Page 1 of Deliverance

Prologue

Salem, Massachusetts, is more than a beautiful town nestled in the Northeast of the United States. It is a town rich with history, culture…legacy. It is one of the most infamous places in the United States with a sordid past. The past isn’t always what it seems, though. The truth is in the eye of the beholder, or the mouth of the last man standing.

You have been told the stories of the Salem Witch Trials more times than you could possibly count, I’m sure. You may have not heard our story, though, the truth. Evil plagued this great town over three hundred years ago, and with the utmost bravery, our ancestors eradicated that evil. At least the best they could…

Born in the ashes of all that evil, a society was formed. Impassioned to protect the righteous and holy from the vengeance of the sentenced and their descendants. The Brethren was born. A society intent on protecting the good people of Salem, of preserving our people, our way of life and keeping the evil of the damned and wicked charred and beneath the dirt where they belong.

Safety in numbers, power in those who control it.

Each family involved in the accusation and judgment of the trials were at risk of the witches who were not discovered and the surviving families of those who were. In such, a member of each family took their place as an Elder of the Brethren. All Elder families are essential to the balance of the Brethren. Without one, the rest would surely fall. As one, we persevere, we prosper, we punish.

To become a member of the Brethren, you must have a desire to protect our heritage, to honor our history. You must have a thirst for vengeance, ready to battle anyone who threatens this society or our carefully built world. Becoming a member is the easy part; it’s what follows that will test your loyalty. Your trust.

As imperative as it is to maintain a solid foundation for our society, we must also create future strengths. Our youth must be taught, trained, and shaped into the perfect mold, becoming the perfect member. From birth, we must teach them right from wrong. We must keep them separated from the common folk that have inundated our great town. We must keep our society pure and undiluted.

When they transition from childhood to adulthood, they shall enter Gallows Hill University, the most elite higher education one could receive, but few will ever experience. Bonds will be formed, relationships strengthened, and our very own Legacies will rule, perfecting their roles for when they ascend as the next generation of Elders.

As soon as you put yourself on the right side of history, open your eyes to what really happened all those hundreds of years ago. Realize that those you have sympathized with are nothing more than the human embodiment of evil. Here in Salem, your cooperation is not only requested. It is required. Accept our traditions, honor our sacrifices, prove your loyalty, and you will be rewarded greatly. Disregard our faith, your servitude, or our cause, and you will meet the same fate as the damned.

The Brethren is eagerly looking forward to your membership and cooperation.

Mors ombinus malefcis – Death to all evildoers.

Death to all witches.

Chapter One

Maggie

I’ve never been a fan of the color pink. In fact, some would argue I’m the most anti-pink human on the planet. My wardrobe typically consists of varying shades of black because, yes, not only is black a color, but it is also a very complex color with hundreds of different shades to it. Not today, though. Today, I am standing in front of six hundred uptight assholes drowning in a Pepto Bismol hued bridesmaid dress.

When my mother pulled it out of the bag and gave it to me this morning, I thought she was joking. Turns out my bridezilla of a mother was very much not joking. Now, here I stand, listening to a pastor drone on and on about their commitment to one another and Christ as well as eternal love. It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes at that. Love is clearly not very eternal. Not when my father has been in the dirt less than ninety days and my mother is already marrying another man.

Say all you want about Calista Bartlett, but no one can deny the woman is an opportunist to the highest degree. She got a tiny taste of life without a meal ticket, life in this…society without a man to manage her every whim, and she panicked. Like a frantic animal, she latched onto the nearest thing she could; in this case, Harry Brenton. His wife died giving birth to his daughter twenty-one years ago, and he seemed more than happy to never remarry. So, why he up and decided to marry a widower with a twenty-one year old of her own less than three months later, I’ll never understand.

Glancing to my side, I look at my new stepsister. Bridgette Brenton. She’s a bitch to the highest degree. We’ve never exactly run in the same circles, but Salem is a small town, and the Brethren is an even smaller community. All of us have been raised together. Same schools, same sports teams, same parties. Bridgette and I don’t even have to exchange two words to know that we couldn’t be more different.

Where she is all prim and polished with her perfect manicure and made-up face, I’m more simple, laid back. Okay, fine, maybe a little on the goth side of things. Where she is all sleek black hair, flawless skin and bright blue eyes, I’m unruly red curls, green eyes that look more hazel than anything, and freckles practically everywhere. Don’t get me wrong, I’m hot as fuck and I know it too. Our appearances are just the beginning of what makes us so different.

She must feel my eyes on her because she looks away from our parents, gifting me with a sneer before straightening her posture and dropping eye contact. I can’t help but roll my eyes as I turn away. See what I mean? Fucking bitch.

After the bride and groom share an arguably inappropriately long kiss, my mother’s wide smile beams, and she tramps down the aisle with her brand new husband. Get it? Tramps? Because my mother is a tramp for moving on before my father could even become proper worm food. I know, I know. Dark humor, but if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry, and in this life, I’ve learned to never allow anyone to see weakness.

We go through about a thousand staged photos with countless amounts of people. My face hurts from grinning by the end of them, but I know if I don’t smile, there will be hell to pay. So, as petulant as I want to be and flip this fucking photographer off, I grin and bear it, counting down the minutes until I can burn this torturous dress and get a fucking drink. Or take a toke. Maybe both.

As dinner kicks off, I’m waiting at the bar for my drink when a pretty little blonde steps up beside me. My eyes rake over her slowly, appreciating the soft curves of her waist as her hips flare out in her green velvet dress. When my eyes come back up to hers, that soft caramel color is already on me, a tentative smile on her face.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi.” I grin, giving her my most alluring smile.

Her expression flickers for a moment, but she doesn’t retreat.

Perfect.

“You’re Maggie, right? Calista’s daughter?”

“That’s me.” I smile. “And you?”

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