The Seventh Witch

by Shirley Damsgaard

  “Go for it.”

  “Go for what?”

  “You know, it!” she explained. “You’re attracted to him, evidently he’s attracted to you, just let…” Her voice trailed away.

  “Don’t you think the timing’s bad?”

  She snorted. “With a life like yours? Give me a break. The timing’s never going to be good, and you’ll wind up alone just like your Great-Aunt Mary.”

  I groaned. I wished people would quit comparing us. And why did the comparison always have to be with Great-Aunt Mary? Why couldn’t they compare me to Aunt Dot? She was nice, kind, maybe a little off with the fairy thing. Okay, so I wasn’t like Aunt Dot, but Great-Aunt Mary? It made me defensive.

  “You know,” I said into the phone, fisting a hand on my hip, “I don’t need a guy to make my life complete.”

  “I know, but wouldn’t it be nice to have someone you could always count on?”

  “I have you, and Abby, and Tink,” I argued back.

  “That’s not what I meant.” Her voice softened. “Someone to share your thoughts, your desires, your—”

  I cut her off before she waxed too romantic on me. “I get it.”

  “Good,” she said, her voice firm. “Now don’t chase him away, let him pursue you, but at the same time, let him know that you’re interested. And dress nice the next time you see him. Wear a little makeup, too, while you’re at it.”

  “Is that all, O Great Love Guru?” I asked sarcastically.

  Her chuckle rang in my ear. “Just let it happen, Ophelia. If it’s meant to be, it will.”

  I blew out a long breath. She sounded just like Abby.

  “But I don’t know if I want it to happen. I mean, gee, with Tink, Abby, and all, I worry—”

  “That’s part of your problem. You worry too much. Go with the flow.”

  “Should I go with the flow before or after I stop the evil witch?”

  Darci laughed. “That’s up to you. You’ll figure it out.”

  I hoped she was right, and not just about Ethan.

  When we met up with Tink and Mom for lunch, it was as I’d feared. They were both loaded down with shopping bags. And it wasn’t just the bags—Tink looked different. Her normal pink baseball cap had been replaced with a black beret, worn at a jaunty angle over her blond hair. Draped around her neck was a loosely knit purple scarf. She looked at least four years older.

  I wasn’t sure that I liked it.

  “You look quite stylish,” I said, giving her a peck on her cheek.

  Her eyes went skyward at the word “stylish.”

  “‘Awesome’ is more acceptable,” Mom piped in.

  “Okay,” I said and playfully gave the beret a tug, “awesome.”

  Tink beamed. “You should see the rest of the outfit Grandma bought me, Ophelia,” she said, her voice full of excitement. “Black skinny jeans, boots.” She took a breath. “I can’t wait to wear them to school. All the girls are just going to die.”

  I took a step back and studied her. She had a slight blush on her cheeks and her long eyelashes looked abnormally dark. “Are you wearing makeup?”

  Her cheeks grew pinker. “Ah, yeah. Grandma and I let a lady show us some samples at one of the cosmetic counters.”

  One of the cosmetic counters? Just how many had they visited? I shot a look at Mom and she smiled.

  “Don’t you think that you’re a little young to be wearing makeup?” I asked.

  The question earned me another eye-roll.

  I glanced over at Abby for assistance, but the bemused expression on her face told me that I could expect no help from that quarter.

  With a shrug of defeat, I took my place at the table and ordered lunch.

  All during the meal, Tink kept up a steady stream of chatter about her shopping experience with my mother. “Awesome” and “amazing” peppered her litany.

  The one to blame for Tink’s enthusiasm sat with a self-satisfied look on her face the whole time. My total lack of interest in shopping, clothes, hair, and makeup had always been a heavy cross for my mother to bear. Now she had the chance to create a “mini-me” of herself, and she was loving every minute of it.

  Ah, well. Tink lived in Iowa—Mom lived in Florida. How much damage could she do?

  By the time we’d finished lunch, we all saw that Abby’s energy was flagging, so we left Asheville and headed back to the valley. We were tired but relaxed. Mom, Abby, and Tink sat in the back while I sat on the passenger side in front.

  On the drive home I listened to Mom and Tink plotting their next shopping extravaganza, with Abby interjecting a remark or two every now and again. I was happy we’d taken this excursion—it was a welcome break from the problems that surrounded us in the valley. I had to figure out a way to follow Darci’s advice and do a little snooping.

  It wouldn’t be easy. People in this part of the world tended to be close-mouthed around strangers. And I was a stranger, even though my family had lived there for over a century. The ones who did believe in magick would be reluctant to talk about Sharon, and even the ones who didn’t would still be superstitious enough that they wouldn’t want to risk Sharon’s ire.

  I needed to be very, very careful.

  “Y’all don’t mind if I stop and get gas, do you?” Lydia asked, breaking into my thoughts. “I like to have a full tank in case I get called out in the middle of the night.”

  Tink suddenly leaned forward. “I’m dying for a Mountain Dew. Can I have one?”

  “‘May I,’” I corrected without thinking, “and yes, you may.”

  “Thanks,” she said, sitting back.

  I shook my head with a chuckle. The Aunts might make their sweet tea with enough sugar to rot your teeth, but they didn’t approve of soda pop—too many additives, artificial coloring, preservatives, etcetera. Tink had been in withdrawal ever since we arrived.

  Lydia pulled off the highway and into a small service station next to the gravel road leading up the valley. It was a real service station. When the bell dinged, a young man wearing grease-stained blue jeans trotted out of the building and began to fill the SUV. While the pump ran, he lifted the hood and, using the oily rag hanging from his back pocket, checked the oil. Finished, he washed the windows.

  Tink and I watched him for a moment before leaving the SUV and going into the small building. Another bell dinged as we opened the door.

  The station was small, no bigger than my garage at home. A battered counter stood at one end, next to a cooler holding a variety of soft drinks. A glass jar holding sticks of beef jerky sat on the chipped Formica top next to a Plexiglas stand holding glazed doughnuts. Racks of candy bars and beer nuts hung below.

  I bought three teas—one for Mom, Abby, and Lydia—a Mountain Dew for Tink, and a Pepsi for me. Joining Lydia at the SUV, I handed her the tea and she smiled her thanks as she handed the young man two twenties.

  “Keep the change, Billy,” she said.

  He dipped his head and gave a shy grin. “Thanks, Miz Lydia.” After wiping a greasy hand on his pants, he helped Lydia into the driver’s seat, then rushed around the front of the vehicle and opened the passenger door for me.

  “What a polite young man,” I commented as Lydia pulled onto the gravel road.

  “He is that,” she replied with a chuckle, “but unfortunately it’s going to take more than good manners to get him out of this valley.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Oh, he has big dreams.” Her face grew serious. “The problem is he expects them just to happen without any effort on his part.”

  “He’s still young, maybe he’ll learn.”

  “I hope so, but his mama’s always spoiled him. He’s the only boy with five sisters, and they’ve waited on him all of his life.” She gave her head a firm nod. “He needs to get off his duff and get an education. Otherwise he’s going to be working in that gas station for the rest of his life.”

  “Are the jobs scarce around here?” I asked.

/>   “That they are, but Billy Parnell’s a smart—”

  My hand shot out, interrupting her. “What did you say his name was?”

  “Billy Parnell.” Her eyes darted in my direction and she lowered her voice. “He’s the one Sharon bewitched.”

  I looked in the side mirror, back at the little station. Not too far, I thought, unscrewing the cap on my bottle of pop and taking a long drink. Maybe tomorrow I’d walk down for another Pepsi.

  Twenty-Five

  The next morning, once I was reassured that Abby had suffered no ill effects from our outing yesterday, I decided to walk down to the station and talk to Billy Parnell. As I passed by Lydia’s, I noticed her out in her garden. Seeing me, she called out with a wave. I veered off the road and walked over to her, passing Jasper on my way. Opening one eye, he sized me up. Convinced that I didn’t pose a threat, he laid his head back on his paws with a contented sigh and went back to sleep.

  “Where are you off to so early in morning?” Lydia asked, stripping off one of her gloves and giving me a one-armed hug.

  “Oh,” I replied, scuffing the ground with the toe of my tennis shoe. “I thought I’d take a walk. I need the exercise after all the food Aunt Dot’s been shoveling at me.”

  She turned back to her garden, and sticking her hand back in her glove, clipped off a seed pod from one of the plants. “How’s Abby?”

  “Good,” I answered with a smile. “When I left, she was up and dressed. She’s going to help Aunt Dot through the family albums and make some kind of a display for Great-Aunt Mary’s party.”

  Lydia snipped off another pod and dropped it in the basket. “Won’t that be nice?” She paused and smiled over her shoulder at me. “Land sakes, I haven’t looked at those old pictures in ages. Is Great-Aunt Mary going to help them?”

  I snorted. “As much as she likes to be in charge? You know it,” I exclaimed. “And I imagine she’ll have plenty to say about their selections.”

  Twirling clippers on her finger, she studied me. “You mustn’t mind her, Ophelia. She means well.”

  “Yeah?” I kicked at a clod of dirt lying at my feet. “Did you know that she got rid of the runescript that I’d made to protect Abby?”

  “Yes,” she said with a frown. “Aunt Dot told me. It was wrong of her to do that.”

  “And you saw how she acted during our talk yesterday…she’s not going to let me do anything to stop Sharon.”

  Lydia let out a long sigh. “Ophelia, you have to understand. All she’s ever had is her position as head of the family. No kids of her own, no husband—”

  “Her choice,” I pointed out, cutting her off.

  “That may be, but I think she resents anyone she sees as trying to test her authority. And how she feels about the Dorans, well…” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “…it’s personal.”

  “Since it’s my grandmother,” I stressed, “who Sharon’s trying to kill, it makes it kind of personal for me, too, Lydia.”

  “I know, but Great-Aunt Mary has always seen Abby as her surrogate daughter. She and Annie were very close, you know.”

  “That’s what Aunt Dot said.” I bent down and picked up a small gray stone lying at the edge of the garden. “Why didn’t she go after them when Annie died? You heard Abby—Great-Aunt Mary was afraid of stirring things up, just like she is now.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Lydia said thoughtfully.

  I slipped the small stone in my pocket. “You think she did do something and Abby doesn’t know?”

  Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “After our talk, I remembered a remark that my mother once made. It had something to do about an argument between Granny Doran and Great-Aunt Mary.” Her forehead crinkled in a frown. “It happened after Annie’s funeral, after Abby had left for Iowa.”

  “Do you know what it was about?”

  “No, but I do know Granny Doran never left home much after Annie died. It was rare to see her, and when you did, Sharon was always with her.”

  “She must’ve felt like a prisoner in her own home.”

  She nodded. “I guess if what Abby believes is true—that Granny Doran brought about Annie’s death—she did pay a price.”

  “Lydia, you agree that Sharon has to be stopped, don’t you?”

  Lydia looked over at me with a shake of head. “I don’t like her, that’s for certain, but if Great-Aunt Mary thinks…” Her voice trailed away.

  Her reluctance was obvious. All of her life Lydia had accepted what Great-Aunt Mary said as law, and it was going to be difficult for me to change her mind-set. Maybe if I proved that Sharon wasn’t all she was cracked up to be, I could persuade her to help me.

  I needed to talk to Billy Parnell.

  While I continued my walk down to the station, I mulled over my approach.

  So, Billy, do you know that Sharon Doran cast a love spell on you?

  No, that wouldn’t work.

  Billy, I know why you’re stalking… What was that girl’s name? I couldn’t remember. Ah well, that approach wasn’t the best either. I’d just have to wing it.

  When I reached the station, I noticed the small lot crowded with cars and pickup trucks. A different young man stood at the pumps, washing the windows of a beat-up Chevy. I sauntered toward the building, scanning the lot for Billy, but I didn’t see him.

  Inside the small station, two locals stood at the counter, sipping coffee, eating doughnuts, and talking to the man behind it. Billy wasn’t there either. Their conversation stilled when the bell jangled, announcing my entrance, and three sets of eyes fastened on me with curiosity.

  “’Morning,” I called brightly as I headed toward the cooler.

  “’Mornin’,” they all said with identical nods.

  Okay, so what do you do now, Jensen? I asked myself as I pretended to look over the selection of soft drinks.

  “Say,” the man from behind the counter said, “weren’t you here yesterday with Lydia Wiley?”

  I grabbed a bottle of Pepsi and turned. “Yes. I’m Ophelia Jensen.”

  The men exchanged looks. “You’re her cousin, ain’t ya?” one man, wearing a John Deere trucker hat, asked.

  “Yes,” I replied with a smile.

  The man standing next to him, dressed in a pair of bib overalls, grinned. “The one from up North, right?” I nodded, and he nudged Mr. John Deere Hat in the ribs. “We heard about you,” he said, turning his attention to me.

  Oh goody…I wondered what he’d heard.

  “Y’all are here for Miz Mary’s birthday,” Mr. Bib Overalls continued.

  “That’s right,” I said, placing my Pepsi on the counter and laying down my money.

  The man behind the counter chuckled. “She’s a corker, that one.”

  Mr. John Deere Hat let out a laugh of his own. “My mama still goes on ’bout her talkin’ to Daddy.” His face sobered. “After he died, you know,” he confided.

  How does one respond to that? flashed through my mind. Yes, I have an aunt who talks to dead people?

  My lips formed a tight smile as I nodded in agreement.

  “How’s she doin’?” Mr. Bib Overalls asked.

  “Oh, fine,” I responded, unscrewing the cap of my pop and taking a drink.

  Mr. John Deere Cap took a bite of his doughnut and chewed it thoughtfully. “I bet all this company has her excited, don’t it?”

  “Well,” I said, lifting one shoulder, “with Great-Aunt Mary it’s hard to tell.”

  They all chuckled again. “She’s always been one to play her cards close,” the man behind the counter said. “Miz Dot doin’ well?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you git home, y’all tell her that my boy sure appreciated those bottles of elderberry she sent down for his young’un’s christenin’.”

  I just bet he did. Bottles? I wondered if anyone was left standing.

  Mr. Bib Overall’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “Say, aren’t you the one who found old Oscar?”

  “Ah…yeah.” I took an
other swig of Pepsi, uncertain what would come next.

  All three shook their heads at the same time. “Bad business that,” Mr. John Deere Hat said.

  “Yes, it was,” I agreed. “Great-Aunt Mary said he’d been ill for a long time.”

  “Humph,” Mr. Bib Overalls snorted. “Oscar’s been complain’ ’bout his stomach for as long as I can remember. His wife, when she was livin’, always said he just done it to get outta work.” He sucked on a tooth. “Guess now we shoulda believed him.”

  Okay, Jensen, maybe now would be a good time to ask your new best friends about Billy Parnell. But how?

  “Ah, by the way, when I was here yesterday, I think I lost a lipstick.”

  All the men looked at me skeptically. Okay, so I didn’t look like a woman who’d worry about a missing tube of lipstick, but I pressed on.

  “My daughter gave it to me for Christmas, and she’d be so upset if she knew I’d lost it,” I lied. “I think it might have fallen out when I got in Lydia’s SUV. Any chance that young man, ah…”

  I let my voice trail off.

  “Billy?” the man behind the counter interjected.

  “Yes, that’s what Lydia called him. Did he happen to find it?”

  He scratched his head. “Billy didn’t say nothin’ ’bout no lipstick.” He dropped his hand. “I can ask him.”

  “That’s okay, I can.” I looked hopefully toward the door leading to the service bay. “Is he working today?”

  “Nope.”

  Dang it. Now what?

  Twenty-Six

  Disheartened, I made a move to leave. “It was nice meeting you, and I’ll be sure to give your regards to the Aunts,” I said with a note of dejection in my voice.

  The man behind the counter called out, “Wait, I said he wasn’t workin’, I didn’t say he wasn’t here. He’s out back workin’ on that old car of his.”

  I shot him a smile over my shoulder. “Thanks.”

  As I hurried out the door, I heard one of them say, “She’s sure het up about that lipstick, ain’t she?”

  I found Billy in back of the station, wearing the same grease-stained blue jeans and an old letter jacket. He had his head stuck under the hood of a car that had more rust than paint on it. Letting down my shield for a moment, I sent out tiny fingers of energy toward the boy, trying to sense any bewitchment. None.