Salem, Massachusetts March, 1692
Lazarus
The merchant vessel Prudence groaned against the stone pilings of Salem Harbor like something dying. Her hull scraped and rasped, bone on bone. Every tortured creak whispered accusations into the March wind. That wind carried more than fish rot and piss. It carried the scent of a town tearing itself apart, neighbors turning on neighbors they'd once called friends.
Lazarus Varnum stood at the bow, pale hands gripping a railing worn smooth by countless voyages. The wood felt warm under his perpetually cold fingers. A reminder of the living world he no longer belonged to. Ahead, Salem Village spread across the Massachusetts coastline like an open wound. Red chimneys bled smoke. Narrow lanes ran with snowmelt and suspicion. The weight of centuries sa
