VenCo(33)

“What the hell!” She stopped dead, putting a hand to her cheek.

Now a light blow landed on the back of her head. She swung around, fists raised.

Nothing.

But then she noticed something—it was glinting in the moonlight, dangling from a silvery string looped up in a bent tree. She ducked out of the way as it swung past her. On its return swing, she grabbed it, yanking it free from its tether, which was only a spider web after all. And in her hand was a small silver spoon.

It went from cool to warm in her palm, sucking the heat from her body, leaving her shivering. She turned it over. There were letters and markings. She held it at an angle towards the moonlight and was able to read the single word: SALEM.

Carrying the spoon, she hurried through the front gate. Back on the sidewalk she turned to read the white wooden sign—the burying point.

She shivered again, and the shiver shifted into a constant tremble. She walked as fast as she could back to the safety of her father’s home. Vivid in her mind was the strange woman who’d once told her she was supposed to go to the Burying Point. It had been twenty-five years to the day. And she, according to the woman, had begun.

When she got back to her father’s house, she found a woman sitting on the porch swing, her feet dangling. She wore a chic black suit with tailored edges and was smoking a cigarette stuffed into a slim holder. Her hair was silver, and her jewelry was gold.

“Who are you?” Meena asked.

“Sit, chère. I’m here to make sure you know what’s coming now that you have found the first Salem Witch Spoon.”

Meena squeezed the small souvenir spoon in her hand. How had she known about it? “Listen, I need to know who you are and just what in the hell you’re doing on my daddy’s porch.”

“I am the Crone. The Oracle has sent me.”

“The Oracle? What the hell is the Oracle?” But a part of her already knew. Hearing the name felt like déjà vu. “Wait. Is that who came to me twenty-five years ago?”

“That was the previous Crone, my predecessor—one-third of the Oracle.” The Crone took a long haul from her cigarette and blew the smoke out with great relish. “Come, asseoir—please.” She patted the seat beside her, and Meena sat.

The Crone took a last drag, pulled the butt out of the holder, and tossed it onto the lawn. “We should start. There’s so much for you to learn.”

“About this spoon from the tree? And how someone knew where and when I’d find it?”

“That one was not so difficult. The date came to Sarah’s sister and was recorded in the old stories. And their mother is buried in that cemetery. It was a place that was important to her. So it was just putting two and two together.” The Crone rotated her wrist, indicating the ease of the prediction, waving it off as if it were nothing at all.

“Are you a ghost?” Meena asked.

The Crone laughed. “I have been called old, but never so old that I am a ghost.”

She fitted a new cigarette into her holder. “But now, down to business. You among the witches have been chosen to reassemble the missing coven.”

“Witches? Coven?” Meena was taken aback, but if she were being honest, there was excitement in her surprise. She had that feeling again—This is good. This is right. I am exactly where I should be, doing exactly what I should be doing.

“I don’t understand . . .”

“We have waited so long, and now it has begun. And you, my love, will see it through. You must find the others now.”

“What others?” Meena felt a coolness against her palm and looked down to see she was still holding on to the spoon. “What do I do now?”

The swing started to move. From up and down the street came the barking of dogs and the sound of car alarms going off. A thick rumble was building, thunder low in the sky, vibrating the porch.

“Meena Good of Salem, you have to allow for change, because it is coming. Everything changes. That’s how it begins.”

The Crone got up and started down the steps. From in front of the house, a car engine turned over. Meena hadn’t noticed the vehicle parked there when she arrived. A large man in a leather cap came around the side and opened the back door.

“Wait, that’s not an answer. What do I do?” Meena was starting to get scared. Trees shook and leaves fell onto the front lawn. She got to her feet too.

“The Oracle will be in touch. For now, you need to learn, chère. Seek out the Bookers, the Tenders, the Watchers. They will help.” She was climbing into the car. “We will send names.”

“Wait!” Meena yelled. “How do I find you?”

“The spoons will lead the way to the witches. We are only here to guide, but you have to bring the coven together.” The door closed, and the driver got back in, and they drove away.

“I . . . I am exactly where I should be,” Meena said to herself, trying to hold on to clarity. “Doing exactly what I should be doing.”

She stood alone on the porch while wind shook the street to fury.





13

The Circle Is the Strongest Shape




“What exactly is this?” Lucky picked up her spoon and examined it for the thousandth time. Below the Halloween witch with her straw broom was a single straight pin, pointing towards the bowl. She threw the spoon back down onto the table, and it bounced before settling on the placemat. “Honestly, just tell me what the hell this is all about.”