Lydia stopped and looked me over. “Don’t y’all worry,” she said, sensing my tension, and misunderstanding the reason. “Abby’s confession snapped her out of that fatalistic attitude that’s been weighing her down.” She shook her head. “I don’t see her taking to her bed again. And with the spells Great-Aunt Mary’s going to—”
“Lydia,” I said, interrupting her. “I think it’s going to take more than a circle of salt and cooking up a few potions on the stove to stop Sharon.”
“It will be okay,” she insisted.
That’s what everyone kept saying…why didn’t I believe them?
With a smile, Lydia linked her arm with mine and together we crossed the yard to join Tink and Dad.
“Y’all playing Chinese checkers?” she asked, noticing the star-shaped board.
“Yes,” Dad replied tersely, “and I’m getting whipped.”
I did see that Tink’s pile of captured marbles was much bigger than Dad’s. Placing a kiss on the top of her head, I sprawled in the chair next to her. “Good job, kid!” I said, giving her a high five. I smiled over at my father. “It’s a pay-back for all the times you beat me at Chutes and Ladders.”
“Humph,” he answered as he steepled his fingers and studied the board. “I think she’s reading my mind.”
“Grandpa,” Tink said with a giggle. “Mediums can’t read minds.”
“Well then the spirits are helping you,” he answered with a teasing glint in his eye. “It’s the only explanation.” He carefully picked up one of his green marbles and hopped two spaces.
Tink, giving Dad a cagey grin, promptly jumped three spaces and captured two more of his marbles.
Dad groaned.
Lydia gave him a comforting pat on his shoulder. “If she wins, Edward—and it surely does look like she will—I’ll give you an extra big piece of pie at supper. Kind of a consolation prize.”
Dad answered her with a chuckle. “It would be worth it to lose, then.”
“Ophelia,” she said as she focused on me. “You’re more than welcome to stay for supper, and the night, if you want.”
The idea of not going back to the Aunts and facing Great-Aunt Mary did have its appeal, but staying here also meant dealing with Mom. After arguing with Great-Aunt Mary, I didn’t feel up to answering all of Mom’s questions.
“Thanks, Lydia, but I think I’d like to avoid Mom, too,” I answered, crossing my ankles. “Maybe I’ll just hide out in the barn all night.”
With a laugh, Lydia gave me a little wave and went inside.
Dad watched her go then turned to me. “What was that all about? Rough afternoon?”
“You might say that,” I replied with a sigh. “I’m sure you’ll hear all about it later.”
“But you don’t want to talk about it now?” he asked, moving one of his marbles.
I shook my head.
On her next move, Tink snapped up another green marble.
Narrowing his eyes, he tried giving her a stern look, but she laughed and smiled sweetly at him. “Your move, Grandpa.”
“In a minute, in a minute,” he replied, focusing on the board. “How’s Abby?”
“Better. She was out of bed when I left and Aunt Dot was plying her with more tea.”
Dad chuckled. “All the women in this family do see tea as a cure-all, don’t they? Lydia’s forced me to drink gallons.”
“How is the foot?”
He moved another marble. “I can put a bit of weight on it now, so tomorrow,” he said with a wink at Tink, “I think we can do a little more exploring.”
I jerked forward. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dad.”
“Why not? It’s more fun that getting beat at Chinese checkers.”
“There’s more going on here than meets the eye…I’d feel better if you and Tink stick close to either here or the Aunts.”
Dad’s eyebrows drew together in a frown and Tink shifted in her chair to look at me. Curiosity was written all over her face.
I didn’t like the way this conversation was headed. Tink didn’t need to know what had happened to Abby all those years ago. She was too young. Maybe someday she’d hear the story, but not now.
While I searched for an answer, Tink’s expression changed. “This is about the feud with the Dorans, isn’t it?” she asked.
My eyes flew wide. “How do you know about that?”
She rolled her eyes. “I stayed with the Aunts, remember?”
I did a slow burn. Great-Aunt Mary had no right to bring Tink into the situation. “Great-Aunt Mary told you about it?”
Leaning back in her chair with a sigh, she gave me a look that told me how dense I really was. “No, all she said was that the Dorans weren’t nice people and that I should avoid them. One of the younger cousins told me about the feud. And she said Sharon Doran—”
My hand on her wrist stopped her. “I don’t care what she said. I want you to stay out of it,” I said firmly. “I’m your mother and I know what’s best.”
“But—”
“No ‘buts.’” Even though I had my doubts about whether Sharon could hurt someone via a poppet, I didn’t want to find a clay doll with lavender eyes on my next trip up the mountain.
“I mean it, Tink. You and Dad hang out here, or go shopping with Mom, anything but wandering around the mountains on your own.”
“You sound like Great-Aunt Mary,” she grumbled.
I didn’t appreciate the comparison, but I let it pass.
Dad, after years of practice observing Mom and me, wisely stayed neutral by keeping silent.
Ignoring the pout on Tink’s face, I tried changing the subject. “Where is Mom, by the way?”
“She went with one of the cousins to an antique shop…thank goodness,” Dad exclaimed. “All her hovering was driving me crazy.” He looked back down at the Chinese checker board and moved another marble.
Still upset with me for pulling the “Mom” card, Tink halfheartedly captured it.
With a grimace over another lost marble, Dad looked over at me. “Your mother had wanted to spend the day at the Aunts, sitting with Abby, but Great-Aunt Mary discouraged her. She said she’d take care of Abby.”
Wouldn’t you know it? I thought. Great-Aunt Mary probably saw Mom as encroaching on her territory, too. And I thought I had control issues. Great-Aunt Mary made me look mellow.
Who knows, said a little voice in my head, at her age, maybe you’ll be just like her?
“No way,” I muttered aloud.
“What did you say, sweetie?” Dad asked.
“Nothing, Dad.” I turned to Tink. I’d treated her the same way Great-Aunt Mary had been treating me—giving her orders without an explanation. “I know you hate feeling left out, but I’m not sure what’s happening myself. This feud—”
“When you find out, will you tell me?” she asked.
“Yes,” I promised. I’d worry about how to explain the past later. “This feud,” I repeated, “is serious, and I need you to follow Great-Aunt Mary’s advice. Stay away from the Dorans, okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed grudgingly, and turned her attention back to the game. Dad had made another move, and Tink, sizing up the situation, took one of her marbles and deftly cleared the board of Dad’s remaining green ones.
“I give up,” he said, throwing up his hands. He held one out to Tink. “Good game.”
“Thanks,” she said, taking his hand and giving it a vigorous shake. “Want to play again?”
“If I do?” A grin spread across his face. “Do you suppose Lydia will give me two extra big pieces of pie?”
“Oh, Grandpa,” she chuckled, and handed him back his green marbles.
Reaching out, I tweaked her blond ponytail. “Hey, after supper, are you spending the night here?”
She nodded, making her hair dance. “Lydia said I could if it’s okay with you.” She gave me a sideways look. “Is it?”
My eyes slid over to Dad.
Catching my expr
ession, he smiled and nodded. “Don’t worry,” he assured me, “I’ll make sure we stay out of trouble.”
“All righty then,” I said, standing, “I suppose I’d better head back to the Aunts.”
I gave Tink a kiss and Dad a quick hug then started trudging down the road. My steps were heavy. I hadn’t been kidding about hiding out in the barn. I didn’t want to talk to Great-Aunt Mary, at least not tonight. The weather was mild, I told myself, the barn had hay. I could make a comfy little nest for the night. On second thought, did I really want to share a space with creatures that only came out at night? Bugs, mice, and, God forbid, rats? I shuddered. Not in this lifetime.
My thoughts were chased away by the sound of a motorcycle roaring down the gravel road. I watched as it slowed and came to a stop beside me.
Twenty-Two
The rider placed both feet on the ground, his long legs balancing the heavy bike, and turned his head toward me. His helmet and visor blocked his face, but I recognized Ethan immediately.
“What do you want?” I asked.
Without lifting his visor, he handed me a helmet. “Hop on,” he said, his voice muffled.
I considered arguing, but the tension I saw in his shoulders made me reconsider. I put on the helmet and climbed on behind him. In an instant we were cruising down the gravel road, away from Lydia’s, the Aunts, and the Dorans.
It felt wonderful. The stress of the last few days fled in the rush of the wind tugging at me. I gripped Ethan’s waist tighter.
We rode down the valley and out onto a paved road. When Ethan goosed the gas, the bike bucked and we sped off down the ribbon of highway. The lines on the road flashed faster and faster beneath us, almost hypnotizing me. Free, I felt free, and I laughed with the joy of it.
I don’t know how long we rode in silence, but finally Ethan slowed the bike as he approached a small restaurant on our right. Turning into an almost empty parking lot, he drove the bike around to the back of the building and came to a stop. After cutting the engine, he balanced it again, allowing me to climb off.
While I removed my helmet and fluffed my now flattened hair, he took off his own helmet and put the kickstand down.
I glanced nervously around the parking lot. “Isn’t this dangerous?”
“My driving?” he asked in mock surprise.
Handing him my helmet, I shook my head. “What if one of the Dorans sees us?”
“They won’t. They never come here, and the owner is a…friend.”
There was something funny about the way he said “friend.”
“A friend or a snitch?”
“Never mind,” he said with a chuckle as he led me toward the back door.
He knocked twice and a big, burly man wearing a dingy apron answered.
“Jack?” the man said, his voice full of surprise. “What are you doing here?” He quickly reached out a beefy hand and drew us inside, locking the door behind us. “And who’s she?” He eyed me suspiciously.
Ethan smacked him playfully on the shoulder. “She’s okay. She’s one of us. We need a quiet place to talk. Where we wouldn’t be interrupted.” He motioned to a door on the left. “Is the meeting room free?”
“Ah, yeah,” he replied, shambling ahead of us. “You want something to eat?” he called back to us.
“That’d be great, Barney,” Ethan replied.
As we followed, I leaned close to Ethan. “I presume you’re ‘Jack’?” I asked softly.
“This time I am,” he whispered back. “Try to remember to call me by the right name, okay, Jensen?”
This time? I shook my head. All this cloak and dagger stuff. I paused as a thought hit me: Was Ethan his real name?
Catching my hesitation, he looked at me and smiled. “Don’t worry, Jensen,” he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth. “I am ‘Ethan,’ but only when we’re alone.”
My brows knitted together. “You’ve had so many names,” I said, keeping my voice low. “How do you keep it all straight?”
Taking my arm, he chuckled as he guided me down the hall. “Easy…since my life can depend on it.”
But with me, he used his real name. He trusted me enough to do that. A warm glow spread over me at the thought.
Before Barney left us alone in the little room, Ethan ordered the special and two Bud Lights. Surprised, I glanced up at him as he held my chair. “You remembered what I drink,” I stated.
“Of course I do,” he said as he took a place across the small table from me. “I remember a lot of things about you, Jensen. For example…” He paused and his eyes narrowed. “…your habit of letting your mouth get ahead of your brain.”
Uh-oh, here it comes. I glanced up at a spot on the stained ceiling.
“What did you think you were doing facing off with Sharon like that?” His voice quivered with a hint of anger.
Barney, shuffling into the room with our beers, saved me from answering right away. But I should’ve known that it would take more than a measly beer to distract Ethan, or Jack, or Cobra, or whatever other alias he wanted me to use.
He leaned forward, and I tried to look innocent, but it didn’t work. “Well?” he said, crossing his arms on the table, his gray eyes drilling into mine.
Quickly I explained why I’d confronted Sharon.
“That thing you were waving around in front of Sharon’s nose is called a poppet? And she’s using it to try and kill Abby?”
“She’s giving it her best shot,” I answered, watching him closely.
I didn’t see amusement or doubt in his gray eyes, only puzzlement.
“Can someone do that?” he asked.
Sliding my finger down the side of my beer, I shrugged. “I don’t know, but Abby believes it’s possible. She thinks Granny Doran used one to kill Annie, her mother.”
Ethan sat back. “You’re kidding?”
“No, I’m not…I know this all sounds really weird, but—” I turned my head while I debated whether I should tell him about Oscar Nelson. Would he laugh at me?
Decision made, I faced him. “My cousin, Lydia, believes Sharon used a poppet to kill Oscar Nelson,” I blurted out, and waited for his reaction.
“I thought he died of a stomach hemorrhage.”
“According to Lydia, it was brought about by a nail stuck through a likeness of him.”
He tugged on the corner of his mouth before speaking. “You know that wouldn’t stand up in court,” he replied evenly.
“Of course I do,” I said, irritation creeping into my voice. “What I want to know is whether or not you believe me?”
“That Sharon would harm Abby?” His lip curled in disgust. “You bet I believe it,” he said with passion. “She hates your family, but is she using magick?” Rubbing his chin, his face became thoughtful. “It wouldn’t surprise me—I’ve been here long enough to know her reputation—I know everyone believes she’s a witch. Hell, the love spell thing made my blood run cold.” He stopped and took a long swig of his beer. “Even her own family’s scared of her.”
“Well, then,” I said, sitting back and crossing my arms, “you understand now why I had to confront her.”
He placed his bottle on the table. “No, I don’t.”
I scooted forward. “Ethan—”
“Jack,” he corrected me with a grin.
I waved a hand at him. “Whatever…my family believes, I believe,” I insisted, “in magick. I know what it can do when someone misuses the power. I can’t let Sharon get away with working her spells against my grandmother.”
“Can’t you do some kind of counterspell?”
“I have…we have, but she’s done other things, too.”
I explained to him about the snake coiled under Abby’s bed. At the end of my story, he just sat shaking his head.
“I don’t care what you think,” I huffed. “She snuck that snake in the house…I know she did.”
He held up both hands. “I’m not saying you’re wrong,” he replied defensively. “I’m confused
, that’s all.”
“About what?” I shot back.
His eyes narrowed as he traced an invisible line across the table. “Think about it, Jensen. Why would she risk planting the rattler in the bedroom? She could’ve been caught.”
My forehead wrinkled. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
“Remember when you threatened me with a case of boils?”
“Yes.” I felt a blush creep up my neck and I shook my head. “I really wouldn’t have done that.”
“But if you had, would I have gotten boils?”
“You bet, slick,” I replied with a glint in my eye.
“Why?”
I leaned back in my chair. “’Cause I’m good, that’s why.”
“Then if Sharon’s good, why didn’t she just cast the spell, knowing it would work, and let it go at that? Why put the snake in your room?”
“Because she wanted to make sure Abby—or one of us—were hurt,” I said, stating the obvious.
“Do you follow through with your spells?”
“I don’t need to,” I replied, a little insulted that he questioned my ability.
Wait, he wasn’t questioning mine—he was questioning Sharon’s.
Amazed, I stared at him. “She hid the snake because she didn’t know if the spell would work,” I cried. “You think she’s a fake, don’t you?”
On the ride home our conversation replayed in my head while I huddled behind Ethan’s body. I’d never questioned that Sharon’s abilities were lacking. Everyone said she was a witch so I took it to be true. Ethan’s questions opened all kinds of possibilities. I knew she wasn’t psychic, but you don’t have to be a psychic, or a medium, or talk to fairies in order to practice magick.
However, you do have to believe in the power of magick in order for your spells to work. If you carry even the slightest niggle of doubt, your spell can fail. So was Sharon’s witchery all an act? An act she used to intimidate the community around her? Was she using fear and happenstance to validate her reputation?
The Seventh Witch Page 15