Free Fiery Nights by Lisa Carlisle

short-sleeve blouse that fit the bill and set off the
blackness of my hair. I can’t do it.
    I looked in the mirror and tried to trick myself. “I can do this.”
    When I looked away, I knew I couldn’t. Checking the time, I
realized Tristan would be here soon. I may as well wait and tell him in person.
    I brushed my hair and put on some light makeup.
    Ten minutes later, Tristan rang the bell. I walked over to
the front door to let him in, bracing myself before I broke the news.
    When I opened the door, he smiled so brightly that I forgot
what I was going to say.
    “Ready, gorgeous?”
    All my reservations slipped away. I knew I could do it now. Just
take his hand and everything will be just fine.
    “Yes.”
    * * * * *
    He opened the door for me like a true gentleman and we
settled in for the drive to Salem. He played his iPod.
    “What is this song? I heard it in that Mr. and Mrs. Smith movie. When Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are all over each other when they
first meet.”
    “ Mondo Bongo .”
    “ That’s what it’s called? They don’t even say those
words.”
    He shrugged. “Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros. You know—the
singer from The Clash?”
    “Oh yeah. No wonder his voice sounds familiar.”
    I was well-aware that we were both procrastinating the big
heavy talk. Where all the questions and mysteries from last night were supposed
to be explained. After a couple more songs and I asked more questions about
them, which I really didn’t have to know the answers to at that moment, I said,
“Okay, I’m ready to hear more.”
    “Music?”
    “No. You know what I mean. Last night you wanted to tell me
things about you. About how you’re different.”
    Tristan tapped the steering wheel a few times before
answering. “It’s not just me. My family—we’re all different.”
    I adjusted in my seat. “Different how?”
    “We,” he began, but then he stopped. “We’re not like
everybody else.”
    I wanted to ask what he meant again, but then changed my
mind and decided to let him tell me in his own way. I know—progress for a
motormouth like me.
    “We’ve been here for hundreds of years. My family was one of
the original settlers in Salem.”
    “Oh,” I said. What was so weird about that?
    “Some of the women, my ancestors, were accused of
witchcraft.”
    Now I was paying attention. “What happened to them?”
    “They were burned,” Tristan said and he gritted his teeth.
“Or drowned.” On the last word, he clenched his teeth.
    “That’s terrible.” I reached up to put an arm on one of his
broad shoulders. “What a tragic family history. So many innocent people died.”
    He looked me in the eyes and said, “Innocent of what? They
were witches.”
    I didn’t know what to say.
    “They were innocent of wrongdoing, or any of the fabricated
charges against them. But yes, they were witches. I come from a family of
witches. It doesn’t mean we’re evil. Just misunderstood. They didn’t deserve to
die.”
    I removed my hand. “Whoa. What are you saying? You’re a
witch? Or a wizard or something? Wait, you mean like those high school kids who
parade around wearing pentagrams saying they’re Wiccan? Or those people who go
on talk shows to say they’re vampires because they feel the need to drink blood?”
    “Never mind all that nonsense,” he said, waving his hand,
keeping his eyes fixed on the road. “I’m telling you that we’re not like
regular people. We can do things. We have ancient magic, a spirituality,
running through us.”
    I cocked my head. “What kind of things can you do?”
    He clenched the steering wheel before he replied. “Me? I
can’t do anything of importance. I’ve been cursed.”
    After recovering from his statement, I said, “Surely that’s
not true? Why would you be cursed?”
    “You wouldn’t say that if you’ve experienced what I
have—it’s haunted me for so long. I just wish to be rid of it.”
    “Do you think there’s a way?”
    “That’s what