The face itself she would describe later as having a toad-like quality, because no other image could quite compare to it. Its skin was slick and dark and bumpy in patches like that of an aquatic creature. The body stood squat, small and heavy, but it possessed the strength of a dozen men. A twittering chatter emanated from where its mouth should be. Two slimy hands wrapped around Elizabeth’s throat while a long, thin tongue began to unfurl from the mouth-like aperture. Finally she woke from the paralyzing fright at seeing the thing and began to scream with all her might. At this point, William was her only hope.

“Help me! Help me please! Get it off! William!” she cried out to the darkness, her screams slowly fading into garbled nonsense.

The creature’s grip closed tightly on her neck, causing her to choke and sputter. So this is it. I’m dying, and the last thing I’ll ever see is a giant toad. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and tried to remember what home looked like so that her final thought in this life would be one of peace. The crest of the waves at low tide, reflecting the setting sun…

“Bugger off, you slimy git!” a voice hollered from the darkness above.

Elizabeth felt light-headed and only dimly registered that the creature’s weight had been thrown from her body, freeing her breath at last. She rose to her feet slowly and shakily to see William, dagger in hand, land a swift spin kick in the thing’s torso. The creature let out a cringe-worthy squeal as it flew through the air.

“Yeah how do you like that, mate?” William laughed.

He strode over to where the creature lay like a dying insect, legs dangling above its body, and raised the dagger in his left hand. But before he inflicted the death blow, the toadish entity sprang to its feet and grabbed onto William’s legs as it had done previously. Losing his balance, the dagger flew from his grasp and landed in the underbrush near Elizabeth’s feet.

“Aright now I’m pissed,” he seethed as the thing pinned him to the ground.

Quickly Elizabeth grabbed the knife and crept over to where William wrestled with the creature. After it failed to choke him, it raised one of its hands while sharp talons extended from its fingers; and it scratched and clawed at William’s skin, drawing his blood in thick lines. Elizabeth held the dagger in trembling hands, and then without pausing to think, swiftly plunged the blade into the creature’s neck. She stabbed its body again and again until the thing finished writhing and squealing and simply lay prostrate on the ground, its purple blood seeping into the earth.

She just stood there for a long moment, out of breath and utterly spent. The dagger, heavy and awkward in her small hands, soon fell from her limp fingers. William grabbed it by the hilt, replaced the weapon in his belt loop, and jumped to his feet. He brushed himself off and winced.

“You hurt?” he asked coldly.

“I’m fine.”

“God damn it!” he spat, “I bloody well told you not to open the door, you stupid chit.”

“This ‘stupid chit’ just saved your life. Well, after you saved mine, but it still counts.”

“You didn’t save my life. Probably nearly got me killed! A distraction’s what you are.”

“Oh I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience, though I believe it was you that brought me up here in the first place; you forced me to leave my home.”

“That’s cause you were spyin’ on me in the shagging woods!” he shouted.

Elizabeth opened her mouth for an equally vociferous retort, but when her eyes accidentally fell upon the demon’s remains, the returning shock silenced her.

“What is that?” Elizabeth asked, staring at the creature’s corpse with glazed eyes, “It doesn’t look like a—like one of those vampires.”

“Namreg demon. They’re amphibians, attracted to the pond. I been trackin’ a clan of ‘em—only this one got away. They always migrate in packs.”

“A demon?! When you said that before, I just thought you were speaking metaphorically. And I was not spying on you! You were fighting outside my house in the middle of the night…loudly!”

He sneered, raising both hands up in surrender. “Know what, princess? I’m done bein’ your keeper. Walk back to bloody Wethersfield for all I care if you’re so desperate to get back to livin’ the lie.”

He stormed past her in the opposite direction, toward the cabin, Elizabeth assumed. She ran after him, taking several steps in between his longer stride.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not you. You don’t belong there…with them,” his voice sounded kinder, though his hostile physicality belied the softer words.

“Then tell me where I belong, William. You’re so wise, clearly you know everything.”

He stiffened at the sound of his Christian name. “I jus’ meant that you…”

He stopped walking then and gripped his shoulder with a sharp intake of breath and nearly doubled over, evidently no longer able to mask the pain. Elizabeth dropped her hands from her hips and hurried to his side, grabbing his forearm to keep him from sinking to the ground. Swatting at her touch absently, he tried unsuccessfully to push her away.

“I’m fine! Go back or don’t, jus’ let me be. Tell ‘em to hang me if you want, I really don’ care anymore.”

“You look ashen. Let me see your shoulder,” she said, prying his hand away.

Underneath his cloak and jacket, the white tunic was soaked in blood.

“Dear god,” she murmured.

“It’s a soddin’ scratch! Not like it doesn’t happen every night.”

“It looks like that demon, or some other one, hurt you pretty badly. We’re going back to the cabin, and you’re showing me the way. Come on.”

She hooked her elbow through his; and reluctantly, he allowed her to support some of his weight. He grumbled to himself all the way.

--

“Oi, watch it! You tryin’ to sear my skin off, or what?”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and heaved an exasperated sigh, blowing an errant strand of blonde hair away from her forehead.

“Oh honestly, you spend your nights fist-fighting with the spawn of Satan, and you’re unable to handle a little sting?” she mocked as she continued pouring the contents of the silver flask over his shoulder.

“Well it hurts,” he mumbled, “Gimme a swig, will ya?”

William sagged in the rocking chair while Elizabeth hovered over him in an attempt to tend his injuries with what meager supplies were available. All she’d managed to scrounge together was a basin of water, pieces of cheesecloth, and remnants of a hidden stash of whiskey.

“Fine, but don’t take much. It’s all that’s left, and we need it for disinfectant.”

He snatched the flask out of her hand and relished in a long gulp of hot amber liquid, grimacing slightly as he swallowed. Wiping his mouth with the back of his good hand, he craned his neck back to throw Elizabeth a devious grin.

“Care for a sip, sweetheart?”

“No, thank you,” she replied tersely, attempting to cover a smile. There was something about the boyish sparkle in those eyes…

After cleaning the deep laceration on top of his shoulder, she pressed the cheesecloth against the wound to soak up the blood. She noticed several deep scratches, probably a result of the creature’s splayed claws, which began at the site of the shoulder wound and disappeared under the filthy white tunic. He should remove the garment before all the dirt and grime had a chance to cause infection to his injuries, but Elizabeth hesitated to suggest. It would certainly be improper with me present, but…he would have difficulty tending such wounds himself. She chewed her bottom lip nervously.

“You look rattled. There a problem?” he asked, eyeing her with a cocked brow.

She startled, realizing that she’d stood frozen for quite a while, her hand grasping the dripping cloth in mid air.

“Nothing—“ she answered a bit too quickly, “I mean, no. Could you—if it wouldn’t be too—could you take this off?”

He regarded her with amusement, shrugged, and loosened the strings at his collar before carefully pulling the tunic over his head. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt a flush rapidly spreading from her neck to her cheeks. Granted, she’d never looked on a half-nude man so closely, but his body appeared to be shaped like Greek statues she’d seen painted in books. Lean, defined muscle sculpted his torso with an exquisite perfection that Elizabeth had previously believed only existed in fine art. With a gulp, she dipped a clean cloth into the water basin and began to wash away the blood, dirt, and sweat from his pale flesh.

Her fingers swept delicately behind his shoulders, down his spine, and maybe lingered longer than they should have across his taut lower back, all the while gently mindful of scrapes and bruises. Toned, skillfully trained muscles rippled beneath his skin as he flinched in response to the cloth brushing over tender injuries. When her nails accidentally scratched across his spine, she felt him shiver beneath her touch, sucking in his breath. Traces of old wounds were visible under the fresh ones, memories of beatings received over the years, losses and victories—they all looked the same now. Unconsciously she traced a thin, white scar that traveled from his shoulder blade to the center of his back.

“How did this happen…another demon?” she murmured softly, astonished by her own curiosity, confused at the tender impulse that compelled her to speak

He remained silent for a moment, but when he answered his voice was soft and thick, the edge having disappeared. “That’d be Susan, actually. She gave it me good that day… Rupert was teachin’ her to fence all good and proper, and you know, she was just my kid sister, so I thought I’d volunteer to spar. Bloody terrible idea that was! Her blade clipped me straight through the jacket. I didn’t tell her, though.”

“And this one?” Elizabeth asked, her voice just above a whisper as her fingers moved to a puckered, pink scar at his left side.

William snorted. “Stabbed in a pub brawl when I was fourteen. God I was such a little pratt back then. Almost cost me my life.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” she said, her tone full of awe and sympathy, “I don’t know how you can live through so much violence every day. So much pain.”

“Seems odd, but in a way it makes me feel more alive…Sometimes it’s the only thing that does. My blood’s real. It’s one thing I can count on.”

He released a small, uncomfortable chuckle as though he’d said something he shouldn’t. “I’ll take a good brawl any day,” he quipped lightly.

Once she’d deemed him sufficiently clean, she circled around the chair to stand before him. Brilliant blue eyes met hers, though they looked darker than they had a moment ago. She waited for a sharp comment, for him to insist that she stop fussing over him, but he simply watched her with a sleepy, heavy-lidded gaze. Elizabeth’s heart banged so forcefully against her rib cage, she felt sure that he could hear it. The air in the room seemed heavier, and she became trapped in a mysteriously pleasant, dizzied haze. I should stop this—leave him—leave this place, but she felt inexplicably drawn to this man despite common rules of propriety and her own better judgment. Her breath came more deeply, and with it she recognized a want, a desire, a need that she’d never known; never even pondered or imagined. It was a sensation that she couldn’t explain or understand; though her instincts told her it was wrong.

He licked his lips and swallowed as he seemed to search her eyes for an unknown answer. Elizabeth dropped her chin. His gaze was too intense, too powerful, causing her to fear that he could see everything.

William cleared his throat, “Right then. Thank you for uh…patchin’ me up. I guess I’ll head upstairs to get some sleep…So, erm, see you in the morning?”

There was a plea in his question that he couldn’t hide. Elizabeth nodded, her eyes on the bloodied cloth that she’d twisted in her hands, sending smears of crimson streaking across her palms. She heard the floorboards creak under his boots as he trudged up the stairs.

“William?” she called, moving to the banister.

“Yes?” he answered quickly, turning hastily at the sound of her voice.

“Why blood? Of all the substances they might consume, why do they choose to feed on blood?”

“Cause blood…blood’s all life is, if you think about it. It keeps you warm, keeps your heart beatin’. It’s the one substance that makes you not dead. It forms a bond, see—a connection between people that can’t be undone. It’s a union through love, passion…the things that make us human. They feed on it so they can live in this world, so the demon can remember what it’s like to be a person.”

“Oh…I guess that makes more sense than, you know, snails or something.”

He tilted his head to one side, a smile hiding in his eyes.

“You’re a corker, Elizabeth.”

“Is that a good thing? Or did you just insult me?”

“Maybe,” he smirked before making his way up the stairs.

After his bedroom door shut softly, Elizabeth stood frozen for a long moment. She had no idea what had happened exactly or what in the world she was doing. All she knew for certain was that she loved the way her name sounded as it rolled off his tongue.

“We arrived at Saybrook Harbor late in the evening. Ours was not the only boat to port at that late hour; another ship arrived from Virginia Colony…I know without doubt there is evil here, for I have already seen its face. ..I met a woman as she disembarked the ship from Williamsburg and offered to help with her belongings. I remember she had blonde hair and bright eyes—pretty enough, though she did not particularly strike me as a beauty. Still, there was something about her that drew me close. I spoke with her politely, and she confessed that she felt lonely…When I inquired what had brought her to Wethersfield, she answered that she came only to see a member of her family and would depart soon after. “I have been alone in my travels for so long, young William,” said she, “Surely you wish not to remain in such a dull place as this. Come with me and I can show you exotic places, far away.”

If her strange offer were not enough to prove that something was amiss, at once I saw a gold flash streak through her hungry eyes, which brought certainty. I have become quite familiar with spotting her kind, but she came disturbingly close to tricking me. As soon as she recognized that I knew her for what she was, her eyes turned cold as ice and she said to me, “Your mission is pointless. Sniveling, pathetic mortals cannot dream of standing against my master. Farewell, sweet William.” I did not strike out against her, since we were in a crowd of many, but before she disappeared into the darkness, I called after her, “You never told me your name.” She smiled wickedly. “Darla,” she replied.

I have not seen her since, but if I do, I will end her.”

~From the diary of William Wells; April 7th, 1682

~*~


He was gone when she woke. Elizabeth rose from her bed beneath the stairs and wrapped herself in a quilt to combat the chill in the air. She’d expected to find William puttering about the kitchen again, but he was nowhere to be seen. A small fire burned low in the hearth, and Elizabeth knelt before it, rubbing her hands together and placing them in the soft, orange glow. Outside the little window, the sky was shrouded in grey clouds, leading her to guess that winter snows could be imminent. Absently, she wondered how long she’d slept and what time of morning it was. Time didn’t seem to matter so much here. How long had she been gone, anyway? One day, three days? No not that long, but it felt longer still. In the past day or two, her entire life had changed; her understanding of the way the world worked had shifted entirely. Monsters are real. I’m not crazy.

Elizabeth padded barefoot over the creaky floorboards and looked up the stairs. The door at the top of the landing stood slightly ajar.

“William?” she called.

When she received no response, she tentatively ascended the steps, tip-toeing. After stepping onto the landing, she pressed her palms lightly against the door and slowly pushed it open. He wasn’t there, of course. She hadn’t expected him to be there, but for some reason she needed to satiate the nagging curiosity to see where he slept. The room was small, simplistic, and even tinier than the loft bedroom she’d shared with Dawn. A cot stood in the center with a straw mattress on the ground beside it. Elizabeth’s gaze swept to the far side of the room where she was surprised to see an entire wall covered with books, nearly floor to ceiling. Quietly she stepped over to the shelves and ran her fingers over endless, tattered spines. Some of the titles she found bizarre and curious: A History of Witchcraft and Western Conspiracies, Watcher’s Demonology, The Slayer Line. She longed to read them all, to understand the history of a world she’d never known existed. Her eyes scanned the other rows, and she smiled to see something familiar: The Iliad and the Odyssey, Beowulf, Dr. Faustus, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.

Glancing over her shoulder, Elizabeth noticed a small desk sitting in the opposite corner. Upon closer inspection (very well, rummaging through the drawer) she discovered a pair of spectacles, a few wells of ink, and a rather nice quill. On the surface of the desk lay a large, weather-worn book bound in expensive brown leather. She flipped open the cover to reveal a delicate, feminine script on the first page.

For Will,
My little poet
Always share your gifts
With all my Love,
M 1667

Elizabeth turned a few pages to see a child’s rough penmanship at first; but gradually the words evolved into a neat, formal, and careful script, as if every letter were a precious work of art. Each page was different, some containing a few isolated words or drawings while others held dated entries like a journal. She desperately wanted to read his words, but she knew she couldn’t. They were private; not meant for her.

A sudden, enormous splash from outside caused her breath to catch in a startled gasp. The book slipped from her fingers, pages fluttering before it crashed to the floor. Instinctively her feet took her to the window in search of the disturbance. Some creature is in the pond! And to her great surprise, she saw that it was only William below, swimming the length of the water with even strokes. Carefully, she stepped aside, peeking out with caution in case he should look up and see her in his bedroom. Lean muscles rippled under the skin of his bare torso with every movement of his arms. When she noticed the fresh, purple bruises from the night before marring his flesh, she grimaced. He coughed and sputtered against the cold, and Elizabeth shook her head in amused bewilderment. He is a strange one indeed.

After cautiously organizing the room into proper order exactly the way she’d discovered it, Elizabeth wrapped the quilt around her shoulders and made her way outside. For a moment she watched him silently, unnoticed, before he seemed to catch her from the corner of his eye.

“Lovely day for a swim, eh? Come on in!” he invited, scarcely looking up from his exercises.

Elizabeth’s teeth chattered in the frosty chill of the late morning air.

“You’re mad,” she called, “If you die from pneumonia, it will be your own fault. Just yesterday you said it was too ‘bloody freezing’ to swim.”

“Nah. Feels great, really. Nothin’ gets the blood pumping more than the shock of ice water in the morning.”

“It is far too cold, William. You should come out at once.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, pet. I do it all the time and I’m still kickin’. You said you swim, right?”

He flipped over, propelling himself backward through the water with fluid strokes of his arms.

“Yes, I used to. But in the Caribbean Sea—not in a frigid New England pond!”

“Are you aware that swimming is a sign of witchcraft, madam?” he paused mid-stroke to waggle his brows at her.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at his allusion to her words. “Left hand dominance is a sign of witchcraft. That gives you two for two.”

“Aright, I confess. I consort with the Devil. Bloke’s a bloody terrible shag. Got me a nasty burn right on the arse.”

“William!”

He laughed at her incredulity. “Don’t be so serious, luv. Life’s too short to worry over polite words. People should be able to say what pops in their heads, y’know?”

“Yes, and if people did whatever they wanted, there would be no society. No civilization. Only chaos.”

“You know, anarchy’s not necessarily a bad thing. I’ve done alright not livin’ under the rules of those Puritan ponces.”

William flipped backward in the water, arriving back on his stomach for a breast stroke. Desperately Elizabeth tried not to notice the way the thin cloth of his breeches clung to his skin in all the inappropriate places.

“Aye, I think maybe we can agree on that,” she said as she tried to avert her eyes slyly, hoping she wasn’t blushing.

“So, tell me, when you used to swim in your precious Caribbean Sea, did you learn real strokes or did you just float all dainty girly-like?”

“My friends and I used to race, and I was quite good, I’ll have you know.”

“You? Nah.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“No offense, luv, but I can’t picture it. You don’t really strike me as the outdoor type ‘a lady. And definitely not the competitive type—since you’re clearly so worried about polite society and rules and all that. Not to mention, someone who claims to win swimming races wouldn’t be so scared of a little cold water.”

“I’m not afraid of anything,” she replied, her jaw clenching.

“Coulda fooled me. You’re just another stuffy little girl, aren’t you?”

Elizabeth was not quite sure what compelled her to do it. Maybe it was the way he professed to know everything about her, or that self-righteous smirk that peeved her so; but in one quick motion she dropped the blanket around her feet and dove into the murky water, nightgown and all. The shock of freezing cold was the most intensely unpleasant sensation she’d perhaps ever experienced. It felt as if an icy hand had clenched around her lungs in a death grip, sucking all the air out. She choked and gasped, her heart racing while her body shook uncontrollably. A moment later she felt his arms circle around her, lifting her up gently so that her torso was above the water.

“Elizabeth, it’s alright. Just breathe slow. Let your body get used to it,” he guided softly.

Once she got her bearings and the initial shock wore off, she pushed him away. “I know. I can swim, remember? I don’t need your help.”

He held his arms up in a gesture of surrender before treading away from her. She swam toward the opposite end of the pond, and he chuckled, watching her.

“Damn, I didn’t think it’d be that easy.”

“What?” she asked, gliding back toward him.

“Pissin’ you off,” he replied, “You’re a right spitfire, Lizzie.”

Elizabeth jerked her head back in his direction at the use of her nickname. “Don’t call me that! That was my mother’s name for me. I’m not a child any longer!” she snapped.

He visibly winced at the bite in her tone, his expression solemn. “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry…of course you aren’t a child.”

She felt guilty for lashing out; her words had sounded sharper than she’d intended. Elizabeth simply shrugged in response and lightly returned to the conversation.

“You didn’t think it would be easy …So you were trying to provoke me, then?” she asked.

“Well yeah. I knew you’d jump eventually—jus’ didn’t think it’d work so fast.”

“You…are…incorrigible,” Elizabeth panted as she attempted to control her shivering.

She tried to keep a copious amount of contempt in her voice, but she couldn’t hide the smile that began in her eyes and crept over her lips.

“That’s me, darlin’,” he joked, blue eyes sparkling.

“Come over here for a minute, William,” she said, dropping her tone.

He cocked his head at her questioningly before propelling himself through the water.

“Yeah?” he asked once he was just a few feet from her, his voice barely above a thick whisper.

“Closer,” she murmured.

Elizabeth ignored the thudding of her heart and the fluttering in her belly as she watched him approach. She was slowly becoming addicted to the rapt, intent expression that he wore every time he looked at her this way. There was honesty in his gaze…and passion, and an underlying hunger that made her breath catch. When he was near enough that she could feel the warm puff of his breath against her cheek, she slipped her arms beneath the murky surface of the pond and then shot them forward with a torrential splash, giving William a face-full of freezing cold water.

He coughed and choked in surprise, and Elizabeth thought for a second that he was genuinely angry as he rubbed his eyes. But his expression of incredulity gradually melted away into a devilish grin.

“Oh, now it’s war, sweetheart.”

They took turns splashing one another, shrieking with laughter, William cursing jokingly and Elizabeth feigning scolds. She had not allowed herself to play in such a long time, and she’d forgotten what it felt like.

In the freezing water with William on that late autumn day, she let go of everything: her past, what her future should be, and the dictations of someone else’s society…She chose not to think, and began to lose track of time. When the morning grew late, they prepared to retire back to the cabin at the calling of their rumbling bellies.

The moment Elizabeth first stepped out of the water, her shivers returned tenfold as the cool wind whispered over her skin. William threw an arm around her, pulling her close into the warmth of his side. She flinched a bit at the sudden intimate contact.

“Just to keep you warm,” he murmured into her wet hair.

At that moment a thought occurred to Elizabeth that should’ve frightened her.

I don’t ever want to go back.

--

Elizabeth sighed contentedly as the relaxing heat from the fire warmed her nose and cheeks, which had grown pink with cold. She sat on the floor close to the hearth and squeezed droplets of water from her long hair; and as the golden tendrils began to dry, they transformed into soft curls. Piles of blankets cluttered the floor—William had ransacked his bedroom for quilts and comforters to help them get warm; and he’d wrapped his best down blanket tightly around her. Sipping from the cup of tea he had made for her, Elizabeth realized that she felt cozy enough to drift off to sleep at that very moment.

“How’s the tea, luv?”

She jumped slightly as the sound of his voice broke the quiet of the small cabin. They had been sitting in comfortable silence for several minutes that had felt so natural that Elizabeth hadn’t noticed the time go by. She looked away from the peaceful glow of the fire to see him perched on the carved cedar worktable in front of the window.

“Perfect,” she replied easily.

“Came all the way from England, you know, and this is near the last of it…It’s funny, I didn’t bring anythin’ to America but the clothes on my back and tea leaves. Little bit a home, I s’pose.”

“Me too. I mean, I brought everything I could to America, but the tea reminds me of my home. Nenna—my nurse—she made the best orange tea I’ve ever tasted.”

“Yeah?...I’ve seen a lot of places in my time. Never been to the Caribbean, though. Is it really as gorgeous as they say?”

“It’s never cold,” she answered wistfully, “You really should travel to the islands sometime if you ever get the opportunity. Honestly a tan would do you some damn good.”

“Wait, did you just say damn?” he exclaimed in mock horror.

“You, sir, are a terrible influence,” she replied, grinning.

“Goes without sayin’…So if you could go anywhere in all the world—“

“Italy,” Elizabeth answered without a moment’s hesitation.

He smiled. “Italy, eh? I been there. We spent a few days in Rome. Beautiful city, though I only saw the underbelly of it, I’m afraid. So what makes Italy your place?”

“Well the one place I wanted to see most in the world used to be America, but then I got here and that all sort of changed.”

William smirked. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“Italy was always a close second for me, because my father had been several times. He was a merchant, so he traveled quite extensively. When I was little, he would tell me stories about the Mediterranean—about how the water was so bright, so perfectly clear…so I always wanted to see it for myself. And well, this is a bit silly of me, but my absolute favorite story is The Odyssey, and I’ve longed to lay my eyes on the ocean which great Odysseus sailed upon.”

William perked up instantly, his eyes bright with excitement. “You know Homer?”

“By heart. I brought The Odyssey on my voyage, though I’ve hidden it, as it’s considered sinfully pagan here.”

“Rupert has a copy upstairs,” he said, jumping from the table, “I’m very fond of epic poetry.”

Elizabeth wrinkled her brow as a bemused smile graced her lips. Of course she already knew about the vast collection of books, which had seemed odd considering the manner in which he presented himself. But to actually see his joy at the prospect of discussing literature, he nearly transformed into a different person.

“One moment,” he said before scurrying up the stairs.

Elizabeth waited only a few minutes while listening to his hurried footsteps before he bounded back down, a stack of books teetering precariously in his arms. Carefully he placed the pile on the floor in front of Elizabeth and took a seat comfortably close beside her.

“If you enjoy reading, I—I brought a few of my favorites for you. Well, the blind poet, certainly.”

William placed the combined works of Homer softly on her lap, and Elizabeth lovingly traced her fingers over the gold lettering on the front cover. “It’s like coming home,” she murmured, “Reading it is like coming home.”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“What are these?” she inquired, gesturing to the remainder of the stack.

“Do you know Dante? The Divine Comedy?”

“Aye, I mean, I know of it.”

“So terribly beautiful. Most people acclaim the Paradiso but I prefer Inferno myself. Darkness and lamenting souls speak to me more, I guess,” he laughed quietly and passed her the large black volume, “Does poetry please you?”

“Yes very much. Well what I have read—I’m afraid I have not been exposed to a great deal.”

“Donne—my favorite. Listen,” he said, flipping open a small book with a green ribbon keeping a page.

“Twice or thrice had I lov'd thee, Before I knew thy face or name; So in a voice, so in shapeless flame, Angels affect us oft, and worshipp'd be…” he paused, and to Elizabeth’s surprise, he blushed. “Well, you should read them. I can’t do his words justice.”

“I like the way you read it. Tell me, William, are you a poet yourself?” she asked carefully.

“No! No, I—well, it’s something I play at from time to time.”

“Do you share your writing at all?”

“Hell no, I’m bloody awful at it!” he snorted.

“Surely that isn’t true.”

“Most would disagree, luv.”

Tilting her head to the side in perplexity, she studied his features as if to discover an answer there. Not at all what I had expected.

“Why do you hide?” she asked.

“Hide what? My writing?”

“Who you are.”

She reached her palm up to touch his cheek, slowly, hesitantly—almost in fear of being pushed away. Her fingers tenderly caressed the angular curves of his jaw and cheekbone, her knuckles brushing over light stubble. He swallowed as his eyes fluttered closed, his head turning into her touch. Gently his lips pressed a feather-light kiss against her palm. When he gazed back at her, she felt enraptured by the intensity of his stormy blue-grey eyes. Raising a hand to her temple, he stroked his fingers delicately through her hair and lightly twirled the golden locks.

“So beautiful,” he whispered thickly, “Do you even know…”

Elizabeth did not know exactly what she was feeling, except that it was wonderful and new and unfamiliar. She knew she wanted more of his touch, his hands, his breath, his lips, his skin. She wanted to drink him in, to hold him, to be closer to him than she had to anyone. Her breath quickened, and she sought unabashedly for what she so desperately wanted. She drew him closer, and he seemed to melt, to sink into her body as he tilted his head and closed his eyes once more. Elizabeth nearly felt the brush of his lips against her own just as the front door swung open and hit the wall with a thud.

“Hullo! I apologize for the length of my absence. The journey to the trade post was dreadfully long,” Giles declared as he bustled inside, arms full of parcels.

William jerked away from her so quickly it was as though he’d accidentally touched a boiling pot. Elizabeth shook her head, somewhat in disbelief of what had just happened.

Giles continued, entirely oblivious as he freed his arms of their burdens, “I think I obtained just about everything on the list we made. Perhaps I’ll return for a few odds and ends later, but what with winter coming soon and all—“

For the first time since he’d entered, the older man looked directly at William and Elizabeth. “Goodness, why are you both all wet…and why is this room such a mess?”

William cursed under his breath before hopping to his feet. “Rain,” he answered curtly.

“That’s odd. The sky looks perfectly clear now. Well, no matter. I am quite happy to see that the both of you survived on your own for a bit without killing each other.”

"I don’t recall when or how I first loved her. It just seemed I always had… it didn’t require contemplation or decision…we were so happy in those early days that stretched on into infinity. I allowed myself to dream, because that is what it was…a dream. And I think I knew it even then. We had no idea what lurked around the corner…the despicable irony of it. We fought monsters together; but in the end, the mundane became the most gruesome battle."

~From the diary of William Wells; undated

~*~


Later that afternoon once the cabin had been tidied, William ran off without much of a word. He said that he was departing to hunt and would return to prepare supper from what game he recovered. Giles mentioned offhandedly to Elizabeth that the younger man would likely not return till early evening as he was often prone to enjoying long, solitary rides over the country. Part of her ached to have been invited to go along with him, but she had a feeling that much needed to be discussed with Mr. Giles.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he began shortly after William left, “Would you care to sit with me by the pond for a while?”

“Aye sir,” she replied, following him outdoors into the cool glow of fading sunlight.

Giles brought a blanket out and laid it on the bank of the water, gesturing for her to take a seat.

“I apologize for my abrupt departure,” he said, “The timing for my journey was awful, but I’m afraid it could not be avoided. A band of natives resides to the north, called the Seneca, whom we depend on for trade; and I received word that a group would be passing near the post yesterday…I do hope William behaved well in my absence.”

“Yes, he—he was very hospitable.”

“That is good, though a tad surprising, to hear. Before I left, I instructed him to go ahead and explain some things to you. He did that, I hope?”

“Indeed. Actually, he showed me a barren field and said that it was some sort of…dark power source.”

“You must never go there, Elizabeth.”

“I know. But what is it, exactly?”

Giles looked away from her, squinting at patches of sunlight reflecting off the sparkling black water. “It was once a dwelling place for a thing of great power before the soil burned and the land was abandoned.”

“A vampire?”

“Yes and no. The fallible thing—the creature we fought, was a powerful vampire, certainly. He called himself The Master of them all.”

“You and William killed him?”

“Susan, she—she faced him, but he was too strong. He escaped. Probably somewhere in Europe by now,” he choked, drawing a deep breath to compose himself.

“Is that how she…”

“Yes. But I would rather not speak of it. I loved her as a daughter and…I would rather keep it in the past.”

“I understand. I’m sorry.”

“Elizabeth, you must realize that what you know is terribly dangerous. You must not reveal what you have learned or seen here to anyone.”

“Why? Wouldn’t the town be safer if they knew the danger?”

“No, it is not as simple as that. If they believed it, it would create mass panic. But they would not believe. They would call us witches or satanists and our lives would be forfeit…The greatest power a vampire possesses lies in the fact that no one will believe he exists. That will remain truth for all the ages.”

“Mr. Giles…Why must you live here, isolated so?”

“We lived in town once, briefly. I taught the young children for a time, but I…evidence was recovered by the magistrate that I’d practiced magic. Instead of hanging me, I struck a deal with your uncle. He allowed us to live here.”

“And what does my uncle know of all this?”

Giles snorted, “Nathaniel knows much. And I know him well. Better than I’d like. We were close once, but he was a different man then. Elizabeth, you must understand, he…he is not what he seems. I caution you to be careful where he is concerned. I don’t believe harm would come to you as one of his kin but—just exercise caution.”

“What do you mean he is not what he seems?”

“I will say no more of it.”

Elizabeth sighed heavily, quite tired of all the evasiveness. The more she was given, the more she desperately needed to know.

“I know you’re right,” she began tentatively, chewing her lip, “Something is wrong about him; I felt it from the moment we met. Mr. Giles…I don’t want to go back—to that town, that house—I can’t.”

“What? You must go back, child. Your family is probably dreadfully worried. I’m sure we can simply tell them that you wandered away from town, became lost, and William and myself offered you shelter for a time.”

“No. I can’t go back now. I cannot have this newfound knowledge and just return to that life. It’s not safe there.”

Giles studied her carefully, his expression strained. He opened his mouth for what appeared to be another argument, but seemed to think better of it and fell silent.

“And when they come looking for you?” he asked softly.

“I won’t let anyone find me. After all, I would not be the first to disappear, would I? Please, let me do what I can to help. Let me stay.”

“If I agree to this—it is only for the time being. Should trouble come from town…”

“Thank you, sir...My only concern now is for my young cousin, Dawn. But in time, perhaps I can get her out of that place. Somehow give her a better life…show her all the things she’s never seen. She can’t even read!”

“For that you should wait until she comes of age. Let her decide. I know Will and myself are poor examples, but taking a young girl from her home in the middle of the night is usually not a wise course of action.”

“I’ll find a way to see her. But not the rest of them. I doubt my absence is any great loss.”

“If you stay, however briefly, you must learn how to defend yourself,” he insisted, “Many dangers lurk around the pond. You must be instructed in defensive combat.”

“Of course.”

“I’m getting too old for the rough and tumble these days. William can teach you, if you would feel comfortable with that arrangement.”

“Yes, sir, I would.”

--

“Hmm no,” Elizabeth mumbled groggily, flipping over and burying her face in the pillow.

“Yes. You already agreed to it. I’m not lettin’ you weasel your way out.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t actually serious when I said I’d get up before dawn.”

“That’s not gonna work with me, pet,” William said quietly as he gently shook her shoulder. She could hear the amusement in his voice.

Elizabeth batted his hand away and pressed the pillow over her head. Her voice was muffled and scarcely understandable when she spoke. “Don’t you ever sleep, William? I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the concept—it’s something normal people do at night.”

“Nah. It can wait till I die.”

“Five more minutes.”

“Can’t do it, luv. You said that five minutes ago.”

“You’re going to sit there and pester me until I get up, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” he said with exaggerated glee.

“Fine. I surrender,” she rolled over begrudgingly and slowly blinked her eyes open to the sight of William leaning over her.

She would never forget how he looked that morning. His chestnut curls were more unruly than usual, causing him to appear younger and softer as he gazed at her with a lazy, contented grin. In the delicate light of predawn, he looked quite peaceful.

“Hullo there,” he whispered.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes in mostly feigned annoyance. “Go away and I’ll get dressed.”

--

An electric charge stirred through the air just before sunrise. Elizabeth’s mother had once told her that it was the most magical time of day—when the world woke gradually from its slumber.

She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head to ease her shivers as she watched the dark surface of the pond ripple with the movement of small creatures. A bullfrog croaked loudly from across the water, causing her to flinch. Frogs of any sort now had a somewhat negative connotation in her mind. The morning star shone bright on the western horizon, and as she admired its twinkle, Elizabeth inhaled a cleansing breath of sweet pine. In her opinion, the woods at first light should serve as the definition of religion. If a god could dwell anywhere on earth, it would be here.

She turned when the door of the cabin shut with a bang.

“Shhh! William, you’ll wake Mr. Giles!”

“Bloke sleeps through anything.”

“I still don’t understand why you insisted on starting at such an early hour.”

He approached her side wearing his wide-brimmed hat and the long beaten cloak that he seemed to carry like a second skin. A leather satchel hung from his left shoulder.

“Cause the day is ours, and we have a lot to do…Gorgeous, in’t?” he nodded to the distant hills at the horizon where hints of violet and orange splashed the sky, “Would you really want to sleep through this?”

“Yes,” she quipped.

He snorted and tossed her an organ pouch of water. “Come on. We’ve got a trek ahead of us.”

--

They hiked across rough paths through thick wilderness as the sun rose over the tree line in the east. Truthfully, Elizabeth was growing a bit tired, but she maintained a near jogging pace to keep up with him. Hills rose all around as their path crept higher and rocky inclines towered above them on their left side.

“Is it futile to ask where we’re going?” she panted.

“You’ll see when we get there…You need a break?”

“No!” she answered emphatically.

“It’s all right if you’d like to rest pet; I promise I won’t think less of you.”

“You said I’m not an outdoor girl. I think I’m proving you wrong, am I not?”

“Never said I believed that,” he smirked.

“Well, no stops until we get—wherever we’re going.”

“Sounds like a challenge of manliness then, yeah?”

“What does that mean, anyway? To be manly? Is it meant to imply that you can do what I cannot? I am not a stuffy girl as you have said…All of it is so tiring—needlework and bonnets and cooking and not saying what I want to say when I want to say it! I could never be one of them,” she said bitterly.

Elizabeth flinched, surprised at her admission. She’d been longing to scream some of her frustration for so long, and suddenly it had just tumbled out. Instantly she felt a twinge of guilt for going on about it to William unprovoked.

“I know, Elizabeth. Always knew that. It’s why I…”

“You can’t know what it’s like. Living in a cage. That’s what it is to be a woman here. Sometimes I wish I’d just been born a man so that I could do what I please!”

“Don’t wish that, pet. You make too pretty a lady…If you—when you go back, just don’t let ‘em change you. Promise me that.”

“I won’t. If I’m even able to go back to that…Nothing I ever do there is right. From the moment I arrived, I’ve longed to just step outside the door and never come back. Some days I only wanted to walk into the woods to see where they end.”

“So let’s find out. I’m game if you are. I reckon we’d reach some ocean eventually, but I got nothing better to do today.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“I just want…”

“What do you want?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know. I don’t know where I’m supposed to go anymore,” she sighed in defeat.

“Well, quick answer to that one.”

He gestured with a nod up to their left, and Elizabeth tilted her chin to see where he pointed. A large rock formation loomed in a steep incline that peaked above the tree line.

“We’re climbing that?”

“To the top,” he smiled.

--

“Heights—I’m not fond of them. Perhaps I should have mentioned,” Elizabeth squeaked, her former bravado starting to fade.

“Just keep lookin’ to the sky till we reach the top. Then when you look down, the view’ll be too incredible for you to be scared.”

“Scared? I’m not scared. It’s just that falling to my death in the process of reaching this view in question is a fair concern,” she stammered.

“You’ll be fine, Elizabeth.”

At this point in their climb, she’d been just an inch away from terrified ever since her boot had caught on a large rock and she’d slid backward a level. Observing carefully exactly where William placed his hands to propel himself up and the precise pathway his feet took in their ascent, she imitated his steps at a snail’s pace.

“There’s really nothing to it,” he called down to her, “Your problem is that you think too much. Just go with it. Your body knows how to balance.”

Instead of just “going with it”, Elizabeth chose to focus on her hands instead of her feet, since it was less to think about. When she looked up again, he’d disappeared over a ledge.

“William!” she cried.

“Right here,” he said, his head peeking over a rocky overhang, “We’re at the top. Just a few more steps and you’ve made it.

Almost there. Don’t think, Elizabeth. Stop thinking! She rushed onward, reaching up to grab hold of a crevice; but in the process, lost her footing and fell back once more. Glancing over her shoulder while she steadied herself, she accidentally caught a glimpse of the far distance to the ground below and panicked.

“I’m falling! Oh God! William!”

“You’re not falling, Elizabeth. Grab a hold of that boulder there, pull on it, and swing your feet up.”

“No—no, I can’t. Help me!” she cried out, squeezing her eyes shut tightly while clinging to the rock for dear life.

“You don’t need my help. You can do it by yourself.”

Elizabeth whimpered, shaking with anxiety, and reluctantly opened her eyes. William was still above, watching her steadily.

“What’re you waiting for?” he asked.

After willing herself to breathe and firmly deciding that if she fell, she’d kill him later, Elizabeth used all the strength in her arms to propel her body up. Once she lay in a heap on the large, flat rock at the top, William offered his arm to help pull her to standing.

“I’m here? I made it?”

“See for yourself,” he spoke softly, placing his hands about her waist to slowly pivot her around.

Before them lay a vast sea of every shade of gold, green, and red she could imagine. The leaves rippled gently with the breeze like the surface of a multi-colored lake. In the far distance, she could see smoke rising from a settlement, and farther still, a haze of blue-grey flickered on the horizon where the Atlantic Ocean crashed into the bay.

“It’s so small,” she whispered, “So insignificant. Wethersfield is down there somewhere, and they don’t even know how small they are.”

“They don’t see the land,” he answered calmly, standing behind her, “They see what they want, how they can use it, what they can take. They’re not like you and me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much at once,” Elizabeth murmured in awe.

“I’ve seen a lot of great views in my day, but I think this might be the best, hidden in these hills above a town that’s too scared to step outside their own borders.”

“This is the best, is it? Tell me of the others,” she requested.

“Another great one—top of Notre Dame among the gargoyles.”

“Paris?”

“You could see the whole city from up there. Maybe it wasn’t the view so much as the place. I was dirt poor livin’ there, but I never felt like it cause it was just so beautiful…romantic, yeah? The place had a light and an energy I’d never seen anywhere else.”

“Wait, you actually lived in Paris?”

“I did. When I was on my own for a couple years. Rupert and Susan stayed on in London.”

“I must say that I’m quite impressed. I’ve often dreamt of visiting an old city like Paris, though I know I never will.”

“Don’t say never to me. Of course you will. If you want it, you’ll do it,” he said firmly.

“I wish it were that simple…But Paris, my my. I’m sure it was difficult living there as an English speaker.”

“Well it mighta been. That’s why I spoke French.”

“I’m learning so much about you, William Wells,” Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head in surprise, “Tell me something in French.”

A calm, wistful expression passed over his features; and his eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment before he spoke softly.

“Je souhaite que vous resteriez avec moi toujours.”

“What did you say?”

“I said it’s a beautiful day.”

Elizabeth raised a brow skeptically. She knew he would not tell her, so she changed the subject.

“Is this the destination—the place you planned to show me?”

“Yes and no. Yes—I wanted to show you—but where we’re going’s on the other side. We gotta go over and down.”

“Over and down—couldn’t we simply have gone around and avoided the climb?”

“We gotta work on your sense of adventure,” he replied with a tsk.

“So you just wanted to make me struggle up here and scare me half to death? Stupid brute!” Elizabeth exclaimed, giving him a light punch in the shoulder.

To her surprise, he looked hurt.

“Hey—teasing. It’s beautiful. Of course I’m happy that you showed me. We gotta work on your sense of humour.”

“Corker,” he muttered with a playful eye roll after a small sigh of relief.

--

A/N: Translation of William’s French: I wish that you could stay with me forever (or always)

Often I find my mind drifting pointlessly, thinking about all those grand things like life and death and what comes after…I know nothing of theology, though something tells me that the universe exists in scales and balances: if there are demons, there should also be angels…I think of the people in my life…it sounds quite bizarre, but those closest to me—it’s almost as though…I knew them before I knew them. Often I wonder if the traditions in the East are close to truth. Do we return to this world again and again until we finally get something right? And do we return alone, or do others share the same journey? Susan, Cecelia, Mum, Rupert…Elizabeth. Who were they to me before, and who will they be should we meet again? Family, friends, lovers…enemies?

~From the diary of William Wells; December10th, 1685

~*~


William and Elizabeth remained on the rocky hilltop through the rest of midday. They sat comfortably on cool stone enjoying the lunch of bread, fruit, and dried venison that William had packed in his satchel. When the sun began to move westward, they picked up their belongings and began the descent into the trees below. Much to Elizabeth’s relief, going down wasn’t quite as frightening as going up, since it did not involve precarious climbing. William traveled in front, because, as he explained, if she stumbled and fell she’d take him right along with her. The sentiment failed to instill much confidence.

With the hill behind them, the land ahead lay shrouded in a dense forest. Shadowed, rolling hills crept up in the distance, leading to the confluence of the Appalachian and Catskill Mountains beyond the horizon. The terrain appeared rugged in patches, etched with steep trails. Crunchy, dead leaves blanketed the earth all around. It seemed to Elizabeth as though the world were preparing itself for a long sleep, since her surroundings were still and quiet, with bright autumn hues fading to browns and greys.

“Here we are,” William declared, gesturing across a small, rippling brook that snaked before them.

Just ahead in a clearing, there stood a fairly dilapidated structure. It looked far more primitive than the home at Raven Pond, though it did seem larger.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Don’t know for sure…I found it with—with Susan, when we first got here. Figured it belonged to some early settlers who left it abandoned a good while ago.”

“It was a house, then?”

“Nah, foundation of the house is over that way. This was a barn, I think.”

A path made of large rocks formed a little bridge across the stream; but instead of simply walking over, William chose to jump most of the way across in a clear demonstration of his athleticism. Unfortunately, he landed just short of the bank, and his left leg ended up soaked to the calf. Elizabeth giggled uncontrollably at his morose expression of failure.

“This is funny to you, is it?” he complained, his voice dripping with disdain, “I’m gonna hafta walk around for the rest of the day with one squishy boot! Fine then. Go on and laugh at my pain. Sadistic wench.”

“Would you care for some cheese to go with your whine?” she replied when she finally caught her breath.

He glared back at her sullenly for as long as he was able until he too broke down in laughter. To restore a bit of his male pride, she allowed him to help her over the slick rocks, and then followed him to the door.

The interior of the barn was not what she’d been expecting. It was actually quite tidy, though mostly empty but for a couple of old trunks and a stack of blankets and pillows. The center of the floor was large and open, and the roof was higher than it had appeared from the outside. She looked up into the rafters to see a tiny finch perched near the ceiling.

“Why did you bring me?” she asked, her eyes sweeping over the simple details of the large room.

“No one knew this was here ‘cept me and her. Now it’s just you and me. I come here sometimes to be alone…to think, to write. When I’m feelin’ particularly introspective, I’ll bring my journal. It’s not much, but it’s a special place. And I wanted to show you.”

Elizabeth nodded, understanding what it meant to him. The alcove in Nenna’s kitchen was the same for me once. He studied her reaction to his hideaway for a long moment. She wanted to thank him for inviting her, for allowing her to see one of his secrets, but she didn’t quite know how best to convey how moved she felt. After her silence, he cleared his throat uncomfortably and shifted his feet.

“Well, like I said, it ain’t much. I just thought—I thought maybe we could train here if you wanted. There’re some weapons I keep hidden, and without furniture to get in the way, there’s a lot of open space for dancing.”

Elizabeth looked up in amused disbelief. “Dancing?”

“Learning the fight. Susan used to call it dancing. Really that’s all it is once you get the steps down.”

“Oh.”

“But then again, I know you’re fond of the other kind.”

Briefly she thought she’d misunderstood, because how could he possibly know of her passion for dancing? Surely she’d never mentioned it. She never told anyone, especially no person in this tight-laced colony.

“Excuse me?”

He dropped his gaze shyly and stuffed his hands into his cloak pockets.

“One night around second harvest, you were in the woods near the church. It was some Irish jig, but there was grace and precision to it, almost like the French Ballet of Louis’ court. Your hair came loose and sorta glowed when it caught the moonlight…It was like—it was like you were a spirit almost. One of Shakespeare’s faeries brought into the world of men.”

Oh dear Lord! That night I was drunken…behaving like a depraved wild thing. No one was there, I looked—I…

Instantly she felt her cheeks burn scarlet. It was both unsettling and terribly embarrassing that she had been watched without her knowledge during such a private moment. And by William no less…

“You saw me?!”

“You’re angry with me.”

“No, I just…why were you there? Did you follow me?”

“No,” he replied quickly, “No, I was there on the hunt. Townsfolk gettin’ sloshed late at night? Perfect snacking opportunity for a vamp. But I saw you, and I…I stopped.”

“And you call me a spy,” she scoffed, before pausing as her expression grew serious. “It’s all right, William. I’m not upset with you.”

Her heart fluttered away inside her chest, though she tried to appear calm and unconcerned. He saw me. He saw me and he did not think it sinful.

“Good. I’ve seen you pissed off and I wouldn’t wanna go through that again. Still got the battle scars.”

“Ponce,” she said, grinning.

“Nope. My word. Doesn’t count when you say it, luv.”

He knelt before one of the old trunks and pulled out a large bag, emptying its contents on the floor. Various knives, stakes, and bows splayed out in a heaping pile. William beckoned her over and offered her first pick.

“I have large weapons.” he proclaimed, before muttering “ponce” in a scoff under his breath.

--

“Right. Now most important thing to remember here is power. You gotta know how to use it, and you hafta recognize who has it. That’s lesson the first, and you must understand it before we even try hand-to-hand. Pretend I’m the vamp, yeah? You’re the Slayer—Chosen One—defender of the people. For you to survive, you gotta get me here,” William said, patting his heart.

Elizabeth held the stake awkwardly in one hand as she chased after him. Each time she tried to lunge with her weapon, he dodged her swings expertly.

“This is basic attack strategy. I haven’t even started to fight back yet, but for the time being, we’ll say you’ve got the upper hand. Upper hand ain’t the same as power. I’m a demon, and I’m strong. Stronger than you. Know your limitations. I’m running you in circles purposefully. Don’t follow or you’ll get tired. Wait for me to slip up, get too close, and then you take the opportunity to catch me off guard. Like this.”

William ran for Elizabeth, catching his foot lightly on the back of her leg as if to trip her; and then grasped her arm to pry the stake out of her hand. Instead of completing the movements, he held her in place with her back pressed firmly against his chest. Through their clothing, she could feel the steady pounding of his heart. His voice was soft and heavy in her ear when he spoke.

“I’ve made a bad call. Let my guard down completely on my right side. What are you gonna do, Slayer?”

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered, chest heaving.

Abruptly, he spun her around without breaking contact. Never been this close. His eyes were dark, watching her steadily. At once her mouth felt completely dry while her breath grew shallower, and her tongue darted out instinctively to lick her lips. Their gaze never broke, but she heard his breath catch slightly.

“It’s your call. What do you do?” he whispered huskily.

“Show me.”

Eyes still trained on her, he took a step back and lifted her arm in his warm hands, causing a bend at her elbow. When he pulled her close again, he pressed her elbow into his ribs and slowly doubled over.

“I’m down, but only for a second, if that long. Make your move.”

Elizabeth glanced at the stake in her hand, reached underneath his body, and tapped it against his chest.

“Do you have the heart?” he asked without looking up.

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Wrong. Gimme your other hand.”

When he took her hand in his firm grip, she realized she was shaking. Flipping her palm over so that it was facing up, he placed her fingers against his breastbone.

“Find it,” he directed.

She ran her palm over his chest, noticing vaguely that his sweat caused the thin cotton tunic to stick to his skin in an intriguing manner. Exploring with her fingers, unable to see where she touched him, she searched for the rhythm of his pulse.

“There,” she said

His face was flushed and glistening with light perspiration when he straightened.

“Right, but if I was a real vamp, you wouldn’t have that luxury. You must know your target. It was only an inch away, but the difference is life and death.”

Learning to defend herself the proper way proved far more difficult than Elizabeth had anticipated. She knew that beginning slowly was necessary and that skills would only come with time, but she couldn’t help feeling discouraged. Part of her had wanted so badly to prove her strength and show him that she did not need his help—that she could be his match. Simply fighting (or rather, chasing) William had been exhausting. There was no telling what fighting a real vampire would entail. She feared that if her life was at stake—or worse—someone else’s—that she would be paralyzed with fright and weakness at the worst possible moment.

“Whew. You wore me out, pet. I think that’s enough of the lessons for today, yeah? It was a good start.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be any good at this,” she muttered.

“Oh you will. A little practice under your belt, and you’ll be fine. You got the strength and the passion for it. If you didn’t, you’d be back in Wethersfield with the rest of ‘em.”

Back in Wethersfield…she really had entered an entirely new world. Never in her wildest dreams would she have ever thought that she’d be alone with a man (who’d been a stranger only days before) learning and discussing combat strategies. A degree of innocence had been lost with her knowledge, and there would be no going back. She was glad for that.

“So what now? Do you have anything else to teach me?”

“Yeah, we got a ways to go, but not today. I say we head back. If we make it to the pond in time before dark, I think I’d like to take Sunshine out for a ride. Poor girl’s been cooped up for too long. She deserves to stretch her legs. Care to join me?”

“I would like that very much,” Elizabeth replied, a smile playing across her lips.

--

“Hello there. You’re a pretty girl, aren’t you?” Elizabeth spoke gently to the mare as she lightly caressed the white streak than ran between the horse’s eyes and down her nose.

The animal was calm and gentle, quite unlike her panicked behavior in town. Sunshine blinked tiredly and nuzzled into Elizabeth’s touch.

“She’s old, isn’t she?”

William turned from saddling up Giles’s white gelding, who had been introduced to Elizabeth as Sassafras.

“Yeah. We got her cheap cause she’d already been worked.”

“Where’d you get her?”

“Traded with natives up north after we got off the ship from London. I picked her, cause she was the sweetest they had. She’s smart too—good judge of character…She likes you.”

“Well, tell her I like her too,” Elizabeth said, placing a light kiss on the flash of white hair.

“Would you like to ride her? I’ll take Sassy.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Course not. We should get started soon though, to be back before sunset. ”

Elizabeth shivered. In the light of day, it was so easy to forget the vile things that woke with the dark.

“Maybe we shouldn’t risk it then,” she suggested nervously.

“It’ll be fine. We’ll stick to the trails close to the pond.”

--

For a long while they rode in silence, side-by-side, enjoying the last touches of late afternoon sunlight before the sky darkened to a rosy hue and the stars came out. The air became colder as the day grew late, a reminder of the winter chill that waited around the corner.

Elizabeth was able to simply sit and take pleasure in the smooth ride; since Sunshine naturally followed William’s lead. The slow, even clop of the mare’s hooves could’ve lulled her to sleep considering how exhausted she felt after the long day. She tilted her head back to admire the pale blue sky framed by gnarled and wiry branches. In the day, the forest was open, alive, and beautiful; quite unlike the ghostly maze it became at night. Turning her gaze to William, she found him lost in thought, his brow furrowed in contemplation.

When he caught her watching him, he smiled. “Would you mind stopping in this clearing for just a moment? I usually let Sunshine rest for a bit here before we head back.”

“I wouldn’t mind at all.”

They dismounted, allowing the horses to graze about the patch of grass.

“Tell me about one of your far off places, William. Somewhere I’ve never been.”

“Which place?”

She thought for a moment and sighed wistfully.

“Tell me something more about Paris.”

“What would you like to know?” he asked softly.

“Tell me about what sorts of things you did there. How you passed your days.”

“Like what I did to get by? Lots of odd jobs, mostly. I loaded at the docks, manned a printing press, and lit the street lanterns at night for a time.”

He hesitated then and looked away, almost as if he were intentionally hiding his face from her. His voice was quieter, almost under his breath, when he spoke again. “Did a lot of things there. Not everything I’m proud of…Even fell in love once.”

Elizabeth flinched when he said the word. She felt shocked at how intensely the notion bothered her, that he had loved another woman. Do not be ridiculous. He is a man, and older than I…of course he should have loved before.

“Where is she now?” she asked carefully, wincing at the possible answer. What if she’s waiting for him to return?

“Hell if I know,” he said bitterly, his words colored with the ugly scars of remembered pain.

“What happened?” Elizabeth inquired gently.

“She left me.”

“I’m sorry…Do you, do you still—“

“No. I don’t…feel that way about her anymore,” he sighed shakily, “It was only a few years ago, but I was quite different then. More naïve. She was the first—the only one I loved. Didn’t really believe in it till I met her. And that’s not something you just forget…But you know what I mean. I’m sure you’ve broken a few hearts in your day, pet.”

“No…and I’ve never loved anyone before, I mean, that wasn’t, you know…”

“What about that guy?” he asked timidly.

“Who?” Elizabeth questioned, her brow wrinkled in genuine confusion.

“The one in town. Finn. You really engaged?”

“No. Well, yes, technically, but…I’m not going to marry him,” she declared, for the first time with absolute certainty.

“Good,” he said shortly, unable to hide his relief.

They stood, quietly watching the horses for a few minutes with unspoken words resting heavily in the air between them.

“Elizabeth?”

“Yes?”

“There’s something I—I wanted to do all day, but I couldn’t quite work it out. So maybe it would be better to just ask.”

“What would you like to ask me?” she asked, anxious anticipation creeping into her tone.

“I don’t expect anything from you, and I know you can’t hide forever. You have another life—you deserve a better one. I just—may I kiss you?” he uttered the last part so quickly that the words ran together, and she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“May I kiss you?”

The question surprised her; she never expected him to ask such a thing, even though she’d nearly kissed him once before. A lump swelled in her throat when she saw the fear and doubt in his eyes. Clearly he believed that she would refuse him. How can he not know? If she could have found her voice at that moment without the threat of tears, she might have said something, perhaps found the right way to reassure him. She wanted to promise not to leave, though she knew that was impossible. So she simply nodded.

Softly, without a word, he moved close, breaking the distance between them. Elizabeth felt nervous as her pulse thudded rapidly in her ears. She’d never done this before, and while it seemed there were no specific skills involved, she feared making some sort of mistake. He cupped her cheek with his palm, drawing her in, and when his lips first caressed hers, all thought fled from her. She closed her eyes and experienced something completely new, both exhilarating and frightening. The kiss was sweet, slow, and chaste. His lips were warm and full, and as they brushed hers, she desperately wanted more of him. When she raised her hands to tangle in his chestnut curls, trying to deepen their contact, he lightly pulled away. Elizabeth flushed in embarrassment for fear that she’d done something wrong, but after looking into his eyes, she knew that she’d given something perfect.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For trusting me.”

--

That night Elizabeth did not succumb to rest easily. She tossed and turned in her cot, unable to find a comfortable position. With Giles out on watch by himself, she and William were left alone in the dark, silent cabin. He was in his bed, sleeping directly above. Or perhaps he does not sleep at all. What if he lies awake thinking of me, just as I am thinking of him? She sighed in delicious frustration and wondered idly what he would do if she entered his room now, unbidden, and crawled into the sheets beside him. No, the sensible portion of her mind screamed in protest. He is not my husband, and I am not promised to him. Such a thing would be wrong. Morally reprehensible. Women have been called whores for less.

But she allowed herself to dream of it anyway. Delicately she brushed her fingers over her lips, where she could still sense his soft kisses. She remembered the feel of him…the thud of his heartbeat against her skin, the firm warmth of his hands, the dark intensity of his eyes. Her fingers lightly abandoned her lips and clumsily trailed over the curves of her own body, imagining that it was his hands that touched her. I have to stop this. Confused and embarrassed at herself, she jerked her hands away and folded them under her pillow.

“What’s wrong with me? It happened days ago, and I still can’t get it out of my mind…one of those morbid things that’s burned there forever…Outside the edge of town a few nights back, I came upon a bundled blanket lying in a heap in the woods. It was a slow night as I remember, so I dismounted to examine whatever it was. I thought maybe it could be food, clothing, or other tradable goods that had been pilfered from a shop or one of the nearby homes. Such things have come to good use in the past. But when first I pulled the edge of the woolen fabric back, I was shocked to look on a sweet, miniature face with a button nose and pale apple cheeks framed with auburn curls. The little girl couldn’t have been more than two years old. She was beautiful, peaceful, sleeping…On her neck were two puncture wounds where the blood had been drained; and the smooth, porcelain skin was darkened with ugly streaks of blue-green where she’d been throttled. Death does not often bother me, as I’ve been in this business for a long while. But when I discovered that baby, discarded like trash after it, no doubt, took great pleasure in drinking her…Never have I felt such fury, such loathing, such disgust, such nausea…and sadness…I picked her up and held her tiny, limp body against my chest, almost as if I could warm her back to life. On days like this, I realise that I am not a slayer or a watcher or a demon. I am only a man. And I’m scared. And I hate myself for it.”

~From the diary of William Wells; October 14th, 1685

~*~~


“Are you absolutely sure that you’re ready for this? I know you’ve had several preparatory sessions with William, but the real thing is quite different.”

Elizabeth glanced up from shoving several sharpened stakes into her cloak pockets. Naturally she was terrified at the prospect of going out tonight with the goal of tracking and hunting demonic creatures, but she knew that William wouldn’t force her into a situation she couldn’t handle. An odd sense of excitement and hefty importance existed in this business. If she could manage to fight some of these dark things, then perhaps the life of one of the townsfolk could be saved. The work they accomplished here was significant—it meant something. And Elizabeth began to realize that this could be the most vital skill she’d ever learn.

“I am aware, Mr. Giles, and I thank you for your concern, but I feel ready. Especially since I shall have the two of you by my side.”

“’Tis true. You may trust that neither of us will let any harm come to you, though this first excursion should be chiefly observational. Watch us and learn what you can, but keep mostly to the side.”

“I will. But I can fight, if need be. I know I still have a long way to go in my training, but I’ve been practicing every day.”

“Yes, I am aware of your progress. And I do admit, I’m surprised at how quickly you’ve learned. Clearly you have fast reflexes and a good wit about you. Some people take to it more naturally than others. But tell me Miss Elizabeth, are you afraid of what you might find tonight?”

“No,” she replied with unwavering bravado.

“Wrong answer. Fear is positive. You must know how to use yours. It is a foolish man—or woman—that believes himself invincible.”

“I know. I just meant that I—I will not let it distract me.”

“Very good.”

Giles took up his bo staff in one hand and gestured toward the open door that lead out into a cool and murky night. Elizabeth knew full well that he hunted as often as William and clearly had the skill for it, since she understood him to be something of a master. But it was terribly difficult for her to picture the older man wielding that robust staff in battle. He just seemed so gentle, so weary…

“You two ready yet?” William asked, poking his head through the door.

Elizabeth nodded. “Will we be taking the horses?”

“No, not tonight,” William answered, “We’re just sweeping the cemetery, right Rupert?”

“Aye. I’d prefer Elizabeth’s first night out to be reasonably close to a threshold, should something go wrong.”

“Cemetery…so we’re expecting vampires, then?” she asked, trying to hide the anxious quaver in her tone.

“Yes. There’s one in particular that’s been eluding us for a bit. They’re predicable at least. Daft wankers always seem to show up at the cemetery,” William replied.

“Well, I’m ready…may they await certain death,” she squeaked.

--

“Is it bigger than, say, uh…brass candleholder?” William asked in a dull monotone.

“No!” Giles responded gleefully.

Elizabeth had set out brazenly, awaiting immediate action the moment she’d stepped outside the door. She discovered quickly however, that killing vampires involved a good bit of waiting with a healthy dose of boredom. They’d been sitting in a small circle, their backs resting on a group of headstones, for the better part of two hours.

“Is it heavier than a brass candleholder?”

“No!”

“Is it smaller than a brass candleholder?”

“Wrong again!”

“Rupert…is it a sodding brass candleholder?”

“Indeed! I knew you’d finally get it!”

William and Elizabeth exchanged exasperated looks and discreet eye rolls.

“What?” Giles demanded.

“Christ, it’s a slow night, in’t?” William sighed.

“Patience. We must remain ever watchful.”

As if in response, a twig snapped loudly near the far corner of the cemetery at the edge of the wood. Instantly, Giles and William bolted upright in defensive postures.

“Got it,” William whispered.

“No, let me,” Giles insisted, “Stay with Elizabeth. Instruct her.”

He crept silently closer to the source of the disturbance while Elizabeth and William remained hidden in the shadows. She grabbed a stake out of her pocket and became angry with herself when she discovered how spastically her hands were shaking. No! I swore to myself I wouldn’t panic. It will be all right. I know what to do. After disappearing into the darkness, Giles grunted and reappeared in the moonlit cemetery, dragging something along with him. It was a man—well, not at all a man. The grotesque facial features were the same as she remembered, though everything about him appeared bizarre to Elizabeth. The vampire was dressed in animal skins and fur and had several tattoos creeping up his arms. His skin was dark, his hair long, thick, and black. She recognized him as one of the natives, whom the townsfolk had cruelly referred to as “savages.” Or rather, he was once a native.

Giles fought him for several minutes, whipping his staff through the air with one arm while he used the other for hand-to-hand. They exchanged blows while William watched carefully at Elizabeth’s side. The older man fought with distinct and graceful precision. He made the fight look like an art form; while William’s style of combat seemed clumsy and immature in comparison.

“Aren’t you going to help him?” Elizabeth whispered fearfully.

“Shhh. Just watch, luv.”

“That man was a native.”

“Looks like.”

“But how is that—I mean, I thought…”

“Vampire’s a vampire. The demon’s the same, regardless of the skin he wears.”

They observed as Giles smoothly bent backward, dodging a punch to the face as he swiftly hurled a side kick into the vampire’s knees, sending the creature off balance. Good lord, he doesn’t even appear winded! The bo staff whistled through the air before cracking over the vampire’s skull.

“Elizabeth, step in!” William directed, “I’ll stay behind you.”

She froze. Her feet would not budge from underneath her.

“Go on. I’m right here,” he encouraged.

Elizabeth approached reluctantly, cautiously, stake raised. When the vampire spotted her approaching with William not far behind, he began to laugh.

“Votre femme vient combattre pour vous?” it asked William, sneering.

“It speaks French?!” Elizabeth commented in surprise.

“Language of trade…Oui. Ma femme vous tuera!” William retorted, chortling haughtily, before he reminded her softly, “Remember, go for the heart.”

I will not let my fear overwhelm me. I know the dance. I can do this.

Giles nodded to William and stepped aside, still keeping close. The vampire turned his hungry gaze on Elizabeth and swung at her in amusement, but she avoided him swiftly. Remember—do not run. Wait for him to reach you. When he approached for a second attack, she struck her fist out and punched him in the ribs. It didn’t do much—merely disoriented him momentarily, though Elizabeth took the opportunity to quickly dart around him. He followed suit but tripped over a low-lying grave stone, just as she’d planned. She jumped over to him then, stake shaking in hand; but before she could impale him with the weapon, he was up again. It all happened so fast, her brain hardly registered each occurrence before it blurred into the next. Abruptly he grabbed her at the waist and hurled her backward through the air, leaving her in a crumpled heap on the earth.

“Elizabeth!” William hollered in panic.

“Fine!” she shouted as she rolled back onto her feet. Ow. I’ll definitely feel that one come morning.

William stepped in and flung himself at the creature, causing it to topple over with his weight.

“Now Elizabeth!”

She ran behind him as he wrestled with the demon on the ground. Heart, heart. Middle and left.

Over his shoulder, she raised her weapon before promptly plunging it down at her target. In a burst of surprised and frenzied dust, the vampire vanished, and William fell forward with nothing left to support him. Elizabeth simply stared with glazed, wide-eyes for a long moment. She’d seen it happen before, but the sight was not something one could get used to. Falling to her knees beside William, she took a moment to catch her breath.

“Well done, my dear,” Giles said softly, “I think you have what it takes to be one of us.”

“Elizabeth, you did it, pet! You did it!”

It took her eyes a moment to focus on William as he regarded her, smiling, his hands on her shoulders. She nodded, unable to form words in her stunned disbelief at what she'd accomplished. He sprung to his feet and offered her a hand up. Once she stood steadily, he loosened and nearly dropped his grip on her hand, but she held on as a small, satisfied smile graced her lips.

“I did it,” she murmured.

“You did,” William repeated gently, giving her hand a squeeze.

--

That night Elizabeth fell asleep the instant her head hit the pillow. While true that she felt exhausted physically and mentally from her first real combat experience, the celebratory shot of whiskey she’d taken at William’s insistence probably had something to do with it. When she drifted back to consciousness hours later, the light of a new day permeated her little alcove. She stretched languidly, happy that her body didn’t feel as sore as she’d anticipated. As she readied herself to rise and peek out into the kitchen, she realized that low, intense voices were engaged in a heated discussion outside. So she remained still and strained to listen.

“I know, and I think I understand,” Giles was saying, “I confess that I do love having her here. It’s been so difficult without Susan…And it is nice to have another ‘daughter’ to care for. But she has a home and a family elsewhere.”

“With Redding?! We can’t send her back to him! I won’t allow it!” William retorted incredulously.

“Lower your voice. Not long ago, you agreed with me on this. That she must go back—and before the winter snows make the trails impassable.”

“Just last night you said she was one of us.”

“One of us in the sense of the fight, Will.”

“She’ll do what she wants. If she desires to go back…fine then.”

“I see. It’s plain to me what’s afoot here. You’ve taken a fancy to the girl.”

After a pause, William responded quietly, “So what if I have?”

“You must stay away from her, William…Something such as this could ruin her life.”

“Being with me would ruin her life?” he snapped bitterly.

“As a young, naïve, unmarried woman, scarcely older than a child…yes, it could ruin her life.”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

“No, the decision is on you. You’re older and you know something of the world…I fear that you are nothing more than a fairytale for her, Will. She doesn’t fully realize what she would be getting herself into.”

“If you’re so anxious to keep her away from me, why didn’t you just take her back from the start? Why keep her at all?”

“It had occurred to me that training her could be useful. Think of it. An ally in town. Someone we could use for leverage against him.”

“You planned to use her as a pawn against someone as dangerous as—“ he nearly shouted.

“William, please. I wouldn’t compromise her safety, you know that.”

“Right. It’s all about you. You and the bloody mission. If a few girls get hurt along the way, it’s all worth it, right?” William sneered, before sighing shakily, composing himself. When he spoke again, he sounded more tired than bitter. “I don’ care to discuss it anymore. I won’t do anything stupid. Is that enough?”

“I suppose.”

Elizabeth knew their words should both confuse and upset her on several levels. Giles thought she should leave. He spoke of plans to use her as a plant—a tool against some unknown danger. He thought her a naïve girl—thought that she didn’t understand the world. He did not approve of William’s feelings for her…but all she could focus on, all her mind would grasp…Being with William…He wishes me to stay.

--

“What are we working on today?”

Elizabeth knelt before the weapons trunk and dug out the stake she typically used for practice. These lessons had almost become a daily ritual, and she had grown to treasure them. A thrill coursed through her each time she stepped over the threshold of the abandoned barn, because it was a secret place—their place, where no one else in the world could find them. And while the lessons themselves were important to her, Elizabeth found her mind wandering more and more during these precious moments she spent alone with William.

“Uh, well, let’s see,” William answered as he removed his cloak and rolled up his sleeves, “You’re gettin’ pretty good with hands and arms, defending the torso. Nice improvements on punches, jabs, and upper cuts. So today we’ll do kicks and foot work. How’s that sound?”

“Fine,” Elizabeth replied as she stood and began running through the warm-up exercises he’d shown her. Drawing her arm gracefully through the air, she touched each of the four defensive positions, or “parries” with the stake while advancing and retreating.

William squatted in the corner, silently observing her movements.

“Hmm. It’s gonna be hard to learn kicks proper with you wearin’ a dress.”

Elizabeth glanced down at the blue skirt and petticoat she wore and shrugged. “I have nothing else to wear that would be more appropriate.”

“Hang on,” William said, holding up a finger.

Reaching into his satchel, he removed a spare pair of breeches and held them up questioningly. Elizabeth folded her arms under her breasts and raised a skeptical brow.

“Are you serious?” she scoffed.

“Why not? Hell of a lot easier to move in.”

“William Wells, if I can fit into your breeches, I will kill myself!”

“Yeah they’ll be a little big. So just tie a rope around ‘em. It’s worth a try, luv.”

“Fine. I’ll try them, but I doubt they’ll work.”

William tossed her the breeches along with a short piece of rope. Elizabeth unfolded the trousers, holding them out before her. “You want me to dress like man,” she muttered, shaking her head. Her fingers moved to the back of her skirt to undo the hooks attaching it to her bodice. William awkwardly watched as she struggled with the garment.

“Need some help?” he asked softly.

“No, sir,” Elizabeth replied, smiling coyly.

After her skirt fell to the floor in a heap of pale blue linen, she stood in her chemise and petticoat as she tried to figure the best strategy for pulling up the breeches. William’s eyes remained on her intently, hands on his hips, but when she met his gaze he quickly blushed and turned around to face the corner.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Elizabeth felt a flush spreading from her neck to her cheeks, secretly taking pleasure in his gentlemanly discomfort. She removed her petticoat before sliding the stiff cloth breeches over her bare legs. They were large and baggy, but she secured them around her waist with the knotted length of rope.

“Ready,” she declared, though it came out a bit more shrilly than she’d intended.

--

“That’s it. You just draw your leg in a circle, clockwise, then bring it straight down. You do this one after you’ve already got him on the ground.”

William held onto her waist lightly from behind while she practiced, so that she wouldn’t lose her balance and topple over.

“You can let go. I think I’ve got it,” she said after a few tentative tries.

He stepped back, allowing her to attempt the technique on her own.

“I think that’s good for new steps. You wanna try a hand-to-hand and see if you can throw some of it in?”

“Yes, but…I’m still a bit unsure with all of it together. I will be so clumsy. I wouldn’t want to hurt you accidentally.”

“Aw don’t be nancy. Come on; give it me good, Elizabeth.”

She shrugged, picking up her stake. “Very well. I accept your challenge.”

They began the familiar dance to which she was slowly becoming accustomed. William played the vampire, and she the Slayer. The first move was always hers; so she closed the distance between them for a mock punch to his jaw, which she knew he’d anticipate. Predictably, he ducked before her fist could hit the target; but instead of following through with the move, she lightly kneed him in the ribs, and he doubled over, exaggerating the reaction. While he was down, she clasped her hands together and brought them down in the center of his back, causing him to collapse.

“Nice. You’ve got me on the ground, Slayer. You gonna finish it?” he asked breathily.

“No. Too easy,” she replied, moving back.

“Good girl,” he replied huskily and jumped to his feet.

They circled one another for a moment, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Tension between their bodies sent a tangible charge through the cool air.

“Your go,” she offered.

With that direction, a wry smile curled over the corners of his lips as he lunged for her. When she moved to escape a blow to the abdomen, he quickly caught the back of her knees with one leg. Before sending her tumbling to the floor, he wrapped his arms around her to slow and cushion the fall. He landed at her side, but brusquely flipped over so that he straddled her body, his hands pinning her arms to her sides.

“Looks like I got you, Slayer. How you gonna get outta this one?”

He held her intense gaze, awaiting her decision. They both panted in fatigue, sheens of perspiration coating their brows. Consciously, Elizabeth attempted to control her breathing as her chest heaved uncomfortably against her bodice. Don’t think. Grabbing a handful of his cotton tunic, she jerked him close, his lips mere inches away from her own so that she could almost taste the heat of his breath. The dreamy, enraptured look in his darkened eyes was surprised, hopeful, anxious, hungry, and lost all at once. She held him for a moment, her tightened fist shaking as if she were going to throw him aside and continue the fight. Instead, she forcefully pulled his mouth over hers.

"I bollocksed it all, didn’t I? God, I should have stopped it! We can’t go back now. Everything’s changed, and it’s my fault. What must she think of me?...I knew she was innocent, that she trusted me…If anyone discovered, she would be ruined. What we had—it was so different from the others. She is so sweet and honest and all I can think of is my dirty hands taking pieces of it away. But I needed her. God help me, I still do. I want more…I keep having this nightmare. She and I—we’re in Paris sleeping in some boarding house I could never afford... In the thinly veiled hours just before dawn, she leaves me in bed to look out over the balcony onto the Champs, her golden hair shining in the sparkling lights of the city. I rise to retrieve her, grasp her shoulder, turn her—and find myself looking into the cold eyes of the demon woman I never found, Darla…Her dressing gown is stained with blood, and she smiles wickedly as she says “At last, William”, reaching for my hand…”

From the diary of William Wells; November 16, 1685

~*~


The kiss they shared existed on a wholly different plane from the sweet, chaste one he’d given with her permission. Their lips met in pure, passionate, unabashed need. Throwing her insecurities and anxieties to the wind, Elizabeth gave in completely to exquisite sensation as his mouth opened, parting her lips with the tip of his tongue. He tasted musky and sweet with a hint of hickory from the pipe that he occasionally smoked, much to Giles’ disdain. Purring lightly in the back of her throat, she savored his warmth as he explored the cavern of her mouth. Tentatively, and in her opinion rather clumsily, she slid her tongue back over his, following his rhythm, allowing herself to become lost in it. Soft moans escaped his mouth and fell into hers as he began to softly roll his hips against her thigh; a slight movement, as if he were purposefully willing himself to be still. The only coherent thought that traveled through Elizabeth’s mind was that she somehow needed to feel him closer, if that were even a possibility. So she wrapped her legs tightly around his hips and clung to his neck with all her strength.

She gave a little squeak of surprise when he suddenly flipped over, pulling her with him until she sat astride the cradle of his thighs. Desperately needing to draw in a breath, she broke their kiss.

“Your hair…So beautiful, Elizabeth,” William panted, his lips freshly swollen.

Understanding his desire, she pulled on her braid until her golden locks tumbled loose down her back and fell in curling tendrils about her face. The look of rapture he wore as he reached his hands up to tangle in her mane made her belly quiver and moisture pool from a secret part of her—a most curious sensation.

“Please,” she murmured, grinding her hips torturously against his in an instinctive rhythm.

“Please what, luv?” he grunted.

When she could not find an answer, he pushed her back lightly, the unexpectedness of the gesture sending her sprawling backward. She was only bewildered briefly, until he jumped to his feet and bent down, swooping her up into his arms. After placing her gently on her feet, he fiercely pushed her back against a wall, his mouth crashing over hers, and this time without any pretense of holding back. At first she didn’t realize that the muffled, insistent cries filling her ears sprang from her own throat. When he broke contact with her lips, she whimpered at the loss, finding that she needed it as much as the air in her lungs. Taking a moment to breathe, to grasp a sense of control, he gently let his forehead rest against hers. He seemed to be shaking with the will of it.

“Don’t wanna do anythin’ wrong, kitten…Gotta tell me what you want.”

“You,” she replied simply and honestly, without any hesitation.

He chuckled lightly, puffs of his breath causing her hair to blow away from her cheek. “I can give ya that.”

His hands glided over her body smoothly, lingering on the curve of her breasts supported by the stiff bodice. Moving to her waist, he gathered the material of her chemise up a bit to reveal a touch of bare skin at her hipbone where his breeches hung low. With his thumbs, he traced lazy circles there that sent a chill up her spine. Slowly, cautiously, his fingers trailed up to the laces of her bodice.

“Yes,” she whispered.

After being assured of her permission, he began loosening and pulling on the laces hurriedly.

“Christ, how do you wear this shite?” he muttered in frustration as he fumbled with the binding garment.

When she was finally free, they both sighed in relief. Slipping his fingers under her chemise, he caressed her belly, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through her. Carefully his touch traveled up over her ribs to settle on her small, firm breasts. She caught her breath at the new and unexpected bliss in that touch, her eyes fluttering closed. He covered her with his warm hands, kneading tender, soft flesh. Allowing her head to rest back against the wall, her mouth fell open as a stream of little cries escaped her lips.

She gasped when she felt his mouth descend on her neck, licking and sucking on her thudding pulse. His teeth grazed her skin lightly and she shivered.

“Need to see you, luv. Let me see you?” he murmured.

Raising her arms to assist, he pulled the chemise over her head, leaving her exposed to his hungry gaze. Never in her life had she been so vulnerable; but offering herself to him was not a difficult choice. His eyes swept over her as if she were a goddess, as if she were his; and she felt no shame in it. It felt, well, incredibly good.

“My god, you’re so bloody gorgeous.”

“Touch me,” she whispered, shocked at how easy it was to ask.

More than willing to oblige, he was on her in an instant, worshipping her mouth and neck with sweet, fervent kisses. Dropping lower, his lips trailed over her breast, his tongue swirling around the rosy peak. At that moment, she became overwhelmed with the desire to caress his face, to see into his eyes, so she pulled him up to devour his lips and tongue. While their kiss deepened, growing more frantic, she delighted in the feel of his soft curls running through her fingers.

One of his arms wrapped around to pull her close into his chest while the other trailed down her belly to the rope that held his breeches in place about her waist.

“Tell me to stop,” he panted hoarsely.

“No,” she breathed.

“Then I won’t, luv. Can’t…Sure you’re all right?”

She nodded, tilting her chin up to meet his lips. With his free hand, William pulled the knotted rope, sending the breeches to the floor. Sliding beneath the band of her linen drawers, his fingers brushed through the dusting of light hair over her mound, causing her to shudder and arch into him.

“Ahhh,” she groaned, aching for more of his touch.

Slowly dipping his fingers into her folds, he caressed her moist, silken flesh, and rolled his thumb over a tiny place that caused her to jump and buck in surprise.

“William!” she cried.

“Still okay, luv?”

“Yes! Oh god, yes..”

Gently, he thrust one of his fingers inside her opening while the other remained on the place that caused her to writhe and moan in passion. Testing carefully, he inserted another finger inside and began to pump lightly in and out. Elizabeth felt her body stretching for him, but instead of causing pain, it fulfilled a delicious ache she never knew existed within her. Muscles she didn’t know she had gripped and clenched onto him.

Momentarily ceasing his ministrations, William knelt before her. He wrapped his arms around her waist in a firm embrace, his head resting against her lower belly.

“Elizabeth,” he murmured, “Don’ wanna do anythin’ wrong by you, sweetheart. I don’ want you to regret this…with me.”

“Oh William, I could never regret this.”

“But when you leave—“

“Shhh. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?” he whispered, kissing a tantalizingly slow line down her belly.

“I prom—“ she barely got out before her breath caught in her throat.

He paused when his mouth reached the cloth of her drawers. Elizabeth felt the room spinning as her body buzzed with raw need. When his nose brushed against her mound, she felt him shudder as he inhaled her scent. His breath was hot and ragged against her thigh.

“Wanna taste you,” he groaned, hooking his thumbs into the sides of her drawers to peel them from her.

Once she realized his intent, her heart rate nearly doubled. Oh god please, her lust-addled brain screamed. But the more sensible part of her—the part that remembered all of those lessons she’d received over the years regarding the proper behavior of a lady, caused her to flush in frustrated embarrassment. The thought of his mouth on her there was simply intoxicating, but the inherent shame in it held her back.

“No,” she answered softly.

He broke away from her instantly and looked up, panic and guilt in his eyes.

“No—I mean, it’s not that I don’t want—you did nothing wrong. I just, I think I need more time…”

“Of course, luv. Only want to make you feel nice.”

“I do—you are,” she stuttered.

A devilish grin spread over his lips as he stood.

“I’ll take care of you another way then, yeah?”

“What do you—“

He covered her mouth in another heated kiss, his tongue coaxing its way back inside while his hands wandered over her body groping, massaging, and caressing, until he had her writhing all over again. Deftly he slipped one hand beneath her drawers, sliding through her wetness; and his fingers returned to fill the empty place inside. With his other hand, he massaged her breast, rolling its tip between his fingers. Gradually his movements grew faster, increased in fervor, until she felt something incredibly intense and powerful and overwhelming hurriedly building inside her. It seemed that she could feel it everywhere, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, though it swirled around her center and aching breasts. The exquisite dizziness increased tenfold, and for a moment, she feared it meant that she was either going to faint or wet herself like a child.

“Will—I, oh god, I think—“

“That’s it sweetheart. That’s it. Keep breathing,” he chanted huskily.

His fingers returned to touch her there—that exquisite secret place; and in that moment, she thought she’d left her body. She screamed his name as she crashed over the peak into a brilliant light that made her toes curl. When she came back to herself, he was fluttering delicate kisses over her face, his palms cradling her cheeks.

“So beautiful…Don’ deserve you,” he whispered.

In her wonderfully relaxed state, her body slackened like a rag doll supported in his arms. As he patiently held her, she became keenly aware of his hardness pressing into her belly. A glance downward revealed a rather large protrusion in his trousers.

“William,” she began hesitantly, “I want to do that for you.”

“S’okay. You don’t have to do anything.”

“No, I want to. Only I’ve never—show me how to touch you.”

Elizabeth couldn’t help feeling nervous as he looked into her eyes and released a shuddering sigh. Softly, gently, he covered her small hand with his and lowered it to the bulge in his breeches. For a moment, she allowed her hand to simply rest there, feeling the straining heat beneath the thin fabric. It felt harder and…larger than she’d imagined. And so warm…he felt so deliciously warm. He squirmed a bit beneath her touch, so she began to rub tentatively, stroking her fingers lightly over the straining laces at the front of his breeches. Reaching his own hand between their bodies, he untied the laces and slid her hand over his bare flesh as it sprang forth. She jumped a little at the sudden contact and shyly looked down, desperately curious to see him. His organ was large and flushed, bobbing outward toward her. Lightly, her fingers grazed over the heated column of velvety skin as he groaned, leaning into her. Unsure of what exactly to do, Elizabeth gave him an experimental squeeze.

“Careful with that, luv,” he hissed, but she could hear the smile in his voice.

“I’m sorry, I…I don’t know how to…I’m not any good at this.”

“No sweetheart, no. Do you know how long I’ve wanted this…with you? Anything you do is perfect.”

Keeping her motions gentle and cautious, she explored the folds of skin at the end of his length and became surprised to find the head, flushed a dark pink, hiding underneath. He made a small choking noise at the exposure of sensitive flesh, a little cry escaping his throat.

“Oh no! I—I hurt you. William, I’m sorry! Is this not the way I…?”

He laughed breathily. “I’m not gonna break, luv. You’re doin’ just fine.”

With his reassurance, she grew bolder. As she stroked and massaged him, she marveled at how he pulsed and hardened, lengthening in her hand. She adjusted her pace and the intensity of her touch with the changes in his breath and the escalating sound of his cries and groans. With three fingers, she returned to explore the folds of skin, finding their shape and softness somewhat fascinating, and lightly pulled them up and back down again, all the while watching his face to be sure it was all right. As his breathing grew more labored, pleasure-filled gasps catching in his throat, she quickened the pace of her movements. He buried his head in her neck, and she shivered when she felt his hot, moist breath against her pulse.

When he moaned, she delighted in the sounds of his passion—that she had the power to do that to him. She found her own breath growing ragged, a pulsing need entering her body once more simply by watching him, by feeling him lose himself in her caresses. Her thumb swirled over the rosy head at the end of his column, causing her to marvel at how it darkened to nearly a plum shade. Grunting forcefully, he jerked and quivered against her; and suddenly she felt a spill of hot liquid over her hand before he sagged into her body, his head resting on her shoulder.

For what felt like a very long time, they simply stood in the silence of the barn, holding one another. And then his words, just a little over a whisper…there was vulnerability in them, and perhaps fear. He sounded different—very young.

“Elizabeth,” he said, “Elizabeth, I love you.”

A lump closed over her throat, swelling it shut, and she couldn’t speak. So she wrapped her arms around him more tightly and held him as if he were coming apart. But instead of returning her embrace, she felt him tense; and suddenly there was a distance between them where there had been none. Briefly she thought she only imagined it until abruptly, coolly, he broke away. Turning his back to her, he quietly cleaned himself and dressed.

Elizabeth felt bewildered and fretfully confused at the quick turn of atmosphere.

“Did I—William, I…”

“Past time to head back. We stayed here too long,” he declared thinly.

He didn’t look at her.

--

Much of the journey back passed in silence. They spoke about practical matters when necessary; but for the most part, they walked with a tangible distance between them. Elizabeth studied him carefully out of the corner of her eye and became unnerved to find him blank, completely unreadable. Usually William tended to wear his heart on his sleeve where she was concerned. It’s my fault. He thinks I don’t…

“William—“

“It’s been a long day, and you’ve hunted nearly every night this week. I think it’s best if you actually get some rest tonight,” his tone was stiff, business-like, and he did not acknowledge her as he spoke.

“You wish for me to stay behind,” she said softly, dropping her chin.

“I think it best.”

“Will you be going far?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, “I might patrol the borders of Wethersfield. It’s been awhile since I’ve been down.”

“And you won’t need any help? I can be useful now, William, after what you’ve taught me.”

His pace grew brisker, and she briefly considered stepping in front of him to shake him out of this strange trance. The drastic shift in his demeanor from what had transpired in the barn to his cool, detached manner now made her chest ache with hurt and worry. Maybe it’s more than the fact that I couldn’t…Was it all me? Was I that terrible? What did I do?

“William, will you look at me?”

“No time, Elizabeth. It’s getting close to sundown.”

“We have plenty of time! Now explain to me why you really think it best that I remain in the cabin tonight.”

“Fine then. I just wanna be alone for a bit,” he said shortly.

Elizabeth ceased her questions at the sting of those clipped words. It seemed that all he had wanted was to spend every waking hour with her, and now…something had changed dramatically. He sounded like he had when they’d first met. Sullenly, she trailed after him in silence.

--

The quiet was so overpowering, it had an almost numbing quality. Elizabeth stood to pace around the ground floor of the cabin so that the sound of creaking floorboards might fill the void. Giles and William had left hours before; Giles scouting the surrounding woods, and William and Sunshine bound for Wethersfield. Thoughts swirled around her mind at a frantic pace. She thought about her family back in town and if she could really hide forever. She thought about demons and if she was really meant to fight them…But mostly, she thought about William and the three words he’d confessed to her.

What am I doing? Biding time, fighting vampires. William and I…could we even make a life like this? What happens when the snows come and go; what happens a year from now?

With nothing left to do and the hour growing late, she curled up on her cot in defeat and fell asleep with tears glistening on her cheeks. That night, as if in answer to her fears, she dreamed.

--

She stood in the cabin, and yet it looked unfamiliar. Light brighter than day bathed the dull wood and made it glow so brightly that Elizabeth had to shield her eyes at first. When she could finally see, she glanced out the window into a foreign world. No trees, no water…a desert. Outside in the wasteland, a shadow flickered in and out. Dark and ancient, it hissed when it saw her.

“You don’t hafta worry about it yet.”

She whirled around to find the source of the voice. A young woman about Elizabeth’s own age stood calmly in the center of the room. She had long wavy dark hair, sparkling chocolate brown eyes, a pretty heart-shaped face, and delicate cheek bones. Strangely, she wore nothing more than a dirty, tattered shift that only covered the tops of her thighs, leaving her long, shapely legs bare and exposed. One of the sleeves was torn so that the garment hung low, exposing one shoulder and the top of her chest. Deep purple bruises marred the smooth skin at her neck and collar bone.

“What are you doing here? I thought I was alone,” Elizabeth said.

“Thought we might have a few words. You and me, we could understand each other. And a little company’s better than being alone, don’t you think?”

“I can’t talk now. There’s so much to do. I have mending to finish…for Dawn.”

Elizabeth glanced down to find an apron in her hands. It was only half-completed. She’d been working on it when William took her.

“That’s easy. Let me help,” the woman offered, extending her arm.

Together, they sat on the stairs to the loft with the cloth draped between them. Taking up a needle and thread, they each began to sew the strings on opposite ends.

“I hate sewing. They used to make me do it, just cause I’m the girl. Shagging Council put me in finishing school, but the demons of the world don’t give a good goddamn if I’m a lady,” the woman snorted, rolling her eyes.

“I know you…Susan.”

“Good guess.”

“But you’re dead.”

“Yeah. It happens…You’re wearing my dress.”

She nodded to the fashionable, pale pink gown that the other young woman wore. Noting Susan’s near nudity, Elizabeth felt a sharp surge of guilt.

“Hey, it doesn’t bother me. It looks better on you, anyway. Pink was never my color. Giles bought it for me in London and made me wear it.”

A dark blur flashed at the window, causing the pane to rattle.

“I feel like I should be doing something,” Elizabeth sighed listlessly.

“It’s outta your hands. Outta his, too. He just doesn’t want to admit it yet.”

“Maybe I should go.”

“That’d be easy, wouldn’t it? You might save yourself a world of hurt. Just pretend we were all a dream.”

“I could never do that.”

“Yeah…I know you, little girl. Know you like I know myself. The scars will fade. Bruises will change color and disappear. They always do.”

“It’s just that…I’m not helping anything…being here.”

“You don’t know that, Elizabeth.”

“And you do? You know?”

“I can see a lot from where I am…You just gotta have a little faith.”
.
Susan dropped the needle and thread and stood; and in a flash, a large, elaborately decorated knife appeared in her palm. For a moment she simply admired it, turning the brightly polished steel in her hands, before she walked over to the door.

“Will I see you again?” Elizabeth called out to her.

“I reckon you might…Take care of him, okay? Someone needs to show him how to live again,” she said, before murmuring under her breath, “311 ahead stained with red.”

Susan opened the door, sending the blinding light, filled with dust motes, sweeping inside. Raising the knife in her right hand, she stepped out, preparing for battle.

“When he came for her, I hated him. He was a strange old man who wanted to take my sister away from me, because she was special and I wasn’t. I didn’t understand then…he explained that she was chosen, born with a gift, and meant for great deeds in her lifetime…While she packed her bags, I climbed out the window into the back alley to sit by myself. Suddenly, the old man called out from the window above. He wanted to speak with me, but I just told him to piss off. And then he did the most extraordinary thing—he leapt from the window without using the ladder and landed crouched, in front of me. I had never seen anyone do that, and I couldn’t help but question his ability. He only smiled and replied, “A Watcher scoffs at gravity. Once you learn to put your back into it, you will be able to do that as well. I can teach you, William. Just like Susan. I can teach you.” And even though I considered myself a man without the need of another parent, I put my trust in the kindly stranger and was eternally grateful that I would not be alone…”

~From the diary of William Wells; March 8th, 1676

~*~


The following morning, Elizabeth breakfasted formally with William and Giles. Awkward silence hung heavily over the little table. Purposefully she tried to catch William’s gaze, but he seemed to avoid her eyes as he studied his plate with scientific scrutiny. The thoughts of each person were clearly invested in different worlds. Elizabeth could only begin to guess what troubled William so, while her own focus remained on the bizarre dream she’d had the night before. Susan. I doubt it means anything. I’m living in her home, wearing her clothing…Naturally she should linger in my thoughts. Throughout her young life, Elizabeth had occasionally experienced vivid dreams that felt so real, she often wondered if they could mean something more. Her encounter with Susan, or what she imagined to be Susan, had her curiosity and suspicions swirling. Desperately she wanted to question William and Giles about the former Slayer—about her appearance and personality to see if it were possible…and perhaps Giles would be interested to hear about the dream, or vision, or whatever it might have been. But she knew she could never bring it up to them. Both men still grieved at the loss, and Elizabeth thought it best not to open wounds that might just be beginning to heal.

Giles cleared his throat, causing Elizabeth to startle as her thoughts were snapped back into the present. William dropped his spoon.

“There is a erm…project I’ve been working on for sometime now. William is aware of it, but I would like to bring it to your attention as well, Miss Elizabeth, since I could use your help.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth replied, “I would be happy to help however I might be of use.”

“Well it should be fairly simple if all goes as planned. Basically I have been researching and formulating a spell—or, uh ritual—that might consecrate that vile piece of land. I’ve been trading with natives for the last several weeks, and I think I finally have everything we would need.”

“You think I could assist in some way?” Elizabeth asked, her curiosity peaked.

“Yes, actually. If you would be willing…I understand the notion of this sort of ritual might be at odds with certain Christian beliefs.”

“Oh that doesn’t bother me. If it could cleanse that place somehow, prevent whatever is there from spreading, I would be eager to take part.”

“Is that really necessary?” William broke in sharply, speaking to Giles, “One thing slips up in that goddamn spell of yours and everything goes to hell. She’s got no experience with magics. Bloody stupid decision to throw her into this, if you ask me.”

“I did not ask you, Will. It’s her decision whether or not to take part, and besides that, with the sort of preparation we’ve put into it, the risk is minimal. The spell is quite simple, but it does require a certain type of energy—a yin and yang if you will. One male and one female to represent both halves of Spirit. Youth also lends strength, so under my instruction, I think we’d have the best luck with the two of you performing the ritual together.”

“I would agree to that,” Elizabeth responded lightly.

Without a word, William stood abruptly from the table to clear his plate, sending his chair scraping harshly across the floor; and then he strode outside, the door nearly slamming behind him.

“William!” Elizabeth called as she rose to go after him.

Gently, Giles placed his hand on her forearm. “Let him be, Elizabeth.”

--

The day dragged on, and even as afternoon faded to sunset, William still did not return. Elizabeth had spent long hours helping with chores about the cabin, and Giles had even allowed her to flip through some of his books on magic. Even though she found the reading fascinating in its discussion of the ability of all people to use natural power for good purposes, Elizabeth worried, anxiously watching the door.

“Perhaps we should look for him. Twilight is approaching,” she commented anxiously.

“There’s no need to worry. William is fine on his own. He does this sometimes—wanders about without announcing his comings and goings. He’ll return in good time,” Giles replied calmly while he put on his cloak.

“Mr. Giles,” she began carefully, “Is there anything…Is William all right? Did he mention anything bothering him?”

“Oh it’s nothing, I’m sure. Only one of his moods,” the older man answered absently, “I must be off now to start the night’s hunt. You’ll be fine on your own, yes?”

“Yes,” she sighed as she watched Giles take up his staff and step into the evening, leaving her alone with her thoughts and worries.

Elizabeth seriously considered just going out herself to find William, but remembering the last time she’d attempted something similar, she thought better of it. So instead she simply plopped down into the rocking chair and waited for him.

--

After sitting up late until her eyelids began to droop in weariness, Elizabeth fell into bed and resigned herself to William’s absence. Her sleep was heavy and dreamless, though at some point in the early morning hours a noise brought her to abrupt wakefulness. She blinked her eyes open in the darkness when she heard the door close softly and floorboards creak under a careful, booted footfall. William’s silhouette showed clearly in the silver moonlight that pooled in from the window. She watched him hang his hat and cloak, pause for a split second to glance in her direction, and then slowly and quietly walk up the stairs.

Elizabeth waited a long while after she heard the door to his room close before sitting up in bed. Her heart pounded in her chest at what she planned to do. I have to talk to him. He’ll just keep avoiding me if I don’t.

Pulling the quilts back, she climbed out of the cot, lightly padded out of her alcove, and slowly ascended the staircase. Once her hand grasped the doorknob, she hesitated briefly before turning it softly. In the darkened room, bathed in moonlight and etched with patches of long shadows, William lay in bed curled on his side away from the door with the quilt pulled up to his chin. His shoulder rose and fell slightly with the soft, even breaths of light slumber, and he did not stir at the gentle rustle of her movements. She chewed her lip in nervous contemplation and almost turned and left, telling herself that she would simply ask to speak with him tomorrow. But instead, her feet took her to the intended destination. Gingerly, heart still racing, Elizabeth lifted the edge of the quilt that shrouded his body, and still not believing what she was doing, crawled into bed behind him.

Lightly, under the covers, she ran her fingers from his shoulder down his arm. And then drawing gradually closer until her chest was flush against the warmth of his back, she draped her arm over him, her palm resting on his breast. His hair tickled her nose, and she breathed in deeply, relishing the exquisite pleasure of holding him in her arms. Finally, her intrusion caused him to rouse. Mumbling nonsense of half-sleep, he nuzzled back against her body, sighing peacefully. He took her hand and raised her palm to his lips, tenderly kissing her skin.

“Missed you,” he mumbled.

“I’m here,” she whispered.

“Good dream.”

“No, William, I’m really here.”

“Wh—huh?”

Once he broke further into consciousness, he quickly fumbled away from Elizabeth and hurriedly sat up in bed as though he’d been doused by a bucket of ice water. He studied her in the dim light as though he still didn’t quite believe he wasn’t dreaming.

“What are you doing?” he demanded groggily, rubbing his eyes, “You gotta go downstairs. Rupert—“

“Is away for the night. Where have you been all day?”

“Nowhere,” he muttered, “Just riding. Thinkin’.”

“William,” she said, sitting up fully to face him, “I don’t understand what I did to turn you away. If I did something wrong, you must tell me.”

Even in the darkness, she could see his eyes soften and his shoulders start to droop.

“You…nothing. Elizabeth, I—I meant what I said. And being with you, it’s more than I ever….”

“Then tell me what’s upsetting you,” she prodded gently.

He sighed heavily and raised one hand to rake through his bed-tousled curls.

“Lotta things. When I say I wanna do right by you…I just don’t know if I’m right for you. What we did—I think it was a mistake. Not your mistake—mine. I should’ve controlled myself. I shouldn’t have…it was taking advantage of you. Treating you no better than a…”

“That doesn’t make any sense. I wanted it just as much as you did. I asked you—“

“Yes, but…I don’t fancy myself a great man, Elizabeth. I do this here,” he said, gesturing vaguely with his hand, “Because it’s right. Because Susan would’ve wanted it. But I haven’t led the best life…And you, you’re so sweet, so pure; it’s one of the things I love about you. I’ve never been with anyone like that…I don’t think I have the right to take it from you. Your…innocence is something I shouldn’t take. The ramifications of it are just—“

“It isn’t taking if it’s something I give willingly,” she said softly, “I heard you. Arguing with Mr. Giles about me. What he said to you about ruining my life—is that the reason you have this guilt?”

“No. I just think he might be right.”

“Well he’s not right. Listen to me, William,” she said, gently cupping his cheek with her hand, “I love you.”

He stiffened. “You don’t hafta say that. I mean if you don’t, it’s okay. I understand. Better to be honest before I screw up again.”

“This is me being honest.”

“…But before, you didn’t—“ he began thickly.

“It’s overwhelming. And terrifying. Putting it into words wasn’t easy for me. I merely needed a little time.”

“Time’s somethin’ I can give.”

He closed his eyes and lifted his hand to cover hers.

“I wish…I wish I could quit this. The whole vampire hunting gig. I wish we could get the hell outta here.”

“One day,” she whispered, scooting closer to kiss his forehead.

Their bodies melted down into the mattress until they lay facing one another in a close embrace. William kissed her slowly, lazily, his tongue lightly grazing her lips and gently seeking entrance to her mouth. After uncounted minutes of leisurely exploration of lips and tongues and teeth, he broke their kiss and ran his fingers through her loose golden hair.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispered.

“But Mr. Giles—“

“Screw Mr. Giles.”

Elizabeth sighed contently, resting her head under his chin so that her nose was buried in the nape of his neck. He pulled the quilt up over her shoulders.

“Warm enough?” he asked.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Sleep now, luv.”

And so she did.

--

Momentarily, Elizabeth felt disoriented when she woke in the strange bed; but once she cuddled against the warm body beside her and blinked her eyes open to see the familiar room lit with the dull grey of early morning, she remembered. Very carefully, so as not to disturb him, she disentangled her limbs from his and was abruptly assaulted by the chilliness of the air. He didn’t wake, but as she slowly rose, he turned in his sleep and curled over the warm, empty place she’d left behind. Oh, how she wanted nothing more than to remain snuggled there till afternoon, but she knew she must go before Mr. Giles chanced to stumble in on them. William’s eyes fluttered behind closed lids as a slight, serene smile graced his lips.

“What are you dreaming, my love?” she whispered, reaching to brush errant curls back from his forehead.

He looked so soft, so young, and for the first time, Elizabeth wondered exactly how old he was. After brushing a gentle kiss over his cheek, she reluctantly left the room, bound for her cot beneath the stairs.

--

“Are you positive that you understand everything? I can come along and observe from outside the circle—should you have any questions or any difficulties arise—“

“Jesus Rupert. We’ll be fine! It’s only a cleansing—kid stuff. Won’t take more than half an hour.”

“Well, you made quite a fuss over it earlier.”

“Yeah, but…I think we can handle it now.”

William raised a mischievous brow to Elizabeth when Giles looked away. She knew he had multiple reasons for not wanting the older man along. Time alone together was precious; and they were willing to take anything they could get. Four nights over the past week, William had managed to sneak downstairs into Elizabeth’s cot. He would come long after midnight and leave just before dawn. Sometimes they engaged in whispered conversations about books and loves and travels all night long; and other times, he would arrive quietly and simply hold her until she fell asleep. When she woke again, of course she’d find him gone. Tip-toeing around Giles did bring a sense of heart-pattering excitement, but Elizabeth wished that they could act and speak openly about the way they felt. Naturally that was impossible. Even if Giles did approve of their courtship, the sort of behavior they enjoyed would only be appropriate for a married couple. But Elizabeth was beginning to hope that maybe…just maybe their future might hold that possibility.

“Very well. Miss Elizabeth, do you need me to run through the steps once more?” Giles asked fretfully.

“No, thank you, sir. I think I understand.”

“Do you have all the supplies in your sack? Maybe you should check once more, just to be sure.”

“She’s sure, mate,” William huffed as he opened the door, beckoning Elizabeth to follow.

She glanced back to Giles sympathetically.

“Fine fine. Go on,” he sighed, shooing her out. “But if any complication should occur—“

And with that, William kicked the door shut.

--

Once they slipped into the woods, Elizabeth pulled up the hood of her cloak as a barrier to the wind. Their breaths formed cloudy puffs in front of their mouths; and the air felt thin, almost tingly. Moon and stars were shrouded in heavy grey clouds.

“Cold, luv?” William asked, noting Elizabeth’s attempt to bundle up.

“A b-b—bit,” she chattered in reply.

“C’mere,” he said, opening his arm in invitation.

She knew he’d take any opportunity to hold her close, and she smiled as she huddled into his side. Walking in this manner slowed their pace significantly, but neither of them felt in a dreadful hurry to return to the cabin. As they approached the end of the trail, Elizabeth felt the familiar chills coursing over her spine. This place absolutely made her skin crawl. Reluctantly, they stepped onto the plane of barren land; and suddenly, it felt twice as difficult for Elizabeth to draw a breath in the paper-thin air. She panicked at the choking sensation, clutching onto William desperately. The field, just as she feared, was much more terrifying cloaked in darkness and fog than it had been in the falling light of afternoon. The sensation felt similar, she imagined, to being swept under a murky stream—silent, chilling, and isolating.

“I hate this. I hate it,” she whispered.

“I know, sweetheart. So do I. But we’ll get out fast, yeah? Just do it and go.”

Elizabeth nodded and unwillingly parted from him to dig through the supplies in her sack. William drew a large circle in the ash with his boot while she squatted in the center, removing each object and placing it before her. Once he had the circle constructed, he sprinkled sea salt in a ring around them and struck a match before taking a seat on the earth opposite Elizabeth. In the flickering orange light, she could see William’s fingers trembling, revealing his own unease. After he lit the small white candle between them, Elizabeth grasped the bundle of sage, garlic, and thistle, holding it in the smoke above the tiny flame.

“Do we say it now?” she asked shakily.

“No, hang on. Do you have the jar and rose thorns?”

She nodded, passing him a glass jar and a leather pouch. William turned the pouch inside out, leaving the thirteen thorns in a pile between them.

“Aright. I’ll drop one in at a time while we say it. Gimme your hand.”

Elizabeth offered her free hand, and he grasped it tightly. Reaching for the first thorn, he held it briefly before dropping it into the glass jar and nodding to Elizabeth. Her voice quavered as she began.

“In the name of God and Goddess, we bid thee part.
We consecrate and clear this space,
Thou demon presence, be no more!”

For each thorn, they softly repeated the blessing, the speaker alternating for each repetition. Afterwards, William sealed the jar.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Now we bury it,” William replied, already digging in the ash with his fingers.

Something felt dreadfully wrong. Elizabeth knew it intrinsically before she saw any evidence. They were being watched—the sensation of malicious eyes in the darkness, everywhere. Though it was very slight, Elizabeth sensed a stirring; a movement below them, almost a rumbling far beneath the earth. Over William’s shoulder, the fog gradually began to part; and something dark and inhumanly tall slowly stepped forth from the swirling mists. It was hard to make out any details, but its eyes clearly burned red.

“William—William!” she tried to scream, but the only sound that fell from her lips was a hoarse croak.

“Almost done, luv. Just gotta make sure it’s deep enough.”

Did he not feel it? The shaking—how could he not?!?

Grabbing his shoulder, Elizabeth pointed numbly. Run. Run. We should be running now. The thought was so clear, and yet her body would not—or could not, comply. Finally, he turned at her insistence and saw it. Scrambling to his feet, he stepped in front of Elizabeth and squinted into the fog. She stood behind him, grasping onto his cloak.

“What is that?” she squeaked.

“I don’t know.”

“Did we—did we make that happen?”

“Uh. Don’t know.”

The entity moved with a dream-like slowness, and Elizabeth could not entirely ascertain whether or not it was real.

“Elizabeth. Run. Now,” he instructed firmly.

“No! I’m not leaving you here!”

“I need you to get Rupert. Tell him to get out here. You stay in the cabin.”

“Not without you!”

She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist to emphasize her point. The thing grew clearer as it closed the distance between them. It must have been at least ten feet tall; and its body was incredibly large, appearing tough and solid like rock. Two giant horns swept out from either side of its enormous head. Elizabeth screamed till her throat grew parched.

“Nightmares continue to torment me, and I cannot begin to understand their source. Ever since Elizabeth came into my life, they’ve grown so intense, so real…There’s a recurring one, and in it my fingers are stained with the blood of thousands. I see a thousand faces, screaming, begging, pleading. Sometimes she’s among them, crying for me to come back. I think I killed them…I dreamt of killing them. Always, I wake sobbing with the chilling memory of those that suffered…But the truly horrifying part of it is…in the dream, I don’t care.”

~From the diary of William Wells; December 9th, 1685

~*~


In a breath, it was on them. During those few confused seconds, time seemed a jumbled mess. First it passed slowly, as if treading through sludge, and then more rapidly than the flickering of an eye. Elizabeth found herself stumbling uselessly to the ground after taking a powerful blow—no, not her, William. The thing struck William, but the aftershock sent Elizabeth flying. She watched helplessly as he tried to fight, but his efforts were in vain. The beast—the demon, could not be harmed. All William could do was attempt to dodge the impact of its giant fists. The earth shook with the thud of its footfall, and the air surrounding them heated under the hot furnace of its breath. It hissed and snorted as it effortlessly batted William about like a cat playing with a ball of yarn. Can’t fight. We have to run. Will kill us both. But the thing blocked their only escape back into the forest toward the cabin. Precious seconds leapt forward once more. She felt William’s grip on her arm, hauling her to her feet, and he pulled her after him as they ran. Pure adrenaline fueled them onward. Elizabeth knew he was hurt, but still he charged onward, and she struggled to keep up. They fled across the wasteland, through the fog, until they finally met a cover of trees on the opposite end. The pounding of the demon’s feet thundered behind them as they sprinted on.

“Barn,” William choked, “Can get there this way. Gotta get over the threshold. It can’t cross.”

“But it’s not a vampire!” she panted.

“Worth a try. Keep goin’.”

Elizabeth’s chest burned with the searing iciness of the air she gulped into her lungs. But somehow her feet carried her on; and when William stumbled, she dragged him along with her. White flurries swirled through the air, carried by the wind, and settled on the freezing earth. She couldn’t remember when it had started snowing; but the flakes abruptly grew dense and thick, obscuring her vision further and settling in her hair to make it fall damp and limp across her forehead. The thundering steps grew closer as looming trees snapped and collapsed in their wake. At least the demon had a disadvantage due to its sheer size alone—it was unable to navigate the narrow paths through the trees without difficulty.

Suddenly, she found the flowing stream beneath her feet, now carrying chunks of ice as it soaked the hem of her skirt. And then the barn—a vision sent to them straight from heaven. Thank you. Thank you, God. Their frantic bodies collided with the door, sending it crashing open. William slammed it behind them and immediately began dragging the trunks from the corner of the large room and heaving them against the closed door. Elizabeth helped without a word until everything that could possibly be piled against the barrier to the outside was set firmly in place. Instinctively, William and Elizabeth backed up into the center of the pitch-dark room, waiting. They didn’t have to wait long.

The beast pounded at the door until the fragile wood shook in its frame, but the defenses held. The creature unleashed a furious snorting growl, so loud that it caused the entire structure of the barn to vibrate with its powerful volume. Then that hideous face with piercing crimson eyes appeared at the windows, its breath fogging the dirty glass. But it could not enter, despite its persistent attempts. And almost instantly, it vanished. In that moment, all of the strength and adrenaline left Elizabeth’s body in a rush, and she collapsed in an exhausted heap on the floor. She shook with sobs, weeping with greater violence than she had the day she found her mother dead. William’s arms came to encircle her tightly, and she clung to him as forcefully as he to her. He trembled just as much as she did.

When Elizabeth came back to herself, she remembered with immediate guilt and panic that he was hurt.

“William, where are you injured?” she asked frantically, at once running her hands over his chest and arms to see if she could feel broken bones or the spilling of blood.

“I’m not,” he whispered hoarsely, stilling her searching hands. “Are you—are you hurt?”

“No, I’m quite all right, but it hit you. There’s no way it couldn’t have—“

“Elizabeth. I’m not hurt…I think—I think something musta been lookin’ out for us tonight.”

“Oh my God. William…”

For several moments they held each other, rocking their bodies gently back and forth. The terror was simply overwhelming at first, but then came joy—the exquisite relief of being alive. He broke away first.

“It’s gonna get freezing real fast once our bodies cool down. We hafta start up a fire in here,” William declared, pulling the trunks away from the door.

“No! You can’t go out there!” she yelped, scrambling after him.

“I need to grab some brush and wood before it freezes…It’s—I’m pretty sure it’s gone. Just wait here.”

The next few minutes felt like a lifetime to Elizabeth until he finally returned with an armful of brush and twigs. After assembling a pile in the center of the space, he struck a match and lit the kindling. Soft, golden light bathed the room in long, flickering shadows.

“What was it, William?”

“I never seen anythin’ that strong. No simple demon, that’s for sure. I—I don’t think what we did caused it to show up. Coincidence I figure it.”

“Well what happened to it? It couldn’t have just disappeared. It’s probably out there waiting for us to leave!”

“No, I don’t think so. It’s gone. Disappeared. Scary thing is…I wonder what’s controlling it. Somethin’ musta called it.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he sighed, “I have absolutely no idea…Here, come sit by the fire. You need to get warmed up.”

She moved to sit beside him, and he took her hands, rubbing his palms over her icy fingers.

“I’m scared. I’ve never been so afraid in my whole life,” she said thickly.

He raised his hand to her cheek, gingerly tracing the wet paths her tears had streaked with his fingers.

“Me too…Nights like this, I really wish she was still here, y’know?” his voice cracked, and he quickly averted his eyes, dropping his hand.

“She—Susan could’ve fought that, whatever it was?” Elizabeth asked.

He shrugged. “I dunno. But she coulda handled herself. Better than I did. Christ, I just ran.”

“William, you had no choice. It was too powerful.”

“Fuckin’ coward’s what I am.”

“No! Look at me,” she took his chin in her palms, turning him to face her.

His eyes glistened, and she could see him struggling desperately to hold back.

“You can’t keep doing this, William. You have to stop getting hurt. Blaming yourself for everything terrible that happens isn’t going to change anything. You’re only human—you can’t take on the whole demon world yourself. You weren’t meant to. And I don’t give a damn how strong you are. One day your luck will run out. What you did tonight was smart—you must learn to recognize your limitations. You’re not—you’re not her. Susan was something more than human, and she was stronger than you are.”

“Well who’s gonna do it if I don’t?”

“The next Slayer. When one passes away, another is chosen, isn’t that right? You have to trust that she’s out there.”

He pushed away from her then, and she let him. Pulling his knees into his chest, he sat quietly for a long while, drawing deep into himself. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and steady.

“We fought that night. I don’ remember what started it. Somethin’ petty. She was always pissed at me cause I kept trying to protect her. We both said things we didn’t mean. She told me it wasn’t my fight. She said she couldn’t live with it if I got myself killed. So I let her go,” he said, laughing bitterly, “That’s a bloody slayer for you—it doesn’t matter who’s with her—who loves her. She’s always alone…That was the night she faced the Master. He’d been working on a stronghold—below the earth—where the field is now. Drew on the ancient power from beneath it. We were working on a way in, but that night—that was the first time he walked openly in the woods. Usually others killed for him…She wasn’t ready. But he found her, and she had no choice. He sent others after Rupert and me to keep us away…I heard her scream. It was so shrill, it made my blood run cold. She never screamed. God, I’d never seen her scared in her whole damn life…I ran, cause I just knew…

I left Rupert fighting a group of ‘em alone and ran after her. Got there almost in time too. But I tripped, see. My boot got caught and I fell. It was maybe a few seconds, but that was enough to be too late. I could see them then, I was so close. He tore her dress. She cried out to me…And then he—it was so quick. So easy. She’d been through everything, beat to hell and back, and all he had to do was twist her neck with a flick of his wrist. Less than half a second—the bones snapped. He dropped her. Looked at me and smiled, his mouth stained with red. Then he just left. Wandered into the night and never came back. And I let him go…I ran to her, cause I thought maybe…there’s always a chance. Her eyes were open, staring, and her face was twisted in pain. She died like that. I let her. When we lost Mum, I promised I’d take care of Susan. But I let her…”

Breaking down in uncontrollable sobs, he buried his head in his arms. Elizabeth had known he would tell her eventually. It was the reason she’d never asked—never brought it up. She rose and crossed to him, wrapping her arms around his curved body and resting her cheek against his back.

“It’s not your fault, William. I don’t think you were meant to stop it, even if you’d been there…She knows it’s not your fault.”

“What does it matter? She’s dead,” he replied caustically, his voice muffled.

“That doesn’t mean she’s gone forever. It doesn’t mean she’s lost to us—to you.”

Elizabeth shifted until she crouched in front of him, and gently, she pulled his arms away from his face. He allowed her to see him as tears continued to spill over.

“You’re not responsible…for her…or your mother or the people in Wethersfield. There will always be evil in this world, and you can’t always have someone to fight over it.”

Leaning in close, she kissed his forehead softly, then his damp cheeks, then the bridge of his nose.

“It’s not your fault,” she whispered, willing him to believe it, “You think you don’t deserve me, because you’ll never stop punishing yourself for not being good enough or strong enough or fast enough…for being human. But look at me—I love you. And you deserve to be loved.”

He began to respond to her kisses and light caresses. His hands rose to tangle in her hair.

“It’s not your fault,” she whispered, before his mouth fervently covered hers.

She knew her words fell short—that their truth and softness couldn’t entirely assuage the guilt and inadequacy he’d carried for so long. To be the brother of a slayer, living in the shadow of her great deeds, having the Council dismiss him as rubbish…a wash of sympathy and sadness overcame Elizabeth at the thought. She desperately needed to reach him—to connect with him, and since words could not convey it, she showed him in another manner.

While his lips, chapped from the cold, slid over hers, his breath warming her icy skin, she reached her hands behind her head and linked her fingers with his. At first he startled, clearly believing that her intent was to push him away. But she held onto his hands and moved them in front of her, caressing his fingers and palms—the cuts and rough calluses that came from long years of painful, physical labor and combat. Under her gentle touch, she watched his eyes shift from an expression of despair to one of relaxation, of peace. His jaw unclenched with the release of some tension. Bringing his hand to her lips, she pressed a light kiss just below his knuckles before placing his open palm against her pounding heart.

The next several minutes were sweet and languid with the slowness of dream time. His touch felt intoxicating—his hands brushed over her chest and dipped lower, rising over the swell of her breasts and down over the flat plane of her belly, all the while his mouth locked on hers in a heated kiss. Clothing became a painful frustration, a barrier to the buzz of contact and the smooth heat of skin. Elizabeth moved her hands between their bodies and pulled on the laces of her bodice. With his help, her chemise was gone, along with her skirts and petticoat. Deftly she tugged on his tunic, pulling it over his head. He slipped away briefly, leaving her by the fire, but returned quickly with an armful of quilts and a fleece blanket. After laying a quilt across the floor, he delicately pressed her back before covering her body with his and wrapping them both in fleece. She felt so deliciously warm and safe, and her senses hummed with pleasure—and need. His bare chest pressed against hers as his lips returned to her neck, her cheeks, her mouth. Reaching down, she untied his breeches and helped him swivel out of them until he kicked them off.

Her tongue dipped into the moist warmth of his mouth, and he allowed her to take the lead, to explore and decide their pace. Against her hip, she felt the heated column of his flesh stirring and hardening, so she reached down and boldly took him in her hand. He shuddered, moaning softly into her mouth.

Time stopped—it only existed there, in those blankets on the floor of an abandoned barn in the cold, darkened wilderness. They forgot everything else—the danger outside, Giles, guilt, propriety. With hands and lips they drove each other’s cries into desperate pitches. His touch was on her everywhere, inside her, causing hot liquid to melt from her. Then her legs were raised high, hooked behind his hips, and his hardness pulsed against her opening. Truthfully, she wasn’t afraid of it—the whispered rumors of pain and society’s severe punishment of this deed outside the religious boundaries of wedlock.

“Elizabeth,” he rasped in her ear, “I want you…need to be inside you.”

Feeling between them, she helped guide him. But he held back, shaking, afraid to sink fully into her tight, silken channel.

“I don’t want to hurt you, luv. Tell me if it hurts, and I’ll stop.”

“Doesn’t hurt,” she breathed.

He pushed in further, slowly, until his entire length slid in, and she cried out at the shock of it.

“Hurting you?” he asked fearfully, bracing himself to move back.

“Yes…No. Don’t stop. Please.”

Gradually he began a gentle, even rhythm, and Elizabeth countered his motions with her own body. With his hands and mouth and the thrusts of his hips, he kindled within her mewling cries of need. When his fingers moved to touch her above their joining, he quickly pulled them away.

“God, Elizabeth, I can’t—you’re bleeding.”

“Shhh I’m all right. Supposed to be this way. Don’t stop.”

And so he didn’t. As their bodies intertwined, he hit a hidden place inside that sent her over the edge, and she took him with her. Their cries intermingled as she felt the liquid heat of his release flooding deep inside.

“Love you,” he panted.

“Love you.”

She held him, her arms around his neck and her legs tangled with his as their breathing slowed.

“Am I too heavy?” he murmured.

“No. Just hold me.”

Sometime later, Elizabeth drifted off to sleep, warm and safe from the monsters outside.

--

When she woke, the barn was filled with soft, grey light. The fire had burned to cinders and disappeared, but Elizabeth did not feel a chill, curled pleasantly against William. She glanced up to see that outside the window, tree branches were coated in white frosting and glittering icicles. The soft dusting looked just as beautiful as she’d imagined and just as picturesque as paintings she’d seen depicting frozen countryside. Behind her, William still slept peacefully, his breaths soft and even. His body curved around her so that his forehead nestled into the nape of her neck, his longer legs splayed across hers. One of his arms draped over her protectively, with his hand resting against the warm hollow of her belly. Burrowing deeper into her cocoon of blankets and William, Elizabeth inhaled deeply and smiled. Despite everything—despite nearly being ripped to shreds by who-knows-what only the night before, she smiled now with a serene levity. Lying in his arms in the morning light made the darkness seem a world away. A sense of peace washed over her as she realized that never before had she had the opportunity to wake beside him.

Gently, Elizabeth rolled over onto her other side so that she could see him. Lightly with the tips of her fingers, she traced the contours of his face—the features she’d initially found so sharp and cold that she now found delicately handsome. His eyelids fluttered a bit at her touch, the long lashes flickering open slightly. When her finger abandoned the curved line of his cheek to softly trail down his nose, he reached a hand up to scratch, groggily batting her away. Before he opened his eyes, a lazy, contented smile played across his lips.

“You do sleep,” she said softly.

“From time to time,” he yawned

“You know, I was starting to doubt it, I’d seen so little evidence.”

“Still a bloody waste of time,” he murmured, slowly blinking his eyes open. The silver glow in the room gave them a more piercing hue of crystalline blue. He brought one hand up to tenderly stroke her hair back from her face.

“It snowed,” she remarked, tilting her chin toward the window.

“Ah bollocks. Figured it was more than flurries,” he mumbled.

“What? I think it looks lovely. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Once you play in it for a day, the novelty starts to wear off, pet. We’ll be stuck up here in a pain-in-the arse blizzard till spring.”

“Trapped inside till spring? I see nothing wrong with that,” she replied coyly, stroking up his muscled calf with her ankle.

“Dirty girl…Gimme that lip,” he quipped, tracing his thumb over the soft curve of her swollen bottom lip before covering it with his mouth.

His hand abandoned her cheek to slide over the silhouette of her body before coming to rest on the swell of her hip. When his lips left hers, Elizabeth whimpered in protest; and she was surprised to find that his expression had shifted soberly.

“Elizabeth, last night, I…I know it couldn’t have been pleasant for you. Was I too… rough?”

“Not in the least. And it wasn’t—it wasn’t at all unpleasant.”

“You’re not sore at all?”

She blushed a little, her eyes dropping from his gaze. “No, I’m not sore, not really, but…I feel different somehow.”

“Bad different?” he asked worriedly, his features creased in concern.

“No, not bad, just changed. Older. I feel older. Well, I’m sure you can remember…”

“I sense a question in there somewhere,” he smirked.

“There’s still so much I don’t know about you, so I just…” she began hesitantly, “When did you first—do that? What was it like for you?”

He released a deep chuckle before replying, “Bloody terrifying! I had no clue what the hell I was doing. I was just a stupid kid in way over my head. Don’t really remember feelin’ older—I think I felt like a ponce mostly.”

“How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

“Twelve?! Good lord!”

“Yeah, I tried to grow up fast. Much too fast. I mean, my mum, I already told you about her line of work. We lived in boarding houses above, well—brothels, not to put too fine a point on it. I was a stupid, hormonal kid and extremely curious with way too many resources at my fingertips.”

“Did you love her at all?”

“No…I’m not proud of it. Done a lot of things I’m not proud of. I don’t tend to think with my brain—I follow my blood, my instincts. But, I…I hardly even knew her. She was in the business you might say, and quite a bit older than me. I tried to play it off, you know, but Christ I was a wreck!” he laughed.

“Can I ask—I’m sorry, it is none of my business, and it wouldn’t upset me because I do understand…but since I’ve never, I’m curious…”

“Is this the ‘how many’ question, pet? It’s all right, I can tell you. There was that first one, then Cecilia—she was the girl I knew in Paris—and you.”

“Really?” she asked, surprised.

She’d been cringing in preparation for his answer, assuming that a man of his station, experience, and appearance would be quite… practiced with women. He certainly seemed to handle himself well—so giving and confident and skilled, though Elizabeth had no basis for comparison.

“Really…In a way, I wish you were the first for me, so that everything could be new.”

“No, you shouldn’t wish that. It’s part of who you are, how you’ve grown—those experiences. Speaking of which, how old are you, anyway?” she asked quickly.

He laughed at her non-sequiter, his chest shaking with it.

“Nice way to slip that in. I’m a decrepit old man. Nearly twenty-six!”

“Heavens, that’s positively ancient!” she gasped in mock-horror.

When their laughter subsided and silence expanded around them, Elizabeth finally addressed the elephant in the room, sadly knowing that it could no longer be avoided. “I suppose we should go back soon and let Mr. Giles know that we’re all right,” she said.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “We got some work ahead of us. Gotta figure out what the hell it was that attacked us and how we kill it.”

“Yes,” she agreed solemnly, though instead of moving to get up, she threw one of her legs over William’s hip, drawing him so close that her bare breasts pressed against his chest.

His breath caught and he shuddered, his hands stroking down the smooth line of her back. Nestled against her belly, she felt the evidence of his arousal growing.

“Well,” he whispered thickly, “It’s early yet. We could stay on a while…”

“I am the only person awake in the longhouse, writing by the light of a single match. Though I am exhausted from the journey, my thoughts refuse to rest…I chanted with them today, though I did not understand the words. I listened to the beauty of their voices against the steady beat of the drum and closed my eyes, feeling the pleasant heat of the bonfire soothe my icy skin. An elder explained that they pray for spring, and I gratefully prayed beside them…Elizabeth, my goddess, is on my mind, as always… Finally, I have the courage to ask her, and I am no longer afraid of her answer. I wish I had more to offer, but I can only hunt skins for trade and give her what I can… Oddly, in the face of never-ending dangers, I am overcome now with a sense of peace. After confessing the grief I have carried, I feel at rest. I feel as though Susan is finally at rest. She hadn’t truly been gone to me before… Now I believe I can allow joy back into my life without the guilt of going on without her.”

~From the diary of William Wells; December, 12th, 1685

~*~


“Right. Can you be perhaps, a bit more specific?” Giles asked, squinting over the rims of his spectacles as he scribbled notes across a bit of parchment with his quill.

“Large,” Elizabeth repeated, stretching her arms up over her head and standing on tip-toe to provide a clear visual.

“Yes, yes I’ve already got that much. But is there nothing else? It shall be rather difficult for me to research this demon without any other defining characteristics. You said it tried to engage you in combat, yes William? Surely you would remember something clearer.”

“Hey, look, sodding thing smacked me around—no combat involved. And I was too busy gettin’ my arse kicked to notice its bloody hairdo.”

“So, it had hair then?”

“No,” Elizabeth and William sighed in unison.

“Goddamn research’s gettin’ us nowhere,” William grumbled.

“It was so dark and we were running for our lives, making it terribly difficult to—wait a moment…it had red eyes. I remember it had red eyes,” Elizabeth remarked excitedly.

“Good, good that’s something,” Giles nodded, scribbling away.

“And…any thoughts on that?” William asked hopefully.

“Hmm? Oh, I think it could be any number of things. But the way you said it seemed to be charging directly for you, and the manner in which it pursued you…clearly we’re dealing with something that has an agenda. And since demons don’t tend to maintain their own agendas outside basic survival—I would deduce that the creature was summoned and manipulated by an outside force.”

“In that case, the answer seems pretty obvious to me—“ William interjected.

“No! No, it can’t be…that power is no longer a threat,” Giles murmured to himself, resting his brow against his knuckles.

“I’d say it’s bloody likely! The two of us—of course! I’ll get over there myself and—“

“No! Will, please, first things first. Before we go seeking out further trouble, I suggest we find a way to stop this thing from coming back. We’ll worry about the hows and the whys after that.”

“Why can’t we wipe the piss-head out first? Maybe that’ll take care of it!”

“William, we mustn’t cause unnecessary violence. We’re in a precarious situation as it is—“

Elizabeth switched from pacing around the kitchen alcove to perch on the corner of the table where both men were seated. Fed up with being ignored, she sardonically waved her arms until they finally glanced up from their discussion.

“Hello, I’m still here, remember? And I’m sick and tired of all this code-speak! For the love of God, just tell me already!”

To that, Giles fell silent while William glared at him pointedly as he leaned back in his chair, brows raised.

“Elizabeth, if we can simply get through the present crisis, you may ask me anything you wish to know. But for the time being—especially since we don’t know who or what is behind this, I don’t care to dredge up the past,” the elder man replied, his eyes flickering firmly to William.

“Fine,” Elizabeth sighed, “How do we fight this?”

“We’re going to need help and guidance, that’s for sure. Spiritual guidance. A shaman, I think, could help us. We’ll need to make contact with the Five Nations, Will, and see if they can do anything for us.”

William nodded solemnly, resting his chin on his fist.

“Five Nations? What’s that?” Elizabeth asked, wrinkling her nose.

“The five native tribes that make up the Iroquois confederacy. They know the land and its history well, and their magics are strong,” Giles answered.

“So where are they?”

“There’s a village to the north of us in the Province of New York. It’s a two, maybe three-day’s ride.”

“Well, there’s no way we could go, then. Look outside. The snow’s getting worse,” Elizabeth noted, gesturing to the window.

Powerful, whistling winds sent torrents of swirling white flakes against the window pane. The snowfall had picked up and increased steadily throughout the day after William and Elizabeth’s return to the cabin. It was growing near impossible to see in the blinding brightness of the storm. And William had been right; after marveling at the way the glittering white drifts crunched beneath her feet, the novelty of the snowfall was beginning to wear thin, especially in light of their crisis situation.

“I am afraid we have no choice,” Giles replied, “Something must be done, and quickly. There is a rampaging demon about that’s likely to return, and we have no apparent means of controlling it. It must be stopped before someone is hurt. One of the shamans could guide us to its destruction, perhaps. A ritual or consecration…anything.”

“I’ll go,” William murmured, breaking his silence, “I can ride out tonight and camp at the post. I’ll take Sassafras—I don’t think Sunshine could handle the storm.”

“Don’t be absurd!” Elizabeth exclaimed, jumping up and turning on her heel, “You would freeze to death!”

“I’ll make it fine. Snow won’t bother me,” he replied calmly.

“All right then,” Giles said, nodding, “We need to begin packing the necessary equipment at once.”

“I’m going with you,” Elizabeth declared resolutely, crossing her arms in front of her.

“Elizabeth, you must remain here,” Giles ordered in a much more forceful tone than he’d ever used with her.

“No,” William responded softly.

Elizabeth looked up hopefully, thinking that for once he might be convinced to agree with her in the matter. Silently, he rose from his seat and took both of her hands in his.

“I know you think you could handle the ride, Elizabeth, but your body physically couldn’t, despite your strength. You were raised in the islands—you’ve never even seen a snowfall. There’s no way you could camp in it for days on end. You’d fall ill,” William said gently.

“No, I wouldn’t!” she retorted before quickly biting her lip, as her words sounded defiantly childish even to her own ears.

“Please luv,” he whispered, raising her hand to his mouth and brushing a soft kiss across her knuckles, “Stay here. For me.”

“But you cannot go alone…” she murmured.

“I won’t be alone. I’ll have Sassy with me. Honestly, there’s no reason to worry—we’ll make it back just fine.”

“There has to be another way,” Elizabeth said quietly, the threat of tears hovering behind her words as she imagined William, trapped in a blizzard alone, falling from the agitated horse, injured and freezing to death where no one could help him…

“Cut it out, pet. You gotta quit imagining the worst, d’you hear me?” he murmured as his arms wrapped around her in a firm embrace.

She turned her head to rest on his shoulder and saw Giles averting his eyes from their display. His knowledge and disapproval no longer mattered to Elizabeth, and apparently, they did not concern William either.

“I’ll be quick, yeah? You have my word,” he promised, lightly kissing her forehead before breaking away to face Giles, “Let’s get packed up. I wanna get started before we lose daylight.”

“Of course,” Giles replied eagerly.

“And Rupert, if that thing comes back, protect her for me.”

The older man’s eyes flickered to the ground as he muttered, “With my life.”

--

The first day without him was the worst by far. She could do nothing but linger at the window, praying for the snows to cease and pondering everything that might go wrong. Giles offered her tea and bread and books of all sorts to keep her occupied, but her attention remained fixated on the storm outside; and her thoughts remained on William, traveling on horseback into depths of uncharted frontier.

“He’s a great horseman, William.”

The old man’s reflection appeared in the darkened windowpane above her own. She glanced up over her shoulder as he placed a steaming cup of tea on the table and drew out a chair to take a seat beside her.

“You needn’t worry so, Miss Elizabeth. The woods are his home. I think he is more at ease there than anyplace else.”

“Yes…I know.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes as Giles sipped his tea occasionally and removed his spectacles once for a handkerchief cleaning. He then drew in a breath, clearing his throat.

“I may be a bit antiquated, but I am not as naïve as William believes…I do know what transpires between you.”

Elizabeth simply stared straight ahead into the frosty evening and nodded, unwilling to deny anything.

“You love him, yes?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I confess that I—I knew this would come eventually. And I thought it ill-advised, at best. With circumstances being as they are…such an affair could only end badly, but—“

“You cannot know that!” she exclaimed, swiftly turning her head in response.

“But, it is not my place to say such things. The two of you…do you know anything of fate, Elizabeth?”

“Destiny, you mean?”

“Aye, of sorts…Some might say Susan’s time was meant to come when it did so that another would be chosen at the exact right moment. And on the same turn, I would say that William was meant to find you…After we buried Susie, I lost him too. He became quite dark and caustic, shrouding himself in grief, taking to the woods for days at a time. They were so close, the two of them…so like to one another. Nearly two halves of the same person, it seemed, with the way they understood each other. That loss nearly killed him, I think…But since you’ve been here, I have perceived a joy and vitality in him that I’ve never seen before. And how could I not give my blessing to that?”

“Thank you, Mr. Giles,” Elizabeth said, her eyes filling with tears.

“Being trained as a Watcher from the time that I was a boy, I never had the opportunity to love, to marry, to have children of my own. Taking in William and Susan after their mother died…it was the greatest gift ever bestowed upon me. I love him as my son, Elizabeth, and more than anything, I want his happiness.”

Elizabeth nodded, swiping at the tears that slid down her cheeks.

“The future is always uncertain,” Giles continued with some difficulty, “I’m not sure what lies ahead for you. That’s something that I’ve stayed awake at night and struggled over, because the truth is, there is something different about you. I am unsure of exactly what it is or what it could mean…but I have a sense of it.”

“How am I different?” she asked, bitterly remembering the way she’d been perceived in town. Peculiar…

“I’ve seen you fight. Your reflexes…you anticipate things. And there is a certain energy about you. Are you aware that you’re a seer?”

“What? Of course I’m not—what does that even mean?!” she asked incredulously.

“You’re more aware of the world around you, and your senses are stronger. Perhaps you see visions of the past and future or truths that bring greater clarity to the present.”

“I—they’re just dreams. Vivid, yes, but—only part of my own imagination.”

“Are you certain of that?”

Elizabeth paused, drawing a long, shaky breath.

“No,” she whispered, “…I—I saw her.”

“You saw whom?” he asked.

“Susan. In my dream.”

Giles swallowed and removed his spectacles to wipe his brow.

“And—and what did she tell you?”

“It was confusing. There was something dark and old—it was trying to hurt us. I don’t know how I knew it, but that evil thing…it never goes away. It’s older than anything else. She said I didn’t have to fight it yet.”

“Good lord,” he croaked.

“There was something else she said…311 ahead stained with red. Does that mean anything to you?”

“I haven’t any idea,” he sighed, “It seems an arbitrary number. 311 people, days, years? I don’t know. She intended it as a message for you, I presume. Something only you were meant to understand.”

“But I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this.”

“I think, perhaps, you will someday, Elizabeth.”

--

Late that night, Elizabeth remained awake, listening to the mournful, howling winds pound against the walls of the rickety little cabin. Giles had finally turned in after sitting vigil at the door for hours on end clutching his weapons and waiting for any evidence of the demon to appear. Once he’d begun to nod off, he retired upstairs at Elizabeth’s insistence after making her promise that she’d wake him at the first sign of anything suspicious.

In an attempt to keep her mind away from the demon, the storm, and her own oddities, she sat propped up in bed, reading by the light of a flickering beeswax candle. Across her lap lay William’s copy of John Donne’s poetry collection opened to the page he’d marked with the emerald green ribbon. Her fingers brushed over the words he’d underlined in ink as she mouthed them silently.

“TWICE or thrice had I loved thee,
Before I knew thy face or name ;
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame
Angels affect us oft, and worshipp'd be.
Still when, to where thou wert, I came,
Some lovely glorious nothing did I see.
But since my soul, whose child love is,
Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do,
More subtle than the parent is
Love must not be, but take a body too…”

Reading these words, precious as they were to William, Elizabeth drifted off to sleep as she pondered the day she first met him, and how she’d felt as though she were seeing a ghost or sensing something deeper…just beyond the reach of her own memories.

--

The ground felt cold and hard beneath her worn, tired body. A terrible hunger seared through her belly, and a dull, throbbing pain emanated from the base of her skull. Part of her consciousness told her it was a dream, though this experience was quite different from the others. Her mouth was dry; and a bitter taste lingered on her tongue. Before she opened her eyes, she knew by the stench of filth that she was covered in dirt and grime. At first, she could see nothing, because her surroundings were darker than a moonless eve; but slowly, gradually, her weary eyes adjusted to the bleak and lonely world.

Gathering her last shreds of strength and dignity, she attempted to stand on wobbly legs. Fleeing was her first instinct, but she soon discovered herself bound to the earth below. Heavy metal cuffs sliced into her wrists, from which sprang thick, rusted chains that connected to a deep place beneath her feet. From beneath me, it devours. Fruitlessly she struggled, clawing frantically at the painful restraints, but her bitter fight soon proved futile. She collapsed in miserable weariness, her knees no longer able to support the impossible weight of her body. Staring out into the black, she could see nothing but a void of swirling mists. In the distance there was a vague hint of light, but it only flickered, nearly dying out completely. Stretching her arms up as far as the chains would allow, she strained to grasp at the glimmer on the horizon, but it was hopelessly far. And in that moment, she felt such utter despair rip through the core of her being that she began to wail like a lost child weeping for her mother’s arms.

“You can’t just sit there and cry about it, Buffy. Nobody’s gonna do it for you.”

“What?”

For some reason, she wasn’t surprised to see Susan, wearing long and flowing dark garments that covered nearly every inch of skin. Crouching low, the brunette knelt until she rested on Elizabeth’s eye level.

“311, baby. Daughter of the righteous. It’s who you are.”

“Three hundred and…”

“It’s time. It’s all time. Crack open the Good Book. It’ll show ya some truth for once.”

“Set me free, Susan. Please.”

“Can’t. I’m just here to talk.”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Oh come on. Surely you wanna know something. I mean I’m dead, right? I’ve seen it all from both sides and back. Seen it all before.”

“Tell me how to get out of here.”

“Can’t. It’s somethin’ you gotta figure out.”

“Then why are you here? Why do you come to me like this when all you can offer are riddles?”

“’Cause you’re not alone in this. And one day there’ll be trees in the desert.”

Elizabeth nodded in a fleeting moment of understanding.

“There’s a light,” she remarked, “What is it?”

Susan breezily glanced over her shoulder at the weak flicker dying in the distance. “Oh, that? That’s the spark. It’s the part of you that remembers.”

“I won’t remember, will I?”

“You won’t need to. It’s all laid out—the way it goes. And…he’ll remember for you. Someday, he’ll remember.”

“But first he'll lose his way.”

“Quit worryin’ so much about loss. Sometimes it's a gift.”

Susan rose, her long black shawl billowing behind her.

“Wait, I—I need your help. I can’t…” Elizabeth stuttered fretfully.

“Sorry, but this part’s all you. Let me know how it goes.”

“Meet me when I get there?” she asked shakily.

“I’ll be here,” Susan replied, “I’m always here.”

As Susan slowly faded away, walking into the darkness toward the burgeoning sounds of water and children playing, a little girl giggled triumphantly as she jumped from a high cliff into the sea.

The unclean spirits went out, and entered into the swine: and the herd ran violently down a steep place into the sea.

No, that isn’t right. That isn’t right at all. That’s the way men wrote it.

“Yes, of course I dream about it. Doesn’t everyone? I am a romantic—a fool for love—I always have been and always will be, I suppose. The years have made me cynical, and I’ve begun to realize that Donne’s Sunne Rising is a work of fiction and nothing more. But the idea of a true home—something I’ve never experienced all my life…beautiful curly-haired children playing in the garden, the smell of baking bread, and an achingly lovely woman with worn hands and sparkling eyes keeping a warm bed…I may be a fool, but I refuse to believe these things are lost to me simply because I’ve done horrible things like pickpocket in London…You’d think ridding the world of monsters might tip the scale.”

~From the diary of William Wells; June 26th, 1685

~*~


“Elizabeth, I’m surprised to find you awake so early. I trust there was no trouble last night? What…what on earth are you doing?” Giles asked, perplexed.

Elizabeth looked up from sweeping the floorboards, raising a brow sarcastically. “What does it look like?”

“Oh, well yes. Yes, of course. I just meant that it’s not even six.”

“It was getting dusty in here. And I couldn’t sleep.”

Giles stood at the window, thumbs hooked in his belt loops as he surveyed the silvery world outside lit by the glow of the fading moon.

“Finally there seems to be a lull in the storm. Hopefully it’ll last for a few days, and some of this rubbish will have a chance to melt away. Perfect timing, since we’re nearly out of food…I think I’ll be off to hunt today. Perhaps trap a deer if we’re lucky, but it will be rabbit most likely, with this weather.”

“Mr. Giles, while you’re gone, unless you need my help of course, would you mind if I read through some of your books? I’ve been longing for Homer lately.”

“Oh please do, you’re welcome to anything on the shelves upstairs. And I’ll be fine on my own for the hunt.”

“Thank you, sir,” Elizabeth called, wasting no time as she dashed upstairs to the study.

After closing the door softly behind her and sifting hurriedly through the bookshelves, she sat cross-legged on the floor with The Mystics, Hebrew Numerology, The Slayer Line, and the Bible splayed out before her. From the desk, she’d borrowed a scrap of paper and a quill, eagerly taking notes on anything that might be useful. She began with the most familiar to her.

Crack open the Good Book…The Bible. What’s in the Bible?

After flipping through Genesis to the Revelation of St. John, Elizabeth found no obvious revelations. The same psalms and parables she’d known since childhood were exactly as she remembered—no hidden meanings instantly revealed themselves. She did not come upon her first significant discovery until reading the “related theories” section of the Watchers’ records in The Slayer Line.

“Connections between the Slayer and Western mythology,” she murmured as she scanned one of the headings in the ancient text, “The number 31 as encoded in the Old Testament is believed to be an expression of the Slayer…First union of divine and human qualities…Strength of a fallen angel in service of the Lord…What else? That can’t be all there is! Thirty-one…that certainly seems close enough, doesn’t it?”

She took up Hebrew Numerology and searched for the deeper meanings of the numbers in case there might be any further clues to help piece her mystery together.

“Three represents subconscious, conscious, and inhuman super-conscious…One is a new start, going back to the source…So a repeated one would be two beginnings, two chances?...The sum of five is sacrifice, representing the five wounds of Christ.”

So I have two chances, Susan? Is that what you’re trying to tell me? But two chances for what? What am I?

--

The following days brought no answers. Elizabeth did not take her questions and discoveries to Giles, because she somehow felt that it was a private matter, as he’d said before: Susan was clearly trying to communicate something meant only for her.

What she remembered of Susan’s words played in a cycle in her thoughts over and over, and by the fifth day of living trapped in the cabin, Elizabeth began to lose her mind. She couldn’t read, couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. Her brain turned in circles until her frenetic thoughts threatened to cause her head to explode. And of course, she worried ceaselessly over William. She craved his presence, his voice, and his arms in a way she’d never wanted for anything in her life. When she could do absolutely nothing else to distract herself from her primal need of him, she simply perched in the rocking chair and counted the minutes as they passed. Her impatient, frustrated energy clearly effected Giles as well; often he would take to pacing, gripping a cup of tea in one twitching hand. Finally, he drew a seat beside Elizabeth and tried to shake her from her trance.

“Miss Elizabeth, you are going to drive yourself mad if you simply sit here all day…The storm has let up significantly. I think it would be all right—if you felt up to it—to take a turn outdoors. We have seen no sign of the creature since it first appeared to you and William, and so long as you keep away from the field and return before dark, I’m sure you would do well to stretch your legs in the fresh air for a bit.”

Elizabeth nodded absently at the suggestion—walking and worrying did seem slightly preferable to sitting and stewing. Once she’d bundled up so tightly that she could scarcely move her arms, she stepped outdoors onto the crunchy, freshly-fallen snow. It was nearly deep enough to swallow her boots completely.

“Stay close, Elizabeth! I’ll be on the hunt this evening, so I may not be here when you return. Just—do be careful!”

“I will!” she called without looking back.

Traveling the trails alone felt terribly strange—she knew them well enough after her many excursions with William, but walking these paths without the comfort of his presence was so foreign, causing a sense of misplacement. She could understand why he enjoyed it so—the exercise and icy bite in the air felt liberating—reassuring, even. Her feet took her onward without much thought to time or direction. Making her own winding path, her eyes remained transfixed on the ground below and back at the tracks her boots left in the white powder. She was not surprised then, when she finally looked up to see the barn standing before her at the end of the long afternoon journey. Her subconscious had evidently taken her to the cherished destination automatically. The little stream was completely frozen over, but Elizabeth still leapt over it for fear of sinking through the ice.

Entering the barn instantly caused her longing for William to increase tenfold. Stop this! You’re being absurd. He will return soon, and it isn’t as though you haven’t been on your own before. Still, without his voice, without the warmth of his presence, the barn was terribly cold and deathly silent. Something felt eerie about the large room as well; as though she were being watched by pairs of eyes hiding in the shadows of the rafters. Without William at her side, Elizabeth felt as though the place no longer belonged to her. He discovered it with Susan. It was hers before it was mine. He was hers before he was mine… What if she’s here, following me? Could she be here still? Or does she truly rest forever in a churchyard?

“Susan?” she called, though immediately berated herself for the ridiculousness of it. Of course she isn’t here. It’s just these dreams…they’re turning me mad.

Elizabeth huffed, shaking her head, and grabbed a stake from the weapons trunk before proceeding to run through a series of advances and retreats. She repeated each of her parries with a smooth hand and practiced the intricate footwork combinations she’d learned recently. When she grew tired of it, she curled up in the far corner on a pile of quilts, and soon she accidentally fell asleep.

--

She woke with a start, shivering with cold. Gusts of wind whistled outside, tree branches quaking under the force of it. A light sheen of moonshine spilled in through the windows, but for the most part, her surroundings were completely engulfed in chilled, unnerving darkness.

“Damn it!” she seethed, “How could I possibly have slept so long? I only wished to rest my eyes for five minutes!”

No matter now, she certainly could not risk journeying back to the cabin in the dead of night just as the blizzard was picking up again. Not to mention, with the field lurking close by…

“I hate Connecticut! Stupid demon, Puritan-infested colony!” Elizabeth spat.

She knew she should light a fire for warmth, but she wasn’t about to wander outside in search of dry wood. Also she didn’t like the idea of a tiny fire in the barn acting as a beacon in the darkness from miles around. No, she would simply wrap herself in blankets and wait the night out. There was no other choice.

To help herself ignore the wind and the cold darkness, she began to sing softly. A little tune she’d learned whilst sitting on Nenna’s knee. The light melody brought her some comfort and made her feel less alone.

“I see the moon
The moon sees me
The moon sees the one I long to see
So God bless—“

Immediately she choked off her words when she heard a rustling in the brush that could not possibly be the wind. Footsteps! The steady footfall was so loud and heavy in the surrounding silence that it rang and reverberated in her ears like thunder. Each step sounded louder and more menacing than the last as they drew closer. Demon—it had to be. Refusing to cower in the corner like a scared child, Elizabeth raised her stake in one hand and silently crept to the door. She stood with one hand looming over the handle while the other gripped her weapon so tightly it hurt. Purposefully she controlled her breathing so that it was deep and slow, as quiet as possible. The sounds of animate movement drew nearer. Obviously the demon knew she was there—it must be able to sense her somehow. You won’t get me. I won’t let you.

The thing slowly began to approach the door. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut and mouthed a silent prayer before kicking the door so that it flew open on its hinges in a creaky swoosh, and she instantly pounced on the dark, unwelcome form that prowled outside. She surprised it, seeing as how it let out a startled “Oomph!” before falling backward under her weight.

“Don’t you even think of interfering with me! I’ll kill you,” she hissed, raising the stake above her head.

“Jesus Christ, Elizabeth! Lemme up will ya? I think you broke a rib,” the intruder groaned.

“William?” she whispered in shock, not entirely believing he was real.

“Just me, pet. Just me…Damn, I taught you well.”

“Oh my God…William!”

Her hands rose to his face, moving the scarf aside and pulling the hat up on his forehead; and her fingers then brushed over the high cheek bones, sharp bridge of his nose, full bottom lip. William! Instead of moving away to let him stand, she brought her mouth to his for a frenzied, heated kiss. She’d never been so forceful before, nor acted with such abandon; but she assuredly opened his mouth with her lips and the urgent thrusts of her tongue. When she finally pulled away, gasping for breath, William fell limp beneath her.

“Oh sorry! Are you all right?” she asked worriedly, easing off him and offering a hand up.

“Whew. Miss me, darlin’?” he drawled huskily, brushing himself off as he carefully stood with her help.

“Yes. God, yes. Come inside. Your clothes are all wet!”

She quickly guided him over the threshold by his shoulders and immediately peeled the soaking wet cloak from him.

“Tried to cross a stream on foot, but I hit a patch a thin ice,” he explained.

“I don’t think we’re going to find any kindling for a fire, since it’s all under the snow now. But here—blankets. Lots of blankets.”

After wrapping a quilt around his shoulders, she forced him to sit and piled as many covers over his shivering body as she possibly could.

“Slow down, Elizabeth! I’m okay. Just sit with me for a minute. Lemme see ya, sweetheart,” he murmured tiredly, opening his arms to her.

Desperate to oblige, she settled into his side, encircling his shaking body with her arms to give him some of her warmth. William breathed in deeply, burying his nose in her hair, and released a contended sigh.

“Over a week trekking through the bloody frontier, this is what kept me going. Coming home to you. My Elizabeth,” he said softly, before noticing in alarm that her shoulders were shaking, “Hey, pet, what—are you crying?”

Elizabeth raised her head from his shoulder, sniffling, and wiped her cheeks and nose with the back of your hand.

“It’s just—it’s just, I missed you. And every day I waited and you didn’t come and I kept thinking about what might’ve happened to you and weird things are happening to me and I’m having all these dreams—or nightmares—and everything scares me and I don’t want you to leave anymore!” she hiccupped.

“Shhh, sweetheart calm down. Take a breath. You’re having nightmares?” William asked gently. There was a catch in his voice, and he flinched slightly when he spoke.

Elizabeth nodded, rubbing her thumbs at the tears gathering under her eyes.

“What’ve you been dreamin’ about, luv?”

She shrugged, shaking her head evasively. “I don’t really know what they’re about. Su—people I don’t know—talk to me, tell me things I don’t understand. I think what it means is—they’re about loss and sacrifice…and chances. And I can’t help but wonder if…” Elizabeth’s breath hitched before she choked out another sob, “I can’t help but wonder if something is trying to tell me that I might lose you.”

“You’re afraid I’m going to die?” he murmured, brushing his lips over her temple as he traced his knuckles over her tear-stained cheek, “Cause there’s no other way you’d lose me.”

“Don’t even say it! Nothing scares me more than that. I never even thought about it until Mother…After that beast nearly killed us both it’s all I can think about. When you left, I just kept dwelling on the thought that you might—you might…”

“S’alright, pet. I don’t plan on dyin’ anytime soon. Though it really doesn’t scare me all that much, cause it’s not the worst thing that could happen.”

“How can you say that?! Of course it is!”

“Well, I promise I’m not gonna die, and if I do, I give you express permission to hurt me,” he chuckled.

“Not funny,” she whimpered, shoving his arm.

“Sorry, luv. Seriously though, you don’t hafta worry over it. I’m back now, and I’m not gonna leave you again. Everything’s all right. I’m not hurt. And I got to the village just fine and stayed with a shaman and one of their elders. They can help us, Elizabeth,” he said, excitedly turning to face her, “They gave me some tidbits for a protection spell and another consecration ritual, and if that doesn’t work, one of them will travel south to help. So, see? It was all worth it—we’re not gonna hafta worry about that beastie bugger anymore. When he gets his giant arse back here, we’ll be ready.”

“William…you really think we can beat that thing?” she asked thinly, her voice trembling.

“’Course I do, and we will. We’ll be free of it soon, I promise. All the fretting, all the worrying, it's almost over…Elizabeth, there’s somethin’ I been thinkin’ real hard about. I’ve never wanted to do this before, but you…What I’m tryin’ to tell you is that I—”

“Where’s Sassafras? Is he all right?” she asked, cutting William off anxiously as she suddenly realized that she hadn’t heard him ride up on the horse.

William released a shaky breath and smiled, brushing damp hair back from her forehead. “Sassy’s fine. Perfect traveling companion. I put him up at the pond. Went there first, but nobody was home, so I figured you might be here. Now what I’m sayin’ is that—“

“Oh, Mr. Giles wasn’t back yet?”

“No, no luv, he wasn’t,” William answered tightly, his jaw clenching, “I’m sure he’s just out on the hunt for a bit, yeah?”

“Maybe we should make sure everything’s all right—“

“I’m sure he’s fine pet. Can we just…not talk about Rupert right now?”

Elizabeth raised her brow curiously as she carefully studied William’s face. “What are you so nervous about?” she asked, intrigued.

“Pssh, I’m not nervous.”

“You are. You’re doing the jaw-clenchy, nervous William thing.”

“Am not! Oh buggering hell. What I’m trying to tell you is that I love—I love the way you make me—the way we…Bollocks, I’m not any good at this!” he huffed, before taking another breath to compose himself, “I uh, I brought somethin’ back for you. From the village.”

Elizabeth sat upright while he reached into his boot, removing something folded in a white handkerchief. Surprised, she took the bundle as he offered it and slowly unfolded the cloth. Inside she found a small knife, the blade polished and shining, the handle adorned with elaborate, brightly-colored beadwork.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, turning the weapon in her hand.

“Thought it might be useful for ya. Pocketknife always comes in handy. This one was made to be concealed in the boot. Had it blessed too—by the shaman. Supposed to bring strength or luck or good fortune or something…can’t remember right. But…you like it, pet?”

“I love it. Thank you, William. You really didn’t need to—“

“I wanted to. After we got the spell nonsense sorted out, I told ‘em I could trade beaver skins for somethin’ pretty for my lady.”

Elizabeth smiled, tracing her fingers over a row of shining red beads that looped around the blade’s handle. “Why were you so anxious about giving it to me?”

“Uh yeah, about that. It’s the other thing I’m kinda worried about,” he said softly, sitting up slightly to reach back into his pocket.

“William Wells, you were supposed to be fighting evil while you were gone, not buying me presents!” she laughed, giving him a playful slap on the arm.

Abruptly, her giggles faded when his expression turned serious.

“Elizabeth—I…this isn’t what it should be. I wish I had more to offer you, but I thought…”

Taking her hand in his, he pressed something small into her palm and gently folded her fingers over it. She raised a brow in bewilderment, but he simply gestured to her fist, his eyes shifting to anything but her. Slowly, Elizabeth lengthened her fingers, revealing a silver ring nestled in the cradle of her palm. Holding it up to have a better look, she saw that the band was crafted into the shape of two intertwining serpents, with a blue glass bead in the center of the two devouring heads.

“It—uh, it means eternity. That’s what they tell me, anyway. I thought eternity was perfect for us, cause…I feel like I’ve always known you, Elizabeth. Before I knew myself even. Is that possible?” he trailed off to gaze at her for a moment, tilting his head to one side while smiling wistfully.

“What do you mean?” she asked, admiring her ring.

“What if I’ve said these things to you before? A hundred times before, in other lifetimes, other places, and we just can’t remember?”

“That’s a nice idea. I want to believe it,” she whispered, her eyes becoming lost in his.

“I love you, Elizabeth. And I don’t want our time to end…ever. It doesn’t have to. There’s so much I want to show you—share with you. I want you to see Notre Dame. Take all the stairs to the top and look on every light in the city. I want to be with you the first time you see Italy. We could strip all our clothes off like a couple a plonkers and nightswim in the Mediterranean. And then I wanna go sailin’, if you could teach me how...I guess what I’m askin’ is…Elizabeth, will you be my wife?”

She thought she felt her heart stop in that frozen moment as she sucked in her breath and felt a knot forming in her chest. Never before had she realized that it was possible to love another person so much it hurt.

“Yes,” she breathed, scarcely a whisper.

Releasing a shuddering, nervous breath in exquisite relief, he began to laugh like an excited little boy. Grabbing her cheeks in his palms, he brought her mouth over his and kissed her slowly and sweetly. When she pulled away for air, both their cheeks were damp.

“Sorry luv, oh—“ he stuttered, taking the ring from her hand and fumbling with it until he managed to slip the silver band over her finger. “Beautiful…my wife,” he murmured, lowering his head to place a delicate kiss over it.

“So how was the proposal? Did I do okay?” he asked lightly, tears shining in his eyes.

“Oh William, once you finally got it out, it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” she murmured, resting her head against his shoulder.

For a few moments they held one another in comfortable, exquisite silence, contemplating all of the wonderful things they would do together. When a thought occurred to Elizabeth after pondering the future, she stirred, her brow creasing.

“We will have to leave here to marry," she said.

“Yeah. I talked it over with Rupert ‘fore I left. He’s been wishing to return to London for some time, since we’ve done almost all we can here. Some tribes from the Five Nations been talkin’ of moving further south to keep watch over this place. So I figure, soon as the weather clears, we find a ship bound for Europe. Start in London—I could find some work there for awhile and save up for our travels. It won’t be a lavish existence, but I’ll find an honest livin’. Every penny goes to you, pet.”

“I—what about Dawn? I can’t just leave her behind.”

“You won’t have to. We could take the Bit with us.”

“That would never work. I don’t know if she would be willing to leave her parents. We’d have to kidnap her. And besides, my uncle—“

“Sod your uncle. If there’s a way, we’ll find it. From what you tell me, seems like your lil cousin’s just as eager to get outta this colony as we are.”

“I think she would be eager to go…London,” Elizabeth sighed, a soft smile playing across her lips, “It would be lovely to get away—to start a new life…”

“We will, luv. World’s at our fingertips...I’m gonna make you so happy,” he murmured, kissing her brow.

--

“I love you!” she cried as another series of shudders gripped her body in a wave of ecstasy.

Reaching down to where his head rested between her thighs, she stroked her fingers through his soft curls. But still he didn’t stop, and somehow her gratification intensified. The heat of his lips and tongue laved her most secret place; and though she felt the light stubble of his cheeks brush against the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, she certainly didn’t mind the slight discomfort. Unconsciously she tried to pull him closer, arching into his caress and cradling the back of his head with her palms. Soon his fingers filled the delicious ache inside, while his lips and tongue sucked and caressed her bundle of nerves, and a scream that sounded foreign to her own ears tore from Elizabeth’s throat.

There could be no shame in the act now—only pleasure. This man was going to be her husband; she would spend the rest of her life with him. They could have hundreds of nights just like this one.

“My husband,” she murmured once her breathing slowed, though she didn’t realize she’d said it aloud.

“Yes,” he breathed, “Yours.”

He stretched out over her body to kiss her softly, and she could taste her own musky sweetness on his lips. It would have been mortifying before, but now it made her desire him even more intensely. His hardness throbbed against her moist center, so she hooked her legs around his back, opening for him. As he moved inside her, the pumping of his hips countering the upward thrusts of hers, she shut her worries away and truly believed that everything would be all right. He is mine, and I am his. Forever.

--

Creeping forward slowly, she felt her way through the darkened alley. An acrid, putrid odor of decay and human waste assaulted her at once, causing her to gag violently. Bracing herself against the chilly, rough brick at the side of the building, she moved on.

A wavering sing-song voice filled her ears. Light and feminine, it lilted a child’s melody.

Run and catch
The lamb is caught
In the blackberry patch

A lady stood there—all in black velvet and lace, tall and willowy and hauntingly beautiful. She giggled softly, clapping her gloved hands together while she bounced excitedly on her heels. Elizabeth could only stare at the scene playing out before her as her heart leapt into her throat.

“We can chop her up into bits and bits, and scatter the pieces in the wind like tiny pink flowers! Soft as baby’s breath. Will you let me do it, Willie, my prince? Hurry and have your fun—I want to play!”

“Play you shall, my pet. Once I’m quite finished,” replied a familiar voice, sending Elizabeth to her knees.

She screamed, but the figures didn’t respond to her. They couldn’t hear—it was as though they were trapped in a painting, etched in time. His back was turned to her, but she could see the girl. Her hair was long and the color of fresh honey, pretty tendrils curling about her face. The style of her dress was strange; the garment flowed long like a nightdress, and she wore no bodice. Blood flowed from her nose like crimson wine, and she trembled with the shock of pain and fear, tears silently flooding her pale cheeks. Elizabeth tried desperately to close her eyes—to make it disappear—but she could not tear her gaze away. For the first time, she noticed that the girl’s dress was hiked around her waist; and a man with wild, dark hair moved ferally between her thighs.

He's known as 'William the Bloody'. Earned his nickname by torturing his victims with railroad spikes.

It was Mr. Giles that spoke. She could hear him clearly, though he sounded quite different. The comment was clinical, uncaring, detached.

When the girl’s head fell limp, the spark fleeing from her dull, blue eyes, the man turned swiftly, letting her drop. He laughed, licking at the blood that stained his lips.

“Don’t worry, my sweet. Saved the best part for you.”

Even hidden behind the visage of a demon, she recognized him, and her heart stopped.

--

“No! No William, oh God, please!”

“Sweetheart, shhh wake up it’s only a dream. Elizabeth, luv, you’re all right.”

She felt his warm palm on her cheek, and slowly, the vision faded. Blinking her eyes open blearily, she saw his face just inches away, soft and beautiful with gentle, crystal blue eyes. Her William—gazing at her with nothing but love and concern. Wrapping her arms around him tightly, she buried her face in his neck and inhaled deeply, his familiar scent of sweet hickory relaxing her.

“What is it, sweetheart? Tell me,” he soothed.

“We have to get out of here. This place—the evil in this place is showing me things. Can we leave now? Please,” she sobbed, her voice muffled.

“What do you mean, showing you things? You saw somethin’, luv?”

“Just a nightmare. Let me forget. Please God, I just want to forget.”

“Okay. It’s all right; you don’t have to tell me. But it’s over now, and it’s not real. It’s not real, baby.”

“Go with me tonight, William. If we don’t leave now, something terrible will happen.”

“Can’t leave right now, pet. There’s no ships travelin’ in the storm. But we’ll go as soon as we can. I promise. I’ll take you far away from here. Just sleep. I’ve got you. Sleep now.”

Somehow, secure in the comfort of his arms and listening to his gentle whispers, consciousness drifted away. The thaw will come soon. We’ve managed this far—we can go on a bit longer. William is right—the nightmare was meant to frighten me, and nothing more. Nothing more. She fell asleep to the peaceful vision of a warm, summer sea far away and teaching William to sail on clear, docile waves. Thankfully her slumber that followed proved dark, warm, and dreamless.

She woke sometime later, when a hint of dawn barely kissed the horizon. A pain in her chest accompanied with a raw, sick feeling in her gut told her that something was terribly amiss. Opening her eyes slowly and squinting out the front windows, she perceived an orange glow moving closer in from the edges of the surrounding forest. Elizabeth didn’t need to wake William when the heavy scent of smoke abruptly stung the air around them. He flew up instantly.

“What the bleeding hell…” he mumbled groggily, looking about in bewilderment.

Suddenly a cacophony of muffled voices reached their eyes, and torchlight flickered through the windows. William and Elizabeth scarcely had time to scramble up and cover their nudity with blankets before the doors of the barn splintered under the impact of an ax. A group of men, hatred burning in their dark eyes, stormed inside. Elizabeth hid behind William, clinging to him for dear life against the intruders. One large man with thick red hair and a beard sprinkled with grey stepped forward. He had a rolled piece of parchment gripped in his fist, which he soon unfurled dramatically. The pieces began to fit together in Elizabeth’s panicked mind. The magistrate. Wethersfield! Dear God…

“Oi! This is private property! You boys best march your arses outta here ‘less you plan on startin somethin’,” William growled, bracing his arms out protectively to cover Elizabeth.

“William Elijah Wells, we come by the authority of His Majesty the King to charge you with the murder of the child Eleanor Anderson, as well as the kidnap and rape of Miss Elizabeth Summers,” the magistrate declared shortly, thrusting the paper out before him.

William started to reply, but evidently, the accusation stunned him to silence so greatly that Elizabeth could feel him shaking. Peeking around him frightfully, she recognized the constable standing beside another man with whom she was familiar.

“Do not fear, Elizabeth,” Reverend Nathaniel rasped, the firelight causing the scar across his cheek to shine silver, “Lucifer shall strike down this vile thing for what he has done. May the Lord be praised! We have found you at last.”

“I find it strange that he knows everything about my life and I know next to nothing about his. All he will tell me is that he came from a well-to-do family in Camden and was sent off to school at a young age. Whenever I inquire about his past, he merely mutters something to the effect of: ‘my history began with my calling as Watcher’... I suppose a child can never truly know his parents…Susan never seemed to care; she was always quite practical-minded and never understood my fascination with people and their secrets…”

~From the diary of William Wells; July 23rd, 1685


~*~

“No! He did nothing wrong! He wouldn’t hurt anyone! Uncle please, please, I am here by choice!” Elizabeth cried.

William had been torn from her. He couldn’t fight; he didn’t even bother to try. Hanging his head in despair, he allowed himself to be taken into the custody of the mob. Two of them seized his arms while the constable bound his wrists in chains behind his back. Elizabeth ran to them, trying desperately to claw these despicable men away from her William—the man who would soon be her husband. But he wasn’t even attempting to reach her; he simply shook his head, his stormy blue eyes large and sad.

“I have to go. I will fight it, Elizabeth,” he murmured, as if it were only the two of them still in the room, “I’ll tell ‘em the truth.”

With that, he turned and allowed his captors to lead him out into the snow, touched by the first pale glow of day.

“William! Uncle, please! Please…” she whimpered, tears cascading down her heated cheeks.

She tried to follow them as she was: wrapped only in a quilt and barefoot, but before she could get far, a powerful grip grabbed her shoulders, tearing her back into the barn and causing her to stumble.

“Modesty, girl! I understand you have undergone great trauma, and that disgusting man has no doubt poisoned your thoughts and deeds; but you must pull yourself together! With time, you shall heal,” the Reverend said.

Elizabeth certainly felt in no condition to calm herself—she was terrified and furious and beyond desperate. She began to slip into hysterics, struggling against this horrible tyrant of a man who refused to listen or believe.

“You’re a fool, Nathaniel, if you believe William to be a disgusting man! He is innocent!” she fumed, “Release him! Speak to Mr. Giles if you will not believe me!”

Suddenly, before her brain could register what had happened, she recoiled and cringed when a sharp sting slammed across her cheek, leaving her head throbbing dully. Elizabeth shrunk away from him, cupping the side of her face that would soon be swollen from the impact of her uncle’s palm. She glared back at him with seething hatred, pure and glittering, no longer willing to hide her opinions behind a sweet smile. He shook with fury, a frightening fire she had never seen before burning fiercely in his dark eyes. Harshly, he removed his outer cloak, throwing it about her shoulders before covering her hair with his hat.

“You will not speak to me in such a manner. Ever. Again. I wield a great deal of power here, little girl. As my wife’s niece, I cannot punish you properly for such defiance and disrespect; but one word from me, and your lover’s head rolls. Do we understand each other?” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Refusing to look at him, Elizabeth dropped her head hopelessly and bit her tongue. Nathaniel abandoned her briefly then to speak with one of his men waiting outside. Listening behind the door, she just barely heard her uncle’s low words: “…threatened status in the community. Do not, under any circumstances, speak of how they were found.”

Elizabeth turned her back quickly the moment he stepped inside the barn. Without any further acknowledgement to his niece, he guided her outside by the small of her back and placed her on his horse.

--

The ride was a blur. Elizabeth’s eyes glazed over, seeing nothing of the frozen countryside. The men rode far ahead with William—so far she couldn’t even see them in the distance. Mr. Giles accompanied the group unwillingly. She’d overhead tidbits of a shouting match between him and Nathaniel, only catching: “We had an agreement!” and then “That agreement extends only to you—not to some criminal to whom you give refuge!” But in the end, like William, the Watcher had also opted not to resist; he’d simply nodded miserably, agreeing to be questioned while quietly promising to fight.

No. It can’t be lost. I refuse to believe that everything is lost. They’ll see—they’ll see that he’s innocent, and they’ll let him go. And then he and I can flee under cover of darkness. The Reverend walked briskly before her, roughly pulling the dark black horse that carried his niece. Fur black as raven’s feathers. Like the water in the pond. He did not speak to Elizabeth nor look back at her once, and for that, she was grateful. Her consciousness became frozen away, hiding in the back of her mind from this terrible reality in which she’d become so cruelly entrapped.

Only minutes had passed, it seemed, before the long day’s ride reached a conclusion and twilight slipped across the icy land. A dream. It’s all a dream. I will wake in William’s arms. “What is it, sweetheart? Tell me,” he’ll say. And I will tell him that I dreamt the town drew us back into its jaws, swallowing us whole, grinding our bones. And he’ll say, “It’s only a dream, Elizabeth. I’m here. I’m always here.”

“Oh my gosh! Lizzie! Oh, dear Lizzie! I knew you were well! I knew it! Everyone said you were dead, but I knew you weren’t! You’re too strong to die!”

Once her uncle lifted her off the horse, Elizabeth stared blankly at the two-story brick house with the vegetable and herb garden stretching out from the warm glow of the hearth in the kitchen. The place that had been her home in another lifetime—when she was a different person. Dawn’s gangly arms wrapped around her tightly as she pounced on her cousin.

“Dawn!” the Reverend barked, “Your cousin has endured a dreadful ordeal! Step back at once and give her space to breathe.”

Elizabeth’s glazed eyes continued to stare straight ahead; and she numbly responded to her cousin’s embrace, lightly patting the girl’s back. With her father’s sharp correction, Dawn quickly moved away, her blue eyes shining with joy and relief.

“You’re here, Lizzie. You’re really here. You’re home now,” the girl murmured lovingly as if to reassure herself, her voice breaking with tears.

“Get inside, Dawn, and assist your mother. Elizabeth must have something to eat,” the Reverend ordered.

Dawn nodded, and quickly bolted up the stairs to the front stoop two at a time.

Elizabeth trudged forward in preparation to follow her cousin inside for the inevitable joyful reunion, but Nathaniel forced a hand in front of her before she could continue.

“A word, please, Elizabeth, before we go indoors?”

“Yes?” she sighed.

The Reverend’s voice dropped to a raspy hush before he continued, “I am willing to bargain with you.”

“On what grounds?” Elizabeth replied skeptically, raising her brow.

“He can live. I’ll manipulate the sentence so that it falls on banishment instead of death. They can both go back to England. And additionally, I will preserve your modesty and good name.”

“If…?”

“Testify at the trial. Help us convict him. It matters little what you say—slight elaborations of kidnap, terror, and rape should suffice. And then afterwards, when they are gone, you shall marry Riley Finn.”

“Why?” she whispered, “What exactly is your investment in this?”

“I’m offering you a chance to save his life, girl. If you refuse my terms, he will hang, and then you'll be forced to follow my will, regardless. The choice is yours.”

“Then yes. I accept,” she replied.

The Reverend nodded curtly and gestured for her to step inside. Before she passed over the threshold, he said softly, “The truth dies with us.”

Elizabeth nodded with her back to him and walked inside.

I’m going to bring you down, Nathaniel Redding. Everyone will hear my testimony, and the truth shall set us free.

--

The next few hours whirred past quickly. Food was placed before her and taken away, and Elizabeth picked at her plate politely, unconsciously. Jenny fussed over her continually—fed her, dressed her, wept in reprieve at her niece’s return.

“It is all right, Elizabeth. Rest yourself now. You needn’t speak until you are ready. I promise you will feel much better after a good night’s sleep. Come dear, come upstairs. Here is an extra blanket for you to keep out the chill. Leave the candle lit tonight. Take my arm darling, let us get you into bed.”

She nodded at her aunt dazedly, allowing the older woman to move and guide her as if she were a small child. For long, uncounted minutes, Elizabeth lay flat on her back in bed, staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling. Her forehead crinkled in deep contemplation as she organized her plans. Think, Elizabeth. Keep your head in this. I have to speak. If I can just get there, I can— The door opened and closed softly, and stockinged feet padded across the floorboards; but she didn’t care enough to respond to the intrusion. The cot beside her creaked lightly.

“Lizzie? Lizzie, can you hear me?”

Sighing heavily, since she knew it was too late to pretend to sleep, Elizabeth slowly sat upright, turning to face her cousin.

“Yes,” she replied, her throat scratchy from lack of use, “I’m here. I think I’m here.”

Letting out a nervous little laugh, Dawn took both of Elizabeth’s hands in her own and offered a friendly smile with awkwardly forced levity.

“I knew you’d come back…It’s been so hard without you, Lizzie. Mother and I—we tried…we tried searching for you. We tried to start a party in town to scout through the woods. But Father, he…he said it was God’s will that you’d gone. He said you were dead. That the Lord told him so. But you’re not,” she ended in a whisper, smiling in relief.

“No. I guess I’m not.”

“Lizzie can I ask you…what happened? If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand,” the girl added hastily, “I completely understand. I mean, I can’t even imagine what it must’ve been like. But I want to—if you want to tell me—I’m here. I’m here to listen to anything you need to say.”

Elizabeth looked away vacantly, remaining silent. No one—not even Dawn. She’s trapped in this world—far too naïve…Dawn’s expression fell, but she nodded in understanding.

“That’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Not now….Um, well, I’ve been reading since you left. Every single night. I knew you wouldn’t want me to quit, so I didn’t. You’d be proud, Lizzie! I can read a little of it—the book, your special book—I can understand a little now,” Dawn said, fidgeting uncomfortably at Elizabeth’s lack of response before she tried another subject, “I heard Mother and Father talking a little while ago…” she started again quietly, “His trial begins tomorrow. Since what he did to you was absolutely horrible…You should speak out—testify against him, you know? Your word might help the case. Lizzie…Say something. Please.”

Elizabeth dropped her eyes and clenched her jaw. She knew there was no possible way she could convey it, even if she could share the true nature of her relationship with William. How everything had changed…there was no possible way the girl could ever understand.

Dawn’s brows knitted together in a deep frown as her bottom lip trembled. It might’ve been endearing if circumstances were different.

“I hate that terrible man. I can’t believe he’s done this to you.”

“Shut. Your. Mouth,” Elizabeth uttered icily, but instantly bit her lip in guilt and worry once the words escaped. Damn it! She doesn’t know. I can’t expect her to know. It’s not her fault.

“Elizabeth?” Dawn murmured in shock, clearly wounded as her tears threatened to spill over at the sting of her cousin’s unexpected words.

Elizabeth closed her eyes tightly, drawing a deep breath to calm herself as best she could. She tried to think quickly, to construct a lie that might suffice; but she was simply too tired to put forth the effort. And it was Dawn—her beloved cousin, surely she could…

Her voice sounded flat and lifeless when she could finally speak again. “This place. This town. This is Hell…I’m in Hell. It’s like I’ve been in Heaven. Like I got to see it for a little while. And then I was ripped away. Torn out of it. It’s not real. I feel like it’s not real.”

“Hell? Lizzie, I don’t—“

“I love him,” she whispered quickly, nearly choking on the words, “I love him more than I have ever loved in all my waking life. He took me, at first…but then…he let me see him. He let me see his world, and I became part of it. I stayed, not out of force, but because I wanted to be with him. He never harmed me—he would never…he would never hurt anyone. He’s a great man, Dawn. Better than any other I have known.”

Dawn stared at the older girl in wide-eyed, shocked silence as her mouth dropped open. Her voice wavered uncertainly. “William Wells. Your kidnapper.”

Elizabeth shook her head glumly. “There’s so much you don’t understand. I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to understand it, or believe it. I pray you will, that one day…The world isn’t what we thought, Dawn. There’s so much more…”

“You love this man.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth replied sharply before gripping her cousin’s shoulders and shaking her lightly, “But—but Dawn, you have to promise me that you will not breathe a word of this to anyone. Not Janice, not your mother—“

“Okay okay,” Dawn answered uneasily, prying herself out of the older girl’s grasp, “I won’t, I promise. But…why, Lizzie?”

“Because I—I’m going to tell the truth. At the trial…If your father knew about what I’m planning to say, he would never let me attend.”

“All right. I trust you, Lizzie. Won’t say a word, cross my heart,” she said gently.

Elizabeth fell silent, hanging her head as tears returned to cloud her vision. Dawn stood and moved to sit down on the cot beside her cousin. After tucking her long legs beneath her, she wrapped her arm around the older girl’s shoulders, lightly smoothing her fingers through the corn silk tresses. She tried to give comfort, though she didn’t understand what hurt, exactly, she was soothing. Flinching at the touch, Elizabeth disentangled herself from Dawn’s embrace and abruptly lay down again, facing the opposite wall as she curled into a fetal position. Words could not convey what she knew, how she felt, how she’d changed.

“I can’t…Dawn, I can’t anymore, right now…Will you please inform your mother that I will attend the trial tomorrow?”

“Yes, I’ll tell her,” Dawn replied, sniffing.

Elizabeth knew she’d never be able to fall asleep without him, but she feigned exhaustion anyway, if for no other reason than to be left alone. She listened to Dawn wash her face in the porcelain basin, dress for bed, and finally crawl into her cot before blowing out the candle. Once the young girl began to snore, Elizabeth reached beneath her mattress where she’d carefully hidden the knife hours ago. Before her uncle had torn her away from the barn, she’d managed to snatch her precious gift and hide it in her boot. And in all the commotion, no one had even noticed the small, silver ring she wore on her engagement finger. After lightly kissing the blade of the small knife and cradling it against her heart, Elizabeth twisted the ring about her finger, admiring the serpents as they consumed one another in an eternal dance, the glittering cerulean bead shared between them. Tears might have come, had she any left.

--

I can do this. I need to be here. To say what I have to say. We’ll get through this. Elizabeth reassured herself over and over again as her aunt pulled her by the elbow while they climbed the stone stairs that led to the large double-doors of Town Hall. The trial had begun more than an hour or so ago, but Jenny had refused to give her niece permission to endure the official proceedings in their entirety.

“You’re still frail and weak, Elizabeth. You mustn’t push yourself so hard…It is so very brave of you to testify against that horrible man. Do not worry, darling, he will pay for his sins,” she’d said in that light sing-song voice—the one she used when talking to little babes. Jenny had been terribly careful with her niece since waking her that morning, handling Elizabeth like a pretty trinket made of glass. The older woman had even insisted on helping her into a dress, lest she keel over whilst stepping into it on her own. It was a Puritan dress, of course. Elizabeth had forgotten how it felt to wear a rust-colored bag and an itchy, stiff bonnet; as well as having her forehead pulled back with the tightness of stabbing hairpins. I’ve truly returned to the world without color.

Jenny opened one of the doors a crack, quietly ushering Elizabeth inside. The interior of the hall was grander than any building Elizabeth had ever seen. The ceiling was high, sloping in a dramatic arch, with deep, mahogany-stained walls. A long aisle with rows of benches on either side led to a raised platform in the front. The British flag hung from the ceiling at the front of the room, sweeping nearly to the floor. On one side of the platform sat a row of half a dozen judges. Most of them she’d never seen before; she recognized only the magistrate, and her uncle, of course. They all wore black robes and sat stiffly upright and motionless on their benches. Sitting opposite in a lone chair, was William.

Elizabeth’s heart soared in her chest and butterflies swarmed in her belly in the sheer joy and elation at merely seeing him again. The separation had been an eternity of torture, though no more than a day had passed. Despite the dread and horror of the situation, a smile spread over Elizabeth’s lips, and she felt as though no other person was present—not the judges, not the rows of observers, not Jenny—only him. Naturally he saw her right away, as though he could sense her comforting presence the moment she stepped through the door. His slumped, tired posture lifted slightly, and the dark circles under his eyes looked a bit less severe. At once, Elizabeth’s arms ached to rush over to him and gather him up in a warm embrace. Desperately, she needed to kiss his brow tenderly and cradle his head against her breast as she whispered words of love in his ear. She alone had the power to save him.

Since all his strength and attention had shifted to Elizabeth, William entirely missed whatever question had just been addressed to him. Angrily, the magistrate cleared his throat, gripping a gavel in one hand.

“Mr. Wells! Defense of your life clearly means little to you, as your attention wanes so easily! For the final time—inform us of your whereabouts on the night that the babe, Eleanor Anderson, disappeared.”

Elizabeth remained frozen in the entryway until her aunt calmly pushed her into a bench in the back. After they were seated, the older woman continued to grasp her niece’s hand, petting it lightly. She clearly interpreted Elizabeth’s stress and swell of emotions as being part of her fear of seeing her “attacker” again.

“I, uh, I dunno. Up in the woods, near the pond. I wasn’t in town till the following night,” William answered absently, his tone dry and weary.

“And what exactly were you doing prowling about after curfew? Searching for more victims? Kidnapping?! Or perhaps looking for other women to interfere with as you have done most abhorrently with Miss Summers?”

“No! I didn’t lay a finger on that kid! Or her. I would never...” he erupted in a flash of anger.

In a way, it was a relief to know that he was still there, that his spark and passion hadn’t been entirely broken.

“Then why, pray tell, was the child discovered buried in a grove of trees with fatal wounds on her neck? A grove where you have been seen lurking on more than one occasion?”

A sob erupted from the far front corner of the room. Goody Anderson wept uncontrollably in her husband’s arms as he tried to hush her, glancing about in embarrassment.

“I already told you,” William growled, “I found her like that. She was dead—I tried—there was nothin’ I could do. So outta respect, yeah, I buried her.”

“You buried that poor child to conceal evidence! You thought you could just get away with it, you miserable bastard!” a heated voice shouted from a few benches in front of Elizabeth.

Ignoring the outburst, the magistrate continued, “If you indeed found her in such a state, Mr. Wells, then why did you not notify the proper authorities and turn the body over so that she might have a proper Christian burial?”

“Cause I couldn’t bloody well notify the proper authorities!”

“And why is that?”

“Because of what killed her.”

“So you witnessed the murder?”

“No,” William seethed, gritting his teeth as his whole body tensed.

“Then how can you possibly know with certainty—“

William’s eyes flashed, and Elizabeth could see the struggle within, how badly he wanted to simply reveal the outlandish truth he’d first spoken to her only months before. A truth that tore reality apart. A truth no one in their right mind would believe.

“I do know with certainty, but I—I can’t tell you. You wouldn’t understand it.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips as a murmur of quiet laughter fell over both the judges and the observers.

“That’s quite a clever defense you have for yourself, Mr. Wells. If you wish to save your neck, you’ll have to do better than that.”

“Wanker…you’d piss yourself if you ever saw what I’ve seen,” William hissed under his breath.

“Mind your tongue, Mr. Wells! Such language will not be tolerated in this court!” Reverend Nathaniel snapped.

“If you refuse to answer our questions, Mr. Wells, then you may use the only remaining right of the accused at your disposal and have another speak on your behalf. Though with a case as hopeless as yours, I do not think anyone would take up the challenge. But I suppose I shall openly ask the court regardless. Is there anyone present willing to attest to the character of this man? Is there anyone who may persuade these judges to spare him, despite evident guilt?”

A smooth, calming voice spoke from the far back of the hall.

“I will speak for the accused.”

Everyone quickly swiveled around in their benches to see who might be insane enough for the task. A cacophony of whispered conversations erupted as an austere elder man, his hair turning a dignified shade of grey, began to walk slowly down the aisle. His posture was strong, tall, and resolute; and his eyes remained frozen intently on the row of judges as he stepped forth, his deep charcoal cloak billowing behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he seemed to spot Elizabeth, and she felt sure that he winked at her as he passed. With his chin proudly raised, he halted before the platform.

“I am prepared to defend this man.”

“No, you may not, Mr. Giles. You are a known consort of his and are also under investigation. We may not have enough evidence for a charge, but you certainly are not innocent in this,” the Reverend declared hastily.

“Come now, Nathan. This charade has gone on long enough. Don’t you think it’s about time these people learned the truth?”

“Before I say anything, Pigeon, no, I didn’t read your precious diary. Don’t much feel like delving into the twisted abyss that is my brother’s mind. I just skipped ahead to a page you won’t see for awhile…bear with me, I’ve been thinking a lot lately and I need to get morbid for a minute…The thing about Slayers is, they don’t tend to last long. It’s the price for the power. I have a feeling that the end of my road’s coming up soon. I guess what I’m trying to say is…I’m all right with that. I’m not scared, not brassed off over it. It is what it is, you know? This is all I ever had in me—killing things. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll go out in glory, but maybe not…I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, Will, that I love you. Yes, I know I’m being saccharine and that you’d roll your eyes at me if I actually said this to you and then you’d tell me to shut my gob, because of course you already know that I love you, it’s just…I don’t tell you and I want you to know for when I can’t tell you anymore… Also, you’re a talented poet and one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. Don’t worry—I promise it doesn’t make you a ponce. I’m telling you this, because ever since you got wrapped up in my mission, you’ve forgotten who you really are. And you shouldn’t ever lose that, especially because of me…When I’m gone, let me go. That needs to be said. There’s so much left in your life, Will, so much you have left to do...Don’t give up on love… Considering how good you did taking care of me, I know you’re going to be an amazing father to someone someday …I realise I’ve made a rambling mess here, but you’re the writer, not me...”

~From the diary of William Wells; Entry composed by Susan Aliya Wells, undated.

~*~


Elizabeth listened intently at the edge of her seat as she heard Mr. Giles’ account of a history with which she’d become all too familiar. She could scarcely breathe, her hands balled into tense fists while her eyes swept across the hall anxiously, waiting for anyone to react. The responses were predictable—there was open laughter (though a grave disrespect during official proceedings), scoffs, exasperated sighs from those who’d grown tired of the rumors, the shaking of heads, and frightened, uneasy expressions from a select few who’d found a thread of logic in the account. Mr. Giles went on, not paying anyone any mind; he spoke directly to the judges and occasionally stole a glance back to share concerned, knowing looks with William. The younger man’s visage probably appeared blank and unreadable to anyone else observing him, but Elizabeth could clearly read his uncertainty—his pain, fear, and worry that the Watcher had chosen to share such forbidden secrets.

Giles talked of vampires and demons—the Old Ones that came before. He explained the existence of the Slayers and the Watchers—angelic guardians in flesh. And he detailed the events that led him personally, along with William and Susan, from England to Connecticut. The Master, the field, the vampires in the woods: he laid it all out plainly before them—something he’d sworn he would never do. Elizabeth studied the man who had become both her teacher and mentor, and she could easily see why he’d risked everything to do this. He spoke out of a parent’s love; because all that mattered was saving William.

Elizabeth’s eyes fell on her uncle in her effort to understand his connection to all of this, and to Mr. Giles especially, but he was evidently well-practiced in keeping a cold, stony expression. His glazed eyes stared straight forward above the heads of the townsfolk present, and his glare did not once fall on either Giles or William. Something was within him, though—Elizabeth could see it in the slight flicker of recognition, or perhaps fear, in his dark eyes—but she didn’t know what it could mean.

“You, see children,” Mr. Giles spoke softly after his long confession, “For years, you’ve been spoon-fed lies. Lies meant to keep you safe, to maintain simplicity and pious Christianity without the nuisance of questions. Demons have walked the Earth since long before the dawn of man. This was their world first, and they will never cease trying to take it back. Monsters exist, but they exist in far greater complexity than is defined by the crude black and white of Hell and Heaven. I tell you this against my own better judgment, against everything I’ve been taught, because I think that…in light of this new information, William might be better able to explain himself. He has sacrificed his life, his happiness, in order to fight the good fight beside an old man. What he does, every day, saves lives. Your lives,” Giles said harshly, turning to address the observers, “And none of you know nor care. Your justice system punishes him because he represents the unknown; his work embodies everything that you fear.

There are others who know the truth, others who have maintained a conspiracy of lies. These men have questionable motives and agendas at best. They are the ones who should be punished. More than one of these men sits behind me at this very moment. If you care to save your own skins, you would do well not to condemn those who have the people’s best interest at heart—those like my son.”

“You speak blasphemy, sir,” the magistrate growled, “You realize that a charge of heresy may be placed on your head for what you’ve alleged. You have questioned the omnipotence of the Lord in your fabricated account of Lucifer’s soldiers holding sway on Christ’s Earth. Step down at once.”

“Gladly,” Giles replied icily, “I’ve seen enough of this farce.”

And with that, he strode back down the aisle and slammed the great double doors behind him as he stormed out into the plaza. William watched him as he left, a small smile gracing his lips. His eyes shone with unshed tears.

“I can’t believe this insanity!” Jenny exclaimed softly in her niece’s ear, “I will stand for it no more. Come, Elizabeth.”

Resisting the firm pull on her forearm, Elizabeth murmured simply, “No.”

“Excuse me, young lady? We are going.”

“No. You may go, but I wish to stay.”

Appalled at Elizabeth’s disobedience and clearly not wishing to start a scene, Jenny merely huffed in response and quickly stood to leave the room.

“You mustn’t fear his absurd story,” Nathaniel’s voice boomed in an effort to be heard over multiple frenzied conversations. He stuttered a bit, appearing slightly on edge, “That lunatic old man clearly believes the court to be a place for fairy stories! Every one of his dishonest words can and should be easily forgotten. I will now produce a witness to convey the true account of Wells’ dealings and character, as she is a victim of his evil atrocities. Miss Elizabeth Summers, please step forth and address the court.”

Elizabeth breathed in deeply and stood confidently. Her heart was pounding in her ears, but she felt relieved that her moment had finally arrived. I’m going to save him—More than corroborate Giles’ story…I’ll make them believe. William will be saved. She approached the raised platform, her well-rehearsed words already on the tip of her tongue, when she caught William’s gaze. His jaw tensed as he shook his head slightly.

“Miss Summers, do you solemnly swear on the Word of the Lord that your testimony is truthful?” the magistrate asked.

“Yes, I—“

“Wait! First I have somethin’ to say,” William interjected forcefully.

“And what, pray tell, might you have to say for yourself now, Mr. Wells?” the magistrate sighed in annoyance.

“I’ll tell you. I’m ready to tell you the truth now.”

“All right, fine, but this is the last opportunity I’m giving you, Mr. Wells,” he said before addressing the court, “I will grant the prisoner another chance to speak in his own defense before hearing the counterpoint. You may take your seat, Miss Summers. I will call you again shortly.”

No! William, no! They’re not going to believe you! Let me speak first! After they hear me, your story will have more credibility! Damn it!

Reluctantly, her head bowed and silently seething, Elizabeth returned to her seat in the back of the hall and waited tensely with a prayer on her lips.

“Go on, Mr. Wells. Make it quick. Do you have something to say or not?”

“Yes,” William croaked, before clearing his throat and repeating firmly, “Yes.”

He stood slowly, and his eyes swept the room until they locked briefly with Elizabeth’s. It was all she could do not to weep. Flashing her a quick, tiny smile of reassurance, he turned to face the judges.

“Now that you’ve heard the truth, I’ll answer anythin’ you wanna know.”

“The truth?! You call that blithering idiot’s testimony truthful?!” the magistrate exclaimed with a smirk.

“You wanna know or not? Ask and I’ll tell.”

“Fine, Mr. Wells. Again. Did you kill Eleanor Anderson?”

“No.”

“Then what happened to her?”

William sighed heavily and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before he began.

“I see a lot watchin’ this town. Though I’m a stranger to you here, I know each and every one of you a lot better than you’d think.”

Turning to address the townsfolk, his eyes fell on Goody Anderson.

“This story begins with a man named Jack Townsend. You knew him, and you’re familiar with the rumors, I assume. He was a simple man—a poor man, worked hard, did good when he was able. Until one night he was alone stabling the horses when something came out of the woods and attacked him. You all heard a different story, I’m sure; that he fell off a horse or got kicked in the head or somethin’. Figures. Well, the body was discovered by some higher-ups, and they cooked up a lie to keep the real truth from spreading before they buried him. Only problem is, daft blokes forgot to cut off his head beforehand. And they failed to wait for him to rise again. Rise he did—and he became a creature of the night. A demon—just like the one who made him.

Now, since I’m in the demon huntin’ business, after Townsend rose, I started following him—waiting for the right time and place to make the kill. Every night, he went to the same house. Not his house, mind you. Their house,” William declared, pointing to the Andersons. Goody Anderson blanched, and Elizabeth thought the woman looked as though she were about to faint.

“Every night that thing stood at the far window in back. It was the baby’s room…See, the Andersons, they had a relationship with Mr. Townsend, ain’t that right?”

“The man was only briefly in my employ!” Mr. Anderson erupted, “He helped in the fields on his resting days from his work in town. It was nothing more than that, so I fail to see how it is remotely pertinent to—“

“May have started out that way, yeah,” William replied, “But you weren’t home that much, Mr. Anderson. You were in town and to the bay on business quite often, yeah?”

“Mr. Wells! Stop interrogating the poor Andersons, who still suffer from the bitter grief you have caused. Just answer the question! What happened to the child?” the magistrate bellowed.

“Aright. I’m gettin’ to it…The baby, Eleanor—he was her father. Townsend was her father.”

At once, the room exploded in raucous bursts of outrage. Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hand as she shook her head in disbelief. What are you doing, William? Exposing her isn’t going to help you!

The magistrate sharply struck the gavel.

“Silence! Mr. Wells, do you openly accuse Goody Anderson of adultery—a crime punishable by death?”

“Hey look, I’m not accusing anyone of anything. That’s all your lot. And really, I don’t give a bloody damn. Maybe she loved the guy—not up to me to judge love. It becomes my business when a vamp’s involved; that’s all I’m sayin’. Townsend got sired, got the bloodlust, came back to kill his daughter.”

“On the basis of remotely entertaining that this nonsense possesses any shred of accuracy, why on earth would the man wish to harm his own daughter?”

“I don’t know why. They all seem to do it. They come back and destroy the things that made them most human—the things they loved in life. And Townsend loved that little girl. That’s why he kept comin’ around to the Andersons for work, so that he could see her. And she knew him too. Maybe she didn’t know he was her da, but she knew him. Her mother let him hold her and play with her when nobody else was around…So when he stood outside her window that night, he woke her up and lured her out with him. Then he killed her. Next night, I found her. Then I buried her. Then I killed him. End of story.”

Suddenly, Goody Anderson jumped up from her husband’s embrace so forcefully that her bonnet fell, exposing her pretty auburn hair. “Lies of the Devil!” she screamed, pointing to William, “That man—that Wells—is a witch! I seen him! He comes floating into my room every night casting spells. He freezes me so I can’t speak or move. He cursed our family and killed my baby! He’s gotta hang! Hang him! Hang the witch!”

All around Elizabeth, the townsfolk sprung up angrily from their seats and began to join the chant of “Hang him! Hang him! Hang the witch!” Fists pumped in the air as people began to flood the aisle, crowding toward the front of the room. Panicked and infuriated, Elizabeth jumped up onto the bench so that she could see above the heads of the crowd. She saw William as he braced himself against the back wall, avoiding the mob that descended upon him. He caught a glimpse of her from where she stood, and she thought he yelled her name.

“She’s lying!” Elizabeth shrieked hopelessly, cupping her hands around her mouth in an effort to be heard, “You can’t charge him with witchcraft! It’s a lie! He’s not a witch! He’s my husband! Please don’t please, you can’t—Let me speak! I’ll testify, I’ll tell you everything! I know the truth—“

Elizabeth noticed vaguely that the edges of her vision began to blur together, but she kept hollering at the top of her lungs without pausing to draw breath, refusing to let any discomfort distract her. Still no one saw or heard her words, so she desperately tried to increase her volume. The world around shifted from blurry to dark as her breath caught in quick pants in her throat. And then her head—her whole body became weightless, and she could no longer hear the hateful chanting of those horrible people. Her consciousness was semi-aware of the swaying of her body, but her limbs felt leaden and no longer capable of being controlled. Afterward, she thought she felt the heart-pattering, stomach-dropping sensation of falling, but everything was entirely black before the floor came up to meet her.

--

“I knew she shouldn’t have gone. What on earth was I thinking?” Jenny sighed, speaking from a dark void far away.

“Mother, shouldn’t we send for the doctor? She didn’t wake at all during the night,” squeaked Dawn’s high-pitched, panic voice.

“Your father insisted that it was just nerves. She became overheated in the crowded room, that’s all. He carried her back himself, and there was no need for the doctor…Don’t worry, Dawn. She will wake soon, I think.”

Someone grasped Elizabeth’s hand with trembling, clammy fingers. For some reason, the sensation prickled as her numb flesh began to warm.

“May I stay with her, Mother, before my chores? I don’t want to leave her.”

“Yes, you may. Call for me if she stirs.”

“I will, Mother.”

After a pattering of footsteps, the door closed gently.

“Lizzie, you’ve been asleep since yesterday,” Dawn murmured.

Elizabeth felt delicate hands smoothing through her hair.

“Please wake up…Lizzie, can you hear me at all?”

“Mmm,” Elizabeth slurred, trying to use her stiff tongue.

“Lizzie? That’s it. It’s just me—it’s Dawn. Open your eyes.”

Though her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, Elizabeth responded to her cousin’s words, and slowly blinked several times.

The room was bright and blurry, but the picture gradually focused until Elizabeth found herself starting up into Dawn’s fearful, blue eyes.

“William,” she croaked, “Dawn—William?”

“He’s—he’s at the jail, Lizzie. They’re locking him up for the duration of his trial. But—but he’s okay. I mean, he’s been charged with witchcraft now, which is worse than murder, so…things look sort of bad, I guess. But, I mean, he’s okay for now…People are going crazy, though. There’s talk of witchcraft spreading around, that it’s the reason weird stuff happens here. And there have been more accusations—they’re even bringing another judge from the bay to help investigate the claims.”

“What…what happened?”

“Well, you fainted and bumped your head. But you’re going to be fine. Mother says you’re going to be fine. You just need to rest and eat something when you feel like it.”

Elizabeth raised her fingers to her temple, where she felt a cloth bandage covering her forehead. Then with great difficulty, she grasped onto her cousin’s hand and carefully pulled herself up in bed.

“Lizzie, no! You must lay back and rest.”

“No,” she replied determinedly, “I’m not wasting any more time.”

When the room stopped spinning and Elizabeth was fairly sure that she wouldn’t vomit, she swung her feet around to the floor and stood gingerly.

“What are you doing?! If you need something, I’ll get it!” Dawn squawked.

Taking up the miniature mirror on the dressing table, Elizabeth untied the bandage and examined her wound. She had a knot on her temple and a cut across her right brow with a bit of dried blood caked over it.

“Not bad,” she mumbled, “I’m fine, Dawn. I have to go. Help me dress.”

“I will not! You’re in no condition to go out!”

Elizabeth glared at the younger girl with such fierce intensity that Dawn soon sighed, dropping her eyes.

“Fine, but when Mother asks, I’m telling her you made me.”

--

While Dawn distracted Jenny in the kitchen, Elizabeth managed to shuffle downstairs and out the front door. Wincing, she pulled her bonnet down to cover her injury. After striding as quickly as she could to the stables, she saddled up one of her uncle’s horses, mounted tentatively, and began the ride into town.

The frigid chill in the morning air woke her from her haze, and once she felt more alert, she grew even more intent on reaching her destination. She pulled the horse onward to a full gallop. At some point in the ride, the bonnet fell back, but she didn’t even take notice. People gaped at her as she rode by, some calling out to her, inquiring if she was well. Others simply bolted out of her way for fear of being trampled. Finally, she rode down the main street lined with cobblestone and dismounted, tying the horse to a hitching post in front of Town Hall. With her chin held high, she marched around to the other side of the hall to a smaller brick building and stormed through the door.

“Miss Summers?” the constable asked, squinting at her in disbelief.

Elizabeth knew she must be quite a sight indeed with her golden hair wild and tangled down her back, her eyes bloodshot and burning with intensity, and the gash on her forehead openly visible.

“Can I…help you with something?” the old man asked in confusion, arching his brow suspiciously as he leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the large oak desk before him.

“Where is William Wells?” she asked coldly.

“Well ma’am, he’s in a cell in back. Others will be joining him soon I expect. Heard there’s been at least two other accusations of witchcraft since yesterday.”

“Take me back there. Now.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Prisoners can’t take visitors, ma’am.”

“My uncle…sent me to speak with him, sir. There’s, you know, some threats and stuff I’m supposed to deliver. I’m sure you wouldn’t wish for me to inform the Reverend that you have been difficult,” she tried, blatantly searching for words.

The constable gave her curious eye, though the glance wasn’t completely disbelieving.

Bad lie, Elizabeth. Wait...is he dumb enough to believe this?

“Why would your uncle not come himself? And if I may say so ma’am, you don’t look well enough to be out of bed.”

“Just give me a few minutes. Please. It’s important.”

The constable sighed and rolled his eyes before nodding curtly. “I’ll give you five. This way.”

Elizabeth followed him around the desk to a large door leading to the back hall. Rummaging for a skeleton key on his belt, the constable unlocked the door and gestured for her to go on.

“It’s all the way at the end. And remember, five minutes,” he said, before grumbling under his breath, “Always the pretty ones...”

Elizabeth stepped over the threshold and squinted slightly in the dim light, noticing that a small window at the far end of the hall was the only source of illumination. She walked slowly, her heart hammering inside her chest. More than anything, she simply needed to see him—to touch him, but she feared the state she might find him in. After passing six cells, Elizabeth finally came to the final one nearest the window. The painful sight before her caused her heart to sink and a lump to swell in her throat. A dark, hunched figure sat huddled in a far corner of the tiny cell with his back to her, his forehead resting on his knees. For a long moment, she could do nothing but watch him, worn and tired, a miserable shell of his normal self.

After a beat he hissed icily, “You think I don’t know you’re there? This isn’t a bloody freak show. What the fuck do you want?”

“William?” she murmured thickly, her eyes clouding with tears.

At the sound of her voice, he leapt up in a heartbeat and dashed to the bars that separated him from the outside world.

“Elizabeth, I—oh God—I…are you real? Please don’t let it be a dream. Not again,” he whimpered, clutching the bars in shaking hands.

His clothing was dirty, rumpled, and unkempt; and the sharp line of his jaw shadowed with the beginnings of a beard. The chestnut curls that Elizabeth loved so were wild and mussed, and his beautiful eyes that always sparkled with vitality and wit were now dark and hollow.

“Yes, I’m real. I’m real,” she murmured as the tears spilled over her cheeks.

Reaching his arms through the bars, he tugged on her waist and pulled her close before capturing her mouth in a passionate kiss. Desperation, raw need, sadness, longing, and the joy of reunion poured from the caresses of his chapped lips and the light flicks of his tongue. Elizabeth gave into it completely, ignoring the need to breathe as she pressed herself against the bars frantically, praying that she could somehow melt inside. In their frenzied embrace, her forehead lightly brushed over the cold iron of one of the bars, and she grimaced before reluctantly moving away, her hands resting on his chest.

“Elizabeth?” he whispered, his brows creased in worry.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Bringing his fingers to her chin, he delicately turned her face toward the light and gasped at what he saw.

“You’re hurt. It’s from yesterday, isn’t it? Oh sweetheart…I saw you, baby—when you fell. I ran over there the second it happened, but those goddamn bastards grabbed me and chained me up. I was screamin’ your name when they dragged me out. Are you all right, luv? What was it? What happened?”

“I don’t know. I was just upset and yelling at them and they didn’t listen, and then I just…fainted, I guess. But I’m okay, really. It’s only a cut…Maybe we’ll have matching scars soon,” she quipped as she traced her fingers lovingly across the thin, white scar at his eyebrow. He didn’t smile.

Turning his head into her touch, he pressed a kiss against her wrist. Then lifting her chin gently, he strained to reach through the bars before placing a feather-light kiss over the bruise at her temple. Elizabeth closed her eyes and allowed the dam to break within her as the sobs tore from her throat.

“Don’t cry, luv. Please don’t cry. You know I can’t bear it,” he murmured, stroking her hair.

“What are we going to do?” she sobbed.

“I don’t know. All I can do is tell the truth, even though it hasn’t helped me much so far.”

“What if—“ she began, before dropping her voice to a hushed whisper and leaning in closer, “What if there’s a way that we could get you out and escape this place? Mr. Giles and me together…we could get you out of here. Where can I find him?”

“I think they’re keeping him trapped somewhere in town, questioning him still. I haven’t been able to talk to him. And pet, I don’t think that plan would work. If the two of you were caught, all three of our necks would be forfeit. That’s too much to risk. I won’t stand for it.”

“I will get you out of here, William. But before we plan anything…I’m going to testify at the very least. I could tell them everything—that we’re engaged, that I saw Townsend—“

“No, Elizabeth. If they knew you were so closely connected to me, it would put you in a bad place. You’d be where Rupert is now...It’s the reason I couldn’t let you speak yesterday. They woulda chewed you up right along with me. Wouldn’t do us any good, kitten.”

“But they accused you of raping me! Jesus, at the very least my testimony could dispel that ridiculous charge!”

“Still wouldn’t matter, luv, now that I got witchery to boot.”

“I don’t give a damn, I’m going to—“

“Miss Summers!” the constable bellowed from down the hall. “Your uncle’s here to collect you, ma’am! You best hurry—he don’t seem too pleased.”

“No,” she whimpered, clinging to William.

“You hafta go now, sweetheart. They can’t know about us…Somehow it’ll work. Lies don’t live forever.”

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you,” he breathed against her lips.

“Miss Summers! Time’s up!”

She squeezed his hand before turning swiftly without looking back. As the door shut behind her, she heard him weeping softly.

“I know I should. I think of all the things he’s done in my life…Without him, I would surely be dead twenty times over; but sometimes the hurt is too great to ever mend…Though the furious pain has melted away to a festering ache… Bestowing forgiveness is one of my greater flaws. I cannot bring myself to forget.”

~From the diary of William Wells; undated.

~*~


“I don’t understand you!” Jenny seethed, “What on earth were you thinking?!”

Elizabeth sighed and looked away, avoiding the accusatory glares from her aunt and uncle. Just keep pretending…

“I just, I wanted…to see him locked up, is all. To know that he’s…paying for his sins.”

“Good Lord, Elizabeth! Is it not enough to have the knowledge that he’s rotting in jail and will likely hang for his transgressions!? Explain to me why it was necessary to leave your bed when you’re ill and ride into town by yourself in the snow to see that the man still suffers?” Jenny exclaimed, crossing her arms.

The dark-haired woman looked to her husband for affirmation and support, but the Reverend remained silent, continuing to glare daggers at Elizabeth. Jenny threw up her hands in aggravation.

“Not only did you commit a sin in running about without permission, but you also led your young cousin to lie for you! She is supposed to look up to you, Elizabeth! How do you explain yourself?” her aunt asked, lips pursed in anger.

“I…I have nothing to say for myself,” Elizabeth declared resolutely.

“Nathaniel!” Jenny tried once more, raising her eyebrows for his reply.

“She already knows my displeasure, Jenny. And I am certain that nothing like this will ever happen again. Am I correct in that assessment, Elizabeth?” he asked pointedly with an all-too-knowing eye.

She longed to throw the man a well-deserved comeback but somehow managed to restrain herself. I have to cooperate with him. I can do it…it’ll be over soon.

“Yes,” Elizabeth answered through clenched teeth.

“Fine. You are to get in bed at once, and do not even think of arguing about it—you look dreadfully pale,” Jenny snapped.

“Yes, ma’am,” Elizabeth answered tightly before turning and walking up the stairs with an exaggerated footfall.

She shut the door behind her and collapsed on the bed, refusing to give in to pain and exhaustion. Reaching down into her boot, she pulled the knife out and felt its weight in her hand. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but maybe…

Whatever I have to do. I’ll get him out.

She curled over on her side, and when she closed her eyes, she could almost see Susan there, beside her, watching her with large, dark eyes. The brunette looked right through her—she could see something Elizabeth couldn’t touch.

Tell me what to do.

You already saved him, Liz. Every day you saved him.

Am I strong enough to fight?

I already told you, you don’t hafta worry about it yet. Not up to you, blondie.

We’ll be out of here soon.

Yeah. You’re almost free, little girl. You’re almost free. Snow’s stopped falling. Rain’s comin’ soon.

“Lizzie, are you asleep?” Dawn whispered.

“No,” Elizabeth sighed, opening her eyes when Susan faded away.

“Were you talking to someone?” the girl asked curiously, tilting her head slightly as she glanced around the room.

“Nobody here except you and me,” Elizabeth sat up and pushed locks of wild hair behind her ears in an attempt to tame her appearance.

“You seem mad. Are you mad? Because I didn’t tell Mother you were gone, honest, she just found out on her own when you weren’t here and then I got in trouble and had to repeat the commandments over twenty times and explain why the one about not lying is so important and now my throat hurts.”

Elizabeth smiled despite herself.

“No, I’m not mad. Not at you anyway; and I’m sorry that you were punished because of me.”

“No matter, I’ve had worse,” Dawn replied, shrugging.

“So…did you want to speak with me about something in particular?”

“Oh right, yes. You have company. Mother sent me to wake you and tell you to dress.”

“Company?” Elizabeth snorted, “She ordered me not to get out of bed.”

“Well, this is worth it…Lizzie, Mr. Finn has come to call on you!” the young girl exclaimed giddily.

“What? Why?” Elizabeth groaned.

“I suppose to inquire over your health. You are promised to him, after all.”

“That’s absurd. I am not promised to anyone. I’m a person, not a horse, thank you very much,” Elizabeth snapped, “Dawn, you may go downstairs and inform your mother that I will not be marrying Mr. Finn, as I believe I could have a more stimulating conversation with a coffin.”

Dawn crossed her arms, firmly shaking her head. “No. Uh-uh. Not this time. Tell her yourself.”

Elizabeth groaned inwardly, knowing that she had no choice but to handle the situation.
Whatever it takes—even if it means being civil to that man. For William, I will do anything…

“Fine then. I will,” Elizabeth replied, not bothering to tidy herself before marching downstairs.

The tall, handsome and well-groomed young man stood at the bottom of the stairs smiling broadly. He blushed slightly, dropping his eyes as she approached. Elizabeth soon realized that he was greatly embarrassed at seeing her hair loose.

Good God. Is there anything that’s not scandalous here?!

“Miss Summers,” Riley began shakily, “Please forgive my intrusion. I hope—I do hope you are quite well. I have been very eager to see you since your return.”

“Why are you here, Mr. Finn? You hardly know me, so it can’t be because you missed me.”

“I am here because I—I wanted to see that you are well, and I also wanted you to know that despite your long absence, I would like to continue our courtship. And I did—you know—miss you. Perhaps I do not know you exceedingly well, but that is the reason I desire more time with you. So that we may become properly acquainted.”

The words that she should say were on the tip of her tongue. She knew she should placate him, bide her time and pretend to have interest…but she found the stubborn lies catching in her throat and refusing to spew forth. I can’t do it. I can’t deceive him. He’s dull, but honest…It isn’t fair to either of us…or William. I cannot act against my heart. But what else can I do other than risk my uncle’s wrath?

A thought occurred to her then that should have been glaringly obvious. She still had family here—a woman whom her mother had loved and trusted. Jenny. I still have Jenny. Willing to bet everything on a teetering hope, Elizabeth drew a refreshing breath and prepared to finally speak truth.

“I don’t,” she said simply.

“Excuse me, you do not…what was that?”

Elizabeth strained her neck to glare up at him.

“I am not interested in your advances, Mr. Finn.”

“What…advances? I have offered you the proposition of being my wife. It’s an important position and would raise your standing considerably.”

“My standing is perfectly fine, thank you. I do not need you, or any man for that matter, to feel better about myself.”

“Wait a moment…I’m sorry, surely I misunderstood. Did you just refuse me?”

“Kind of. Yes.”

The words tasted as sweet as honey when they dripped off her tongue.

Riley released a small chuckle as he stepped away from her, his eyes darting about awkwardly.

“That is quite amusing, Elizabeth. You’re a peculiar girl—always keeping me guessing, aren’t you?” he laughed, placing his hands on his hips.

“You have a lot to learn about women, Mr. Finn. Here’s some help for you: ‘peculiar’ is not often flattering…Actually, you know what? Maybe it is. So thank you.”

“Uh, you’re welcome?” Riley looked at her dumbly, and Elizabeth tried not to burst out in laughter at his confusion. Maybe I’m being a tad unfair to the poor man. Well, no. He needs to hear it.

“I’m actually content being peculiar here. Adjusting would be the true nightmare,” she continued lightly, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“So you’re accepting my offer?” he asked slowly, clearly not following.

“No!” she exclaimed, rolling her eyes.

“What do you mean? Why not?! No woman has ever—“

“Oh, get over yourself. Propose to Emma. She’s incredibly dense—she’ll say yes.”

“But why, Elizabeth?” he asked softly, his hurt at her rejection evident in his downtrodden expression. And now with the guilt…

The playful gleam that the conversation had brought to Elizabeth instantly faded from her eyes when she whispered, “Because my heart belongs to another. I’m sorry, Riley.”

She turned and walked up the stairs, leaving the mayor’s son standing alone, dumbfounded at the banister.

--

“What did you do?” Jenny hissed from the doorway.

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder and sighed before quickly turning her attention back to the dead fields outside the window.

“It hasn’t snowed in a few days. It’s strange to think that soon the rain will come and wash it all away. And then everything will turn green again. I’ve missed the sun,” Elizabeth said idly.

“Mr. Finn just left. He seemed quite upset indeed and would not tell me what troubled him. What did you say to him?”

Surely I can trust her…the truth is all I have.

“I told him I wouldn’t marry him. I know the Reverend wants it. He made me swear to it, actually. But I can’t. I don’t think he’d keep his word anyway.”

“What in Heaven’s name are you prattling on about, Elizabeth? How could you possibly refuse the mayor’s son?!”

“Because I do not love him,” she replied plainly.

“You’re acting like an ungrateful little child. Do you understand the honor—“

“Yes, I understand it, and I don’t want it.”

“Grow up, Elizabeth. Let me tell you something about love. It doesn’t exist.”

Elizabeth turned swiftly at her aunt’s remark. The elder woman stood across the room leaning against the doorframe. There was sadness in her eyes, and Elizabeth felt a swell of sympathy for Jenny due to the constrained, repressive lifestyle in which she’d been trapped her whole life.

“I feel sorry for you—that you can believe that. I don’t know how you can live like this. Hiding everything, pretending you don’t feel. You say that you live for God; but why would a loving God want this? Religion shouldn’t be a punishment. And love—love is the greatest part of everything. I know, because I’ve found it.”

“You’ve found love?” Jenny snorted, “With whom?”

“William,” she murmured, “Nathaniel said if I told anyone, he would hang, but…I don’t think the Reverend ever intended to spare him.”

“The witch? William Wells? Dear God, Elizabeth! You’re lost. Just like your mother—you’re truly lost,” Jenny’s eyes filled with tears, reaffirming her belief in the sentiment.

“No, listen to me,” Elizabeth begged desperately, her own voice growing thick and shaky as she hurriedly crossed the room to take her aunt’s hands, “I need you, Jenny. You’re my blood. Mama’s sister…That should mean something. Help me, please. I promise you—I swear on my life that William is innocent. If you could just help me testify—“

“I most certainly will not!” Jenny exclaimed, breaking away from Elizabeth, “And you cannot testify either. Now that I know you’ve allied yourself with that vile creature, your word is meaningless.”

“Jenny, please help me. We’ve done nothing wrong…” Elizabeth sobbed, sinking to her knees as she became overwhelmed in hopelessness and grasped her aunt’s skirt like a child might have done.

In that moment, she felt an intense need to merely be held, to be soothed, for someone to tell her that everything would be all right in the end, and that no one she loved would ever die. She wanted her mother. The ache of that fruitless desire made her sobs intensify. Her arms drifted up, seeking Jenny’s embrace, her compassion, her understanding, anything…but instead, Elizabeth’s aunt pried herself out of her niece’s grasp and quickly fled the room.

--

After the dark cloak of night engulfed the loft in silence, Elizabeth laid awake, piecing together what options remained before her. The sting of her aunt’s betrayal was still fresh and painful though not altogether surprising. Elizabeth’s natural instinct was to collapse in sorrow, with the weight of William’s life on her shoulders, but she could not allow herself to succumb to weakness. So another of her plans had failed; there were still plenty of choices to make and more than one path to take. True, it was doubtful now that she could save him entirely on her own, since her testimony would most likely be ignored at this point. She needed someone strong, intelligent, resourceful. Someone who would do anything it took to save William. Mr. Giles is the only person I have. If I could simply find out where he is, I could go to him. Surely he has a plan. He’ll know what to do. Between the two of us, we will escape this.

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Elizabeth tried to will a vision to come to her. Whether it be a glimpse of the future or riddles from dead people, she yearned for any form of possible guidance. When nothing surfaced from the blackened depths of her sight, Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from screaming in frustration. She squeezed her hands into fists until her nails made crimson crescent moons in the flesh of her palms. I’m supposed to be a seer, damn it! Show me something! God or whoever lets me look—please! Show me…Lead me to the end or the beginning…anywhere…

~~

Exhaustion seeped over her limbs, swallowing her body like quicksand before the room darkened. Soon the midnight colors surrounding her brightened, shifting together like watercolor to form a new picture. Elizabeth stood slowly from her bed and walked around this new room—or old room, rather. It was a place she’d never been—a place where she didn’t belong.

She stood in an enormous study. The grand room encompassed two separate levels with gothic-style windows that stretched from floor to ceiling framed in draperies of royal blue velvet. Must, mildew, and the aroma of old, brittle pages permeated the air; and as she looked closer, she realized that the walls were comprised entirely of bookshelves. Two wrought-iron desks stood in the center of the library with papers, quills, and stacks of books cluttering their surfaces. As Elizabeth focused her sight, a technique she’d slowly begun to comprehend, she perceived two figures flickering in and out. Once she could see them clearly, she immediately knew who they were.

The two boys sat facing one another. The elder one appeared to be an adolescent while the other was perhaps ten or eleven years of age. Both had sparkling hazel eyes and disheveled dark hair and were dressed in the awkwardly stiff attire of noblemen. Eyes buried in a book, the teenage boy stared intently at the page while his hand scribbled notes in a journal unceasingly. The younger one simply stared ahead and yawned dully, occasionally slipping a peek at the manuscript sprawled out before him.

“I’m sick of being trapped in here like a bird in a cage! I wish to go out with the others!” the younger boy whined in a prim British accent as he slammed one of his books shut.

“You heard the professor. We must transcribe today,” the other replied absently without looking up from his work.

“But it’s not fair! We’ve been forced to do this all week!”

“Such is the life we have inherited. Now hush up so I can finish.”

“It’s pointless, you know. We have to fill our minds to the brim with all sorts of rubbish for the small chance that we’ll be chosen to train her. One girl in all the world…I don’t want to spend my whole life following some stupid girl, anyway.”

“Mm-hmm,” the other answered, placating his companion.

“You’re not even listening! You never listen to me!”

“Because your voice irritates me,” the elder boy replied, the edges of his lips cracking in a small smile.

“I’m just tired of doing everything they say. For once I want to make decisions for myself.”

The older one sighed, finally looking up from his notes. “I’ll make you a deal. After one solid hour of work, I’ll challenge you to a game of chess.”

“Chess is dull! I wish to go outside!”

“Chess outside, then?”

“Well…” the younger boy said, considering the offer with a creased brow, “Very well then. I suppose I could survive an hour.”

“Thank heavens for that! I’d hate to write a eulogy for a death from boredom” the other replied, chuckling, as he reached over his desk to ruffle the younger boy’s hair.

“Stop it!” the younger one exclaimed before he began giggling.

Elizabeth examined the young boy closely. He had a cherubic, innocently round face with a spattering of freckles over his nose. Her gaze skimmed over one creamy apple cheek where a scar would appear later in life, sometime after his eyes turned dark and cold.

At once, she felt a powerful wind surge around her, pushing the image far away, back into the vault of time. She found herself forced into a dark, iron-coated tunnel, murky and chilled. Voices echoed off the walls all around—the same two voices. She heard the boys and listened to them speak to one another as they grew from children to men.

~~

It’s only magic. We’ve learned about the art since we were children! Why not use it? The power is at our fingertips. So simple, so easy…

Because it’s bloody wrong, that’s why! It is a power we are meant to understand, to study…Not possess!

But we have possessed it. You’ve tasted it for yourself. Don’t tell me you didn’t love feeling the demon crawl into your skin—its strength your strength, its knowledge your knowledge—

It doesn’t…What I feel no longer matters. It’s destructive and it’s wrong. Morally reprehensible…

Then why can’t you stop? Do you actually believe yourself to be a righteous man?

I am no different than you.

~~

Please listen to me.

Why should I?

Because I love you.

You’re not going to take it from me! I’m beyond you now. For the first time in my life, I have surpassed you.

Let me help you.

I don’t need your god damn help! Go be the righteous man.

~~

Oh dear Lord, you killed them! How could you…you killed them. You don’t understand what you’ve—

I don’t care. They deserved their fate. Every last one of them.

You’re lost now. You’re lost.

Are you going to kill me?

No. You know I could never do that.

Then I bid you farewell. I shall be on a ship with the Puritans come morning.

~~

Slowly, an image faded back in, piecing together like a jigsaw puzzle. Judging from the musty smell and overall dankness, Elizabeth deduced that she stood in a cellar of some sort. A man crouched low on the dirt floor, hovering over a ring of small stones that shone as bright as stars. She heard a low mumbling that she soon discovered was a soft, even chanting in some foreign language. Suddenly a crimson light appeared inside the ring, spreading and climbing toward the low ceiling like fog. A large, robust form materialized within the light, and once it took shape, Elizabeth’s breath caught in a silent scream. The beast stood there—the horned one that had appeared in the field. After the red light faded, traces of it remained, glowing in the demon’s eyes like hellfire.

“You mustn’t fail me. Do what I cannot. I am your master now,” the man said.

~~

The vision dissipated, leaving Elizabeth standing in the darkened loft bedroom. Though her mind had returned to the present, she still felt entranced by what she’d seen; and her feet began to carry her away. She felt intense urgency to arrive someplace. Her path carried her down the stairs, past the bedroom where her aunt and uncle slept, and into the kitchen. She walked immediately to the spice shelves above the cupboard, and using all her might, she pulled the piece of furniture forward slightly—enough to give her room to squeeze behind it. When she discovered the door there, covered in dust and cobwebs, she felt no surprise. Opening the passage a crack, she slipped in as if it were something she’d done a thousand times before. The narrow stairway leading to the hidden cellar was dark and dusty, so she braced herself along the wall until her feet hit the softened floor. A small window below the ceiling allowed the moonlight to peek in just enough so that she could examine her dank surroundings.

Everything looked identical to what she’d seen in her vision, complete with the conjuring circle in the center of the earthen floor. Stone shelves full of jars with mysterious contents, stones, and books lined the walls. Elizabeth allowed her fingers to graze over the rows of books, until one in particular drew her focus. Evocare i Demoni, the cover read in silver leaf. Flipping the heavy book open, the first page Elizabeth glanced upon caused a gasp to choke in throat. It was an intricate, perfect drawing in faded black ink. From the details of the horns to the frightening glitter in the eyes, the beast glowered back at her so realistically that Elizabeth could smell the heat of its furious breath and hear the thunder of its hooves.

“Well now. Find something that interests you?” a soft voice growled from behind her.

Elizabeth yelped, the book instantly slipping from her grasp and crashing to the floor in a cloud of dust.

“You,” she whispered, “You used the power in the field to summon it. You wanted it to kill me. Why?”

“You’ve been a very naughty girl, Elizabeth,” Reverend Nathaniel murmured, a disgusting smile creeping over the thin corners of his lips.

“Answer my question,” she hissed.

“I couldn’t just kill you myself, could I?” the Reverend smirked, “Being my wife’s niece and all. It wouldn’t be the proper thing to do.”

“Why kill me?” Elizabeth asked coldly, narrowing her eyes to see him more clearly in the dim moonlight.

“You’re a perceptive girl. I think you already know the answer to that.”

“Your demon failed.”

“Yes, I know. Pity. When you first vanished I thought myself rid of a headache. I found evidence of Townsend’s presence on my property and assumed that he had killed you. But I should have known. Of course it was the two of them—the constant thorns in my side. So when the demon failed, I came up to retrieve you myself. I thought maybe if I had you married off, got you far away from Rupert and William…Without training, without guidance, you wouldn’t be …That field is a powerful place, Elizabeth. Far more powerful than you could ever imagine. For a year now, it has stood without a guardian, and was thus more accessible. But now you…I knew you came here to ruin me. To become another guardian, to take the power I’ve built. I was right.”

As Nathaniel spoke, his accent changed slightly, the pitch of his voice raising a bit, metamorphosing into something else. The deep, even confidence that typically defined his speech gave way to a wandering tone.

“Who are you?”

He laughed before replying, “I am not so very different from you. Not so very different from Rupert Giles. But he chose blindness while I chose sight. He believes in the inherent good of all men, righteousness, living in the light. I have always believed that the dark and light together is what truly makes a man whole. Giles is naïve, idealistic, while I know of something greater…The ignorant might call me a sorcerer or perhaps a necromancer.”

“You’re not even a Reverend, are you?”

“Elizabeth, I am not even a Christian. But they do not know that. And they never will. I’ve worked so very hard to build this life.”

“But it’s all a lie.”

“Not quite so simple. I fled here to escape persecution in Europe, as many others did. Only not for the same reasons.”

“Does Jenny know this? Dawn…”

“You are now one of three people in this town who know anything of my personal history. The women sleeping upstairs are innocents.”

“So I assume you plan to kill me now that I know,” Elizabeth replied simply, leaning back against one of the shelves in a conversational manner. Ironically, the terror that this man usually instilled within her was almost completely absent.

“No. That would not look good for me, I fear. If you cause any further problems, I can certainly bring witchery to your head, though. I have more than enough damning evidence. That pagan book you gave to my daughter, for instance. Yes, I know of it. You see things—visions of the Devil, they’d call them. You’re a whore. I have evidence of that, because I can see things too, Elizabeth. Of course I know about you and William Wells, but I also know that you carry his bastard in your belly.”

“What? No, I—I’m not…” she stuttered, crossing her arms in front of her as her gaze flittered to the ground.

“Tell yourself what you will, but it’s not something you can deny for very long. You should’ve agreed to marry Mr. Finn quickly so that he might believe it was his. A woman in your position will be thrown to the wolves in this town.”

He’s…he’s merely trying to upset me, catch me off guard. It isn’t true. And he couldn’t know, even if it were…

“So you see, I have plenty more to barter with than your life. And no one will ever take your word over mine.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” a familiar voice boomed from behind them.

“… I crave it in my gut, because despite the terror, despite the dark and the loneliness, she was near; and that alone gave me strength. Once again, I find myself in darkness, though it is of quite a different breed—expansive rather than encroaching. All I can hear is the hush of the waves sweeping outside…but her voice is with them too, because the sea is such a part of her. If I close my eyes and listen very closely, I can almost hear her laughing, singing…and then I smell her sweet scent of honey and lace and feel her silken hair between my fingers, the color of fresh-spun gold. Sometimes I see her—wisps of hair curling about her face, nightdress hanging low to expose the swell of her breasts. My want of her is so intense that it is achingly painful… She’s all I think about, dream about—she’s inside me…”

~From the diary of William Wells; January 10th, 1686

~*~


Elizabeth whirled around to see Mr. Giles standing at the foot of the cellar stairs, gripping his oak staff tightly with whitened knuckles. An angel. He’s like an angel. For a moment, Elizabeth glanced back and forth between the two men as they stared icily at one another, a tangible charge running tensely through the air between them.

“Hello, Nathan. Or is it Ethan today? Perhaps Louis? I have difficulty keeping track of your aliases.”

“What? Who…? What?” Elizabeth sputtered.

“Elizabeth, perhaps I should introduce you to my brother. His true name is Louis Nathaniel Giles, though he’s long forgotten it, I’m sure.”

“You’re brothers?” Elizabeth asked, stunned, her mouth falling agape.

“He was trained as a Watcher like me. But when he discovered the power of channeling dark magics, I lost him entirely. The Council tried to save him, but in retaliation, he killed those who would have bestowed redemption. Then he fled imminent execution to begin a new life here. Coward.”

“Pot. Kettle. Black.” Nathaniel tisked amusedly, crossing his arms as he seemed to take pleasure in listening to his own story.

“That’s why you came to Connecticut,” Elizabeth spoke slowly, piecing everything together, “With William and Susan. To find him.”

“No, actually, we came because of the pull of the dark power here. But it did not take long for Nathan and myself to cross paths. He convinced me, Elizabeth, that he’d truly started over. That he’d changed, and I wanted to believe it,” Giles explained as he began to circle the room, “So we struck a deal, you see. He promised to allow me to live here and conduct my own business without interference as long as I did not expose him. He even defended me when I was accused of practicing magic and allowed us to live in isolation at the pond. I believed my brother had returned. Of course, I was wrong about him. He will never change.”

“You’re hardly one to break into my house and throw stones, Rupert. You make yourself out to be an innocent angel in all of this,” Nathaniel sing-singed sardonically.

“I have paid for my sins,” Giles growled through gritted teeth.

“What are you doing here, Rupert? Come to fight me, have you?” Nathaniel asked, raising his brow gleefully.

“I have come to warn you. You’ll never surpass me, little brother; you know what I could inflict.”

“You wouldn’t. You’re above all that now, aren’t you?”

“It would be worth it, I think, seeing you receive what you deserve. If William dies as a result of these false charges or if you so much as lay a finger on Elizabeth…I will be right here. Waiting.”

“Oh Elizabeth,” Nathaniel muttered, shaking his head, “Did you honestly believe I wouldn’t instantly recognize her as a potential Slayer?”

“Potential what?!” Elizabeth exclaimed, stepping between the two men.

“One day you might get to be the Slayer, little girl. What do you think of that? Nice old man Rupert didn’t tell you what you were signing up for, did he?” Nathaniel asked.

“Mr. Giles…” Elizabeth began, turning to the Watcher in confusion, but he did not meet her gaze.

“Remember my words, Nathan. You know them to be truth,” Giles said, still clutching his staff when he turned to leave.

As he passed Elizabeth, who was far too stunned to even move, he reached down to squeeze her hand. She thought the gesture merely an offer of parting comfort, but she soon realized that it was something more as he pressed a small, crumpled piece of paper into her palm. Turning away from Nathaniel, she watched Giles ascend the narrow staircase.

“Are you going to kill me now or not, Uncle?” she asked numbly, her back toward him.

“We’ve already been over this. You keep my secrets, and I shall keep yours,” Nathaniel replied, though his voice wavered a bit in uncertainty. Maybe he does fear his brother.

--

Once Elizabeth returned to her loft bedchamber, she felt as though she were stepping back into another world; as though the hidden cellar was only a vision in her mind, the words of Nathaniel and Giles simply whispers of a dream. Crossing to the window, she unfolded the scrap of paper that had already grown damp in her palm.

Tomorrow at one p.m. Grove of pines behind the church.

Elizabeth felt some relief wash over her after reading his message. Clearly there was a way out of this turmoil now, as she had hoped. Mr. Giles had devised a plan to share, and perhaps he could tell her more. More about what she was…

She inhaled sharply when a sudden wave of dizziness engulfed her head in a fog. Falling backward to the edge of the bed, Elizabeth breathed in deeply while pinching the bridge of her nose until the unpleasant sensation passed. And she knew, knew without doubt, that it was not a head injury that ailed her. Fingers shaking, she splayed her hand over her flat abdomen.

Oh my God.

--

As Elizabeth approached the church in the early afternoon, the sun shone brightly for the first time in weeks. Tightly packed snow still crunched beneath her boots, but the golden light reflecting from it made the chill sting a little less. Escaping the house had not been nearly as difficult as she’d anticipated. The Reverend was gone when she woke, and Jenny had agreed somewhat reluctantly to allow her niece to run some household errands in town. Using light and easy conversation as an aide, Elizabeth had attempted to play off the previous encounter with her aunt; and she even received a smile from the older woman after mentioning that she was reconsidering Mr. Finn. Whatever it takes.

Quickly, Elizabeth’s eyes shifted about to ascertain that no one saw her round the back of the chapel and slip into the cover of the woods. Giles was already there, pacing back and forth in the clearing. Apparently to keep his trembling hands occupied, he fiddled uselessly with his spectacles—removing them, cleaning them, replacing them on the tip of his nose. When he spotted her approaching he jumped slightly, startled by the intrusion to his nervous rhythm.

“How are you, Elizabeth?” he asked softly with a sad half-smile.

“I have seen better days. What do you need to tell me?”

“I didn’t think it would come to this—I thought we could work with the system, but…I am going to get him out of there.”

“How?” she whispered.

“For that I’ll need your help…We will be forced to flee immediately, Elizabeth.”

“Yes, I know.”

“And you cannot come with us.”

“What?!” Elizabeth nearly shrieked, glaring up at the older man in shock, “You cannot just leave me here to rot! I’ll die. Wherever William is, that is where I’m going.”

“Calm down and allow me to explain. If we left with you now while this town is in the midst of chaos, I fear we could be easily tracked. They’re watching you closely, since you’re a ‘victim’ of ours; and it would simply be too dangerous a feat to try to pull you out from the middle of this. William and I can slip away with no trouble, as we have done in the past. We could go on to Europe, settle there for a few months, and then return for you when it is safe—when they have ceased watching for us…Elizabeth?”

“I’m pregnant,” she murmured.

Giles drew in a shaky breath and sighed heavily while his gaze focused on the snow beneath his feet.

“I thought Nathaniel was merely taunting you…Does William know?” he asked softly after a long silence.

Elizabeth shook her head, tears stinging her eyes.

“You mustn’t tell him.”

“Of course I will tell him!”

“No, Elizabeth, it’s already going to be incredibly difficult to convince him to go without you for the time being, but if he knew this…bit of new information, he would never leave. And he must go. For his survival, he must. And for the safety of all of us, your child included, we must return for you when things are calmer.”

“How long? How long will we have to stay here?” she asked, rubbing her temples.

“No longer than four months.”

“Four months,” she breathed, “I can’t hide it for that long!”

“It doesn’t matter. They will not be able to harm you. By law, the child is an innocent. Even if they planned to inflict punishment, they couldn’t touch you until after its birth.”

“So I’m trapped here at the mercy of my necromancing uncle!” she snorted.

“He will not be a danger to you. Trust me. With the two of us gone, I doubt he’ll consider you a threat.”

“Why would I have been a threat before? Is it because of this ‘potential’ business you failed to mention?”

“It wasn’t out of dishonesty, Elizabeth, I assure you. I simply did not see the need. You had already learned of our mission, you were being trained. I felt that…the matter didn’t need discussion unless you were called. There can be hundreds of potentials living at one time throughout the world. The odds of receiving a call are just—“

“You still should have told me. I don’t even know what it means, what I am…”

“Nothing has changed. You are who you’ve always been. The title only means that you have the skills and perception necessary to obtain the power should it be bestowed upon you.”

“Then I guess you’ve taught me everything I need to know,” she said numbly, avoiding his eyes, “Tell me how we’re going to free William.”

--

Clothed only in her nightdress and cloak, her golden hair in a loose braid down her back, Elizabeth steadily came upon Town Hall. The plaza was entirely deserted now at half-past midnight. Gusts of swirling wind whipped all around her, sending her gown billowing away from her body while her teeth chattered and gooseflesh rose on her arms. A glance to the heavens revealed the most brilliant sweep of glittering constellations Elizabeth had ever beheld in America. Somewhere behind her, Giles lurked in the shadows, waiting.

Elizabeth exhaled a quick breath, reviewing the plan in her mind briefly, before she released a blood-curdling scream and broke into a run. As predicted, the constable instantly rushed out of the jail with his musket ready to fire.

“Sir, help me please! Help me!” she shrieked, crashing into him and nearly sending all 250 pounds of him toppling over.

“Whoa Miss Summers, what’s your trouble, ma’am?”

“He’s after me! He—he’s an evil warlock and he’s going to kill me if you don’t help!”

“Slow down. Who’s after you?” the man asked in annoyance, no doubt assuming Elizabeth had lost her mind.

“Rupert Giles. I finally got away from him, and now he’s coming after me again! Please he’s very powerful…he’s going to kill me!” Elizabeth screamed, slipping into rehearsed hysterics as she clawed at the befuddled man’s tunic.

“Alright! Where’s he at?” the constable asked, trying to push her away.

Elizabeth gestured vaguely to the darkness behind her.

“Go on into the jailhouse, you hear me? Take these keys and lock that door tight behind ya. Don’t worry, ma’am, I’ll get this guy.”

“Thank you, sir! Oh thank you so much! I owe you everything!”

“Yeah okay, hurry up and go on now.”

She walked backward slowly as Giles surfaced out of the shadows and strode forward menacingly. Please let the spell work. Please work!

“Take one more step mister, and I’m shooting!” the constable bellowed.

Giles opened his fist, revealing a ball of swirling orange light. The constable, no doubt shocked by the magical display, let his musket fall and clatter to the ground. Extending his arm, the Watcher hurled the ball of light forward until it burst into a tiny sun with exploding rays, bathing the entire plaza in searing, golden radiance. The constable let out a small, somewhat womanish scream and fell on his backside as he scrambled to get away from Giles, who continued his advance. Satisfied that the constable was entirely preoccupied, Elizabeth fled to the jailhouse.

Her shoulder slammed against the door, sending it crashing open. Fumbling with the key ring, she searched for the master to open the lock into the back hallway.

“William!” she cried after throwing the heavy door aside and sprinting down the hall to his cell.

“’Lizabeth, wha…” he muttered groggily, standing from where he’d been curled in the far corner.

“Wake up. I’m getting you out of here.”

“What? How did you—“

“We don’t have much time. Which key is it?”

“Brass,” he replied hastily, clutching onto the bars.

Despite her shaking hands, she managed to find the brass key and open the lock before William helped her slide the bars back. And then she was in his arms while he fluttered sweet, frantic kisses over her forehead, cheeks, nose and lips. Elizabeth abandoned the need to run, and she wished more than anything that she could freeze this moment and live within it forever. She kissed him deeply, hardly noticing how his short beard scratched her cold, rosy cheeks. Nothing mattered except crawling inside him and never letting go. He swept her up and swung her off her feet, her legs hooking around his waist.

“Missed you, sweetheart. Needed you,” he breathed against the hollow of her throat.

“Go. Need to go,” she muttered, but she clung to him with no intention of letting go.

Elizabeth wanted to tell him a thousand different things—that she loved him more than anything in this life, that he was her savior, that he’d taught her how to love and trust herself. But she knew that any words she offered would be terribly insufficient. And they would all sound like goodbye. Slowly she released her legs from his waist and slid down, burying her face in his chest and breathing in deeply to enjoy his musky, hickory scent …before he’s gone. Tears blurred her vision at that thought, though she tried to will them away stubbornly. His arms came around her, holding her close, cradling her as he rocked their bodies soothingly. It was so simple—being held—and yet the act was more profound than words. Nothing existed outside their embrace; even fear and danger were completely overshadowed. Turning in his arms, she gently rested her head against his shoulder.

“I knew you’d come,” he whispered thickly, sounding so terribly young and vulnerable.

Elizabeth couldn’t reply as her throat tightened painfully. Don’t cry now. He needs to leave. Don’t make it harder.

William stroked his fingers through her hair lovingly as his cheek fell against the top of her head. Everything was quiet, and Elizabeth could both hear and feel the frenzied pounding of his heart.

“Mr. Giles has your horses out back,” she murmured, her voice muffled in his tunic, “There’s a French ship docked at Saybrook Harbor, and you must be aboard before it leaves for England in an hour.”

“Me? What about you, luv?”

She raised her head to meet his concerned gaze. I hope our baby has those eyes. Blue like the waves of the Caribbean. Reaching her hand up to cup his cheek in her palm, she tried to smile, though it probably looked more like a grimace.

“I have spoken at length with Mr. Giles. Considering the circumstances, we both think it best if the two of you go now and return for us—for me when it’s safer.”

“Bollocks to that!”

“William, please, we don’t have time—“

“The constable’s passed out cold after my little show, but no telling how long it might last. We have precious few minutes, Will,” Giles interjected as he strode down the hall, “We best be out the back door.”

William turned back to Elizabeth frantically, his hold on her tightening.

“No, no I’m not leavin’!”

“Will, if you stay, you’re going to die. If she comes with us now, we’re all going to die. Please listen with your head over your heart!”

“I can’t. Not without Elizabeth! She’s not stayin’ here!”

“Listen to me, William,” she said gently, “I’ll be all right. Just knowing that you’re safe…I’ll be fine. And when things are better, we’ll be together again.”

“Can’t go without you. There is no without you. May as well let ‘em kill me,” he muttered, on the verge of tears.

With her fingers, she traced the contours of his cheeks, stroking his full lips with her thumbs, committing the little details to memory.

“Hush. We’ll get through this. No matter what happens, we’ll keep going to the bitter end, do you understand me? Here…” she murmured as she dropped one of her hands to rummage in her cloak pocket.

Carefully she removed the small, beaded pocketknife he’d given to her.

“I’ll always remember what you said—how blood is everything that life is. It’s a bond, a connection between people that can’t be undone. A union through love, passion, the things that make us human.”

“Elizabeth, I don’t understand what you’re—“

She opened her palm and quickly dragged the blade across her flesh. Crimson water flowed through her fingers and pooled on the floor like liquid rose petals. Horrified, he pulled the knife from her grasp and cradled her palm in both of his.

“No,” she said, “Look.”

He watched as she slipped the blade beneath his flesh and gasped in surprise when her hand clasped his.

“Your blood is my blood. We are bound to one another. They cannot take that from us,” she said softly.

The sounds of shouting men suddenly arose in the distance.

“William, we must go,” Giles repeated firmly.

William stared with glazed eyes at their joined hands before he delicately broke away, turning his palm over to see their mingled blood streaked across his flesh.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” she whispered.

He pulled her close for one last burning kiss before tearing away toward the back door. Don’t look back, William. Don’t look back. And he didn’t.

Once they were gone and the unbearable weight of silence settled over the jailhouse, Elizabeth sunk to the floor and sobbed. She wished so badly to run after him and cry out the secret she’d been forced to hide.

I’m sorry. Oh God I’m so sorry.

“The work is exhausting and back-breaking, but I scarcely notice it…It’s good work, hard and honest, and I’d like to think that it would make her proud of me…I don’t sleep much anymore; every hour of every day I try to increase my earnings. The money is for her; every penny belongs to her, and that is how I keep going. Knowing that I do it for my goddess, so that I can give her everything she deserves, helps me overcome the blood and sweat and painfully aching muscles. Busying myself makes the time move faster—each precious second brings me closer to the day when I may once more hold her in my arms.”

~From the diary of William Wells; April 1st, 1686

~*~


After the first rains came in mid-February, the spring thaw graced the land, sending ice crystals melting away. Once the wildflowers began to bloom in the fields with specks of violet and buttercup, and when the tall green grasses peeked through the frost in early March, Elizabeth’s spirits rose. The wind retained a bitter edge, but the days were longer and warmer as rays of sunshine slipped through grey clouds. Elizabeth felt as though she could finally breathe again when she was able to spend her days outdoors instead of locked away in the house.

Small menial tasks like constructing a new garden and planting the first seedlings kept her occupied by day, but it was the nights that were the hardest. Always she laid awake, yearning for his touch and the sweet whisper of his breath. The tears finally quelled after weeks of crying herself to sleep every night. Weeping proved fruitless, and thus Elizabeth chose to put her energy to more efficient uses. The hope that William would soon return gave her the strength to rise from her bed every morning.

Her brighter outlook was aided by the fact that she felt much better physically—she was no longer so tired and dizzy; and the occasional spells of fainting and illness had all but ceased. There were other changes as well. Elizabeth’s normally tight, flat belly now had a smooth, slight roundness to its shape, while her small breasts had grown significantly fuller. She did everything in her power to keep it carefully hidden, even staying up all night on one occasion to pull the seams from her dresses. No one seemed to notice, except for one recent morning when Jenny had noted that her niece looked somehow different. You seem healthier, Elizabeth, she’d mentioned off-handedly; Your cheeks have color again. The weather is doing you good, I believe.

Elizabeth had panicked at the comment for fear that her aunt suspected, but Jenny never brought up the subject again. Inevitably everyone would know soon enough, but Elizabeth desperately hoped to conceal the truth for as long as she possibly could. The Reverend was privy to her condition, obviously, but he never once spoke of it to her or anyone else. Keeping his end of the bargain for now…She knew that he still conducted his business in the hidden cellar and occasionally rode out to the lonely field in the early morning hours; but she did not interfere in any way, even though her conscience gnawed at her for keeping silent.

Deaths and disappearances were becoming a rampant epidemic now that the guardians of the borders were gone; but the townsfolk were lost in denial now more than ever. The vanishings were ignored completely—even the witch craze had died down. It physically pained Elizabeth to join the ignorant masses, but she could do little else. Unfortunately, she simply had too much to lose now to worry over the greater good. Every day she prayed for William and Giles to arrive sooner than expected, so that she could escape this town forever.

--

As the vernal equinox approached, Elizabeth often enjoyed sitting up late beside the open window in her bedroom. One night while she leaned her elbow against the sill, she breathed in deeply, relishing in the fresh air of spring. The Odyssey lay abandoned on her lap; because she simply couldn’t lose reality in the tales of lotus eaters and the witch named Circe as she had in years past. A sweet, honeysuckle-scented breeze rustled through the oaks at the edge of the wood beyond the stables, igniting a yearning in Elizabeth to explore the wilderness again. Longingly, she thought of the beautiful view hidden deep in the woods that William had shown her last fall. Surely it must be breathtaking this time of year with the trees in bloom. The forest had been his favorite place here—where he’d felt most alive, and Elizabeth wondered if maybe stepping into that realm briefly could help her feel him close again. Perhaps she could pretend that this was just another warm eve last fall, and that she would soon go out on the hunt at his side. To feel the old paths beneath her feet…she might pretend childishly that he had merely run ahead of her in his excitement, and that if she only asked him to slow down for half a minute, he would be there…

It was foolish—beyond foolish. The woods were more dangerous now than they’d perhaps ever been, but still Elizabeth stood, her better reason not wholly communicating with her feet, and extinguished the taper candle with her forefinger and thumb before preparing to leave. On her way to the door, she paused briefly at Dawn’s bedside and brushed a lock of the sleeping girl’s dark hair back from her forehead.

“I’ll come back for you,” Elizabeth whispered, placing a light kiss on her cousin’s temple, “I’ll always come back for you.”

--

Elizabeth raced across the onion fields until her lungs burned. She had an abundance of new energy and no outlet but this to properly release it. With the brilliant sweep of stars overhead and the tall grasses kissing her fingertips, she could almost lose herself in sensation, she could almost forget…A gentle fluttering stirred deep in her belly, and it was almost familiar—like the butterflies that danced when William kissed her, like the heart-pattering chill that came when he told her he loved her...But she chose to dismiss the feeling now as her own heartbeat beneath her skin; because tonight she needed to abandon the real world, if only for a little while.

Stopping at the stables, Elizabeth chose one of the horses randomly—the brown and white gelding. She threw one leg over his back to pull herself up, not even bothering with a saddle. Her bare legs hung at the gelding’s sides as she used her ankle to nudge him on into the night. Without entirely realizing it, she began to lead the horse down the same path William had taken her on that first night, when she both feared and loathed him—the same night when she had first desired him without comprehending it. With her legs and ankles, Elizabeth coaxed the horse on to a swift gallop, so that her long hair began to pull from the loose braid and blow behind her. She crossed a muddy stream that sent chilled water splashing over her shins while the horse followed the first steep inclines of the trail. Midnight blue hills crept up in the distance, silhouetted against the clear night sky.

Time ceased to exist; nothing felt real except the wind in her hair and the thunderous clop of the horse’s hooves over the fresh earth. Higher and higher they climbed as the moon crossed the sky; and without noticing the length of the journey, Elizabeth suddenly found herself in a familiar place. Instead of instilling fear, the sight of the jagged stones in the burying ground caused a lump to swell in her throat. She remembered sitting there with William and Giles, talking of nothing while they waited for vampires. She didn’t realize it then, how precious time could be, how beautiful simple nothings really were.

And then after rounding the brow of a slight hill—there it was: Raven Pond—still and calm now that the winter storms had passed. She led the gelding to the post near the cove, all the while keeping her eyes away from the cabin. After she dismounted and secured the animal, Elizabeth willed herself to look across the black water to where the cabin stood, dark and desolate. She might have gone inside, laid in his bed, savored the scent and memory of him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. The thought of those rooms that had once held such sweetness and warmth in her memory, now quiet, barren, and empty…it was simply too much to bear. And William’s belongings still there without him—Elizabeth almost lost her breath thinking of it. So instead she strolled along the water, occasionally pausing to skip a pebble off the pond’s glittering surface. Despite the late hour, she heard the calls of blackbirds overhead. Their raven wings passed through the trees, inky shapes flickering through rays of moonshine.

A clump of pink and white wildflowers grew on the bank nearby, and Elizabeth smiled at their serene beauty, picking several into a bouquet. Admiring their loveliness, she knew then where she wanted to take them, but hesitated at the idea. There was a place in the woods nearby; and though William had never taken her, he’d occasionally spoken of it on those late nights when he’d allowed her to see tiny pieces of his heart that he kept locked away. It was a place he hardly visited himself, a place he’d abandoned months before. Six stones in a circle, through a path behind the cove…After deciding that he wouldn’t mind, Elizabeth took the flowers in her arms and started into the woods.

The stones lay in the precise array he’d described. She thought she’d feel something more, finally being here—perhaps feel closer to her, but the air was empty. No spirits lingered any longer. Kneeling before the circle, Elizabeth arranged the flowers on the grave as best she could.

“I wish you were here,” she spoke softly to the stones, “Maybe then you could help me understand what I am—what we are, what’s to come. I wish I had some idea…I’m alone, Susan. I want to be strong like you, but…If you could show me what to do—“

Elizabeth stiffened as a chill crawled up her spine. There was something with her in the darkness—watching, waiting. She could hear the rustle of its footfall accompanied by a distant, cruel laughter. Spinning around quickly, Elizabeth peered into the black depths of the forest. Her heart rate nearly tripled and her hands shook as she chastised herself for such foolishness. This escape from reality had been careless, and she was only just now realizing how imprudent it was. Naturally her instinct was to cry out to William to help her out of whatever mess she might be tangled in, but she was entirely alone; no person to rely on but herself.

“Who’s there?” she called into the night.

Her voice rang and reverberated in the silence like a musket shot.

“I said who’s there?! Show yourself!” she cried.

Her eyes skittered across the ground in search of a weapon. What is wrong with me?! I didn’t even think of defending myself.

“Come near me, and I’ll kill you,” she hissed, trying to ignore the raw fear creeping into her throat.

Waiting and seeing nothing was the worst. Her skin crawled, so she knew that whatever it was drew closer. I can’t see it. Oh God I can’t see it. I’m not her. I thought I could be, but I can’t.

In the blink of an eye, icy fingers clamped over her throat. She hadn’t even sensed its approach. Automatically, Elizabeth jabbed her elbow back sharply, and the thing released its death clutch. Whipping around to face her opponent, she found herself staring on cold, copper eyes, a high, ridged forehead, and pointed teeth that gleamed in the moonlight. He was once a colonial, judging from his suspenders and cloak. Vampire. Just a vampire. He reached for her again, eyes hovered on the throbbing pulse at her neck, but Elizabeth reacted hastily, kneeing him in the gut and bringing her clasped hands slamming down into his back. ‘Most important thing to remember here is power. You gotta know how to use it, and you hafta recognize who has it’ She heard William’s voice as though he stood directly behind her.

“He has it,” she breathed in reply.

The vampire collapsed as she had anticipated, but not before grabbing her ankles and pulling her down with him. Elizabeth struggled in a hopeless effort to get away, but his grip was incredibly powerful as he clawed at her legs and tore her nightdress. Flipping onto her side, Elizabeth curled away from her attacker to shield her belly from the blows of his fists. Frantically, her hands searched the ground for anything she might use against him, and when her fingers at last curled around the sharp piece of cedar branch, Elizabeth felt convinced that it was a gift from someone looking down on her.

The vampire seized one of her wrists; and with his other hand, he viciously pried her thighs open.

“Fear smells real good, sweet girl. I’m gonna enjoy this,” he jeered.

“Not as much as I will,” Elizabeth growled.

She jerked the hand up that had been cradling her belly and drove the piece of wood into the creature’s chest. The immediate explosion of dust made her recoil, and she accidentally inhaled a large quantity of it, causing her to choke and gag as she carefully sat up. Elizabeth looked down at herself and hurriedly brushed away the remaining dust in revulsion. After her coughing fit subsided, she inhaled deeply to try to control the frantic beating of her heart. The fluttering in her belly returned more forcefully than she’d ever felt it before, almost as though her little passenger could understand its mother’s unease.

“Shhh it’s all right now. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered, smoothing her hands gently over the swell of her abdomen, “You’re safe. I won’t let anything hurt you. Not ever.”

--

“Where do you go at night?”

Elizabeth froze, nearly dropping the basket from her grasp. She and Dawn had been walking side-by-side along the road into town in a tense silence. Jenny had requested a few odds and ends at the general store, and since it was such a lovely morning, both girls had eagerly volunteered to go.

“What are you talking about?” Elizabeth scoffed as she quickly looked away from her cousin’s curious eyes, “I go nowhere.”

“You know, Lizzie, there was once a time when you never lied to me. You used to trust me.”

“What are you—Of course, I trust you. I wouldn’t…”

“You’ve scarcely spoken a word to me since you first returned! What happened? We used to be close.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Elizabeth muttered under her breath, her pace quickening.

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Dawn mocked sharply, “I’m just a child, right? A child knows nothing of the world.”

Elizabeth sighed as she felt a twinge of guilt, “Some things…I just can’t tell you.”

“You told me that you loved him…and now he’s gone. I mean—you said that old man was after you before he helped Mr. Wells escape, but…you helped him, didn’t you? You helped them both get out.”

Elizabeth shut her eyes tightly before stopping at the roadside. Grabbing her cousin’s arm, she glared intensely into Dawn’s eyes until the young girl dropped her gaze uncomfortably.

“Dawn, listen to me.”

“Ow, you’re hurting me!”

“You must never speak of this again, do you understand me?” she snapped.

“Yes. Yes! Let go!”

Elizabeth released a shuddering breath as she loosened her grip. Dawn’s bottom lip trembled, as though she were struggling to hold back tears.

“I just…I just want to know what’s wrong with you, that’s all. You’re—you’re different,” Dawn said shakily, scarcely controlling her sobs, “You’re so different now than you once were…And you cry all the time, and I wish I understood why. I know you don’t want to be with us—with me…Sometimes I wake up at night, and you’re gone. And I’m always so scared, because I wonder if that might be it. I wonder if maybe you’ve run away for good, and I’ll never see you again…You’re here, but it’s as if you’re someplace else entirely. I wish I could help you, but all you do is avoid me.”

Her own throat tightening with the threat of oncoming tears, Elizabeth gently placed the basket on the muddy ground beside her feet and enveloped her cousin in her arms.

“Dawn,” she murmured softy, delicately stroking the young girl’s back, “I am different. I’ve grown up, I suppose; and I can never again be who I was before…I can’t tell you everything, because I have some important people to protect. It doesn’t mean that I don’t trust you, or that I don’t love you. And I promise that no matter what, I will never abandon you.”

“Really?” she asked meekly, removing her head from Elizabeth’s shoulder to look up with large, teary blue eyes.

“Of course,” Elizabeth answered, offering a small smile as she gently wiped her thumb across Dawn’s damp cheek.

Their moment of reconciliation was instantly interrupted as a torrent of buggies and horses clamored over the hill from the north, presumably on their way into town. Taking Dawn’s hand swiftly, Elizabeth pulled her into the grass beside the road to avoid the sudden crowd.

“What’s going on? Is there an open market today?” Dawn nearly shouted over the turning of wheels on cobblestone and galloping hooves.

“No, I don’t think so,” Elizabeth replied, wrinkling her nose in perplexity.

As the first passers-by hurried on ahead, Elizabeth took a step into the road and raised her arm to flag a buggy. The middle-aged, heavily bearded man who drove the cart pulled his horses to a halt when he spotted the two girls looking on.

“Troubles, ma’am?” he asked politely, though clearly aggravated at being detained.

“No, no,” Elizabeth answered, shielding her eyes from the glare of the morning sun with her hand as she squinted to look up at him, “My cousin and I were simply taking a stroll in to town when we spotted the commotion, and I am only wondering what has brought such a large group of hurried travelers.”

“You haven’t heard?” the man gasped.

“Heard what?”

“There’s gonna be an execution today. Some foolish woman got herself convicted of witchcraft after a group of girls were seen dancing in the woods. They accused the witch of making ‘em do it—made their bodies move by the will of the Devil, they said. She failed all the trials. Floated in water and weighed against the bible, I hear.”

“Who?” Elizabeth growled through gritted teeth, her jaw clenched.

“If it happens, it’ll be Wethersfield’s first execution in thirty years!”

“Who is she?!”

“Goodwife Meers, I believe,” the man answered, taken aback by the venom in Elizabeth’s voice.

“Oh my God,” Dawn uttered hoarsely from behind them, “Tara. Elizabeth—it’s Tara.”

“No,” Elizabeth murmured, “Sorry to disappoint you, sir; but no one is dying today.”

“Lizzie…It’s Tara. It can’t happen to Tara,” Dawn whimpered, clinging to her cousin’s arm.

“It’s not going to happen to her,” she said icily as she strode down the road, dragging the young girl behind her.

--

Elizabeth pushed through the large, raucous crowd assembling before the front stairs of Town Hall. Tara stood before the great double doors with two men restraining her. Wide-eyed and glazed, the young woman appeared to be in a state of numb, terrified shock.

“She didn’t do it!” a man hollered from the front of the crowd, “My wife is innocent!”

Elizabeth scanned the large group until she saw the man who she presumed was Mr. Warren Meers, struggling against several townsfolk who forcefully held him back from the stairs.

“She’s a sweet, soft-spoken woman, and she’s got a good heart. Emma’s the liar—girl’s just trying to save her own skin! Please—Tara!” he cried.

As Elizabeth returned her focus to Tara, she noticed a tall man dressed all in black, pacing behind the gathering at the entrance of the hall. Nathaniel! I’d love to kill that bastard.

“Silence! All of you!” the magistrate bellowed as he burst forth from the front doors with a piece of parchment tucked beneath his arm, “This woman is a convicted witch—her sentence may not be altered. Unless, Goody Meers, you confess your sins openly before this assembled group. You must admit your witchery, sign a statement, and name another of Satan’s followers. He no doubt has several disciples in this town. All you must do to live, woman, is name one of these followers whom you have witnessed engaging in demonic ritual. Only one….Well, do you wish to live or not?”

“I—I—I wish to live,” Tara whimpered meekly, her eyes rapidly scanning the crowd, though she didn’t appear to see anything.

“Very good. Then let us begin your confession. Goody Meers, have you committed the crime of witchcraft?”

“But—no, I didn’t do—“

“Goody Meers, we can just as easily escort you to the gallows in the yard behind the hall, if you would prefer.”

“No! No, please no…I—I…yes. I have c—committed the crime of witchcraft.”

“Damn it!” Elizabeth seethed, enraged by the disgusting lie.

“Splendid. Will you sign the confession?” the magistrate continued.

“Yes,” Tara nearly whispered.

“Do you repent the sins you have committed?”

“Yes…I want to be right with God.”

“Then you shall be. Now tell me,” he asked, his voice dripping with syrup and causing Elizabeth to feel the need to vomit, “Who else did you see? Who did these things with you?”

“Noboby! There was n—no one else. Just me, sir.”

“Goody Meers, your confession is meaningless unless I can get a name.”

“But, I can’t—“ Tara cried.

“Live or die? Your life is in your hands now—“

“I didn’t see anybody—“

“I’ll give you just one more chance before—“

Tara’s frightened, tearful gaze once more swept the faces of the crowd. Briefly, her large, sad eyes locked with Elizabeth’s as she drew in a shuddering breath to answer. Elizabeth could only stare at her intensely and shake her hand, silently pleading with the other woman not to do it—not to continue propagating a vicious untruth.

“I’ll do it! I’ll name someone…I’ll do it…”

“Who did you see with the Devil, Goody Meers?”

“I saw Elizabeth Summers with the Devil. Her name was written in his book.”

“Sitting on the banks of the Thames, I softly touch the scar she left across my hand, the mark that binds me to her forever …Today feels like a dream, though I can’t entirely convince myself that’s all it was. At the docks this afternoon while i was working a shipment, a vagrant woman, dressed in rags and reeking of whiskey, accosted me. She grabbed my arm, clawed at me like she was drowning, screaming for me to listen. Didn’t give her much thought really—merely assumed she was off her bird and was satisfied to leave it at that. But when I saw her eyes, there was something there—something I recognized. For a quick second, I understood her, and all was calm. She touched my temple before placing her palm against my breast. “Pigeon,” said she, “You don’t have much time. Don’t trust him with her life.” Long after my workmates pulled her away, I stood there frozen, staring after her…I remind myself that I’ve returned to the real world now; it isn’t all magic and omens and whispers of the dead. The starving will say anything for a scrap of quid, and yet…I think of my love, an ocean away, and I wonder who sent me the message.”

~From the diary of William Wells; June 1st, 1685

~*~


At first, Elizabeth could not respond at all, feeling entirely shrouded in shock and disbelief. It could not be right; Tara would never do this to her. The quiet, kind young woman was the only person in town besides Dawn that Elizabeth genuinely counted as an ally, and now…what? This is not happening. All around her, the crowd became instantly agitated, exclaiming that they “knew it all along” and “of course, it makes sense, doesn’t it?” Some of them shouted, drawing back in disgust, and cursed Elizabeth with viler words than ordinarily came from a Puritan’s tongue. But she hardly heard any of it as she continued to stand there stunned with cotton ears, almost without feeling, though perhaps perversely amused at just what the hell else could go wrong in her life. Some higher power certainly seemed to have it out for her. The townsfolk began to creep away from where she stood until she and Dawn were entirely alone in the midst of a sea of faces. Looking up to the doors of Town Hall, Elizabeth spotted Tara huddled against a pillar, weeping as her husband rushed to her side.

“How dare you,” Elizabeth uttered in an icy hush, “It’s a lie, Tara, and you know it! What right have you to damn me?”

But the young woman did not hear the words directed at her, or appeared not to, as she refused to even glance in Elizabeth’s direction. Small, trembling fingers linked with Elizabeth’s, and looking down beside her, she saw her cousin standing resolutely, chin held high.

“If she’s a witch, then I am too!” Dawn screeched, as two lawmen made their way toward the pair.

Ignoring the younger girl completely, one of the men seized Elizabeth by the elbow.

“So it begins,” the magistrate declared from his high position at the top of the stairs, “The trials of witchcraft must start at once. We will see if she can pass the physical tests and decide on a sentence once there is a verdict.”

Abruptly the nightmare became real once she felt a screaming Dawn pulled away from her. Panic finally set in.

“Nathaniel!” she cried out, straining her neck to see the nasty rat standing behind the magistrate, “Nathaniel, you know they can’t do this! Tell them to drop this nonsense at once!”

The Reverend merely shrugged in apathetic nonchalance, obviously unwilling to draw unnecessary attention to himself by stepping into the fray.

“I’ll tell them everything!” she hollered as the men roughly dragged her away.

“I am afraid I do not know what she is speaking of. ‘Tis the rambling of a mad woman, sadly. I have suspected all was not right with her, even before she allied herself with Wells. And I am no longer responsible for her actions,” Nathaniel explained calmly to the frenzied crowd.

Just what he wanted all along!

“You cannot do this!” Elizabeth yelled until her throat felt like it might tear in two. And she knew in that moment that she must use her only remaining defense, so she cried out, “I’m pregnant! I’m going to have a baby!”

“Stop!” the magistrate declared immediately, holding up a hand to the men that intended to take her away to begin whatever these tests might entail, “You are with child, Miss Summers?”

“Yes…Yes, I am with child.”

A hush sunk over the crowd—all of them glaring at her as though she’d instantly grown horns. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Dawn, wide-eyed and mouth agape, a look of horror etched across her face.

“And you could prove this to the court? A doctor may examine you to confirm your word?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

The magistrate sighed in annoyance at this complication, taking a moment to decide his next course of action.

“Very well. The tests must be postponed until after the birth of the child. Whatever evil conceived it in this world, it is nevertheless an innocent in the Lord’s eyes and must not be harmed by the hand of man. Miss Summers will be confined until the time is appropriate for her to submit to the trials.”

--

Elizabeth sat huddled on the cold, stone floor of the tiny cell with her knees drawn up close to her body. It was four days into her imprisonment, but it may as well have been forty. A crease formed in her forehead as she stared numbly down at her hands. She tried hopelessly to keep her mind occupied; reassuring herself that eventually all would be well, so that she would not lose her spirit to despair and claustrophobia. William and Mr. Giles will come. Early May would mark four months since their departure, and if they remained true to that time frame, she wouldn’t have much longer to wait. Yes, a month in a jail cell seemed excruciating, but she could bear it. And even if they took a bit longer than expected, Elizabeth still had time. The baby would not arrive until late summer or early fall, so she wouldn’t even have to worry about the trials until after that. August felt very far away.

In a small way, Elizabeth did not feel entirely alone in her isolation. Knowing that she had the baby with her kept her from losing her mind in the deafening, confined silence. With that tiny, precious gift he’d never intended to bestow, she carried part of William with her always. He had not gone completely; an ocean did not separate them, not really—rather, he was inside her, growing stronger every day. The delicate, fluttering movements in her belly were a comfort, and when Elizabeth found herself alone in the darkness, she spoke to the child, sang to it, as though it could understand. She liked to pretend it heard everything.

So far she had seen no one save the constable, who came to bring her the same meal of stale bread and cold porridge each day. At least the man seemed genuinely concerned and sympathetic to her situation. He promised that after the first week, she would be able to spend an hour or two outdoors every day, and Elizabeth looked forward to that time desperately. Anything she might have to hope for could get her through the first dreadful week.

On this fourth day, however, the established routine was broken when she heard the constable unlocking the back door late in the afternoon, hours before the time for him to bring her the evening meal. Elizabeth scrambled to her feet as quickly as she was able, wobbling slightly with the change to her center of gravity.

“Miss Summers!” the man called from down the hall, “Lady’s here to see ya!”

After the heavy door creaked and slammed shut, there was a brief silence before Elizabeth heard the click of a graceful, feminine step down the stone hall. Soon Jenny appeared, arms folded before her, expression unreadable, as she stood on the opposite side of the bars.

“Elizabeth,” she began thinly, her dark eyes awkwardly avoiding her niece’s glare, “…Are you well?”

“What are you doing here?” Elizabeth asked coldly, not bothering to hide the contempt in her voice.

“To talk some sense into that obstinate head of yours,” Jenny replied, lips tight as she raised her chin.

“Please, enlighten me with your wisdom,” Elizabeth sneered.

“You owe me more respect than that, young lady.”

“I don’t owe you anything. And I’m not a child.”

“Confess, Elizabeth.”

“What?”

“Make a confession now, sign it, and they will go easier on you. Perhaps they might even release you.”

“I will not confess to witchcraft. And I will never—ever—name an innocent person to save myself.”

Jenny sighed, rolling her eyes as she placed her hands on her hips.

“Is it really worth dying over, Elizabeth?” she huffed.

“Maybe it is,” Elizabeth murmured.

“Foolish girl.”

“Depends on your perspective.”

“Is it true?” Jenny asked abruptly, as if her mind had been preoccupied with the question all along.

“Is what true?”

“You will give birth to Wells’ bastard?”

“My child has a father, and is therefore, not a bastard.”

“Do not get smart with me. You know of what I speak.”

Elizabeth raised her brows, jaw clenched, as she pulled her dress taut over the swell of her abdomen. Jenny nodded and looked away.

“Nathaniel was right,” she muttered, “You’re just like your mother.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth snapped, “My mother was a great woman—wise, loving, kind, entirely unselfish—everything I aspire to be.”

“You deserve to know the truth, Elizabeth. All your life you’ve been fed pretty lies.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked carefully, trying to mask her surprise.

“The nature of your parents’ relationship is not what you believe it to be.”

“Well, we never truly know our parents, do we?” she asked pointedly.

Jenny drew in a deep breath, her gaze drifting to the small window at the far end of the hall, and began slowly, “Your father was visiting the Bay on business and opened his ship for trade at the port. I was with Joyce when she first laid eyes on him—she purchased a trinket of silver jewelry from his collection. He captivated her instantly, of course, as he did all women, with his bronze skin and vests made of gold and emerald silk. He wore spices, as well, from the Far East. Joyce was enraptured by the childish notion of romance and intrigue, and…she bedded him. Not only was she unmarried, but she had not even known him for more than a day. She crept aboard his ship late that night, and their…union produced you.”

“I don’t care,” Elizabeth replied hastily, her pulse quickening, “That doesn’t change anything. My father was a good man and he loved us.”

“Yes, I’m sure he did. Just as he loved all his wives and all his children,” Jenny smirked.

“What? No, he—his work took him away often, but he always came home to us. We were his family,” she stammered, a tightening sensation creeping into her chest.

“Elizabeth, Hans Summers only married your mother as a favor; because otherwise she would have been shunned by the community. There was no love between them. He was wealthy—gave her things, offered her a pretty new life. And so she took it.”

“No. No, I don’t believe you,” Elizabeth screwed her eyes shut tightly, seeing a flash of red behind her lids.

“Where do you think he was all that time he was away? Overseas? Is that what he told you?”

“You speak poison to make me feel ashamed. My father was a good man and he loved his family,” she repeated as a mantra to herself, though an intense anger—perhaps hatred—stirred within her. And she could not be sure that all of the emotion was directed solely at her aunt.

“Since you’re now an adult, as you say, I just thought it was time you knew. You can’t hide behind a perfect fantasy. Sooner or later you must face the realities of the world.”

“Right,” Elizabeth replied scornfully, “I must face the realities of the world. Wake up and look around you, Jenny! My God, look at who you’re married to! You must know that he’s a liar! Everything in his life is a deception. He’s evil—this whole town is in mortal danger because of what he does and because of what lurks around the borders. Do not tell me you’re ignorant of it. I know better.”

“You share someone’s bed long enough…and you learn to accept things. You learn to hold your tongue,” Jenny replied softly and deliberately.

“You disgust me. This town disgusts me,” Elizabeth spat.

“I cannot believe you!” Jenny exclaimed, “I am trying to help you—to save your life!”

“I don’t care if you are blood kin; you’re not my family. Do not pretend to care. Go away and leave me in peace.”

“As you wish…But it’s useless to die for this, Elizabeth. You’re not proving a point by sinking to William’s level—using fairy stories as a defense in an attempt to save your honor.”

“He is a better man than any in this town could dream of becoming. Now get out.”

“Fine,” Jenny answered coolly, “I am finished helping you.”

Turning swiftly, Elizabeth’s aunt strode down the hall, the door slamming shut behind her. In the silence that followed, Elizabeth should have felt some form of vindication perhaps; but instead, she felt empty and very very tired.

--

When the warmth of spring gradually faded to summer, an uncharacteristic heat wave swept across New England. Mid-days grew muggy and humid, and the small, poorly-ventilated jailhouse became sweltering. For Elizabeth, it was unbearable. Perspiration constantly coated her brow; and beads of sweat would often trickle down her spine, causing her to itch insufferably in the utilitarian woolen smock. Even worse, a dull ache had permanently taken up residence in her lower back; and no matter how she moved, Elizabeth could not ease the discomfort. It was especially irritating when she tried to sleep. Quite regularly, she would stand in the night and pace the cell in circles, hands pressed into the ache while she arched her back, but it never did any good.

In mere weeks, her feet had disappeared from view as the girth of her belly increased. Being naturally quite petite, balancing herself with the new weight in her center became an intriguing struggle for Elizabeth. As the baby grew, its former light, fluttering movements transformed into firm, strong kicks—and often directly into its mother’s ribs. One night in late June, Elizabeth was torn from sleep by such a distraction. When she woke, she sighed, resigning to wakefulness, and hauled herself to her feet to begin the pacing routine.

Gently, Elizabeth pressed her palm into the lee of her belly and pleaded softly, “Baby, don’t kick your mama there. Please go to sleep, sweetheart…You’re just like Papa, aren’t you? Never wasting your time with rest when there’s exploring to be done…He’s going to love you—and no doubt show you endless ways of getting into trouble.”

Elizabeth tried to chuckle lightly at the thought, but instead felt a lump swell in her throat as her eyes flooded with tears.

“Damn it!” she cried out, before biting her lip.

Briskly, she strode the few feet to the front of the cell and struck her fist against the bars until her knuckles bruised. The slight pain did nothing to assuage her fury—not that she really thought it would. Opening her shaking fist and turning her palm over, Elizabeth traced the long, thin scar with her fingers and recalled the moment she’d driven the blade across her flesh. Other than their baby, it was the one thing she still had from him. When she’d been taken into custody, both the knife and her engagement ring were lost.

“William…let me see him. I want to see him. Just for a minute. Show me,” she spoke firmly to her sight as she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting.

Silent moments crept by and then…nothing. For months now, the sight had abandoned her. She still dreamed vividly, but of ordinary things: William lost in fog, calling out her name, begging her to find him; babies laughing, babies screaming, babies caught high in trees…But the visions never spoke, and neither did Susan. So it shouldn’t surprise her now that she still saw nothing, but it was no less terrifying.

“Fuck!” she seethed; the bitter, obscene profanity tasting sharp and odd on her tongue. The voice that uttered it was not her own.

“How could you do this to me? How could you leave me here? You knew. You knew about the baby and you abandoned me,” she murmured to the darkness, seeing Giles as he’d appeared that day behind the church when he’d told her his plans of escape.

The anger and fury bubbled within her until she felt an intense wave of loathing engulf her thoughts. I hate you. I hate you for doing this to us. He wasn’t to be entirely blamed, of course. Giles certainly couldn’t have known what would happen. But they still haven’t come. It’s been nearly six months, and they still haven’t come, she reminded herself bitterly. A feeling of dread and foreboding abruptly seized her. They’re not coming.

Oh God. I’m eighteen years old. And I’m really going to die.

--

Closing her eyes, Elizabeth tilted her neck back to feel the warm sunshine caressing her face. It was late afternoon—her favorite time of day, since she was able to walk freely about the yard behind the jailhouse. During this precious time, she could almost forget the constable’s eyes boring into her back as he observed her closely, musket ready at his side lest she attempt escape. A gentle breeze sifted through the leaves, cooling her heated skin. Opening her arms high above her head and stretching muscles sore from lack of use, Elizabeth enjoyed the blissful freedom of space. Looking out ahead into the grassy expanse behind Town Hall, her eyes accidentally fell upon the scaffold and gallows. She quickly jerked away and spun around, not wishing to see the dark wooden skeleton that marred the landscape.

“Miss Summers,” the constable called out, breaking into her reverie.

Elizabeth sighed, shoulders drooping, her expression instantly turning sad and distant. Every day her hour of freedom seemed to grow shorter. Sullenly, she turned to follow him back into her prison. He surprised her, however, by purposefully striding out into the yard to meet her.

“There’s a lady here to see ya, ma’am. You can talk with her out here if you’d like.”

“I told you that if my aunt ever returned—“

“That you’re not seeing her. Right, I got that. This is somebody else.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth said, surprised, wondering who could possibly be visiting after weeks of nothing.

“So do you want to come back in or should I just send her out?”

“Outside would—would be nice.”

Nodding curtly, the constable strode through the backdoor of the jailhouse and soon reappeared with a tall, wiry woman at his side. After exchanging brief words that Elizabeth could not hear, the woman broke away and walked into the yard toward her, smiling warmly. As she approached, Elizabeth tilted her head to the side while she tried to place her visitor. Before she even spoke, Elizabeth could sense the odd calming effect this lady seemed to exude naturally. She moved gracefully, and her features were quite pretty—sparkling hazel eyes, delicate ivory skin, wisps of hair the color of rich chestnut falling loosely from her starched bonnet. There was a familiarity about her, and Elizabeth was sure she must’ve passed her in town and in church on several occasions.

“I’m sorry, I—“ Elizabeth began.

“Hello! I’m Goodwife Burkle, except my husband died last year, so I suppose I’m nobody’s good wife anymore really, so why don’t you just call me Winifred,” the woman introduced herself with more speed and cheer than Elizabeth was accustomed to witnessing in Connecticut.

“Hello. I’m Elizabeth,” she said simply, before releasing a startled “oomph” as Winifred grabbed her hand, shaking it firmly.

“Yes, dear, I know who you are, being that I came just to see you and all.”

“Um, I’m sure I’ve seen you before. It is odd that we were never formally introduced…I am very sorry to hear about your husband,” Elizabeth continued awkwardly.

“Oh don’t be sorry darlin’. He was mean. Got what was coming to him—that’s what Ma would say if she were still here, God rest her soul.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth answered, a smile cracking automatically, which she quickly tried to cover.

“You can laugh, honey, it’s all right. The whole thing was quite funny, actually. See, he was trying to chop a branch down from the cedar tree in front of our house, and then the whole darn thing fell right on top of him and squished him good.”

“I see,” she replied, releasing her giggles, somehat shocked that she remembered how to laugh. With a great deal of effort, her demeanor became serious once more, “I’m certainly happy to have someone to talk to today, but may I ask what brings you to the jailhouse, Winifred?”

“Absolutely. You’re coming home with me, Elizabeth.”

“Excuse me?”

“I spoke to the magistrate, and I finally convinced him that a woman in your condition shouldn’t be cooped up in a teeny cell. And there’s no way that poor baby needs to come into the world in such a rotten place.”

“I—I hadn’t even thought about it, really—about where I would go, or anything for that matter. I just try to get through one day at a time, I guess.”

Truthfully, Elizabeth had been living in a state of semi-denial regarding the actual birth of her child; part of her refused to believe it would ever happen, despite her ever-changing physical state…She didn’t even want to think about what her life would be like after the baby came.

“It’s just terrible—them putting you in here like this,” Winifred said solemnly, shaking her head in sadness, “I wish I could do more…but what I can offer you is a comfortable place to stay and a nursemaid—being myself, that is. I helped all my sisters when their children came, not to mention I have two of my own, so I know a thing or two about birthing babies. I want to help…if you’ll let me,” she murmured sincerely, her eyes warm and shining.

“Why?” Elizabeth asked quickly, before biting her lip to silence the edge in her tone, “I’m sorry, it’s just…I’m not used to kindness.”

“I’d like to fix that. Some terrible things have been done to you, and I’ve just decided that…I’ve been sitting back and watching it happen for too long now. There’s a big empty bedroom in my house, unused…and I know we don’t know each other, but you seem like somebody who just needs to be loved. And I think I can give you that. It’s a small thing, really, it doesn’t change much. It can’t…it can’t save you. But it’s something, I reckon.”

“Winifred, I—“ Elizabeth began, her voice breaking with tears, “Would you really want an accused witch in your home?”

“Oh honey, we both know you’re no witch.”

“My hand trembles with both fear and fury as I attempt to write. I don’t know why I am bothering to write at all…It seems weak, helpless…I suppose it is simply a way of sorting my thoughts, since I have no one to talk to…and there is nothing else I can do but drive myself mad. Rupert has deceived me. I can hardy wrap my mind around it. Part of me still refuses to accept what he’s done. All this time, these impossibly long months when I have begged every day to return for my beloved, he has insisted that it was not yet safe for our journey. And of course I believed, because I have always trusted him with my life—and even with hers…He has been occupied unceasingly with business of the Council, or so he claimed, but all the while he was merely shuffling his feet. When I most recently inquired when we would depart for Connecticut, he professed, “I have been warned by the Council that troubles are still brewing in the New World. We must first wait for these difficulties to settle, or all of our lives will be in danger”…and so on.

Finally I abandoned my trusting child’s eyes and saw through him—the man whom I’d come to believe was entirely altruistic. It took far too long, but he confessed after I cornered him—after he could no longer defend himself against my accusations. “I have spoken with the coven of seers, William. You were not meant to be with Elizabeth. If you return to her, there will be nothing but pain. Please understand that I only wanted to protect you. I love you.” I tore away from him then; hurt, enraged, bewildered, and terrified. I ran faster than my lungs could handle, aware that he was following me, and for the first time since childhood, a prayer passed my lips. “Please God, don’t let me be too late.”’

It was the cruelest betrayal imaginable. My father betrayed us both.

~From the diary of William Wells; June 28th, 1686

~*~


The very sight of the room took Elizabeth’s breath away. In the center of the space stood a large four-poster bed—a real bed—delicately carved and made up with a brightly colored quilt that had yellow and violet floral designs sewn across it. Two large windows adorned with cheerful yellow curtains provided a gorgeous view of the golden and rose July sunset.

“Oh, Winifred…” Elizabeth attempted to express her gratitude once more as her eyes clouded over with tears, “I don’t want to be such a burden to you. The magistrate is holding you entirely responsible for me—you’re placing yourself and your family at great risk. There could be consequences—my wrongs will be considered your wrongs…”

The pretty, dark-haired woman placed a comforting hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder as she replied, “What did I tell you, dear? You’re not a burden. I want to do this; and I know you’re not going to up and run out on me.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth murmured thickly.

“No more thank-you’s, honey. There’s no need. Now how does the room suit you?”

“…It’s so bright in here,” Elizabeth murmured in awe as her eyes continued to sweep over her new bedchamber.

“Too much sun for you? We can pull the curtains if you like.”

“No! No, it’s perfect. It’s just perfect.”

“Winnie! Kitty woke up about ten minutes ago, so I just got her up before she had a chance to wake Bella—“

A young girl, probably around fifteen, breezed through the door of the bedchamber. She was tall and slender—her appearance quite similar to Winifred’s, though she still possessed the round softness of youth. On her hip, she balanced an adorable, toddler-aged little girl. Ringlet curls pinned with a small red ribbon framed the child’s cherubic baby face as she examined Elizabeth curiously with bright, emerald green eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize she was already here,” the teenage girl apologized.

“It’s all right—we were just getting Elizabeth all settled in. Elizabeth Summers, this is my baby sister, Lucy. She’s been helping me look after my little girls ever since Benjamin—my husband—passed on.”

“Hello, Lucy,” Elizabeth said, smiling and nodding politely.

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. We’re glad to have you with us,” Lucy replied, grinning brightly.

“Mama up me?” the little girl chirped, extending her chubby arms.

“C’mere, precious,” Winifred cooed, catching the toddler as she leapt into her mother’s arms.

“And who is this?” Elizabeth asked, laughing.

“This is my daughter, Kitty. She’s the rambunctious one. Her twin sister Bella’s the quiet one. It’s funny, how different they are.”

“Hi sweetheart. You have the prettiest green eyes I’ve ever seen, you know that?” Elizabeth said softly as she raised the child’s sticky fist to her lips for a light kiss, “She’s beautiful, Winifred.”

“Well thank you kindly,” Winifred murmured, kissing the top of her daughter’s dark head.

“I’ll just start on supper then, if you could listen out for Bella,” Lucy said, turning to leave the room.

“Thanks Luce,” Winifred called after her.

Suddenly, Elizabeth sucked in her breath sharply, grasping onto a bed post as her hand flew to her belly.

“You all right, honey?” Winifred asked, placing her hand gently on Elizabeth’s arm.

Breathing out slowly as she squeezed her eyes shut tight, Elizabeth nodded.

“This keeps happening,” she muttered.

“Your body’s getting ready for the real thing, that’s all. The pains come from time to time—toward the end.”

“How will I know when it’s real?” Elizabeth breathed.

“Trust me—you’ll know,” Winifred replied as she scooted the child up further on her hip.

“I don’t know how you did it with two. One seems to be difficult enough.”

“You tend to forget after they’re born—how hard it is. But it’s certainly worth it,” Winifred laughed as she tickled Kitty’s belly, sending the little girl into a fit of giggles.

Elizabeth smiled at the pair wistfully, a feeling of warmth spreading through her chest. All too abruptly, however, the sensation turned painful, sending tears spilling over her cheeks. Winifred looked up from her daughter, an expression of concern passing over her features.

“Why don’t you get some rest, Elizabeth? Try to feel better. I’ll come up with a tray for you as soon as dinner’s ready.”

Elizabeth nodded, wiping her damp eyes, “Thank you, Winifred.”

“No more of that, now. You just make yourself at home.”

The warm softness of the bed and clean sheets felt like absolute heaven on earth. Elizabeth sighed blissfully as her aching body sunk into the feathery cocoon. She was already beginning to drift off peacefully when Winifred appeared, balancing a tray in her arms complete with a vase of freshly cut flowers. After placing the tray on the bedside table, she helped Elizabeth sit up and propped two down pillows behind her back.

“I thought you could use a little extra cheer,” Winifred explained as Elizabeth’s gaze drifted over to the flowers.

“This is too much—“

“Shut your mouth and eat up! There’s some stew, fresh bread, squash, and strawberries for you. And you’d better eat every last bite—that baby needs a good meal.”

Elizabeth didn’t need to be told twice; she dove into her supper ravenously, not realizing how starving she’d been or how delicious real food actually tasted. Once she polished her plates, Winifred cleared the dishes away and left the room, explaining that she needed to put the twins to bed. Several minutes later, she peeked inside the door.

“Still awake, honey?” she asked quietly.

“I’m awake,” Elizabeth replied, stifling a yawn.

“Anything else I can get for you?”

“Oh no, I have everything I could possibly need, but…”

“But what?”

“Well, it’s silly, but I would love some company for a while, just for conversation—if you aren’t too tired.”

“Of course I’m not too tired!” Winifred replied excitedly as she bustled inside and softly shut the door behind her, “I’m always up for a good talk.”

The brunette perched on the edge of the bed, folding her legs beneath her as she flipped her loose hair over one shoulder. “Anything in particular on your mind, Elizabeth? Baby questions?” she asked lightly.

“No…no. I’m tired of talking about me. I’d love to hear stories about you, though.”

“What sort of stories?”

“Just anything—your life, where you’re from, good memories…if you’d like to share with me,” Elizabeth shrugged, smiling.

“I surely would, though my life isn’t too terribly interesting, I fear.”

“Everyone has a good story…a history. Where did you live before Wethersfield?”

“Well, I was born and raised in the Province of Carolina—that’s quite far to the south.”

“What is it like there?”

Winifred paused, considering, “Heat’s different—the air’s heavier and the days are brighter. Snows rarely come. And the trees are lovelier—oaks covered with Spanish mosses and weeping willows by the water,” Winifred’s eyes became glassy as she stared ahead, seeing a vision deep in her memory, “My pa was a freeman. We lived on a small farm—fifty acres. Pa grew corn and cotton mostly; and we raised some cattle. But after a famine came and several bad seasons ruined the crops, we had to leave. Pa moved us up north, because he heard stories about thriving towns scattered around the Bay Colony. And we just sorta ended up here, I suppose. Met my husband about six months after we settled. The courtship was brief; we married after only a few months.”

“I can understand how difficult it must have been for you. Moving here from someplace warm…So after you arrived and met your husband, was it your choice to marry him?” Elizabeth asked carefully.

“In a way, I suppose. He asked me, my pa approved of him, and I’d been a burden to my folks long enough, so…it seemed like the right thing to do.”

“And were you ever—I mean, did you…did you ever love him at all?” Elizabeth asked softly, knowing that Winifred would not take offense to the deeply personal question.

“Oh it was never like that with Benjamin and me…I had a fondness for him, but being his wife was more of an occupation than anything else. Really we weren’t together very often. He was always working and traveling. At first, it wasn’t so bad, but…he wasn’t a kind man. He put me through some hard times.”

“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth murmured.

“Nah, it’s all right. I’m still here, aren’t I? He did give me two beautiful little girls, so it was all worth it…Maybe I did love him a little, I don’t know, but…You know, love—real love—it’s bright and burning and bigger than life. It’s so very precious…and rare…” Winifred trailed off longingly as she gazed out the window, into the night. Her eyes turned glassy once more as a wistful smile played across her lips.

Before she asked the question, Elizabeth was already sure of the answer.

“Did you ever have that kind of love?” Elizabeth whispered.

“Maybe I did. Long time ago,” Winifred murmured, reaching up to brush away tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes.

“Tell me,” Elizabeth encouraged tenderly.

“He um—he worked on a piece of land close to my pa’s farm in Carolina. I used to sneak out to go see him and we’d just talk—about everything and nothing. We’d lie on our backs on the bank of the river at night…he knew me better than anyone, and I loved him,” she finished softly, smiling sadly.

“Why couldn’t you marry him?”

“I couldn’t. We couldn’t…” Winifred paused to draw in a deep, shaking breath, “I swear to God, Elizabeth, I’ve never told anybody this…He—he was dark. Dark-skinned—the color of warm hazelnut. Beautiful…His name was Charles. And he’s still there for all I know. I had no choice but to leave him. I mean, if anybody ever found out…”

“Oh, Winifred,” Elizabeth murmured in deepest sympathy, gently taking her new friend’s hand.

“It’s all right. I’m glad we had that time—I wouldn’t change it. Even if it wasn’t forever. He’ll always be with me, I think.”

“Of course he will.”

“Do you mind if I ask you something kinda personal, Elizabeth?...Did you love the father of your baby?”

Elizabeth nodded, unsure if she could find the words.

--

“So you let him go?” Winifred asked sniffling, “That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard!”

Elizabeth had told her almost everything. She’d edited the parts that included vampires and demons, because she simply didn’t have the breath or the strength to attempt an explanation.

“You know I always thought he was so handsome, whenever I saw him in town. He was quiet—I remember thinking he was regal, almost, but real polite too. I never believed all those ridiculous rumors,” the brunette continued.

“I’m so afraid, Winifred—I’m terrified that I’m never going to see him again,” Elizabeth said, her voice clogged with emotion.

“You will,” Winifred murmured earnestly as she grasped Elizabeth’s hands, her eyes sparkling with hope, “I know you will…Ma used to tell me this story—that God creates one soul at a time, and then he splits that soul in two and gives one half to one person and the other half to another person. Those two people are linked forever, no matter what. They always find each other again. Always. You and William…Me and Charles.”

Elizabeth nodded, trying to smile as she swiped at her tears.

“I hope so,” she murmured, “I hope so.”

--

In the few weeks that followed, Elizabeth felt herself growing slower and even more tired, if that were a possibility. Winifred and Lucy were incredibly sweet and understanding, always encouraging their guest to take frequent naps during the day to escape the overpowering heat outside. August was quickly reaching its pinnacle as First Harvest loomed just around the corner. Elizabeth could scarcely believe that it had been almost one year since her ship from Bermuda docked at Saybrook Harbor. In a way, it felt like ten years, because she’d still been a child then, ignorant of so much of the world. And now, for better or worse, she’d truly become a woman.

Elizabeth had grown quite comfortable in her new home—she felt so welcome that it was almost as though she’d always been there. Often she felt pangs of sadness due to the fact that she’d only just recently met Winifred. Even though they had been in acquaintance for mere weeks, Elizabeth had already begun to cherish the company of her new friend. The perky young woman was always able to find at least one good thing in the direst of circumstances; and Elizabeth found it wonderfully refreshing that she did not take life too seriously. Winifred taught her to laugh—at herself, at the absurd Puritan religion, and even at her own seemingly hopeless situation. The two women continued to bond easily—particularly over the loss of their beloved mothers, which had recently impacted both of their lives deeply. For the first time since her death, Elizabeth was able to share memories of her mother with a smile on her face. Before, she’d always dwelt on the loss, because it had been so painful, so fresh…But now she happily recalled stories of Joyce: teaching her how to swim as a toddler, making a horrid mess of flour as they’d tried unsuccessfully to make pettifores together, attempting to explain sexual intercourse using a plethora of entertaining—and yet terribly confusing—metaphors.

The days passed much too quickly, and Elizabeth knew her time was close when she felt an intense pressure building low in her pelvis, throwing her balance off even more than usual. Winifred explained that the baby had dropped in preparation for birth—knowledge that frightened Elizabeth terribly. She wished she could keep the baby inside just to protect it, to keep it close…and to safeguard herself. If it would just stay where it was for a little longer, then maybe William would come soon and she would never have to worry about the trials at all…Even though she’d more or less told herself they were never coming back, Elizabeth still refused to release the desperate thread of hope to which she clung. Winifred had helped restore her faith.

On one particularly dreary evening in late August, Elizabeth was so exhausted that she fell into bed at twilight, sinking into a deep sleep the second her head hit the pillow. The sleep was heavy, quiet, and entirely dreamless. Hours later, she awoke suddenly in silent darkness, save for the rain that pattered lightly against the windowpanes and an occasional crack of thunder in the distance. At first she thought it might’ve been the thunder that woke her, but when a painful cramp instantly seized her lower belly, she knew it was something else. The pain wasn’t dreadful—more of a discomfort, really, so Elizabeth hefted herself over to her other side, pulled the covers up to her chin, and tried to fall back to sleep. It’s just another unpleasant symptom—no different from the others. Winifred said that I would know when it was time.

The cramping continued, waking her occasionally, but Elizabeth tried her best to ignore it. Dreams came then, the pictures dancing in her mind growing increasingly more agitated and troublesome. She saw William hauling crates off a ship, his back nearly breaking with the effort of it. She saw him standing on a lonely dock at night—looking out into a freezing, choppy sea as tears streamed down his rough cheeks. She heard him shouting back and forth with Giles, but she couldn’t make out what they said. And then she dreamed of another man, so like to William and yet not him at all…dressed all in black, his eyes cold and mournful, his hair white with the curls smoothed down, though he still appeared to be a young man. But when he told her he loved her, it was William’s voice she heard. Other scenes swirled about in her mind: she saw herself waking from sleep, covered in blood, her abdomen sunken and empty. Screams tore from her dream throat as she searched for her child through a maze of dark tunnels. William’s voice hovered above and beside her, promising that he would help. The baby doesn’t know you. It won’t come to you, William. Someone stabbed her in the back—Oh God it hurts. Oh my God please help me live through this! When she looked behind her, she saw that her attacker wore her mother’s face. The knife slid back into her spine, twisting, turning, burning until she cried.

And then her eyes snapped open. Thunder rumbled overhead—flashes of lightening lit the room in bolts of electric silver. But the pain—the knife—it was still there, still inside her. It wouldn’t stop. This time it continued through her spine before burning into her pelvis and hips. Her breath came in short pants as she flew upright in bed, her fingers gripping where it hurt. But the pain seemed to be everywhere at once—it moved and radiated—shooting through her, squeezing her until it temporarily released its clutches. Get Winifred. Have to get Winifred. During one of the brief moments of respite when the pain rolled back, Elizabeth gingerly eased her sore body from the bed and stood tentatively. The instant she was on her feet, she felt a rush of something warm and wet spilling from her, causing her balance to waver.

She continued moving, trying to take advantage of this painless moment, to slip quietly into Winifred’s bedchamber to tell her that her time had come. Her heart pattered a mile a minute as fearful tears stung her eyes. Not now. I’m not ready. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. William should be here. He should be with me. Elizabeth moved slowly—afraid that if she jostled herself around at all, the pain would worsen. Before she’d even reached the door to exit into the hall, however, another pain—this one even more intense than the others—gripped her tightly. It hurt so much that it left her feeling nauseous—so much so that she grabbed onto a bed post for support before collapsing onto the hardwood floor. It didn’t stop, though—it just kept coming. Elizabeth curled around the pain that moved and burned inside her, scorching her bones, and she screamed a bloodcurdling scream that sounded more animal than human.

It wasn’t until her head was cradled in Winifred’s lap, the older woman wiping beads of sweat from her brow, that Elizabeth stopped crying out William’s name.

“Elizabeth, honey, can you hear me?”

“Baby’s coming,” she whimpered, her voice trapped in cotton.

“I know. You need to keep breathing. Breathe through the pain. It helps,” Winifred soothed as she stroked her fingers through tangled, limp locks of Elizabeth’s hair.

“William. You have to get him. He’d want to know.”

“Elizabeth, has the water fallen yet?”

“Yes. The waves are rolling over…falling down. He’s at the docks. You have to get him, Winifred. The baby needs him.”

When the pain clenched through her again, Elizabeth wailed in agony, her body curving tightly into her friend’s arms as all her muscles tensed before releasing, leaving her in a boneless heap.

“Elizabeth, let’s try standing up for awhile. It’ll help the baby drop—and maybe the pain will ease up a little.”

Winifred slipped from beneath Elizabeth, placing her arms at the younger woman’s sides to help propel her up. It did help a little—not much—but Elizabeth felt better being active, pretending as though she were actually accomplishing something instead of lying in wait. The constant ache in her back grew unbearable, so she tried moving, bending over the bed, placing her forehead into the mattress while she rocked her pelvis and shifted her feet. Never, never had she imagined such agony in her life—so much at one time without any relief. Pacing the room for a bit, she stumbled and crashed into the walls for support each time the pain intensified, her fingernails clawing into the wood paneling. Subconsciously she tried to tear out of the room, escape this coffin-like trap where someone was torturing her, stabbing her again and again until her blood flowed like wine. She was aware of bustling all around her, someone coming in and out, bringing her useless things that would never help; but Elizabeth paid no attention as she retreated inside herself to hide from the pain, desperate to grow numb to it.

Hands on her back—massaging gently, petting her, caressing her—a kind voice whispering reassurances in her ear. Still the screaming never ceased—like a feral animal locked in a cage. The sound made her throat hurt. Squeezing her eyes tight against the brilliant red that flashed all around her, she tried to see William, an image of his beautiful smile perhaps, crystal blue eyes sparking mischievously, the boyish excitement on his face when he opened a book of poetry to read to her.

“Golden sands,” she muttered, “Crystal brooks. Silken lines. Silver hooks.”

“Elizabeth, listen to me. You need to try and focus. Stay with me, honey. We need to get this baby out. It’s already been too long,” Winifred’s soft voice—far away.

“You have to get the book!” Elizabeth cried.

“We don’t need a book. Come on—let’s get you on the bed.”

“No—John Donne, so I can read it. Read it to the baby,” she slurred.

“Elizabeth—“

She heard nothing else, as something sharp tore through her, running down, splitting her in two. Behind her closed lids, she saw William’s face—but it wasn’t him at all. It was the stranger, the stranger who wore his face and carried a piece of his heart—the stranger who carried the spark. There was blood—blood on her hands that poured from his nose as she hit him. You are dead inside. Her fists struck and tore his beautiful features, bruised his precious eyes…

“Elizabeth, you need to try and push—“

“No! No, William! I didn’t do it! It isn’t me!” she cried, the grotesque, visceral intensity of the vision causing her to vomit.

The stranger huddled in the dark with the sounds of waves crashing all around him. He cried out—cried out to the eyes watching him in the darkness—cried out to her without knowing…without seeing…

“Please God, I just want to forget,” he whimpered, clutching his chest.

“Don’t forget. You’re the one that remembers! You have to help me, William; you have to help me…”

“Elizabeth, I need you to work with me!”

She could see then—she saw Winifred’s fearful, wearied hazel eyes as the woman hovered before her, holding onto Elizabeth’s knees.

“I’ll see you again…help me remember, Winifred?”

“Yes, I’ll help you,” the woman assured, her voice like an angel.

Suddenly the world grew incredibly bright, and Elizabeth curled away from it—she fell into hiding.

--

Hushed whispers all around.

“I don’t know what else to do. It’s already been a day. Far too long. I don’t know if the baby’s still alive.”

“Should we send for the doctor, Winnie?”

“No, not yet,” she sighed, “First babies can take a long time, and Elizabeth is small—her hips might be too narrow. We’ll hold on through the night. If nothing has changed by tomorrow…”

Elizabeth tried to open her eyes, to move her tongue, but everything was frozen. When her lids blinked open slightly, she was instantly burned by the brightness of the room. So much light.

“I’m cold,” Elizabeth hummed through unfeeling lips.

A warm hand touched hers, and Elizabeth recoiled at the sensation as the numbness began to recede, the excruciating pain slowly creeping back.

“Don’t touch me!” she screamed.

A blanket came over her.

“Elizabeth do you still feel a lot of pressure? You’ve had some time to rest, but we need to try pushing again, all right?”

“No, no I can’t. I’m going to die.”

“Shut your mouth. Nobody’s dying in my house.”

“You can cut it out. There was a book I read, a woman…they cut her baby out with a knife.”

“We’re not cutting you, Elizabeth. You’re gonna help us get this baby out.”

“Tell him I love him. When he comes back, tell him how much I loved him. Tell him I’m sorry.”

Tears of pain, of grief and sadness flooded her cheeks. She wouldn’t see her baby smile, or learn to talk, or run and play. She wouldn’t see the look on William’s face when he first held their child. The cruelty of it left her feeling bitter, and it caused her heart to swell, to split in two just like the rest of her…slowly ripping apart.

“You’re going to tell him yourself. Now sit up,” Winifred said firmly.

--

Another night came, and Elizabeth was grateful for the darkness. It didn’t hurt as much in the dark. Her back leaned up against the headboard of the bed, and someone sat behind her, holding her legs open because she couldn’t do it anymore. She gave herself in to the pain completely, used it, flowed with it as she bore down; and she felt it moving inside her, burning as it crawled lower. Ripping, tearing, searing, falling…

“I can see it, Elizabeth!” Winifred cried from below, “It’s so close now, honey! Don’t give up!”

And Elizabeth knew she wouldn’t—she knew she would use her last breath to give her baby life—to bring William’s child into this world.

Then she heard the pop of bone snapping, felt a rush of air flooding her lungs, and it was over. Her body collapsed, her eyes shutting in exhaustion. But she wasn’t ready for the separation—it was too sudden—she wasn’t ready to be alone in her own body. Not yet.

There was a slap against flesh, followed by a tiny, shrill cry. Elizabeth would never be able to describe the beauty in that sound. A bundle was placed on her belly, small and wet, its tiny body shaking with the little pulse of its heart.

“Elizabeth, open your eyes,” Winifred said thickly. She was crying. “Open your eyes and look at the most beautiful baby boy I ever did see.”

Her hands came around the tiny thing on her belly as her eyes cracked open, trying to focus. Lucy maneuvered out from behind and gingerly helped Elizabeth sit up against the headboard. The hazy pink glow of dawn bathed the room in soft orange, and Elizabeth saw him for the first time in the light of a new summer day.

“You have a son. You and William have a son,” Winifred whispered.

Elizabeth’s fingers brushed lightly over her son’s reddened cheek, still wet from her blood and his tears, but he’d already stopped crying. He squinted up at his mother blearily, his eyes as bright as sapphires, blue like the waves of the Caribbean.

“What will you call him?”

And Elizabeth knew. She knew his name as if she’d always known him.

I feel like I’ve always known you, Elizabeth. Before I knew myself even. Is that possible?

“Elijah,” she breathed, “His name is Elijah.”

“Welcome to the world, Elijah,” Winifred murmured, stroking the baby’s damp honey blonde hair.

“Elijah…” Elizabeth whispered, rolling the sweet sound of the name across her tongue, “Elijah.”

“I am broken.”

~From the diary of William Wells; August 1686

~*~

Tenderly, Elizabeth traced a finger from Elijah’s forehead to the tip of his nose as his eyelids began to flutter.

“It’s been a long day for you, hasn’t it, baby boy?” she cooed, cradling him tightly in her arms as she covered the top of his little head with the fleece blanket.

Elizabeth examined her son closely in absolute awe—she could easily spend the rest of eternity in this moment, simply staring at him, memorizing every possible detail. Her tears had yet to cease. Each time she thought they had quelled, she discovered something new about him, causing her vision to blur. Elizabeth had not been prepared for this—the sheer intensity of emotion that completely engulfed everything else, even her own physical pain. All of it felt inconsequential—her very life was insignificant. Elijah was all that mattered; and her heart swelled with the ache of loving him. A flood of comforting warmth encircled her, and she no longer feared. Somehow, she knew for certain that William would come, and that he would instantly fall in love with their son just as she had.

“Thank you, William,” she murmured thickly, “Thank you for giving him to me.”

Elijah’s brilliant cornflower blue eyes tried unsuccessfully to focus on her while an expression of serious contemplation passed over his miniature, pink features, as though he were still trying to puzzle out his existence in relation to such a large, bright world. He seemed to temporarily abandon the effort of abstract thought, however, as his long lashes brushed closed, eyes at last settling into well-deserved slumber. His tiny fist, soft as silk, rested against his mother’s breast as his full, rosy lips fell limp.

“Hi,” Winifred whispered as she cracked the bedroom door open to peek inside, “Did he eat?”

“A little,” Elizabeth replied, her eyes not leaving her son for a second, “I think he wants to rest for now.”

“All right then. We’ll wake him up in an hour or so and see if he’s hungry,” Winifred replied, slipping into the room and perching on the edge of the bed.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth whispered, “Without you, I don’t know…”

Winifred smiled and nodded, reaching a hand out to caress the smooth ivory skin of the baby’s arm.

“Tell me how you’re feeling, Elizabeth. Are you hurting?”

“Dizzy right now and I…well, I’ll have to get used to feeding him. I’m just a little…sore.”

“It gets better,” Winifred assured, as she opened her arms to take the sleeping baby.

Looking beside her, Elizabeth discovered that at some point, a cradle had been placed next to her bed, though she had no recollection of that event occurring.

“No, I’ll hold him,” she insisted, her voice growing tense.

“Only for a minute, honey. We need to check you.”

Elizabeth sighed and unwillingly relented, gingerly passing Elijah up to Winifred so that she could tuck him securely into the cradle. After pulling the blankets back that covered Elizabeth, Winifred gasped.

“What is it?” Elizabeth asked, too exhausted to care.

“More blood than there should be,” Winifred answered uneasily, brushing her fingers over the curve of Elizabeth’s pelvis.

Suddenly a sharp pain, like jagged shards of glass cutting into her flesh, tore through Elizabeth’s hips; and she had to bite down on her lip so that she wouldn’t scream and wake the baby. It had only been an ache before—numb and throbbing, but mostly tolerable. After she’d been touched, however, she felt as though something had moved unbearably out of place.

“Bone’s fractured here,” Winifred noted, her forehead creased in worry, “I figured as much.”

“Why?” Elizabeth breathed, hissing through her teeth.

“Happens sometimes to smaller women. Nothing can really be done except getting a lot of rest. In a week, you should be walking fine, but it might still be a little painful. Just stay in bed and keep still for now.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” Elizabeth murmured numbly, even as her eyelids grew impossibly heavy.

“I’m going to bring you some tea to soothe the pain, and then I want you to sleep for the rest of the day. Your poor body needs it. I’ll look after Elijah.”

“No, I can’t…don’t want to miss anything. What if he needs me? Or what if he’s gone when I wake? Someone could take him away. I dreamed it—I dreamed…” Elizabeth slurred, as the weight of sleep began to pull her under a strong current.

“Don’t you worry, honey. He’ll be right here,” Winifred promised tenderly as she pulled the blankets up over Elizabeth, “We’ll take good care of him.”

--

The leaden weight of Elizabeth’s exhaustion propelled her into pleasant, pitch-dark oblivion for a long while. She was conscious of nothing outside the void until slowly, little by little, flecks of light began to appear around the edges. When she awoke to a haze of blurred color, she knew it wasn’t reality she saw—her physical body remained in deep sleep while her mind freely observed and explored. The picture before her was easy enough to recognize: the common room of the Redding home. They were all there: Nathaniel sat on the bench at the long table, reading by candlelight, Dawn huddled in the rocker with her knees drawn up to her chest while she stared ahead with glassy eyes, and Jenny hovered over a cradle in the far corner of the room, her back obstructing Elizabeth’s view of a gurgling infant.

A soft pattering echoed all around. Rain. Water droplets streamed over the windows and echoed against the tin on the chimney. The sound was peaceful, constant, almost soothing…like a lullaby. Until abruptly, a sudden, violent crash rang through the gentle quiet. Nathaniel stood hurriedly, dropping his book to the floor as Dawn yelped and skittered out of her chair. Jenny whirled around, shocked, while the baby wailed in terror.

A voice, which had become so reassuring and familiar, boomed from the entryway. The sound of the words alone was chilling—so cold, shaking with menace. Elizabeth felt a foreboding fear creeping into her consciousness, though she did not understand its source. Perhaps, it was because part of her already knew.

“I have come for the children, Nathan.”

The Reverend narrowed his smoldering dark eyes at his elder brother and sneered.

“Welcome back, Rupert. I confess I honestly believed that we might have seen the last of you all those months ago. It was a perfect escape, if I do say so myself. You let the little girl take the fall for you both—quite strategic really.”

“I am not interested in banter with you.”

“She’s going to die, you know. Her execution is scheduled for this afternoon. Perhaps it has already occurred. Either way, there’s no saving her now. You’re too late.”

“Give me the children, Nathan, and I will leave you and your wife in peace.”

“Get out of my house,” Jenny hissed, stepping closer to the cloaked man in the doorway as she shifted the screaming baby against her shoulder.

“I am not leaving without the girl and the infant. Do not make me use force.”

“You are not taking my children. How could you presume to ask such a thing?” Jenny snapped.

“Who are you?” Dawn asked meekly as she cowered in the corner.

“Someone who can save you from this place.”

“Don’t you dare speak to my daughter,” Nathaniel growled as he closed the distance threateningly, “I’m stronger than you remember.”

“So it must come to this. When will you learn, Nathan, that you are no match for me?”

Raising his arm, palm facing out, Giles seemed to hurl something powerful and invisible in his brother’s direction. In the blink of an eye, Nathaniel flew through the air, his body slamming against the back wall of the room with a giant crash.

“That’s not all you,” the Reverend sputtered, trying to recover, “It’s borrowed. You borrowed magic from the coven. You’re nothing but a weak coward.”

“Give me the children now and I will show you greater mercy than you deserve,” he said slowly and deliberately with a calmness that was terribly unnerving.

“Never!” Nathaniel roared, as he sprang to his feet and flew forward.

Holding his hand out, the Reverend closed his eyes briefly, before crying, “Forzare!”

A blue glow swirled around his palm, forming a sphere. Using all the strength in his arms and panting with the effort, Nathaniel propelled the light across the room. Catching the spell easily in his hands, the older man nonchalantly pushed it back toward his brother. The force of the blow hit the Reverend in the chest, knocking him off his feet and sending him careening back into the table. Instantly the two large beeswax candles tumbled over, igniting a brilliant red-orange blaze that quickly danced across the floor. Swirls of thick black smoke crawled up the wall to hover at the ceiling.

“Jenny, get the children out of here!” Nathaniel rasped, clutching his chest as he tried to catch his breath.

“I’m not leaving you!” his wife cried shrilly.

“Let’s spar, brother. What I’ve mastered in your absence may surprise you,” Nathaniel boasted, ignoring Jenny’s desperate pleas as he choked on the smoke that clouded the air.

“I would like to fight you properly. But frankly, I just don’t have the time,” Giles replied quietly as he reached into his cloak pocket.

Swiftly drawing a gleaming dagger through the air, Giles plunged the blade into his younger brother’s belly. He twisted it harshly after it sunk into the flesh, soft as butter. Nathaniel fell forward to his knees in shock, choking and retching on the blood that filled his mouth.

“No!” Jenny screamed, rushing to her husband’s side.

Reaching down quickly, Giles swooped the crying infant out of her limp grasp. She looked up then, briefly, her eyes meeting his for only a split second. Elizabeth watched the exchange curiously—there was a moment of hesitant recognition—and a spark of empathy, or perhaps understanding, that flickered between the two. Just as quickly, it was over, and Giles rushed toward Dawn while Jenny grew hysterical, lingering over Nathaniel.

Crouching in the corner, Giles grabbed Dawn’s arm with his free hand. The girl simply stared ahead numbly into the flames that licked the walls, tears glistening in her eyes.

“Father…” she whimpered.

“Dawn, come with me now. If you stay here, you’re going to die.”

“He’s dying…you killed him.”

“Yes. I had no choice. Dawn, listen to me. I am your uncle. I want to help you. Let me help you,” Giles prodded as he hauled her to her feet and began dragging her toward the door.

“Mother!” Dawn screamed as the rafters began to catch fire, one of them crashing down to the floor.

“Jenny, come with us!” Giles yelled over the roar of the blaze.

But the woman seemed not to hear as she sobbed, cradling her husband’s head in her lap.

Everything grew intensely bright: searing blue, yellow, orange; and Elizabeth’s dream eyes shrank away from the blinding sight. The picture lost its color as everything flashed white. There was screaming and the sound of the baby crying. Blackness faded into the light until all was dark again. But the baby still cried—it was the only sound that carried into the void.

“Needs his mother. He’s afraid. Give him to me,” Elizabeth mumbled, her voice sounding weak and scratchy to her own ears.

“Elizabeth?” Winifred’s soft voice broke into the darkness.

Blinking her eyes slowly, Elizabeth found herself returned to the darkened bedchamber. Winifred stood above her, holding a swaddled, crying Elijah.

“What happened? What’s wrong with him?” Elizabeth stammered frantically, suddenly in a blind panic as she struggled to sit up, her arms reaching out to take her son.

“Nothing’s wrong, honey. He’s just fussing is all. I came and got him so you could sleep,” Winifred explained apologetically as she delicately passed the bundled infant to his mother.

“I didn’t intend to sleep so long…There’s not much time, Winifred. I don’t have much time,” Elizabeth murmured, rocking the baby softly in her arms until his cries began to dwindle and calm.

“They don’t know yet. I was supposed to let them know…when he was born. But I’m not telling them a darn thing.”

“It doesn’t matter. They’re coming anyway. They know that enough time has passed. Very soon now, they’ll arrive.”

“How can you know that?” Winifred asked doubtfully.

“Some things—some things I just know. I can’t understand it, or explain it…I don’t understand why I can do it. Everything has a purpose, right? But I never—it’s almost over and I’m not finished. I’ve been shown so much and I’ve done nothing,” Elizabeth said thickly, her voice breaking.

Winifred sat on the edge of the bed beside Elizabeth and wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders.

“Nothing is over, Elizabeth. Don’t give up hope. You can’t. Not now.”

“The Reverend and his wife will be dead soon...Elijah must get out of here in time.”

“What?” Winfred asked sharply, taken aback, “The Reverend? What makes you say—“

“I told you. Some things I just know.”

A look of perplexity and confusion swept over Winifred’s features as she silently studied Elizabeth, the words beginning to sink in.

“Are you afraid of me?” Elizabeth asked shakily, dropping her eyes from her friend’s intense gaze to look down at the now soothed infant cradled in her arms.

“No, of course not,” Winifred answered slowly, “And I know you’re not a witch either. You’re a special person with a great many gifts…And I believe I was meant to help you.”

--

A dark foreboding sensation weighed heavy on her heart, probably lingering after what she’d witnessed in her dream. Winifred stayed on for some time playing nursemaid, and despite her insistence otherwise, Elizabeth attempted to stand and walk. Feeling trapped in bed caused her to panic; but she found that if she focused on caring for Elijah and regaining her own strength, that she could remain in control of her fears. Merely attempting to walk the length of the room soon proved a far more difficult task than she’d anticipated, however. The shooting pain returned to sear through her hips and pelvis, cutting her like falling pieces of glass. She could scarcely manage a few steps before collapsing into the brunette’s outstretched arms. Not long after, Elizabeth abandoned the pursuit and resolved to rest, praying that perhaps just another night would grant some healing.

Hours slipped by rapidly until the night grew entirely deep and silent, save for the chirping of crickets and cicadas, and the whistling of a midnight breeze that danced past the curtains of the open window. Warm and satisfied after he’d been fed, Elijah snoozed peacefully, his chubby apple cheek snuggled against his mother’s shoulder. Winifred sat in the rocker beside the window as she idly traced the flower pattern on the curtains with her fingers.

“My favorite time of year,” she murmured wistfully, “When the air grows sweet and thick before the rains come.”

You’re almost free, little girl. You’re almost free. Snow’s stopped falling. Rain’s comin’ soon.

Susan’s words echoed softly in Elizabeth’s mind, and she found their memory comforting.

“It has grown quite late, Winifred,” she whispered into the long silence, “We should all try to get some sleep.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Winifred replied quickly, nearly jumping up, “I’ll let you get your rest. Would you like me to tuck him in the cradle for you?”

“No, thank you. He’ll be fine here.”

After Winifred took her leave and retired to her bedchamber, Elizabeth vowed to remain awake for the rest of the night, enjoying the calm before the storm. Stroking her fingers through the infant’s silky thin hair, she mused that the honey locks were already beginning to curl.

“I think I was wrong, Elijah,” she spoke softly, brushing her cheek against the crown of his head, “Maybe I wasn’t meant for greatness. My visions were never supposed to change the world. The line of the Slayer will pass to another girl, far away from here. But none of that matters now…I think maybe you’re the reason fate brought me to Connecticut. My precious boy…your journey has only just begun.”

Pounding on the front door came after first light, just as Elizabeth knew it would. She heard Winifred’s hurried steps scurrying past her bedchamber and down the stairs, followed by an exchange of hushed voices.

“Oh no you don’t! This is my house, sir!” Winifred hollered as the other voices grew closer and a heavy footfall began to clomp up the steps, “You can’t just burst in!”

“Where is she, Goody Burkle? If you refuse to produce her, you and your sister will both face arrest,” a gravely voice barked as several doors along the hall opened and slammed shut.

“You don’t understand! She’s still healing, she’s not ready—she can’t—“

The door of Elizabeth’s bedchamber suddenly flew open, banging into the wall behind it and instantly awakening and frightening poor Elijah. Elizabeth was not at all surprised to see the constable looming in the entryway with a lawman at his side. Clearly the other man was a judge of some sort, as she recognized him from the panel at William’s trial.

“Elizabeth Summers,” the judge began, “A charge of witchcraft has been issued by the magistrate under the authority of His Majesty the King. You are now required to submit to the trials of your crime.”

“She gave birth scarcely a day ago! The child still needs his mother! Are you so cold that you would deny the right of child-bed, which is given to all women?”

“Goody Burkle, you would do well not to interfere with matters of the law. This woman has already been granted allotted reprieve for the child’s sake.”

“It’s all right, Winifred. Please don’t fight them…You’ve been so good to me. I’ll go,” she said quietly to the judge, before looking back to her friend’s tear-streaked face, “Care for my son.”

“The child will be returned to its blood kin. Goody Redding has requested custody,” the judge replied absently, as though he were quite bored with the annoyance of making an arrest so early in the day.

“No!” Elizabeth cried, the panic she’d successfully fought thus far now seizing her throat, “He is my child, and I wish for him to stay with Winifred.”

“Until your innocence is proven, you have no rights, Miss Summers. Your wishes hold no sway in the matter,” the judge droned in the same bored monotone.

“You don’t understand. He cannot be sent to that house! It’s not safe! He can’t—“

As she spoke, Elizabeth realized that he would be taken despite her protestations. In her dream, she had seen him in the Redding home. The future was quite clear.

“He’ll need a nurse, Elizabeth. That’s something your aunt can’t do for him. I’ll offer myself. And I’ll stay with him no matter what. I promise.”

“Yes, please…please make sure he’s all right,” Elizabeth murmured thickly, trembling as she tried to keep her emotions in check. Be strong.

The baby continued to fuss while Elizabeth brushed her lips against his forehead and gave him up to Winifred with shaking hands. The constable awkwardly offered his arm to help her out of bed, but Elizabeth pushed him away so that she could maintain her last shred of dignity, albeit with great difficulty. Biting her lip against the pain, she held her head high in preparation to follow. When her stubborn legs refused to carry her, both men dragged her along between them. As they ripped her away from her cocoon of safety, Elizabeth forced herself not to look back.

--

The few days that followed bled together in an endless stream of grey. Everything felt numb and cold. The pain in Elizabeth’s hips grew icy instead of searing. She still bled—she felt it hot and pulsing, but no longer paid the loss of her life-fluid any mind. It made her weak and dizzy, slowing her heartbeat to a soft thud, but she ignored it—just as she ignored everything. If she’d had the strength, maybe she would have clung to a last ray of hope, but that fortitude no longer existed within her. Elizabeth’s present state of mind could be likened to a broken raft, tossed by stormy waves out to sea.

The night before her trials were set to commence, the rains began. Elizabeth listened to the water droplets beating against stone as she huddled against the cool wall of her cell. When the grey light of morning appeared, the men came to take her, but she detached herself from them—from their loud, sharp voices and rough hands that hauled her to her unsteady feet. Finally someone threw her over his shoulder. Tired. So tired. Let me sleep now.

Witch trials, as seemingly lofty and important as they were, should reasonably take several days; but for such a complex criminal procedure, the process flew by in less than one. Elizabeth’s trial was over once morning shifted to afternoon. The “test” proved remarkably simple. Someone pushed her into a stream at the outskirts of town, and that alone was enough for the conviction. Despite her weakened, listless state, Elizabeth acted instinctively in the water, as she’d been an avid swimmer since before she could walk. Her arms and legs treaded naturally in the chilly, muddy water, keeping her head easily bobbing above the surface. And thus it was: God’s water rejected her. Like all things born of Satan, her body floated. Once they pulled her out, Elizabeth tried to laugh in hysteria as she lay sprawled on the riverbank, but her lungs couldn’t quite handle the exertion. Funny. So funny. Drowning would prove my innocence.

The world grew fuzzy, and when her mind pulled into focus once more, she found herself in the cell again, curled on her side in a fetal position. Thunder rumbled distantly as the constant patter of rain filled the silence. Fitting that Zeus should come to bid me farewell. The knowledge came swirling back to her, the understanding that it would all be over soon; and she felt oddly peaceful regarding her fate. The execution was set for a Thursday. Well, tomorrow specifically.

Her thoughts drifted to William, as they always inevitably did; but she no longer fooled herself. I will not see him again in this life…Please, please Lord, help him find his son. Look after both of them for me. Before she drifted to sleep, Elizabeth idly remembered a day in the forest a lifetime ago. She remembered herself, so young and uncertain, as she’d strained to climb a small mountain made of rock, teetering on the edge of falling, afraid of death.

We’re at the top. Just a few more steps and you’ve made it.

She heard his voice in her ears and smiled.

--

When they led her out into the pouring rain, Elizabeth could scarcely believe that it was only noon. The hour felt quite late, judging from the darkness of the sky. Her jelly legs still refused to cooperate, and her head spun, swimming with dizziness; but she did her best to stand. Water saturated her hair and smock, settled on her lashes, and streamed into her eyes as she approached the yard behind Town Hall, awash in mud and stagnant puddles. Surprisingly a large crowd had braved the weather in order to witness Wethersfield’s first witch-killing in a great many years. The townspeople greeted her presence excitedly with cries of hatred, or amusement perhaps, it was hard to tell. The constable guided her arm and helped her to shakily ascend the stairs of the scaffold up to the gallows. Carelessly her gaze shifted to the noose as it swung slightly to and fro in the wind.

“Elizabeth Summers, you have been convicted of the high crime of witchcraft,” the magistrate’s firm baritone boomed before her, “You have thus far refused to make a confession or name accomplices. But, because our Lord is merciful, I will grant you one last opportunity. Are you guilty of the crime of witchcraft?”

“No,” she answered firmly, her voice steady and strong.

“Fine. Is there anything you’d like to say at this time? Any final words?”

“Yes,” she murmured.

Looking out into the sea of blurred faces below, Elizabeth drew in a deep breath, gathering her last bit of strength.

“For thousands of years, you’ve killed in the name of your God…not because you believe it is just, but because you wish to silence your own fears—to hide your own guilt. Countless women have been murdered simply because they were beautiful. Witchcraft…witchcraft is not a crime, because it does not exist. It is merely a name you would use to shield your ignorance.

You can have my body. And you can break it. In the end, it means nothing. Pain is fleeting. You will never have my dignity, or my name, or my soul. Those things will always belong to me…My blood is on your hands today, along with the blood of all men and women whose only crime was in telling the truth…My life has been full and blessed, and I regret none of it, not even coming to live here. I have loved more powerfully than I ever thought possible…I am loved, and I will always be loved. Today, I see God.”

She braced herself for the end. Fear came to overwhelm her, despite her intense focus on remaining calm. Come for me, Mama. Closing her eyes, she focused her thoughts away from the noose, away from the inevitable snap of her neck, away from the pain that would torment her before it was over. In a whisper, her final words escaped her lips, very much like prayer, “And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”

A firm pair of hands pushed her forward and held her steady. But the scratch of rope against the tender flesh of her throat did not come. At first she was sure that she’d imagined what followed—a ghost of a sound from a dream or distant memory…the steady clop of a galloping horse. A surge of commotion and confused voices flooded the grassy yard surrounding the gallows. Elizabeth could not look or allow herself to listen; because she was certain that it was all a trick of her mind, a shadow of thoughts and hopes and memories. But when the musket shot rang through her ears, sending her cringing backward, she finally opened her eyes. Through a silver sheet of rain, an orange light burned and flickered. Elizabeth blinked in confusion as the world crept around in slow motion…A dark figure on horseback, carrying a torch in one hand and a musket in the other. He hurled the torch into the center of the crowd; and although the sodden grass could not burn, the violent act in itself sent the people scattering like ants.

“If you ponces don’ let her go, I’ll kill every last one a ya,” he hissed, cocking the barrel of the musket, “So gimme the girl.”

No. It cannot be. The lawmen that held her promptly moved aside at the stranger’s warning. With the sudden lack of support for her feeble legs, Elizabeth collapsed. A bright light dazzled her vision when the back of her head clipped the edge of a raised board on the scaffold. There was shouting and screaming and the peppery scent of gunpowder everywhere. Elizabeth dimly registered all of it along with the sensation of the rain, fresh and cool, washing over her. And then she was in the air, rising up, floating…Is this it? Nothing hurt. Warmth encircled her, seeped through her clammy skin as a pair of strong arms enveloped her in their heat. A heartbeat pounded against her ear through a wet tunic, and the aroma of sweet hickory infused her to the core. His voice, soft and gentle as it rumbled against her…It was like coming home, and Elizabeth wondered fleetingly if she’d gone to Heaven after all.

“S’alright, luv. You rest now. Rest against me.”

“Will you be here when I wake up?” she mumbled, trapped in a hazy, exquisite dream.

“’Course I’ll be here,” the angel soothed.

“You came back. You found me. You’ll always find me, won’t you?”

“Always.”

All the tension in her body dissolved; all the pain, all the cold, all the fear vanished instantly as she sunk into the cradle of his chest and arms. She couldn’t speak, and she didn’t need to. The chaos of the townsfolk evaporated as Elizabeth felt herself being carried away, faster and faster until the wind whipped across her cheeks, her body jostling in time with the clop of hooves beneath her. After what seemed like a long time, the movement stopped. His arms delicately lifted her to the ground, settling her rag-doll form into his lap. Firm, warm hands smoothed gently over her torso and limbs, restoring heat and sensation.

“Elizabeth, sweetheart, can you hear me? What have they done to you? Please luv, wake up and tell me where you’re hurt. I’m gonna take care of you…Elizabeth?” his tender voice sounded panicked, uncertain.

“William?” she breathed, struggling to pry her eyelids open.

The angelic beauty of his face, the fullness of his lips, the brilliance of his eyes—such a perfect reflection of Elijah’s—filled her vision and caused her to weep. Behind and above loomed the heavy green canopy of the forest.

“Yes, baby. I’m here. Oh God, Elizabeth, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“Bollocks,” William muttered, “What have they done?” he repeated, smoothing her damp, tangled hair away from her forehead.

“Nothing. Where were you, William…all this time?”

“I’ve been workin’ in England, loading cargo on the ships. Made some good quid for us, luv. We’ll be able to settle now, good and proper…Rupert kept tellin’ me it wasn’t time to come back. He said it wasn’t safe. I didn’t—I believed him. Our ship from London just docked this morning.”

“He’s with you?”

“Yeah—well, followed me, really. He went to your uncle’s place to get Dawn. We’re meeting at the docks. There’s a ship to Virginia Colony…Everything will be all right, sweetheart, I promise. It’s almost over. This place is almost gone forever. Just tell me where you’re hurt.”

“I—I don’t know,” Elizabeth murmured numbly, her voice echoing like it floated from somewhere above.

“You stay with me, okay? Elizabeth, baby, don’t close your eyes. Are you bleeding anywhere?”

“From inside…never stopped. Still bleeding from the baby.”

At first he appeared genuinely confused, as though he believed that he’d simply misunderstood. But soon his breath caught as those stormy blue eyes studied her intently, not quite able to focus.

“What baby?” he rasped.

“Mr. Giles didn’t tell you?” she asked drowsily, feeling warm and tired, only wanting him to hold her while she fell asleep.

“Tell me what? Elizabeth, tell me what?!” he begged, his voice cracking.

“We have a son, William. He’s only a few days old…so beautiful.”

He sucked in his breath as his eyes flooded with tears. Elizabeth raised a shaking palm to cup his cheek.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I couldn’t, and I—I didn’t know you’d be gone so long… Can you ever forgive me?”

“You were pregnant when we…” he trailed off thinly.

“Yes.”

“I left you,” he breathed, his visage instantly stricken with horror, “I left you…and our—our baby here, all alone. All that’s happened is my—“

“Shh. No. William, no, you mustn’t think that…I named him Elijah. He looks just like you,” she said, smiling.

“Elijah,” he whispered hoarsely.

“He’s with my aunt. You have to get him away from here, William. Love him for me. Teach him. Watch him grow.”

“No! You’re fine, d’you understand me? You’re gonna be fine, Elizabeth!”

The world started to fade. Colors ran together and flowed like oil on canvas. She wasn’t afraid—wouldn’t be afraid ever again. There was no pain except for a numb throbbing that pulsed at the base of her skull. Absently, Elizabeth reached her fingers up to touch the place that thudded slowly in time with her heart. When she removed her hand, it was stained with liquid streaks of crimson. Opening her palm out, away from William, she allowed the rain to wash the red paint away. She didn’t want him to see it.

“I’m not too late. It can’t be too late. Not now, not yet. I’m gonna save you,” he said, choking on the words.

“You already saved me. You saved me that day on the street when you nearly crashed into me …and you saved me every day after that.”

“No. No. No…I need to get you on the boat, outta this rain.”

He swept her up and began to run, her head cradled in the curve of his neck

“We’re almost there, Elizabeth! The docks are so close. Just hold on,” he panted.

She couldn’t feel the movement anymore. His voice came from somewhere else, as if a thin veil of gossamer separated them. Suddenly everything grew incredibly, breathtakingly clear. I am finished now. Elizabeth finally understood. She could almost see how everyone, all of her dreams, were all connected—souls like raindrops rolling down a spider’s web, pooling together, joining, moving on—a thousand intricate threads forming one beautiful design…She could look back and see the world from Susan’s perspective now—observe existence without being part of it. Past and future all at once lay out together in a vast array…Despite the decades that breezed by, the souls that occupied them were forever the same.

I’ll kill him for you, Susan. I’ll finish what you started. Just give me three hundred and eleven years.

As her sight continued to fail, her mind’s eye opened, and she observed inward.

Elizabeth saw herself standing before a mirror, nose wrinkling as she scrutinized her image, believing that she looked much too young to have the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her cheeks were rosy; lips sparkled pink, her golden hair lighter and cut short. Blue paint shone on her fingernails. Elizabeth smiled at her new self—still afraid, still a child, teetering on the edge of change…and yet excited for a great journey, thrilled at beginning a winding, unknown path.

The picture faded as another drew focus. Once again she saw herself, older and stronger, standing on the edge of a precipice while the chanting of a vast army emanated from below. All around, the air felt suffocating, heavy, and oppressive; identical to the atmosphere that clouded over that dreadful field near the pond. But in this dark, deep cavern, Elizabeth was not afraid; because she knew that the fight was not hers alone. Two figures stood beside her: William, dressed all in black, his hair white and smooth, the intensity of his features sharp and angular as stone. The other…Susan, her wavy chestnut hair falling below her shoulders as she wielded a blade made of silver and crimson.

When the visions dissolved, Elizabeth became aware, once more, of William’s arms around her. The frantic beating of his heart thudded rapidly against her ear.

“I love you,” she breathed.

“Love you,” he answered absently, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he ran.

“Don’t forget.”

Everything good in me was you.

The scars will fade.

If you don’t finish now, there’s always next time.

You just gotta have a little faith.

Daughter of the righteous. It’s who you are.

Not everything dies, Buffy.

The world turned white. Elizabeth heard William screaming her name in a strangled plea. Then he was gone.

~*~

In her dreams, the open sea had been an object of fear. Dark legends spoke of creatures made of ancient silver scales that slithered aboard ships to devour unsuspecting sailors at night. Often she tried to picture that darkness in her mind’s eye, a place so vast and deep that it rivaled the heavens above for mystery. The ocean was the Devil’s playground they said, so she’d always intended to remain close to home, to her family, to everything she knew. But over the past year, her world had been shaken into something unrecognizable, and she’d left the ignorance of childhood behind. All the things she’d been taught to believe suddenly meant nothing; and thus, she reached out her arms to embrace the unknown.

Hooking her boots on the bottom tier of the ship’s railing, she leaned over to stare into the crystal water below. The gentle waves shone a clear, sparkling blue: they were neither murky nor dark, and they did not frighten her. Tilting her head up to the brilliant azure sky that spanned overhead in an endless bowl, her eyes fluttered closed peacefully. Pleasant heat from the rays of the morning sun kissed her nose and cheeks. She’d never known the sun to feel so warm. So much had been lost, destroyed, stolen from her—she should feel mourning and sadness and fear. But instead, she felt free. This was her second chance, and in the beauty of a new day, the weight lifted from her heart.

Smiling triumphantly, she removed her starched white bonnet and shook her head, allowing the pins to fall every which way. Her abundant hair spilled freely over her shoulders and fell down her back, blowing across her face in the salty breeze. Reaching overboard, she flung the useless garment into the sea.

“And just what in the hell do ya think you’re doin’? Get down from there!”

Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she raised a brow at William’s look of incredulity. She was not a child, after all, but he seemed intent on treating her like one. Over the past several weeks, he had followed her steps quite carefully, as though she were bound to break at any moment.

“I’m not going to fall,” she replied stubbornly, planting her feet firmly where she stood.

“I don’ care. You’re makin’ me bloody nervous, Niblet.”

“I think the thirteen-year-old can manage not to trip off a ship, Will.”

William’s jaw clenched as he rolled his blue eyes, and Dawn was sure that she heard a “bloody hell” slip through. Parenting was new to him, though he seemed to be having an easier time with the infant than the teenager.

“Fine, climb the railing all you want. But when you pitch overboard, you can just swim to Bermuda, cause I ain’t divin’ in after ya.”

Dawn smiled to herself, knowing that if she did happen to take a tumble, he would most certainly jump in to retrieve her.

“Very well. I did not intend to make you nervous,” she relented, stepping down.

“This is serious, Bit,” he persisted, “It’s only us now, and you gotta mind me. Don’t jus’ come on deck without tellin’ me where you’re off to. Me and Eli have been lookin’ all over.”

As William went on with his lecture, Dawn wondered idly where she would be at this moment had she chosen to go with Mr. Giles, her uncle. He’d openly given her the choice, since William had vehemently decided to part ways after their respite in Virginia. The apparent animosity between the two men was something that Dawn did not, and perhaps never would, understand; but clearly, whatever had transpired could not be mended.

She might have traveled to England, which sounded like a fascinating place in its own right; but after the fate that had befallen her parents, and specifically, Mr. Giles’s role in what had happened…Dawn felt unable to go with him. Part of her still feared him, though somehow, despite the fact that he’d killed her father before her very eyes, she did not believe him to be a bad person. She understood now that even though she grieved for her parents, they had been in the wrong. All these conflicting emotions left her terribly befuddled.

Choosing to follow William, as he’d seemed to want her along, became the natural decision. She felt an ease and a certain rapport with him, since there were no questions of character or motivation. Dawn had only met him recently, but she already knew him to be a good, honest man. Lizzie had loved him unconditionally. The grief surrounding that loss was something Dawn and William shared, even if they did not yet speak of it openly.

“You listenin’?” William snapped in his new ‘authority voice’.

It’s a ship for heaven’s sakes! Where could I possibly have gone?

“I’m sorry,” Dawn replied sheepishly, and then giggled as a little fist flailed out from the sling William wore.

“See? He shakes his fist at you,” William declared, his tone softening as a joking smile began in his sparkling eyes, “C’mere, Bitty Boy. You want out, don’t you, sweetness?”

Elijah kicked his feet and gurgled happily as his father lifted him up out of the makeshift fleece and burlap sling. Dawn smiled at the beautiful golden-haired baby and briefly touched his sticky fist while his father held him up, facing out toward the sea. William fluttered sloppy kisses over his son’s chubby cheeks until the baby squealed with giggles.

“I got you now! Can’t escape the tickle monster, mate!”

Suddenly, Dawn thought she was going to cry; and she didn’t want to, because it would ruin this moment. So she turned from the pair and focused her eyes on the dark spot at the horizon. Seeing how William was with Elijah—so different, so joyous…she could almost forget everything else: the few days of catatonia that had settled over him after Lizzie…the sobbing she heard coming from his bunk every night after he put the baby to sleep. During the day he hid his pain from the world so that he could lose himself in the role of caregiver. Dawn wanted so very much to talk to him—to talk about how much it hurt to miss Elizabeth, but she knew she couldn’t, not yet. Not if it might somehow threaten the stability of their new little family.

“Will, I can see land!” she exclaimed as she focused carefully on that dark green blur at the edge of aquamarine.

“That right?” William replied, moving to stand beside her, “Yeah. There it is, in’t?”

“It’s so small,” Dawn murmured wistfully.

“You see that, Eli?” William cooed to the baby as he pointed off into the distance, “See that little green jewel out there? That’s where Mama was born.”

Dawn tensed at the mention of her, and peeked over to see William’s glassy eyes as he saw something she couldn’t reach.

“Bub gugug,” Elijah replied obliviously as a bit of drool dribbled over his chin, causing both William and Dawn to crack a smile.

“Don’t mock me, young man,” William quipped.

--

Upon first laying eyes on her new homeland, Dawn was instantly struck by the color of the waves as they crashed onto the shore—a bright cerulean blue, like liquid sapphires. And to her great surprise, the sand was colored a dusty, coral pink. It didn’t even look real—like something out of a dream, perhaps. Once the ship docked, she trailed closely after William as they disembarked at the port of Long Bay near a great city called Hamilton. The area surrounding the docks was by far the most crowded, busiest place Dawn had ever seen. Everywhere, nearly as far as the eye could see, stood lines of merchant carts selling various goods from expensive gold jewelry to food and drink. And in the distance beyond the immediate swirl of activity, was a large marketplace. Dawn suddenly felt quite small and a bit nervous in the swarm of people. And the individuals themselves…they wore such bright colors; extravagant silks that shone in the sunlight. Sweeping the faces of the crowd, Dawn discovered more shades of skin color than she had previously known existed.

Keeping directly behind William as they milled through the port, Dawn found herself dazzled by endless tables of strange beads and fabrics from foreign lands across the ocean. One display in particular drew her eye. A man with dark copper skin wearing a tall, bizarre red hat hovered over a nearby booth. He held a piece of charcoal, and Dawn watched in amazement as his hand flew across parchment, creating a beautiful image of a small boat under the sun. Looking up with dark green eyes, he smiled.

“Something for pretty lady?” he asked in a strange, lilting accent with rounded consonants.

“No thanks, mate,” William said shortly, after appearing out of nowhere. Grabbing Dawn’s arm, he pulled her along after him, “I told you to stay close, Niblet!”

“I was—I mean, I am. I just wanted to see—“

“Port city’s always dangerous. We can’t get separated.”

Dawn sighed and took hold of the back of William’s weathered cloak to assure him that she wouldn’t wander. After they bustled through the chaos at the port, the marketplace seemed somewhat calmer and less crowded. Most people there appeared to be locals in the midst of daily errands. Elijah soon started to fuss, so William took a moment to rest and rock the sleepy baby in his arms.

“Who’s this lady we’re looking for?” Dawn asked.

“Name’s Nenna,” William answered.

“Right, but what is her surname? And how can you be sure that she’s still here or that she’ll be willing to help us?”

“She’ll help,” he said distantly.

“Do you have any idea where she is? This isn’t exactly a small island. What if—“

“Beg your pardon, I don’t mean to intrude, but you all look a little lost. Maybe I can point you in the right direction.”

William and Dawn quickly turned in surprise to discover the source of the pleasant female voice. Approaching them was a lovely, smiling young woman with creamy, ivory skin and shining red hair that fell in silky strands to her elbows. She wore a pale blue gown and toted a large basket of items apparently purchased from the marketplace.

“Hullo, uh we’re really lookin’ more for a person than a place,” William responded cautiously.

“Oh, well hey, I can help you out with that too. I’ve lived here my whole life and pretty much know everyone,” the woman answered brightly.

“Do you then, by chance, know an older lady called Nenna?”

The redhead’s eyes instantly lit up as she said, “You mean Nenna Belfon?”

“Well I dunno actually. Never met her myself—“

“She was one of my nurses growing up! I can take you to her home if you’d like.”

“A nurse? Sounds about right,” William murmured thoughtfully, “The lady I’m looking for was nurse to my wife, Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth? Wait…you don’t mean Lizzie, do you? Lizzie Summers?” the woman exclaimed, her warm hazel eyes sparkling hopefully.

“That’s her,” William replied hoarsely.

“Oh my God! I—I’m Willow. We were brought up together, nearly sisters! My heart broke the day she left, but I always knew she’d come back! Her spirit is here—always has been.”

“My name is William Wells…this is Dawn, Elizabeth’s cousin from Connecticut, and this here,” William continued, gesturing to the sleeping baby draped against his shoulder, “Is Elijah.”

Willow gasped, clasping a hand to her mouth. “Her son?”

“Yeah. Hers and mine.”

Dawn looked up nervously at William then, and sure enough, she could tell that he was trying desperately to blink back tears, his expression strained.

“Oh he’s gorgeous! I can’t believe it!” Willow cried, beaming, as she swiped a tear from the corner of her eye, “I just can’t believe she’s a mother. It seems like only yesterday we were wild children playing on the beach, and now…Where is she? I’d love to see Lizzie again,” she said as her eyes excitedly scanned the marketplace.

“There’s some things we need to talk about,” William said thickly, his eyes downcast.

--

After stepping inside the little thatched bungalow by the sea, Dawn felt both safer and calmer. She, William, and Elijah were no longer adrift in a sea of strangers. When the old woman invited them in, Dawn’s first impression of her could be described simply by the scent of her tiny home: a soothing aroma of rich nutmeg and cinnamon. Observing Nenna curiously, Dawn took in the charming character of her features. The old woman was soft and round, her skin a shade darker than cocoa butter. Deep freckles and blemishes from years in the sun stood out on her cheeks; and her almost black eyes, crinkles around the edges, shone brightly with a smile before it could reach her lips. Her voice was entirely unique; it possessed a deep, earthy, full sound.

While they all took a seat on stools around a table by the hearth, Willow, who had kept silent since she’d learned of the happenings in Wethersfield, left abruptly through the back door. Once proper introductions had been made and Nenna had had time to adequately fuss over the baby, William began the story again from the beginning. Dawn cringed, not wishing to hear it once more—not wishing to see this kind old woman crushed by hearing the terrible fate of the girl whom she’d cared for since infancy. Rising silently, Dawn walked through the kitchen and living area, and then slipped through the back door. After shutting it softly behind her, she stepped out onto a small deck that overlooked the beach.

Willow stood there facing the sea, resting her forehead against a wooden beam. Her breath came quickly as her shoulders shook with violent sobs. Delicately, Dawn approached the redhead and lightly placed her hand on the older woman’s back. Willow tensed and jumped slightly at the touch, before swiping the back of her hand across her runny nose and swollen eyes.

“Sorry,” she mumbled as Dawn moved to stand beside her, watching the high tide wash over pink sand.

“Don’t be sorry. I know how much it hurts, and I only knew her for a year.”

“It’s just wrong…I can’t imagine the world without her in it, you know? She was always the strong one, the one who took care of everyone else, kept everyone going no matter what. Even when Joyce died so suddenly, she got through it. No matter how badly she was hurting, she got all of us through it as well. She understood people in a way that…almost like she could see thoughts. The day she left, she promised me it wasn’t goodbye. She promised…” Willow choked, the sobs seizing her once more.

“She gave up her life because she refused to live a lie,” Dawn said softly.

“That’s our Lizzie, isn’t it?” Willow murmured, the ghost of a sad smile on her lips, “Always doing the noble thing…I know William has to be a pretty incredible person—for her to fall in love with him.”

“He is.”

“What made him decide to come here?”

“Just wanted to,” Dawn replied, shrugging, “Elizabeth talked about this place all the time—about how she wished she could go back. So we came back for her, I guess.”

“What will you do now that you’re here? Does William have a place to live?”

“No. I don’t think he thought it through that far.”

“Stay with me,” she offered quickly, “I mean, just until you get settled in. My parents left me their home when they passed and I’m an only child, so I have plenty of room to spare.”

“Your parents are dead?” Dawn asked, raising her chin to meet Willow’s eyes.

“Yeah.”

“Mine too.”

After a long silence, Willow drew in a trembling breath, snuffling. “Would you like to take a walk with me, down by the water?”

“Sure,” Dawn answered, nodding.

As the warm, clear water washed over her bare feet, Dawn breathed in deeply and glanced off toward the horizon. The sky was awash in brilliant color: deep violet, orange and rose, as the sun began to sink behind the ocean. She looked back to her new friend, and smiled, knowing that the journey had only just begun.

Thank you, Lizzie

~*~*~*~


“Dearest Elizabeth,

I know you’ll never read these words. Honestly as I pick up my pen now, I feel a tad foolish. I suppose…there’s just so much I need to say, so much I wish I could say to you. Well, I do talk to you all the time. I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I like to believe that you still listen. Late at night before sleep comes upon me, I open my window and listen to the waves, tasting the salt in the air, and I speak to you. In a way, it’s very much like prayer, at the end of the day; but I never talk to God. I’m not sure I ever will…so I pray to you instead. I tell you simple, stupid, insignificant things: what I’m thinking, how I feel, what I did that day. I ask for your help when things get hard.

Almost seven years. It has been nearly seven years since I held you in my arms. Almost seven years since I saw your beautiful hazel eyes with those glittering flecks of green close peacefully for the final time. But it’s still very new. Not a day passes when I do not feel that loss in both my heart and viscera: the pain, the guilt, the bitterness, the terror, the hopelessness, the hatred for those who took you away...and the completely unfounded anger at you for leaving me. Have I healed at all? People ask me that all the time in one form or another, and it is dreadfully irritating. Part of me is gone forever—an emptiness remains in my heart, in my being, that can never be filled. It isn’t simply an ailment from which one can recover. If it weren’t for our boy, I never would have made it. In the beginning, I survived only for him. I think, only recently, that I’ve begun surviving for myself as well.

Elijah. My sweet little Eli. God, where do I even begin? When he was still a baby, I would sit up for hours at his cradle, watching him sleep, unable to wrap my mind around the fact that we made him—that we created this beautiful, perfect creature in an abandoned barn in Connecticut. I watch him the same way now, and every day I grow more in awe of him. He truly is a perfect mixture of us both. Physical attributes, of course: poor boy has my unruly curly hair, though it’s gold instead of brown; he has my eyes and your pout…It can be painful—I see sparks of you in him all the time. He’s completely fearless, which terrifies me; and he asks about a million questions a day. His queries range in difficulty from “Can a centipede grow its legs back if you pull them all off, Papa?” to others I cannot answer, such as “Where did Mama go?”

Our favorite game is knights of the roundtable—Lancelot is his favorite, so I’m always relegated to Arthur. I just finished building a little wooden sword for him to play with. Don’t worry, love, it isn’t sharp. We read every day—a new book each week. Pet, honestly I tried The Odyssey, but each time I attempt to read it to him, he always complains, “Papa, I’m bored!” after five minutes. I’m still working on it, I promise…We talk about you all the time. “Mama Stories” are among his favorite pastimes. And fortunately, I have so many dear people close by to help me tell them better.

It has been such a great pleasure meeting your friends, Elizabeth. They have taught me a great deal about you—about your young life, your roots, your spirit…And Nenna has truly been a godsend. Auntie Dawnie (as she’s known to Eli) lives next door with your friend, Willow. It is so hard for me to believe that she is older now than you were when we first met. I’ve already chased off three daft blokes who have been following the Bit. One of these days I’m just going to have to give in—one of them, at least, is bound to be good enough for her. I know she’s quite tired of my lectures, but I want her to have only the best. I want to see her happy, as I know you do.

In the beginning, your friend Willow took us all in with loving, open arms; but after we’d been here several months, I was able to purchase my own land to farm. Indeed—I am a simple farmer, and I couldn’t be more content. It is so breathtakingly beautiful here. Everything is bright, warm, soothing. I can easily understand why you missed it so…Fighting evil and picking brawls are all of the past. I no longer live in darkness, searching for demons. Elijah is my life now. Raising him in a loving, comfortable home is my greatest accomplishment. I look forward to seeing the man he will become.

What else should I tell you? On a darker note, I have not seen nor spoken with Rupert since we fled Wethersfield that final time. After we docked in Virginia Colony, I took the children on to Bermuda and left him there to make his own way back to England. With his actions, I suppose he believed that he was protecting me from the inevitable pain. He and his seers saw death and heartache in my future—our future. But they neglected to see life…so much life, and joy in the midst of sorrow. I can hear you convincing me that I must forgive him, that I should let go of what has passed between us; but I am unable to do so. Perhaps this will change one day, though it is not foreseeable. Forgiveness is a difficult concept for me to grasp.

One last thing, before I forget: I am planning a trip to Italy next year with Elijah, and Dawn, if she wishes to go. I will show our boy the ocean which great Odysseus sailed upon, even if he does not appreciate it until later in life.

I do not know what else to say. There is so much and yet nothing at all. All I can think to tell you is

I will always love you.

Sleep, my love. I’ll be there when you wake.

Your William”

~William Wells; 1693

~*~*~*~

Alone again in the darkness, cool and pleasant. All around, the world fell silent. Normally the ambient sounds of traffic from the next block, a siren downtown, or white noise from a nearby television set would drift into his ears as the witching hour settled over town. Not tonight. For once the stupid sods of Sunnyhell had given heed to the warnings and cleared out. Must really be the end of the world. Only this time there was no convenient little loophole or forgotten prophecy to save the day. Humanity’s only hope rested on a group of pimply-faced little girls about to face the biggest bad that ever was. Time seemed to drag with unbearably slowness—the night stretched on around him, simple and quiet. Dreamtime. It felt like playing chess with the Devil. The world was ending. He would die—again. They would die. She might die. And all he could do was wait for the dawn.

He sighed shakily, forcing himself not to dwell, not to think. He’d never been a thinker, after all. Not since the bloody soul came back to burn him from the inside out. The spark—the piece of himself that he’d lost so long ago. Even after a thread of his sanity returned, he continued to agonize over it day and night; not only over the things he’d done—the unbearable guilt would naturally always be there to torture him—but it was the meaning behind it all that truly consumed him. What was a soul, anyway? Was it guilt itself, like a conscience? Self-imposed torment for all the lives he’d taken, polluted, corrupted? Was it William Pratt, the bloody awful poet returned to reclaim possession of the body that had become an animate, bleached, and fairly athletic corpse? Or maybe the spark—the soul—was simply the part that remembered.

Flicking the chrome Zippo with his thumb, he lit the tip of a fag between his lips. Orange light smoldered in a tiny flash as the sweet familiarity of nicotine filled his lungs. He drew his legs up beneath him and leaned against the chilled cinderblocks of the bare basement walls while he took simple pleasure in a long, slow drag.

Don’t forget. Those tiny words still plagued him incessantly. It began when the demon touched him, snapping the missing piece back in place. At first it was all light and pain. Felt like someone had hurled his mangled body out into the desert under the cruelest midday sun imaginable. But once the pain rolled back, once his own screaming faded dully in his ears, he began to see pictures in that light. And throbbing in his head like his nonexistent pulse were those two words. At first he couldn’t discern the fragile, fading voice that spoke them so softly. But after turning them over in his mind, listening to their broken echo, he realized he knew that voice better than his own. Within that haunting sound lay a vast array of fragmented, scattered memories. Initially he experienced the recollections as pure sensation: warm, soothing, like the sunshine he only dimly remembered.

As he listened more closely, the words came alive. Heated breath whispered against the hollow of his throat. Her fine golden hair, tangled and drenched with rainwater, gently caressing his cheek. Don’t forget. Of course he knew her. The feel of her breath, her warmth, the sweet smell of her hair…the goddess. His goddess.

Truth be told, it had started impossibly long ago when he was still just a man. The dreams. Before Dru, before Cecily…a faceless woman haunted him. She never spoke, but the feel of her, and the knowledge that he loved her, comforted him in the darkest days. Through the taunting and the teasing and the worst nights of his mother’s illness, she had stayed with him, kissed his eyelids as he slept, and urged him to pick up his pen and scratch out his first awful, nancy-boy excuse for poetry. Naively he thought she was a muse sent to earth to guide and inspire him. Even after fate intervened, transforming him into a creature of darkness, she remained hidden in his deepest thoughts and fantasies. Despite all the vile things he’d done, she stayed with him. Surely no angel would linger to comfort a vampire. A demon.

Throughout his life he searched for her, believing beyond reason that he was meant to find her somewhere in this world. When Drusilla stumbled upon him in a darkened alley and gave him the gift of second birth, he felt certain that he’d solved the mystery. But it was all horribly wrong. Drusilla was velvet and porcelain, bitter red wine and black roses, cold and lifeless. His goddess lived in the sunshine, in a place where the trees swept overhead in an emerald canopy, where water glittered black and ravens crowed. She was the color of baby’s breath, tasted of honey and lilac, made of smooth satin and fine lace. She was delicate and strong, proud and uncertain. She was Buffy. No, not Buffy—a piece of Buffy. She was the part of Buffy that remembered.

He knew that now. In quick flashes, he’d seen everything—pieces of a life that had somehow given him a vague understanding of the whole story. In that previous existence, he had loved her. Most importantly however, she’d loved him back. Initially the floodgate of moments and memories twisted his sanity; and with the First’s involvement, he could no longer differentiate dreams from visions, memories from wishes and hopes. But after she freed him from the dank confines of the Hellmouth and the enemy’s clutches, the fog in his mind slowly cleared; and it all began to make a strange sense.

Once he realized what he was seeing, he soon became tormented by the struggle to understand it all. What was it, exactly, that enabled him to see these things? Could it be the Spark, the Powers…God? He would never know for certain, at least not in this lifetime. Drove him bloody mad that he’d never know why some higher power had chosen to bestow such a curse. All he knew for certain now was that his goddess, his angel, his muse…had a face. It was a face he had known for quite some time now. A beautiful face that he had struck with his fists in mindless rage, a face that when contorted in pain, had brought him cruel, delicious satisfaction. Part of him longed to believe that it was all because of the demon—what he had done was reprehensible and sickening, but it wasn’t truly him…was it? Surely no part of William the man had committed these heinous acts. Perhaps he would never know the full answer to that either. Regardless of who or what was at fault, the shame formed a gaping wound in his conscience that he would bear forever. He knew he deserved death—he had craved for it, begged for hellfire and punishment; but he also knew that he had to go on until he could manage to do at least one damn good thing with his pathetic little life.

He stubbed the smoke out on a piece of old, rusted patio furniture that was pushed up beside the cot. His eyes briefly fell to the floor, where he’d left the sparkling blue medallion she had given him. Lifting the heavy gold chain, he tested its weight in his hand before allowing it to dangle before him. And he laughed at the absurdity of it all. No one would believe any of this. She would never believe him—would she? Hell, he could hardly believe himself, what with his sanity being a fleeting thing as of late. "So Buffy, we used to be different people a few hundred years ago. You loved me and I loved you. And we had a baby. And come to think of it, I’m wondering where he is now, our baby, and if we’ll get to see him again someday, and oh, I didn’t know all this until I got my soul back and went completely insane". Uh huh.

He flinched when the door at the top of the stairs suddenly creaked open, spilling a sliver of yellow light across the cold, grey wall.

“Spike?” she whispered, “Spike, are you awake?”

Instantly he sprang to his feet, dropped the medallion beside the bed, and unconsciously ran a nervous hand through his bleached curls.

“Yeah? Course I’m awake, Slayer,” he called up to her, “You really think I could sleep on a night like this?”

She padded down the stairs on socked feet, her fingers brushing the wooden banister idly. They tentatively took a few small steps toward each other before pausing uncertainly. Spike tilted his head and simply relished the opportunity to take in the sight of her. Clearly she was worn ragged as hell. Standing before him now, she did not need to play the part of the fearless leader, so she let her aching shoulders slump in fatigue. Spike’s eyes briefly swept the length of her body, and he couldn’t help but wince at how painfully thin she’d become. Her long, golden hair hung in limp tendrils down her back, and blue circles shaded the delicate skin beneath her sparkling hazel eyes. Even though she believed that their side would prove victorious in tomorrow’s final battle, the weight of the past several weeks still took its toll. To Spike, she was stunning as always--his bloody gorgeous slayer.

Her eyes met his searchingly, as if she was unable to form a question. He saw vulnerability and hope and sweetness in her gaze, and in that instant, he saw a flash of Elizabeth.

“I’m tired,” she breathed.

“C’mere luv,” he said, reaching his arm out to her, “Let me hold you while you sleep, yeah?”

“No, I—I can’t,” she stammered, shaking her head as her eyes fell from his gaze, “There’s no way I could sleep right now. Tomorrow…”

“Just sit with me then. Keep a bloke company.”

He led her over to the cot, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. Once she sat leaning against the wall with her legs tucked in front of her, he climbed onto the bed and gently wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Her body curled into the curve of his side naturally, and she allowed her weary head to fall against his shoulder.

After what felt like a long time, Spike murmured into her hair, “So what you thinkin’, pet?”

Her posture sank, almost as if she were burrowing into him, hiding. He glanced down to see her thoroughly inspecting a hangnail on her thumb.

She answered strongly and mechanically as if she were gearing up for another trademark speech, “I’m thinking…I’m thinking we have a good shot at beating this thing. Willow is incredible, stronger than we could have hoped or imagined. If anyone can pull it off, she can. And the girls have been through so much, but I think they’re finally ready. It’s the right time to do this, I’m sure of it.”

He wished he could just grab her by the shoulders and shake her for a minute without getting his ass kicked. It was hopeless—the whole damn thing. Maybe Red did have some serious mojo, but what she was being asked to do was near impossible. One spell, one weapon, would change the world, the whole order of things; and if it got mucked up, it couldn’t be undone. Spike wasn’t too concerned about throwing himself out there for a shot in the dark; but the truth was, all they could rely on was a relatively unstable, formerly sadistic witch and a piece of sparkly costume jewelry. Buffy had to know all of this on some level, no matter how hard she denied it, and he just wished to god that she could be straight with him for once.

“Buffy, it’s just me …what’s really keeping you up tonight, luv?”

She released a deep, quavering breath that blew a lock of blonde hair out of her eyes. Spike could almost hear her brain turning as she decided on the right words to express the weight that tied her down. Absently she traced her fingers across his thigh before resting her palm above his knee.

“I’m scared,” she finally admitted with a small, bitter laugh.

“That’s it?” he asked, “Well I’d think it pretty odd if you weren’t.”

“After everything…I’m ready. I’m ready to give my life tomorrow, if that’s what I’m supposed to do. Most of the girls aren’t going to make it,” she muttered, her jaw clenching.

And in a flash, she hopped off the bed and began pacing the floor. He nearly grew dizzy from watching her go back and forth in a frenzy of bottled, useless energy. When she reached the little window in the corner of the basement, she stopped and took a moment to gaze up at the moon and stars that cast an eerie pale glow over the ghost town. Spike thought she looked ethereal as she stood like a silent, regal statue, bathed in that light. He thought of Artemis with her bow, hunting a stag under the stars. Yes, he knew he was a ponce.

“They’re so young,” she murmured, her back facing him, “They’re younger than me, and here I am freaking out over the fact that my life might be over. It’s selfish and stupid.”

“It’s not stupid at all,” Spike said, resisting the urge to take her in his arms and promise to save her. “You’re right, there’s gonna be a body count tomorrow and no matter what we do or how hard we wish otherwise, life as we know it won’t ever be the same. It’s the price we all agreed to pay. And yeah, the odds aren’t exactly in our favor. And to be honest, I’m bloody unsure of how this is all gonna go down. And how exactly that giant necklace is gonna match my outfit....Some of us will die, Buffy, but you—you're gonna be fine.”

“Why?” she spat, whirling on her heel to face him once more, “I’m not any different from them. I’m not more deserving.”

“Cause the universe has a funny way of working things out. Your time’s not up yet. You’re not finished. What you and Willow are starting tomorrow will take a world of work to pull off, and I’m not just talkin about this battle. I’m talkin five years, ten years…The future needs you, pet.”

“I dunno, something tells me that already dying twice kinds tips the karma scale against me,” she mumbled as she collapsed next to him.

They sat very still for a few moments, listening to the silence sinking from above. A few creaks echoed from upstairs, maybe someone getting up to use the restroom or just the sounds of the old house moving softly with the wind outside. Spike opened his mouth to suggest that she try to get at least a few hours of rest when she spoke again, “Sometimes, even after everything... I wish I could have the chance to just, you know, finish school and get a real job, and then maybe get married one day. Have a kid, I don’t know…I wish I could have a real family, I mean at some point. But it’s not in the cards, I guess. Even if we live to see another day, I’ll never have those things. I'll still be chasing the next monster hiding around the corner.”

“Don’t say that,” he whispered, his fingers twining with hers, “You can still have all of it, pet. There’s so much you can do with your life. Nothing’s set in stone anymore. Tomorrow will not be the end for you. Not while I’m still kickin’.”

“I’m just trying to be realistic,” she said resolutely.

“Even if the worst happens, if we all die, it won’t matter in the end.”

“How can you say that?” Buffy asked incredulously.

“Over the past few months,” he began slowly, still very uncertain of broaching the topic, “I’ve been enlightened on the whole soul-having bit. See even though a demon got me, it couldn’t touch my soul, cause that’s the spark, the thing that always lives on. If a demon couldn’t touch it, dying sure won’t kill it either. It’s the one thing that always belongs to us, no matter what. After we die, we still have our selves, you know?”

“You mean like Heaven?” she asked quietly.

“Not quite,” Spike answered, smirking despite himself, “I haven’t got the Heaven and Hell bit sorted out. Like what if…what if we’ve had this same conversation a hundred times before? What if life is just this big loop that keeps starting over, and the same people always get thrown together? Maybe it keeps starting over til we all get one sodding thing right.”

“Talking about our certain death right before the apocalypse? Yeah, I can pretty much guarantee we’ve had this conversation a hundred times,” she said, lifting her chin to offer him a smile.

Spike returned her grin and gave up trying to explain it. He studied her intently, wishing more than anything that he could somehow see what she was thinking. Her eyes glazed over as she focused straight ahead into the shadows.

“What is it, luv?”

“Nothing…I guess...I keep thinking about my mom.”

Her hands shook with the tension of trying to keep everything locked inside. Gently, he shifted his position so that he sat cross-legged directly across from her.

“I would give my life, everything, if I could just talk to her tonight,” she murmured, “If I could tell her…God everything she did was for me, and I just…I can’t believe it took me so long to get it.”

With two fingers, he delicately lifted her chin so that he could look into her eyes. He wasn’t surprised to see the tears that streaked her cheeks, shining in the dim silver light. Naturally she tried to pull away in defense, to shield her momentary weakness from a world that needed her to fight.

“What can I do?” he whispered.

She grasped his hands in both of hers and looked back uncertainly. Tears she would only let him see continued to spill down her cheeks.

“I want one more night,” she whispered hoarsely, “I don’t want to face tomorrow without one more night with you.”

Spike released a shaking breath and was surprised to feel a lump swell in his throat. Her brilliant eyes studied him with such timid vulnerability, as if he might refuse her request. As if he might tell her that he didn’t think it was a good idea for them to cross the line now and indulge in such a thing. If only he could make her understand…he would never refuse her—not in this lifetime, nor in any other.

Breaking from her grasp, he delicately placed his palms on her cheeks, his thumbs tracing the path of her tears. His fingers moved back to brush her golden hair away from her face, and he savored the feel of the silken strands against his skin. It had been so long, so long since he’d dared to touch…In a brief second, he contemplated what he wanted, needed, to do next. Part of him tried to restrain the urge, because what if it wasn’t really what she wanted? What if she flinched or hesitated, or what if she still feared his touch? Spike shoved these hesitations into the back of his mind and simply pulled her close and kissed her. At first their lips brushed lightly as though they were testing one another like it was the first time; but slowly, the passion of reunion, of homecoming, enveloped their bodies. She tasted sweeter than he remembered, like warm honey and vanilla, and he almost wept from the ecstasy of it. Small hands, warm and searching, pulled his shirt loose from his jeans. Her heat sent an electric charge through his icy skin, and he felt alive.

Each piece of clothing fell to the floor lazily. They touched and kissed and teased and played as though they had all the time in the world. Beneath the sheets, every inch of her heated bronze skin caressed and soothed his coolness. She mewled softly as he nipped at the throbbing pulse on her neck while his hand dipped low to touch her the way she liked. He knew so well what she liked, but he’d never before taken the time to fully enjoy it, to test and to explore. Soon his hardness brushed against her center, and it was like coming home. He’d been with her—fucked her before, lots of times. But this was the first time they would make love.

--

“I love you, Buffy,” he said softly. She lay curled over him, her head cradled in the nape of his neck, her long hair fanned over his arm and shoulder. The sheets lay in a twisted mess around them. He knew she was nearing a blissful, forgetful sleep. For the first time, it honestly didn’t bother him that she couldn’t answer, that she didn’t echo his declaration.

“Hey pet?” he whispered.

“Hmm?”

“If I’d told you we’d been together before, in other lifetimes, would it have changed anything?”

“Huh?”

“What if you’d lived before, as someone else, a long time ago…but you were still you? And what if I was there with you in this other life, and we had this whole story that you couldn’t remember. Would it change how we are now?”

“No,” she replied groggily, “Well except for that whole Buffybot thing. I coulda lived without that just fine...But it seems like I'd remember if I had a whole other life."

“Maybe you’re not supposed to.”

The silence of the night circled around them, every second hurtling closer to the inevitable pink glow of dawn creeping over the sleepy, forgotten town of Sunnydale. As Spike felt himself drifting to sleep holding Buffy tightly in his arms, he whispered, “Promise with all my heart luv, I won’t forget.”

--

Screams reverberated all around him. Cries of pain, of panic and terror…and triumph. A force greater than leaden chains pulled him deeper into the bowels of the earth. His head fell back slowly, in dreamtime, and his body at once became weightless and free. Around and below was all pitch darkness, dank and hollow and empty. But above, he could feel a warm glow from a tiny light, far away. In the distance, above the darkness, screams, and jagged rocks, peeked a narrow patch of blue sky. Heavy smoke rolled back in a rush, and his dead eyes were able to see for the first time in years. Slowly, pieces of azure seemed to crack and break away like shards of flying glass until all that was left behind was pure white. It was bright and searing, but without pain. He squinted to shield himself from the radiance until he could feel his own two feet beneath him again.

When at last his eyes fluttered open, he found himself standing in a vast desert. The land lay barren and empty to the horizon, save for a few gnarled weeds and dying joshua trees. He looked out into the distance, desperately trying to see where the sand ended and the cerulean sky began. Oddly, there was peace here. It was always warm, and no shadows lurked under the sun.

“William,” a small, familiar voice called out, echoing from the depths of time.

He turned slowly, realizing that he’d been waiting for her all along. As she drew closer, her thin, tattered cotton shift blew around her bare legs; and her long, golden hair swirled in the dry wind. Her eyes were large and hopeful.

“Not everything dies, Buffy,” he heard himself say.

They stood together in this strange place, and waited for the next journey.


*****A/N: So I finally decided to finish this fic after...7 years? Better late than never? Ha. It always bugged me that Dreamtime was left incomplete, and after a BTVS marathon, I decided to revisit it. I don't know if any of the original readers are still out there, but I hope maybe a new audience will enjoy it.

I'm still in the process of turning this story into an original trilogy, so hopefully that will be finished eventually. But I'm glad that the Spuffy version finally has its conclusion.

It was a lot of fun for me to look back at Dreamtime, especially since I now have a baby Elijah, just like Elizabeth. :)

Thanks for reading!