The Witch is Dead (8 page)

“I understand,” I replied, walking around the corner of my desk. “Thanks for coming in, Gert.”

“My pleasure.” Her gaze fell to my desk, and before I could stop her, she picked up the moonstone. “What a lovely crystal,” she said, turning it over in her palm.

Terrific. Crystals are programmed to each individual owner and imprinted with their personal energy. Now, thanks to Gert handling my stone, I’d have to cleanse and rededicate it.

She replaced the moonstone and picked up my hematite. “What’s this little black rock?” she asked as she rubbed it.

“Hematite,” I answered, trying not to wince at the sight of her handling yet another of my crystals.

“And this?”

She made a move toward my jade, but I grabbed her hand before she could touch it. Pumping her arm, I smiled.

“Thanks again for coming in, Gert.” With a hand firmly in the middle of her back, I steered her away from my desk and my crystals.

With reluctance, Gert allowed me to direct her toward the door. “It was delightful, Ophelia. As I said, I’ve heard so much about you.”

With a nod of her spiky head, she walked confidently through the children’s section and toward the stairs.

When I arrived home late that afternoon, I let the dogs in, checked the bathroom doors to make sure they were shut, and called Abby. I didn’t have much time. Tink would be home soon.

Abby picked up on the second ring.

“Is Aunt Dot with you?”

“No.”

“Good. Why didn’t we pick up on Mr. Buchanan’s murder?”

Abby let out a long breath into the receiver. “I’ve thought about that question all day, and I don’t know the answer.” She sighed again. “The only reason I can come up with is we don’t always sense everyone’s death.”

“But this wasn’t a simple case of someone meeting their natural end. This man was brutally murdered.”

“I know,” she murmured.

“Do you think Tink knew what would happen if she let
down her guard? Were the spirits trying to give her a warning? Spirits do warn the living, don’t they?”

“I think so,” she replied softly.

“Okay,” I said, my voice rising, “so how do I explain to a fourteen-year-old that she might have known in advance that someone was going to die? That she might have been able to stop a murder? That she failed because she didn’t listen? You know what kind of guilt she’ll feel, and you know what that can do to a person.”

“I also know just because you’re a psychic, or a medium, you can’t stop every tragedy. It—”

“That sucks!” I broke in with a shout, causing T.P. to yelp in bewilderment.

“Yes, dear.” Abby’s voice was calm. “You’ve always made your feelings on that subject quite clear.”

Shouting at Abby would serve no purpose, so I took a deep breath to get control of myself. “How do I help Tink?” I asked in a more reasonable tone. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to answer her questions.”

“Would you like me to come over?”

“With Aunt Dot in tow? I don’t think so,” I replied with sarcasm. “The less we say around her, the better.”

“I agree.”

I heard the front door slam. “Tink’s home. Got to go.” I ended the call before Abby could answer.

Tink blew into the kitchen and went directly to the refrigerator. “I’m starving,” she said, flinging the door open. “What do we have to eat?”

To my tired eyes, Tink’s hair looked even blonder after her day in the sun. A slight tan had kissed her fair skin. She looked so young, so happy, and I’d have given anything to shield her from what I was about to tell her. A deep sense of sadness settled in my heart, making it ache. How was I
ever going to teach this child in one night the lesson that had taken me over thirty years to learn? But unless I wanted Tink to pay the same emotional price I had, I needed to try.

“Tink,” I said in a quiet voice. “I’d like to talk to you. Let’s go in my office.”

Alarmed, Tink turned and stared at me. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to Abby—”

“No, no,” I said, cutting her off.

“Jason’s changed his mind?”

“No. I’ll explain in my office.”

Taking her hand in mine, I led her to the room I used for my magick. The weight of my responsibility slowed my steps. I had to make her understand. I couldn’t let guilt crush her as it had me for so many years.

I settled Tink in the chair beside my desk and picked up a blue lace agate for wisdom and communication, hoping it would help me find the right words.

Tink watched me with confusion and fear written on her face. Her violet eyes begged me to get to the point.

“Mr. Buchanan was murdered,” I said quietly.

“But—but—” she stuttered.

“Georgia stopped by the library today and told us.” I ignored the shocked look on Tink’s face.

“Message…they were trying to give me a message.” With a sob, Tink raced out of the room.

I ran after her and finally found her outside, underneath one of the trees ringing our backyard. T.P. lay cuddled on her lap. Lady and Queenie sat protectively on each side, like guardians. Picking up Queenie, I slid down next to Tink, our shoulders touching, and for a moment neither one of us spoke.

“It’s not your fault,” I said at last.

“You don’t know that,” she said with a sniff.

T.P., hearing the sad note in her voice, licked her hand as if to comfort her.

“Okay, Tink, let’s suppose you were receiving a message.” I glanced at her. “I’m not saying you were,” I stressed. “But we’ll go with the idea that’s the case. What would you have done?”

“Walked up to him and told him.”

“You would’ve walked up to a complete stranger and told him he was about to die a terrible death?”

“Yes,” she said in a small voice while her hand scratched the puppy’s ears.

“And if you had, what would his reaction have been?”

“He would’ve thought I was crazy.”

“Right…” My voice trailed away. “And as a result, he wouldn’t have heeded your warning.” I picked up a twig and rolled it around in my hand. “How many tragedies do you think Abby’s seen but been unable to stop, for whatever reason, in her seventy-plus years?”

Tink cuddled T.P. to her chest and rubbed her chin on his head. “A lot.”

“Right again.” I broke the twig in two and cast it on the ground. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned—there are some things we can’t change, no matter how much we want to.”

Tink stared off at the woods in the distance. “We should be able to use our gift. We should be able to change the outcome. It’s not right when we can’t.”

“I agree, but you have to accept the reality of it. Or you can let it destroy you.”

“You learned this because of what happened to Brian?”

“Yes,” I said in an even tone.

A tear slid down her cheek. “How can you shrug off failure?”

“You can’t, and I wouldn’t want you to. A person would
have to have a cold, hard heart to do that. And we both know that’s not you.”

“So what do I do?”

Reaching over, I took her chin and turned her face until she faced me. “You mourn, and then you let it go. You have faith that next time, youwill make a difference.” I tucked a strand behind her ear. “If you don’t, sweetie, your talent will drive you insane.”

Tink dropped her gaze. “I don’t want to wind up crazy like Juliet.”

I gathered her in a tight hug, squeezing the poor puppy between us.

He yelped and scampered off Tink’s lap.

“Oh sweetie, you could never be like Juliet. She was bad to begin with, and the evil inside her drove her over the edge.” I leaned back so I could see her face. “You do have to believe that what happened to Mr. Buchanan was for a reason.” I caressed her cheek. “Abby and I share in this, too. Neither one of us sensed anything wrong.”

Her brow gathered in a frown. “I wonder why?”

“I don’t know.” I gave her a determined smile. “But I intend to find out.”

Eight

The light on the base of the cordless phone glowed bright as I poured my third cup of coffee that evening. And its glow gave me a strange sense of peace. It meant Tink was at least talking to her best friend, Nell.

Dinner had been silent. Tink pushed her corn around on her plate with her fork and only took a bite when she caught me watching. I tried to keep up some form of conversation, but soon even my food lost its appeal. Any appetite I’d had was crushed by the weight of silence that hung around us. I gave up, asked Tink if she was done, and filled up the dog bowls with our scraps.

Taking my coffee back to my office, I ran my fingers idly over my pictures, my crystals, and my books lined up neatly on the shelves. If only I could find the answer to my dilemma between their pages. Worry picked at the corner of my brain, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.

I could deny it, I could run from it, but the cause of the worry was inescapable. We had a problem. And it started Friday night with Tink’s dream of rotting corpses pleading for help. Abby liked to say that there was no such thing as a coincidence, and Tink coming in contact with a man whose
occupation was death was no coincidence. Then to have the man die on his own embalming table. I didn’t need a map to know something was up. The question was, what? And how did I protect Tink, and for once keep my family out of a murder investigation?

I glanced at the phone. Light still on. Good, I thought, taking a sip of coffee. I hoped Tink would share her troubles with Nell.

I wondered how much Nell knew about our gifts. She’d been a front row witness to Tink’s misadventure with a Ouija board in May. The troubled spirit of Summerset’s last murder victim had tried to choke a participant when Tink inadvertently summoned him by way of the board. The five girls at that session had all learned that messing with the Ouija board wasnot a harmless game.

I frowned. Maybe Tink had taken her lesson too much to heart and now was afraid to let her guard down at any time.

The shrill ringing of my cell phone filled the room. I leaned across the desk and flipped the phone open.

“I can’t get through on your land line,” came Abby’s voice from the receiver.

“I know,” I said, sitting in the chair behind my desk and placing my bare feet on the edge. “Tink’s talking to Nell.”

“How did she take the news about Mr. Buchanan’s death?”

I pulled one hand through my hair. “You can talk now? Aunt Dot isn’t around?”

A slight sniff sounded in my ear. “No, she’s out in the yard looking for fairies. Seems she does better seeing them after a couple of glasses of wine.”

A sudden thought occurred to me. “Abby, what if all these years, Aunt Dot’s fairies have been a result of her tippling?”

“Who knows?” Abby gave a long sigh. “Right now, I don’t have time to worry about fairies. I’m concerned about Tink. What happened?”

Quickly, I repeated my conversation with Tink and her reaction to Mr. Buchanan’s murder.

“What are you going to do now?” Abby asked when I’d finished.

“A rune reading. I want us to stay out of whatever’s going on, Abby,” I said in a firm voice. “The only reason I’m doing the reading is to find a way to protect Tink.”

Two hours later, I’d made my preparations and my office was ready. A circle of salt ringed the polished oak floor in the center of the room. A thick purple candle sat in heart of the circle, waiting to be lit. My runes, along with a square of linen, lay next to the candle. I had one last thing to do before I did my reading.

After climbing the stairs, I walked quietly down the hall and slowly opened the door to Tink’s room. Moonlight filtered through the lace curtains on the windows, creating a shifting pattern on the rag rug. From the bottom of Tink’s bed, T.P. lifted his head, and two bright eyes stared at me in the darkness. He sighed and settled his head back on his paws. A sleeping form sprawled in the center of the bed, her pale blond hair fanned across her pillow.

I tiptoed over to the bed and gazed down at her. Instinctively, my hand moved to stroke the soft strands of hair away from her face, but I stopped halfway for fear of waking her. As I watched her sleep, a jumble of emotions ran through me. Pride at what Tink was becoming, fear of losing her, panic at the thought that her talent might destroy her as mine had almost destroyed me, and most of all, the fierce need to protect this child at any cost. I clenched my hands.

Iwould keep this child from harm, Iwould learn where these events were leading us, and Iwould stop it.

Taking a deep breath, I turned and left the room.

In my office, I crumbled dried leaves of sage into my abalone shell and lit them. The aroma of burning sage soon filled the room. Closing my eyes, I inhaled the pungent smoke. Instantly, I felt a sense of peace and purpose blanket me. Placing the shell on the desktop, I grabbed two crystals from my desk—amethyst and ulexite. The energy of the amethyst would increase my psychic talent, and the ulexite would help clarify what I saw with my sixth sense. I moved to my circle and stepped over the line of salt, careful not to disturb it.