Jodie Picoult - Salem Falls

Judge Justice seemed beyond the power of speech. She waved the witness on.

Starshine reached into a hemp bag she’d carried up to the stand and withdrew a thermos, a green candle, a cup, a packet of sugar, and a spice bottle marked SAFFRON.

“Here we go again,” Matt Houlihan muttered. Then, louder, “Objection, Your Honor.”

“Sustained,” the judge said. “Ma’am, I have to ask you what you’re doing.”

But the woman was swaying slightly, her arms splayed and her eyes shut. “Just raising energy, Your Honor,” Starshine said. “I’m doing a safespace spell.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“May I turn the chair? I need to be facing south.”

At the defense table, Jordan buried his face in his hands.

The judge deferred to the prosecutor, who let a smile creep across his face. “Oh, by all means,” Matt said. “If we need a safe-space spell, we need a safe-space spell.”

Starshine lit the candle, then poured some of the liquid from the thermos into its attached cup. “It’s just milk,” she said, then added the two packets. “Mixed with a little saffron and sugar.” She lifted the cup to her mouth and inhaled deeply, her eyes drifting shut as she imagined a woman in black, a woman in red, and a woman in white all walking toward her. “I have been with you from the beginning,” she said, and drank.

A calm settled over the courtroom. Even the people in the gallery could feel it, small susurrations of surprise swept through the rows. Starshine earthed the power in her mind, bound the spell, and released the circle. “I think that takes care of it.”

Judge Justice turned to Jordan. “Have fun, Mr. McAfee,” she said.

Jordan rose, shaking his head. On the one hand, having Starshine be a crackpot worked nicely with his defense, because Gillian was playing at Wicca, too. On the other hand, if the woman was too much of a nut, the jury would never believe anything she said. “Do you know Gillian Duncan?” he began.

“Yes, I do. She comes into my shop quite often.” Starshine turned to the jury, suddenly a saleswoman. “I run the Wiccan Read, an occult bookstore in Windham.”

“An occult bookstore? What’s that?”

“We sell books and charms and herbs for people who follow earth-based religions.”

“When did Ms. Duncan last come into your shop?”

“On April twenty-fifth.”

“What was she looking for?” Jordan asked.

“Objection,” Matt called out. “Hearsay.”

“Judge, this goes toward impeaching her credibility on what happened that night,” Jordan argued.

“Overruled, Mr. Houlihan. I definitely want to hear this one.”

Starshine continued. “She wanted to ask me about witch’s flying ointment.”

“Maybe we ought to back up for a moment,” Jordan said, feigning confusion. “Witches?”

“Yes. That’s just what followers of the Wiccan religion are called.”

“Can you tell us what Wiccans believe?”

“It’s very simple, actually. First, do no harm, but follow your will. Second, that any witch is capable of raising energy, casting spells, performing magick, and communicating directly with the Goddess.”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Matt said. “This is a rape trial, not an episode of Bewitched.”

Jordan turned. “If I could just have a minute, Judge. I’m laying a little groundwork.”

The judge overruled the prosecutor. “Are there many witches?” Jordan asked.

“Three to five million worldwide, but not too many come right out and tell you.” She glanced at the judge. “Why, this lady herself could still be in the proverbial broom closet.”

“Don’t count on it,” the judge said dryly.

“Old habits die hard, and discrimination is very real, although all witches really do is honor women and respect the environment. It’s not unlikely for a witch to be blamed for things that go wrong in a town, or to be singled out as a Satanist.” She smiled. “Why, in Salem Falls, you only have to look as far as the statue of Giles Corey on the green to remember the hysteria of 1692.”

“You said Ms. Duncan was asking about flying ointment. What’s that?”

“Back in medieval times, witches used astral projection ointment to produce psychedelic effects. It contained elements like hashish and belladonna, which created the psychic tripping, if you will. Needless to say, we don’t use it nowadays. Gillian came into my shop asking if I had a recipe for it.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That it was illegal. I suggested she should redirect her energy and celebrate Beltane instead.”

“Beltane? What’s that?”

“The last of the three spring fertility festivals, a sabbat that marks the wedding of the God and the Goddess. In a word, Mr. McAfee,” she said, “it’s all about sex.”

“Is there a traditional way to celebrate Beltane?”

“Witches hang offerings of food and herbs to the God and Goddess in the branches of a tree. There’s often a bonfire to leap over and toss away your inhibitions.”

“A bonfire?” Jordan repeated.

“Yes. And a maypole, and often there’s handfasting, too-”

“Handfasting?”

“A trial marriage. You grab your intended’s hand and jump the flames, and you’re tied to each other for a year-a test period, if you will. And of course, after handfasting, there’s always the Great Rite.” She laughed at Jordan’s blank expression. “Making love, Mr. McAfee, right out there in the fields of the earth.”

“Well,” Jordan said, coloring. “That sounds festive.”

Starshine winked. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

“Is Beltane celebrated on a certain date?”

“The same time every year,” Starshine said. “At the stroke of midnight on April thirtieth, as the calendar rolls onto May first.”

It spoke volumes that the first person McAfee had put on the stand did absolutely no harm to Matt’s case. It didn’t matter to him if Gillian Duncan was a Pagan, a Buddhist, or a tribal shaman. Despite the hocus pocus and the candles and the safe space, nothing could take away from the fact that Gillian Duncan had been raped that night.

“Ms. Starshine,” Matt said. “Do you have any way of knowing, other than by what she told you, that Gillian Duncan is a witch?”

“I’m not in her coven, if that’s what you mean.”

“Were you in the clearing behind the cemetery on Beltane?”

“No. I was celebrating elsewhere.”

“In fact, you didn’t see Gillian that night, did you?”

“No.”

“And you didn’t see Mr. St. Bride that night, either?”

“I’ve never met the man,” Starshine said.

“So you have no way of knowing whether the defendant and Ms. Duncan were together on the night of April thirtieth?”

“No.”

Matt started to walk back to his seat but then turned. “That safespace spell you did when you got up here . . . is that something other witches would know?”

“In some form or another, a protection spell is fairly common, yes.”

“What does it protect you from?”

“Negative energy,” Starshine said.

“But if the defendant were to step up there right now and grab you-”

“Objection!” Jordan cried.

“-if he were to throw you onto the ground and pin you-”

“Sustained!”

“-could a protection spell keep a witch from being raped?”

“Mr. Houlihan!” The judge rapped the flat of her hand against the bench. “You will stop now!”

“Withdrawn,” Matt said. “Nothing further.”

Dr. Roman Chu was dressed like a skateboarder, with his hair on end and a black T-shirt that read SHREDDER. If Jordan hadn’t known him personally, he would have assumed Roman was a kid plucked off the street and paid to play a part. But then the toxicologist was sworn in and began to speak, listing his credentials and his certification by three separate boards, as well as so many forensic testimonies under his belt that the prosecutor stipulated to his expertise. “My job involves demonstrating evidence of drug intake by means of isolating, identifying, and quantifying toxic substances in biological materials,” Chu explained. “Basically, I’m a very expensive bloodhound.”