Page 29 of The Witches of Cambridge

CHAPTER TEN

Senator McCarthy’s witch hunts continued in Washington, dividing Americans into camps of those who feared that Communist sympathizers had infiltrated the government and those who believed the country needed to adhere to the principles of individual freedom. There were reckless accusations that had no more credibility than the allegations that had once been flung at the women of Salem, when shoddy evidence based on the uncanny, nightmares, and visions of demons had been used in court. Lionel closely followed the news of what was called the Lavender Scare, actions taken against homosexuals who were thought to be threatening to the government for reasons that were equally hazy. Often there were meetings at the Peacock Café, where progressive thinkers and professors sipped bitter coffee and spoke in hushed voices. The world was dangerous, and the mere act of speaking out could be considered a crime.

Lauren couldn’t bring herself to read the news and spent all her time in the study of ancient magic. She had enrolled in Anthropology of Magic, as all Lilith members were required to do for at least one semester, a course that analyzed sacred objects that had been used as supernatural vessels in religious sacraments during magical rituals. Lab classes were taught with male students in attendance at their desks, but female students were thought to be too distracting to male students and were made to stay in the corridor outside. Only a few chairs were available, so female students were often forced to stand for two hours while listening to the lecture, never laying eyes on the professor or the objects he was discussing. Women could view the artifacts only after the class was over.

Professor Eugene Sharpe was tall and extremely good-looking, much beloved by his students, so much so that he had an ad hoc fan club of devoted women who met to have coffee and discuss his charms: his accent, his cheekbones, his hazel eyes that changed color depending on his mood. It was said he’d been divorced twice, perhaps even three times, and that he lived in a house filled with extraordinary artifacts. If you did your best, he might allow you to work on his research. His classes filled up so quickly people begged to audit his seminars.

On the first day of class, Lauren had noticed the Seal of Solomon, a powerful symbol of protection favored by those who walked on the left-handed path, on the ring the professor wore. She was even more interested in him after that, and her admiration increased when one afternoon he surprised his male students by inviting the female students into the classroom. Dr. Sharpe was known to have female research assistants, and he was said to make time for women students during office hours.

“Please don’t report me to the dean for allowing you ladies into the lab,” he joked as the women gathered around.

Lauren eagerly edged her way to the front to watch as Sharpe took out a sheet of white paper. The professor closed his eyes and whispered a spell no one understood, although Lauren heard the snippet of Latin Ignis in oculo meo, fire in my eye. All at once the paper began to burn. The professor held it in his hand until it was nearly ash, then tossed the singed paper into a glass bowl. The other students laughed and applauded, convinced that Sharpe had performed a magic trick, but Lauren knew better. This was a man who was capable of black magic.

That night Lauren locked the door of the bathroom and filled the tub, adding seven roses, salt, vinegar, and bay leaves. That was the way to get Sharpe’s attention, and she knew it. For days she smelled of roses, and when class met the following week, Professor Sharpe stopped as he passed through the hallway where the female students were made to sit. He noticed Lauren for the first time, her pale blond hair, how she casually glanced up at him. Something emanated from her that made him think of black roses, the kind that grew on brambles, the kind you had to be careful of if you didn’t wish to be pricked.

Another student from Lilith House was also taking Sharpe’s class. Ashton and Lauren had little in common, and they rarely saw one another except at the Sunday meetings, but now here they were, side by side.

“He’s interesting,” Lauren said as they waited for class to begin.

In response, Ashton shrugged, her aspect grim. She was a lovely dark-haired girl who took her studies seriously and had been assisting the professor since she was a junior, researching and copyediting his papers and organizing artifacts in the museum crates. Women at the museum were assistants or cataloguers or secretaries, and there were only a few female student researchers, who did the grunt work for male professors.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Ashton said. “He’s taken.”

In the summers the professor went to an ancient Persian site he’d been excavating for more than a decade, often taking a student along, and Ashton hoped to be traveling with him this summer. Their relationship had gone beyond the classroom, not an unusual occurrence for young women who fell in love with their teachers. But from the way Sharpe looked at Lauren, she thought perhaps Ashton had misjudged her own situation. “I won’t go after him,” she said, knowing she wouldn’t have to. “If you’re the one he wants, then you’re meant to be together.”

Ashton gave Lauren a grateful look, not that Lauren noticed. She had turned her attention to the professor as he described the demonic artifacts he’d recently found, charms from the grave of a high priestess. Sitting in the hallway, Lauren felt the way she had when she’d first discovered the magic books with poisonous green covers in her grandmother’s library. The professor might be exactly what she’d been looking for; already the word conjure was burning her chest.

Ava and Lauren often met in the closet that connected their rooms. It was there that they sat before two flickering candles, one white and one black. Each time they did this, the cuts in the palms of their hands throbbed. They were practicing reading one another’s minds. Know what I know, see what I see, hear what I have heard.

“You have a secret,” Ava declared.

Lauren shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“There are letters involved,” Ava went on.

Lauren, who was usually so bold, now shyly unbuttoned her blouse to reveal her tattoos. Ava had never seen a tattoo on a woman before, and she gasped at the sight. Back in Genesis most of the men who’d been tattooed had been in the navy and were adorned with hearts and flags, anchors and sailing ships and stars.

“Oh, Lauren, this is permanent! What if you change your mind?”

“I won’t,” Lauren said, entirely sure of herself. But before she could slip her blouse back on, she peered in the mirror behind her and noticed there was a letter she hadn’t requested on her shoulder; one she hadn’t seen before. The letter L had been printed in black letter Gothic. It blazed hot when Lauren touched it. She should have been enraged, but instead she was flattered, as if she was some foolish, lovestruck girl.

“What does that L stand for?” Ava asked. “Your name?”

“It doesn’t mean anything.” Lauren thought of the way Carrick had kissed her, as if nothing else mattered. What he looked like didn’t reflect who he was, and why should it? Everything inside was hidden unless you knew how to look for it, unless you had the sight. She knew there were stories in which monsters had the largest, most breakable hearts of all. Was that his fairy tale? Would he disappear into smoke and ashes when he couldn’t stand this cruel world anymore? “It’s just a joke that the tattoo artist found amusing,” Lauren said flatly.

“Well, it’s the sort of joke that lasts forever,” Ava said. “They should be more careful.”

Nothing lasts forever, Lauren wanted to say. In her experience it all disappeared, but Ava was right about one thing; they both should be more careful. When they’d said good night, instead of going to bed, Lauren sneaked out to Central Square. Once she’d made her way to the alley, she tore a page out of her grimoire on which she’d written a forgetting spell. Turn to ice, turn to stone, turn as I will you to. She rolled up the paper, then tied it with black string and burned it on the steps before running off.

Carrick thought he’d heard a rat, so he came out carrying a baseball bat to frighten it away. All he found was a pile of ashes. When he swept the soot away, the ash left letters imprinted on the topmost stair that spelled out NEVER. That was when he knew Lauren had been there. Carrick went inside to fetch a vial of ink and to spill some over the first letter, and there it was, the truth of the matter, the inside of what was meant to be. EVER. The word was still there long after the rain fell that evening, and even when it was finally washed away by wind and weather, he could see it right outside his door. He wasn’t about to forget her.

Ava walked along the corridors of the Divinity School library, taking the stairs to the second-floor stacks. She wanted to know more and hoped that there would be other letters to find. She recited a locator spell, then tossed down a silver pin that had turned black in her hands. Invenire quod mihi opus est. Find what I need.

When Ava was young, her mother had tried to teach her to sew, but the needles and pins had all turned black in her hands, and her mother had eventually grabbed the sewing kit, saying, This isn’t for you.

Now, as she searched, the blackened pin rolled beneath a shelf. When Ava crouched to reach for it, she felt the spine of a book. It was a collection of recipes from the seventeenth century. She opened it to the first page and found suggestions for women. Wear an apron, don’t burn your hands, please your husband, never serve yourself first. She ran her finger down the list of dishes. Shepherd’s pie, corn chowder, potato stew, chicken roly poly, johnnycakes, molasses doughnuts. When she thumbed through the book, she found something more, a sheet of paper wedged between the pages. She knew it for what it was before she started reading. It was just the sort of magic she had been looking for, and if she wasn’t mistaken, someone had left it in the place where she’d be certain to find it.