The Trouble with Witches

by Shirley Damsgaard

  I raised my hand to my mouth to cover my sudden grin. Reprimand? I guess you could call momentarily jumbling someone’s circuits a reprimand.

  Abby noticed my reaction and gave my foot a nudge with the toe of her shoe.

  Forcing the grin off my face, I looked back at Winnie. She seemed perplexed. “Really? Embarrassed? I thought something more had happened—”

  “Don’t be silly,” I broke in. “What more could there be? You know how teenage boys are. They don’t like being called on bad behavior, especially in front of their friends.”

  Winnie slowly nodded as she thought about what I’d said. “I guess you’re right. It’s just—”

  “Oh dear, look at the time,” Abby said, glancing at her watch. “Didn’t you want to be home by eight, Ophelia?”

  Again I felt my foot being nudged. “That’s right. I don’t want to leave Lady shut up in the cabin for too long.” Glancing over my shoulder at Winnie, I hurried toward the SUV. “Nice to meet you, Winnie. Umm, stop by some time,” I called back to her.

  I could’ve bitten my tongue off. The last thing I wanted was Winnie stopping by for a visit.

  After returning to the cabin, Abby and I decided to table any discussion about what had happened at the park, so after Lady’s quick run around the yard, we said good-night.

  But I couldn’t sleep. The air in the cabin seemed oppressive, stifling. Grabbing a blanket from the bed, I quietly slipped out onto the deck. I made myself comfortable in one of the chairs and stared out over the lake.

  Much better, I thought after taking a cleansing breath. A thousand stars hung above me in the night sky, and below, on the surface of the lake, the reflection of a crescent moon played upon the water. The air felt cool against my skin, and I let the peace I’d felt here earlier wash around me.

  Leaning my head back against the chair, I closed my eyes and thought about my impressions of this place. It was a place of magick, as Abby had said. Even now, in the stillness of the night, I could feel the hum of energy around me. A positive energy. Had the lake always been this way? Had the Native American tribes once living along its shores, before the white man came to displace them, felt the same kind of peace? I wished I knew. Maybe Walks Quietly could tell me? Could give me the history of the lake. No, for some reason I knew he wouldn’t want to talk to me. The look he gave me at the store told me he wanted nothing to do with Abby or me. And the power I sensed in him. What was that all about? Was he some kind of shaman? A psychic? If so, how did he feel about Jason Finch’s group? Who could answer that question? Juliet? Winnie?

  A shudder ran up my arm. I didn’t want to talk to Winnie again, but I had a feeling I would. Especially since I’d opened my big mouth and invited her to stop by. The sound of my groan bounced across the lake. Something about that woman was intrusive, and it made me uncomfortable. She did like to talk, though, and maybe if I could tamp down my discomfort long enough, I might be able to learn something from her.

  And then there was Juliet. I had a feeling she’d be more guarded than Winnie. Questioning her wouldn’t be easy. She’d shut down immediately as soon as I mentioned her niece.

  Unanswered questions flitted through my brain. I opened my eyes and scrubbed my face with my hands. Who was I kidding? Although I’d never admit it to him, Henry had been right. Abby and I weren’t trained investigators. We didn’t know how to question people. And we didn’t have any business trying to find Brandi. Our ill-advised blundering might even make the situation worse, if Brandi truly were in danger, like Abby thought.

  The peace I’d felt earlier faded like an old song. The melody was still there in the corner of my mind, but I couldn’t remember the words anymore. The feeling had been replaced by another, one more disquieting, more sinister.

  Giving up, I gathered the blanket and stood to walk back inside the house, and then I saw it. Across the lake, little bursts of light bobbing through the trees. Was it Duane Hobbs, armed with a flashlight, wandering around the woods as Juliet said he did?

  I crossed to the edge of the deck and leaned against the railing, while I strained my eyes against the black night to see the lights more clearly.

  They seemed to hover near the ground, flickering on and off. Someone with a flashlight wouldn’t do that, would they? Unless they were signaling someone. But why would anyone be signaling this time of night, and to whom?

  I rubbed my eyes and looked again. The lights were still there, hanging right above the ground. They seemed to pick up speed, and with a movement that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, they shot up through the trees, paused, and shot back down again.

  Dropping the blanket, I ran to Abby’s room. “Wake up. Abby, wake up,” I said, gently shaking her arm. “There’s something odd going on across the lake.”

  “What…” she asked, her voice heavy with sleep. “What’s going on?”

  “There are strange lights bobbing around across the lake.” I tugged at her arm. “Come on, you’ve got to see this.”

  I drew back the covers and handed her the robe at the foot of her bed.

  Sighing, Abby slipped her arms into her robe. “It’s probably just that Duane Hobbs,” she grumbled.

  “Not unless he climbs trees. The lights shot off the ground and into the upper branches.”

  “How odd,” she said, standing.

  “No kidding. Now come on.” I propelled her forward. “You need to see these lights.”

  We walked quickly through the cabin and out onto to the deck. Silently, we stood side by side and stared out over the lake.

  “I don’t see any lights,” she said, not looking at me.

  Of course she didn’t see any lights. They were gone.

  Ten

  The sound of a motor pulled me out of a restless sleep.

  Damn, who would be mowing their yard this time of the morning?

  I forced my eyelids open and found myself staring at a foreign ceiling.

  The sound wasn’t a lawn motor, but a boat motor. Oh yeah, we’re not in Iowa anymore, Toto. We’re in Minnesota. Not quite Oz, but still a place with a lot of crazy stuff going on.

  I threw on an old pair of jeans, a T-shirt that said “If you don’t like my attitude, quit talking to me,” and slipped my feet into a pair of canvas flats. A quick five minutes devoted to face, teeth, and hair, and I was ready to face the world.

  Well, maybe not face it, but at least look at it sideways. After what I’d seen last night, I wouldn’t be able to look at the world head on until I had a very large dose of caffeine. Wandering out into the hallway, I went in search of coffee.

  In the living room, the bank of windows immediately drew my attention. Queenie lay curled up on the floor in a square of morning sunshine, enjoying a snooze. And through the windows, I saw a cloudless blue sky and water that rippled and shimmered with reflected light. My gaze wandered to a spot across the lake from our cabin, to the thick stand of weeds growing along the shoreline, their feathery tops swaying in the breeze. From there, I noticed the dark green pines interspersed with silvery white birch growing a distance from the shore. Did I really see lights last night? Or had it been an overactive imagination? I closed my eyes and stroked my forehead, trying to recall exactly what I’d seen.

  “Do you have a headache, dear?” Abby asked gently.

  I tore my attention away from the scene outside and turned to see her standing in the kitchen, a spatula in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. A cup that she kindly extended toward me.

  Without a word I took the cup and wrapped both hands around it. Until I felt the warmth seep through the mug in my hands, I hadn’t realized they were cold. I let the heat leak through them and into my body while I slowly sipped.

  Smiling, Abby turned back to the stove and poured batter into a waiting pan. “I thought pancakes would be nice for breakfast,” she said with her back to me. “Sit down and drink your coffee. They’ll be ready in a minute.”

  Everything needed for breakfast had been
laid out on the table, so after crossing the room, I pulled out a chair and sat. The clock above the stove ticked away while I thought of how to bring up a subject I’d rather leave alone. But not talking about what I’d seen last night wouldn’t change what happened. And I needed to know if Abby had an explanation.

  “Ghost lights,” Abby said, still facing the stove.

  With my face creased in a puzzled look, I stared at her back. “What?”

  With a slick move that spoke of years of practice, Abby flipped the pancakes. “What you saw might have been ghost lights—strange lights that bob and weave. That is what you wanted to ask me, isn’t it?”

  “How did you know I…” My voice trailed off. Duh, Abby always knew. “Oh, never mind,” I said with a wave of my hand. “Dumb question.”

  Abby looked over her shoulder and grinned before turning back to the stove.

  “You think that’s what I saw? Ghost lights?” I asked, gripping my coffee cup tighter.

  “You sound surprised. Rick told us about strange lights over dinner.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t believe him,” I scoffed.

  After Abby flipped the pancakes onto the waiting plates, she crossed to the table and placed them on the table. Then pulling out her own chair, she joined me. We both seemed lost in our thoughts while we put creamy pats of butter between each fluffy pancake, and then poured thick maple syrup over them.

  The only sound was the heavy ticking of the clock and the occasional click of silverware on the china plates.

  After eating quietly for a few moments, I finally broke the silence. “You believe me when I say I saw lights, don’t you?”

  Abby heard the uncertainty in my voice and reached across the table to pat my hand. “Of course I believe you. You are not given to hysterics, nor are you susceptible to the power of suggestion. If you say you saw lights, you saw lights.”

  I gave her a weak smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. You know there could be a logical explanation. It could’ve been a flashlight, a reflection—” I stopped, trying to think of other reasons, other causes for what I saw.

  “Marsh gas is always popular.” Abby forked the last of her pancake and popped it in her mouth.

  “Marsh gas?” I asked, picking up both plates and carrying them to the sink.

  “Yes. Marsh gas, swamp gas—whatever name you choose. It was a common explanation for any strange lights that occurred in the mountains when I was a child.”

  The plates clattered in the sink when I turned in surprise. “You’ve had experience with this?”

  “Yes. Several times mysterious lights were reported seen around our home. I’ve seen them myself. Mother always said it was because of Aunt Mary and her talent that called lost souls to our home. She was unmarried and lived with us, you know. She—”

  “Wait a second.” I crossed to the table and looked down at her. “Back up. She called lost souls? What do you mean she ‘called lost souls’?” I asked, my voice rising.

  Abby shrugged a shoulder “She didn’t call them or invite them to visit her. They seemed to seek her out.”

  I plopped down in the chair next to her—my knees suddenly weak. “Why her? Why—”

  “It was her talent. It acted like a beacon, so to speak, to those who needed help crossing over.”

  “You lived in a house with—with—” I stumbled over my words, unable to say the one I needed to.

  “Ghosts?” Abby said, filling in the blank. “Yes. And before you ask,” she added, holding up a hand, “no, I’ve told you I’ve never seen one, not even as a child, when I would’ve been most receptive to that kind of visitation. I’d feel odd flares of energy sometimes, or maybe a cold spot or two. But nothing too odd. I think it was because they never were around for very long. Aunt Mary was always able to help them.”

  This new twist about our shared heritage was almost too much to absorb. In all of Abby’s tales about the women in our family and their various gifts, she’d never told me about this.

  “You lived in kind of a clearinghouse for ghosts,” I said in a shocked tone.

  Abby beamed a smile at me. “What a good way to describe it. Very clever of you, my dear,” she said, patting my face.

  For once, her touch didn’t comfort me. What if I had more in common with Great-Aunt Mary than I supposed? What if the lights appeared because of me? What if new talents were beginning to develop? What if—

  “Stop it, Ophelia.” Abby’s voice broke through my thoughts.

  I looked at her, confused.

  “I know what you’re thinking. Even someone who’s not psychic could read your thoughts on this one. You’re worried you’re responsible for those lights across the lake. Listen,” she said, her voice stern as she took both my hands in hers. “Don’t forget what Rick said—the lights were here before we were. And right now, we don’t know if what you saw were ghost lights. Maybe there is some logical explanation for them.”

  I knew what her response would be before I asked the question, but fool that I am, I asked it anyway. “And how do I find out?”

  “You’re going to go to the place you saw the lights and investigate. There’s a boat for our use tied at the dock. It’s exactly like the fishing boat your grandfather had, so you should have no problem operating it. The trolling motor for the boat and the battery are in the shed next to the dock. I walked down to the lake this morning, before you woke up, and found them.” Abby stood, walked to the sink, and started rinsing plates. “You’ll be fine. You have your amulet, and I presume you’ve brought some of your crystals. Be sure to carry some hematite, or maybe some jet, to absorb negativity.”

  Dang, she had this all figured out. Resigned to the inevitable, I rose and headed toward my bedroom to grab my crystals, but after taking a couple of steps, an idea struck me. She certainly seemed eager to get me out of the cabin. Suddenly suspicious, I turned and studied Abby with narrowed eyes.

  “What are you going to do while I’m gone? You’re not planning on cooking something up, are you?”

  Abby continued to rinse the dishes and kept her back to me. “Umm, not exactly.”

  “What, exactly?”

  “Okay,” she said, drying her hands and turning around. “With everything that’s happened, I think a little protection might be in order. I’m going to smudge the cabin and put salt around the foundation.”

  Smudging—the ancient art of purifying a home by walking around and wafting smoke from sage leaves throughout the rooms. And, of course, salt to represent the element of Earth, to contain and hold. Abby’s cure-all for psychic nasties. It would place a shield around the cabin. But Abby preferred using sea salt, and I doubted, however well-stocked the cabin might be, that the cupboards would contain any of that particular remedy.

  “Ha,” I said, my tone sarcastic. “You don’t have any of your stuff with you.”

  “Oh please,” she said, arching an eyebrow. She turned and began removing things from the cupboard—an abalone shell, a bundle of leaves, and a feathered fan. Last, but not least, she removed a large round container. Turning back to me, she rattled the container and winked. “Sea salt—a good witch never leaves home without it!”

  Eleven

  The boat, motor, and battery were right where Abby had said they would be. And it was exactly like the boat Grandpa and I had spent many happy hours in fishing. A tug of sadness pulled at my heart.

  Oh, Grandpa, what would you think of all of this? Your beloved wife investigating missing persons and your granddaughter developing a habit of tripping over dead bodies? You always understood about the gifts given to the women of our family, but I think this might have pushed even you over the edge.

  After hooking up the motor and the battery to the boat, I started the motor and cast off. Slowly, I put the propeller in reverse and eased away from the dock. Once away from the shore, the light breeze tossed my hair around my shoulders, while the hot August sun beat down on the top of my head. I lifted my chin toward the sky and took
a deep breath. The air carried the aroma of lake water and pine, mixed with the faint odor of gasoline from the exhaust of speedboats. Not since my last time fishing with Grandpa had I smelled that particular combination of scents. Looking over the side as the boat glided across the water, I saw submerged weeds weaving back and forth, pushed by unseen currents.

  I exhaled slowly, and the tension I didn’t know I carried seemed to release knot by knot.

  God, I’d forgotten how much I loved being out on the water.

  All too soon I neared the opposite side of the lake. Cutting the motor and raising the prop, I allowed the small boat to glide into shore. Barefoot, and with my pant legs rolled up, I jumped out. Soft sand squished around my feet while cool water lapped against my ankles as I waded to the shore, tugging the boat with me. I secured it to the nearest tree with the rope attached to the bow. Satisfied the boat would stay put, I slipped on my shoes and clambered up the hill, away from the lake and into the pines. All the time praying I didn’t run into any poison ivy.

  The hill leveled off and I headed east toward the area where I had seen the ghost light. As I walked, sunlight filtered through the braches of the pine trees, and their soft needles littering the ground muted my steps. The only sound I heard was the rattling of the birch leaves.

  I stopped, closed my eyes, and turned on my radar.

  I probably look like a dog sniffing the air, I thought. A dog?

  Once, I’d used the analogy of a dog’s heightened sense of smell to describe my psychic talent to Henry. My lips tightened in a frown. I hadn’t thought of Henry since he stormed out of my house. So much had happened that I’d blanked him from my mind. Why had Henry suddenly popped into my head now?

  I shoved the question away and continued walking. Out of the corner of my eye, light glinting off metal caught my attention. I took off toward it.

  A high woven-wire fence stretched between metal poles wound its way through the trees. It must have been the fence Rick mentioned, the one that created the boundary of the old Butler estate. I thought it was much farther down the lake. Had I walked that far? Looking over my shoulder, I tried to judge my distance from the lake, but the trees blocked any glimpse of water. Turning back, I noticed a section of the woven wire had been pulled back away from one of the poles, leaving a hole.