Previously on "Salem"...
Witches! Kill them all!
Father...
... your baby's home.
I would do anything for you.
You'll be the means of my vengeance.
Hathorne wonders if you really came to town to cure the plague.
I seek the seat of the soul.
And where is it?
I believe it's right about here.
I'll try and be gentle.
Don't bother.
The last of the true witches.
I know nothing of the witches.
I didn't even know I was one.
We will meet again, little owl.
I sense them, your tools of power.
A witch dagger to kill,
a moon stone to see,
and a medicine bag to be unseen.
Be careful with that one.
The role of magistrate cannot fall to an un-sympathetic foe.
It must be a witch.
Corwin is nowhere to be found.
Whoever is out there, they are targeting us.
In my own home. My own bathtub.
How is it possible?
Someone wants to kill you.
First Corwin, now you.
No.
No, I was helpless in its horrid grip,
like a mouse would be in mine.
No, if it wanted me dead, I would be dead.
What, then?
A warning?
Who in the hive has the power to challenge me?
No one.
Whether you know it or not, I have never done anything
that was not in your best true interests.
Yet your anger and mistrust
prevents you from heeding my warnings.
Oh, warnings.
I told you long ago to eliminate mercy.
But you let her live long enough
to do us real and permanent damage.
Now, I tell you again.
Do not ignore the very real danger that Anne Hale poses.
I have no fear of her.
By the time you do, it will be too late.
She has returned from Boston.
And her power comes on fast... faster even than yours did.
It is wiser to drown her now while still a kitten.
Do not wait to face the full force of her claws.
We can do nothing until
we know who it is who seeks to attack us.
I will deal with Anne Hale.
Go to Petrus.
His many eyes must have seen something.
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Bring out your dead!
Excuse me!
I have one in here, but I'm too weak to lift him. Please help.
All right.
Back away from the door.
Selectman Corwin?
Bring out your dead!
... Very heart of our Puritan America...
to judge our own cases.
The Reverend Cotton Mather returneth.
Like a dog to its vomit.
Appalling.
How can you keep prisoners in such conditions?
Well, perhaps you'd care to donate
some of your father's estate to help pay for the cost
of building larger and more sanitary holding cells
for accused witches.
What are you doing here anyway?
I'd heard you'd been admonished
not to interfere any further with Salem's affairs.
Salem's affairs are every man's affairs.
But in fact, I come as a family friend
to offer solace and spiritual advice to Anne Hale.
Well, truly, sir, if you had any concern for her well-being,
surely the kindest thing you could do
would be to stay miles away from her.
I'm sure her father would...
Her father would be appalled
at how you fill his shoes as magistrate.
I am magistrate now,
and I will deal with prisoners as I see fit.
Really, Mather.
You're not needed here.
Salem is almost as sick of witch hunters as it is of witches.
How dare you summon me like an errant child?
Such a big menace for just a small girl.
I am neither menace nor a girl.
No?
There was an incident last night
outside one of the checkpoints into Salem.
One man killed, another man frightened witless.
I intended none of that. It just happened.
You are like a keg of gunpowder ready to explode.
I'm afraid I've made my decision.
I simply cannot allow you to live on like this in Salem.
No. You let me out. You cannot...
I can.
Child, I could kill you 100 ways.
I will not lie.
Others have urged me to do just that.
And I am fully prepared to cut your candle short.
What do you want?
Merely to help you be you.
I know you find it hard to believe,
but I hold no malice against you.
And yet you would kill me 100 ways.
As I would a savage untrained dog.
But first, I might try to train it.
And if that dog would accept the muzzle,
then I might find that it no longer posed a threat
to every innocent that passed by,
may even become a... trusted companion.
Death or submission.
Or alliance.
How do I begin?
There is no magic without...
arousal.
Just relax. Close your eyes.
Shh.
Now imagine someone.
A man, perhaps.
You may know him.
His breath in your ear.
His hands on you.
His lips on your neck.
Come. I have something for you.
Your book of shadows.
Some books are made to be read, others to be written.
Every one of us must keep one...
a private grimoire of all our thoughts and dreams,
our magic and experiments, all our deeds,
dark and light.
If it be worked properly, no one but she who inscribes it
will be able to read what it contains,
at least not while the author still lives.
And after they are gone?
After the death of a witch,
the book finds its way to the Samhain.
This ensures the survival of the discovery of witches
so that the old ways are not lost.
Some of these go back hundreds of years
to some of the earliest Essex witches.
In fact...
I have your father's book.
That's how I knew he was dead.
The book appeared that morning.
Now go home and inscribe your book.
You may write with ink,
but first you must sign it with blood.
- What? - Yes.
The deep magic, the strong and permanent kind,
always requires a little blood.
Your blood signature guards it from all eyes but yours.
- Ow. - See? It's that easy.
Do that at home, and with it write,
"Anne Hale," and "this is my book of shadows."
When you do, your familiar will come.
My familiar?
You'll know it when you see it.
I will come for you tonight at the witching hour
and we shall complete your initiation.
May I ask what you are doing?
If you're capable of understanding the answer, yes.
If not, I would advise watching in silence.
I read at Harvard, sir.
Theology, no doubt.
What an extraordinarily useless and twisted branch
of the tree of knowledge.
Please forgive me.
I can't seem to open my mouth today without insulting someone.
Blame this infernal pox.
It's got my mind twisted in frustration.
Wainwright.
Just the man I was hoping to meet...
the new doctor.
I've come from Boston
precisely with the pox weighing heavily on my mind.
I intend to help stop it if it's not too late.
And you are... ?
- Cotton Mather. - Oh.
You sent correspondence to the Royal Society.
Why, yes. Are you a member?
An associate, and I distinctly recall
one of your missives read aloud at our last meeting.
You sent a sketch of a... um, a... a misshapen stillborn fetus.
Apparently a grand sign of the devil's immanent arrival.
Yes, it was truly remarkable. It...
It caused no small mirth.
I seem to remember Sir Isaac...
Isaac? Sir Isaac Newton? He was there?
There? He popped several buttons
on his waistcoat he laughed so hard.
You did intend it to be funny, didn't you?
I was there, sir. You were not.
Well... Take a look at this.
What is it?
A heretofore unidentified bile
taken from the poor souls of Salem afflicted by this pox.
And I've never seen a pox like this.
But you've never seen a witch pox.
No one has as there is no such creature as a witch,
let alone a disease caused by one.
Well, perhaps when all rational explanation is exhausted,
only the impossible remains.
You're all right, Mather, for a damn Harvard man.
By a stroke of luck,
I believe I have located the original carrier of the pox.
The very first afflicted?
I believe so.
His name is Isaac... Isaac the Fornicator.
He was branded by the benighted bigots of this little town.
Isaac?
I know him well. Thank Christ he still lives.
Better thank me. I'm the one who found him.
Where is Isaac?
Where's my patient?!
Young lady, where is he?
Poor Isaac was sleeping last night when I left.
The boy could barely move. He didn't just wander off.
It's crucial we find this man.
I don't know what happened.
Mm.
He may have been snatched or at least not in his right mind.
When I found the boy, he was in possession
of more gold than he could have earned in a dozen lifetimes.
And yet he left it here.
The Malum.
Well, that, too, I found near Isaac.
What, you recognize this curiosity, Mather?
Yes.
It's a legendary magical object used by witches
to complete their grand rite and loose death upon the world.
You say Isaac was very...
very possibly the first to be afflicted by the pox.
He had upon him a bag of gold
and this... the very weapon of the witches.
Could Isaac have been hired by witches to start this plague?
I can't begin to discern the sense from the nonsense you talk,
and I do regret losing Isaac, but fortunately,
I drew enough blood from him
to continue my work with inoculation.
That way lies the cure.
Wh... where am I?
Mercy?
Oh, uh, Lord, I'm sor...
Don't look at me!
Be not sorry. I'm not.
And now you, her Isaac, shall be my Isaac...
my offering in turn to that goddess of bitches, Mary Sibley.
Isaac's disappearance has raised an alarm.
They're searching for him even now.
Cotton Mather seeks him.
Well, then, Dollie, my doll,
you had best make sure they do not find him.
Why do you hate Mary Sibley so?
What has she ever done to you?
Oh, dear Isaac.
You have no idea, do you?
She, not I, is the real monster.
I'm sorry.
Get that stinking pile out of here.
Hey!
Please, sir. Please.
Don't think me ungrateful, Reverend Mather,
but how come you to be here?
You saved my life,
but I begged you to never return to Salem again.
It is far too dangerous.
I did fear I made a mistake returning here
to the scene of all my crimes.
But now I know this is where I am meant to be.
And that is?
The Malum, the cause of the plague
that decimates Salem even now.
And proof I was right.
If only my father had listened to me.
If he believed me, we might have stopped the grand rite
and he might yet live.
And this... thing shows you your purpose here how?
It reminds me that I am here to undo all my father's errors.
He was wrong about everything...
wrong about the Malum being a figment of my imagination,
wrong about you being a witch...
and wrong about John Alden.
They think John Alden killed my father.
Perhaps it's for the best.
They can never know the truth,
and John is beyond their reach now.
Beyond the sea?
Beyond all seas.
Gone.
Dead?
I am sorry for that.
I entertained a hope
that someday I might tell him how sorry I was.
Now he'll never know.
We all have such thoughts.
Can I tell you something I've never spoken out loud before?
He was the only man I ever loved.
And the saddest part is he died not knowing it.
Ah, Mrs. Sibley, not a sight for delicate eyes.
My eyes are many things, magistrate,
but delicate is not one of them.
He bled to death,
but not, I suspect, before enjoying some torture.
His tongue, it seems, was cut out and a message left.
"Liars?"
What does that mean?
I'll tell you what it means, Mr. Hathorne.
You have won your place in history, that's for sure.
Madame, I...
The worst jail break in the history of this colony.
In broad daylight, a selectman brutally murdered,
his abused corpse left as a calling card,
all on your very first day at the job.
The man responsible will be found.
Sadly, the man responsible stands before me.
And we might wonder upon the strange coincidence
that the very man whose absence
led to your appointment as magistrate hangs dead before us.
You can't possibly suggest that I...
I suggest nothing,
but that you are a spectacular failure as guardian of the law
and not fit to lead a beggars' parade,
let alone Salem.
- Petrus is dead. - What?!
Murdered. It appears our witch killer has struck again.
- His eyes? - Gone.
No matter.
They have attacked me in my own home, murdered one of our own,
but they made a fatal error
leaving behind their victim's fresh body.
Now we have them.
Corwin's hand will point straight to the witch killer.
Anne Hale.
This is my book of shadows.
What an adorable little brown thing you are.
Come here.
Oh, don't eat me.
Mr. Jenkins, I will call you.
Brown Jenkins.
Three innocent people are dead because of me,
including my own mother and father,
so this is my promise to you, book,
and to you, little Brown Jenkins,
and to myself... I will master this power inside me,
but I will use it for the common good.
I will do no harm.
Do you seek to make the dead speak like a necromancer?
Someday, science will make the dead reveal all their secrets.
For now, I am merely lifting the edge of the curtain.
Come. I'll give you a peek of what I've found,
if you're not afraid.
You feel this?
The ridges on the stump of the tongue.
Yes.
I was wrong. His tongue was not cut out.
He bit it off himself.
They're calling it "autopsy,"
a postmortem examination.
You know what that means?
The act of seeing with one's own eyes.
Would you mind taking me outside for some fresh air?
Even I have my limits to what my eyes see and my hands feel.
I don't believe you.
You do not feel weak at all. I can tell.
Then why am I out here with you?
Well, that remains to be seen.
You are a most unusual woman, Mary Sibley,
truly exceptional.
Really?
In what way?
Well, I've known other women as beautiful and as intelligent,
but it's something else.
Do tell.
You're like me.
The body holds no horror for you,
nor, it seems, death itself.
Only fascination and...
Delight.
I have waited all my life with no hope
of meeting someone who I might stare with.
Stare?
Into the abyss.
Why are you here?
Because you liked what you felt...
And you're ready for more?
The road to the palace of wisdom
is arduous and long. Do you think you might...
like to walk that road with me?
Now open, lock, to the dead man's knock,
fly open, bolt and bar and arrow,
find the one who spilled this blood,
to him now point your marrow.
Now open, lock, to the dead man's knock,
fly, bolt and bar and arrow...
The visions were clear.
Knocker's Hole.
Seal off all the alleyways.
No one is to enter and none to leave.
The finger points this way.
The killer was here.
He's gone now.
Check outside.
He might still be near.
There's no sign of them.
Patience.
There's no place to hide for long in my Salem.
Place guards on every entrance to Knocker's Hole.
No one is to leave.
This witch hunter will not escape me.
What is it?
I felt it...
the presence of the one who attacked me.
She came from here.
They came by water.
This was their conduit,
the means by which they gained entry into Salem.
Like a rat in a sewer, they came through the well.
Then they could come again at any time.
No. I will make sure that whatever came last night
cannot come again without fair warning.
I'll make a water charm
to warn me if it draws near.
I need but a taste of their signature.
'Tis a simple task.
Hardly simple and highly unpleasant.
Well, then I'll get the young Anne Hale
to perform the ritual for me.
Time to dirty her hands, and the rest of her.
What are you doing to me?
Preparing you for the spell.
You're gonna kill him. Please stop.
Isn't Isaac one of us...
the abused and abandoned of Salem?
You said so yourself that he was betrayed by Mary,
left to die just like we were.
Like some of us were, Dollie, dear.
Stop! Looking! At! Me!
Mercy, please.
Leave her be.
Leave her?
Leave her? No!
I'll leave her in the grave if she back talks again.
Why?
Sweet Isaac, it is simple...
simple like you,
like my father's Bible lessons.
Nothing new under the sun.
That which is done unto us must be done unto others.
That is the way of the world.
To everything, there is a season,
a time to every purpose in hell.
A time to reap, a time to sow.
Yes.
No.
The season of the witch.
Now we will complete your initiation.
Where is everyone?
I spread word of another outbreak.
All hide away, quaking with terror.
Last night, I was behagged in my own home.
My assailant
used the water in this well to reach me,
right here in the very heart of our domain.
Last night, they had the element of surprise.
Now we must take it from them.
You must take it from them.
Me?
What can I do?
You can capture the magical signature
of the witch who threatens us in this.
It will give us fair warning if they dare draw near again.
What do I have to do?
There is no magic without sacrifice.
So to begin,
you must drown an animal at the bottom of the well.
Hold the vial beneath the surface of the water
till it is filled
and recite the incantation to seal the well.
Then bring the water charm to me.
No.
Give me something else to do.
I can't go down the well.
I've been terrified of small spaces ever since I was a child.
And you have been crippled by that fear,
made meek and small,
and embryo goodwife
shut up in your Puritan house
like a Puritan mouse.
But you can be more than that, Anne.
Under us, soon all women can.
But you cannot taste freedom
until you confront your most crippling fear.
We must drown an innocent creature?
No creature is innocent.
And neither are you.
No.
I cannot do it.
You will go down the well.
You cannot make me.
I swear, little ginger witch,
I will hurl you down that well and watch you drown
if you do not stop resisting.
All right! Stop!
I'll do it.
Please.
No.
No, please.
What are you doing? Please.
Aah!
Breathe your last, be empty shell...
... and by your death...
My words compel.
Water, water, drawn from hell,
let the boil, your steps foretell.
We meet again, little owl.
Water, water, drawn from hell...
by my words, seal this well!
See? That wasn't so bad.
Tonight,
Mary Sibley bade me confront my fear and go down into the well.
And so I went to create a warning charm.
I drowned the animal.
I filled the vial.
I saw the hag.
She spoke to me in the voice of the Countess Marburg,
and I do not know who I fear more...
Mary Sibley...
or this Countess Marburg.
I demand an explanation, Madame.
For what, exactly?
The pox spreads like fire,
and now there are reports of an outbreak in Andover.
I must know if it is the same pox,
but your militia will not let me leave Salem to investigate.
You dare to walk into my house
in the dead of night uninvited.
My husband will have your neck.
I am a doctor. I have seen your husband.
That's hardly a credible threat.
The people of Andover are not my concern or yours.
The citizens of Salem are under quarantine,
one you yourself supported.
That edict was for others.
I did not intend it to apply to me.
Oh.
Oh, just days in Salem
and already Puritan hypocrisy is rubbing off on you.
You well know
that I am far from puritanical.
Do I?
You talk of pain and ecstasy.
You came to seek the seat of the soul,
but I see no evidence that you have the courage to touch mine.
Perhaps if you wish to address the seat of my soul,
you might consider another approach.
Such as?
A man of science, unlike a Puritan, can take
as well as give instruction.
You once said that I was like the queen Elizabeth of Salem.
How would you have approached good Queen Bess
if you wanted something from her.
On my knees.
Of course, I not only know the...
duty...
... that a subject owes his monarch.
I also understand the ties that bind them together.
I wish you could be here to see the truth of what I told you.
I was right.
If only you had listened.
If you had only listened.
Who's there?
But you are dead.
- synced and corrected by chamallow - - www.addic7ed.com -