The Trouble With Witches (29 page)

The next day my morning ritual changed—Abby was up and in my spot on the deck. I had to make a choice. Do I announce the news of Rick's engagement or not? Not, I decided. The news was his to tell, and with so much going on, I didn't want to be in a position where I had to reassure both Abby and
Darci
that my heart wasn't broken.

I plastered a smile on my face. "What are you doing up so early?" I asked, sliding the doors closed and joining her on the deck.

The shirt she wore over her jeans looked rumpled, and her hair was haphazardly twisted in a loose coil at the back of her head. When she glanced over her shoulder, I saw the effects of a troubled sleep on her face.

"Abby," I said, crossing swiftly to where she stood. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."
She gave me a weak smile. "I stayed up too late reading about psychic attacks."

"That's in your journals?" I was surprised; some of those journals were over sixty years old, and I didn't think they covered such things.

"The journals refer to what's happening to you as
hauntings
, evil spirits, and demon possession, that kind of thing."

Demon possession?
Wonderful.

Abby noticed my expression and grinned. "Don't worry; the journals contain arts and remedies to deal with the problem."

I'd read some of those old remedies, and some recommended burnt feathers and chicken feet.

I gave her a skeptical look. "We're not going to do anything bizarre, are we? No chicken feathers?"

"No, dear," she said, her voice reassuring. "No animal parts.
Just the usual—herbs, candles, and crystals.
Maybe a few intentions written on a piece of paper."
She sighed. "I wish I knew the origin of what's going on."

I scowled. "We're back to that 'human versus nonhuman' thing, aren't we?"

"We could be dealing with both. It could be someone is using the negative energy, the negative entity, around the cabin and directing it toward you—"

I cut her off, "Someone ill-wishing and using the bad energy to give the spell a little extra punch?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes, and if that's the case, it would be helpful if I knew who's responsible."

"I know,"
Darci
said, stepping out onto the deck.

Abby and I turned in unison and said at the same time, "Who?"

Still dressed in pajamas covered with big red hearts,
Darci
strolled over to a chaise lounge and flopped down.
"Walks Quietly."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, Sherlock, how'd you come up with that?"

Darci
studied her bright red nails. "Easy. He hated Duane Hobbs, he doesn't like you, he knows
magick
, and according to both of you, he's got the juice."

"Got the juice?" I
said,
my tone bewildered.

She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "Yeah, you know the juice, the jazz, the power…" Her voice trailed away.

"Oh, you think he's psychic?" I said, nodding.

Darci
tossed her head.
"Yeah."

My eyes met Abby's, my question written on my face.

Abby shook her head. "I don't know. We all agree he's very powerful, but whether or not he's psychic?" She shrugged.

I exhaled slowly. "
Darci
, during all your deducing, did you recall what Abby said yesterday about the Finches?
About practicing
magick
?"

"Yes," she said, with a defensive ring to her voice.

"Maybe they're involved. The abandoned cabin is on their property. Their niece is wearing a necklace that probably has some kind of spell on it. They're involved in psychic research.
And
," I said, emphasizing the word, "they were the last ones to see Brandi."

"Oh pooh."
Darci's
lip came out in a pout. "So maybe it isn't Walks Quietly."

My right eye twitched. "And maybe it isn't the Finches. And maybe Brandi is
cozied
up somewhere with a guy she met at a bar. And maybe," my voice rose, "maybe what happened to me at the abandoned cabin was my imagination, maybe—" I stopped abruptly.

Frustration laced with anger slammed through me. To my ears, I sounded as if I was beginning to doubt my own sanity.
Doubt Abby.

"I'm tired of this," I said. "We've been wringing our hands and worrying. We haven't accomplished a thing." I strode over to the doors. "I'm getting some answers and I'm getting them now."

"Wait, Ophelia," Abby called out. "Where are you going?"

"Walks
Quietly's
. And he's going to tell me what he knows," I said in a determined voice. "And when I'm done with him, I'm talking to the Finches."

Darci
jumped up and grabbed my arm. "Wait a second, he doesn't like you. You can't go barging up there and force him to talk to you."

I shook off her hand.
"Oh yeah?
Just watch me."

She tugged on my sleeve. "What if he
is
behind all of this? You won't be safe."

"If I'm not back in thirty minutes, send the cops." I shoved open the doors. "I'm going to see just how much 'juice' this guy's got."

I made a quick stop in my room and loaded up with crystals, shoving every rock I owned in my pockets. I may have been mad, but there was no sense in being foolish. I didn't know what kind of tricks Walks Quietly might have up his sleeve, so I'd take all of mine with me.

With the stones rattling all the way, I reached Walks
Quietly's
little house in five minutes. I found him in his yard, standing by his woodshed.

He whirled around at my footsteps. "Young woman, what are you doing here?"

"I've got some questions and I think you've got some answers," I said, my eyes narrowed.

"I told you I know nothing." He turned away.

"Oh yes you do." I moved around in front of him. "Someone or something is targeting me. And I don't like it."

He blew out a breath in disgust. "You've brought it on yourself by interfering with things you don't understand."

"Yeah, well, make me understand." I stood my ground.

He glared at me for a moment, then turned and walked away. "I'm not concerned with your problems."

"Wait," I called after him. "Just what and who are you?"

Spinning around, his eyes bore into mine. "I could ask the same of you?"

Standing tall, my eyes never left his. "I'm a psychic and
I
am one of the chosen. I belong to a line of wise women, healers." I paused.
"Witches."
Squinting
my eyes, I took a step toward him. "So don't mess with me."

Emotions played across his face during my little speech—anger, disbelief, and finally humor.

His sudden laughter startled me, and I took a step back.

"You're either very brave or very foolish to confront me this way."

I refused to back down. "I'm not worried. If I'm not back in thirty minutes, those authorities that you're so fond of, they'll be showing up." Crossing my arms over my chest, I continued to stare at him. "You'd better start talking."

Walks
Quietly
looked down at the ground and shook his head. With heavy steps he walked to the chopping block and sat.

I heard him mutter something about disrespectful women as he did.

Pacing over to where he sat, I stood in front of him. "I don't have time to be respectful. A young woman is missing and a man is dead. I—"

"What man?" he asked, looking up at me.

"Duane Hobbs."

A look of bitterness crossed his face. "I have nothing to say." He rose slowly.

"Wait a second." I laid a hand on his arm, stopping him.

Two eyes as hard as stone drilled into mine, and the air around us seemed to sizzle with energy. I felt the power inside the man push against me.

I focused and pushed back.

Silence dropped over the clearing around his cabin, while we stood engaged in our mental shoving match. Our combined energy churned around us, but neither one of us gave an inch.

I felt myself starting to weaken against the constant force pressing against me.

No, I would not let him win.

With a deep breath, I concentrated all my energy against his in one final push.

Walks
Quietly
took a step back, and the power around us trickled away like water slowly running down a drain.

"You have courage, Ophelia Jensen," he said in a tired voice, and returned to his seat on the block.

Pressing a hand to my forehead, I inhaled long and slow. "You pack quite a wallop, too." Sinking to the ground at his feet, I drew up my knees and rested my head for a moment. Lifting it, I looked at him. "Who are you? Or should I say, what are you?"

His mouth twisted in a humorless smile. "There's no word in your language for what I am." His chin rose and he stared at the trees behind me. "I am Dakota Sioux," he said with pride. "My father, and his father before him, guided our people on their spiritual path. When I was a young man, your government asked me to fight. And I did, but when I came home, there was no warrior's welcome for me. There was no respect. People called us names and heaped dishonor on us." He looked down at me. "I became lost in the white man's world, so when my daughter was grown, my wife and I came to this place. I returned to the ways of my people." His eyes softened at the mention of his wife. "Life was good…" His jaw clenched and his eyes lost their softness. "Until my wife was found dead, lying on the shoulder of the road like some dead animal."

I glanced down at my hands, clutched tightly in my lap. I had memories of Brian and how he, too, had been cast away in death, his body found among the garbage in a Dumpster. I understood Walks
Quietly's
bitterness.

"I'm sorry for your loss," I said gently, and raised my eyes to meet his.

"What do you know of loss?" he asked harshly.

"I know the sorrow from losing someone you love can drive you inside yourself, so far inside you don't know if you can ever find your way out." Unshed tears blurred my vision. I swiped both eyes, wiping them away.

He looked at the ground in front of him.

I cleared my voice. "What do you know about Brandi Peters?"

"Nothing.
And I speak the truth," he said in a soft voice. "I'd overheard people talking about her wildness, but I didn't know she left the lake until you told me."

Her wildness, huh?
That confirmed what Juliet had told us about Brandi sneaking off the compound.

"What about Juliet and Jason Finch? What about
Tink
? You know she's psychic, don't you?"

"Yes." His voice was terse.

"Does
Tink
know?"

He rubbed a hand over his knee, like his joint ached. "She knows she's different, but she doesn't understand why. They keep her isolated and seek to control her through their medicine."

I had a feeling he wasn't talking about the pills.

"The necklace?"

He nodded. "I do what I can to help her, but her gift is something I don't understand."

"The cabin in the woods—"

Walks
Quietly
surged to his feet. "That is an evil place. Stay away from it."

"No kidding." I jumped up. "Did you
lay
a spell around it?"

"We don't call them spells." He took a step away from me. "But yes, I put medicine around the cabin."

"I know some places hold ancient evil. Is the clearing one of those places? Have there been legends about that spot?"

"No." He moved toward his cabin, and I followed. "The stories say a white man died in the cabin, a man possessed by bad spirits."

The ghost lights.

I hurried around him to stand in front of him. "Violet Butler's brother?"

"I don't know who the man was." He stepped to the side to go by me.

"Have you ever looked inside the cabin?"

His eyes shot wide. "No," he replied, his voice hard. "It is not safe. Only someone with very strong medicine would be able to go there unharmed."

"Isn't that funny? I happen to know someone who has strong medicine." I turned and walked away from him. "About a hundred years' worth of medicine," I called over my shoulder as I headed down the path and back to Abby.

I was almost to the cabin when a streak of white came flying out of the woods and stopped on the path.

Tink
.

Standing in front of me, she shifted her weight from foot to foot, and every line of her body echoed her distress.

I hurried over to her. "
Tink
, what's wrong?" I asked, laying a hand on her shoulder.

She turned her face up to me, and I saw her violet eyes wide with fear.

"Ophelia, I need your help."

"What? What is it?"

"I killed Duane Hobbs."