The Evil Inside

7

Sam joined them again that night at dinner, but it wasn’t much of a social occasion. He spent half of his time on the phone with his assistant in Boston, discussing the paperwork he wanted done. During the meal, he talked earnestly with Jamie, wanting to know more about the boy’s psychological makeup. Jenna spent most of the evening listening, and realizing that the more she watched Sam, the more she was drawn to him. She hated to admit the fact-even to herself, or especially to herself-that there was something about the testosterone-filled energy he exuded that was seducing her.

Sam mentioned that he was going to visit Malachi in his hospital-slash-jail cell tomorrow, and then head to his office to deal with some of the massive amounts of paperwork that seemed to go with every sneeze. It had to be done-it was the major part of the game of law. Jamie was going to accompany him and spend time with Malachi.

“The law these days is demanding,” Sam began. “But ultimately it’s a good thing. The witchcrafts trials couldn’t have existed today, but we learned a lot about ‘hearsay’ evidence because of the injustices of the past. And, thank God, there’s no longer such a thing as ‘spectral’ evidence. But, the paperwork! I really want to talk to the Yates kid, but his mother has threatened me with every lawsuit in the book if I go near him. I’m going to have to have help on that. And I’d also like to have an interview with Samantha Yeager, find out what, if anything, her connection to the Smiths was. But I have to head into Boston and the office for a few hours. You should probably come with us,” Sam told Jenna.

“I’m afraid I would be worthless helping you with legal paperwork,” she told him.

He frowned. “You could spend the time with Malachi and see if there was something else in his mind that might help us, something we haven’t discovered yet.”

“Jamie is his friend, and has been his doctor,” Jenna pointed out. “I can get more done here.”

He arched a brow. “Jenna-”

“Maybe I can get near David Yates,” she said.

That brought a frown. “It could be dangerous for you to be here,” Sam said, looking at Jamie as if for help, but not wanting to give away what happened yesterday.

“I’m a Federal agent,” Jenna reminded him. “And that’s not going to change. I can handle myself around dangerous people. But, besides that, no one is going to attack me. The killer would know that the second something happened while Malachi was in custody, the whole concept that he was a maniacal killer driven to acts of extreme violence because of some strict fundamentalist upbringing would be in the trash, and the hunt would be on again. I’ll be fine. I’ll be more helpful here.”

Sam wagged a finger at her. “You need to be careful.”

“I always am,” she assured him.

“Jamie?” Sam asked.

“Sam, she just looks really sweet. There’s little as tough as an Irishwoman,” Jamie confirmed.

She looked at her uncle, not sure whether to appreciate his support, or tell him that she wasn’t exactly a sumo wrestler. But she did want to explore on her own, and even though it seemed that Sam wasn’t scoffing her “sight” in the way he had been, she knew that he had difficulty believing in any kind of ESP.

“See? Tougher than nails,” Jenna said. She smiled, liking the way Sam was looking at her. It was nice to feel that he came with the instinct to protect, even if she didn’t feel that she needed to be protected. Certainly not in broad daylight, and not when the streets were filled with people.

Then again, she had to admit, protection wasn’t exactly what she wanted when she looked at him…

Not good.

“All right,” Sam said, “but you need to stay out of trouble.”

“What kind of trouble could I possibly get into?”

“Legal trouble, too,” Sam said gruffly.

“Seriously, there’s nothing for you to worry about. The killer honestly can’t act at all. We’ve agreed we’re not dealing with an all-out psycho who’s acting willy-nilly, but with someone possessing very specific, material motives. So, you see, in the devious little plot-whatever it might be-that’s going on, I couldn’t possibly be safer.”

Soon after, she walked Sam to the door. She found him hesitating as he said good-night; he looked at her awkwardly, which seemed odd-he was so totally a man of the world. She couldn’t imagine that he had ever been awkward in a social situation.

But they weren’t exactly in a social situation.

He started to say something, and then didn’t. Then he touched her cheek again, and his fingers seemed to linger just a minute.

“Be careful, kid, really,” he said, and his voice was gruff.

She smiled at him. “In my experience, honestly, a ghost never killed anyone.”

She hesitated. “The scariest unknown in the world is the human mind,” she continued on. “But in that, a ghost is no scarier than a dog, really. But any kind of suggestion is like hypnotism. People have claimed that all kinds of things have ‘made them do it.’ A dog, video games, television, the movies, ghosts-or the devil. I’m not afraid of ghosts. I can be very leery and careful of people, but I won’t do anything that could remotely be considered dangerous, okay?”

He nodded. He stood there another minute, looking at her, and she was surprised that, although he no longer touched her, she could feel warmth emanating from him that almost reached out and stroked the length of her body. Heat rushed through her, and it was very hard to maintain her even eye contact with him, to give nothing away of the sudden longing that rushed through her.

Was it him?

Was it wishful thinking?

She wasn’t without self-confidence, but she knew his type.

Type? she mocked herself. Wasn’t that judging unfairly?

He was wealthy; he was a powerful man, and he had the kind of steadfast assurance that was sensual in itself. He drew attention when he walked into a room. Men admired him, and women fantasized about him.

Which, of course, she was doing right then.

And women would easily come, and just as easily go, out of his life.

“Good night,” he said somewhere in the middle of her internal monologue. And then he was gone.

That night, she felt something on her bed. And again, despite her assurances about ghosts to Sam, despite her beliefs, she felt an odd sensation of fear. She wanted to reach for the light. She wanted to run out of the house.

There was an old woman sitting at her bedside. A very sad-looking old woman.

For an insane moment she thought that the ghost, apparition or figment of her imagination was going to say something incredibly grave and overused, such as “The truth is out there!”

But the figure simply stared at her with dignity, and then spoke softly. “You must save the innocents. Let not the blood of the innocent be shed.”

And then, Jenna felt a stirring of the air, and something that seemed cold and warm at the same time touch her cheek.

An old woman’s gentle touch.

“Let not your blood be spilled-for the devil lives, he lives in all of us. Sometimes his name is Envy, and sometimes it is Greed. Let not the blood be spilled…”

It was everything she could do not to scream.

The vision faded into the night.

Jenna leaped from her bed and hurried into the kitchen. As she knew, Jamie always had a bottle of good Irish whiskey on hand.

She found the bottle and gulped down a burning shot.

And then she took another. She noted that the darkness of night was just beginning to break. Morning was coming. Sleep, just a few hours, brought on by the relaxing quality of the alcohol, would be great just about now.

At his office, Sam thanked God for the competency of Evan Richardson, legal assistant extraordinaire. Sam inspected the paperwork on the motions filed. The prosecution would fight many of his motions regarding what could and could not be brought into evidence. In defense of his client, Sam would make court appearances himself, but Evan was exceptional at keeping the legal paperwork moving at an expert rate. Since they were not going for an insanity plea, Sam had planned to deny the prosecution’s request for their expert psychiatrist’s opinion on Malachi’s mental stability.

“But what if you do have to switch over to a mental competency plea?” Evan asked worriedly.

Sam smiled. “At that point, we’ll allow them their expert. Not now.”

“All right. Are we moving to keep allegations regarding the other murders out?” Evan asked.

Sam shook his head. “No, because we have a discrepancy on that. If the prosecution wants to bring up the other murders-which I don’t believe they’re willing to risk at this time-we have witnesses that will cast the shadow of doubt, affecting their entire case.”

“Well, all right,” Evan said. He chewed on the nib of his pencil. “Sam, you’re taking a huge risk here, you know.”

“If it comes down to it, I won’t risk sending my client to prison. We’ll plead insanity,” Sam assured him.

Evan still looked glum.

“Cheer up, I’m not going down in an earthquake. I can win this, man. I won’t take you off a cliff with me.”

Evan still didn’t look convinced. Actually, he looked like a young man whose older mentor had gone entirely senile.

Sam had to wonder if he was crazy himself.

When Jenna walked into A Little Bit of Magic that morning, both Cecilia and Ivy were working. After allowing her to get reacquainted with Ivy, following Ivy’s massive, enthusiastic hug greeting, Cecilia finally asked the question it looked like she was dying to ask.

“Hey, how’s it going with Malachi?”

“Slowly,” Jenna admitted.

The shop was busy, but both the owners seemed to have the ability to have a conversation and keep an eye on their clientele, as well. Ivy hadn’t gone with the completely black look as Cecilia had done; her hair was still a shaggy mix of brown and blond, colors that complemented her hazel eyes.

“Well, if you are trying to prove his innocence, that’s going to be hard,” Ivy said, making it obvious that the two women had discussed the situation.

“Actually,” Jenna told them, “I came to ask you two a few questions about Wicca.”

The warmth left Ivy’s eyes. “If you’re trying to say that this is the result of witchcraft-”

“No, no, no! Not at all,” Jenna assured them quickly. “I know that-”

“Our beliefs aren’t so different!” Ivy said. “All gods and goddesses are part of the Source, and the source is like the one god of Christianity and Judaism and Islam. Catholics see saints-we see other gods and goddesses. Praying in itself is important, as is the goodness that we are supposed to practice in everyday life.”

“I know, I know-honestly, I know,” Jenna assured them. “But we all know that other people-in any time-can twist and contort what is supposed to be good and pure into other things, or try to make it appear that what is good-isn’t.”

They both stared at her blankly.

“There is a horned demon, right?” Jenna asked.

Ivy shook her head. “No demons. And no devils.”

“Ivy, there is a horned god,” Cecilia reminded her. “But he isn’t evil. He isn’t a devil. He is one of the oldest of gods. Many believe that his image has been drawn on walls by cavemen. He is…”

“He is the connection between us and the earth, the wind, the sky, the greenery,” Ivy finished, as though reading a pamphlet.

“Ah, but when you talk about people contorting things, he could easily be contorted,” Cecilia told her. “He is often connected with images of the Green Man, and he is seen sitting with immense arms, embracing the heavens and earth, with a very erect phallus. He is the cycle, fertility, birth and the sexuality that is essential for rebirth.

“And,” Cecilia added, “though as far as I can tell none of the Witch Trial victims was a pagan, I can see how the prim and so-called proper people of the day would try to make him into a devil or a demon. Oh, he’s considered the god of the underworld, so I suppose, in Christianity, that would make him the god of hell. You know-he is represented with cloven hoofs and horns and all that.” She shivered. “People were so…easily scared!”

Jenna smiled and agreed. “Well, there were Indian raids, babies died, there was so little light…and they’d been killing one another for decades and decades over religion on the Continent by the time the Pilgrims came here.”

“Why are you asking all this?” Cecilia asked curiously.

Jenna wasn’t about to explain to them that she’d seen one, in postcognition-murdering people. “I’ve seen one running around,” she said.

Ivy groaned. “Yeah, yeah! And you’ll see witches with warts on their noses, too. It’s Halloween. A holiday for one and all.”

“Hey, now, tolerance is what we need, and it’s what we’re all about,” Cecilia reminded her.

“Oh, yeah, and if I ran around dressed like Jesus Christ or the Virgin Mary, people wouldn’t be pissed at me?” Ivy demanded.

Cecilia sighed. Before she could speak again, a woman walked politely up to them, excused herself, and asked about her psychic reading with Merlin.

“I’m sure he’ll be right out,” Ivy assured the woman. “Merlin is excellent at keeping his appointment times, but he’s very thorough. I know you’ll enjoy your time with him, and that he’ll be tremendously enlightening.”

As she spoke, the man Jenna assumed to be Merlin came out of the curtained-off area in the back, followed by a young woman who seemed to be glowing.

She had certainly enjoyed her reading.

The man came toward them. He had long, curling brown hair, and was wearing a cape covered in stars and moons against a deep blue velvet background.

As he came even closer, Jenna realized she knew him and smiled. “Tommy! Tommy Wainscott!”

He smiled as well and walked forward, giving her a hug and whispering, “Merlin, please, if you will, Irish!”

Tommy had gone to school with Cecilia and Ivy. They’d all been friends. On her many visits to Salem, he’d liked to tease Jenna a lot about the color of her hair.

“Merlin!” she said quickly.

“Merlin,” Ivy said, a dry edge to her voice. “Your next appointment is waiting.”

“I’d heard you were here,” Tommy said, brown eyes dancing as he looked at her. “Will I get to see you?”

“Sure,” Jenna said.

“Gotta go now! Business is good, but there’s competition in town,” he told her. He turned, thoughtfully rather than dramatically, to the young woman who was his next appointment. “If you will, please?” He indicated the back.

Jenna smiled. “So Tommy is a medium now?”

“He’s very good,” Ivy said.

“I believe you,” Jenna assured her.

“He can stand against any of them,” Cecilia said. “Even the new blood with the big boobs.”

“Who’s the new blood with the big boobs?”

“Samantha,” Cecilia said.

“Oh? Samantha Yeager-who wanted to buy the old Lexington place?” Jenna asked.

“The one and only,” Ivy said.

“She’s working at a shop down at the end of Essex Street. It’s right next to Winona’s Wine Bar. I think her people come in on the spirited side to begin with. Also, she gets lots of men who wouldn’t step foot in with a medium if their lives depended on it otherwise…”

“Ah. I’m curious about her,” Jenna said. “Maybe I’ll go for a reading.”

“Merlin is much better!” Cecilia assured her.

“Much!” Ivy added.

Ivy frowned. “You’re not into a different-lifestyle these days, are you? I mean, it’s absolutely fine with us. We love our friends no matter what their religion or whatever, including sexual likes.”

Jenna smiled. “No, no lifestyle change. Just curiosity.”

“She’s investigating stuff for the Lexington House murders, silly,” Cecilia reminded her. “But, hey, we’re curious as all get-out about Samantha, too! You’ve got to come back and tell us all about it.”

“Will do,” Jenna promised.

She left the shop and walked along the pedestrian mall. Haunted Happenings remained wonderfully in full swing. She noted a row of small buckets and saw that the town fathers had figured out how to have kids bob for apples in a more sanitary fashion than when she’d been a kid. One mouth in a tub-and then it was washed and refilled. The bobbing-for-apples crew-attired in pirate gear-was busy.

A medieval group had set up to sing and play a bit farther down, and one shop front boasted The Best Haunted House In All New England.

Still farther along, a busy group had children doing mock gravestone rubbings.

There was something for everyone.

At last she came to a shop where a large sign advertised Madam Sam, the Best Reading In All New England!

Not in Salem-just like the haunted house, she was the best in all New England!

She noted the wine bar next door and smiled.

Bells chimed when she opened the door to the shop. Like the other merchants, the store was enjoying the busy trade of Haunted Happenings. Men and women in and out of costume looked at beautiful dolls, herbs, gris-gris bags, magical stones, jewelry and clothing.

Jenna approached the counter and asked about a reading with Madam Sam.

“Well, you’re in luck!” the girl behind the desk with black pigtails and a huge nose ring told her. “A lady just became faint, and had to go back to her hotel. We’re otherwise booked all day, so you are lucky, lucky, lucky!”

“How lucky indeed,” Jenna murmured. “The woman is all right?”

“What?”

“The lady who was faint-she was all right?”

The girl waved a hand in the air. “Oh, her husband just took her back to her room. It’s the Fates! You’re the one who should have the reading!” she said happily. “Come along-we have to adhere to a schedule, of course. You’re ever so lucky!”

Jenna followed the woman to the back and a setup that was similar to that at A Little Bit of Magic.

The clerk opened a heavy damask drapery for her and led her into the small cubicle where the medium was working.

Madam Sam was a beautiful woman. She was wearing a low-cut gypsy-style dress, and her hair was ink-black, long and sleek as it fell down her back. Her eyes were so blue they were almost violet, but Jenna could see, even by the dim light that added atmosphere to the cubicle, that the color had been enhanced with contact lenses. She wore very heavy makeup, especially around her eyes, adding to her look of the sexy gypsy reader.

She wore a live boa constrictor around her neck; the animal somehow seemed to increase the size of her breasts and enhance her sensual mystique. There was something about her that seemed familiar, but Jenna couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Ah,” Madam Sam said softly. “Welcome. How curious that you have come to me for a reading!”

She didn’t offer Jenna a hand but instead indicated a chair in front of her table, which held a crystal ball and a large tarot deck.

Jenna said. “You know me? Have we met?”

Madam Sam-or Samantha Yeager-laughed, a low, throaty and melodious sound. “Of course I know you. Your name is Jenna Duffy, and you’re attached to that delightfully devilish rogue, Sam Hall, and you’re here to investigate the recent horrors that have occurred in Salem. Have we met? No, never, I’m afraid.”

“Very good,” Jenna told her. “I mean, we haven’t met, but you do know exactly who I am.”

“Oh, yes, and you work for the FBI,” Madam Sam said.

“Okay…”

“Aye, yes, well, my other powers may be questionable, but I do read the local papers very well,” Samantha said, grinning. “You didn’t have to pay for a reading to speak with me.” Her voice had changed; it was tinged with amusement, and the sound was down-to-earth.

“I’ve wanted to talk to you. And with all the business going on with Haunted Happenings, I thought I should seize this opportunity.”

“Talk away. We have fifteen minutes,” Sam told her.

The boa stretched out toward Jenna.

“Nefertiti won’t hurt you,” Samantha assured her quickly.

“I’m not afraid of snakes,” Jenna told her.

“Good old Saint Patrick got them all out of Ireland, eh?”

“Doesn’t she scare away costumers?”

Samantha shrugged. “Some, maybe. But I think she attracts more than she loses. It’s all showmanship, really.”

“So you’re not a medium?”

“What’s a medium, really? I talk to people, I try to understand them. I don’t tell them that money is going to fall into their laps, or that they will find true love. What I do is try to draw out what is troubling them, and show them the directions they might take. I don’t have any kind of a degree in psychology but, really, reading people is simple as long as you listen.”

Jenna laughed softly. “Some might call that being a fraud,” she warned.

“And some might call it making a living. I’m sure that some call you a fraud.”

“Oh, definitely,” Jenna said, chuckling some more.

Samantha picked up the tarot cards and shuffled them. “Not the tarot cards-they come up as they come up, and a reader is supposed to interpret them. I’ve studied the tarot and all the ways that the cards might be interpreted. So, shall we read the cards? Cut, please, and we’ll use the Celtic Cross layout.”

Jenna cut the cards and Samantha began to lay them out.

“So, what did you want to know?” she asked.

“You wanted to buy the Lexington House.”

“Yes, I did. I still want to buy it.”

“And you made an offer to Abraham Smith?”

“A very generous one.”

“But he turned you down.”

“Flat.” Samantha looked up at her. She was smiling. “And you want to know if I killed the old man and his family-except for the crazy kid-to get my hands on the house?”

“More or less,” Jenna admitted.

Samantha kept looking at her, still amused. “Nope,” she said.

“You think that Malachi Smith is crazy?”

“As a loon!”

“So, do you think that he killed Peter Andres and Earnest Covington, too?”

“Yup.”

“Even though the grocer swears he saw Malachi in his shop?”

Samantha laid out cards before answering her, and then looked at her again. She sighed. “I’m not a cop or investigator or whatever, but I understand that the poor kid is truly a pathetic creature and I can also understand that you feel sorry for him. But you have to feel sorry for the dead people, too, the victims. Why kill Peter Andres? He was a farmer who substituted at the schools now and then. And Earnest Covington? He was harmless. You had to be crazy to have killed either of them, that’s all I can imagine. Oh, dear!” she said suddenly, looking down.

Jenna wasn’t really familiar with tarot cards, but she saw that the horned god-or, according to the cards, the devil-had come up in the middle. She tried to recall what she did know of the tarot… The card known as the devil was really a half god, half devil, and he represented what was in all men, and the fact that they had to choose to be slaves to the evil within, or to slip out of the chains that bound them.

Samantha looked at her and smiled. “Well, seems you have a few options ahead of you. Give in to decadence, or hold the line of morality. If it were me-I’d sleep with the man!”

Samantha had been intuitive enough on that one!

“It could mean, too, that there’s both evil and goodness around me,” Jenna said.

“Oh, it could, but how boring! And look, you have the Fool over here-ah, yes, so, moralistically, you are looking at others. How rude of you! Your Fool looks down upon the Devil, yet sees no evil in himself. And there-you have the hanged man. At least it seems you are progressing and realizing the foolishness of judging what you see as evil in others. Sex, perhaps. Is that it?” She looked curiously at Jenna.

Jenna didn’t answer. She tapped another card. “Death, of course, means change?”

Samantha laughed. “Or death! Oh, come, I’m sorry. Yes, it signifies change. But, without kidding you or just being bitchy-really, forgive me-the layout of these cards is almost…”

“Almost what?”

“A warning that if you judge others and pursue them, you will die.” The look she gave Jenna was perplexing. “You seem like you’re really nice. Yes, I’m a fraud, but…maybe you need to be careful. You have the Devil, followed by Death.”

Suddenly, the cards seemed to leap from the table and fly across the room. Both women jumped back in their chairs.

And then they stared at each other accusingly.

“I swear, I didn’t do that!” Samantha breathed, and the look she gave Jenna seemed both stunned and fearful.

“I didn’t do it,” Jenna said.

Samantha waved a hand in the air. “You’ve asked your questions. Go, will you?”

“I have another question,” Jenna told her, rising.

“What?” Samantha asked crossly.

“Where were you when the Smiths were killed?”

“That’s easy. I was right here-ask the clerk!”

“And what about Earnest Covington?”

“I was probably right here!” Samantha said, growing agitated as she started picking up her cards.

“And Peter Andres?”

Samantha stopped and stared at her. “How the hell would I know? That was six months ago! I had barely gotten to town. Look, please, this is how I make a living.”

“Sure. Thanks,” Jenna said. She slipped out from the curtained cubicle and walked to the counter to pay for her reading. She wasn’t sure what she thought about Samantha Yeager. She was a woman who knew showmanship and how to use her assets. She knew it was all a game, as well. And yet…

She started looking at the jewelry in the glass case at the checkout counter and drew the young clerk with the huge nose ring into conversation. When they had chatted about the marvels of Madam Sam and Haunted Happenings, Jenna asked her, “And Madam Sam has been working here since the Haunted Happenings began?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Huh. How sad that none of the mediums in Salem thought to warn Abraham Smith that he and his family were about to be murdered,” Jenna said, shaking her head with sorrow and leaving the shop.

“Malachi, we know that when Earnest Covington was killed, the grocer, Mr. Sedge, saw you in his store,” Sam said.

“Yes.”

“But David Yates and his friend claim they saw you coming out of Mr. Covington’s house,” Sam reminded him. “Are they still angry with you? Is that why? David believed, you know, that you had mind control over him and made him hurt himself.”

Malachi had been tenderly cradling the acoustic guitar Jamie had just bought for him. The guitar was a modest piece of equipment, to be sure, but Jamie had been certain that it would make the time pass for the boy. He had strummed a few strings and listened in awe. And then, of course, he wanted to play with it.

But now he paused, frowning and concerned. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand what happened at all. I had just gotten my tray. I saw David Yates and I knew he would try to knock it out of my hand or walk over and spit in my food. I was only looking at him to try and figure out the best way to back away from him. He stared back at me and started screaming-and then he started beating himself in the head. And he begged me to stop! A bunch of his friends stared at him, and then at me, and then they came after me-and I ran. I almost flew like a bird, I was so afraid. The school was in an uproar, and the cops came, but the kids had to admit that I hadn’t touched him.”

“You were never anywhere near him,” Sam mused.

“Had you ever threatened David Yates?” Jamie asked gently.

Malachi looked at Jamie with such confusion that Jamie might have been the one considered to be mad. “Me? Threaten him? Never. Dr. Jamie, sir, look at me. And look at David Yates. He could rip me to shreds in a minute. And it’s not like I don’t know how to take a beating, and I know, God help me, that you turn the other cheek, but…no. No. I never threatened David Yates.”

“Was he acting?” Sam asked. The boys would have all been young teenagers at the time, all about fourteen. Still very impressionable. If they heard talk around town about Malachi’s family, they might believe what they heard.

“No, sir. I don’t believe he was acting. He almost broke his own nose. And he was bawling. Tough guys like David aren’t supposed to cry, I don’t think,” Malachi said. He paused, looking at the guitar again, forgetting Sam and Jamie for a minute. “I cried. I cried so hard it hurt. But crying doesn’t ease the pain when you lose somebody. It’s just something that happens, and you can’t really stop it.”

“It’s okay, Malachi,” Jamie said. “President Lincoln was known to cry. He couldn’t show tears to the country, but he cried when he lost his children, and he cried when he knew how many men were dying in the war. Men do cry.”

Malachi nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said softly.

Sam knew that he had to find out more about David Yates, but he had been threatened, and though he wasn’t afraid of threats, he wasn’t going to lose a case over his own mistakes.

Jenna.

He thought grimly that he was really going to have to depend on her.

He looked at Jamie. It was time that they headed back.

They rose. Jamie gave Malachi a warm hug, promising him that they’d return.

Malachi shook Sam’s hand.

They could hear him playing the guitar even as the door closed behind them.

“Well?” Jamie asked.

“Let’s get back to Salem,” Sam told him. “Have you talked to Jenna?”

“No. Do you want me to call her?”

Sam hesitated, surprised that he was afraid of sounding eager. “We’re headed back. We can see if she wants to meet us somewhere for dinner.”

Jamie pulled out his cell and dialed. Sam waited.

“She’s not answering,” he said.

“Oh, well, we can call again on the way,” Sam said. He didn’t know why, but the missed call made him anxious.

And he didn’t know that he was driving far too fast until Jamie said, “Salem has been there hundreds of years-I think it will wait for us. And Massachusetts, as you should know, can be fierce on speeding tickets.”

“Try Jenna again,” Sam said, easing off on the gas pedal.

He thought that, when she didn’t answer a second time, even Jamie looked concerned.

He decided to screw the thought of a speeding ticket.

Hitting the pedestrian area again, Jenna met insanity.

A group was coming from the wine bar, having imbibed quite a bit, and they were in a good mood as they tried to entice her to join them. Since one was in a clown outfit, she tried to escape by being equally jocular while assuring them she had to meet someone.

Escaping, she hurried around and up the hill toward the cemetery.

She looked at her phone and realized she had missed a call. Jamie. He’d call back; they were probably heading home.

Dusk was starting to fall. Tourists were leaving and the gate was due to be locked. She passed the graves, and tried not to note the air of history that hung there, that whisper of darkness that seemed to carry the shadows of the deceased. It wouldn’t be long before they came to close the gates, but she wandered into the cemetery and walked along the graves, aware of those around her, and respecting them with her silence. She noted the graves of little children, and she felt the pain of long-gone parents, laying their tiny babes to rest.

She walked along the stone wall to the rear of the cemetery and was startled to see a man in Puritan apparel in front of her, his features grim.

“The devil! The horned devil-he is real, and he is coming for you!” he warned her.

She blinked, not sure if she was seeing the past or the present, the image had become so very real and solid.

And then she turned.

In the place where a huge oak had grown right through the stones of the deceased, she saw something. Shadow.

Not shadow. It was far darker than the hazy figures of the dead.

It was real.

A lithe figure in a cape and cowl, wearing the mask of the horned god, stood in the cemetery.

It saw her as she saw it.

Like the grim reaper, it wielded a scythe.

And it started striding swiftly across the graves and the dead to reach her.

Jenna looked around-it was just dusk, for God’s sake! There were still people about.

They just weren’t in the graveyard.

She could hear laughter from the street below. There were still plenty of people around; she didn’t think that they had closed the doors to the wax museum, or the museum or shops across from it-there would be people leaving those businesses, people casually walking the streets.

This was insane. The creature coming toward her with a scythe couldn’t be serious. It had to be someone she knew, trying to give her a scare, or a college kid…

But it wasn’t. And she knew it. This was the same figure she had seen walking in the pedestrian mall, the same figure that in her visions brutally murdered Peter Andres and then Earnest Covington.

As it came toward her, it suddenly began to swing the scythe, backward and forward, low along the ground, just as if it were mowing down long grass or stalks of corn.

The scythe made a whipping sound through the air, louder and louder the closer it came.