She let her hand drop. A dozen arms fell to their sides, rustling as they collapsed against crisp nightdresses. The priest grabbed his heart with both hands and fell forward, his head smashing against the stone floor.
“It is just as I said it would be,” he sighed, as a slow trickle of blood pooled beneath his head.
Élisabeth grabbed the doll from his lifeless hand and sprinted for the window. “Run,” she yelled over her shoulder.
The coven dissolved, breaking off in every direction, some following Élisabeth through the window, some slipping through the front door onto the seminary lawn. The witches screamed and whooped at their triumph, throwing theirheads back to laugh at the risen moon. Élisabeth saw a face peeking from an upstairs window and let another wolf howl rip from her throat as she clutched the doll and ran as fast as she could.
Élisabeth flung open the bakery door and saw Francoeur at the hearth with Jambon and Lajeunesse. They had escaped the jailor.
Her husband’s eyes widened at the sight of her. “Élisabeth, what—”
She ran past him to fling back the curtain to the widow’s room. There was Marthe, her eyes closed, her face pale and damp. She was barely alive. Élisabeth thrust the doll at Jeanne Roy.
“Here,” she heaved. “Here is Chamberlen’s Secret.”
The witch took it from her. “Thank you,” she said calmly. “Now, get me a knife.”
“A knife?” Élisabeth hesitated only for a moment, then plunged back into the widow’s salon. “A knife!” she shouted at them all. Jambon’s hand flicked to his belt and handed her his hunting blade. Élisabeth grabbed it and turned to duck behind the curtain again. She held it out to Jeanne Roy, flat in her hands like a sacrifice.
In one swift movement the witch grabbed the knife and sliced off the doll’s head.
The rag lump rolled onto the floor. Jeanne Roy stuck the blade into the doll’s back and gutted it. The cloth and stuffing fell away and its bones were revealed.
“What… what is that?” Élisabeth gaped.
The doll’s bones were wrought-iron blacksmith’s tongs. In the place of pincers were a pair of curved iron hands.
“Thisis Chamberlen’s Secret,” she said. Even the witch’s voice was full of awe.
Élisabeth stared at the device in Jeanne Roy’s hands. The black claws looked like an instrument of torture that might be heated in coals and used to pull out a liar’s tongue. Jeanne Roy kneeled in front of Marthe.
“Marthe, come to the edge of the bed. I am going to use these forceps”—Jeanne Roy held up Chamberlen’s Secret—“to pull out your baby’s head. If I can free the first child, I think the other will follow naturally.”
Élisabeth swallowed as she stared at the iron hands. Father de Sancy had been right. Chamberlen’s Secretwasa magic wand that could pull a child from its mother’s womb. She hoped that Jeanne Roy was a skilled enough sorceress to know how to wield it.
“Marthe, this is your salvation.” Élisabeth crouched by her sister’s side, taking hold of her hand. “Say your prayers with me now. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you. Say it with me, Marthe. Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb…”
The sisters prayed together. Jeanne Roy crouched between Marthe’s legs, murmuring to herself as she cast her spell. Élisabeth watched as the witch pulled Chamberlen’s Secret apart, putting her hand inside her sister to insert one of the two tongs. Marthe whimpered and convulsed and called out to Saint Anne. When the second tong was inserted, Marthe hollered in pain.
“I know it hurts,” Jeanne Roy said. Élisabeth heard a metallic click as Jeanne joined the forceps back together. “I’m ready. I have a hold of your baby’s head. So push with all your strength and I will pull the child out.”
Marthe’s body sagged. Élisabeth squeezed her hand.
“Come, Marthe. Push.”
“I can’t.” Marthe’s face was flushed, her eyes unfocused.
“Youcando it,” Élisabeth insisted. “You would not let me falter on the ship when I could not even rise from the bunk, when fear had me gripped by the throat. And I will not let you die now. So take my hand. We will do it together.”
Slowly Marthe raised herself onto her elbows. Élisabeth kept a tight grip on her hand, squeezing all of the demon’s strength into Marthe’s exhausted frame.
Marthe locked eyes with the witch and furrowed her brow.
She pushed and Jeanne Roy pulled. The witch gave the order for another push, and another and then her arm arced towards the sky as she usedChamberlen’s Secret to guide the child into the world. When the child’s head was delivered, she crouched and caught his body with her free hand.
“Rose, a cloth,” she commanded. Rose leapt forward so that Jeanne Roy could wrap the tiny baby in clean linen and rub its back until Élisabeth heard the sound of its cry. She thought she would faint with joy. Jeanne passed the baby to Rose and crouched again between Marthe’s legs. Élisabeth placed a kiss on her sister’s sweaty brow and rubbed her shoulders to distract her from the delivery of the afterbirth.
“You are a mother, Marthe. You have a son.”
