The Witch Hunter Page 2

  I turned my key in the ignition and reversed out of my spot. “I’m going home to change and then meeting Professor Chandler at Longhorn. You down?” If there was one thing my best friend liked, it was steak.

  “Pfftt, of course! How much time do I have?” she asked.

  “I’m leaving Cambridge now. I’ll be home in about thirty minutes. Throw my favorite jeans on the bed?” I took the exit and got on the three northbound.

  “You got it sister! See you in thirty minutes.”

  I clicked the end call button and tossed my phone on the seat beside me. What a night. There was next to no traffic on the three, so I made it to the New Hampshire state line in record time. It was only five minutes to the house I shared with Sam from there.

  I noticed that every single light in the house was on as I pulled into the driveway. Of course, I loved Sam dearly, but I had always been the responsible one. While I was in college, Sam was busy attending every party she could find and working her part time job as a receptionist at a cosmetology school. Sam was the exact opposite of me. Everything about her drew attention from her thick, long, blond hair, to her mile-long legs that she loved to show off. She had killer blue eyes that could stop anyone in their tracks. No man could resist her when she batted her lashes at them. It worked for me though, I didn’t want the attention, and she loved it, so I stayed in the background while she soaked it up.

  “Where you at?” I hollered, walking through the door.

  I heard her voice upstairs as I hung my keys in the key hook to the right of the front door. “In my room changing! Laid out your clothes!”

  “Thanks girl!” I made my way upstairs.

  The jeans I had requested were on my bed alongside my favorite long sleeve shirt. Sam knew me so well.

  “You coming or what?” she called from downstairs.

  “Yup!” I took one glance in the mirror, brushed a few stray hairs back, and headed out.

  Professor Chandler texted me just as I hit the bottom stair. “Made it to the restaurant. Got us a table.”

  I texted back, “Sweet. On our way now.”

  “Your car or mine?” Sam asked from the door.

  “I’m blocking you in, so mine,” I replied.

  “Kay.”

  It was already nine when we pulled into the parking lot. We parked beside Professor Chandlers dark blue Mazda CX-5. It was Friday and the parking lot was basically full. I saw Professor Chandler through the window sitting in a booth in the bar area, eyes fixed on the Red Sox game showing on their screens. It didn’t surprise me that was where he chose to sit. The man had a serious soft spot for baseball. Not that most New Englanders didn’t.

  The hostess greeted us with eerie corporate cheer as we walked through the double doors. “Hi there. How many in your party?”

  “Already meeting someone, thanks,” Sam said, making a beeline for the table.

  “Okay. Enjoy!” The girl called after us. I followed the short skirt and cowboy boots strutting in front of me as every pair of male eyes in the building checked her out.

  Dr. Chandler didn’t notice our approach because somebody from the Red Sox hit a homerun. Everyone in the bar screamed in excitement.

  “Hey Prof!” Sam said batting those long lashes at him.

  She slid into the booth opposite him and patted the seat beside her beckoning for me to sit down. “Come on Taryn, let’s get some potato skins.”

  I envied her ability to eat and never gain a pound.

  The server came around a moment later and took our drink order. A water for me, Manhattan straight up for the Professor, and a Cosmo for Sam. We ordered the potato skins and the server brought us bread. “God this stuff is like crack.” Sam said slathering butter on her piece. “Hey, don’t look now, Professor, but that woman over there is checking you out.”

  “What?” he asked looking around.

  The woman she was motioning to with her eyes was the same green-eyed woman who was so argumentative at the lecture hall. “No way,” I whispered incredulously under my breath.

  “What? You know her?” Sam asked. “She’s hot.”

  “Professor, you remember the crazy woman who was all pissed off at me earlier. She’s looking at me. Not you.”

  “Oh, stalker alert.” Sam giggled. She elbowed me in the side playfully.

  “That’s not funny. What are the chances of her being here in Nashua after being at my lecture back in Cambridge?”

  I felt shaken. She had unnerved me before, now I was a little worried. I glanced back over, yup, still staring at me. What the hell is her deal?

  The Professor took a sip from his drink. “Don’t worry about her. We’re here to celebrate. A lot of people from Nashua commute to Harvard, it’s most likely just a coincidence.” It didn’t seem logical to me at all.

  “You’re probably right.” I took a bite of my bread. “I’m going to head to the bathroom really quick before the food gets here.” I stood and looked for the sign for the bathroom.

  Sam grabbed my hand. “Need me to go with you?”

  “Nah, I’m good.” The bathroom was on the far end of the bar and I really didn’t want to walk by the mystery woman, but to my surprise, she was gone by the time I passed her booth. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  The stalls were empty in the bathroom. I hurried up and did my business. When I came out to wash my hands at the sink and there she was with her arms crossed, blocking the door and staring right into my eyes with malicious ferocity. I hadn’t heard anyone come in. I took a step back cautiously.

  “And where do you think you are going, Miss Guthry?” Her voice was pure honey, but it made the hairs on my arms stand up. There was no way I could get past her. I was trapped.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t see eye to eye, earlier, but what do you want?” I asked her. My voice trembled but I tried to sound brave.

  She smiled. “My name is Sarah Goodfield. Do you recognize it?” She let her arms fall to her sides while she looked me over from head to toe.

  “Yes, I do. The first witch interrogated and found guilty by Matthew Hopkins was Elizabeth Goodfield. Sarah was her daughter. She was released from prison after her mother was hanged because it was believed that her soul would be free from evil once her mother had been killed.” I took another step back away from her. “You can’t think you are a relative or something. That would be impossible to prove with this much generation gap between you and her.”

  That made her smile. “No, I don’t think I am a relative, you naïve woman,” She stepped towards me full of menace. “I came to hear you talk. I heard your idea that the Witch Hunter General was as much a victim as the women that were killed by his declarations,” she stepped closer. My back was against the wall and I couldn’t move any farther away. “Do you know what he did to my mother? Do you know what he made me watch?” Her face was only a few inches from mine now.

  “You're insane!” I screamed. “That was hundreds of years ago, you psycho!” She slammed her hands on the wall on either side of my head boxing me in.

  Her smile twisted into something grotesque before my eyes. “You don’t have to believe me. You will know the truth soon enough. I’m arranging a meeting. I believe introductions are in order, don’t you think?”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked as tears sprang from my eyes.

  “Hold still,” she commanded.

  My body responded, paralyzing me against my will. I held my breath involuntarily while she penetrated my soul. Everything went black around me except for light which emanated from her serpent like eyes. She began chanting under her breath and lifted a hand to my forehead. The room spun and I lost consciousness.

  Chapter Three

  Matthew

  A fortnight had passed since the last execution and the pressure was on to deliver more. You couldn’t give the witches too much time between punishments because it afforded them the ability to bring more women and men over to their evil ways. I could not allow that to happen. They need
ed to be exterminated quickly and methodically before the demons could spread their poison as they were apt to do. They were worse than the rats overpopulating the streets of Essex, breeding and multiplying in the dark corners. Just when you thought you made a dent in their numbers; you would find you hadn’t even touched the main nest. It was eternally frustrating. I lifted my hat and wiped the sweat from my brow.

  I had rid the world of seventeen witches in Manningtree. Seventeen demons sent back to hell to face the fire and brimstone for all eternity. I had never felt such overwhelming elation as I did when each of the women were led up to the gallows and the executioner pulled the lever ripping the wood from beneath their feet. The moment I heard their necks snap, I thanked God himself for revealing the creatures to me so I could personally oversee their removal from the great city.

  These evil creatures had been permitted to live for far too long, but that was changing. With King James on the throne they were finally seen for what they were. He was a venerable ruler who used his power to wipe them out, a king who they endeavored to kill before he could kill them. In 1590, King James had captured seventy of the demons in North Berwick. It was the largest trial for witchcraft Scotland had ever seen. James had vowed to destroy them after they conjured a tempest storm to sink his fleet while James was returning home with his bride, Anne of Denmark. They had survived, and James decided to personally oversee the interrogations.

  Most of the women did confess and offered up shocking revelations. They told tales of binding the severed genitalia and limbs of a dead man to the legs of a cat, then tossing the cat into the waves to bring about the tempest. One suspect was brought to Holyroodhouse, in Edinburgh, where she vehemently denied the charges against her. Our King saw through her devilish trickery and soon she began telling of secret words spoken between James and Anne on their wedding night. Who else but a witch could conjure conversation whispered during a moment of intimacy?

  I remember seeing his pamphlets from Scotland that had been passed in the streets when I was a child, they were meant to bring awareness to the scourge, but the real masterpiece was Daemonologie, a treatise on witchcraft written by King James himself. I devoured the book and pledged my life to hunting the wives of Satan for their treason against God. I would not let anything stop me from wringing their confessions from them.

  With Queen Elizabeth’s death and James inheriting the English throne, all restraints were lifted, and people like me, ones who were trying to make a difference, were finally free to do so. James will be remembered in history for chasing Satan away from England. In 1625, they finally managed to end his life and he went out sickly and in pain. Very obviously bewitched by those he sought to destroy. Damn bloody whores of Satan.

  I sat in the noisy bar inside the inn and enjoyed the meal that had been placed in front of me. I was painfully aware that most of the men that had gathered within were staring at me. The attention I was receiving was a mix between adoration and hate.

  When we had left the previous city, many of the villagers fawned over us. They vehemently thanked us for saving their city. My cohort, John, ate up their praise. He smiled and waved from the carriage like he was the King himself. I sat quietly inside trying to ignore the crowd who stood farther back away from us, the crying children who had lost their mothers and the men who had watched their wives hang. I had to reaffirm myself that it was a necessary evil. The pain in my heart I felt looking into their faces told me something else entirely. It was a wonder to me that John didn’t notice the glares at all.

  My plate of mutton and bread was nearly gone. Dinner had come upon me quickly today. It appeared the day had passed me by. I gulped down my glass of wine and the serving girl rushed to refill it.

  “Would you like some more, Sir,” she asked sweetly.

  “It matters not.” The new glass went down just as smoothly.

  The warrants were spread out on the table before me. Essex had already paid me twenty shillings to rid their town of the pestilence, and I had my eye on eight women about town. John Stearne and I would begin collecting them in the morning. My partner was a fast learner and he was getting better and better at making the women confess to their sins. He has an excellent eye for spotting the devil’s marks on their bodies. It was his favorite part of the discovery process.

  I shoved the empty plate away from me and stood up from the heavy wood table.

  The bartender smiled. He was an older gentleman with a pleasant face. “All finished Mr. Hopkins? Can we do anything else for you?”

  I tipped my hat to him in appreciation. “No, Harold. Dinner was filling. I think I shall call it a night. We have a long day tomorrow. “

  “That you have, Sir.” He wiped the bar top with an old soiled cloth that nonetheless removed the spoilage. “Will you be arresting many wenches with that other fellow here?”

  I pushed in my chair, gathered my papers, and headed to the staircase that led to the rooms above. “As many as it takes Harold.” I flipped him a shilling. “This should cover my bed and food for the week I think?”

  “Oh, yes Sir. Thank you, Sir! You are a very generous man indeed.”

  I grunted in response.

  My room was the first in a line of four on the right side of the hall. The door creaked as I pushed it open and the musty smell of the bedding hit my nostrils. I crossed to the window and threw up the sash to allow fresh air in.

  It was a nasty, drizzling day, the kind of day on which you would not wear your best boots, because they would end up caked with mud. I lit the candle on the small desk beside the window and deposited my hat and riding gloves next to it in an orderly pile. I held the warrants so I could read them in the dim light even though I already knew what they said. Eight women’s names had been given over to me during the interrogations in Manningtree.

  No doubt these eight were only a small part of a coven and there would be more witches to discover here. I would find them. Make no mistake about that. The church did not bestow the title of Witch Hunter General on me for anything less than perfection.

  I tossed the papers on to the rough surface of the desk and sat down to remove my boots. I placed them beside the bed and stripped down to my bed clothes. Pulling the heavy, stitched quilt down, I reached over and blew out the dancing candle flame and slid into bed. I prayed for good dreams to find me and for evil to be kept at bay.

  I awoke to sunlight hitting my eyelids rousing me from a thankfully, dreamless sleep. I was usually plagued by nightmares that woke me at all hours. It was glorious to have slept the whole night through. The coven must not be aware of my presence in their city yet or surely the night terrors would have come. As if they could scare me away with dreams.

  I pushed the quilt back and sprang from the bed. My body felt whole and strong and ready for the day ahead. I dressed quickly and pulled my boots onto my feet.

  Sometime in the night the wind had pushed my important documents to the floor, and I bent to retrieve them. A loud knock echoed through the room.

  “Enter,” I called out.

  John Stearne entered the small room with his hat in his hands. “Dressed and ready, Matthew?” He stepped inside and the door clicked behind him. “The carriage is outside, and the driver is a big ornery brute. I don’t like the looks of him.”

  “You don’t like the looks of anyone.”

  “You’ve taught me that everyone is suspect.”

  I chuckled. “That they are. Evil comes in many forms.” I handed him the papers. “We have eight so far here. Are you ready?”

  “Of course. I spent all night dreaming up more interesting ways to wring the truth from their blasphemous lips,” he grinned excitedly.

  John enjoyed forcing the accused to reveal their secrets even more than the merit he earned by helping the people of the villages become free of evil. The harder they tried to hide what they were, the worse it was for them. John was very imaginative.

  I splashed water on my face from the wash. The slop smelled of flowers
and I saw too late that she had placed petals in the water for fragrance. I didn’t look forward to smelling as if I spent the night with a whore. I dried myself and tried to wipe the smell away.

  “Lord almighty. Why must they insist on making everything smell like daisies?”

  “It’s better than smelling like your chamber pot I suppose,” John said.

  “I’m not sure I agree.” I threw the towel into the bowl and it immediately soaked up the malodorous water. “Women should smell like flowers. Men should smell like men.”

  John scoffed at me. “How would you even know what women smell of? Have you ever been with one?” He was shuffling through the papers in his hands.

  “Of course, I’ve been with women,” I glared at him.

  “Verily? Name the last wench you had betwixt your thighs,” he gave a haughty smirk.

  I shoved past him into the hall. “We have a job to do, remember? No time to scrutinize my love life, or lack thereof.”

  “So, I was right then!” His impish eyes were upon me and he was preening at his perceived victory.

  “Drop it, John. I do not wish to discuss this with you. Now or ever.”

  He was silent as we walked through the lower level.

  “Will you be returning this evening for supper, Sir?” the barkeep called out wielding a new rag on a new mess.

  “I don’t know, Harold. Save a plate for me?” I tipped my hat in appreciation.

  “As you wish sir.”

  “Good man.”

  A carriage pulled by two magnificent beasts waited outside. The coach itself was an expertly crafted black four poster carriage that must have cost a fortune. John was right about the man holding the reins, he was a giant with a mane of thick black hair and a beard to match. A scar traversed across the bridge of his nose and both cheeks making his face look angry and his eyes droop. His hands were roughly double the size of mine and from where I stood, I could clearly see the black rot in his mouth and beneath his nails. He pulled the brim of his hat down in front hiding his eyes from me as if he felt my eyes upon his disfigured face.