The Witch is Dead (2 page)

She nodded again. “Yes. The combined energy of the spirits is breaking through her resistance.”

“I haven’t heard of any recent tragedies, have you?”

“No, but Tink’s vision doesn’t have to be about something that happened recently. It could be out of the past.”

“How ‘past’?” I asked with a frown.

Abby lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe once Aunt Dot arrives, she can shed some light on what’s happening to Tink. After all, she’s lived all these years with Aunt Mary, and Mary’s the most powerful medium that I’ve ever known.”

I shuddered at the mention of Great-Aunt Mary’s name. I’d met her as a child when Abby took me to the mountains. Great-Aunt Mary had struck fear in my adolescent heart. Towering over me, she had a way of drilling me with her green eyes that made me want to confess every childhood misdemeanor I’d ever committed.

Abby picked up on my reaction and patted my knee. “Don’t worry, dear. Aunt Dot is nothing like Mary.”

“I know. She’s the exact opposite, if I remember correctly.”

She smiled. “Yes, she is. She’s still as wide as she is tall. Whenever I think of her, I see her standing in the kitchen, in her cotton dress and orthopedic shoes, with both hands in some bowl, mixing away. And she always smelled like cinnamon.”

Abby’s memories of Aunt Dot matched mine. I grinned as I let my gaze fall on the book Tink had brought to read. Picking it up, I thumbed through it.

“That kid!” I exclaimed.

“What is it, dear?”

Holding out the book, I showed it to Abby. “Tink marks her place by turning down the corner of the page. I don’t know how many times I’ve told her not to do it.”

“Isn’t that one of the paperbacks she bought last week at the bookstore in Aiken?” Abby asked.

“Yes.”

“So it’s her book. She can do what she wants,” she said with a lift of her shoulder.

“But it’s disrespectful.”

She gave me a playful nudge with her elbow. “Quit being such alibrarian , Ophelia.”

“I suppose,” I responded reluctantly, and put the book back on the seat next to me.

To kill time, my eyes traveled around the room, looking at the others who were waiting.

My gaze halted as I noticed someone sitting on the other side of the room who seemed familiar.

His eyes, behind horn-rimmed glasses, were downcast as he studied the papers he held in his hand. He wore black pants and a pale pink oxford shirt open at the throat. His expensive loafers were polished until they gleamed, and his dark blond hair was streaked and artfully tousled. A successful businessman waiting for his flight.

But something about the way he held himself struck a chord in my memory. He lifted his head. To my chagrin, he caught me staring at him.

Sleet-gray eyes dared me to respond.

It was Cobra! The biker I’d threatened not only with my Louisville Slugger, but also with a hex.

At the time, I wanted nothing more than to see him thrown in jail. That’s what he and the rest of his biker gang deserved for trying to take over our town of Summerset.

That is, until I found out he was an undercover DEA agent.

I cringed, recalling my behavior, and felt my face grow warm. The hex and the bat weren’t my most shining moments. But it wasn’t all my fault—I really had thought he was one of the bad guys. And he’d played along.

Here was my chance to redeem myself.

He looked away, engrossing himself again in his papers.

How had he signed that note he’d passed to me? The one I was given as he loaded the last of the bikers into the police van? Oh yeah. “Ethan.” That was it.

Mumbling a quick “Pardon me” to Abby, I crossed the room.

“Hi, Cobra,” I said, taking the seat next to him.

“Excuse me?”

“Or should I say ‘Ethan’?” I asked, trying to sound confident.

He acted confused. “Ethan?”

Crap, had I made a mistake? I decided to brazen it out. “Yeah, Ethan. That’s your real name, isn’t it? It’s how you signed the note you gave me. You know, the one that said, ‘Until we meet again, keep your head down, and don’t fall off your broom.’”

“Broom?” He shifted in his seat and gave me a wary look. “Some guy thinks you’re a witch?”

“Ah, well…” I studied his face more intently. Nope, he was Cobra—I’d know those gray eyes anywhere. I nudged him in the arm. “Come on, Co—er, Ethan, you know I’m the librarian in Summerset.” I wiped my suddenly sweaty palms on my denim skirt. “And about this witch thing…I’d like to apologize for my remarks. You see—”

“You’re a librarian who’s awitch ?” His voice carried a note of alarm as he shrank farther away from me.

I felt the heat creep up my neck and into my face. “You’re not Ethan?” I asked with a squeak in my voice.

“No,” he replied, shuffling the papers in his hand. “You’ve obviously mistaken me for someone else.”

Peachy. I’d just convinced a complete stranger that I was a psycho.Good one, Jensen.

Dropping my head, I stared at my hands clutched tightly in my lap and tried to think of some witty response.

Finally I peeked over at him. “Sorry,” I muttered through clenched teeth.

With a rapid shuffle of his papers, he shoved them into his briefcase and stood.

Sensing him staring down at me, I raised my head and watched as he hooked his glasses in his front pocket. Again I was struck by his gray eyes.

Only now they weren’t cold.

Instead, they sparkled with humor.

He hoisted his carryon to his shoulder and grinned. “Give my regards to Sheriff Wilson, Ophelia,” he said with a wink. He spoke so quietly only I could hear him.

Before I could close my gaping mouth and utter a scathing reply, he turned on his heel and walked swiftly to the escalators. He gave me one last look over his shoulder, accompanied by a salute, before he disappeared up the escalator.

Dang, Cobra had tricked me again.

Twenty minutes later we were standing near the metal detectors watching the passengers disembark the plane from Raleigh. Tink shifted from one foot to the next as she craned her neck, trying to be the first one to spot Aunt Dot.

I smiled. Tink could strain her neck all she wanted and she still wouldn’t be able to spot short, squat Aunt Dot over the heads of the crowd.

Suddenly, one of the passengers jumped as if someone had goosed him. On another side, someone stepped forward quickly. Before we knew it, the whole group had parted and Aunt Dot came barreling up the center. From behind her, a balding man in his late fifties struggled to keep up. With her head down, she reminded me of a quarterback making for the goal line. For a ninety-one-year-old woman she sure could move.

The cotton dress I was accustomed to seeing Aunt Dot wear was gone. Instead, she wore a sensible dark purple polyester pantsuit. In her right hand she held a knotted cane, its wood polished to a fine sheen by years of use. And her hair? Wow—tight curls frizzed around her head in a decidedly blue halo.

Lifting her head, she paused for a moment as her aged eyes scanned the people waiting. Sighting us, a wide grin lit her face and she resumed her march toward us, the balding man still following her.

Abby closed the distance between them and gathered Aunt Dot’s plump, little body in a tight hug. Next to me, I heard Tink utter a small gasp. Glancing over at her, I noticed her face had lost what little color it had and her eyes were focused on the man standing with Aunt Dot and Abby.

Reaching out, I laid my hand on her arm. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said with a slight shake of her head. “I’ll tell you later.”

The man with Aunt Dot smiled, shook Abby’s hand, and handed her a heavy cloth bag before turning and joining a young man who seemed to be waiting for him.

The young man’s pale blue eyes glanced my way, and I saw a spark of curiosity light his face. The man’s son? Maybe. The guy who’d helped Aunt Dot off the plane clapped him on the shoulder in greeting before they turned and joined the other passengers making their way to the baggage claim.

I turned my attention back to Abby and Aunt Dot.

With a smile, Abby guided Aunt Dot over to where Tink and I waited.

Aunt Dot looked first at me, then at Tink, her face bright with expectation.

“Aunt Dot, you remember Ophelia, don’t you?” Abby asked in a loud voice.

“No need to shout, girl. I’m not deaf yet,” she said with a glance at Abby. Her voice sounded a lot like Abby’s, but with the cadence of Appalachia more pronounced. “Of course I remember her.” Aunt Dot stepped forward and clasped me around the middle in a quick hug.

Only five-four myself, I still had to lean down to give her a squeeze. And it felt like I was embracing a down-filled pillow. Abby was right. The scent of cinnamon seemed to cling to her.

“Hi, Aunt Dot,” I said, smiling over the top of her kinky curls.

“You’ve grown, Ophelia,” she said, stepping back and studying my face. “But then again, maybe I’ve just shrunk,” she ended with a cackle.

Releasing me, she turned to Tink. “And this must be the girl that I’ve heard so much about.”

Suddenly shy, Tink nodded, sending her long ponytail bobbing.

Without a word, Aunt Dot crossed to Tink and took her face in her weathered hands. Her eyes roamed over Tink, taking in the violet eyes and the smooth skin. It was almost as if she was trying to see into Tink’s mind.

Tink squirmed under her scrutiny.

Aunt Dot dropped her hands to Tink’s shoulders. “This one’s special,” she said in a satisfied voice. “Welcome to the family, Titania.”

Surprise flitted across Tink’s face. “You know my real name?”

“Yes, Abby wrote me. The name fits you, child. Titania—Queen of the Fairies. But we’ll speak more of that later,” she said, throwing an arm around Tink’s shoulders.

I shot Abby a questioning look, but her only response was an innocent smile and a careless shrug. Hmm, as a child, I hadn’t spent much time with Aunt Dot, or Aunt Mary, but Ihad with my grandmother. Along with the various psychic abilities that ran through the women of our family, there was also a certain amount of caginess. And I didn’t need to use my sixth sense to know something was up. I also knew I wouldn’t pry what it was out of Abby until she was ready to tell me.

“Come on, Aunt Dot,” Abby said, taking her arm. “Let’s find your luggage and get you home. You must be tired after your long flight.”

She steered Aunt Dot in the direction of the escalators, with Tink and I bringing up the rear.

“Careful, child,” Aunt Dot called over her shoulder after stepping carefully on the descending stairs. “I’ve heard of people getting their foot caught in these contraptions. Took their leg right off.”

From behind her, Tink did a slow eye roll, but stepped gingerly on the first step. With a smile, I followed.

After retrieving Aunt Dot’s battered blue suitcase, we were all finally loaded in Abby’s SUV and headed back to Summerset. The interstate miles flew by, and soon we were pulling into Abby’s winding driveway.

As we approached her house, Abby pointed out her plots of vegetables and flowers growing in the rich Iowa soil to Aunt Dot. During this time of year—midsummer—Abby’s greenhouse shifted from selling bedding plants to fresh vegetables. And Tink found working for Abby was a great way to supplement her allowance.

Abby slowed the SUV to a stop in front of her large farmhouse. The windows, framed by dark green shutters, gleamed as the sun sank lower on the horizon. As we exited the vehicle, I heard the hum of Abby’s bees flitting from flower to flower in the beds that grew along the wide front porch. Nasturtium, snapdragons, Shasta daisies, and foxglove bloomed with abandon, and I watched Aunt Dot and Tink pause on their way up the steps to look at them. Aunt Dot leaned forward, pointing at the blossoms, and said something to Tink in a low voice. I couldn’t make out all her words as I hoisted her heavy suitcase out of the back, but I thought I heard the word “fairy.”

“Hey,” I whispered to Abby. “What’s the deal with Aunt Dot and fairies? She just said something about them again to Tink.”

“Ah, well,” Abby stuttered, shouldering Aunt Dot’s cloth bag and slamming the passenger side door. “She likes them?”

“You’re asking me?” I set the suitcase on the gravel drive.

“Umm, maybe it’s a little more than that.” She turned and started up the sidewalk to the house.

“What do you mean ‘a little more’?” I called after her.

“Shh,” she said, laying a finger to her lips. “Aunt Dot will hear you.”

I waved her concern away. “They’re already inside. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Abby sighed. “Oh, all right, I didn’t want to tell you this right away. I know how skeptical you can be. I wanted you to get more acquainted with Aunt Dot first. You haven’t seen her since you were a child, and I didn’t want you thinking she was a doddering old woman—”

“Abby,” I said, cutting her off. “Get to the point.”

“Okay,” she hissed. “Aunt Dot’s particular talent is that she sees fairies. There. Happy now?”