Kali Willows BUNDLE (Shadowed Desires Series) (9 page)

“How do we find our table?” She turned in circles, stunned by the rectangular bales of hay, dried corn stalks, and every imaginable Halloween cliché from skeletons to vampires throughout the venue.

“What are these booths?” His deep velvet voice so close to her ear sent a thrill down her spine. She regained control of herself and noticed he was pointing to the various vendor tables lining the walls.

“It would seem that Salem has yet again embraced the traditional folklore of fortune tellers, spell casters, and magic potions.” Trying to conceal her disdain, Tessa motioned over to the makeshift bar featuring multi-colored glass beakers of smoking, bubbling concoctions. The bartender, wearing a voodoo witch doctor outfit including a big bone in his nose, dropped straws into the smoking brews he distributed to patrons.

Dry ice mist spilled out of every conceivable hidden nook throughout the ballroom, under tables, in the bubbling glass centerpieces, and even in the hanging cauldrons set center stage. The continuous fog emitted a cooling sensation, adding to the chilly and creepy ambience of the evening. Until now, Tessa’s recall of the day being Halloween had been in the background as she focused being on a more carnal conquest.

“What’s that on the stage?” Samson pointed to a massive black tent. A cloaked person sitting at the covered entranceway collected admission to the mysterious attraction. With the crowd’s chatter muffled by the haunted sounds of rattling chains, sinister laughter, howls, and screams, it most definitely felt like Halloween.

“I’m not sure; there’s no sign up. It is spooky looking though.” Tessa’s distaste for the décor lightened a little at the smile of amusement on her date’s face.

“There’s our table.” She tugged him toward the eerie sign bearing their names in an impressive bloodied font. “We’re sharing with others. Thirteen seats here.”

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, pulling out her chair.

“Yes, thank you.” She slipped into the chair, glancing around to see if any of their tablemates might be approaching. Theirs was the only table without a full complement of merrymakers in outlandish costumes.

“Anything in particular?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe a bloody Mary?”

“Nice.” He chuckled and walked over to the bar.

Inspecting the empty chairs and place settings around the table, she noticed none of their tablemates had arrived, but she did observe something strange. The name cards bore familiar names:
Dorcas (Dorothy) Good, Ann Putnam, Jr., Magistrate John Hawthorne. Several more followed, each a significant figure during the trials
.

Samson and Tessa’s cards stated their given and surnames, with a blank space underneath, appearing incomplete. The others had titles under their names, Witch, Magistrate, but not theirs.

At their place setting, waited a manila envelope.

“Here you go.” Samson returned and placed a black and red drink in front of her. “They were out of bloody Mary mix, so I got you a Devil’s Blood cocktail. Hope this is okay.”

“Ah—yes, thank you.”

“What’s wrong—you don’t like this? I can get something else.”

“No, no, this is fine, thanks.”

“What is it?” He faced her with probing eyes.

“I don’t think anyone else is sitting here.” She pointed to the nametags.

“No?”

“These names are all people associated with the Salem Witch Trials in 1692.” A slight hint of bile rose at the back of her throat.

“Just Halloween humor, I guess.” He rubbed her back, where her muscles had knotted as she read the place cards.

“I guess.” She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders to dislodge her unease. “Enough with the gruesome stuff. Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did.”

“Funny.”

“I thought so. What is it?” He took a sip of his drink as he watched her.

“Why on earth did you decide to wear a priest costume?”

“You mean the devil priest?” He patted the plastic horns on his head, stroked the fake, black goatee glued to his chin, and then leered at her.

“Well, yes.” She sat back a little sizing him up with a dismayed stare.

“I thought it would be amusing, making light of my—indiscretion. Maybe it was in poor taste.” He settled back into his chair, seeming a little deflated as his shoulders dropped down.

“No, maybe…I don’t know. It just seemed…weird.”

“May I ask
you
a question now?”

“Sure.” Shrugging, Tessa sat back and lifted the glass to sip from the straw. A sudden shot of sour shock shot through her mouth at the bitter sweetness of the cranberry and black vodka mix.
You’d think I could get a bloody Mary at a Halloween ball…or maybe everyone had the same idea and drank it all up. This is…odd
. She flushed realizing Samson stared, waiting for her attention. “Oh, go ahead and ask.”

“What’s with the cut rope hanging around your neck, and the peasant outfit?”

“Actually, I am supposed to be Sarah Good, from the witch trials. Dead Sarah, anyway.”

“Oh, that’s—morbid.”

“It is Samhain.” She sipped again, and the tart sweetness of the drink grew on her.

“What’s that?”

“The Witch’s New Year, Halloween, a Wiccan Sabbat.”

“Does that mean you’re Wiccan?”

“If I said yes, would that be a problem?” Her defenses surfaced.

“Of course not. It just didn’t occur to me that we would be—of different faiths.”

“Good thing it’s a one-night stand and not a marriage proposal.”

“What’s that in your hand?”

“It’s for us. I haven’t opened it yet.”

He took the envelope and tore it open.

“Ah, now we know what the big black tent is.”

“What?”

“These are passes for a complimentary séance.” With furrowed brow, and lips pressed tight, he gave the card back to her.

“You seem disturbed.”

“No, not really; it’s just, I’ve always talked to God, but not the dead, so to speak.”

“I’m guessing it’s just a hoax, or gimmick, but this is supposed to be the most magical night for communicating with the dead.”

“Why is that?”

“Because on Samhain—Halloween—the veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest, making speaking with the dead that much more possible.”

“That sounds kind of creepy.”

“It starts in ten minutes.” When she stood and moved toward the stage, he followed.

Chapter Seven

Sitting at the black velour sheathed table, he took in the evocative set up. A crystal ball on a pewter snake stand in the middle of a gold, iron-on pentagram. Dozens of flickering red candles sheathed with melted wax surrounded the poignant centerpiece. Still, determined to go where the evening took him, he joined Tess and the other guests already seated around the table.

“Tess? Oh my God.” Soft laughter drew his attention to the black-and-white striped convict couple, attached by a linked chain around their necks, entering the tent.

“Jen? Johnny? I don’t believe it.” Tessa sank down into her seat, as the blonde woman kissed her on the cheek

“So Tessa, who is your—friend?”

“Ah—Jen, Johnny, this is Samson.” Tessa spoke in a soft, shaky voice.

“It’s good to meet you both.” Standing with a smile, he reached across the table to shake their hands.

“Thank you for joining us on this magical night.” A sultry voice drifted over the group as a tall woman made a dramatic entrance, flinging the sides of her deep purple velvet cape back over her shoulders. Straight strands of jet-black hair cascaded across her shoulders and down her chest. She wore a black lace, ribbed corset, which forced the protrusion of her pale breasts into exceptional and pronounced cleavage. Samson couldn’t help but sit back down with a fixed stare and gaping jaw.

Tessa eased his hanging mouth closed with narrowed eyes and a sarcastic smirk. “Down, boy.”

“Excuse me.” His cheeks grew hot when he caught her fierce glare, and he hurried to put his arm around her.

“My name is Madame Raven, and I will be your host for the séance tonight. I am a psychic, clairvoyant, channel, and medium.” Madame primped up her corset and sat down with pronounced movements. Suspended over her brazenly exposed cleavage dangled an ornate pentagram on a silver chain, and on the swell of her right breast a colored triquatra tattoo. He’d only seen the design in books before—he’d have so much to share with Jacob after this extraordinary evening.

“Please join hands round the table.” Madame Raven talked the group through a brief meditation, not much different from a prayer he might offer during a sermon, getting them all into the haunted feel of the moment. In his prayers, he spoke to only one God, straightforward and not confusing, but this lady called on a variety of deities.
What a fascinating experience, rather like a trip to a mission in a far off land!

“I feel we are blessed on this All Hallows Eve. Spirit is strong with us and eager to speak. Whatever happens, do not break this sacred circle. Remain holding hands until we close the circle at the end.”

He smiled to see Tessa roll her eyes as the medium spoke—at least they shared an opinion of this charlatan.

Madame’s head drooped and her body remained still for several minutes. He glanced around the group and stifled a sarcastic laugh at the other guests’ rapt attention on their hostess. Jen held Madame’s left hand while a male guest grasped the other. Tessa and Samson sat across from her, front row seat for the show. Abruptly, the psychic’s head popped up. She glared at Tessa with her bright green eyes wide open and spoke in a higher voice than her husky sound earlier.

“Tessa? Is that you dear?”

“What?” He could hear the grinding of Tessa’s teeth as she shot a fiery glare at the woman. “Funny, Madame Raven. Maybe you should focus on someone else.”

“Darling, it’s me, your mother.”

Her fingers gripped tighter around his and her cheeks grew crimson. “Cut it out, that’s not funny. Jen, did you put her up to this?”

“What? No Tess, I swear.” Her voice cracked and was almost a whisper.

He watched the women’s heated exchange, uneasy and ready to bolt, dragging Tessa by the arm if necessary. “What’s going on?”

“Daughter, my time is short. You wear the necklace I gave you during your dedication ceremony on your sixteenth birthday.”

Tessa’s expression went flat. “No one knows about that.” The droplets spilled down her cheeks as she faced the psychic.

“Yes, my daughter, it’s me. Tessa, your ancestor is here to warn you of danger.”

Madame Eva’s body shifted, as she squinted then went wide-eyed.

“Tessa Dorcas Ledger, I command thee.”

“Who is that?” Samson whispered. He was confused but realized the medium wasn’t faking this. Something very real and very eerie was happening.

“I am Sarah Good. Tessa, you bring danger to yourself with the book.”

“Sarah Good is your ancestor?” he hissed.

She nodded.

“What book?” He asked, louder this time.

Tessa didn’t move; her crimson cheeks faded to pale white.

“You must banish this book. The longer you have it in your possession, the greater the draw of the dark and unnatural.” The room was growing stagnant from the heat of the burning candles, the air warm. Perspiration began to form on his forehead. The flames grew tall and flickered wildly.

“But my research—”

“I command you to obey, Tessa Ledger, or your fate will equal mine.”

“My fate?”

“I do not have much time. I grow weaker by the moment.”

“Sarah, please, were you…what they accused you of?” A torrent of tears flooded Tessa’s cheeks.

“I was but a hungry, sad, and lonely woman. I begged for food. I had no pillow for my head and nothing to offer my starving children. The townspeople were cruel and uncaring. They told horrible lies to punish me for my imprudence. The men that demanded favors for food took revenge at my denials to them, and their wives spurned me because of their husbands’ turning heads.”

“Were you a witch, Sarah?”

Samson couldn’t believe his senses. Did he face the ghost of Sarah Goode, executed for witchcraft over three hundred years before?

“What you know now as a witch is vastly different than my accusers proclaimed.”

“I don’t understand?” Tessa pleaded, leaning across the table toward the medium—psychic—ghost?

“Your generation sees the healing in the craft, the herbs and potions. You come from a long line of women of strength and courage, a line denounced by any man they crossed. The danger you attract on this night Tessa, is that of tempting a direct descendent of the one who convicted me, the one who condemned my children—the one who brought death to my infant.” Glaring eyes and shaking fingers pointed at Samson.

“What?” His back stiffened and his grip on her fingers tightened.

“You.” She pointed at him again. “The descendent of John Hawthorn.” Her shriek rose over the gathering and a searing white heat washed over his body.

Tessa stared at him with wide eyes.

“You’re from the Hawthorn bloodline?”

“No one is supposed to know that.” His teeth clenched.

“You’re of his blood and you preach good will to people? You hypocrite.” She yanked at her hand, but he tightened his grip.

“Wait a minute. I’m not him, Tessa.”

Madame’s body shook and her head dropped to her chest again.

“I can’t do this, not with you.”

Madame rose to her feet and spoke in a commanding voice. “Tessa, the book, you must be rid of it forever.” Madame or Sarah dropped with a heavy thud into the chair. She let out a big exhale and laid her head on the table. Despite her movement, no one broke the circle.

Samson searched the horrified faces and surveyed the gripped hands of the people around the table, realizing the impact this was having on everyone. His stomach turned as he witnessed the whites of their knuckles almost glowing under the candlelight.

Tessa’s eyes flitted around the table. Fuming and disturbed, he squeezed her hand so tight that she flinched under his grip.

“What book?” He demanded.

“It’s none of your business.” She glared at him with malice and jerked her hands free, pushing the chair back with such force, it crashed to the floor.