The Trouble With Witches (36 page)

"Yes. I'll be fine. An experience like tonight is very draining." Her eyelids drifted shut.

I leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "I'm leaving now. Get some rest."

Her eyes shot open. "Wait. What are we going to do about
Tink
?"

"Abby, I don't think we can do anything about her," I said with a frown. "The Finches are her legal guardians."

She stroked the end of the braid hanging over her shoulder. "Living at the compound is not good for her."

Sitting back, I studied her. "You think the Finches are behind this?"

"Or Winnie."

"You agree with
Darci
?" I gave her a skeptical look. "I don't think Winnie's clever enough."

She tilted her head and watched me with amusement. "It doesn't take cleverness to make up a spell." The humor fell away. "But it does take wisdom to use the spell correctly."

"And the person behind this isn't wise?"

"No." Abby's whole body stiffened with irritation. "To use
magick
without proper understanding is anything but wise. It's foolhardy and dangerous."

"Yeah."
I picked up the journal from her lap and ran my hand over its worn cover. "Just ask Frederick Von Schuler. He didn't understand, and messed with forces he couldn't control. He lost his mind as a result."

As I stroked the journal, Abby laid her hand on mine. "That's why each woman in our family kept her own journal—to record her journey down the right path."

A chill seemed to creep into the room. But what if someone chose the wrong path? Would that journey be recorded, too?

I watched the sun rise over the lake from my bedroom window. My bed had not been slept in. I'd spent the entire night adding up what I knew, but coming up with the wrong answer. I knew Jason admired Frederick Von Schuler. I knew Von Schuler had chosen to engage in the black arts and went mad. His tortured soul had spent his last days in that wretched cabin. I also knew, after listening to Abby speak with pride about our family's journals, that Frederick Von Schuler had a journal, too. He would have wanted to chart his course on his path to unlimited power.

I slapped my forehead in frustration. For a psychic, I couldn't be much denser. All along, the clues were there. My dreams had repeatedly shown me a book, but I had ignored them. The runes had foretold finding magic, and I had—black magic.

Abby and I had come to search for a lost girl who'd never belonged, and we'd found one, but it was the wrong girl. What were we going to do to help
Tink
? Abby was worried. So was I. But the Finches were her family, and we had no proof they were involved in anything illegal. There was no reason for us to become involved in
Tink's
life.

I'd always heard curiosity killed the cat, but I needed to look around the area near the cabin. I wouldn't be stupid enough to visit the clearing again until I was better prepared, but maybe something in the woods would give me an idea of what I was dealing with.

After throwing on jeans and a T-shirt, I slipped past
Queenie
and Lady and out of the cabin without alerting anyone. In no time at all I was in the fishing boat and on my way across the lake.

In the early morning light, a mist hung like a shroud along the shoreline, and the only sound was the low hum of the fishing boat's electric motor. The air around me seemed thick and heavy and carried the promise of a day hotter than the one before.

Banking the boat as I had last time, I got out and looked around. The last time I headed east, I had walked to the clearing with the abandoned cabin, so this time I'd head west, staying close to the shoreline. I hadn't walked far when I noticed a heap of brush at the water's edge. The branches seemed to be piled in a systematic order. I moved closer to investigate. Setting the top branch aside, I found the curved bow of a canoe.

Someone had a boat stashed at the water's edge.

Removing the rest of the branches, I flipped the boat over, and the owner of the canoe became obvious.
Tink
.
A small life jacket lay under it.

I fisted my hands on my hips and looked around. I was standing at a point where the shore jutted out. Directly across from where I stood, the land projected out on that side, too, causing the lake to form a wide channel.
Wouldn't take long at all to paddle across the lake at that spot.
I scanned the opposite shore until I found what I was looking for.
A familiar plume of smoke floating above the pine trees.
Smoke from Walks
Quietly's
cabin.

Now I knew one of the ways
Tink
managed to escape from underneath the watchful eye of her aunt and uncle.

I flipped the canoe back over and covered it up.
Tink
would never know that I'd found one of her secrets.

I'd finished covering the boat when the breeze moving through the pines carried the sound of a human voice.

Tink
singing one of her songs?

But the voice wasn't
Tink's
. I followed the sound up the hill, away from the lake and through the pines.

In a small clearing, with her back toward me, Winnie crouched in front of a fire ringed with stones. From where I stood hidden in the trees, I couldn't make out her words, but she repeated them over and over in a singsong voice. And as she did, she threw something into the fire.

What do you know? Winnie was doing a little dabbling on her own. Should I confront her, or move away undetected?

The decision was made for me when I took a step away from the tree and stepped on a stick. The sound of it breaking echoed in the quiet. In an instant Winnie was on her feet and staring right at me.

"What are you doing spying on me?" she demanded without a preamble.

Spying? Gee, I seemed to be getting accused of that a lot lately.

"Hi, Winnie."
I plastered a pleasant expression on my face. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

Winnie crouched down in front of the fire and began shoving things into a canvas sack. "Why don't you go away and leave us alone? You've brought nothing but trouble."

I walked closer to the fire and peered over her shoulder, trying to make out what she was putting in her bag.

Her head whipped toward me and she hunched forward, blocking my view. She scooped up what was left and dumped it all in the bag.

"How have Abby and I caused you problems, Winnie?"

She stood abruptly and, with her eyes full of anger, watched me. "You just have, that's all.
Ever since you showed up, Juliet and Jason have been upset.
You've disturbed our peace." She took a step toward me. "Jason is an extraordinary man, and you're interfering with his work." As she talked, her face became mottled with angry red spots. "You have no right. No right."

Backing up a few paces, I tried to sound reasonable. "How have we interfered, Winnie?"

Behind her glasses her small eyes narrowed into slits. She opened her mouth to speak, but then snapped her jaw shut. Without another word she spun on her heel, grabbed her sack, and marched away.

Brilliant, Jensen, I thought. My interrogation skills left a lot to be desired and I'd blown my chance to corner Winnie.
What do I do now
?

I lifted my head and looked around the clearing. Glancing down, I saw that Winnie's fire still smoldered. Faint curls of smoke slithered from whatever Winnie had thrown on the burning sticks. Stepping closer, I took a deep breath. Basil, an herb used to either banish what you don't want or draw what you do want. Now why would she be using basil?
And in this spot?

My eyes scanned the clearing for a clue. A low row of juniper grew at the top of a slight rise beyond Winnie's campfire. Blue, almost purple berries hung in clusters from the branches.
On all except one.
It was in the center of the row, and the needles were brown and brittle, a sharp contrast from the rich green foliage of the rest of the bushes.

I waded through the hedge till I reached the dead bush. Bending down, I saw exposed roots where the dirt had sunk in a deep indentation around the trunk of the bush. I picked up a stick and started to probe the hole.

"Sneaking off again?" said a voice from behind me. Jumping to my feet, I whirled around.
Darci
—with her arms crossed and looking none too pleased with me.

"How did you find me?" I said, standing.

"Walks
Quietly's
boat," she said, and started off down the hill. "Abby sent me. We need you back at the cabin.
Tink's
missing."

I rushed after her. "What do you mean,
Tink's
missing?"

"Walks
Quietly
found a message under a rock by his front door this morning," she said over her shoulder. "Evidently,
Tink
had been there, and when she couldn't find him, she used some paper from his cabin to leave a note. She wanted him to meet her down by the lake. But when he reached the lake, she wasn't there. He found her bicycle in the woods across from our cabin—"

"She'd stopped by our place?"

At the bottom of the hill,
Darci
looked over at me from where she'd moored the boat right next to mine. "We don't know. Neither Abby or I heard her." She untied the boat. "What about you?"

"No," I said, untying mine. "I was up at first light and came over here."

Darci
pushed the boat away from shore and stepped into it. "Well, Abby and Walks Quietly can fill you in when we get to his cabin.
Abby's there."

I followed
Darci
across the lake to Walks
Quietly's
dock. Once there, we docked both boats and headed up the hill to his cabin.

Walks
Quietly's
little cabin consisted of one main room with two bedrooms in the back. Rough-hewn stairs to the left led to a loft above the main room. A cook stove, much like Abby's, stood along one wall, near a planked table. The remains of his breakfast still sat there.