Page 53 of The Redd Key (Bone Coven #1)

T iny particles of dust filtered through the lamp light which cast a warm glow throughout Bridget’s dining room.

“I took a picture of the symbol on my phone before the ink did this.” Sarah shook her arm as if to get the lines off of her skin. “I’ve been doing reverse image searches and I found something.” She put a sheet of paper in front of me, with the same symbol on it as the parchment from my door. It was a photo with the symbol carved into wood. “It is similar to some of the carvings from the Miskito culture, the indigenous people near Nicaragua.” I raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“From what I found online, there are carvings similar to this one, etched into stone pillars from early Miskito Indians.” Her voice was grave. Ice washed over me.

“Stone pillars?” I raised my brows higher. “Like the ones in Bailey’s Cove?”

“This isn’t making me feel any better.” Bridget was shaking her head.

“This is New England. I’m not saying it’s not possible that something from Central American witch-hunting culture would be here, but it just doesn’t seem likely.” I didn’t hide my unease.

“You know, I don’t know–I believe this is tied into everything else.” Sarah placed the paper beside one of the books with yellowed pages. “The Whydah Gally was a slave ship. Black Sam Bellamy released slaves when he took the ship. As he sailed, he gave the captured men the option of joining his crew or allowing them to be free men. The Miskito Coast was one of the places Bellamy sailed to.” She read from the script. “One of his surviving crew members, John Julian, possibly known as Julian the Indian, joined Bellamy’s crew in 1717, when Black Sam was in the Bay of Honduras where the Miskito Indians lived. rose to the role of pilot, and guided the fleet in and out of harbors. It would have been his task to get the Whydah into the Cape during the Nor’Easter that sank the ship – he was one of only two survivors.”

“He didn’t go down with the fleet? John Julian survived the Nor-Easter? How?” I asked breathlessly.

“No one even knows. The water must have been freezing and the swells were enormous. How he could have made it to shore…” Bridget broke off shaking her head, brows raised in awe. “He also evaded capture for nearly fifteen years.”

“There are rumors about what he was up to during those years between evading capture.” Sarah glanced at Bridget. I sank into a seat and stared at the two of them.

“As someone who has studied archaeology and taken a ton of history courses, I am impressed by you two,” I chuckled.

“The rumors align with the theory that Goody Hallett conjured the storm and cursed Black Sam Bellamy,” Bridget pushed on. She looked tired. “Witchcraft wasn’t a welcomed practice in either Miskito or Colonial culture. John Julian was a respected man on Bellamy’s crew, with authority, responsibility, and accountability. When Goody sank the Whydah Gally, she didn’t just destroy Bellamy, she destroyed everything for everyone on his crew, their families, their livelihoods. Julian was not a white man.” Bridget said with feeling. “When captured, he was immediately sold as a slave. He was constantly attempting to escape. It is rumored that he sought revenge against Goody. She took everything from him, most of all his freedom as a human being.” My mind raced with images from the memories the locket gave me. The ships snapping and cracking – I couldn’t imagine anyone surviving what happened in that bay, but if they did, and were sold into slavery, I was positive they would want revenge if it was said witchcraft had caused the storm. And I couldn’t blame them.

Sarah turned her laptop toward me and showed me an article. “There was a group of men that banded together in the summer of 1717, led by someone with the same description as John Julian. It was said that this worldly man had knowledge from the sea, secrets that were whispered to him to confront the demons who wielded blood as a saber. These men used practices to end anyone who proved to use witchcraft. Tortuous practices. They would bloodlet the victims, draining them completely, to give the blood back to the earth, paying the debt that was owed.” She swallowed hard. “Super brutal stuff.” My stomach churned.

Bridget sipped tea that must have turned cold. “They created a legacy. A guild that carried on through the centuries. Lost to history, but still very much alive.” She held her arm up. “And we’re on their radar. They will hunt us, torture us, and kill us, but not before draining us of our blood to give back to the land so that no one else can use the Aecor we behold.” Her voice was emotionless and I wanted to vomit.

“So now, not only do we have Griffin’s Blood Coven and their leader to worry about, we have actual Witch Hunters on our backs too?” I could have passed out. “And on top of all that, I am fucked when it comes to Cole.” Both of their eyes were wide as they looked at me in unison.

“Like fucked, fucked?” Sarah smiled widely, and it was entirely inappropriate in relation to the matters at hand. A look from Bridget wiped the look from Sarah’s face.

“What about Cole?” Bridget asked, lacking all humor. She rarely smiled these days.

I couldn’t put it into words, the connection, the familiarity, the vulnerability I had with Cole. “He sort of told me that I was the person he had been waiting lifetimes for,” I cringed. Sarah squealed. Bridget merely stared at the ink lacing around her arm.

“Sarah,” Bridget snapped, but her eyes softened the harshness of her tone. “Now is not the time to get all boy crazy.” She looked at me, “but please tell us exactly how the two of you got onto that subject…and when?” I repeated the majority of events that happened between Cole and I over the past two days.

“You felt compelled to meet him in the cove? Like he called you there?” Sarah tilted her head.

“I–I’m not sure. It felt like I was finding my way back home.”

“And you said he told you he’d drown every day for you or something like that?” I nodded in reply to Bridget’s question. She lifted her chin, scrunching her brow before continuing, “After he abducted you, he held you in a secret cavern with rusted iron bars and a trove of treasure, but you decided to fuck him?” I nodded again, face red with shame.

“New kink unlocked,” Sarah snorted as she walked back to the other side of the table.

“I’m already beating myself up over it, and I emailed my therapist to schedule an appointment asap, ok? So don’t give me too much shit please,” I pleaded. It’s not that I didn’t expect judgment, but I was really hoping that neither of them would point out the obvious.

“I’m just trying to get this straight. Cole ignored you for months, any encounter with him at all was abrasive, but then he saved you from the sandbar attack, kidnapped you, but saves us from the ruins, and then basically confesses his love for you, and you can only focus on feeling bad for fucking him and not focusing on the two different groups of murderers that are targeting us?” Bridget’s voice was quiet, but pink rose in her cheeks.

“Well, when it’s put like that,” Sarah said under her breath as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear.

“Ok,” I sobered, Sarah too. I placed both of my palms on the surface of the table and shot a look between both of them. “Let’s figure out how to stop this.”

Darkness fell beyond the horizon and for once the sky was completely clear. Stars glittered through the skylights above the dining room as the three of us scoured the documents and books for any information that could help.

“Where do you think the bodies from the Forge went?” Sarah asked.

“I’ve been trying to figure that out.” Bridget’s nose was an inch from a map of the island’s cave system. “This map is lacking. It doesn’t show where Cole held you captive, and there are no markings for the cave where Lydia said she and your mom made their pact.”

“We need to find that, it feels important.” I wasn’t just talking about all the lore, but for me finding the cave meant learning something about my mother. Suddenly I recalled the thought I had when I was with Cole. “Wait, I almost forgot. As much as I wish I could forget the image of Lydia when I looked down the bluffs,” I swallowed and took a breath before continuing, “She had been pointing. Her hand was pointing…”

“You’re right.” Sarah’s voice was solemn and her eyes glistened with the onset of tears. “I saw when I looked over the edge.” She shuddered. Bridget immediately scoured that area of the map, tracing the jagged line that signified the bluffs.

“Then we start where she fell.” Bridget clenched her jaw and avoided making eye contact with me.

I steadied my breathing, trying to not read into her behavior. “I wonder how much they knew about everything. Fairytales and Folklore seem widely accepted here on the island, but does anyone know that it is all turning out to be real? Like the locals? Will they even bat an eye when they discover what’s been going on?”

“Some of them might. But I’m sure Anabel has already alerted the elders, who have probably told their families who still live here.” Sarah shrugged, wiping a single loose tear.

“There’s something else I’m trying to figure out. The why. And why now?” Bridget folded the map and tucked it under a binder.

“Why? Because the Blood Coven are Aecor hungry freaks, and the witch-hunters are prejudiced.” Sarah folded her arms over her chest. She wasn’t wrong.

“You’re right, Sarah, the hunters really don’t understand what we are, that we’re on the same side.” I trailed a finger down the wood of the table as I walked around to the head of it. I got caught up on a bound scroll. “Where is this from?”

“It was in the display case at the library. When I picked all these up from the case, I grabbed that too. Without Lydia there, I didn’t think anyone would care.” Bridget walked to the sink to refill the kettle. The mention of Lydia made my stomach lurch.

“Something Griffin said, they wanted to be ready when He arrived. Who is He?” I asked.

“Another part of this I can’t figure out, there’s a leader of the Blood Coven that wasn’t at the ruins. We’re not safe even if we find out where their bodies went or if we stop the hunters. There’s still their leader to deal with.” Bridget’s emerald eyes darted between Sarah and I.

“How can we possibly stop all of this? We barely know how to use the magic we have. I can barely light a candle with my Aecor, but that’s all I’ve got.” Sarah’s voice was small.

“That isn’t all you’ve got. You have Air, and we have seen you wield it. B has Earth, and I have the flames of Fire. We have each other. For real,” I added when they both smirked. “We don’t need blood to access our strength. We need to prove that to the hunters. Make them see that we’re not the same as the others.”

“We can do a location spell for the Blood Coven, or use the reveal powder again. Once the snow melts.” Bridget suggested.

“I really don’t want to step foot at Bennett Forge Park ever again,” Sarah shuddered.

The two of them continued to brainstorm tactics to identify where Griffin and his coven had gone, and ways to reveal the identity of the leader. I finally unfurled the scroll. The handwriting was thin, and it swirled and looped beautifully. My heart stopped when my eyes saw the signature at the bottom — Goody.

I fear God himself will strike me down for these thoughts, but in my soul I can not believe He would create such an extraordinary beast if He did not do so for it to be admired. He came from England as a sailor. A poor man with no connections, no family, but in my heart I know that the Divine has made this man for me. For, with him, I would be the richest woman in the New World. Samuel. Just speaking his name feels sinful on my lips, and I pray to see him, only him, every waking moment. To think I have captured his affections feels like something wicked. What power do I possess to make a beast like him give me his specific attention? Oh, if only I could paint a portrait of his godly face. However, I have salvaged coal from the hearth. Father would end me if he saw how I use my talents to draw such provocative things. Pray for me, this man has stolen every part of my being and transformed me into a creature of infatuation. – Goody

The page was blotted with black smudges and fingerprints made not from the ink, but from what could have been charcoal. A smaller page slipped from behind the letter and fell facedown on the floor under the table. I crawled beneath the reclaimed wood and reached for the page. I turned it over and slammed my head on the underside of the table at the sight of it. The charcoal drawing was amateur but there was absolutely no mistaking those eyes, that jaw, that mouth, that face.

Air escaped my throat as a whisper, “Cole."