Chapter 37
l caught the stick. Yanked it from his grasp and
heard a teeny crack, like a skinny
breadstick being snapped in half. Putnam yelped like a pup, and I
realize I’d snatched it so hard and so quickly I’d broken one of
his fingers.
Awww.
I snapped the stick
in half with my hands alone (no breaking over the knee for
this vampire chick). Tossed the pieces
over my left shoulder, where they hit the floorboards with a
clatter that probably sounded louder than it actually
was.
Then I seized Putnam
by his lapels and yanked him forward.
There it was. I could
smell it now. The thing I had been looking for. The thing I needed
from Putnam before I could walk away.
Fear.
“Here’s the thing,
Billy-boy.” We were eyeball to eyeball and again, I have to hand it
to the Neanderthals ... I could smell more of cotton and linen and
wood than anything else. I’d assumed everything prior to, say, 1930
or so would smell like mud and shit. “None of the people you killed
were witches. And none of the ones you had arrested are witches.
And the young lady here—”
“Caroline
Hutchinson,” the would-be witch offered.
“Yeah, her. Also not
a witch. See, Putnam, you couldn’t tell a witch if she offered to
strip and sit on your face.”
“Gross!” Laura
said.
“Hard times call for
hard talk,” I said, which was total bullshit; I just wanted to
rattle Putnam’s cage. He was like a big fat worm I wanted to poke
and poke. And then set on fire.
“You know how I know
these things, Buttmunch?” I’d started shaking him like a maraca.
“Because I’m a vampire. And the pretty blonde in the back? She’s
the daughter of the devil.”
“You have a lovely
church,” the Antichrist called.
“And the thing is?
Even though I’m a vampire? Check it.” I let go of him with one hand
to snatch away his Bible and held it up over my head. “Please note
that I’m standing in a church and the only reason I feel sick is
because you’re stupid. Please note how the Bible isn’t giving me a
sunburn. That’s because I believe in God and I love him. Although
sometimes we go awhile without speaking because the good Lord
will insist on always getting his way.
My sister back there? She believes, too. And she wouldn’t burn an
innocent woman to death if you stuck a gun in her
ear.”
“That’s so nice,
Beverly!” The Antichrist was beaming.
“So what does that
tell you, Putnam? Huh? For those of us not keeping up, I’ll lay it
out: it tells you that you’re gonna have lots and lots to answer
for when you die. Which will hopefully be in the next half
hour.”
“Do your worst, pit
spawn!”
“Don’t be stupid. I
promised the Antichrist I wouldn’t kill you. Heck, who knows how
long you could stick around?” Wikipedia, maybe, if he’d been a big
shot. There were probably entire lists of all the parties involved
in the whole let’s-pretend-our-neighbors-are-witches
campaign.
“I’m glad you
remembered your promise,” Laura said.
“You could hang on
for a couple of decades. But sooner or later, there’s gonna be a
reckoning. You, and these sheep—” I jerked him toward the pews,
then yanked him back until we were face-to-face again. “See, I’m
not threatening, I’m warning. Nobody lives forever. So you guys
might all want to get your stories straight.”
Then I dropped him.
He hit the floor ass first and stared up at me like a man who’d
gotten the shock of his life. Which I guess he had.
I handed him his
Bible, and he held it up as if to ward me off. Or hide
behind.
“Cut the shit,” I
suggested. “Let the others go. Stop lying to increase your land
ownings. Trust me: you don’t want us to come back.
Ever.”
“It’s true,” the
Antichrist said. “Beverly Feldman will probably be even less polite
next time.” She added in a mutter, “If that’s
possible.”
“I heard that,” I
snapped. “So, to sum up, everyone, behave or, you know, face our
wrath and stuff.” I grabbed Caroline’s arm. “Come outside with us
for a second.”
I took a last look
around at the good people of Salem, shook my head in disgust, and
followed Laura out the door and down the steps, hauling Caroline
along for the ride.