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Walking back to their hotel, Crowley and Rose headed through Central Park. Stunned by the evening’s events, they paused to stand on the ramparts of Belvedere Castle. The miniature castle, created in 1869, gave commanding views over the Great Lawn to the north and the Ramble to the south. The night was warm, moonlight bathed them as they leaned on the pale gray stone, looking out. A soft breeze carried scents of grass and the sound of leaves rustling in the oasis in the middle of the great city. It was peaceful. Crowley wondered if this was the sort of thing that a person could enjoy forever, but he figured even the most beautiful things would grow old and stale with enough time. A finite life held greater wonder.
“Despite everything, I feel a little bad for him,” Crowley said, admitting aloud his thoughts.
“He killed so many people,” Rose said. “I have no sympathy for him at all.”
“No, I suppose I don’t have sympathy either. But he lived for so long in the pursuit of one thing, and came so close until we took it all away.”
“Poe took it away really,” Rose said. “We just acted on the theories he never saw through.”
Still not wholly trusting Price, they’d waited in another room while he broke the news to Trudy. She’d handled it with courage and grace. The Fawcett way, she called it. Even after Price had left, they’d offered to stay, but his aunt had asked for some time alone. Crowley didn’t like it, but neither did he believe Price was a threat to his aunt. Not only because of the man’s feelings for her but also because he’d lied to Price about the effects of the formula. If Poe was correct, the man had a lot less than a month left. His body would already be feeling the effects.
“I have to admit, Price truly seems to love your aunt. I could tell it broke her heart.”
“Seems that way, but when a person has got as much money as Gertie, you never truly know.”
“Love or money. Everything seems to come back to those two things every time, huh?” Rose leaned her head against Crowley’s shoulder. “I wonder which one it really was for Price.”
“I’ve already told you it was love.”
They startled, spun around to see where the voice behind them had come from. Matthew Price stood there, holding a pistol low and close to his stomach. He moved it a little left and right, to cover them both. Crowley was in no doubt that he would fire if given any provocation. Crowley ground his teeth. Stupid! He should have known it had gone too smoothly, that Price had accepted his fate too readily.
“You didn’t really expect me to give up just like that, did you?” Price kept a safe distance between them. Close enough that he would certainly not miss if he fired, but far enough away that Crowley couldn’t jump him. Crowley felt Rose tense beside him, knew she was making the same mental calculations. He hoped she would be smart enough not to make a move. Not yet, at least.
“I want the journal,” Price said. “You’re absolutely right that my own formula is one of multiplication. It holds only when constantly renewed and, as the years pass, it has to be renewed ever more frequently. So no doubt Poe is right that now, counteracted, my demise will be swift. I’ll never be able to renew my own temporary longevity. But that doesn’t matter anymore. You have the journal, which means you have Poe’s half of the formula, which means I can finally have the genuine elixir of immortality I’ve always sought.”
Crowley shook his head, frowning. “It doesn’t work like that. To make the elixir that Poe took will take at least thirty days. Because it’s thirty days for his half, then more time for the combination with yours. You don’t have that long. You’ll be dead long before it’s ready.” Crowley couldn’t help grinning cruelly. “Isn’t that ironic, Matt?”
Rose sucked in a gasp, shocked at his effrontery. What was to stop Price from just shooting them now?
Crowley’s heart raced. He hoped he hadn’t pushed too hard. But he needed the man angry, rash even if there was to be an opening to save themselves.
Price’s face twisted in anger. “You petty, tiny, children! Give me the journal! If I have the recipe for what you tricked me into taking last night, I can reverse-engineer an antidote and buy myself time to make the proper elixir!”
Crowley frowned. “Do you really think that’s possible? Because I get the feeling you aren’t as smart as your partner, Edgar. You’ve always fallen just a bit short of him, haven’t you? Been a bit more unstable. I can see it in your eyes. You’re not so certain you can do this, are you?”
“It doesn’t matter!” Price yelled, spit flying from his lips. “I will try. You think after all these years I’m just going to quit? To lay down and die at your hands? Give me the journal!”
“Why don’t you use your witchcraft?” Rose said, understanding what Crowley was up to. Sarcasm dripped from her tone.
A crooked smile spread from one side of Price’s mouth. “Witchcraft. Such a misunderstood word. Such a misunderstood craft. I’ve watched the corruption of that perception over the years, and it’s made me laugh and sad by turns.” His anger appeared to dissipate slightly as he spoke.
“But you are a witch, aren’t you?” Rose pressed.
Price’s eyes narrowed a moment, and Crowley thought the man was deciding whether to talk or not. He was angry, all he wanted was the journal, but he was plainly narcissistic too. How could he not be, given his killing hundreds of people to extend his own existence?
“I was once a Witchfinder, in Massachusetts,” Price said. Crowley smiled softly, pleased the man had given in to his selfishness. The longer he went without shooting, the less likely he was to fire. “I was the most zealous,” Price went on. “Then I saw something that changed my life. I had rooted out and exposed numerous covens, dozens of solo witches practicing their black arts, but most were simple midwives and herbalists. Some were mediums of varying skills, I suppose, but all were harmless. Of course, back then I didn’t see it like that. They were women of Satan, and they had to be hanged. We burned fewer than popular culture, or even the history books, would have you believe. Most were drowned or hanged.
“But then one night, in the course of my work, I tracked down a coven to a small house, deep in the woods. Far removed from the public eye, it took me a long time to find. But once I knew its location, I waited until I was sure they were planning a ritual. Catch them red-handed, yes? No possibility that they could get off the hook of my accusations. And I had one of my underlings with me, an apprentice who was shaping up to be a fine witch hunter. When we reached the small cottage, we spied on the coven as they were in the midst of a ceremony, and I knew I would have concrete evidence against them. Some horrific blood sacrifice, I expected. These were the real black deal, not some cunning woman with a knowledge of plants and folklore. But instead, I witnessed something incredible.”
Price’s eyes had glazed slightly with the recollection. The gun still pointed right at them, but Crowley noticed the man’s white-knuckled grip on it had eased somewhat. He didn’t want to pounce too soon, and honestly, the story was fascinating. But he only listened with one ear, watching for an opening all the while.
“They healed that boy,” Price said, his voice softened with wonder. “That child’s withered and useless arm was made whole and functional again. It was true magic, not some dark art. It was the holiest magic, the power of healing, like Christ with the blind man or the lame man. On the one hand, these witches wielding Christ-like power was both terrifying and blasphemous. But it was wondrous too. As I watched this miracle, my wife lay at home, dying from an illness no doctor could cure. I told you before that when I love, I love completely, deeply. I would have given anything to save my wife. The healing properties of the real magic of those witches sang to me.”
Price shook his head slightly at the memory, looking past Crowley now, staring into the past. “But I had my apprentice with me, yes? A promising young man. He didn’t see everything that had happened, but he understood enough. He was true to the cause and wanted to arrest everyone there. I was forced to make a hasty decision, one that would change the course of my life. I killed him there and then, and hid his body in the woods. It was the first time I killed.”
“How many so-called witches had you put to death before that?” Rose said, aghast. “It was far from the first time you’d killed.”
Price favored her with a condescending smile. “It was the first time I had taken a life with my own hands, rather than my accusations and evidence. Regardless, I turned then. The witchfinder secretly became a witch.”
“I should have realized sooner that you were a witch,” Rose said. “Even your company, SaleMed, has Salem right there in the name.”
“Yes, a bit of whimsy on my part. I first tried to learn their healing arts, but my skills were not the same as theirs. Something that worked for them would often not work for me. That coven would give me no secrets. No one would trust a Witchfinder of my reputation.” Price’s face darkened. “My wife died anyway.” His eyes narrowed, his face tightened. The pain of his loss was still evident, hundreds of years later. His love for his wife seemed undiminished by time. “So I devoted my life to fighting a battle against mortality, against death.”
Crowley couldn’t help the laugh that burst from him. “That’s ironic, considering how many lives you’ve taken in order to save your own.”
Price shrugged it off, his attention back on them, the light in his eyes sharp again. Crowley thought maybe they’d missed a chance to jump him, if there had ever been one. “Insignificant, unremarkable people who aren’t missed,” Price said.
“Jazz wasn’t unremarkable!” Rose said fiercely, anger making her cheeks livid.
Price smiled. “I don’t care. The knowledge in my head makes me more valuable than all my victims combined. And that includes the two of you. I only need one of you to tell me where the journal is, so let’s make sure we know I’m serious, shall we?”
He raised his pistol and fired.