The Trouble with Witches

by Shirley Damsgaard

  “Hey, that’s pretty good for a kid,” I said, nodding my approval.

  She gave me a cheeky glance. “Wanna know what I see when I look at you?”

  “No thanks.”

  Last thing I needed was a reading from a budding psychic and medium.

  Abby jiggled Tink’s hand to catch her attention. “Do you want me to fix the necklace so it isn’t creepy?”

  “Okay.” Her tone sounded unconvinced.

  “Ophelia, would you come and stand behind Tink, while I get some supplies out of the cabin,” she said rising, but not letting go of Tink’s hand.

  I gave Abby a perplexed look. “But—”

  She nodded toward her hand holding Tink’s, and I understood. Abby was using her energy to protect the girl from whatever was imprinted on that necklace. If she let go of her hand, Tink would start feeling “creeped out” again.

  I crossed to stand behind Tink and gently laid my hand on the girl’s shoulder. She looked up at me with a question in her eyes, and I gave her a vague smile. At the same time, I tried to keep the wisps of energy I felt from the necklace at bay.

  In a moment Abby returned with her salt and a small bundle of herbs wrapped tightly together. She made a thin circle of salt around the necklace. When finished with the salt, she brought a lighter out of her pocket and lit the bundle of herbs. Soon the air was filled with the aroma of burning sage. Abby wafted the smoking bundle over the necklace.

  Later I would swear my eyes never left the necklace. Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t. I don’t know. But I do know while Abby sent the purifying plumes of smoke over the necklace, the sparkling silver became tarnished, almost gray. But the change in the metal wasn’t the most bizarre thing that happened. No, what freaked me out the most was the spider that suddenly appeared through the smoke and crawled across the necklace.

  Twenty-seven

  Tink shrieked as the spider crept away from the necklace and toward the circle of salt. But when it hit the circle, the spider curled into a tiny ball and died.

  Satisfied, Abby extinguished the sage and picked up the necklace. Placing it in her open palm, she rested her other hand on top of it. Closing her eyes, she held the necklace for a moment.

  I stepped away from Tink. She was safe now, and Abby, by holding the necklace in her hands, was taking care of whatever leftover negative energy it might hold. And in the process, she was charging the necklace with positive energy, energy that would protect Tink, not control her.

  Smiling, Abby opened her eyes, and after polishing the necklace on the tail of her shirt, drew the necklace over Tink’s head.

  “There,” she said as she settled the necklace in place around Tink’s slender neck.

  Tink winced as the necklace passed over her head, but once Abby straightened it, she grinned. “Hey, the necklace feels different,” she said.

  “It’s supposed to,” Abby replied, her smile widening. Taking the remainder of the sage bundle, she used it like a whisk broom to sweep the salt and dead spider into a plastic bag she’d pulled from her pocket. “I’ll get rid of this later.” She laid the bag under the table.

  Abby crossed to where Tink sat and took her place beside her again. “There’s something else I’d like to show you, Tink.” She took the girl’s hand in both of hers. “You see things and hear things sometimes, don’t you? Things that no one else can see?”

  “Yes,” Tink replied in a shy voice.

  “Would you like to be able to control that?” Abby asked gently.

  Tink’s face glowed. “Yeah.”

  Abby’s eyes twinkled at Tink’s enthusiasm. “Okay, close your eyes…”

  The girl’s eyelids dropped down.

  “Now,” Abby continued, “imagine a white light surrounding you. Inside the light you feel calm and at peace. You see the world around you, but nothing can penetrate the protective barrier of light. Do you see it?”

  Tink’s body relaxed. “Yes.”

  “Now imagine that your gift is a flower, held deep inside your soul. The flower is curled tight right now, but any time you want to use your gift, close your eyes and imagine the petals slowly unfolding. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, I see it. I see the flower.”

  “Very good,” Abby said, squeezing Tink’s hand. “Are the petals open or closed?”

  “Open.”

  “Now allow the petals to close.”

  Her face screwed with concentration while she did as Abby instructed. “Wow. I can see the flower shut.”

  Abby smiled with pleasure. “You may open your eyes, Tink. How do you feel?”

  Tink’s gaze flitted over the deck and back to Abby’s face. “I feel really good,” she said in amazement.

  “Wonderful,” Abby said, leaning forward and hugging her. Sitting back, she laid a hand on Tink’s cheek. “Whenever you feel threatened or scared—”

  “Of shadows?” Tink broke in.

  Abby patted her cheek. “Yes, of shadows. Imagine the white light to protect you and keep you safe.” She looked at her watch. “You’ve been gone a long time, Tink; they’ll be looking for you.” She hugged her again. “You’d better scoot.”

  Tink popped out of her chair and hurried to the edge of the deck. She paused and looked over her shoulder at us with a worried expression. “You won’t forget about Walks Quietly, will you?”

  “No, dear, we won’t,” Abby said.

  The worry fell from her face and she grinned. “Thanks…” Her hand touched the spider’s web necklace. “…for everything.”

  “You’re welcome,” Abby said to thin air. Tink had already disappeared around the corner of the cabin.

  Abby slumped against the back of her chair.

  I placed my hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  She reached up and laid hers on top of mine. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.” Motioning to the chair next to her, she said, “Sit and tell me what your impressions were.”

  I sat in the chair. “Tink’s obviously a medium,” I said, “and she needs to learn control. Hopefully, the visualization you taught her will help. Along with the shielding.”

  “Yes,” Abby agreed. “Tink needs to be the one to control her gift, not someone else.”

  “Do you think that’s what the Finches were trying to do?”

  “I don’t know, but whoever is dabbling in magick, they don’t understand what they’re doing. The spell on that necklace was poorly done, and for the wrong reasons.”

  “Witch wannabes?”

  “Yes.” Abby’s eyes closed as she stroked her face.

  I lightly touched Abby’s knee. “You’re tired. Why don’t you go inside and lay down?”

  She bolted upright in her chair. “No.”

  Her sudden movement took me off guard. “What’s wrong?”

  She sighed deeply. “The cabin makes me uncomfortable.” A look of confusion marred her face. “And I don’t understand why. I smudged the inside and put a protective circle around it.” Pursing her lips, she thought for a moment. “And I keep detecting the scent of lavender and roses, but I can’t find where it’s coming from.”

  “The smell disturbs you?”

  “Yes.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “Yeah, the smell bothered me, too. That’s why, after they gave me the bag, I put it in an empty drawer. It—”

  “What bag?” Abby asked, grabbing my hand.

  “The bag Tink—”

  Abby abruptly stood and hurried into the cabin. A few minutes later she returned, holding the pouch in her fingertips like a dead mouse. “This bag?”

  I nodded, frowning. “What’s the deal?”

  With a look of disgust, she put the bag in the center of the table and made another circle of salt. Picking up the pouch, she dumped the contents inside the circle.

  Sprigs of lavender and dried rose petals fell in a tidy little heap. Leaning forward, I examined the pile without touching it. The petals appeared to have a fine layer of dust coating them.


  “What’s with the dust?” I asked, looking up at Abby.

  Her face wore a tight frown and her arms were crossed at her chest. She didn’t answer my question. “Was it Tink’s idea to give you this?” she asked.

  “Not really. Jason prompted her. He said she made them to sell at craft shows.”

  “Humph,” Abby snorted. “I doubt they’d sell this to anyone. It has some added ingredients.” She snapped her fingers. “Just a minute.” She hurried over to the edge of the deck and around the corner of the cabin.

  I rushed after her, and by the time I reached her, Abby was crouched down scrutinizing the circle of salt around the cabin. She picked up a few grains of salt and rubbed them between her fingers. Holding her hand to her nose, she sniffed.

  Her face puckered with distaste as she wiped her hand in the grass. She stood and marched back to the deck.

  I scurried to keep up with her. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  By the time I reached her, she’d already lit the sage and was sending smoke across the pile on dried flowers.

  “Abby, you’re scaring me,” I said, trying to catch my breath.

  “You should be scared.” Her eyes never left the clump on the table. “It’s goofer dust and gunpowder.”

  “What?”

  She looked at the sky and shook her head. “Ophelia, you really need to read those journals.” Glancing over at me, she said, “Goofer dust is dirt from a graveyard. Someone added it to the bag Tink gave you.”

  “Yuck.” I shivered.

  Crushing out the smoldering sage, Abby brushed the pile, salt and all, into the bag already containing what was used to cleanse Tink’s necklace. “And either before, or after, you received the bag, they sprinkled gunpowder around the cabin to negate the protective barrier created by the salt.”

  At a loss, I stared at her. “Why?”

  “Goofer dust and gunpowder—two very nasty elements. Especially when used together.” She fisted her hands on her hips while her eyes shot green fire. “Someone is trying to put a curse on us.”

  “Hey guys.” Darci bopped through the sliding doors and onto the deck.

  In unison, Abby and I whirled toward her.

  She took one look at us and the smile she wore disappeared. “Ahh, maybe I’d better go back inside and put the groceries away,” she said, pointing over her shoulder.

  “No, Darci, it’s okay,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “Don’t worry about it. Abby just informed me that someone is trying to put a curse on us.”

  “You’re kidding?” she said, sinking down on the chaise.

  Abby quickly filled her in on what had transpired that morning.

  Darci listened quietly, with a thoughtful look on her face. “Walks Quietly is off the suspect list, then?”

  “I think so. My feeling is he’s trying to help, not harm,” I replied while I leaned against the railing. “We’re down to the Finches. Maybe Rick was right. Jason is more sinister than I thought he was.”

  Darci curled her long legs underneath her. “What about Winnie?”

  I gave her a disgruntled look. “Winnie? She wouldn’t know a spell if it hit her on the head.”

  “Oh I don’t know,” she said, twisting her head slowly back and forth. “She doesn’t like you. And if the way she acted in the grocery store is any indication, I don’t think Winnie would like it if you’re invited back for another cozy dinner at the compound.”

  “You saw Winnie in town?”

  “Yup. And it’s a wonder I didn’t drop dead on the spot when she saw me.”

  “Really?” I said, my voice incredulous.

  She nodded. “She’s very jealous of you, said some very nasty things about people who butt in where they’re not wanted.” She smiled sweetly at me. “I think she was referring to you, Ophelia.”

  Made sense. Abby said whoever was experimenting with magick wasn’t adept at it. That description would fit Winnie. Maybe she was the one who put the spell on Tink’s necklace.

  I pushed away from the railing. “I guess I need to talk to Winnie. I’ll—”

  “No,” Darci said, stopping me. “You need to call Rick. Tell him to meet us at the library in Brainerd.” She un-curled her legs and rushed to her feet. “I have a plan.”

  I eyed her with suspicion. “What plan?”

  I’d had experience with Darci’s plans, and they usually involved me getting in some kind of jam.

  She hurried over and grabbed my arm. “I know what you’re thinking, and no, the plan doesn’t involve breaking and entering.”

  “That’s a relief,” I said as she tugged me toward the door. “Are you going to be okay alone?” I called to Abby over my shoulder.

  “You girls go on,” she answered, ignoring the helpless look on my face. “I need to clean up around here.”

  And I knew she didn’t mean sweep and dust.

  Twenty-eight

  Darci marched up to the library in Brainerd.

  Well, she marched as best one can in platform sandals. But she still made it hard for me to keep up with her, and I was wearing sensible tennis shoes.

  “What are we looking for? And why do we need Rick?” I asked, panting and wheezing in the hot, humid air.

  “You and I are going to look for information on this Von Schuler Winnie mentioned. And Rick’s going to check out the archives to see if there’s any mention of Violet Butler’s brother,” she said.

  “Why don’t we just ask the Finches about them?”

  She looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “I told you, I think you’ve worn out your welcome. Winnie won’t let you near the place.”

  I gave up arguing and followed her into the library.

  Rick stood over by the counter waiting for us. He still hadn’t shaved, and the beard he’d let grow for the past four days was losing its scraggly look.

  I couldn’t help but wonder what his fiancée would think of his new image.

  “Hi girls,” he said with a crooked grin. “You want to explain to me again what we’re doing here?”

  I shoved my hands in my pockets and shrugged. “Don’t look at me. This is Darci’s idea.”

  “Darci?”

  “It’s like this,” she said, urging us away from the counter. “Abby and Ophelia both believe Walks Quietly’s telling the truth, so he’s off the hook. That leaves the Finches…”

  Rick shot me an “I told you so” look.

  She continued. “But other than that they were the last ones to see Brandi, we don’t have any proof they know more than they’re saying—”

  “In other words, nothing new has turned up,” Rick interrupted.

  Darci held up a finger. “That’s not true. We know Tink’s a psychic and someone at the compound is playing around with magick. And whoever that someone is, they’ve been worried enough about us being here that they’ve tried to put a curse on us.”

  “Have you considered the spells were done out of jealousy?” Rick asked.

  “By someone like Winnie?” I interjected.

  “Could be.” Rick scratched his beard. “This is all pretty strange. I feel like we’re fighting phantoms.”

  Darci gave him a knowing look. “Maybe we are.”

  “Come on, Darci.” Rick frowned. “I can buy into the magick thing, but evil ghosts lurking around, kidnapping a young girl, murdering Duane Hobbs? That’s crazy.”

  “Fine,” Darci replied, her chin shooting up a notch. “Don’t help us, then. Ophelia and I will find out what we need to know by ourselves.” She propelled me forward. “Come on, Ophelia, the card catalogue is over this way.”

  Rick let out a long sigh. “Okay, okay.” His voice sounded defeated. “We don’t have anything to lose. What do you want me to do?”

  Darci’s face brightened. “The newspaper archives—go through them and see what you can find out about Violet Butler’s brother.”

  “Why him?” Rick’s eyebrows drew together.

  “Walks Quietly thinks he was the one who lived in t
he abandoned cabin—”

  “The place where Ophelia saw the ghost lights.”

  “Yeah.” She nodded emphatically. “And the place where both Abby and Ophelia think there’s some kind of nasty energy. Ophelia, you and I are going to look up twentieth century magicians.”

  “In particular, a magician named Von Schuler,” I said.

  “Yup. We’re going to see if there’s some reason he popped up in your dream.”

  Rick wandered off with a muttered “What the hell,” while Darci and I headed toward the card catalogue.

  We found four references to Frederick Von Schuler. After finding the books, we started reading.

  Twenty minutes later I turned and looked at Darci, sitting beside me. “These references don’t say much. Not even much is written about what kind of magic he performed. Are you finding anything?”

  “Hmm.” She peered at the pages she’d been reading. “‘Born 1880; performed telepathic routine with help of assistant; retired 1929.’” She flipped the book shut and leaned back. “None of that information’s very juicy.”

  I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and glanced down at the thick volume. “It seems to me he wasn’t very famous, not like Houdini and Blackstone.” Looking back up, I tapped my finger to my chin. “I wonder why Jason Finch is so interested in Von Schuler?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, throwing up her hand. “Maybe it’s the telepathic thing. Jason wants to know about all things psychic, and maybe this Von Schuler was better than people thought at the time. Maybe he really was a psychic.”

  I looked down at the pages again. “Do any of your books mention when he died?”

  She flipped open the second book. “This one says, ‘Believed to have died in 1933.’”

  I quickly scanned the text. “Mine says, ‘Date of death unknown.’” Raising my head, I arched my eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t his date of death be listed?”

  “He could have retired and slipped into obscurity. He wasn’t all that famous to start with.”