Bursts of gunfire and creaking of iron mechanisms filled the air of North Pole. Circe, A middle-aged woman wearing a large, pointed red hat and matching gown, burst out of Santa's workshop. She fled like the devil himself was at her heels, clutching a petrified branch encased in ice. Soon after, a figure that looked like Santa Claus and moved like a marionette emerged from the workshop. It turned its head slowly, unnaturally, in search of the woman that intruded upon its territory. When it regained sight of her, the robot flashed its glowing red eye, raised its bloodstained axe, and it ran in pursuit of its prey.
Never again would Circe meddle in the affairs of elves. She had been too confident, too careless. Any more mistakes, and she could have easily died-- could still easily die, if she let that thing clanking behind her get too close. Circe reached into the folds of her skirt and pulled out a large pouch full of ashes. Even in death, her sisters were always there for her. Circe threw a sprinkle of ashes high into the air. Before her glimmered an ornate, turreted building on a distinctly Italian countryside. Warm air flowed out of the portal and melted the nearby snow. Circe ran through the portal as fast as she could, and watched it close before her mechanical pursuer could reach it.
When the last wisps of snow fell to the ground, Circe let out a sigh of relief. From the view of her surroundings, it became evident that this place was not of her time. Through a nearby window she could see horseless carriages speeding along on smooth black roads. Though the layout of the streets was vaguely familiar, the signs on nearby buildings were anything but. Circe had arrived in Sicily, Italy, but this was not the Sicily she knew.
A nearby door creaked open. "Ey, how'd you get in 'ere? If you got a beef, you gotta talk to the Capo."
Circe turned around to meet the commanding gaze of an older man with salt and pepper hair. He was tall, confident, and Circe could tell he was powerful. "I have a job for you," she commanded. "One you cannot refuse." She reached into her pocket and jabbed a small wand into the man's face. The wand let out a violet glow, and the man's eyes glazed over.
“The Don, at your service,” the man said lazily.
Circe grinned evilly. This land was unlike anything she had seen before, and the clothes this “Don” wore were quite unusual. Circe couldn’t help but imagine what incredible weapons had been created since her time. "What year is this?"
"1952," replied the Don.
"260 years! Tell me, what is the quickest method of killing in this era?"
The Don chuckled. "That's easy. Ya pump 'em full o' lead."
Circe tilted her head, unsure of what this man was saying. "Show me."
The Don took out his revolver and fired a few rounds into the wall next to them. Circe jumped at the sound. When the ringing in her ears stopped, she noticed the holes that had been cleanly punched into the wall. Circe couldn’t help but be awestruck by the power, and accuracy of this new age gun that would easily fit in his hand. “Bwuhahahahahaha!”
"There’s more where that came from, too," the Don added. "Let me take ya to The Family."
They walked into a building with guards smoking outside, who opened the doors for them. “Welcome back, Don.” They said as they bowed their heads in respect. Circe couldn’t believe the power this man seemed to have over his Mafia Family, and now he was under her control.
The building was filled with young men and women in black suits. As soon as the door opened, all of them stopped what they were doing and acknowledged the Don, and he greeted each of them in return. The Don's power was obvious, but Circe wasn't expecting him to respect his followers nearly as much as they respected him. These people weren't just pawns or underlings, they truly were a family. Circe quietly contemplated this state of affairs while the Don led her to his private room.
When the door opened, the glaze in the Don's eyes faded, for just a moment. Circe quickly reapplied her spell with a wave of her wand, then beheld the Don's quarters in all their splendor. Before them stood a blonde woman who beamed at the Don as soon as she heard him arrive. “Don! Where ya been, ya rascal? I was gettin’ worried ‘bout ya!” she exclaimed, then paused. The woman sized Circe up and down, and her face twisted into a suspicious glare. "Don? Who's the new girl?"
"I am of no concern to you!" Circe interjected as she jabbed her wand at the woman's face. Just like her Don before her, the woman's eyes glazed over, though her face remained in that expression of distrust. She left the room without another word.
"So, let's talk business." The Don made his way to his desk and sat down. "Who do ya want me to whack?"
"It is not just one person. I need you to-- as you say, whack-- a whole town!" A grim smile spread across Circe's face. "A town that took my own family from me. A town that left me with nothing but the ashes that brought me to your time. A town that must pay for their crimes, no matter the cost."
The Don mulled it over for a moment-- a moment too long, as if the mind control was starting to muddy the man's thoughts. Finally, he spoke. "I'll join you on your mission, along with eight of my elite lieutenants."
"Yes! Let us hurry, time is--"
"We leave tonight. In the meantime, make yourself at home."
With that, the Don exited the room, leaving Circe reeling from shock. She glared daggers at that stupid wand. Circe had made certain to bewitch both the Don and that blonde woman in his room, but both of them were acting so strangely. It was as if they were slipping out of Circe's control. Circe shook her head. No matter, she had a job to do. She could just reapply the mind control when the need arose again.
Circe left the Don's room and made her way to the main hall. The Don and his lieutenants sat at a table, discussing the mission Circe was to send them on that night. The rest of the Mafia stared at Circe as she passed them by. Some of them whispered to each other. Some of them snickered under their breath. Most of them turned away when they realized Circe was looking.
From the table, that blonde woman waved Circe over with a smile. The glaze in her eyes was gone, but she greeted Circe as if nothing happened. This girl introduced herself as Viola, the Consigliere of the Mafia and the brains behind this operation. Viola motioned towards a map on the table, depicting Salem and all of its occupants as colored game pieces strewn about the table. This map was a bit different from the Salem that Circe knew, but it was close enough. Circe, the Don, and all eight lieutenants pored over the map, moving game pieces around and discussing layer upon layer of schemes and backup plans. No stone was left unturned, every detail was meticulously written out on the papers that piled high on Viola's corner of the table.
Circe let out a wicked grin. Salem wasn't going to know what hit them.
Soon, the light from the windows began to dim, signifying the coming dusk. It was time to make Salem suffer. Circe grabbed some of her sisters' ashes and threw them into the air. A portal appeared before her and her followers' eyes. The ten of them stepped through to find themselves on the outskirts of the forsaken town. The Mafia looked around the abandoned settlement, fenced off from Salem proper, where a trio of ancient hovels stood. Though the details were a bit different from what she remembered, Circe knew this place well. No one would ever find them here.
While the Mafia settled into their new hideout, Circe stole some clothes from a shop within the town, so they could all hide amongst the townsfolk. When she returned, she found the Mafia preparing false documents and planning their infiltration into Salem. The ten of them donned their disguises and got to work.
At the crack of dawn, Salem awoke to find a woman by the name of Rebecca Nurse in a gruesome state. Her Sheriff's badge was twisted and bloodied, her face was bludgeoned, and her corpse was riddled with over a dozen tiny bullet holes. Worst of all, no evidence seemed to lead towards anyone as the culprit. The town was certain of one thing-- this incomprehensible murder must have been the doing of a witch. In an instant, the hateful mob came roaring to life. Baseless accusations and vile insults filled the town square in all directions. It only took a little nudging for the Mafia to draw Salem's attention towards a townsperson.
A junior investigator led a search into the accused man's house. What they found in there would haunt them for the rest of their days. A desk covered in crumpled notes, detailing the locations of shady out-of-town meetings. Glass bottles filled with brightly-colored liquids. Blood stains along every wall and pooling out from the bedroom floor. A strange black... thing, that looked somewhat but not completely like a gun, made partly of a material the investigator had never seen in their life.
The accused man denied the charges, claiming he must have been framed, but no one believed a scene like that could have been fabricated. A formality of a trial was held, and the man was swiftly convicted of murder and witchcraft. As he was dragged out towards the gallows that centered the town square, a mob formed to begin its familiar chant. "Hang the witch! Hang the witch!"
With the last of his breath, the man pleaded for a mercy that would never come. The noose tightened around his neck, the trapdoor fell beneath his feet. Salem breathed a sigh of relief.
The next day's rising sun revealed another corpse, killed in nearly the same manner as Rebecca. The town exchanged fearful whispers. How many witches were there? Who would be the next to die? Who among their neighbors was a killer in disguise?
A miner Circe recognized as Old Man Giles-- though he did not appear nearly as old as he was in her time-- cleared his throat to break the silence. "This fear plays right into these wicked witches' hands. They would have us tear each other apart, and kill our own neighbors. This cannot stand! We must unite to cast this evil from our town!" Giles lifted his pickaxe and roused the mob into a cheer. Invigorated by Giles's words, the people of Salem split off to hunt for the witches in their midst.
With the town on such high alert, the Don decided that his Family would lay low that night. Only one Mafia member was sent out to draw blood, while the rest retreated to their hideout. The next morning, the Don's worst fears had been confirmed. Two corpses were discovered on the streets of Salem. The one they sent out never returned, shot by a single bullet to the head, while his target's body was riddled with holes like the rest of the Mafia's victims. While the rest of Salem cheered, the Mafia mourned their lost sibling in arms, and Circe found herself mourning with them. Watching the Mafia bury their comrade reminded Circe a little too much of losing her sisters.
As if to agitate the Family further, one man bragged about being the one to do their member in, and he spent the day hailed as Salem's hero. The whole Mafia stewed in rage, unable to lift a finger in protest without drawing suspicion. This must be why Circe hated this place so much. That vain fool would be the one to die that night, no matter the cost.
With each passing night, more bodies covered the streets of Salem. The town continued its hunt with increased fervor, while Circe and the Mafia ramped up their nightly killings. Both sides had lost so much in this war for vengeance, and both grew more bloodthirsty with each corpse and bloodstain that they discovered. A growing sense of dread filled Circe's heart, but she pushed it aside. This plan was going to work. She was going to take her revenge on this forsaken place. She just needed to leverage the Mafia's resources more carefully.
Circe retired for the night early to rethink her strategy. Even she could not ignore that the Mafia's resources were dwindling, and a united Salem was stronger than she expected. There were only four of them left, including herself. Some of the Mafia members' bodies were found beheaded, which was highly unusual for Salem's witch hunters. Finding that culprit needed to be the top priority from now on. Viola could size up any townsperson in an instant, while that mousy young man who clung to the Don's side was a skilled killer. If the two of them split up, they could--
Intense pounding rang through Circe's hovel. No matter how many times the Don knocked, the sound always made her jump. But when Circe opened the door, it was not the Don who appeared before her. Torchlight from a mob of enraged townsfolk lit up the outskirts of Salem. At the helm of the crowd stood Viola, wearing a horrible grin.
Circe had no time to defend herself. In an instant, every inch of her body was covered in the disgusting hands of these vile creatures. The smell of grease and sweat, the heat of the torches' flames, and the pain of the Mafia's betrayal choked the breath out of her. Circe was blind to her surroundings as the town bound her with rope and dragged her out of her hovel. All she could see was her sisters burning to ashes.
"Do you have any last words?" Giles's voice pulled Circe from her thoughts.
Circe gazed upon the sea of people frothing at the mouth to burn her like they burned her sisters, and refused to die quietly. "You..." she began, struggling to reach the ashes still tied to her hip. "You, and your whole town, will burn in eternity for what you have done..." The mob, laughing at her words, failed to notice that Circe managed to reach her key to freedom. Even in death, her sisters were always there for her. Ashes tipped from the folds of her skirt. The earth fell beneath her feet. Salem vanished from sight.
Chapter 1/30
