The Trouble with Witches

by Shirley Damsgaard

  So where was Brandi? And what had happened to her? Were we wasting time looking for her here at the lake?

  Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t notice that Lady had stopped her patrol around the yard until I heard the deep rumble coming from her throat. Tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention, and it felt like eyes were staring at me from the woods beyond the cabin.

  Lady lifted her head and sniffed the air. The rumble turned into a full-fledged growl.

  I felt the adrenaline kick in. Fight or flight. I chose flight. “Okay, that’s it. We’re going inside,” I said, and gave her leash a pull.

  She looked at me over her shoulder, then turned back to watching the woods.

  “I mean it.” My heart began to thump in my chest, and I gave the leash another tug. “Let’s go.”

  After a short warning bark at whatever she thought lurked behind the trees, Lady ran past me and onto the porch.

  Me? I couldn’t follow her fast enough. I stumbled up the steps and through the door. With my heart still doing a staccato beat, I dropped the leash and locked the door. Hurrying over to the sliding glass doors in the living room, I checked those, too. All secure.

  I breathed a sigh of relief, while my heart slowed to its normal rhythm.

  After unhooking Lady’s leash, I wandered down the hall to my bedroom. As if she didn’t want to let me out of her sight, Lady walked beside me, glued to my leg.

  I stopped for a moment and listened at the door of Abby’s room. The sound of even breathing was all I heard.

  Entering my room, I flicked on the lights and got ready for bed, while Lady curled up over by the windows. But as I took off my skirt, I felt something in the pocket.

  Oh yeah, the sachet Tink had given me.

  Removing the small pouch, I tossed it on the nightstand next to my runes and finished undressing. And while I did, I felt the headache I’d been fighting all day make its presence known again.

  I knew I should make the tea Abby had suggested, but aspirin would be easier. My stomach did a slow roll and queasiness burned my throat. Nope, I’d had too many aspirin today—sleep was what I needed. I shut off the light and tumbled into bed.

  I had just begun to feel myself glide off into sleep when I heard it. A faint buzzing coming from somewhere in the room.

  I sat up in bed and peered around. Probably a dang bug trapped in either the light shade or between the windows. Plumping my pillow, I lay down and tried to ignore the sound.

  But it got louder.

  Irritated, I turned the light back on and got out of bed to investigate. I checked the windows, the lamp shade, but couldn’t find anything that would make that sound.

  I shoved my hands on my hips in frustration and took a deep breath. The strong scent of lavender and roses made my stomach lurch.

  Yuck, I’d never sleep with that smell around me all night.

  Grabbing the sachet, I crossed the room and shoved it in an empty dresser drawer. With a quick push, I closed the drawer. The scent was gone.

  And so was the buzzing.

  Long streams of toilet paper hanging from bare branches swayed in the October wind. Dead leaves, hurried along by the wind, rattled like bones as they rolled down the street. Sounds of childish laughter rang out as little ghosts and goblins rushed from door to door, filling their bags with candy.

  All Hallow’s Eve. Halloween.

  In my dream, I walked up the path leading to the haunted mansion alone. Once a year, the old Johnson mansion became the site of chills and thrills as the Summerset Chamber of Commerce sponsored a haunted house for the local children. Jack the Ripper, Freddy from Nightmare on Elm Street, the Phantom of the Opera—all could be seen lurking in the corridors of the old house.

  I brushed aside the fake cobwebs draped around the door and pushed it open. The house was strangely silent. At this time of the night there should have been the screams and shrieks of the terrified reverberating off the walls of the faded rooms. But I heard nothing.

  Something tickled my cheek and I brushed it away. Looking up, I saw hundreds of tiny plastic spiders suspended by thin wires hanging from the ceiling. Dodging as many as I could, I went down the hall and into the room that would’ve been used as a parlor.

  Velvet ropes blocked off most of the room. And from behind them I saw a figure of a man bound in chains. A small man with dark wavy hair, his well-developed muscles straining against the links that held him. I’d seen his face before on an old vaudeville poster: Harry Houdini. Looking like he came straight out of Madame Tussaud. A wax figure. The Chamber had gone all out this year.

  Across the hall, in the room that had been the dining room, a different wax figure stood in the center of the room. A dignified figure with thick white hair that circled his head like a halo. His hands were frozen in place above a lit lightbulb that seemed to float before him. The famous Blackstone.

  Turning away, I continued down the hallway to the staircase. The carved banister curved majestically toward the second storey, where pale light spilled onto the polished floor from one of the rooms above. Grabbing the banister, I climbed toward the light.

  The room I viewed from the hallway was not roped off as the others had been. More spiders on invisible strings hung around the door. Sweeping them away, I shuddered and made a move to take a step forward, but something held me back.

  Standing in the center of the room, behind a long table, was a figure dressed in a black robe, a hood obscuring his face. In the light of the fire, the shadow he cast loomed like a huge bat on a wall covered in peeling paper. He had one arm outstretched as if in supplication, while in the crook of his other arm he held a book. A black book with strange gold writing on its cover.

  To his right and to his left, tall, smoking braziers filled the air with an almost noxious odor. In front of the braziers, dark brown candles burned on the table. The candles were carved with the same strange writing as on the book.

  But the black figure wasn’t alone. Another wax figure lay prone on the table before him. This one dressed in white.

  My eyes traveled up the body and stopped at the head. The hood covered most of the features, and I couldn’t make out the face of the reclining figure. But from beneath the hood a strand of carrot-orange hair peeked out.

  My heart slammed against my ribs and my mouth went dry.

  Brandi?

  I made a move to enter the room, but the man in the dark robe suddenly came to life and swung his outstretched arm toward me. Bony fingers pointed at me and unknown words poured out of the void where the face should’ve been.

  I jumped back. He wasn’t a wax figure after all.

  With his words, the evil I’d felt at the abandoned cabin in the woods rushed at me in a surge. My knees gave way and I crumpled to the floor. With my forehead pressed against the cold wood floor, I felt the evil wash over me, its pressure threatening to crush me.

  It’s a dream, it’s a dream, I repeated in my mind. And dreams can’t kill you.

  But I felt like the life was being squeezed out of me.

  I lifted my head, and when I did, the prone figure turned its face. I saw Brandi’s eyes, round with terror, staring into mine.

  She turned her head forward, and as she did, slowly pulled up into a sitting position as if controlled by hidden strings. Sitting there, she seemed to shrink, grow smaller. The hood fell back and the carrot-colored hair changed, growing lighter.

  Her head rotated toward me again. Her mouth was pulled back in a feral grin. And the eyes of a hunter met mine from across the room. Hungry eyes. Violet eyes.

  Oh my God! Tink.

  Twenty

  Slowly I surfaced from my dream. My head felt heavy, so heavy that I had to struggle to lift it. Inside my mouth, my tongue seemed thick. I tried swallowing but my throat was too dry.

  Was it a dream or a vision? A prophecy or the circuits of my subconscious twisting reality into bizarre pictures? I didn’t know. Sitting up in bed, I turned on the light and pulled a notebook
and pen from the drawer in the nightstand.

  Okay, what was the setting of the dream? A haunted house at Halloween. Ghosts and witches, given my heritage—go figure. Spiders? The library had been infested with them when I’d left Iowa, and the problem had been unresolved. Maybe my brain was still stewing about the situation.

  The cast of characters? The three magicians? Winnie had planted them in my head. Houdini and Blackstone were known to me, so they had faces in my dream. But Von Schuler? I’d never heard of him. Understandable that his face would be hidden—my subconscious had no point of reference. That left Tink and Brandi.

  I had started out this trip concerned about the missing Brandi, but now, after what Juliet had told me about Tink, my concern extended to her, too. The poor kid. In a way, even though she was surrounded by people, she was as lost as Brandi.

  I snapped the notebook shut. There, I’d explained away the dream. That’s all it was—a dream.

  One little detail niggled at me. The book. Where had that element come from? It’s a book; I’m a librarian? Nope, that explanation didn’t feel right.

  I chewed at my lip while my eyes skimmed the room. They stopped when my runes caught my attention. I hadn’t used them since the night before we’d left for Minnesota. The question had been, “What would we find in Minnesota?” The runes had answered, “Pertho”—mystery and magic.

  I snorted. They’d been right.

  What would they tell me now? I blew out a breath. I wasn’t up to doing a reading. But wait, what about a quick check? Stick my hand in the bag, draw a rune, and see what it means? Worth a shot.

  Picking up the pouch, I imagined a white light surrounding me and peace flowing through me. As a sense of calm settled in my heart, I opened the bag and touched the stones. I felt each rune, waiting for that one special stone to give me a familiar tingle, to speak to me. Nothing happened.

  I tried again. The runes felt cool and smooth against my palm. But nothing else. Not even a trickle of energy pricked at my fingertips.

  The runes were silent.

  Frustrated, I withdrew my hand and returned the pouch to the nightstand. I rubbed my forehead; my headache was back. And this time aspirin wouldn’t cut it.

  I threw on my robe and went to the kitchen to brew the tea Abby had recommended earlier. After putting the kettle on to boil, I stood at the stove waiting. A soft touch on my arm had me whirling around in surprise.

  “Dang it, Abby,” I said, clutching my chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  Dressed in her flannel robe with her thick silver hair hanging in a braid over her shoulder, she looked concerned. “You’re pale.” She placed her hands on either side of my face. “Sit down. I’ll finish the tea.”

  Pulling out a chair, I sat at the table. Before long Abby set a steaming cup of tea in front of me.

  She joined me on the other side of the table and waited to speak until I’d finished most of the hot tea.

  “Better?”

  “Yeah.” I reached across the table and took her hand. “Thanks.”

  She gave my hand a quick squeeze. “You’re welcome. Now what’s going on?”

  I withdrew my hand and scrubbed my face. “Oh,” I said with a long sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t know—”

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning, dear?” Abby asked gently.

  Quickly I related all that had happened since I’d left for dinner with the Finches.

  “So do you think my dream was simply something out of my subconscious, too?” I asked.

  A thoughtful look crossed Abby’s face. “Could be.”

  I let out another sigh. A sigh of relief. “I’m so glad you agree with me.”

  “But…”

  Crap, why does there always have to be a “but”?

  “What about the book? What would trigger that appearing in your dreams?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you remember what the symbols were?”

  “I think so,” I said, trying to picture the book in my mind. “If you have a piece of paper, I think I could draw them.”

  A look of fear crossed Abby’s face. “No,” she said emphatically. “We don’t know what they are or what they mean. To draw them could invoke something we don’t know how to deal with.”

  “Oh come, Abby,” I scoffed. “Whatever they are, they’re just a bunch of lines put together.”

  “No,” she said with a quick shake of her head. “They’re symbols, and symbols have power.”

  My eyes narrowed as I watched her. “What kind of power?”

  “I don’t know. I suspect, based on what’s been happening to you, nothing good.”

  The weariness I’d been fighting overcame me, and I felt my body sag against the back of my chair.

  “Come on,” she said, standing. “Let’s get you to bed. We’re not going to solve anything tonight. Tomorrow’s soon enough.”

  She pulled me to my feet, and throwing an arm around my shoulders, escorted me to my room. Once there, she tucked me in as if I were a child. With a quick kiss on my forehead, she turned out the lights and left.

  I stared at the dark ceiling while I felt my eyelids grow heavy. Finally, my body relaxed and sleep called to me.

  Unfortunately, the last memory I had before my mind went into free fall was a pair of violet eyes.

  Dressed, but not quite ready to be sociable, I wandered to the kitchen and found Abby puttering around.

  Seeing me, she smiled and handed me a fresh cup of coffee. “Feeling better?”

  “Yeah, a little,” I said, taking a sip. “Where’s Darci?”

  “She had an errand to run, but should be back—” She stopped and cocked her head, listening.

  The sound of a boat motor rumbled from the lake below. A sound very close to the cabin.

  Abby opened the cabinet door and took out a small cooler. “Go put on your swimsuit while I get this ready,” she said, walking over to the refrigerator.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, shoving my hands in the pockets of my shorts.

  “Never mind. Get your suit on, and then take this down to the dock,” she said, pointing to the cooler.

  Quickly, I did what Abby had told me. And when I returned to the kitchen, she handed me the cooler without explanation.

  I opened my mouth, but she interrupted.

  “Go,” she said, shooing me toward the sliding glass doors.

  “Okay, okay,” I said over my shoulder, and left the cabin.

  Arriving at the top of the steps leading down to the lake, I saw a pontoon boat, tied to the dock. A woman stood on the deck, her hand shading her eyes, looking up at me.

  Blond hair, bikini top, wearing shorts—really short shorts. Darci.

  “Where did you get this?” I asked when I reached the dock.

  “I rented it. Come on, let’s go for a ride.” She moved behind the steering console and sat on the bench seat located at the rear of the boat. “I see Abby gave you the cooler,” she said as I stepped aboard.

  “You two have been plotting, haven’t you?” I asked.

  At the same time, Darci gunned the motor. With one hand to her ear, she shook her head, pretending she couldn’t hear me.

  Giving up, I set the cooler down and cast off the line. Slowly, the pontoon pulled away. Once the boat cleared the end of the dock, Darci swung the nose around and headed away from the shore.

  Without speaking, I sat on one of the bench seats and enjoyed the ride.

  The pontoon Darci had rented was about sixteen feet long and about twenty feet wide. Two bench seats stretched along both sides. In front, the deck extended out over the points of the aluminum pontoons, creating a swim platform, perfect for sunbathing.

  The pontoon rode the wakes created by the ski boats that whizzed by gracefully. Adjusting my steps to the rolling motion of the deck, I crossed to the back and took a place next to Darci.

  Couldn’t pretend not to hear me now.

 
; “I suppose you want to know about yesterday?” I asked.

  “No,” she replied without looking at me.

  “Last night?” I asked, my voice confused.

  “No.” She turned and looked at me. “Ophelia, sit back and relax.”

  “What’s in the cooler?”

  “Never mind. You’ll find out when we get there.” She didn’t take her eyes off the water.

  “Where’s that?”

  “Ophelia,” she said, lowering her sunglasses and staring at me. “Relax.”

  “I don’t know how anymore,” I muttered.

  “Try and remember.” She shoved her glasses higher up on her nose and put an end to conversation.

  A few minutes later an island appeared in the center of the lake. Darci turned the wheel and headed toward it. When we were about fifteen feet from the island, she cut the motor and the pontoon drifted to shore. She stood and threw the anchor overboard.

  “May I talk now?” I asked sarcastically.

  She smiled. “Yes. As long as it isn’t about spiders, books, magicians, or missing girls.”

  My eyes widened in surprise. “You really don’t want to know about yesterday?”

  “No, I don’t,” she said with emphasis. “Abby filled me in this morning.” Darci removed a bottle of suntan lotion from her bag, poured a generous amount in her hand, then tossed the bottle to me.

  I dumped some of the lotion in my palm and rubbed it on my legs. “Darci, this isn’t like you. You’re usually full of questions. What’s up?”

  She whirled, and taking off her sunglasses, gave me a fierce glare. “Have you taken a good look at yourself lately?”

  “Well, yeah,” I said, squirming on the seat. “Last night, when I was getting ready to go.”

  She put one hand on her hip. “And what did you see?”

  I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know. Same stuff as usual—two eyes, a nose, and a mouth.”