Salem, Massachusetts, July 19, 1692

"Crimes against humanity?" asked the presiding magistrate, John Hathorne. The courtroom was packed that morning, making him more than a little uncomfortable.

The masses tended to complicate things. It was his job to see to it that a fair trial was conducted, but the mass hysteria of the last few days had built itself up to precarious levels. The crowd wanted blood. Wanted it so much, that John feared that a contradictory verdict would be enough to turn the crowd ugly.

"Indeed your honor," the prosecutor paced the room impatiently. The wooden floors were gleaming, having been polished to a perfect sheen the day before. Still the wooden floorboards creaked and groaned just enough to give away their age, as the prosecutor took stride after confident stride.

John Hathorne disliked it of course. He disliked it just as much as he did any other form of theatrics. Plays, acrobats and performers; those were the only things he deemed appropriate for flamboyant displays such as the one he was witnessing in his courtroom. What a disgrace. In a festival or traveling circus, things might have been completely different. But a courtroom? Such a thing was sacred.

"There are far more crimes that have been committed by the heathen that stands before us."

"Tell me again what the accused has done."

"Spells, your honor. Magic. Unnatural things."

John Hathorne sighed. There was nothing he hated more than ignorance masquerading as intelligence. "And how, pray tell have these things been observed?"

"Aye, 'tis clear as day, your honor," the prosecutor said with a flourish, displaying once more his flair for exhibition. "Frolicking in the dawn, just before sunlight, riling up other women to join her. They worship Satan, your honor."

"It is a very serious matter to accuse someone of consorting with the Devil."

"Indeed your honor," pleaded the prosecutor. "But this woman consorts with the Devil and far worse. Why, just the other day she gave a healing salve to young Emily Hawkins, who we all know had a broken leg. No one thought anything of it, 'til little Emily was suddenly out and about, running like she never had a broken leg, mere hours after receiving the salve."

"Perhaps this woman, perhaps she is a healer," said John Hathorne, doing his best to hide the smirk on his face.

"Healers have their limits your honor. Human beings have their limitations." The sarcasm of John's previous comment was obviously lost on the prosecutor. "Beyond those limitations, there is only the power of God, and the power of the evil one."

"And you have testimony that attests to this? This is more than hearsay?"

"Far more than hearsay, your honor." The prosecutor produced a thick set of documents. "These are signed confessions of the women that participated in the events. Let it be known that the woman who stands before us was the primary instigator of the rituals."

John Hathorne sighed. "That is for the court to decide. Bring the woman."

The guards brought a young lady forward, and several people spat on the floors upon seeing her. "No wonder the floors are gleaming," thought John. "They get polished so often."

"You understand the charges that are being presented to you?" the magistrate asked.

The young woman looked at the judge without uttering a word, her eyes boring deeply into his. This bothered John Hathorne a lot.

Don't you realize I have the power to save you or send you to your death?

John Hathorne let out a long sigh. "Not a single word in your defense, m'lady? Surely a few sentences to save your life?"

The woman continued to stare at the magistrate. John Hathorne had to admit that it was making him more than just the slightest bit uncomfortable.

"You do realize what it is that you are accused of? The seriousness of these allegations?" The magistrate continued.

It was heartbreaking to see such a beautiful girl get convicted of such an irrational crime. John Hathorne trained his eye upon the hapless woman. Her dress was dirty; covered in grime. Her hair, slovenly and unkempt. The dried blood on her fingertips and toes hinted at the tortures she'd endured at the hands of her captors. He could see bruises covering her entire body. Her frame was frail. John Hathorne wondered how long it had been since she last had a good meal.

And yet, there was such fire in those eyes.

No, not just fire.

Defiance.

She was so beautiful. So full of life. So, alive, despite her circumstances.

Something else bothered John Hathorne. Why did she have the oddest of smiles on her face? As if she already knew this was going to happen?

"Catherine Van Dyke," John Hathorne finally continued. "Although your silence in and of itself is not considered an admission of guilt, the evidence provided by the prosecution has been compelling."

John paused to see what the reaction of the masses would be.

He was saddened.

He knew what it was they expected of him now. John Hathorne wished he was anyone other than himself at the moment. There would be no escaping the verdict. The woman had decided her fate. He could save her no more.

"Catherine Van Dyke," he said once more, addressing the beautiful young woman that stood before him, her eyes burning like wildfire; the weight of his own voice slowing him down. "Because of your refusal to testify in your defense, this court of law finds you guilty of the crime of Witchcraft," John paused, just enough to hide the cracking in his voice, the remorse he felt at the judgment he was about to hand out.

"You are hereby sentenced to death."

***

"Witches?" I asked incredulously.

"That is perhaps the most commonly used term, yes," Sylvia replied. "Although it has received a rather unsavory reputation over time."

"So you have this too? You have the same powers?"

"No, sadly, I do not," Sylvia walked over to the couch and sat back down. She placed her hands on her lap, her eyes looking afar. I could tell she was lost in memory.

"The Van Dykes were of Dutch origin, but came to America not too far after the initial settlers came aboard the Mayflower. Catherine Van Dyke was one of the earliest documented in our history to have possessed the power. Only one in each generation is gifted with it."

"And so Catherine was burned at the stake?" I asked.

"Oh don't be silly," laughed Sylvia. "Catherine was hanged."

"Hanged?" I found it hard to speak. "Surely that wasn't any better than being burned at the stake."

Sylvia shrugged. "Makes no difference, I guess," she said.

"And what exactly is this power that Catherine possessed?"

"The power to come back. Immortality. Freedom from Death. The Van Dykes were blessed with the power of the spirits. Magic. The same power you now possess, Vanessa."

"I'm sorry, what did you call me?"

Sylvia smiled. "It's quite alright, child. I knew it the moment you mentioned Helen Rutherford. Why else would I tell a complete stranger the entire tale?"

I smiled. "You knew all along."

"Of course, child."

"So Astrid knew this too? Knew of her power?"

"The power of a Chosen is a closely-guarded Van Dyke secret. The entire clan knows who has the power at any given time. During my time, it was Astrid."

"And Astrid shared her secret with Donovan?"

"Sadly, yes. She had to. The husband of a Van Dyke has to learn the truth about his wife and her gift. He is required to protect her and safeguard the Chosen."

"But my father did otherwise?"

Sylvia sighed. She went up and moved toward the kitchen. "Would you like some coffee, sweetie? I brewed a fresh pot. It would be a shame to have it go to waste."

I nodded. "Yes, that would be wonderful, thank you, ummm... Aunt Sylvia."

Sylvia smiled at the acknowledgment and disappeared into the kitchen. When she returned, she carrying a beautiful set of antique coffee pots and cups.

From another day and time.

"Donovan was a scientist first, an engineer second," said Sylvia as she poured a cup of coffee and handed it to me. "Sugar and cream?"

I shook my head. "Black is fine."

"Like father like daughter," said Sylvia smiling. "Donovan's compulsion to understand how things worked, his utter commitment to science made it impossible for him to do otherwise. Donovan wanted to find out the secret behind Astrid's gift."

"And so, he experimented?"

"In a way, yes. At first the experiments were harmless. Things that weren't too inconvenient. Astrid gave in because she saw it as her husband's natural inclination to satisfy his curiosity. After all, Donnie was a scientist, and a scientist needed facts, evidence to support what he witnessed."

"So Astrid had to prove her powers to my father?"

"Only initially. She had already exhibited certain phenomenon that intrigued Donovan. The Van Dykes could summon the 'little people' or so it is said."

"The little people?"

Sylvia shrugged. "Elves, gnomes, dwarves, fairies. Call them what you will. Invisible beings that did her bidding."

"If there was only one Van Dyke in a generation who possessed the power, how did they learn how to use it?"

"There is..." Sylvia hesitated for a brief moment, "there exists a grimoire."

"And Astrid had it?"

"Astrid had it for a brief time."

"What happened to it?"

"The grimoire was lost. Astrid claimed to have lost it when she was sixteen, but I knew better."

"So what happened to it?"

"Astrid couldn't bear the responsibility of being the Chosen. She took the grimoire deep into the woods and buried it. She never spoke of it ever again."

"Except to Donovan."

"Yes. To her beloved husband, Astrid kept no secrets."

"Did you ever get a chance to read it? The grimoire, that is?"

"Of course," said Sylvia with a smile. "But no one but the Chosen are able to read it, child. All it was, was gibberish to me."

"And what did my father do with that knowledge?"

"Nothing in the beginning," said Sylvia. "In the beginning, Donovan thought this was nothing more than family tradition, a harmless ritual that had no basis in reality."

"But Astrid convinced him otherwise?"

"The power is very real, Vanessa. The Van Dyke family line is strong. It does not fail to yield a Chosen in every generation."

"So Donovan became a believer?"

"It didn't take long. The things that Astrid was capable of back then; none of it could have been proven by modern science. Donovan had no choice but to accept that what he was seeing was outside the realm of human experience."

"What happened next?"

Sylvia sighed. "Next came the real experiments."

"Real experiments?"

"Donovan was no longer satisfied with merely witnessing the strange phenomena that Astrid was capable of. He had to have complete empirical evidence to back up what his eyes were seeing."

"So Astrid was put through a battery of tests?"

"Yes, the poor thing. For years, Donovan put Astrid through tests that became more and more rigorous. He collected large samples of data. This was around the time that the internet came into being. He took the data that he had and shared it with other scientists, but he kept the most important piece of it all to himself. He kept the source of the data a mystery."

"And Astrid? How did she fare in all this?"

Sylvia stared gravely at me. "Very poorly. The tests took a toll on poor Astrid. Over time, her health took a turn for the worst, and she easily slipped into depression. Through it all, she never failed to say that she loved him. Astrid did love Donovan with all her heart. She never once doubted the man she married."

"So Donovan, my father at this point had changed?"

"Not yet. Not fully. The rapid advancements in miniaturization had ensured that Hunter Robotics remained successful. Running the business distracted your father from his experiments. However, it was also around this time that Astrid realized she was pregnant."

"With me?"

"Yes, Vanessa. You changed her life, you see," said Sylvia. "You changed your mother's life and altered your father's destiny."

"How so?"

"Donnie didn't know it at the time, but a Chosen has the power to transfer her abilities at will; to her offspring.

It took Donnie months before he realized it. The data he was collecting was contradictory to his previous results. Astrid was no longer exhibiting the power. The tests were all failing and Donovan no longer had access to the data he so desperately needed to continue his research."

"So what happened?"

"Donovan turned into the demon. He began abusing Astrid. Pregnant as she was, he beat her. He kept forcing her to reveal powers she no longer possessed."

"Why didn't Astrid try and run away?"

Sylvia shook her head. "Astrid loved Donovan, and she loved the little baby that was growing within her far more. That held her back, far longer than it should have. Still, over time, the wounds and the hurt took their toll, and even Astrid had to accept that the man she had fallen in love with was no longer the man that she was with. And so, with a heavy heart, Astrid fled."

"Fled?"

"She disappeared. With my help and a few family members, she found a way to finally escape Donovan Hunter."

"So she gave birth to Vanessa on her own?"

"Indeed," Sylvia's eyes were teary at this point. The old woman looked exhausted.

"I am sorry," I said, "this has been a long conversation. "Do you need to rest?"

"No!" Anger flared in the old woman's eyes. "Not until I have told you the story. I cannot rest until you know the truth."

"Then please, by all means, continue."

"By this time Donovan, had an inkling of what happened. He suspected it all along of course - he wasn't stupid - but he had no data to support his suspicions. "

"So he searched for Astrid?"

"Donovan searched with all his might. But Astrid might as well have never existed."

"How did my father find me?"

"If it wasn't for Astrid's weakness, things might have been different today."

"What do you mean?"

"Astrid did not think it fair to keep you away from your father. In the end, she believed that Donovan would do what was right for their daughter. So she sent you, Vanessa, back to Donovan."

"My father never did a single thing to hurt me."

"Indeed. Donovan learned his lesson with Astrid. He would never hurt his only child."

"And yet, after all that, Donovan died after all," I whispered.

At that, Sylvia laughed and laughed.

"What could possibly be so funny?"

"What makes you think Donovan Hunter is dead?"

"My father died," I said. "I saw him die. I saw him in the casket."

"Did you not listen to my story at all? What kind of research did you think Donovan was working on?"

"Nanomachines," I said. "He was working on miniaturizing his robots."

"Eternal life, my dear. He was trying to replicate the same powers he witnessed in Astrid."

"That's absurd. How can science ever replicate magic?"

"You are underestimating your father's genius and the limitless resources he had at his disposal at the time."

"You're saying he faked his own death? Why would he do that? What could he possibly stand to gain from that?"

"Donovan was paving the way for you to grow, Vanessa. Your father was testing you, to see if you were ready."

"Ready?"

"You were always a smart girl, Vanessa. I watched you from the shadows. I promised your mother I would always look after you. But Donovan wanted to temper steel with fire."

"So it was a test?" I said the words angrily.

My heart was beating so fast. The truth of it all hurt me deeply. I was only barely coming to grips with the story that Sylvia was telling me. I did not have a reason to doubt it. Somehow, I knew she was telling the truth.

"The time wasn't right, Vanessa. Donovan had collected enough evidence from his tests with Astrid to know that your powers were not at the same level as your mother's."

"So he had to wait until I got stronger?"

"In a way, yes. You had to experience life. You needed to understand what love was, and know the pain of loss, of tragedy. Because you had never really known your mother, you never really experienced the pain of loss. Donovan wanted you to learn what that felt. He wanted you to become stronger."

"I am stronger."

"Yes, of course, but all part of Donovan's plan."

"Was my death part of the plan?" I almost asked it angrily, not wanting to hear the answer to the question.

"Well, therein lies the rub, my dear," said Sylvia and the melancholic smile reappeared. "No other process unleashes the power of the Van Dyke Chosen like death. It accelerates the development of a Chosen, heightens her powers."

"So my father has something to do with my death after all."

"He didn't just have something to do with it. I am convinced he masterminded your murder."

"What do you mean?"

Sylvia pointed a finger at me. "Cabrit sans cor."

I froze.

It was the same phrase that Martine Dutillet uttered back when I first met her in the comfort of Daniel's home."

"Excuse me?"

"Have you ever heard the phrase, 'a goat without horns?'"

I shook my head. "I'm afraid I haven't."

"A 'cabrit sans cor' is a goat without horns. A human sacrifice."

"I was a sacrifice?"

"Yes, but more appropriately, a catalyst. In the same way that a caterpillar that emerges from its cocoon, your death was a necessary step in order to unleash the powers that you now have at your disposal."

"So Death coming for me, offering me a second chance, that was all part of the plan?"

Sylvia shook her head and smiled. "No, that wasn't part of the plan, Vanessa. Donovan did not expect Death to intervene. He was merely hoping you would be released; that somehow you would come into contact with the grimoire."

"What does my father hope to find in the grimoire?"

"The missing piece to the whole puzzle."

"What would you have me do now? How do I find Donovan? Where can I find my father?"

Sylvia smiled. "As I've said when I started, this story begins and ends with Astrid Hunter."

I shook my head. "Astrid Hunter is dead."

Sylvia chuckled softly. "Is she really? I'm surprised she didn't tell you herself, child."

"Tell me what, Aunt Sylvia?"

"Astrid Hunter and Helen Rutherford, are the exact same person."

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