Ha, I snorted to myself, let Sharon’s puny magick try and get past that one.
Next, I’d use Tiwaz. It was the rune symbolizing the old Norse god, Tyr. Noble in spirit, Tyr had sacrificed his right hand to save mankind. It also represented bravery and justice. And given his line of work, I’d say it fit Ethan perfectly.
I’d end the script with Thurisaz again, to seal my intent and further reinforce the protective circle around him. Yeah, justice guarded by a girdle of thorns…I liked that. It felt right.
My decision made, I turned and started to leave when I spied something out of the corner of my eye. Walking over to it, I squatted down. It was a pile of fine ash.
Had Abby been there, casting some kind of spell?
Poking the ash with one finger, I felt an object buried beneath the fine gray powder. I brushed the top layer away.
A crude clay figure lay in the center of the pile, its body covered with grime. With an increasing sense of alarm, I picked up the figure and wiped away the dirt from its face. Two bright emerald chips of glass glinted from the center…like eyes…like Abby’s green eyes.
I shot to my feet and kicked the pile away, sending the ashes over the edge of the rocks.
“That bitch!” I hissed, clenching the poppet in my fist. Spinning on my heel, I took off in the opposite direction from the Aunts’ house. I didn’t know for sure where the Dorans lived, but I bet I’d find it.
I almost ran through the woods, my rage fueling every step as my feet crunched the dried leaves littering the ground to bits. How dare she? repeated over and over in my head as I strode past trees and bushes, up the hills and down the hills.
Finally I came to a gravel road and turned right, leading me up the valley. In a short time I found what I was looking for—a battered mailbox with doran lettered on its side.
Shoving the poppet in the pocket of my sweatshirt, I marched up the lane next to the mailbox.
A rambled-down house and two trailers sat in a yard overgrown with weeds. A rusty refrigerator with no doors tipped precariously against one corner of the house, and two skinny hounds, tied with long chains, lounged beneath the branches of a crooked elm tree. Spotting me, they lunged to their feet and ran out the length of their chains, growling and snapping.
I wasn’t in the mood.
Skidding to a stop, I whirled toward the dogs. My eyes narrowed and I fixed them with a menacing look. “Shut up,” I said through clenched teeth.
Instantly the barking stopped and they both cowered. Dropping their heads and tails, they moved back underneath the tree and watched me from the corners of their eyes.
Satisfied that I wouldn’t have a problem with them, I turned my attention to the house just as the screen door flew open and several men poured out from inside the old house.
I spotted Ethan among the group. His eyes showed alarm and he made a move to step forward. A quick glance at the man next to him made him stop. He lowered his chin, dropping his eyes, but I knew his attention was still on me.
The grizzled man from my vision starring Ethan and Sharon came forward. Zachary Doran, no doubt, and he was just as scummy as he’d been in my dream. He spat a long stream of tobacco juice in my direction before he spoke.
“You git on down the road,” he called out.
I didn’t move. “I’m here to see Sharon.”
“Don’t care why you’re here, you’ll git if—”
A hand on his shoulder stopped him and shoved him to the side. Sharon pushed past him, and the other men then sauntered down the porch steps.
“You’d better do as he says,” she said with a smirk. “Or we’ll set the dogs on you.”
“Oh yeah?” I shot a look at the dogs. With a whine, they ran for cover behind the tree.
Turning my attention back to Sharon, I saw her eyes widen in surprise at the dogs’ behavior.
“What do you want?”
“I don’t want anything,” I said, my voice quivering with anger. “I’m here to give you a warning.” Reaching in my pocket, I withdrew the poppet and held it up in the air. Stepping forward, I waved it in front of her. “I suggest you stop your little parlor tricks.”
“Or what?” she scoffed. “You and your wishy-washy relatives won’t do nothing to me.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” I replied in a low voice.
Her lip lifted in a sneer. “Y’all are too soft. You don’t believe in”—she made quotation marks in the air—“‘negative energy.’”
“Right. But we also believe in protecting our own…” I paused, looking her square in the eyes. “Do you really want to see how far we’d go with that belief?”
She made a move toward me, but Zachary hurried down the porch steps and grabbed her arm. “Sharon, you’d better leave her be.”
She whipped her head toward him and gave him a scathing glare. “Shut up.”
The old man jerked his hand away.
“I’m the granddaughter of a seventh son of a seventh son,” she said with a toss of her head. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I stared her down. “You should be. Our magick is as old as the earth. We know things you can’t even begin to understand.”
I watched a flicker of uncertainty fly across her face, then she glanced over her shoulder at the men watching from the front porch. “Bull,” she replied with a voice full of bravado.
“Fine,” I answered with a shrug. “Keep it up and you’re going to find every witch in my family lined up against not only you, but all the Dorans.”
The old man’s face slackened and fear shone in his eyes. “Sharon,” he said hurriedly, “remember Pa and what they done to—”
She whirled on him. “I told you to shut up.” Turning her attention back to me, she laughed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Your family made a vow not to break the truce.”
I uncrossed my arms and looked down at the doll still in my hand. “We didn’t. You did.” I lifted my eyes to her face. “All bets are off.”
Without a backward glance, I turned on my heel and walked away.
The door hit the wall with a bang, making Aunt Dot jump as I hurried into the house.
“Where’s Great-Aunt Mary? Where’s Abby?”
“Abby’s still in bed,” Aunt Dot said, fluttering over to me. “And Sister’s down at Lydia’s.”
“Call Lydia,” I commanded. “Get them up here right now.”
Aunt Dot didn’t argue and went immediately to the telephone and began dialing.
As I crossed the living room, headed back to the bedroom, I caught sight of Abby’s carry-on. She never left home without her medicinal herbs. Maybe she had something that would help cure her flu. I changed direction and walked over to the bag. Picking it up, I placed it on the chair and unzipped it. The papers Abby had been reading lay on top. When I moved them to the side, big bold letters caught my attention and my heart froze.
THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT
OF ABIGAIL CAMPBELL MCDONALD
“Abby!” I shrieked, and grabbing the papers, ran into the bedroom.
As I tore into the room, Abby stirred and sat up in bed. “What? What is it?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep.
“This,” I said, crossing to her with the papers held tightly in my hand. “What’s this?”
She sighed softly. “Oh.”
I sank to the bed next to her, my knees suddenly weak. “Why did you bring your will with you on this trip?”
Her eyes wouldn’t meet mine. “Be prepared for the worst and it’ll never happen.”
“Uh-uh,” I replied with a shake of my head. “Clichés won’t work, Abby. I want the truth.”
“It all happened so long ago, it’s not important,” she said, evading me.
“It is if you think you’re going to die,” I cried. “That’s what our conversation on the mountain was all about, wasn’t it? You were letting me know your wishes while you still had time?”
She didn’t answer
.
“You knew all along that Sharon Doran might try and hurt you, didn’t you?” I persisted.
“Yes,” she whispered.
I took both of her hands in mine and watched her intently. “Sympathetic magick can’t kill you. You’re too powerful to let that happen.”
“So was my mother,” she said as her eyes filled with tears, “and the Dorans killed her.”
Nineteen
I was still sitting on the bed when Lydia rushed into the room. Noticing my alarm, she misjudged the situation and went quickly to Abby. She placed her hand on Abby’s forehead.
“No fever,” she said. “Her color’s pale, but not too bad.” She stepped away from the bed and looked down at me. “She looks better than you do, though. What’s going on?”
I stuck my hand in my pocket and pulled out the poppet. “This.”
Lydia and Abby both gasped.
“I knew it,” Abby said, turning her head away. “The price will finally be paid. Blood for blood.”
“Bullshit.” I shot angrily to my feet. “If you think I’m going to let that so-called witch win, you’ve got another think coming.”
“You can’t use magick against someone,” Abby said in a weary voice.
“I don’t see why not,” I shot back. “She’s using it against you and I have the right to protect you.”
The runescript.
“Abby, you’re strong enough to sit in the chair, aren’t you?” I looked quickly at Lydia to judge her opinion.
She gave her head a slight nod.
Without waiting for Abby to answer, I pulled back the covers and helped her out. After settling her in the chair, I covered her legs with the quilt and went back to the edge of the bed.
Both Lydia and Abby watched me with puzzled looks as I lifted the mattress. The piece of lath was gone.
Disheartened, I let the corner drop and sat on the now rumpled bed. With my hands dangling uselessly between my knees, I studied my grandmother. She really believed that Sharon Doran was slowly killing her. I had to convince her otherwise.
She lifted a trembling hand to her face and stroked her forehead. “I can’t let you use magick against the Dorans,” she said in a weary voice. “What you send out comes back three times over.”
“Ha—what about Sharon and what she’s sending our way? If that statement were true, she ought to be roasting by now,” I replied. “And I hope she does.”
Her hand fell away and her green eyes narrowed. “Ophelia,” she said, irritated, “I taught you better than to wish something like that.”
Her remark sounded more like the old Abby.
“You said she caused your mother’s death,” I argued. “Why hasn’t that come back to haunt her?”
“Sharon didn’t cause Mother’s death…her granny did.” Abby stroked the quilt covering her legs. “Mother took to her bed—”
“You mean like you’re doing now?” I asked, not letting her finish.
She ignored my question and continued. “A week later, she’d passed.” Leaning her head on the back of the chair, she sighed. “I’d always feared Granny Doran would eventually get her revenge. I wanted Mother to come back to Iowa and live with us, but she refused.”
I remembered Mom talking about the argument she’d witnessed between Abby and Annie. Wait a minute. Mom had mentioned another argument…one between Abby and Great-Aunt Mary. Now I knew the reason.
“You wanted to go after the Dorans when Annie died, didn’t you?” I demanded. “But Great-Aunt Mary wouldn’t let you.”
“Yes.” Her voice sounded stronger. “And she was right in insisting that I didn’t. Who knows where it might have led and who would’ve suffered. It was such a hard time…we didn’t even go through Mother’s things…just packed them in boxes and threw them in the attic.” Her eyes filled with pain. “The Dorans got their pound of flesh and their ounce of blood. The truce has held ever since.”
“Until now, don’t you mean?” Her acceptance infuriated me. “I don’t know why anyone thought the Dorans were entitled to either ‘flesh’ or ‘blood.’ They were the ones who committed the crime. They should’ve been the ones to pay.”
Her eyes flew to my face. “You know?” she whispered.
Not meeting her eyes, I scuffed the toe of my shoe on the wood floor. “Yeah,” I confessed reluctantly. “I went to the clearing. I saw them rape Annie.” Moving quickly to the chair, I knelt at her feet and took both her hands in mine. “Abby, I’m so sorry for what they did to your mother,” I murmured.
She pulled her hands out of my grasp and clutched the arms of the chair as her eyes flashed fire. “It wasn’t my mother…it was me.”
I heard a soft plop as Lydia’s butt suddenly hit the bed. A quick glance over my shoulder told me that the disbelief on her face mirrored mine.
Abby’s eyes traveled to Lydia and then to me. “Oh, they didn’t succeed,” she said in a clear, firm voice. “I stopped them.”
“How?” I whispered, feeling as if my stomach was about to heave.
“I called forth the Elements.” Her face tightened with long ago vengeance. “You should’ve seen their fear,” she spat out. “The younger one—”
“Sharon’s uncle…Zachary?” I asked as all the pieces of the vision gelled in my mind.
“Yes, he couldn’t hold his bowels. He ran from the stones like a rabbit, leaving his father to face my wrath alone.”
Rising, I stumbled backward and joined the silent Lydia on the edge of the bed. We both stared raptly at Abby.
Her head turned, her eyes focusing on the mountains towering above the valley.
“The standing stones are ancient,” she said in a whisper, “but you’ve been there, you already know that.”
“I figured as much,” I replied. “They’re tied to the burial mound that Tink and Dad found, aren’t they?”
She nodded, her eyes never leaving the window. “Mother had taken me there all my life.” A wistful smile formed on her face. “I played among those stones as a child and I’d always felt a strong bond with the gentle spirits lingering there.” Her smile faded. “Until that day, it was a beautiful, peaceful spot.”
The first dream I had—I’d witnessed a scene from Abby’s childhood. She’d been the little girl curled on the blanket, and Annie was the young woman singing.
“I used that connection when I called the Elements. I drew on the primal magick that I’d always felt and added it to my own.” She winced and shuddered. “Only what I tapped into was not gentle. It was savage.”
I, too, had called the Elements—twice. Once, not so long ago, I used the power of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water to seek enlightenment, and the other time? For retaliation. I’d gathered the power inside me and was ready to loose it against a killer, but Abby’s mind touching mine at the last moment stopped me. I still remembered what it felt like—of being able to stretch out my hand and crush those who inflicted harm. And Abby had not only drawn on the Elements, but added the magick of the ancients. The power would’ve been magnified a hundredfold.
I could see her now in my mind…battered but not beaten, her arms outstretched, the wind whipping her auburn hair, ringing down all that raw power on the sorry heads of the Dorans. It would’ve been truly frightening, and as far as I was concerned, they deserved it.
“Why, Abby? Why did they attack you?”
She opened her eyes and exhaled slowly. “It was the old man’s idea. He thought if Zachary dishonored me, it would force Mother to agree to a marriage between me and his son.” Her face twisted in a grimace. “Ever since they’d moved to this valley, both the old man and his wife had been jealous of our family’s influence. They wanted folks to come to them, not Mother. They tried to undermine her at every opportunity, but their plan didn’t work.” Plucking at the quilt covering her lap, she turned her attention to me. “Then he came up with the idea of joining our blood with theirs. He saw it as a way to unlimited power. But no matter how hard he bullied her, Mother wouldn’t
do it.”
“Why didn’t one of the men in the family step forward and tell the old man to back off?”
Crossing her hands in her lap, she sat forward. “Our family has always produced more girls than boys. And the few men who did have blood ties to us were either still in the service or working jobs away from the mountain.”
“What about the in-laws?” I asked.
“No,” she replied with a slight shake. “Mother was afraid of starting a war between the Dorans and us, so she handled it alone.”
“Great-Aunt Mary and Aunt Dot?”
“Great-Aunt Mary was teaching school down by Raleigh, and Aunt Dot was working over in Asheville. She hid what was happening from them. They only learned of it after the attack.”
“You know the attack wasn’t your fault, don’t you?” I asked gently.
The idea of Abby carrying around the feeling that she had somehow caused the attack sickened me…so many women in similar situations did. I couldn’t bear it if Abby were one of them.
“Yes…I know. What they did was on their heads,” she said, sagging back against the chair. Lydia made a move to go to her, but Abby waved her back. “I’m fine. This is hard for me—”
I started to rise to my feet. “We can talk about this late—”
“No,” she said, interrupting me. “You need to hear the rest of the story.”
I sank down and waited for her to continue.
“I should’ve stopped when Zachary ran. I was safe. The old man wasn’t going to hurt me. He was as frightened as his son…He huddled by the stones, cowering as the rain poured down on him,” she continued sadly, “but I didn’t…I was so angry.”
“What did you do?” I whispered, shocked by her confession.
Abby’s eyes looked directly into mine before her gaze drifted to the window. “I focused not only my magick, but that of the ancients on the old man. I cursed him…Two weeks later he died.” Her eyes came back to me. “I killed him as surely as if I’d used a knife.”
Twenty
The Seventh Witch Page 13
