Tabitha Newell
Nevermore
Martha Putnam
this is part of book of revelation!
Tabitha Newell
Pale light spilled in through the warped windows in the Newell's cramped house. The smell of tea drifted from the kitchen. Someone's jacket was drying by the hearth. Tabitha curled up on the edge of the couch, and idly fidgeted with a string of yarn between her claws.
Her family was scattered nearby. Sabrina sat on the floor beside her, leaning lightly against Tabby's knee. Eddie stood by the hearth in the kitchen, shifting between the bundle he brought in and the teapot he was preparing. Tommy leaned against the wall, arms crossed with a smile on his face. Clef perched in the window, distant glassy eyes gazing at something far in the north.
Tabitha hadn't felt anything last night, through the flood of adrenaline and the unbearable light of the world outside the gates of Heaven. As she marched with an army of the slums through Salem's more fortunate streets, she thought it might have been a dream. Tabby waited for the moment she would wake up back in those cages, to the sound of echoing stone and the duchess's snarls. Instead, Tabitha woke up at home, surrounded by sunlight and smiles. Tabby's heart caught up to her body as she finally let herself believe she was truly free.
"Hey, Tabby." A small voice broke the silence. "You haven't opened your present yet."
Tabitha blinked. "What present?"
Eddie pointed towards the kitchen with a glitter in his eyes. "Tommy got us presents, but... it didn't feel right without you."
Tabitha blinked back tears, a tiny smile blooming on her face. "You guys..." She mumbled, hands clasped on her lap as she took slow, deep breaths to try and stop herself from melting onto the floor from how sweet they all were.
Thomas crossed the room and pulled a bundle from the kitchen table. In it were carefully wrapped parcels tied together with brightly colored ribbons. The Pirate handed them out one by one. The way Sabrina's eyes lit up brought Tabby back to distant holidays. Clef raised an eyebrow at the weight of their gift. Eddie clutched his like a previous gem. Then, Thomas walked to the couch and knelt beside Tabitha, pressing a large box into her hands. "This one's for you."
Tabitha held her gift like it was made of gold. The paper was soft and wrinkled with repeated folds. The bow in the ribbon was a little crooked. The humanity in each little imperfection made Tabby's heart ache. "Thank you."
The band gathered close, knees knocking and elbows brushing, making a light mockery of last night's tension. Sabrina leaned into her big sister's side and grinned. "Alright. On three."
Eddie nodded, already reaching for the edge of his bright blue ribbon.
"One..." Sabrina drew out the word in dramatic fashion.
"Two..." Clef sang, then chuckled.
"Three!" Thomas shouted, and they all tore into the paper. Laughter spilled out before any of the gifts did.
Eddie was the first to hold his present up. A small, gold-brushed compass nestled in his palm. The face cracked just a little, and the metal was slightly tarnished with age. His breath caught. "You found it!"
"I did." Thomas smiled wide.
Clef's gift was next. A puzzle box covered with gears and shafts that made a satisfying click with every touch. Something clattered around inside. Clef's fingers hovered over the machinery, already working through the puzzle in their mind.
Sabrina pulled a sketchbook bound in black leather from her wrapping. Pink ribbon marked the spine, and tucked inside the first page was a tiny envelope full of charcoal sticks.
While the rest of the heroes thanked Thomas for their gifts, Tabitha carefully peeled back the paper of her own. Inside was a folded shawl, deep green with yellow threading made to look like gold. It was uneven in a wonderfully handmade way that made Tabby's eyes blur with tears.
Her family sat together in silence for a while. Teacups clattered on the kitchen table, followed soon after by a simple breakfast of jam on toast. It had only been a day, and yet the warmth of bread and tea and fire from the hearth crept its way into her soul. It was the sweetest thing she'd ever tasted, and being surrounded by the people who walked through fire for Tabby made it all the sweeter.
--
The stories started drifting in by nightfall. At first they were just overheard scraps of conversation Tabitha caught in the market or between neighbors as they passed. Then they became tall tales, brighter than the fires of Hell. Eddie and Tabitha both spit their tea over someone swearing on their mother that Eddie flew the survivors home on Lucifer's pitch black wings. In the slums of Salem, Tabitha's saviors became folk heroes in an instant, with hurried murals painted on brick walls and little kids reenacting the rescue at recess.
Further up the hill, rumors of the band of thieves had a different flavor. Tabitha heard them secondhand, filtered through whispers of people coming home from the north. The middle class spoke in tight voices, sharpened with the edge of skepticism. Every detail of the band's exploits was questioned, everyone had their own proposal for how they would have done things better from the vantage point of home.
"They took a child with them... that can't be right."
"If they wanted justice, why not just go to the police with what they knew?"
"I heard they looted the place. Left the jailhouse with a pile of gold and vanished like bandits."
These people had the luxury of debating motives and dissecting the story for sport. Though Tabitha knew the middle class meant well, and the questions they asked made sense, none of them had seen her sister's tears. Nor had they walked in the blood of their own neighbors, lit by the flicker of lanterns on endless rows of cages. The judgement of the world made Tabitha's teeth gnash with anger she had to force down. They were not her enemy.
No, the common people's words were nothing compared to the sneering elites on high. In the faraway mansions and manicured courtyards above, one bit of gossip drowned out the rest. "Clef Putnam turned on their own mother." The story the rich folk blared from the rooftops wasn't of the dozen lives saved in one night. No, they only cared about the betrayal. Martha Putnam was a name spoken with reverence, and Clef had been disloyal. Nothing else mattered to the wealthy. Least of all the blood their guardian of purity shed to relive her glory days as a witch hunter.
Even that was tame next to the rumors from within the gates of Heaven itself. Martha's own neighbors rushed to twist the story in favor of their duchess. The giants from the walled garden, with soft hands and clean shoes and piles of money they'd never spend, asked a question that made Tabitha want to scream.
"Well... What if Martha was right? What if they were witches, and those so-called heroes were just another part of the rot?"
Tabitha burned with fury. She knew how easy it was for people in power to rewrite the stories of the downtrodden. It made Tabby want to march into those whitewashed parlor rooms and hold up her scars for the world to see. Not yet. They'd be forced to look when the trial came. For now, Tabitha needed to be with her sister. In the days between coming home and the inevitable knock on their door, the Newell sisters disappeared into each other's company. They took off work, ignored their lingering duties, and stole precious time where they could.
Sometimes the sisters passed one of the others. They saw Tommy leaning on a railing, Clef fiddling with that puzzle box, Eddie helping someone fix the wheel on their cart. But they didn't stop for long. The only thing that mattered to Tabitha now was keeping her little sister by her side while this strange interim lasted.
The Newells wandered the slums of Salem like they were kids, soaking up the familiar rhythm of a home that saw their humanity before their scars. Alleyways and crooked stoops greeted the sisters like old friends. Sabrina pushed her sister forward, suggesting places they'd heard about but hadn't gotten to reach yet. Tabby followed, rolling her eyes and packing an extra water bottle just in case. The sisters went hiking to the broken mill at the outskirts of Salem, where Sabrina dared her big sister to climb the rusted wheel and Tabitha, despite herself, rushed to the top and announced to the trees that she was here.
At home, the half-finished dress Tabitha had been working on floated on her mannequin like she'd never left. Right next to her sewing kit and the spilled crate of gems and gold Sabrina left behind. The two exchanged a grin with a wild glint in their eyes and a promise from Sabrina to tell that story once she'd gotten the place cleaned up. Tabby pulled the dress from its resting place, smoothed it flat on the table, and began to stitch. Her hands moved slower and shakier than she was used to, but Tabitha would regain her stride with time. All the while, Sabrina cleaned the house, made Tabby promise not to spend their little nest egg on anybody else because they both knew what the elder Newell would do otherwise, and... gods, the Sheriff was a creep. Tabitha wanted nothing to do with those drawings, no thanks.
As the days passed, a cold sense of dread loomed over the Newell sisters. Neither of them wanted to say it, but they both knew what was coming. Each day felt heavier than the last, making every second of silence stretch into hours. Hero stories on the sidewalk gained a somber edge. Sabrina lingered in the doorway a little too long before bed, counting down the sunsets she had left until the inevitable.
They both tried to bury themselves in the moment. It only worked for a little while, before the dread seeped into Tabby's bones, and she too found herself counting days. One night - a Friday, five days from the night of her rescue - Tabitha found herself sitting on the rooftop of her house with her little sister. The sky stretched wide above them, with a sunset that made the whole world glow in a tapestry of orange and gold.
The sun dipped lower, one sliver at a time. Orange and gold faded into red and purple. Tabitha's looming dread undercut the beauty of a night under the stars. She had to speak now, or forever hold her peace. "I'm gonna miss you."
The pieces of a silent agreement between sisters lay shattered on the rooftop for a moment too long. "I'll miss you too."
The last edge of the sun vanished below the forest at the outskirts of Salem. Red and purple blended into inky black.
One day closer to the inevitable.
--All of Salem watched the cops drag Tabitha's saviors into the station. Just as soon as Tabby had been reunited with her sister, the Sheriff himself dropped down from Heaven to snatch Sabrina away. The door of the Newell house slammed shut like a death knell.
Tabitha was all alone, all over again.
She made it halfway to the kitchen before her knees gave out. Tabitha didn't even have the strength to cry. She just sat there. The sounds of the city erupted into shouting and marching footsteps, barely muffled by the thin walls around her. A part of Tabby's heart had been ripped out when she lost her little sister for the second time in a week. All that remained was eyes that stayed dry despite the terrible emptiness in Tabitha's chest.
The morning hours slipped by in fragments. A bottle of cheap liquor that wasn't full when Tabby found it was emptied in a matter of seconds. Her throat burned, but Tabitha still felt numb. She paced around their shared bedroom, staring at the fragments of her little sister like they might give Tabby a reason not to scream. She... couldn't do this.
So Tabitha left. Just for some air, she told herself.
It wasn't even dark when Tabby found herself at Jackie's tavern. In the part of town that pretended to be normal, the faces of strangers blurred in her periphery. A way-too-cheerful bartender called Tabitha's name and offered her a drink. It went down fast. The second one went down faster, then the third went even faster than that. Liquor flowed quickly enough to make the bartender nervous, but money kept coming in, so he kept pouring.
Tabitha stopped counting drinks after that. She just sat there with her hands wrapped around the glass and her eyes fixed on that damned pitying smile she wanted to punch off the bartender's stupid face. The emptiness in Tabitha's chest only grew, so she kept drinking. Soon her hands were shaking and her thoughts sloshed around in her head.
After gods-only-knew how many drinks, the bartender offered Tabitha something besides another round. He placed his hand in Tabitha's own and made her look up, and she knew he was still smiling like an idiot even though Tabitha's vision was too blurry to see his dumbass face anymore. The bartender said something Tabby could barely understand, and she opened her palm to find a tiny gold pin, in the shape of a flower she couldn't quite recognize.
Tabby didn't know why this little gesture broke the dam. She couldn't make sense of anything underneath the ocean of tears and liquor. All Tabitha could do now was sob, undignified wails that caught the ears of strangers who had no earthly reason to care about a roughed-up tabby cat from the slums. And yet they still felt the need to keep up the pretenses. A dozen more hands surrounded her, landing softly on her shoulders, her back, scratching behind her ears.
Tabitha stumbled out before her heart could ignite.
Morning came whether Tabby wanted it to or not. She rose from the bed she'd never truly slept in, the taste of dust and bile hanging in her mouth. Tabitha's head throbbed in time with the screeching of songbirds outside. She pressed her face on the warm linens, her bones too heavy to lift. Tabitha stayed there longer than she'd ever admit, curled up and hungover and hollow.
As tempting as it was to dive into the pain and shut the world out, Tabby couldn't sustain this. Her sister hadn't given up when she was gone. Tabitha had no right to surrender her hope, now that the shoe was on the other foot. Tabby exhaled, slow and shallow. She hauled herself out of bed, forcing those heavy bones off the ground like she was her own puppeteer. She splashed cold water onto her face until the pounding in her head dulled into something she could manage.
Tabby didn't know what she was looking for when she stepped outside. The streets were starting to fill with early risers watching the sunrise on their way to wherever they were needed. Tabitha wasn't needed anywhere. She wandered the streets of Salem aimlessly, kicking up dust with her boots. The old hiking trails would hurt too much. Shopping felt empty. Maybe one of Tabby's neighbors would -
The first neighbor Tabitha instinctively turned to was dead. She hadn't even realized what she was doing until she saw herself staring at the crooked shutters of a house that would never fill again. Grief flared in Tabitha's heart, along with a sudden clarity. The place that had been a symbol of the Newells' hope for three long months was now marred by the corruption that let Lupin's name be forgotten. His soul would haunt them both if Tabby just let that hope rot away completely. In Tabitha's mind, a field of life and color emerged from the house. A space for the community to gather, and remember the names that didn't make it home. Tabby almost heard another countdown ticking behind the sunrise.
In Salem, interrogations happened fast and trials quickly swept up all involved. Until that time came, Tabitha's sole mission was bringing shape to Lupin's new symbol of hope. She spent the afternoon gathering anyone who would listen. Lupin's neighbors, friends of their friends, fellow survivors who had the strength to leave the house.
More people than Tabitha expected pitched in. Mrs. Alvarez from down the block gave Tabby a handful of seeds tucked in cracked paper envelopes. Old Man Deodat offered tools he hadn't touched since his legs gave out. Kids who lost their own sisters promised to help dig. Tabitha smiled for the first time since she'd lost Sabrina again. She scribbled lists on the back of old scrap paper and marked out where the roses might go. She let herself daydream, imagining the way the sun would hit the flowers and laughter would spill over repaired railings in someone's time of need. As sunrise faded into sunset, Tabby left the supplies she'd gathered at the foot of the house that would never be filled again. Lupin's spirit would keep them safe until it was time for the hard day's work tomorrow.
The slums rose before the sun had a chance to. Tabby awoke to the drum of a dozen eager hands pounding on her door. Slowly she rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she sat upright. With a little laugh, Tabitha quickly threw on her clothes and greeted her friends. The army of the slums marched as one down battered streets, the sun cresting over the horizon as a light to guide them. Pink and orange streaks in the awakening sky served as a reminder of Lupin's spirit watching over them all. They arrived not long later, exchanging glances, each giving their own little ideas about what they might like to see here. Tabitha beamed, though she kept up the smile for the others more than for herself. With the trial looming overhead, happiness was hard to manage.
The chattering of the slums was soon quelled by faint rustling and footsteps that followed a strange, sauntering cadence. Tabitha's ears perked up as heads began to turn towards the sound, her eyes lighting up when she caught a glimpse of the familiar black and white mask she'd seen a thousand times. As if she didn't have a care in the world for once, Tabitha marched her way through the small group of neighbors. Within moments she stood before the guy, grinning wildly. Tabitha stretched her hand forward, fist raised towards the man's face... before she flicked her wrist, middle finger springing upright with a manic glint in her eyes. The man stood there, leaning back slightly with a tilted head before his shoulders shook, his arm gesturing in an equally exaggerated manner. Tabitha nearly tackled the man with a tight hug and glittering eyes. "Dizzy! My man! It's been ages, ya rascal! What's been holding you?"
Dizzy shrugged, waving his hand playfully.
Tabitha rolled her eyes, putting a hand on her hip with a laugh, "You ‘dunno', you little shit?" She teased. "Glad you're still here. What'cha got over your shoulder?"
Dizzy set the sack down, nudging it with his foot to reveal the dollar sign hastily painted onto the side. Tabitha laughed a bittersweet laugh at the sight. "What, for this...?" She asked quietly after a moment, scooping up the sack of money and turning towards the empty shell of Lupin's life. "Th-thanks, Diz." Tabitha mumbled softly.
Dizzy nodded, gently taking Tabitha's wrist and pulling her into a hug. He nodded against Tabitha's shoulder, before pulling away and looking over at the other materials Tabitha had set aside. Dizzy gestured inquisitively towards the pile, head tilting.
"Of course you can help." Tabitha replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Everyone's welcome to pitch in as much as they can."
The army of the slums glanced at each other one last time, before looking up to their general. Tabitha turned around, nodding at the group and the house. When Tabitha rolled up her sleeves, the others followed suit, spreading apart just enough for Tabitha to march through the crowd again, determination overriding all the other emotions swirling in her heart.
Time for some elbow grease.
Nevermore
Nevermore stormed out of the interrogation room and into his empty office. He paced around, back and forth, hands jammed in his pockets. The bottle of brandy Nevermore had tucked away called to him now, but he couldn't drink when the trial was so soon. One person became two, and now four. More than likely five, once Sabrina and her sister were reunited. Every single one of them was in grave danger, all over a misunderstanding.
Breathe. Nevermore stopped pacing just long enough to press his hands flat against the edge of his desk. One could've been fine. Two was inevitable after the first. Four was soon to become five. Five was too many; the possibility of the secret multiplying exponentially was overwhelming. An urge that was not Nevermore's own, to silence them all by force, was shoved down before it got the chance to take root. He would never. He could never.
The adults were smart. The kid was what anchored them all together. As long as Eddie was silent, so too would be his growing family. Even if Nevermore did let the urges boiling within him take hold, harming one would force the others to act. They'd weaponize the secret in a heartbeat to protect the child in their care. One side couldn't touch the other without dire consequences. The same stalemate that had been haunting Nevermore since November crept into his life six months later.
Wrath borne of anxiety and frustration swelled in his chest. There were so many variables, so many paths to take, so many ways this could go wrong. Nevermore forced himself to breathe. His mind was spiraling again, forcing a simple situation into unreasonable complexity. There were just two things he needed to do. Not five or ten or a million. Just two tasks were in Nevermore's hands.
Get through to the adults.
Keep the child's mental health from shattering.
That was it.
A god could do that much. And there was one silver lining, to this chaos the band of thieves had created. Thomas kept his end of the bargain. The elder Teach handed Nevermore the perfect opportunity to prove to Eddie that War was something other than a monster, and a few people owed the head of Recon a little favor. Bribes and favors from years ago would bear their fruit once the trial began. Clerks shifted papers into Nevermore's hands. Lawyers let their accusations and defenses slip from mouths that overflowed with brandy. Nevermore's last bribe was placed on the judge's bench, with a note and a box of her favorite chocolates. An hour later, a reply in matching stationery slipped under the door of Nevermore's office.
--
The courthouse filled long before the bells struck noon. A sea of golden souls packed the gallery until the air turned heavy. Families of those still missing, reporters eager to write the last word, curious onlookers who sought blood or spectacle or some twisted combination. Even the wealthy pulled in from the north, faces knotted with tension beneath their veils.
The gavel swung. The stage was set. The curtains rose on this show of a trial, and Mr. Nevermore held the script. The tale of hero-thieves was given all the publicity of a witch trial. When the heroes spoke, supportive murmurs filled the courtroom, barely contained in their fervor. When it was the duchess's turn, the room was deathly silent. The tone of the trial was set immediately.
No one denied their part in the events of that harrowing night, both sides as convinced as they were that they had done nothing wrong. Piece by piece, the story slowly converged, a clear timeline of events set before the court for all their eyes to see. No, this trial was about why these five people had done what they did, and what should be done about them now.
Nevermore was expecting the deluge of excuses that poured from Martha's mouth the second she reached the stand. The duchess sauntered confidently through the courtroom, mask of poise firmly attached to her face. She treated a scene of torture and death like the righteous protection of Salem's people, speaking casually about how she'd worked to "cleanse" the slums the way she had in her youth. The god was too used to madness in its many forms, and here he saw it clear as day.
Nevermore was ready for Clef to explain in clinical detail how they had reached the point of finding a dungeon in Putnam Manor and deciding to raid their own mother's home. Nine years of surveillance from afar, the ballroom, the quest for petty revenge, the cellar found in Clef's wake, all retold with the emotional weight of a math textbook. The duchess's child barely heard the prosecutor's questions. They only told their story with that glassy, distant gaze that screamed in the god's ears.
Nevermore had prepared for the army of the slums to pour in, a dozen passionate voices that came together as one. A week of notice hardened their hearts just enough to spare the court no moment of what they had endured. The victims screamed for the duchess's head, and begged for mercy on behalf of their saviors. A woman who looked almost like Sabrina let tears well up in her eyes as she gave the court her only wish, to walk home tonight with her little sister. The whole court fell silent for a moment. Nevermore's eyes flickered towards the judge's bench.
And, though he didn't want to think about it, Nevermore instinctively braced himself for the way his own case tangentially connected with the one at hand. A timid little boy stayed quiet under a piercing question about the "threats" and "blackmail" imposed upon him by a member of the badge and uniform. Eddie's silent reaction alone was a thread that his lawyer weaved into a tapestry. "Why," they called upon the court, "would a child trust his own tormentor with a task so great?" The words left a bitter taste in Nevermore's mouth. Nevermore reminded himself it was all part of the script.
Then, a curveball. Sabrina's next words were wholly unexpected. "The duchess wasn't acting alone."
All eyes were on the cat burglar. Nevermore's blood was ice in his veins. His eyes bored directly into her soul, watching intently as she and the town's Jailor - did Jay know? - stepped forward. The Jailor dumped a pile of folders onto the witness stand. "Tell the judge where you found these, Ms. Newell." Jay's voice was poisonously sweet.
"Sh-Sheriff Rhodes' house." Sabrina's words stumbled slightly.
Nevermore's face was a mask of disgust, but relief was the more overwhelming emotion within his heart. No grand reveal of his divine nature. His life was still in one piece, for now. It didn't answer the question that sent Nevermore reeling. Where did this come from...? Nobody had told him about these folders. While Nevermore was certain they had nothing to do with his godhood, the fact that Sabrina was staring at Rhodes right now, rather than following the script that caught fire in his hands, made Nevermore's mind cloud with stress and nerves.
"I w-was looking for... answers, really. And, I... I found them. Discarded reports. Most of them m-mine..." Tears fell from Sabrina's eyes. Jay put a hand on her shoulder. The cat burglar shivered. She opened a folder to reveal the face of a man still missing even now. "These w-were my friends, Sheriff!" Though Sabrina still trembled, her eyes nearly lit Rhodes on fire. "D-do you know what it's like to visit an empty house like a tombstone? Do you know what it's like to scream into the void, begging the authorities to do something, anything to help as your neighbors die in the streets? Do you have the slightest idea of what I felt when I saw you had discarded people's lives like they were trash!?"
The courtroom fell deathly silent. Nevermore watched, eyes following the gaze of the courtroom and falling on Rhodes. The other officers shifted away from him in their seats. Rhodes sat still, distant, hands coiled so tightly Nevermore half expected to see blood trickling down his palms.
Jay noticed the officers shifting. The Jailor turned to look directly at Rhodes while subtly giving Sabrina's hand a reassuring squeeze. "August Rhodes hiding such crucial evidence..." Jay sighed, shifting to address the rest of the courtroom. "Every report that citizens filed at the jailhouse got at least a pair of eyes on the case, while every report that citizens filed with the face of our law enforcement ended up in the waste bin. As much as it pains me to have to make that call, it's certainly suspect." Jay's voice held the sick glee of someone who wasn't really pained at all.
Even the judge was staring at Rhodes now. The Sheriff - however unintentionally he may have been - covering the duchess's crimes was going to cause more strife within the police. Some would, despite the way it backfired here, find themselves bold enough to throw away more lives. Others would attempt to save face on behalf of the whole organization, working twice as hard for a quarter of the appreciation. Higher titles within the force like Nevermore would have to smile and wave through it.
The highest title had to cover his own hide. "I was not aware that the duchess was doing such inhumane things. I had no idea of the... awful, horrible things she was doing to the fine citizens of this town." Rhodes's voice was cold, calculated, machine-precise to adhere to the truth without speaking the part he'd rather keep silent aloud.
"Then why, Sheriff, were you discarding the reports?"
Rhodes's glare snapped to meet Jay's eyes. "This isn't my trial, Janelle. We'll discuss this privately."
Jay's expression turned to ice. Everyone waited for Rhodes to continue. He didn't. After waiting too long, the courtroom erupted. Everyone burst from their seats. Foul words filled the air so densely it was impossible to tell one voice from another. Fists were balled, claws were out, witnesses and suspects alike sat on the edge of beating one another to a pulp.
The slam of a gavel barely broke through the chaos, but it did. The room fell quiet, though murmurs still floated through the air. "The Sheriff is right about one thing," the judge hissed, glaring directly into Rhodes's eyes with a look of disgust matching the rest of the courtroom. "This is not Rhodes's trial." A smirk formed on the Sheriff's face. The judge continued as if she hadn't seen it. "If you want that to go smoothly, I'd suggest you sit down, Sheriff."
Rhodes's expression faded, and he wordlessly sat. Everyone else followed, and slowly shuffled to their seats. If looks could kill, Sabrina would have dropped dead on the spot from Rhodes's foul glare.
Electric tension jolted through the whole courtroom as they waited for the judge to speak again. Five futures rested on her word. The story told in these hallowed halls would be spread through the streets of Salem as the one and only truth. Nevermore alone did not fidget or shiver. The script had returned to him, despite Sabrina's efforts to tear it to shreds. He already knew, mostly, how the gavel would fall.
The voice of the judge rang like a church bell. "This court has heard terrible things today," she began. "The truths that had been dragged out into the light have shaken us all to the very core."
She looked over the table where four bright red souls Salem couldn't describe sat. Her face was just soft enough to make the little one flinch. "There is no doubt you four had reason to behave the way you did. Putnam Manor concealed horrors. Lives were at stake. Fear of retaliation -" the judge's gaze cut briefly towards the Sheriff, who sat frozen and bitter among his fellow officers. " -played a part in your decisions."
"Despite that, you cannot cast aside the social contract when it suits you." The judge's voice sharpened now. "This court is not blind to the context of your crimes, but crimes they remain." She paused to let the words settle. The band of thieves stirred in their seats. Nevermore wished more than ever that he could reach out and reassure them. "By rushing into that manor, you recklessly endangered everyone inside - most of all the boy who relies on you to ensure his safety."
The judge then turned, her gaze falling like a blade onto Martha Putnam. "As for you, duchess," the judge said, slowly, each syllable deliberately placed to mask her urge to snarl. "You have committed an atrocity under the pretense of protection. You have taken the dangers of witchcraft and twisted them to serve your own ends."
Martha sat perfectly still, back straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. The barest smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"And still you show no remorse."
The duchess barely moved. Most of the courtroom saw nothing in Martha's empty eyes. Nevermore saw the flicker of the narrative shifting in her rotted mind. From what, to what, would remain between the duchess and whatever god she met in the afterlife. All the god of War knew was that the calm certainty of someone who still believed herself to be righteous remained on her face.
"I have no more words for you, Martha. Let your sentence speak for itself."
The judge pulled a scroll from her bench and unrolled it with care. The weight of the court seemed woven into its fibers, with its elaborate crest and the sound of heavy paper scratching from her pen. For a long moment, no one moved. Not even Nevermore. His faith in the script started to falter again - a curveball had already been thrown, what if the judge cast another? Nevermore made himself breathe. It would be fine. He knew the shape of what was to come. Mostly.
For the rest of the courtroom, it was agony. One minute became two, then four, then people stopped counting before they lost their minds. The judge set her pen down. She lifted her head. Then, she spoke her sentences into the waiting air.
"For the crimes of unlawful trespass, theft, and disruption of the public peace," the judge intoned, voice steady, "Clef Putnam is sentenced to six weeks' imprisonment."
Clef didn't dare move, or even blink. Only the slight straightening of their shoulders betrayed any reaction at all.
"For the crimes of trespass, theft, and obstruction of justice," the judge continued, "Sabrina Newell is sentenced to four months'' imprisonment."
Sabrina's jaw tightened, her hands clenched into fists against her skirt. Something likely foul was stuck at the edge of her throat. Her whole body hummed with the strain of keeping still.
"For the crimes of trespass, theft, and conspiracy to undermine lawful authority," the judge decreed, "Thomas Teach is sentenced to four months' imprisonment."
Thomas bowed his head slightly, keeping the courtroom's attention on his expression while his hand drifted subtly towards the space between himself and his little cousin.
The judge's expression shifted into a warm smile for the first time tonight. "For the involvement of Edward Teach," she said, softly enough that the courtroom leaned forward to hear... "This court finds no criminal wrongdoing. At the conclusion of this proceeding, Edward Teach is free to go."
Eddie just sat there for a moment, his wide eyes blinking multiple times, visibly processing what he'd just heard. Thomas leaned closer, whispering something in Eddie's ear that even a god couldn't catch. The boy nodded in a way that seemed far too stiff. The head of Recon's script righted its course in the end. Nevermore could see Eddie's realization set in, that he had been deliberately protected. For just a moment, the god and the child dared to lock eyes. One went pale, the other had to stop himself from screaming.
That smile atop the judge's bench quickly faded, and she finally got her chance to snarl. "Martha Putnam. For twenty eight counts of first-degree murder. For the abduction and torture of your fellow citizens. For the betrayal of trust placed in you by all of Salem... this court sentences you to death."
Martha's expression didn't change.
At the end, the courtroom was quiet. The air was made leaden by injustices from within and without that could no longer be undone. Some among the gallery clearly wanted nothing more than to rage against the verdicts. Nevermore could see it in the way their fists tightened, the subtle forward lean like they were poised to stand and fight. That urge would go unmet, tempered by the certainty of death. The victims took patches of solace where they could, and begrudgingly made their peace with the rest.
The gavel swung. The sentences were cast. The curtains fell on this show of a trial, and Nevermore followed the crowd of golden souls towards the gallows.
Martha Putnam
Were they expecting the weight of Martha's work to crush her with silence alone? Fools. The jealous, judgemental, hateful stares of those that surrounded the duchess only proved her right in the end. Perhaps these commoners expected her to be afraid. Perhaps they expected her to protest, to plead and beg for sympathy.
Duchess Martha Putnam was no animal. She had failed the one task she had made her life's mission, to extinguish the life of the witches that had left her widowed and driven her children to madness. For that failure, she stood here on the gallows. The punishment fit the crime. At the gates, Martha would have to confess to Sam and Jamie that she had failed them all. All four of them, including Clef, who stood surrounded by witches in the crowd.
That part weighed on her, knowing she would leave her baby hating and fearing her. Worse, their tension meant that Clef wouldn't take up the mantle to avenge their father and brother. Their killers would go free, and Martha would die for nothing. The very thought made Martha nearly weep with shame. She couldn't even make it right by her only surviving child.
The one solace she found in all of this was that Martha would at least see her fallen loved ones again on the other side.
The rope arced over the wooden post, deftly tied in place by a large fellow wearing robes so black they became one with the shadows around them. The crimson cuffs of their robe were the only indication that this being moved at all as the noose took shape before Martha's eyes.
All of Martha's greatest enemies in her earthly life stood before her. The air was silent and still, but she knew what lurked deep within their rotten souls. Mayor Robert stepped onto a podium and drawled out a speech that scratched at her ears. The bloodhound of a man at his side gazed into Robert's glassy eyes as if Martha's ex-husband was worth an ounce of love. Higher-ups in the police force stood within the crowd of witches she couldn't execute.
Martha's eyes burned into one witch in particular. The one who had ensnared her baby so thoroughly in this Coven's web of horrors that Clef was compelled to turn against their own mother. Martha wanted nothing more than to lunge into the crowd, but the sight of Clef right next to that same witch made the duchess's breath catch in her throat. The witches took everything from her. Her husband, her children, her very life. Martha would not let the witches claim her dignity in front of her precious baby.
"Do you have any last words?"
The duchess cleared her throat, taking on the mannerisms she had once used at grand banquets and solemn festivals. The rough texture of the rope gave her the briefest moment of pause. Martha's eyes drifted towards her only surviving child and softened, for the last time. "I go gracefully home to my departed, for the Lord will guide me where I am meant to be."
The wretches before Martha would never understand the whole truth of the matter. How she would have avenged the deserving among them as she aimed to avenge her husband and son, how she could never do that now, how Salem would now surely go to ruin and destruction without her aid. The duchess had been too late; the corruption ran too deep. It was far more ingrained than even Martha had expected. Sam and Jamie... the duchess would beg their forgiveness when she reunited with them on the other side.
The lever of the gallows clicked. Duchess Martha Putnam made no motion to resist.
As the light of Heaven bled into the edges of her vision, she locked eyes with Clef.
Clef did not acknowledge her.