The Witch Is Dead

by Shirley Damsgaard

  Finally, Abby slammed one of the books shut. “This is taking too long. We’re just going to wing it.”

  She walked to the cupboard and took out two blue candles and a silver one. Placing them on a small table in the center of the room, she then removed five stones from a drawer—four blue lace agates and an amethyst. After lighting a small ball of sage contained in an abalone shell, she passed the candles and stones one by one through its purifying smoke. Once she finished with the candles and stones, she set a bowl of water and a bowl of sea salt next to the candles.

  Stepping back, she eyed the table. “Do you have the picture of Tink?”

  “Here,” I said, reaching in my backpack and pulling out Tink’s most recent school photograph.

  Taking it from me, she laid it carefully on the table in front of the three candles now safely secured in metal candlestick holders. The top right corner of the picture pointed to the north, and she began there, laying the blue lace agate at each point. She laid the amethyst at top center directly in line with Tink’s face.

  I didn’t need to ask what she was doing. The blue lace agates and the blue candles were for communication, to help us in our quest to reach Tink. The positioning of the stones represented the four elements—to the north, Earth; to the west, Air; to the south, Fire; and to the east, Water. The very top stone—the amethyst—represented the Spirit, and, along with the silver candle, would help increase our psychic energy. And if Abby drew imaginary lines between the five stones, it would form a pentagram over the picture of Tink.

  Satisfied that all was as it should be, Abby crossed to a small closet and handed both Aunt Dot and me a white cowled robe.

  Since Aunt Dot was several inches shorter than Abby, the sleeves of her robe hung down her sides while the hem puddled at her feet. She reminded me of a child playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes.

  Abby walked back to the table and, picking up the smoking shell, wandered about the room wafting smoke into the corners and around the doors and windows. Then she returned to where Aunt Dot and I stood and did the same to us. We hadn’t taken the time to purify ourselves in a saltwater bath, so using the smoking sage was the next best thing.

  Together we moved to the table.

  Abby picked up the bowl of salt and, walking clockwise, sprinkled a circle around us on the worn floorboards. She joined us at the table, and after adding a pinch of salt, dipped her fingers into the water. Again, moving clockwise, she flicked the water in a circle around us. She lit the candles.

  Holding each other’s hands, we began.

  Staring at Tink’s picture, I conjured each of the elements in my mind. Rich black dirt warmed by the summer sun. I inhaled and imagined I caught the scent of lavender and lilacs drifting on a light breeze. I saw logs blazing on the hearth, the heat radiating out from them and chasing away the chill I’d felt since Tink had disappeared. From outside the summerhouse, I heard the whispering of a gentle stream as the water tumbled over rocks in a riverbed.

  Finally, the Spirit—Tink’s spirit. Her humor, her grace, the way every day was an adventure as she stood poised at the threshold of becoming the person she was meant to be.

  My throat tightened as sadness gripped my heart. I felt the warmth fade and my concentration slip. Worry ate at me.

  I scrunched my eyes shut. Deep, slow breaths, Jensen, I told myself while I fought to regain control.

  Abby sensed my distress and her hand gripped mine firmly.

  I felt her energy pour into me, strengthening me. A slight squeeze of my own hand let her know that I’d won the battle.

  Opening my eyes, I focused on Tink’s picture and let all the love I had for her rush out. Her face shimmered in the flickering light as irritation and frustration niggled at me.

  Irritation? Frustration? Those feeling weren’t mine—they were Tink’s.

  I stared harder at her picture, and in my mind I flashed back to the night Tink and I had walked in the woods, talking about the adoption.

  As in reality, Silas Green suddenly appeared, only in my mind he held a pile of bones in his arms. I gasped in horror as I noticed a shiny gold bracelet dangling from one of the bones. Tink’s bracelet. Did it mean Tink was dead? No, she stood next to me, as she had that night in the woods.

  I focused again on Silas.

  Specters floated around him, their faces angry. Their mouths moved in silent curses. I cocked my head to listen, but the words sounded like static on a radio. Turning, I looked at Tink, only to see her being pulled away from me by invisible hands.

  Shock registered on her face, and as she faded in the distance, the sound of a woman’s maniacal laughter overrode the static in my head.

  I pivoted back to Silas and saw Walks Quietly standing behind him, watching me with disappointment in his eyes.

  The spirits swirled and twisted around both of them as images spun through my mind.

  Tink, the first day I’d met her at Gunhammer Lake in Minnesota. The awful night at the abandoned cabin when Juliet had tried to use Tink as a vessel to summon a demon. Winnie slinking off into the woods as the cabin burned to the ground. Tink playing with T.P. at Roseman State Park the night of the ill-fated campout.

  The images came faster and faster until it felt like my brain was in overdrive.

  Panting like a dog, I tried to draw air into my lungs, but I couldn’t seem to fill them. My body began shaking so hard, it made my head rattle—

  As if someone flipped a light switch, the images ended.

  I opened my eyes, not realizing that I’d closed them, to find Abby standing in front of me, shaking me for all she was worth.

  “Ophelia!” she exclaimed.

  I clenched her arm to stop the shaking. “I’m okay,” I said, my voice trembling. “Man, I hate it when that happens.”

  Abby led me over to the rocking chair. “When the images take over?”

  “Yeah, this experience was like the one at Darci’s when I tried to tune in on the murder this spring.” I rubbed my face with my hands. “There’s got to be an easier way to do this.”

  Aunt Dot sat next to me and patted my knee in sympathy. “You’re getting your color back now.”

  Abby handed me a glass of water. “Drink this.”

  I drained the glass and passed it to Aunt Dot. Resting my head against the back of the rocker, I watched as Abby closed the circle in silence.

  She snuffed out the candles, and walking counterclockwise, seemed to drain the energy from the room. After picking up the blue lace agates, she pulled up a chair next to the rocker. She handed one of the stones to Aunt Dot, set aside one for herself, and held out the last two to me.

  “Place these in your left pocket,” she said as she pressed them into my open palm. “I’m leaving the amethyst by Tink’s picture until she comes home.” Settling back in her chair, Abby studied me. “How are you feeling?”

  “A little shaky.”

  “Aunt Dot, there’s a notebook and a pen on the stand next to you…would you please give them to me?”

  Aunt Dot did as Abby asked.

  “What did you see?” Abby asked then, poising the pen over the blank paper.

  Quickly, I related my vision to her, and she scribbled my words down.

  Abby nibbled on the end of the pen. “You saw Silas Green? And he had Tink’s bracelet?”

  “Yeah. I never met the man until a week or so ago. Now, lately, I’ve run into him at Roseman State Park, at the Farmer’s Market, and at Buchanan’s funeral.”

  “You ran into him three times before Tink’s disappearance?”

  I nodded. “Is that significant?”

  She doodled on the paper as she thought about my question. “The number three has a lot of power associated with it.”

  “What about the bracelet?”

  “I don’t recall seeing it the day she disappeared. Do you?”

  “I couldn’t even remember what she had on,” I said, scrubbing my face with my hands. “Let alone whether or not she was
wearing the bracelet.”

  “What about Walks Quietly? He was in the vision, too?”

  “Uh-huh. He looked disappointed that I’d failed to protect Tink like I’d promised.”

  “I wonder if Bill has contacted him yet?”

  “I need to,” I said, rocking back in the chair.

  “I think he’ll be calling you,” Abby said, tapping the pen on the paper, reviewing her notes. “Most of the images were of Gunhammer Lake?”

  I puffed out my cheeks and exhaled slowly. “Maybe my subconscious was just reliving our first meeting with Tink.” I sat forward, facing her. “Did you see the same things?”

  “No, mine were more of the future.” A smile broke out. “I saw Tink home safe.”

  I clutched her hand as I felt a burden lift. “That’s terrific, Abby!” I exclaimed.

  The smile dropped from her face. “That’s the good news…”

  Why does the good news always have to be followed by bad news?

  “…the bad news is there seemed to be a wide gulf separating Tink from us—”

  “Let me guess,” I said, holding up my hand to stop her. “I’m the one that gets to cross it?”

  “Yes.” She shuddered. “Tink stood on its banks while enraged spirits floated around her.” Abby rubbed her arms as if fighting away a chill. “Some were missing appendages.”

  “That’s what Tink’s been seeing in her dreams.” I thought for a moment. “Tell me more about this gulf. Did you recognize any landmarks?”

  “No. All I saw was Tink on one side and you on the other. You were running back and forth trying to find a way across.” She frowned. “There was a man standing in the shadows—”

  “Silas Green?”

  “No, and not Walks Quietly, someone else, but I couldn’t see his face. The only other thing that seemed important—a hawk and an eagle circled above you.” She watched my reaction. “Does that mean anything to you?”

  “No…wait, the hawk does. I’ve seen them before. Remember the time that I felt like I was flying with one?”

  “Ophelia,” she said sternly. “Apparently the hawk is one of your animal guides, and when you see one, it’s significant. You need to pay more attention.”

  “Got it—watch for hawks. Anything else?”

  “No, at that point I noticed you were actually vibrating. My concern for you broke my focus.”

  I turned to Aunt Dot. “What did you see?”

  “Fairies.”

  I grunted. Go figure.

  Aunt Dot ignored me. “Two fairies are guarding her.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Umm-hmm. In a bedroom with big pink roses on the wall. Tink was pacing back and forth while the fairies watched. One perched on the bedpost.” Aunt Dot’s eyes glazed over. “She was beautiful—I think she’s a wood fairy—she wore a green dress with a crown of oak leaves on her head. The other one—”

  “Okay, Aunt Dot, we get the picture. Did you get a sense of where this room was?”

  “No, only that she’s safe for now.”

  I put aside my disbelief and asked the question. “Would the fairies tell you where she is?”

  “No, they will only protect her. You must find her on your own.”

  Peachy. And all I had to do was cross a gulf full of danger. Simple.

  If I failed, would Tink still make it home safely or would she be lost to us forever?

  Twenty-Two

  We removed our robes for Abby to wash later and left to return to the main house.

  The experience had raised more questions than answers. I felt relief to know that Tink was safe and waiting for us to find her, but puzzled because I hadn’t sensed any fear.

  Tink was ticked off, not terrified. Not a normal emotion for one who’s been kidnapped and held against her will by a killer. Maybe she hadn’t figured out her abductor was a murderer? Maybe they’d made promises not to hurt her if she cooperated with them?

  Lost in my thoughts, I rounded the corner of the summerhouse and bumped straight into a solid body. My gaze traveled up his chest, shoulders, neck, until I found myself looking into a pair of very familiar gray eyes.

  I took a step back. “Cobra…err, Ethan! What are you doing here?” Peering over his shoulder, I noticed Bill standing behind him.

  “Hi, Ophelia,” Ethan replied with concern. “I heard about your daughter. I’m sorry.”

  I introduced Abby and Aunt Dot, then eyed him with suspicion. “Are you here officially? Did Bill uncover evidence that the DEA is interested in?”

  “No, I’m on a sabbatical, so to speak.” He glanced over his shoulder at Bill. “I called him just to see how things were.” Looking down at the grass, he grinned. “I wanted to see if you’d mentioned running into me at the airport. He filled me in on what had happened to Tink. Thought maybe I could help,” he finished, his eyes meeting mine again.

  “How?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “I know how the system works…unless evidence suggests foul play, or a kidnapping, law enforcement assumes the kid ran away—”

  “She didn’t run away,” I said hotly, cutting him off.

  “I believe you.” Again he looked over his shoulder. “So does Bill. Look, Tink seemed to be a nice kid, and I’ve got contacts that Bill doesn’t. Maybe I can shake loose a lead from one of them.”

  I’d narrowed my eye as he made this explanation.

  “You doubt my motives, don’t you?” Ethan asked.

  Before I could answer, he shoved his hands in his back pockets and continued. “Do you think I’m still afraid that you’ll curse me with those boils?”

  Bill went on alert and stepped forward. “Boils? What boils?”

  The subject needed to be changed. “Never mind,” I said, and resumed walking to the house. “How did you find us?” I asked as Ethan fell into step next to me.

  “Darci told Bill when we stopped by your house.”

  I did a swift calculation on the time. Thank goodness they hadn’t showed up thirty minutes earlier or they might have seen more than they bargained for.

  Once we reached the house, we all gravitated to the kitchen. Abby pulled a pitcher of ice tea out of the refrigerator and offered Bill and Ethan a glass.

  Still parched from my experience in the summerhouse, after serving them, I swiftly downed my own glass and poured another. Leaning against the counter, I watched them. My level of trust in Ethan left a little to be desired, and it was hard to believe he’d take time off from the DEA to help us.

  “Are you sure the DEA isn’t involved?” I asked. “Tink’s not in the hands of a drug dealer?”

  “No, we’re not involved, and no, she isn’t being held by a drug dealer,” he replied with a grin as he stole a glance at Bill. “Whether Bill likes to admit it or not, you did help us put a crooked cop and an escaped felon behind bars.” He traced over the wet circle left by his glass. “I figure I owe you, and I like to pay back my debts.”

  That, I could understand far better than his desire to help out of the goodness of his heart. I didn’t like feeling beholden to anyone, either. It had always been easier for me to give than receive graciously, but for Tink’s sake, I’d suck it in and accept his offer.

  “Okay, fine,” I said setting my glass on the counter. “Any leads?”

  “No,” Bill answered reluctantly. “I’ve entered her picture in the National Crime Information Center’s Missing Person File, plus the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.” He shook his head sadly. “I hate to say this, but until someone steps forward, it’s a waiting game.”

  “Did anyone call Jason Finch?” Abby asked from her spot next to me. “He’s still Tink’s legal guardian.”

  “Yes,” Bill replied. “I thought maybe he’d want to come down to Iowa, but he said he couldn’t leave Juliet.”

  Course not, I thought. Jason hadn’t gone to jail because of his involvement with Juliet. They’d never proved he was aware of what she’d done, but he was in a
prison of his own making. Bound by his obsession with his wife. To him, no one would ever be as important, not even his missing fourteen-year-old niece.

  Bill moved his chair away from the table and looked at the three of us. “You all seem calmer today. That’s good to see.” He drained his glass.

  Aunt Dot jumped up from her place at the table and bustled over to the counter for the pitcher of tea. Filling Bill’s glass, she smiled down at him. “Tink’s safe—”

  His glass stopped halfway to his lips. “What?” He stared at me with squinted eyes. “Did you get a phone call and decide not to tell me?”

  I stepped away from the counter. “No, no…nothing like that…” I shot a pleading look at Abby.

  “We didn’t get a phone call.” The words rushed out of Aunt Dot before we could stop her. “We saw her.”

  Bill’s gaze raked over Abby, me, and Aunt Dot.

  Aunt Dot beamed back at him confidently.

  Abby turned a bright shade of pink.

  I tried to look innocent.

  Ethan lowered his head, but not before I noticed a grin spread across his face.

  Bill zeroed in on Aunt Dot. “Well?” he asked, his tone angry.

  Her eyes widened in surprise, as if she couldn’t understand why Bill was upset.

  The clock above the stove ticked off the seconds as a sense of doom settled around me. Aunt Dot was going to spill the family secrets, I knew it. Where was the duct tape when you needed it? I thought. Cold, Jensen, cold—contemplating taping your ninety-one-year-old aunt’s mouth shut. But if she started blabbing about the fairies…

  “We’re psychics,” I blurted out.

  Abby gasped, while Aunt Dot’s smile returned as she nodded vigorously.

  Ethan raised his head. “You left out the witch part,” he said smugly.

  Bill’s jaw dropped. “All three of you?”

  I bobbed my head once.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, scratching his bald head as he soaked in the news. “I always knew there was something off about you, Ophelia!”

  We joined Bill and Ethan at the table, while mentally I scrambled for a way to explain our family’s talents and still maintain an ounce of credibility.