The Trouble With Witches (8 page)
"And if Brandi had been creating problems," Abby said quietly, "then she would've been either ostracized or punished. That's what you think happened, isn't it, Rick?"
His eyes traveled to Abby's face and his voice sounded weary. "I don't know."
"Hey, Delaney, don't worry about it," I said with more confidence that I felt. "We'll find her, won't we, Abby?"
Abby touched Rick's hand and smiled. "We'll do our best."
A flicker of a grin touched his face. "Thanks."
I picked up my fork and looked at Rick. "Okay, so does everyone live in the same house?"
"No. Here, let me show you."
I ate in silence while Rick laid his fork down and, taking a pen and a small notebook from his pocket, began to draw in it. "The main house is here," he said, making a large square in the center of the page. "From there the land slopes sharply down to the lake." He made a squiggly line to show the lakeshore. "A boathouse with sleeping quarters above the boat storage area sits right on the lakeshore." He drew another box. "Two cottages are located along the long lane that leads from the main road to the property." Two more boxes appeared on the page. "The whole place is surrounded on three sides by a very large chain-link fence." He finished by drawing three lines around the boxes.
"Wow," I said, studying his little map. "That sounds like quite a place."
"It is. It was built in the 1920s by a timber baron named Victor Butler. And according to the old-timers on the lake, he and his wife, Violet, threw some pretty elaborate parties there at one time, but they stopped after her brother, Fred Albert, came to live with them."
I raised my eyes to Rick's face. "I wonder why."
Rick picked up his fork and took a bite of his dinner.
"Don't know. Seems Fred Albert was a recluse who lived in one of the cottages on the estate. According to a couple of the people I talked to, he wasn't quite 'right.' "
"What does that mean?" I looked back down at the map.
"I don't know the answer to that question, either. It could mean he was physically or mentally challenged. Or—"
"Insane?" I said, finishing his sentence for him.
He nodded. "I did hear the word 'spooky' used in reference to the brother."
"The same word Brandi used to describe Jason Finch's foster daughter."
"Yeah," he said, and paused to take another bite. "One more thing," he said after swallowing. "It seems some believe the brother's still there."
"What? That's not possible, is it? If the brother was an adult in the twenties and thirties, he'd be a very, very old man by now."
Rick laid his fork down and pushed his plate away. "People have seen lights, from across the lake, bobbing in the woods around the cottages."
Abby, who had been silent until now, suddenly spoke. "His ghost—his spirit—wanders the estate."
I covered my face with my hands.
Great.
A missing girl, a cult, and now a ghost.
After Abby's little bombshell about a potential ghost, everyone's appetite disappeared. Rick paid the check and we left for the motel. On the way back he dropped his own little bombshell—we'd be on our own. He'd talked to too many people, asked too many questions during his visit to the lake, and would be remembered. If he came to the lake, it would have to be at night, or he would meet us somewhere nearby where he could be sure no one would recognize him.
I understood his concerns, but why did I feel we'd just been thrown to the wolves?
Late the next morning, we headed to
Queenie
, on the other hand, didn't appear excited at all. A series of pitiful yowls were emitted from the cat carrier I lugged in my arms.
Once settled in Abby's SUV, we headed north. As we drove, we saw fewer and fewer malls. Now, instead of parking lots and stores, the scenery consisted of pine and white birch. From my place behind the wheel, I could see the leaves of the birch shiver in the breeze. The leaves changed from green to silver, silver to green, as the wind twisted them on their narrow stems.
"Looks like rain," Abby said, watching the leaves.
I peered out the windshield at the cloudless sky. "I don't see any rain clouds."
"No, but do you see the leaves? See how they're twisted so their underside is facing the sky?"
"Yeah."
"Means it's going to rain," she said matter-of-factly. She rolled down her window, and after taking a deep breath of the pine-scented air, she released it slowly. As she did, I could feel the tension leave her body.
"I didn't realize you were so tense, Abby," I said, stealing a glance in her direction. "Is it Brandi?"
"A little, but most of the tension is from being in the city. They always do that to me. Once, a long time ago, your grandpa took me to St. Louis, and I couldn't wait to get home."
"You don't like cities?"
"Not really. They make me feel hemmed in.
All the people.
It's like I can't take a deep breath. And the earth—covered up with concrete. I can't feel its energy." She shifted in her seat to look at me. "What about you? Did you enjoy staying there?"
"Sort of.
Last night, when we were driving, I enjoyed the vibrancy I felt, the hum of all those busy people. But after a while, I experienced sensory overload. I had a hard time blocking out the random energy thrown my way." I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. "Umm, what do you think about the ghost of Violet Butler's brother?" I asked, changing the subject. "Think the stories could be true?"
"Of course they could be true. I've never seen a ghost, or even sensed one—it's not my gift—but I've told you before about your great-aunt Mary. She had the gift of communication with the spirits of the departed."
"Some gift," I scoffed.
"Seeing headless ghosts wandering around, carrying their detached body parts.
Great blobs of ectoplasm oozing out of a medium's nose and ears."
I shuddered. "No thank you. I'm having a hard enough time dealing with what I can do."
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Abby's smirk. "You watch too many movies. What your great-aunt Mary did was nothing like that. She said it was more a wisp of energy, a light touch on the shoulder, or a soft voice in her ear. And I don't ever recall blobs of ectoplasm running out her nose and ears. Although she did have a problem with allergies," she said in a teasing tone.
"Very funny."
My brows knitted together. "Seriously, what are we going to do if we run into a crazy ghost? I mean, if someone's crazy when they're alive, they're crazy when they're dead, too. It's only logical."
I did a mental head-slap. I'd just said "ghost" and "logic" in the same sentence. Not two terms usually hooked together.
Abby patted my arm. "Don't worry about it, dear. I'm not an expert when it comes to ghosts, but I do know they're usually tied to the earthly plain by some unfinished business."
"Like they're looking for something?"
"Yes, justice, a lost love, a treasured memento.
They don't usually harm the living—"
"Usually?"
I said, cutting her off.
She chuckled. "I told you not to worry about it. If we do run into anything unusual, we'll simply tell whoever, or whatever, to go away."
"And they'll listen?"
"Probably."
First "usually" and now "probably."
Too uncertain for me, and I didn't like it. "Abby, we don't need—"
"We'll deal with it, Ophelia," she said firmly. "One thing you do need to be aware of, if we would run into some type of spirit manifestation, don't ask it questions."
She didn't need to be concerned about any questions from me. I'd be too busy running.
"Tell the spirit to be gone in peace and love," she continued. "We don't want to invite anyone else in by talking to the spirit."
"What do you mean 'anyone else'?" My hands gripped the wheel.
"From what Great-Aunt Mary said, the presence can create sort of a crack between this world and the next. We don't want anything popping through that crack."
"Like a psychic nasty?" My hands tightened on the wheel.
"Yes. Most spirits are benign energy, but some aren't. They can be real tricksters."
Peachy—ornery ghosts.
"What if this Jason Finch is conducting séances and opening that crack a little wider?" I squinted at the road ahead.
She thought about it for a moment. "He could be. Séances could be a source of income for the group."
"Do you believe what Brandi told her mother about Jason making things disappear?"
"Humph," Abby said as she wiggled in her seat. "Sounds like stage magic to me."
Wait a second. "Stage magic?" This time I did smack myself on the forehead. I'd forgotten about that night with the runes and what I'd written on the piece of paper. It hadn't made any sense then. Did it now? Quickly, I told Abby about it.
"Automatic writing.
Interesting.
And the word was magic?
M-A-G-I-C, not M-A-G-I-C-K?"
"Yeah.
Without the K.
What do you suppose it means?"
"The K can be used to show the difference between folk
magick
and sleight of hand. But there is a debate on which spelling is correct. I don't know…" She paused, tapping her cheek thoughtfully. "…
yet
. It may be significant or not." She shrugged. "I'm sure the message will be revealed in the fullness of time."
Another problem I had with this psychic thing. According to Abby, the answers would come when they were supposed to, and not on my own, personal timetable.
And what about Brandi's timetable?
Would we find her before her time ran out?
Chapter Six
I learned when someone says a drive will take three
hours,
they aren't traveling with a cat and a dog. Lady and
Queenie
had visited every rest area between the