The Seventh Witch (14 page)

The rider placed both feet on the ground, his long legs balancing the heavy bike, and turned his head toward me. His helmet and visor blocked his face, but I recognized Ethan immediately.

“What do you want?” I asked.

Without lifting his visor, he handed me a helmet. “Hop on,” he said, his voice muffled.

I considered arguing, but the tension I saw in his shoulders made me reconsider. I put on the helmet and climbed on behind him. In an instant we were cruising down the gravel road, away from Lydia’s, the Aunts, and the Dorans.

It felt wonderful. The stress of the last few days fled in the rush of the wind tugging at me. I gripped Ethan’s waist tighter.

We rode down the valley and out onto a paved road. When Ethan goosed the gas, the bike bucked and we sped off down the ribbon of highway. The lines on the road flashed faster and faster beneath us, almost hypnotizing me. Free, I felt free, and I laughed with the joy of it.

I don’t know how long we rode in silence, but finally Ethan slowed the bike as he approached a small restaurant on our right. Turning into an almost empty parking lot, he drove the bike around to the back of the building and came
to a stop. After cutting the engine, he balanced it again, allowing me to climb off.

While I removed my helmet and fluffed my now flattened hair, he took off his own helmet and put the kickstand down.

I glanced nervously around the parking lot. “Isn’t this dangerous?”

“My driving?” he asked in mock surprise.

Handing him my helmet, I shook my head. “What if one of the Dorans sees us?”

“They won’t. They never come here, and the owner is a…friend.”

There was something funny about the way he said “friend.”

“A friend or a snitch?”

“Never mind,” he said with a chuckle as he led me toward the back door.

He knocked twice and a big, burly man wearing a dingy apron answered.

“Jack?” the man said, his voice full of surprise. “What are you doing here?” He quickly reached out a beefy hand and drew us inside, locking the door behind us. “And who’s she?” He eyed me suspiciously.

Ethan smacked him playfully on the shoulder. “She’s okay. She’s one of us. We need a quiet place to talk. Where we wouldn’t be interrupted.” He motioned to a door on the left. “Is the meeting room free?”

“Ah, yeah,” he replied, shambling ahead of us. “You want something to eat?” he called back to us.

“That’d be great, Barney,” Ethan replied.

As we followed, I leaned close to Ethan. “I presume
you’re
‘Jack’?” I asked softly.

“This time I am,” he whispered back. “Try to remember to call me by the right name, okay, Jensen?”

This time?
I shook my head. All this cloak and dagger stuff. I paused as a thought hit me: Was
Ethan
his real name?

Catching my hesitation, he looked at me and smiled. “Don’t worry, Jensen,” he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth. “I
am
‘Ethan,’ but only when we’re alone.”

My brows knitted together. “You’ve had so many names,” I said, keeping my voice low. “How do you keep it all straight?”

Taking my arm, he chuckled as he guided me down the hall. “Easy…since my life can depend on it.”

But with me, he used his real name. He trusted me enough to do that.
A warm glow spread over me at the thought.

Before Barney left us alone in the little room, Ethan ordered the special and two Bud Lights. Surprised, I glanced up at him as he held my chair. “You remembered what I drink,” I stated.

“Of course I do,” he said as he took a place across the small table from me. “I remember a lot of things about you, Jensen. For example…” He paused and his eyes narrowed. “…your habit of letting your mouth get ahead of your brain.”

Uh-oh, here it comes.
I glanced up at a spot on the stained ceiling.

“What did you think you were doing facing off with Sharon like that?” His voice quivered with a hint of anger.

Barney, shuffling into the room with our beers, saved me from answering right away. But I should’ve known that it would take more than a measly beer to distract Ethan, or Jack, or Cobra, or whatever other alias he wanted me to use.

He leaned forward, and I tried to look innocent, but it didn’t work. “Well?” he said, crossing his arms on the table, his gray eyes drilling into mine.

Quickly I explained why I’d confronted Sharon.

“That thing you were waving around in front of Sharon’s nose is called a poppet? And she’s using it to try and kill Abby?”

“She’s giving it her best shot,” I answered, watching him closely.

I didn’t see amusement or doubt in his gray eyes, only puzzlement.

“Can someone do that?” he asked.

Sliding my finger down the side of my beer, I shrugged. “I don’t know, but Abby believes it’s possible. She thinks Granny Doran used one to kill Annie, her mother.”

Ethan sat back. “You’re kidding?”

“No, I’m not…I know this all sounds really weird, but—” I turned my head while I debated whether I should tell him about Oscar Nelson. Would he laugh at me?

Decision made, I faced him. “My cousin, Lydia, believes Sharon used a poppet to kill Oscar Nelson,” I blurted out, and waited for his reaction.

“I thought he died of a stomach hemorrhage.”

“According to Lydia, it was brought about by a nail stuck through a likeness of him.”

He tugged on the corner of his mouth before speaking. “You know that wouldn’t stand up in court,” he replied evenly.

“Of course I do,” I said, irritation creeping into my voice. “What I want to know is whether or not you believe me?”

“That Sharon would harm Abby?” His lip curled in disgust. “You bet I believe it,” he said with passion. “She hates your family, but is she using magick?” Rubbing his chin, his face became thoughtful. “It wouldn’t surprise me—I’ve been here long enough to know her reputation—I know everyone believes she’s a witch. Hell, the love spell thing made my blood run cold.” He stopped and took a long swig of his beer. “Even her own family’s scared of her.”

“Well, then,” I said, sitting back and crossing my arms, “you understand now why I had to confront her.”

He placed his bottle on the table. “No, I don’t.”

I scooted forward. “Ethan—”

“Jack,” he corrected me with a grin.

I waved a hand at him. “Whatever…my family believes, I believe,” I insisted, “in magick. I know what it can do when
someone misuses the power. I can’t let Sharon get away with working her spells against my grandmother.”

“Can’t you do some kind of counterspell?”

“I have…we have, but she’s done other things, too.”

I explained to him about the snake coiled under Abby’s bed. At the end of my story, he just sat shaking his head.

“I don’t care what you think,” I huffed. “She snuck that snake in the house…I know she did.”

He held up both hands. “I’m not saying you’re wrong,” he replied defensively. “I’m confused, that’s all.”

“About what?” I shot back.

His eyes narrowed as he traced an invisible line across the table. “Think about it, Jensen. Why would she risk planting the rattler in the bedroom? She could’ve been caught.”

My forehead wrinkled. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“Remember when you threatened me with a case of boils?”

“Yes.” I felt a blush creep up my neck and I shook my head. “I really wouldn’t have done that.”

“But if you had, would I have gotten boils?”

“You bet, slick,” I replied with a glint in my eye.

“Why?”

I leaned back in my chair. “’Cause I’m good, that’s why.”

“Then if Sharon’s good, why didn’t she just cast the spell, knowing it would work, and let it go at that? Why put the snake in your room?”

“Because she wanted to make sure Abby—or one of us—were hurt,” I said, stating the obvious.

“Do you follow through with your spells?”

“I don’t need to,” I replied, a little insulted that he questioned my ability.

Wait, he wasn’t questioning mine—he was questioning Sharon’s.

Amazed, I stared at him. “She hid the snake because she
didn’t know if the spell would work,” I cried. “You think she’s a fake, don’t you?”

On the ride home our conversation replayed in my head while I huddled behind Ethan’s body. I’d never questioned that Sharon’s abilities were lacking. Everyone said she was a witch so I took it to be true. Ethan’s questions opened all kinds of possibilities. I knew she wasn’t psychic, but you don’t have to be a psychic, or a medium, or talk to fairies in order to practice magick.

However, you do have to believe in the power of magick in order for your spells to work. If you carry even the slightest niggle of doubt, your spell can fail. So was Sharon’s witchery all an act? An act she used to intimidate the community around her? Was she using fear and happenstance to validate her reputation?

The young girl who visited Aunt Dot, convinced that Sharon placed a curse on her, had certainly been afraid. Had the girl really had a black cloud following her, or was it her own guilt over trying to manipulate another that weighed her down? And Oscar—what about him? Had it been a fluke that his stomach ailment caused his death just when Sharon had made the poppet?

Right now all I had were questions.

Ethan stopped down the road from the Aunts. It wouldn’t do for me to come tearing up the road with a stranger, like some teenager who’d picked up a guy at a dance.

“I’ll walk you as far as the barn,” he said, taking the helmets and strapping them to the handlebars.

“You don’t need to,” I protested.

He gave my arm a tug. “I want to make sure you get inside.”

With a shrug, I let him pull me down the lane toward the barn. We stopped in its shadow.

Lights blazed from the Aunts’ windows and I could see the flickering of the TV set. Boy, I sure hoped that they’d assumed I was staying at Lydia’s. I didn’t want to have to explain to them where I’d been.

“I’d better get inside,” I said with a slight dip of my head. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Any time, Jensen,” he replied with a touch of humor in his voice.

Raising my head, I looked up at him and gave the collar of his jacket a playful yank. “Be careful, will you?”

In the faint light, I saw his face grow serious. “If you do the same.”

“I’m always careful.”

He gave a soft snort. “No, you’re not. You rush in where others fear to tread.”

“I do not,” I answered with a lift of my chin.

“Yes, you do,” he said, and placed his hands on my shoulders. “And although I don’t like seeing you in danger, I do admire your courage.”

My eyes flew wide in surprise. A compliment from Ethan? Suddenly shy, I looked quickly down at the ground. “I’m not brave, not really.”

His hand lifted my chin until our eyes met. “You’re also argumentative, but I can live with that.”

“Um, well, ah—” I stuttered, unnerved by his close proximity.

He didn’t seem to notice my nervousness. “I have a question,” he said softly. “You said you’d never do a love spell. Why?”

“I told you, it’s wrong,” I mumbled.

“Have you ever been tempted?”

“No.”

“You said your spells don’t fail,” he persisted. “If you cast one on me, do you think it would work?”

“I’d never do that,” I answered, squirming a little.

“But if you did?”

Okay, I got it…his questions were just another one of his jokes. Well, I could dish it out, too. I squared my shoulders and stood tall, shoving my nerves aside.

“You were worried about Sharon’s spells?” I said, arching an eyebrow and looking him straight in the eyes. “Ha—my
family history goes back over a hundred years.” I gave him a poke in the chest. “If I decided to cast a spell on you, you’d find yourself standing in front of a preacher, slick.”

He caught my hand in his and pulled me closer. “Really? Now that’s an interesting thought,” he murmured as he lowered his head toward mine.

At the touch of his mouth on my lips, every nerve in my body flamed. I literally fell into him and his kiss. His arms came around my waist and I felt myself lifted off my feet while my arms wrapped around his neck. The heat of his body seemed to reach out and consume me. I heard a groan, but I didn’t know if it was me or him.

I don’t know what would’ve happened next if the screen door hadn’t suddenly slammed open. Ethan set me on my feet and pulled me deeper into the shadows as we watched Aunt Dot sling a basin of wash water onto the ground.

An uncomfortable silence followed.

I broke it first. “Ah, gee, that was, ah, unexpected,” I finished lamely.

I sensed rather than saw his smile. Taking a step closer, he bent his head close to mine. “Not really, Jensen,” he whispered in my ear. “Someday a time will come when I’m not pretending to be someone else, and you’re not tripping over bodies.” He stepped away from me. “We’ll see how ‘unexpected’ it is then.”

With a salute, he turned and sauntered down the road, leaving me standing there stunned.

When I entered the house, I was relieved to see that Great-Aunt Mary had retired for the night. Aunt Dot sat in her recliner, already snoring softly, with her crocheting lying in a ball in her lap, and Abby was curled on the couch, staring mindlessly at the TV.

Turning at the sound of the door opening, she looked over her shoulder and gave me an old familiar smile as I came into the room. I hesitated and placed a hand on my cheek. Was my face flushed? Would she pick up on what had just happened with Ethan? Brother, I hoped not.

I crossed the room and joined her on the couch. Her hair lay in a thick coil over her shoulder and I could see that she had rebraided it. She had also changed into a different pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt. Both were very good signs that our crisis had passed. She still looked a little pinched around the lips, but her color was good. She definitely looked more like the old Abby. I let out a sigh of relief.

“You look much better,” I said as I placed a hand on her knee.

Putting her hand on mine, she smiled again. “I am. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Forget it,” I said, giving her knee a light squeeze. “As long as you’re okay…that’s all I care about.”

She took her hand away while her eyes drifted toward
the TV. “I never wanted you to know. I never wanted to lose your—”

“Stop,” I said, holding up my hand. “You haven’t lost a thing. Nothing could change the way I feel about you, Abby.”

Her eyes met mine, and I saw the glimmer of fear hiding in them fade. “In a way, I’m relieved that this is all out in the open now. It’s like a great weight has been lifted.”

“Has it been eating at you all these years?”

“At times.” She lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “Shortly after old man Doran died, your grandfather came to the mountains—”

“Did you ever tell Grandpa about the attack?”

“Of course I did. Right after he proposed to me. I couldn’t marry him without being honest.” A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “I thought he’d run, but he didn’t. He was like you, he didn’t believe that my curse had killed the old man.”

“Ha,” I said, “I always knew Grandpa was smart.”

“Yes, he was,” she replied fondly. “After we married and moved to Iowa, I wasn’t constantly reminded of the Dorans and the memory and the guilt eased,” she continued. “When your mother was born and it was obvious that she hadn’t inherited the gift, I saw it as retribution for what I’d done. I accepted that my legacy would end with me and made what peace I could.” Leaning forward, she laid a hand on my cheek. “Then you were born…From the moment you opened your little eyes and looked up at me, I saw the gift burning bright in them. You were my symbol of forgiveness, and I made pledge never to allow you to make the same mistake that I had.”

“And when I denied my gift after Brian’s death…” I felt my eyes fill with tears and my throat clogged. “I never understood how much that must’ve hurt—”

“My dear child,” she said, stroking my cheek, “it was a lesson that you had to learn.” She dropped her hand and gave me a comforting smile. “We’ve both had hard lessons, haven’t we?”

Swallowing hard, I wiped my eyes. “Yeah.” I leaned the back of my neck against the couch. “So what do we do now?” I asked, rolling my head to the side and looking at her.

Her smile faded while the old fire sprang back into her eyes. “Stop Sharon.”

I don’t know if it was the conversation with Abby or the incident with Ethan that caused it, but I couldn’t sleep. I tried, I really did. I fluffed my pillow; I rearranged the blankets; I scooted up in the bed; I scooted down in the bed. Nothing worked. My mind would jump from Ethan to Abby and then back again. I could
not
focus.

The easiest thing would have been to simply ride out the rest of our visit. Use combined magick to protect Abby—that is, if Great-Aunt Mary deigned to let me be involved—then go home. I doubted Sharon had enough oomph to cast a spell that would carry from North Carolina to Iowa.

By the end of our talk, Abby seemed determined to stop Sharon. And I shared her feelings. If we didn’t do something, Sharon would be left to continue as she always had: misuse magick to spread fear throughout the valley. Only one problem—Abby would never agree to giving Sharon a dose of her own medicine, she wouldn’t allow us to use our talent against her.

So how did one stop a witch? Was there a spell I could cast that would strip her of her abilities? Did she even have ability? Ethan suspected she was a fake.

Ethan.
When he brought the Dorans to justice, which I was convinced he would, would Sharon also get caught in his net? A nice long prison term for the manufacture and distribution of an illegal substance would end her reign of terror in this valley. But what if she put a curse on him? Even if I didn’t believe that she could kill him with magick, she could bring him bad luck. And in his line of work, that could be just as fatal.

I rolled over onto my side and stared at the alarm clock. Sighing, thoughts of Ethan brought back memories
of his kiss. I was surprised at the strength of my reaction. Not a prude by any means, I still didn’t launch myself at men as I had him. I felt the heat infuse my cheeks at the memory.

And how should I take his last remark…the one about the future? Was it a threat or a promise? Which did I want it to be?

Flipping onto my back, I looked up at the ceiling. I’d worked hard to balance my life. My job, motherhood, exploring my gifts, all required a lot of time, patience, and energy. Would Ethan just complicate my life that much more? Was that how Great-Aunt Mary had viewed romance? A complication?

Jeez, Jensen, why had Great-Aunt Mary popped up in the little chat I was having with myself? I winced at the comparison between me and her, even though I was the one making it.

I needed Darci. She had far more experience in matters of the heart than I did, and she could help me reason this all out.

But thanks to the crappy cell phone reception in the mountains, I couldn’t even call her.

My eyes flared open in the darkness. If I talked Mom, Abby, and Tink into taking a shopping trip into Asheville, I bet I could get reception. Lydia would probably take us if I asked her.

“Great idea,” I whispered to myself, fluttering my feet under the quilt.

With a contented sigh, I flipped onto my stomach and finally slept.

I pitched my idea the next morning at breakfast. Great-Aunt Mary huffed about running off into town, wasting gas, blah, blah, blah. I ignored her and kept my mouth shut. She may have been happy spending most of her hundred years hemmed in by these mountains, but they were beginning to make me feel claustrophobic. I needed some space, from not
only the mountains, but all the problems that seemed to be facing us. The jaunt with Ethan on his bike had helped, but it hadn’t lasted long enough for me to gain perspective. A day spent away from this place would.

And I’d have a chance to call Darci.

Lydia and Mom quickly agreed, and soon the five of us were heading toward Asheville.

Lydia was the perfect tour guide. She pointed out places of interest along the way and stopped at a couple of the scenic views. We hopped out of her SUV and snapped several photos—Tink, Mom, Lydia, and Abby with their arms linked, standing against the backdrop of the fall-colored mountains; Tink and me making silly faces; Mom and Tink posed like movie stars against a rock wall. And one that I knew would be my favorite: Mom, Abby, Tink, and I smiling happily into the camera as if we didn’t have a care in the world. A moment to savor.

When we arrived at downtown Asheville, we wandered down the broad sidewalks, passed street performers—a juggler dressed in outlandish colors tossing brightly colored pins into the air, a guy with dreadlocks and an open guitar case, sitting on the sidewalk and playing music. We admired dusky pottery and gleaming glassware displayed in the shop windows. We drifted into art galleries and looked over paintings done by local artists.

But the best was when we strayed into one of the many New Age shops. I watched as Abby’s eyes roamed the collection of crystals, pentagrams, incense, and books about magick and witchcraft. Her eyes stopped when they landed on the young woman behind the counter.

She was dressed in a long flowing robe and her flat black hair had broad streaks of blond around her face. She looked at the five of us with eyes heavily rimmed in black above lips painted bright red. A large silver pentagram hung on a chain around her neck.

Abby leaned her head close to mine. “Is she supposed to be a witch?” she whispered.

“Different strokes, Abby, different strokes,” I said with a chuckle.

After purchasing a few crystals and some incense, we left the shop. Once on the sidewalk, we agreed to split up. Tink would go off with Mom, while Lydia and I went with Abby to a small café for tea. After spending a day in bed, Abby needed to take things easy. We’d meet up at one for lunch at the Grove Arcade, a historic building containing restaurants, boutiques, and galleries.

I wondered at the wisdom of letting Tink go shopping with Mom, so I drew my mother aside.

“Listen, Mom, Tink has her own money for souvenirs. Don’t let her con you into giving her more,” I lectured.

Mom’s eyebrows arched. “I guess I can give my granddaughter money if I want,” she informed me.

All righty then
. Shaking my head, I walked back to Abby and Lydia, while Tink and Mom took off down the street, giggling and whispering together.