The Seventh Witch (16 page)

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.

I continued toward him, and when he heard my approach, he suddenly raised his head and thumped it on the hood.

“Ouch.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Ah, that’s okay,” he replied with a rueful grin as he rubbed the back of his head. “Mama always said it’s so hard nothin’ can hurt it. Can I help you, ma’am?”

“I’m Lydia Wiley’s cousin, Ophelia Jensen.”

“I remember you from yesterday.” He wiped a grimy
hand on his jeans and held it out. “How do, Miz Jensen—Billy Parnell.”

Shaking his hand, I replied, “Nice to meet you, Billy.”

“What can I do for you?” he asked, leaning back against the front of his car.

“Umm, I seem to be missing the lipstick that my daughter gave me for Christmas,” I said, repeating the same lie I’d told the men inside. “I was wondering if you might have found it lying on the ground after we left.”

His face scrunched up in a frown as he thought about it. “No, ma’am, I sure didn’t.”

“Darn,” I sighed, feigning disappointment over the imaginary lipstick. “That was my favorite.”

“I’m sure sorry.”

I gave Billy a big smile. “I know it sounds silly, to be so upset over a tube of lipstick, but you know how it is with women, you have a girlfriend—”

“I don’t have no girlfriend,” he said, breaking in.

“You don’t?” I asked with mock surprise.

“No, ma’am, but I got five sisters.”

“Ahh, well then,” I said with a laugh, “you understand women.”

He shook his head vigorously. “No, ma’am, I don’t, not a’tall.”

I let my laughter die. “That’s hard to believe,” I mused. “It’s also hard to believe that a nice young man like you isn’t courting some lucky young girl.”

He looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet. “I aim to spark a girl, but she don’t seem too interested.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Billy,” I said with a comforting tone in my voice. “Great-Aunt Mary’s always said there’s more fish in the sea.”

I’d never heard Great-Aunt Mary say that or anything like it, but he didn’t know that. And throwing in Great-Aunt Mary’s name couldn’t hurt.

He raised his head and his face lit up. “That’s right…y’all are related to Miz Mary and Miz Dot.”

I nodded.

He looked down again. “Maybe I should go see them,” he mumbled, then brought his eyes up to my face. “You think one of them might help me win my girl?”

“I don’t know,” I replied hesitantly. “What seems to be the problem?”

“She don’t want nothin’ to do with me is the problem,” he said, his lips turning downward. “I can’t figure it out…ever since we was kids, she’s been hangin’ ’round, but now…” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I thought it’d be easy, ’specially after what that witch said—” His mouth snapped shut and he turned back around to his car.

Now I was getting somewhere. I stepped closer. “What did the witch say, Billy?”

“Nothin’,” he answered, picking up a wrench and tightening a cap.

“Did Sharon Doran talk to you about your girl?” I persisted.

“I’m not supposed to say anything,” he muttered.

After crossing the space between us, I leaned against the car. “It’s okay…you can tell me. I’m a witch, too,” I finished with a wink.

A stubborn frown tightened his mouth. “She said I’d better not tell.”

Frustrated, I shoved my hands in my pockets. My fingers touched the small stone I’d found at Lydia’s. Drawing it out, I stared at it lying in the center of my palm. It might work.

I closed my eyes and felt the earth’s energy beneath my feet. Gripping the stone tightly, I envisioned that energy traveling through my body and into the stone. I saw it form a protective net around anyone who held it. When I was finished, I opened my hand and held it out to Billy.

“What?” he asked, his eyes moving from the stone to my face.

“Take it,” I said, shoving my hand toward him.

His eyes narrowed as he studied me. “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

“I put a spell on it. The stone will protect you…um, well, in case anyone gets mad at you.”

“Wow.” His eyes opened wide. “Thanks,” he said, slipping the stone in his pocket.

“Now will you tell me what Sharon said?”

He hesitated. “Are you sure the spell will work? I don’t wanna come against the wrong side of that woman,” he declared.

“Come on, Billy,” I said reasonably. “You’ve lived around my family all of your life. Have you ever known one of our spells
not
working?”

“No, ma’am,” he said, lowering his chin.

I could see the fight going on inside of him. On the one hand, he wanted to unburden himself, but on the other, he was still intimidated by Sharon. Finally, he nodded and gave in.

“She told me Cecilia was my soul mate. She said everything I’ve ever wanted would be mine. As long as I had Cecilia. I could get out of these mountains. Live in the city.” The words rushed out. “I’d have money. A nice car. A good job—”

“Whoa,” I said, holding up a hand. “All this will happen if you marry Cecilia?”

“Yeah.” He gave a vigorous nod, sending a shock of dark hair over his eyes. He brushed it back. “And I’ve been tryin’, tryin’ real hard, but that Cecilia doesn’t want to cooperate.”

“And making your dreams come true doesn’t require any effort on your part?”

“Nope, just Cecilia.” He cocked his head and gazed at me. “Isn’t that what magick’s all about, gettin’ what you wish for?”

I hated to burst his little bubble, but this kid needed to wise up.

“No, that’s not what it’s all about,” I said, rolling my eyes. “What we want isn’t always what’s best for us, and true magick doesn’t hand us all our wishes on a silver platter. It’s about getting what we need to be better people and helping others.”

His face fell. “You mean to tell me I been chasin’ around after her, makin’ a danged fool of myself for nothin’?”

I laid a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, but, ah,
yeah
.”

“Shoot!” he exclaimed, tossing the wrench on the ground. “She lied to me.”

“Yes she did, but I wouldn’t go spreading it around if I were you.” I dropped my hand and moved away from the car. “And I think it would be best if you steered clear of her for a while.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” he said emphatically, “I’m staying away from her
and
Cecilia Kavanagh.”

“Oh, and Billy,” I called over my shoulder as I walked away. “If you want your dreams to come true—get an education.”

“Yes,” I said aloud, pumping a fist in the air. “Ophelia Jensen…have spells, will travel.” I literally skipped down the gravel road.

With Billy convinced that the protective charm I’d given him would guard him from Sharon’s anger, he’d told me exactly what I needed to know. She didn’t believe in her own love spell, so she made it appear that it worked by manipulating poor Billy. He hadn’t been bewitched, just stupid. And unfortunately, I didn’t have a spell for that one.

I had a strong suspicion Sharon’s true talent was for trickery, not magick. I couldn’t wait to tell Abby. If we could destroy her reputation as a witch, it would strip her of the power she seemed to hold in the valley. But I needed more. How many other people had she conned? What had Darci suggested? Find out who, when, and where?

And who better to interrogate than Cousin Lydia? Cutting across the yard, I started jogging.

As I neared the house, I caught Lydia coming out the side door and waved her down.

“Hey,” I hollered. “Where are you going?”

“Up the mountain to the Jessups’. I’m taking Mrs. Jessup some Gilly Bud salve for her arthritis,” she called back.

I hurried over to her, puffing and panting. “May I ride along?”

Lydia gave me a broad smile as she rummaged around in her bag for her keys. “’Course you may, darlin’.”

Looking over her shoulder, she slapped her leg and whistled. A black streak darted from behind the house and headed toward the SUV. Jasper slid to a stop at Lydia’s side, and with his long, pink tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth, watched her with expectation.

“Jasper goes with you?”

“You bet,” she said, giving the dog a fond look and opening the back door.

Jasper didn’t need to be told what was expected of him. He jumped in and circled twice before settling down on a blanket in the backseat.

Smiling, I joined Lydia and Jasper, and off we went. We bounced along the road, driving up the valley, past the Aunts’, Oscar Nelson’s homestead, the Doran place. When we drove by the Dorans’, my eyes were automatically drawn
toward the ramshackle house, and I couldn’t help wondering how Ethan fared. Was he any closer to bringing his investigation to a close? Was he okay?

With a sideways glance, Lydia caught the anxiety on my face and misread the cause. A slight wrinkle gathered between her eyebrows, but she didn’t ask any questions.

I suddenly felt bad about my intentions. Cousin Lydia was a kind, gentle woman. She probably assumed that I’d wanted to accompany her to learn more about mountain magick. She’d never suspect that I intended to grill her about the Dorans. Like everyone else in the valley, she preferred not to talk about them, and she wasn’t going to appreciate my questions. But it couldn’t be helped—I needed information and she was my best bet. But I wouldn’t do it now. I’d wait until we were on our way back.

As we climbed out of the valley and up into the mountains, the gravel road narrowed and changed into more of a path than a road. Deep ruts marked the tire tracks, but the view from the passenger side was spectacular. The mountains, with their fall foliage, looked like someone had taken a brush and dabbed the slopes with bright swatches of yellow, red, orange, and green.

Yup, the view was great…just as long as I didn’t look down. The narrow trail didn’t have much of a shoulder, and I couldn’t imagine traveling this in bad weather. A hard rain would reduce the dirt path to slippery mud. And without a shoulder…

“Do you travel this way often?” I asked, alarmed at the thought of Lydia out here alone.

“If I’m needed,” she replied lightly.

“Don’t you worry about driving these roads?”

“No,” she answered, her voice calm as she concentrated on staying on the path. “If it’s too nasty, Mac goes with me. I’m careful, and I have faith that all will be well.”

The more I got to know Lydia, the more I admired her. She was so balanced, like a younger version of Abby. My eyes slid back to the window and the view. Now I felt re
ally guilty about interrogating her, but I had no choice. I had to learn more about Sharon. Pushing away my thoughts, I glanced back at the dog.

“Jasper seems to have adjusted.”

At hearing his name, his tail thumped the seat.

With a smile, Lydia took a quick look in rearview mirror. “He’s a good dog, and I don’t think he had much of a life living with Oscar. He loves going for car rides. Don’t you, boy?”

At her words, I saw Jasper lift his head while his tail beat a faster rhythm on the car seat.

After giving him a scratch behind his ears, I turned back to Lydia. “You said you’re taking ‘Gilly Bud’ salve? I don’t think I’ve ever heard Abby mention that one.”

“I’m sure she knows of it—it’s one of Annie’s remedies.” Her hands gripped the wheel tighter as a bump jarred the SUV. “Balm of Gilead?”

“Oh yeah,” I replied with a nod. “I’ve heard of that.”

“I don’t know how y’all make it in Iowa, but around here we take buds from the black poplar and boil them in olive oil.” She jerked her head toward a stand of trees in the distance. “After it’s strained, we mix it with beeswax. It’s very soothing to inflamed joints.”

We hit another bump, and I gripped the bar above the door to steady myself. “How long have you been a healer?”

“Probably for as long as you’ve been a psychic,” she replied with a grin.

I shot her a wry look. “All of your life, just like me.”

She nodded.

“The gift skipped Mom. How about yours? Was she gifted?”

“Yes, she was a weather witch like Flora,” she said, referring to our joint ancestor.

“Aunt Dot told me a little about her. Could she cause it to rain like Flora did?”

“She surely could.” Lydia chuckled. “But she didn’t do
it very often. She never knew if it would be a sprinkle or a deluge.”

I laughed. “Hard to control, huh?”

“That it was. She mainly used her gift to predict the best times for planting and harvesting, if it would be a hard winter, that kind of thing.” She smiled proudly. “Her advice helped many around here get through some tough times.” Giving me a quick glance and her smile broadened. “And when Mama said a storm was coming, you’d better head for the cellar.”

“What a handy gift to have,” I said a little wistfully.

“Better than being a psychic?”

I lifted a shoulder in a shrug and said nothing.

“We all have our own gifts, darlin’.” Her voice was soft and comforting. “Each carries with it the good and the bad. Mama may have been a witch who could predict the weather, but she couldn’t stop the destruction caused by a bad storm tearing through the valley. It made her feel helpless, and it hurt.”

“Like when you know someone is beyond your gift of healing?”

“Yes, and when you see a future full of pain.”

“Or a past,” I said in a low voice, thinking of Abby.

We’d reached the end of the path and Lydia pulled over into a yard. Rolling to a slow stop, she shut off the SUV and turned toward me. “If you could give away your gift right this instant, would you?” she asked abruptly.

Her question took me off guard. Would I? There’d been many a time when I bitched and complained about my heritage, but without it, who would I be? And to be honest, deep down inside I kind of liked me, warts and all.

I shook my head. “No, Lydia, I wouldn’t.”

“Me either,” she said with a grin. “Come on, let’s go get Mrs. Jessup fixed up.”

With that, we both got out of the SUV, and leaving Jasper staring out the window after us, walked up a tidy brick path to a small cottage surrounded by fall mums. Lydia knocked
on the door, and after a minute or two it was opened by a woman stooped with arthritis. As she greeted us and drew us inside, I noticed her swollen hands and twisted fingers.

But it was her face that surprised me. I had expected someone as old as Aunt Dot or Great-Aunt Mary, but she wasn’t. She was closer to Abby in age.

After introductions were made, I followed Lydia and Mrs. Jessup into the living room. I took a seat in one of the threadbare armchairs while Lydia and Mrs. Jessup sat on the couch.

Lydia opened her bag and removed a small jar of yellow salve. When she unscrewed the top, the sweet smell of lavender filled the room. Her eyelids drifted shut and she fingered her amulet. As she did, a shimmering green haze seemed to emanate from the center of her chest. The haze strengthened until it encompassed Mrs. Jessup.

Did Mrs. Jessup see it, too? Maybe not, but as it surrounded her, she visibly relaxed. With a sigh, she leaned back against the couch while Lydia, her eyes open now, settled one of Mrs. Jessup’s gnarled hands in her lap.

Lydia took a small scoop of the salve and began to massage one of the woman’s twisted hands, murmuring softly.

I felt myself relax, too, listening to her quiet voice, and again was amazed at her talent.

When she finished with one hand, she repeated the process on the other. Never rushing, taking all the time she needed to smooth and stroke each joint, each finger.

I knew women who would pay an outrageous price to have the same thing done for them—women who didn’t suffer like Mrs. Jessup did. And if Lydia chose to take her gift to the city, she would be a rich woman. But I had a feeling she already knew that. Instead, it was apparent that she’d made her choice to stay here and help those who needed her.

Yup, my cousin was one admirable lady. And I was probably going to make her mad enough never to speak to me again. Great.

Lydia patted Mrs. Jessup’s knee. “How do your hands feel now, Hazel?”

Opening and closing her hands, Mrs. Jessup smiled. “So much better,” she sighed.

“Good,” Lydia said, screwing the cap back on the jar and handing it to her. “Have Missy give you a massage at least once a day, all right?”

“I surely will.” She focused on the jar in her hands. “Ah—”

Lydia rose and gave her a look filled with kindness. “It’s fine, Hazel.”

Still focused on the jar, Mrs. Jessup shook her head. “I don’t like being beholden.”

“You’re not. We still have plenty of the salt pork that you gave me the last time I visited.”

“You sure?” she asked skeptically.

“Yes,” Lydia said as she helped Mrs. Jessup to her feet.

“Y’all at least stay for coffee? I’ve sweet rolls.”

“Hazel,” Lydia declared, “I’d never pass up some of your cooking, but let us help.”

A short time later the rolls and coffee, in gray granite-ware cups, sat on the table.

Each bite of my roll, gooey with melted brown sugar and butter, seemed to dissolve in my mouth, and I fought the urge to smack my lips. Folks in these mountains might not have much, but they sure made good use of what they had. One couldn’t find tastier food in a five star restaurant.

I was curious about the salve Lydia had used. “You put lavender in the Balm of Gilead?” I asked between bites.

Lydia grinned and nodded. “Yes, and your father doesn’t care for it one bit,” she said with a laugh. “He said it made him smell like a perfume factory.”

“Your father has arthritis, Ophelia?” Mrs. Jessup asked.

“No, but he took a tumble in the woods and sprained his foot.” I jerked my head in Lydia’s direction. “Lydia’s been nursing him.”

“What a pity,” Mrs. Jessup commented. “Where did he fall?”

“In the clearing north of the Aunts’,” I replied.

Her eyes widened and darted toward Lydia. “But nobody—” She broke off. “Have another roll?” she asked, scooting the plate toward me.

No, but some answers to my questions would be nice, I thought.

After letting Jasper out to take care of any necessary business, we drove back down the mountain path. I remained silent. Inside, I stewed about how to bring up the subject of Sharon Doran to Lydia. I truly did not want to make her angry. Finally, she broke the silence.

“So what do you want to know about Sharon?” she asked with a lift of her eyebrow.

My cousin was not only admirable…she was smart.