Lilith woke up freezing her ass off.
This wasn't regular cold, or at least none like Lils had experienced. This was the kind of cold that ached, that made you wonder if you’d ever actually been warm or if that was just something you’d imagined.
And ew, the smell. It smelled like a Renaissance Faire campground in the rain, all smoke and unwashed wool.
Then there was the sour, organic scent that her nose couldn’t identify mixed in with the earthy smell of packed dirt floors.
When she opened her eyes, the darkness was broken only by the faintest gray light seeping through gaps between wooden boards. Not a window, just slats that didn’t quite meet, letting in slits of light.
She reached out and felt rough fabric over straw, the blanket over made of scratchy wool, heavy and reeking of smoke.
Then she realized that wasn’t her room, or Lucy’s room. This wasn’t even Aunt Ivy’s house.
Lils sat up, her aching head and stomach loudly protesting. When had she last eaten? The rough linen shirt she was wearing felt like an itchy burlap sack against her skin.
“Art thou awake at last?”
The voice came from her left. A figure sat on a stool in the corner— an older woman, somewhere around sixty, her face lined with the deep set wrinkles of a hard life.
Lils jerked upright and immediately regretted it when her head screamed in protest. Her voice came out as a croak. “I’m awake.”
The woman stood with a grunt. She wore a long, grey dress with a white cap covering her graying hair. Even in the dim light, Lils could see the concern across her features.
“When I found thee collapsed near the old graveyard, muttering about blood and crossroads, I feared thee touched by fever.”
The graveyard, the ritual. Lils had spotty memories — cutting her thumb, that sensation of being pulled through ice. Seeing that face, nearly the same as her own, fleeing into the woods.
“Where am I?” Lils managed, massaging the back of her head.
“My home. Such as it is, on the border of Salem Village. Aye, we'll be warm soon, I've started the fire.” The woman gestured toward the hearth. “And what shall I call thee?”
Lils’s mind raced; she couldn’t reveal her real name was Lilith. If she really was where she thought she was, in Puritan New England. Heaven help her, she had only meant to talk to Eliza, to warn her of the trials — not swap places entirely.
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Did Puritans know anything about Lilith lore? She couldn't remember, but decided to play it on the safe side. Naming a child after Adam’s rumored first wife who was the supposed mother of demons would likely be unthinkable to them.
“I’m...” She flinched slightly. “My name is Lily. You can call me Lils if you’d like.”
It was close enough to the truth. Goody Martin softened slightly. “Lils, then. Where dost thou come from, child?”
“I’m... well, I'm from a colony across the way. I got lost, separated from my kin before reaching Salem proper.” She gestured vaguely, letting the woman fill in the blanks on her own. Lils had never been a smooth liar.
“Aye, lost near the graveyard at night, all by yourself, wearing naught but thy shift and an odd cloak?” Goody Martin held up Lils’s black hoodie, examining it with obvious confusion. The fabric, the zipper, the drawstring pocket, all more modern. “What manner of garment is this? The weave is like nothing I have seen, and these fastenings...”
Goody touched the zipper, pulling it up and down with wonder and suspicion.
“Aye, it's from a different place. I mean no harm,” Lils said, trying to pretend like she wasn't completely freaked out that she had accidentally introduced a puritan to zippers
Goody set the hoodie aside. “Besides this, there’s the matter of thy queer speech. And thy manner of dress.” She gestured at Lils’s jeans, which lay beside the bed. “Odd indeed.”
Lils cut straight to the point. “Prithee forgive me, Goody, I shall be on my way soon, but I’m looking for someone who lives in Salem. I wonder if you might know her… her name is Eliza Proctor.”
Goody Martin’s face fell, and her hand gripped the edge of the table. “Proctor? Eliza Proctor?”
“Yes. Do you know her?" Lils pressed.
“Aye, she's a neighbor.” Goody's voice had gone carefully neutral. She studied Lils closely. “Thou art kin? Surely, with those features.”
Lils touched her own face. That explained the face that had looked like hers she saw through the woods. They clearly shared enough similarities to be mistaken for family.
“She’s been accused,” Goody Martin continued. “Set to be brought forth for examination, but she fled. I do not know what has become of her.”
“I don't know either,” Lils said quietly. "I only wished I could have talked to her."
“Indeed.” Goody Martin moved to the makeshift window, peering through the gaps. She glanced back at Lils, raising an eyebrow.
“Goody, I just want to say… about Eliza...”
“Hush! Thou shouldest not speak of her. Nor anywhere in Salem.” The older woman’s voice dropped. “Thy strange clothes, thy stranger speech, questions about thy accused kin… if anyone hears thee speak thus, they will come after thee. And then me, for harboring one as such."
The harsh reality came crashing over Lils like an ocean wave. She wasn’t visiting here as a tourist; she was trapped here, for however long it took to reverse the spell she’d done. No identification, no explanation, wearing clothes that screamed outsider to anyone who saw them.
“I’ve brought thee water and bread,” Goody Martin said, gesturing to a small table. “Eat. Then tell me thy true purpose here.”
Lils walked over to the table, reaching for the cup with shaking hands. The water tasted like minerals and earth, nothing like filtered tap water. The bread was dense and crumbled in her mouth, so unlike the fresh sourdough bagels from her favorite bakery back home. But her stomach growled desperately, and she choked it down, grateful to have clean food at all.
“I’m Eliza’s kin,” Lils said carefully, swallowing a large gulp of earthy water. “A cousin. I came because I felt a call across a great distance that she needed help.”
Goody Martin studied her for a long moment, then surprisingly, nodded. “I do not know what thou art, Lils, but I do not think thou evil. Foolish, perhaps. Reckless, yes. But not evil.”
“Thank you,” she breathed with relief, putting her hand over her heart.
Goody Martin shook her head. “Do not thank me yet, child. Thou canst not stay here long, it is not safe for either of us. If the constables come searching, we'll both be suspect.”
As if summoned by her words, there was a sound from outside. Lils heard male voices and the thud of boots on packed earth. Then, a heavy pounding on the door.
“Goody Martin, open thy door!”