Jessica
When the Bringer of Light is joined by the Chosen One, her power will increase tenfold.
“I’m sorry,” Billy said, putting down his drink with a thump. “But did he say witches?”
“I did, my boy.”
Brewster, his hand still resting on Esther’s shoulder, propelled her forward. She’d changed from the clothes she’d been wearing earlier into one of the New Year’s Eve jumpsuits. She’d chosen my cross-neck sequin jumpsuit in silver, with flared wide-leg bottoms. She was walking a little stiffly, but otherwise seemed all right.
Except for her eyes. Her eyes, behind the lenses of her glasses, were huge. And terrified.
“Your wife is a witch,” Brewster informed Billy. “A very powerful witch who is going to help me send the demons who’ve been plaguing your village for centuries back to their graves, where they belong.”
Witch? The word rippled through the crowd. Not horrified. Amused, mostly. There was a smattering of giggles, and even some snickers. It seemed to me that many people thought this was some kind of pre-ball theatrical skit for their entertainment.
But not Billy. Billy shot Rosalie a look so hurt, you would have thought she’d stabbed him. She, in turn, cried, “It’s not true!” She was sticking to Rule Number Eight: A True Witch keeps the existence of magic and witchcraft a secret from the non-magical, knowing that their minds are too fragile to handle the truth.
Looking at Billy’s stricken face, it wasn’t difficult to see why this rule had been created.
Rosalie whirled upon Brewster. “Excuse me, but what do you think you’re doing? None of these people here”—on the word people, she gestured toward those of us who were still in the audience, and included no less dignitaries than the mayor and her wife, multiple city commissioners, and the fire chief—“are interested in hearing about—”
“Well, they should be, Rosalie,” Brewster interrupted as a crack of thunder so loud it felt as if it might tear the sky in two shook the tent. “Because this concerns all of them.”
“That’s enough, Bart,” Derrick said in a hard voice, stepping into his brother’s path.
“Oh, it’s not nearly enough,” Brewster said. “But get ready. It will be—”
Pop!
One of the bulbs in the strand of party lights above our heads exploded. I wasn’t the only one who let out a shriek and ducked as tiny shards of glass rained down on us—especially as another, and then another popped. Lizzie and her brother screamed, too, and dove for safety beneath the table at which they’d been sitting. All around us, guests went running for the exits—then stumbled, since the rest of the tent was quickly plunged into near total darkness. Most of the votive candles had been extinguished by the rain, and the other fairy lights appeared to have shorted out.
The only light to see by was that of the full moon, low in the night sky, and barely visible through the slowly dissipating clouds, shining through the rips in the tents.
But that light was seeming to glow brighter with every passing second.
“The demons!” Professor Brewster cried, covering his eyes as a bulb burst above his head. “I warned you!”
“Demons are the least of your problems,” Derrick snarled.
And then his right fist landed on Brewster’s face with a sickening thud—the sound they never get right on-screen, not a smack so much as a squelch of flesh striking flesh, and bones breaking.
Brewster went staggering back. Rosalie, stunned by such a violent display, let out a scream, and Esther came running down the stairs from the stage—and into my waiting arms.
“Are you all right?” I asked her.
“Yeah,” she managed to choke. She was clutching me as tightly as I was her. “Fine. I’m sorry. He sent me a text message saying to meet up, that he was with you—it wasn’t until I got here that I saw that he was lying. I would have blown his head off, but Gabby was there the whole time. I didn’t want to upset her—”
I knew then that she’d never actually been terrified. Nor was she hurt, or even slightly annoyed: she was angry. Esther was simmering with rage, and had only managed to keep that rage in check because she hadn’t wanted to frighten her girlfriend. Brewster didn’t know how lucky he was.
“Where’s Gabby now?”
“Somewhere around here, harvest princessing.”
“Was that you?” I asked. “Who blew up all the lights?”
“No.” She was holding me so close, I could feel her heart drumming against mine. “I would never. Glass is dangerous, and there are kids here. Was it . . . was it the demons?”
Crap.
Rosalie came rushing over to us. “Why are you just standing there?” she shrieked. “Aren’t you going to do something?”
I released Esther and turned toward her. “I thought you were the Chosen One, Rosalie. Why don’t you do something?”
“What am I supposed to do about this?” She waved her hands in the air, indicating the wrecked tent, sodden tables, the sound booth that was now on fire, and the two men on the steps to the stage who were still slugging it out. Derrick definitely seemed to have the upper hand, however. Brewster had collapsed against the muddy ground, with Derrick standing above him. “Can’t you put a stop to that, at least?”
To be honest, I was kind of enjoying the view. Derrick’s bow tie had come undone, and so had his ponytail. He looked like an avenging Viking in evening wear.
Still, I realized that this wasn’t exactly the positive energy that Derrick had said we’d need in order to combat the demons. Even in the semidarkness, I could see that Rosalie was crying.
“Please.” She sounded more desperate and unhappy than I’d ever heard her. “I have no idea how this became such a disaster—” She pointed toward the table where she’d been sitting with her kids, and where Billy, now slumped with a bottle of whisky he’d stolen from somewhere, was drinking. “But if you have any idea how to fix it, please help me.”
My high school nemesis, asking for my help? Was this the work of demons?
But before I had time to figure it out, Esther stepped forward. “I think I know what might help,” she said.
Then she reached into the pocket of her jumpsuit, withdrew what appeared to be a letter, and climbed the stairs to the stage. Miraculously, when she reached the microphone and gave it a tap, it let out a sound. It might have been the only object left in the tent that was still electrified.
“Testing,” Esther said, leaning into the mic. “Can you hear me?”
“We hear you!” someone called from the back of the tent. I was fairly certain it was Gabby.
“Good,” Esther said, and unfolded the letter she’d drawn from her pocket. “My name is Esther Dodge, and I just wanted to say a few words.”
My mentee—the Bringer of Light—was about to give a speech.
I tensed, half expecting the demons I’d heard so much about to come swooping out from the darkness and attack her. At the very least, I thought Brewster would yell at Esther to get off the stage.
But he didn’t. Instead, I saw him lying there at the bottom of the steps, staring up at her with a look of horror on his face. At first I didn’t understand why.
Then Derrick staggered through the mud and broken glass to come stand by my side, and I saw him staring in the same direction. He wore a look of wonder, not horror.
When I looked back at Esther, I saw why.
The silver sequins on her jumpsuit had caught the reflection of the moonlight, and were casting a sparkling light show all around the tent. Like sunbeams dancing on the surface of water, the reflection of the sequins swayed across the walls of the tents, as dazzling as diamonds. Dozens of them, hundreds, they tilted dizzyingly around us, as disorienting as the glitter from a disco ball, but just as pleasing.
“I wrote to the mayor the other day,” Esther said. “And she was kind enough to write back. I’m holding the letter I received from her. Some of you may know that back in the sixteen hundreds, right here in America, a number of men and women were wrongfully accused of witchcraft. The very first witch trials in this country occurred here in Connecticut. Most of the records from those days have been lost, but we know for sure that nearly forty people were indicted, and eleven actually executed in a spot very close to where we’re standing now. I know that’s not as many as were accused and executed in other places, but none of those people deserved to die. And to me, that’s the real crime—the crime of persecuting someone for their supernatural beliefs, a crime for which people around the world even today continue to be accused, and to suffer and die. I believe the court systems should be held accountable for this.”
That’s when the reflections on the sides of the tent changed. Before they’d merely been round, like the sequins on Esther’s jumpsuit. The more she spoke, however, the brighter they grew—and the more distinctly identifiable in shape.
And that shape was . . . wolf. Dozens, hundreds, maybe thousands of shining gray wolves, all the wolves that had ever existed in West Harbor, back before they, like the witches, had been hunted to extinction—glowed all around us.
I caught my breath. I’d never seen anything more beautiful. I could tell Derrick felt the same way as he fumbled for my hand. I could see it in his eyes—the same silver as the wolves, and the light from the moon.
“I asked the mayor if there was some way she could clear the names of all of the poor people who were accused of witchcraft back in the early days of West Harbor,” Esther went on, seemingly unconscious of what was occurring all above and around her. “And she said that unfortunately, she didn’t have the authority. But she said that she would do all she could to help get my request to the right people. People who could help.”
The wolf-shaped lights began to shift and sway, like sunlight on the Sound, as if the pack was on the move—in celebration, or in thanks. It was hard to tell. All I knew was that I was in tears—but they were tears of joy.
“The wolves were never here to hurt us, were they?” I leaned close to whisper to Derrick. “They were here to protect us.”
He nodded. I saw that his eyes were looking damp, as well.
“Are demons always this beautiful?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. That’s because of Esther—and you.”
I smiled through my tears.
“All I want,” Esther continued, “is for the souls of all those wrongfully accused to be able to rest in peace. They did nothing criminal. And I intend to fight for them . . . and I hope some of you, at least, will join me in my fight.”
“I’ll join you,” I heard Gabby’s voice cry, clear and strong, from the back of the tent.
“Me, too,” cried someone else.
“M-me, too,” Rosalie choked. Tears were streaming down her face as she gazed around the tent, and at Esther. “I—I’m sorry.”
Rosalie had so many things to apologize for, it was impossible to say what, specifically, she was sorry for.
But the Bringer of Light, unlike me, wasn’t petty enough to question it. Esther merely smiled at her kindly, as in the distance—the far distance—thunder rumbled. The storm was moving on. Around us, the wolf lights were beginning to fade. Justice hadn’t yet been restored for those in West Harbor who’d been wrongly killed so many centuries ago. But something like it was pouring in to repair the rift, like a touch from Derrick’s fingers, filling the hurt with golden warmth.
“It’s all right,” Esther said to Rosalie. “You didn’t know better.”
Brewster—who’d sunk to his knees in the mud—lifted his own tearstained face. “I’m sorry, too,” he murmured. “Please . . .”
Esther looked down at him, and her expression hardened. “You did know better,” she said, and she raised her hand, exactly as she had with the pumpkins—
“No!” I cried.
Esther looked at me and lifted an eyebrow. “Why did you two bother teaching me how to control my powers if you don’t want me using them?”
“You did use your powers,” Derrick said. “Your powers of compassion and empathy.”
She rolled her eyes. “Boring.”
“Isn’t it better not to be like him, though?” I asked, nodding at the sniveling Brewster.
She thought about it for a moment. I could see her considering her options—then she shrugged.
“Yeah,” she said. “I guess you’re right. Besides, I can always blow stuff up when I get to college.”
Then, just like that, the last shaft of wolf light disappeared, the party lights in the rest of the tent turned back on, and Esther was herself again.
And Professor Bartholomew Brewster slumped down into the mud in a dead faint.