When you understand human nature and how weak and manipulable humans are, you realize that fearing such an insignificant race is the least of our concerns. The fate of this miserable town was already sealed, and with it, the Puritans would sink. But it was incredibly entertaining to watch them killing each other.

Since George is unable to continue with his activities, I needed a new conductor to ensure that everything I had planned would follow its course. The old man had a hunter friend whom we had met shortly after the wedding; he has a son who lived and had studied in London. I took the liberty of inviting him to Salem so that he could take care of the evil that had settled here in our so enlightened city.

Jacob Mather was a young man of twenty-six, with fair skin slightly flushed, his hair was brown and short, his beard was voluminous, but apparently a less harmful version. He stood out; the church that morning was packed. Alberto brought Mr. Sibley to sit beside me in his wheelchair. Young Jacob was at the pulpit delivering his sermon energetically.

"The worst war we can face is against the Devil. He wants to prevent this land from being blessed by the glory of our creator. But of course, the Devil would not allow this without a fight. And in this battle, witches are his most evil weapon." He descended from the pulpit. "We have already managed to kill three of them, but still, evil is rotting this land. Why?" He walked down the small steps and moved through the middle of the small church. "Why do they continue among us?!"

The town's population looked at each other in confused and desperate ways. The murmurs among the young and the older ones began to take worrying proportions as Jacob continued with his exaggerated speech.

"They could be here in this room!" The attention turned back to the young man who pointed his finger at everyone present at the back of the small building, crowded between the benches, on the small staircase that gives access to the upper floor, and at the entrance, standing or leaning against the walls, with their faces stained by dirt. "Imagine an invisible enemy, with weapons you don't know, and who is capable of looking like us!"

"Then how do you expect to find the true culprits?" The voice of Magistrate Hale, who was sitting in front, caught Jacob's attention, who turned in his direction.

He looked around with concern, slightly lowered his head, and said:

"Have you seen that boy?" Silence. "Emment Lewis still bleeds with a hundred wounds. Some are impossible for him to have made himself." He walked toward the pulpit. "He is the one who will tell us who did this!"

"I see," replied Arnald Hale. "The delusions of a poor sick boy will help you find what you yourself cannot."

"My father..."

"Of course, your father..." continued Hale. "Your father, whom we all respect, gave you some advice when he sent you to help?!"

"He told me to be cautious," Jacob said more quietly.

"Cautious? We hanged three people as a cautionary measure by young Mather? Nothing could be worse for Salem, for the country, than a witch hunt."

I listened attentively to every word said there, the reaction of every human being present in that place; in truth, I was tired, but I have to continue appearing to be a... religious man. Sibley begins to choke, and thick saliva comes out of his mouth; his small gesture draws everyone's attention. I get up and clean his face while he mumbles a single word.

"Witches." I approach his face, pretending to listen to him.

"Indeed." I say, looking at everyone while walking toward the center of the building. "As my beloved benefactor, leader of the council, reminded me, there is only one thing worse than a witch hunt. A witch."

"A witch?" John's voice echoes through the room. "Why not an ogre or an elf?" He walked to the center of the church, standing face to face with me. "Or better yet, a dragon, since we're talking about mythological beings."

"John Aurus. Everyone, welcome Captain Aurus for his excellent performance in the war," I say, looking seriously and sarcastically at the man in front of me.

Alberto pushes the wheelchair toward the exit; that morning's preaching had been tiring, and everyone was leaving, but John was talking with an old friend. Before leaving the place, I approach them.

"Captain Aurus."

"Mr. Sibley," he says ironically.

"Mr. Sibley and I are hosting a dinner tonight, and we would like you to attend." I gave a half-smile and turned around, finally leaving that place.

The full moon was in the sky as I looked from my bedroom balcony at the movement of coachmen and men walking around. Sibley starts to moan, and I remember there is something that needs to be done, so I turn and begin to undress, feeling the icy breeze touching my body. I walk toward the old man who is sitting in his wheelchair.

"Time for your feeding," I say, looking him in the eyes.

Sibley begins to move in the chair while his throat danced. I approach his body and squeeze his stomach three times in a row. The old man looks like he's about to throw up everything he ate that day, but his mouth opens, and I see my dear familiar appear, a beautiful and enormous toad. I open his mouth wider and pull my little helper out, holding it carefully. I cradle it, calming it while Sibley seems to choke on his own saliva. I sit on the bed and put the toad to feed through a small lump I have on my left thigh; without delay, it begins to drink the nectar so that it will fulfill my wishes.

"Someone help me," Sibley pleads, almost in a whisper.

I look at my familiar and pout. Gradually, Sibley begins to gain strength in his voice; his body remained inert in that chair, but without my little helper with him, the old man would recover in a short time. That was not going to happen. I get up slowly as he begins to scream for help, and without the slightest concern, I put my familiar back into his mouth, pushing it in and covering his mouth. The familiar goes down his throat while Sibley tries to prevent it.

"George, don't fight. You know it only hurts you more." I say, sitting on his lap. I look into his eyes as he gives small chokes and hold his face so that he looks only at me. "You only caused me pain, George Sibley, you took away the man I loved for your own sick desires, in favor of your religion. Everything I loved was gone." I look at him triumphantly. "Do you realize how good I feel taking everything from you, destroying everything you've built, and devouring your soul?" Sibley finally gives up fighting and lets my familiar go down his throat; I give a satisfied smile. "There. It wasn't difficult."

I walk toward the door; upon opening it, Alberto was sitting in a chair in the hallway. I walk toward a small room where I take my bath, feeling the gaze of the seated man on my body.