The Seventh Witch (5 page)

I forced myself to relax and enjoy the afternoon. Abby and the Aunts were still out visiting, and Tink and Dad were off to who knows where. I sat on the porch swing once again, dressed in comfy sweatpants, my old University of Iowa sweatshirt, and tennis shoes, debating whether to read the latest Mary Wine romance or Angie Fox’s demon slayer, both buried in my carry-on. Hmm, hot sex or hot adventure? Maybe neither and a nap instead. I’d almost made up my mind when a Chevy SUV came rambling up the back road in a cloud of dust and stopped.

Cousin Lydia.

The car door slammed and she walked to the front of the SUV. Shading her eyes, she called out, “Y’all come with us, darlin’. We’re headed down to the General Store.”

I searched for an excuse not to go but came up empty.

“Okay,” I replied with some reluctance. “Give me a chance to change.”

I ran in the house and back to the bedroom. After changing into jeans and a decent T-shirt, I flew into the bathroom. As I twisted my hair and anchored it in place with a clip, I took a quick peek at myself in the mirror. I really should slap on some makeup, I suppose, I thought. Nah…it’s not like anyone around here knows me. Satisfied I looked okay—maybe not great, but okay—I joined Mom and Lydia.

As we bumped along the mountain road, I considered asking Cousin Lydia about other witches living in the area, but decided against it. I’d leave it to Mom to ferret out the information. She could be far more subtle than I.

Twenty minutes later Cousin Lydia pulled to a stop in front of Abernathy’s General Store. Three other buildings sat at the little crossroads, a post office, Maybelle’s Beauty Shop, and a Shell gas station. Food, gas, beauty supplies, and their mail—the crossroads was a one stop shop. And from the beat-up pickups and SUVs gathered in the parking lots, I could see many of the mountain’s residents did just that.

Abernathy’s was housed in a wooden building, and its weathered boards looked like they’d received their last coat of paint about twenty years ago. Wide steps led to a broad porch littered with rustic chairs and benches. Several elderly men dressed in bib overalls had gathered there, and as I exited Lydia’s SUV, I couldn’t help smiling to myself. It’s the same no matter where you go. Back home we referred to old men like the ones swapping tales on the porch as the “Liars’ Club.” Without even listening to them, I knew they were exchanging gossip and trying to top each other with stories of what was happening in the valley. And in each telling, the rumor would be exaggerated until one couldn’t recognize the original story.

Shaking my head, I followed Mom and Lydia through the glass door and into the store. Instantly, the sweet smell of feed and the aroma of herbicide mixed with wood smoke hit me. A Ben Franklin stove sat in the middle of the large room, dividing the store into two parts. On the right, housewares and canned food lined the high shelves. On the left, farm and gardening supplies. Wooden barrels filled with peanuts and root vegetables sat on the floor next to a long counter stretching the length of the building. Near the antique cash register, similar to the one Abby used in her greenhouse, sat large glass jars with pickled pigs’ feet and hard-boiled eggs swimming in brine.

Several women dressed in jeans, with baskets on their arms, milled up and down the long counter, visiting as they looked over the wares. Another woman stood in front of the bread rack, squeezing loaves of bread as she tried to find the freshest one. Toward the back, two women fingered the bolts of bright cotton print, plain muslin, and polyester.

Cousin Lydia led us up to the counter. “Miz Abernathy, I’d like you to meet my cousins from up North,” she said to the stick thin woman standing behind the counter.

The woman settled her thick glasses on her nose and looked us up and down.

“This is Mrs. Margaret Mary Jensen, Abby’s girl, and her daughter Ophelia,” Lydia said pleasantly.

Mrs. Abernathy focused on me. “Not married, are you,” she stated.

“Ah, no ma’am,” I mumbled, surprised at her forthrightness.

“Following in the footsteps of your Great-Aunt Mary, heh?”

My surprise turned to shock. I was nothing like Great-Aunt Mary. Great-Aunt Mary was spooky and struck fear into the hearts of small children. That was not
me
. Shooting a stricken look at Cousin Lydia, I silently pleaded for her help.

Chuckling, she took a step closer to me. “Why Miz Abernathy, things are different now days, especially up North. Women don’t marry so young.” She turned and gave me a big smile. “And besides, Ophelia isn’t on the shelf yet.”

Mrs. Abernathy switched tactics and turned her attention to my mother. “Miz Jensen, is your mother visiting, too?”

“Of course,” Mom replied in an easy voice. “We’re all here to celebrate Great-Aunt Mary’s birthday. Why do you ask?”

Mrs. Abernathy crossed her arms over her thin chest. “I’m surprised your mother came, that’s all.”

Mom’s face tightened. “And why is that?”

Mrs. Abernathy’s eyes darted to Cousin Lydia then back to Mom. “Well, after Miz Annie died, your mother never seemed to have much use for family ties.”

Uh-oh, I sensed a battle brewing as Mom’s shoulders went back and I could almost see her hackles rise.

“Excuse me for contradicting you, Mrs. Abernathy,” Mom said with bite in her tone. “Family’s always been important to my mother and—”

The tinkling of the bell over the door interrupted her as Mrs. Abernathy’s attention shifted to the person standing in the doorway. Her face washed white, and to my ears, it seemed the chattering in the store suddenly stopped.

“You’ll excuse me,” she said quickly, “Janice needs my help with the material.”

With that she hustled down to the end of the counter and the women looking over the bolts of fabric, leaving Cousin Lydia, Mom, and me standing alone.

In fact, everyone seemed to withdraw from us.

Confused, I turned to the woman still standing by the door. Tall, thin, and about my age, her dark brown hair framed a face with prominent cheekbones—she was pretty in an exotic way. Our eyes met and hers flamed with anger as a sneer curled her lips.

What’s up with her? I thought, my eyebrows knitting together. I’d never seen her before in my life, so why was she pissed off at me?

Cousin Lydia, tugging on my arm, broke into my thoughts.

“Come on, let’s go,” she hissed at me.

Before I could reply, a man strode up to the woman.

“Sharon Doran, you can tell that no good uncle of yours I don’t appreciate him cheating me,” the man spat out at her.

As he spoke, I felt the room swamp with tension. The woman switched her attention from me to the man standing at her side.

“I don’t know what you mean, Oscar.” Her voice had a dangerous edge.

“That cow he delivered yesterday. It wasn’t the one I bought—he pulled a switch on me.” His face turned an angry red. “And if he don’t make it right, I’ll call the law.”

She turned halfway until she faced the man. Taking one step, she got in his face. “I don’t think you want to do that,” she threatened.

The man deflated before my eyes. Lowering his head, he muttered something but was too far away for me to make out his words. He dodged around her and stumbled out the door.

As he did, a slow smile spread across the woman’s face.

She looked at me again, and the next thing I knew, she headed straight for me.

Cousin Lydia gave my arm another tug, but I shook her off. Holding my ground, I intended to find out what this woman wanted with me.

She marched up to me, but before she could speak, Cousin Lydia stepped between us.

“Sharon, there’s no need—” she started to say, but the woman cut her off.

“Stay out of this, Lydia,” she barked, stepping around her. “You.” She jabbed a finger at me. “You tell your doddering old aunt to stay out of my business.”

I guess I knew who the rival witch was now.

Drawing myself to all of my five-foot-four height, I stared at her.
“Who are you?”

She tossed her head and let out a raw laugh. “Stick around these mountains long enough and you’ll find out.”

Immediately, I sensed my mother moving to my side.

“Young woman—” she began, her voice dripping ice.

When this Sharon focused her attention on my mother, her eyes narrowed. “And
you
tell your murdering mother to get the hell out of here, or she’ll finally pay for what she did.”

Did she say “murdering”?

My mouth dropped open, but before I could snap it shut, Cousin Lydia grabbed my arm and my mother’s and pulled us toward the door.

“She called Abby—” I gasped as Lydia hauled us out of the store.

“Never mind,” Lydia interrupted. “Everyone knows the Dorans are all crazy.”

She hustled us out the door and into the bright sunshine. Squinting against the sudden light, I looked around and tried to gather my thoughts. As I did, I spotted a group of men gathered by one of the old pickups bearing a Confederate flag. There was something familiar about one of the men…something about the way he carelessly stood talking with the other men…about the way he wore his hair tied back in a ponytail.

Oh my God, it couldn’t be.

I pulled away from Lydia and took one step toward him.

He turned and, seeing me, a look of total shock crossed his face. Recovering himself, he gave his head a slight shake and pivoted, putting his back toward me.

I spun around, and muttering a line from
Casablanca
, joined Mom and Lydia waiting for me by the SUV.

“What did you say?” Mom asked.

“‘Of all the gin joints, in all the towns’—” I started to repeat the line then stopped. “Oh never mind, Mom, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Glancing over my shoulder one last time, I saw Sharon Doran exit the store. She strolled over to the group of men, and my mouth fell open once again as she possessively took the arm of the man I’d been staring at. Then he looked down at her and smiled a smile he’d once given to me, and I felt a pang of jealousy slam my heart.

With a shake of my head, I climbed into the backseat of Lydia’s SUV, and as we drove away, the crazy woman’s accusations were forgotten and only one thought bounced around in my head…

What in the hell was Cobra doing in these mountains?

The drive back to the house began in silence. I sat in the backseat, trying to get over the shock at finding Cobra, aka Ethan Clement, DEA agent, in the mountains of North Carolina. And not just any mountains,
my
mountains.

The last time I’d run into Ethan had been when he helped rescue Tink from the clutches of two kidnappers. I knew, since that time, he’d kept tabs on me via information from our sheriff, Bill Wilson. In way of explanation, Ethan had said he wanted to make sure I didn’t fall off my broom. Ha ha, quite a wit, that Ethan. But in spite of his teasing ways and unpredictability, I couldn’t help liking him.

“Humph.” I gave a soft snort. “Let’s be honest, Jensen—it goes a bit beyond liking,” I muttered to myself.

And it did. I found Ethan very attractive, and obviously so did Sharon Doran. Who wouldn’t? Tall, with a broad chest and lean hips, he wore his jeans very well. And then his eyes…gunmetal gray, cold as an ice storm at times, yet they could flare with a heat that could hit like a fist in the gut.

My thoughts brought me back to Sharon Doran. Based on what she said about keeping Aunt Dot out of her business, she had to be the witch handing out love spells, and it was obvious that she hated my family, Abby in particular. Why? Was it that she saw our family as “business competitors”?

And why had Abby never mentioned her or the Dorans in all her tales about the mountains? I didn’t buy Cousin Lydia’s explanation that the Dorans were crazy. The kind of hatred I felt rolling off that woman had to have a reason. My curiosity got the best of me.

Leaning forward, I framed how I would begin my interrogation, but Mom beat me to it.

“Who is Sharon Doran?” she asked suddenly.

Cousin Lydia kept her eyes on the road, but squirmed uneasily. “The Dorans are a shiftless lot,” she replied tightly. “You’d best stay away from them.”

Her eyes met mine in the rearview mirror and she quickly looked away.

“That doesn’t tell me why she hates us,” I said carefully.

“The Dorans hate everyone.”

I shook my head. “Sorry, Lydia, that doesn’t cut it. She’s a witch, and not a very ethical one at that.”

From my perch in the backseat, I heard Cousin Lydia’s sharp intake of breath.

“How do you know that?” she asked softly.

I quickly related last night’s events, and by the time I’d finished, I felt her vibrating with indignation.

“Cecilia Kavanagh.” She gave a long sigh. “Foolish, foolish girl. She’s been after Billy Parnell since she was fourteen—”

“Not anymore,” I interjected. “Things didn’t quite work out like she’d expected.”

“Humph, they never do.” Lydia’s hands gripped the steering wheel. “If her mother doesn’t pull in the reins on that one, there’s sure to be trouble ahead.”

I laid a hand on her shoulder, giving her a start. “I need to know about the Dorans, Lydia.”

Cousin Lydia abruptly slowed the vehicle and pulled onto the grassy shoulder. Putting the SUV in park, she turned off the motor and faced me. An air of sadness seemed to settle over her.

“I can’t tell you much more than you already know. Sha
ron’s a witch, and you’re right, not a very honest one. Everyone in the valley is scared of her…anyone who crosses her seems to have nothing but trouble afterward.”

I scooted forward. “Have the Dorans always lived in the valley?”

“No, they came to these parts right after the war. Sharon’s grandparents, that is.” Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “Her grandmother was just like her—meaner than a hornet. I heard the only one old Granny Doran never intimidated was Annie.”

“Abby’s mother?”

Lydia nodded. “I guess it was quite a battle between the two of them, then something happened around the time Sharon’s grandfather died…late forties, I think.” She lifted a shoulder. “After his death some kind of truce was reached. Ever since, the Dorans stay on their side of the valley and we stay on ours.”

“What caused them to quit fighting?” Mom asked.

“I don’t know…no one ever talks about it. The only ones left who know what really happened are Great-Aunt Mary and Aunt Dot—”

“And Abby,” I cut in. “She’d have been in her late teens by then.”

Desperate eyes darted to mine. “Aunt Dot’s done nothing but brag about how good you are at finding the truth, Ophelia, but please,” she pleaded, “let whatever happened stay buried.”

“But what if that Sharon tries to cause us trouble?” I huffed. “I don’t like her threatening Abby.”

“She can’t hurt her—Great-Aunt Mary will protect her,” Lydia insisted.

“Great-Aunt Mary is a century old.”

“Stay away from the Dorans.” Lydia laid a hand on my wrist. “Please. I see only tragedy coming from poking into the past.”

“You see, or you
see
?”

“You know what I mean,” she said in a stern voice. “My talent lies in healing, but lately I’ve been having dreams.”

Mom shifted to face her. “What kind of dreams?”

Lydia drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Bad ones…” She hesitated. “I see death.”

“Whose?” Mom asked, leaning forward.

“I don’t know,” she replied, her voice weary. “I’ve tried to interpret them, but clairvoyance isn’t my gift.”

Disgusted, I shoved back in my seat. Great here we go again, I thought. Lydia was just like Abby. Vague, misty imaginings that tell you nothing concrete. For the millionth time I wished this psychic stuff was a little more specific.

I stared out the window as Lydia started the SUV and pulled back onto the gravel road. This was a novel situation for me. I knew Lydia had great talent—I felt it from the moment I’d met her—but the only other gifted person I’d ever been around was Abby. I’d learned to have total faith in her, even when her hunches were undefined. Could I put my trust in Lydia’s gift as well?

I didn’t know. Her words conflicted with what I sensed. A niggling sense of danger nagged at me from deep inside, and no matter what Cousin Lydia wanted, the past wasn’t going to stay buried.

What should I do? Listen to Lydia’s instincts? Or my own?

Based on Lydia’s advice, Mom and I agreed to say nothing of our run-in with Sharon Doran. It was the right decision. Abby appeared happy and relaxed during our early supper, and even Great-Aunt Mary seemed chipper. I didn’t want to spoil the mood by bringing up the Doran family. But if I seemed quiet, no one noticed.

After supper something else flickered on the edge of my radar. Dad and Tink had wandered off again. They were up to something…I knew it…but I didn’t have time to worry
about it now. My mind was still locked on the incident with Sharon and our conversation with Lydia.

I needed time to myself.

Grabbing my sweatshirt, I made an excuse about needing a walk and took off up the path to Abby’s favorite spot. It was still early enough in the day that I could do what I needed to do and make it back to the house before dark.

I had my runes.

Reaching the outcrop of rock overlooking the valley, I didn’t take time to enjoy the scenery. Instead, I pulled out my runes, a linen square, my abalone shell, and a ball of sage. Placing the sage in the shell, I lit it and let the smoke cleanse and clear my mind. I reached down and picked up the worn leather pouch holding my runes.

Ever since the night Abby had given me the runes, I’d felt their energy, but today they were electric. The pouch that I held in my hand seemed to almost quiver. Red river rock, they were from this mountain and valley. Carved by my great-great-grandmother, it was almost as if they knew they were home.

Carefully, I framed my question: Should I try to uncover the past?

I slowly pulled open the pouch, and as I’d done so many times, slipped my hand inside, expecting to feel the cool smooth stones.

Heat burned at my fingertips and a shock shot up my arm, making all my nerves tingle. With a yelp, I quickly withdrew my hand.

“What’s going on?” I muttered, staring at the bag lying in my lap.

Maybe I wasn’t ready. I tilted my head back and watched white clouds drift across the sky. Focusing on them, I let the smoke from the sage fill my senses and, closing my eyes, blanked everything out except my question.

Again I asked: Should I try and uncover the past?

From deep within I felt the power of the mountain gather and grow inside me. I became one with the earth and sky.

My fingers twitched and every nerve in my body seemed on alert. Eyes still closed, I let my fingers slide back into the pouch.

Someone touched my shoulder.

I yelled and shot to my feet, dropping the bag. The outcrop was slick, and in my haste I was dangerously close to the edge.

With a scream, I felt myself sliding into nothingness.