The Second Salem [Book One]

Chapter 1

The only thing Credence ever wanted was to be loved by his mother. He knew that she hated him- hated him for what he was- but he tried to please her.

No matter what he did she would find reasons, still find ways to beat him. He knew that he had powers, magical blood in his veins, but he suppressed it. He wished that he was normal, had wished it ever since he was a child, but no matter how hard he tried, nothing ever worked out.

"Take it off." She had demanded. Tears poured down his face.

"Ma... Please..."

He had been late home again, no one had wanted to take the leaflets he had to give out. He knew that he had to give them all away, he couldn't come home still clutching some in his hand.

But it had taken too long.

"How many times, Credence? I am not your Ma, your mother was a wicked, unnatural woman who deserved to die when you were born. Now take it off, don't make me tell you again."

He undid his belt and handed it over to her, happy that at least Chastity and Modesty weren't home. He held out his palm, like clockwork, always knowing what to do, time and time again. Even at his age, even when he was an adult and old enough not to be treated like a child, she ruled with an iron fist and he knew that he would never be free of her.

Scars from old beatings still lingered on his palm. His eyes watered as she dealt out a series of five lashings, each cutting huge, fresh grooves into his tender skin. Blood materialised and ran down to his wrist. He whimpered and cried out in pain.

"I can't bear to look at you right now, Credence. I want you out of the house for tonight. Go and find a suitable street for tomorrow's meeting. Don't come back until tomorrow."

- - - - -

Credence walked around in the pouring rain, hand clutched to his chest and tears pouring down his face. After an hour of walking he collapsed on the street opposite the Woolworth's building. Back against a wall, he stared up at the huge, looming creation, and wondered why life had to be so cruel to him.

His mother hated him for what he was, but not as much as he hated himself for the same reason.

After an hour or so of just staring he felt in his pocket for a tissue, hoping to try and clean up his hand. Instead, he pulled out a leaflet. One of his mother's that he must've forgotten to hand out. He froze for a second, staring down at it. He had to find someone to give it to, and quickly too, otherwise he would just get another beating in the morning.

But who would be out at this time? Drunkards, staggering home from the pub on the other side of town. Credence wanted to avoid them, he had had a very nasty encounter with one of those type of men once before, and shuddered to think of potentially having to go through another mugging.

He glanced around, trying not to panic. He stared at the street opposite, below the Woolworth's building and caught sight of a man standing there, staring at him intently.

How long had he been stood there for?

Credence shook his head, getting rid of that thought. That wasn't important, all that mattered at that time was getting rid of the leaflet.

He staggered to his feet and ran across the road towards the man, slipping slightly on the wet pavement.

"Excuse me, sir?" He called as he got closer, slowing to a walk. "Would you mind taking the last of my leaflets?" He stretched out his arm, leaflet in hand towards the man. His posture and hair made him look old, but his kind face made him seem younger at a second glance.

The man gave him a quizzical look but took the leaflet and glanced down at it, scanning the contents. He chuckled slightly but then stopped abruptly as his face fell. He was staring at the bottom of the leaflet.

Credence stared too, wondering what was wrong. He groaned internally as he looked down and saw, where he had clutched the paper in his hand, blood smeared across the words, dark and foreboding.

The man looked up into Credence's face, looking with expression that Credence had only ever rarely seen on Modesty's face, when she had found him crying after beatings.

He looked concerned.

His eyes flickered to Credence's hand, and before Credence had a chance to hide his wounds, he saw the man's eyes widen in horror.

"Who did this to you?" He asked gently. "And why have you been sat in the rain for all of this time?"

Credence stared at floor, not knowing what to do or say.

"It's just my mother, sir, that's all. Just a punishment."

"A punishment for what? What wrong could you have done that was so bad for her to have reacted in such a way?"

"I came home late, sir."

The man stuffed the leaflet in his pocket, seemingly in deep thought. After a minute he spoke again.

"What is your name?"

"Credence."

"Well, Credence, would you like me to heal your hand for you?"

"Are you a doctor, sir?"

"Not quite, no. But just give me your hand, and I can take the pain away."

Credence hesitated for a second.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you."

Credence warily lifted his hand and the man took hold of his wrist gently between his fingers, studying the marks. He paused for a second and then looked back up at Credence. "You're a wizard, aren't you, Credence?"

Credence stared in alarm and took a step backwards quickly. The man still held on to his wrist gently.

"I can feel it in your veins. Don't worry. Remember what I said, I won't hurt you. Look." The man passed a hand over Credence's and Credence stared in amazement as he saw his flesh knit back together and felt the pain ebb away.

He suddenly came back to his senses and took another step back, this time pulling his hand away and cowering from the man.

"You are a sinner, sir." Credence mumbled, staring in fear at the man.

"No, Credence, your mother is, for putting through such pain. She knows of your heritage doesn't she? She isn't your real mother, is she?"

Credence hesitated before nodding.

"That's not healthy... For you to suppress your gift in such a way. Come with me, Credence, let's get you out of the cold."

"But, sir..." Credence started.

"Yes?"

"Why should I trust you? Why should I go with you?"

"I just healed you didn't I? Your mother hurts and yet you go back to her don't you? Why would I bother helping you if I were just going to hurt you straight afterwards? My job is to protect witches and wizards, Credence, and that includes you."

Credence hesitated again. "Can I ask you a question please, sir?"

"Of course."

"What's your name?"

"Percival Graves."

"Thank you, Mr Graves."

And Graves turned on his heel, glancing backwards to make sure that Credence was following him, and led him back to the safety that was his home.