The Survivors: Body & Blood (book 3)

The Sorcerers of Salem

IN THE CAB RIDE THEN TRAIN RIDE THEN PLANE RIDE BETWEEN LEEDS then London and then Boston, Sadie bitched multiple times about why we'd given the teleportation power to Everett. "I thought the point was defying the constraints of human travel," she'd said.

To which I would respond, "What do you want me to do, leave my body in Leeds?"

To which she would say something in anger, not unlike, "I've thought about it."

By this point, we were in a car that cost Sadie an arm and a leg to rent and insure because neither of our respective fake licenses or passports aged us at 25. And no one would have believed we were 25 even if they had. Talk about a constraint of human travel.

We were driving to Danvers, which I learned from Sadie's ramblings was where Salem Village actually was way-backwhen. Salem, Massachusetts, included the grounds of several places from the witch trial era, including part of Salem Town. But all the shit had really gone down in what was now Danvers.

Our previous experiences in Salem had been a mix of tourist attractions and supernatural drama. But this time we were only going to archives to look at documents and artifacts from the era. Sadie had a weakness when it came to her method of research. She couldn't discern the line between fiction and reality, couldn't tell the difference between a reliable source and an unreliable one. To her, getting information from shows and tours and speeches that were tailored for conspiracy theorists and tourists, was akin to gathering facts. And I'm sure there were some facts in there, but not many. It was as if she'd written a research paper using Wikipedia instead of primary sources and books. I assumed this naïveté came from having never been to school. Not real school anyway.

But when we walked into a real library, down to a basement, and to a door labeled "Danvers Archival Center," I was impressed to see she had grown in this regard. We weren't here for more tourist attractions. We were here to do serious research.

An aging man with a protruding belly, white scruff, and horn-rimmed glasses sat behind a desk in the far corner of the basement we'd been shown to. "Welcome," he said, his voice a little gruff but not all that unfriendly.

"Thanks," I said politely and smiled. Academics, librarians, and the like didn't always take kindly to me, a kid in a leather jacket and Ray-Bans inside their precious libraries. Ginny had geeked out in enough universities — and had the trophy wall of degrees to prove it — for me to know that. They didn't like me when I was a greaser in the "50s, picking up Gin from the university libraries. They didn't like me walking into archival centers behind Sadie now.

Shouldn't they know not to judge a book by its cover? I was smarter, more educated, and better read than everyone in the room in most rooms I walked into.

Sadie exchanged stiff pleasantries with the man and asked for a brief rundown of the layout and where we could find what. He directed her to the shelf that held rare books on the witch trials. She opened a small volume, and I picked up what looked like the oldest book: Wonders of the Invisible World, or, Salem Witchcraft. On the inside cover, it had an era-appropriate drawing of witches brewing something in a cauldron, a broom, a black cat, a man holding a snake, and lightning striking them all. Double, bubble, toil, and trouble? Good to know the stereotypes started early.

Flipping through the ancient psycho pages, I got bored quickly. What were we going to find here that Sadie hadn't already found?

"What are we looking for?" I asked her.

"Something we don't know yet," she said, abandoning one book and picking another.

I pulled down the largest and newest book there. It was four inches thick and weighed as much as a bowling ball. "This doesn't look historical," I said.