Page 40 of The Book of Unwritten Stories

Clara wanted to be the most powerful witch in Salem. No, strike that. She deserved to be the most powerful witch and she had to watch from the sidelines while Sephy English and her niece took that away from her. She let out a long, drawn-out sigh. It wasn’t happening, she was going to find whoever had that book of spells and make it hers. She knew how potent the magic was inside of that book. She had heard the rumours about it being owned by the greatest of all warlocks ever to have lived. It was said to have been passed down from matriarch to matriarch through the generations. The book had been lost for so long and now it had been found and in the hands of an inexperienced witch to add insult to the injury she was feeling.

Turning away she stalked back into her office, staring at Sephy’s and Lenny’s photographs in disgust. Not only were they powerful they were stunningly beautiful and didn’t even know it, or if they did, they also didn’t care or flaunt it. She stared at the bowl of witch balls, picked one up and rolled it around between her forefinger and thumb. It was too tempting to throw one at the photos, too easy. She was better than this, she needed to concentrate and find the book. Maybe she could ask Brandon to ask around. He was more discreet than Arnie who seemed as obsessed with the English women as she was.

Pulling on her coat she decided to walk down to the wharf, maybe grab a coffee from Jaho and just sit and people watch. See if she could pick up on any vibes that were coming from the book, it wasn’t as if Salem was a huge place. What she really needed was some kind of sign, wouldn’t a book that powerful give off some kind of vibes as to its whereabouts?

Clara strode past the crowd of tourists outside of the Witch House and crossed the road onto Essex Street, purposely not looking at Sephy’s apothecary although it would be closed by now unless she was out the back mixing up potions and spells that some of the locals swore by. Clara continued past Witch City Wicks, down to Washington Street and crossed onto the pedestrianised part of Essex Street. Striding past Ascend, she liked that little store, liked what they did with the aura photos. Past the Witch City Mall, which was in dire need of an update, past the Peabody Essex Museum, she didn’t even turn her head as she passed Crow Haven Corner, the oldest witch shop in Salem.

The Hawthorne Hotel she gave a slight nod to, it was one of her favourite places to go for supper and a nightcap, not to mention where she held her secret council meetings. She didn’t walk down Hawthorne Boulevard, instead she walked past Bella Verona, a lovely little Italian restaurant she approved of most wholeheartedly and turned onto Union, a little side street that was a far quieter way to get down to the wharf, tourists didn’t seem to like the little cut throughs which suited her just fine. She was in no mood to stop and make polite conversation with women wearing gaudy, pointed witch hats or T-shirts that read ‘1692 they missed one’.

The cold reality was in 1692, with the exception of the English women, no witches were ever executed and even then, the English women had no idea of the power they held. If they had, surely they would have used it to escape their fate, but they didn’t. They went willingly or as willingly as you could with a noose around your neck. That was the problem, they had died as martyrs when they didn’t have to, which just proved you could give someone all the power in the world and they still wouldn’t use it to their full advantage and that was her whole point.

As she reached the corner of Derby Street, a dark shadow flew above her head. She looked up and saw that pesky crow that followed Lucine everywhere or it had until her most recent death. It was dark, so there was a good chance it wasn’t Hades, there were other crows in Salem. There were lots of crows in Salem, they were drawn to witches just as witches were drawn to crows but there was something familiar about it. She paused on the corner, if she’d been here just two minutes earlier, she would have seen which direction it had come from. Did this bird know about The Book of Black Magic, if not why was it down here poking its beak around? Hm, this was an interesting development, maybe she could follow the crow next time it came this way, if it ever did. There was a lot of false hope with this theory because it might not even have been him, but he was alone and usually where there was one crow another wasn’t far behind.

She scanned the sky above to see if there were any random crows perched on the rooftops, but there weren’t. Most average crows would be tucked up in their nests for the night; it had to have been him. Maybe she should find him and ask him where the book was, she’d heard that he talked more than a parrot on a good day, but she’d never witnessed it. Clara crossed the road and went into the coffee shop, looking around at the customers. After placing her order she sat underneath the pink neon sign, no idea that Morana, the woman she was looking for, had done the exact same thing less than an hour ago.

THIRTY-THREE

Morana barely slept. She was excited to spend some money and thought that the first shop she’d try would be Blackcraft on Essex Street. She needed some new tees and sweatpants. It was as good a place as any to see if her stash of cash was legal tender.

No matter how wide she opened the blinds the bedroom was still dark, even with all the lights on. Either she needed new bulbs, there was a problem with the electrics or the darkness that was creeping into her life was something deeper than faulty wiring. She ignored it, though and used her phone’s flashlight to get her winged eyeliner just right.

Walking past Mrs Danby’s apartment, Morana saw Mrs Danby’s daughter come out of the doorway with an overnight bag and realised that the old woman was still alive. Morana didn’t even acknowledge her but walked past, part shamed, part embarrassed by what she had done.

Outside there was a single white rose at the side of the road near to where the old busybody had the terrible accident. As she walked past it her foot snaked out and stepped on it, her black boot crushing the soft, creamy petals. She carried on walking as if she’d stood on a piece of trash and not a flower that had probably been left by the woman’s daughter.

Morana strode along Derby Street until she reached the Haunted Neighbourhood lit up with orange lights strung across the small street that were bright even in broad daylight. This path would take her past the Witch Trials Memorial; she didn’t pause to pay her respects as she normally would. It was full of groups of tourists all lapping up Salem’s dark history and usually she would blow a kiss the memorial’s way to acknowledge those poor souls, but today it didn’t enter her head. She turned the corner and took her usual route past Charter Street Cemetery, which was also full of tourists, wandering the paths and gathering around the grave of the hanging judge, John Hathorne. She did not stop as she usually would, did not give it a second look. She was on a mission. Morana did not step aside for anyone. She continued walking straight ahead, her gaze fixed under her dark sunglasses. She even had the nerve to walk past the line already forming outside of Nocturne. If Kim asked, she would hand in her notice. She didn’t need a job for now as she had enough cash to last a couple of months and she could always get more by doing the money spell as many times as she needed.

Blackcraft was just opening up and there was a line, but she didn’t join it. Instead, she walked to the front and past the guy running it. ‘Is Addison in?’

He nodded. ‘She’s out back bringing the delivery in.’

No thank you, just cold hard indifference as she walked through the huge store to the small coffee bar at the back. There was a closed sign in front of it, which she moved to one side, walked behind the counter and out the back to where Addison was chatting to a guy standing outside of the truck bringing the milk.

‘Morana.’ Addison grinned at her, and Morana just about managed to smile back. Addison looked a mess; her hair was badly in need of a refresh and her make-up looked as if she’d slept in it.

‘Rough night, Addison?’

‘No, excuse me. Did you have a rough night?’

Morana glanced at her reflection in the van’s window and shook her head.

‘I had a glorious night. Your hair needs colouring.’

Addison looked taken aback by her friend’s cold, rude behaviour.

‘And your attitude needs a little attention. What’s wrong with you? I don’t get paid for a couple of weeks, and hair dye is not on my list of priorities at the moment, not when I need groceries and bus fare to go see Travis.’

‘Well, it should be, you’re letting yourself go. I’m sure Travis wouldn’t approve. Do you need some money?’

The delivery guy pulled a face at Addison that Morana caught in the reflection of his van window, making her scowl at him. He hurried and got into the van, starting the engine.

‘That’s not cool, Morana, don’t talk to me that way in front of my friends.’

‘Ha, he’s not your friend, he’s not even a colleague. He just wants to get you into the sack so he can keep getting free coffees.’

‘Screw you, did you want something or did you come here to be a bitch?’

Morana paused, what was she doing? This was mean and uncalled for.