The Seventh Witch Read online

  As I fell into step beside her, I felt the rightness of it all—me and Abby together—that was the way it should be, and that was the way I intended it to stay.

  The aroma of fried ham and fresh coffee hit me as soon as we crossed the porch of the old farmhouse. The two fat, tabby cats lazing on the windowsills smelled it, too. As soon as they saw us, they jumped down from their perches, followed us to the door, and waited hopefully for it to open. What a couple of mooches, I thought, smiling down at them.

  Much to the cats’ dismay, I stopped at the door and saw Aunt Dot standing at the stove just as I’d imagined her, cooking. I watched as she grabbed a pot holder and used it to grasp the battered enamel coffeepot. With a sure hand that belied her ninety-one years, she poured a bit of its contents into the cast-iron skillet, stirring and scraping the pan as she did.

  “Red-eye gravy,” Abby whispered to me.

  Hmm, ham drippings mixed with coffee. That should be an interesting taste combination.

  Abby once again read my mind and gave me a poke in the ribs. “Shh, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. It’s good. You can either pour it over a slice of ham or on your grits.”

  Grits? Another Southern dish I hadn’t tried. Ground corn boiled until it reached the consistency of wallpaper paste. Yum, I thought sarcastically. I didn’t know if I wanted to try them, either, but not eating what was served would be rude. I didn’t want the Southern cousins to think I was some kind of uppity Yankee. I’d eat what was placed on the table and at least pretend to be thankful for it.

  Tink stood next to Aunt Dot, chattering away as she slathered sweet-cream butter on a mound of toasted bread.

  “How many different kinds of fairies are there, Aunt Dot?” she asked.

  Fairies and Aunt Dot…go figure. I still doubted their existence in spite of Aunt Dot’s insistence.

  Abby made a move to open the screen door, but I stopped her. I wanted to listen in—one of my less attractive habits—on their conversation. I cocked my head.

  “Ack, there are many, many different sort. And fairies are just like people—some are kind and helpful, but others want nothing to do with humans. You’re wise to stay away from those.” She paused to move the skillet to the back of the stove. “Some live in the hills, in caves; some live in trees.”

  Tink turned toward Aunt Dot and leaned against the counter. “Why haven’t I ever seen one?” she exclaimed.

  ’Cause you’re too young to drink elderberry wine, I snickered to myself, answering Tink’s question. Aunt Dot’s sightings always seemed to occur after she’d drank some of the lethal elderberry wine that she and Great-Aunt Mary bottled up every year. The one with the secret recipe containing moonshine. It was just another reason that I wasn’t totally convinced that fairies existed.

  Oh yeah, sure…I had seen those lights that seemed to follow Tink around on a midsummer’s night, but they could’ve been really big lightning bugs.

  Aunt Dot faced Tink and, raising her hand, laid it gently on the top of Tink’s blond head, as if in a benediction. “Don’t fret, Titania,” she said, using Tink’s real name. “Your mother had a reason for naming you after the Queen of the Fairies. You’ll meet them when it’s time.” A smile brightened her wrinkled face. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll see our Nisse this visit.”

  I shot a questioning glance at Abby.

  “Scandinavian house fairy,” she whispered. “He protects the homestead.”

  “I didn’t last time,” Tink grumbled, “and I sat up all night waiting. I even had a bowl of grits with butter and brown sugar for him.”

  “The bowl was empty the next morning, wasn’t it?” Aunt Dot asked.

  “Yes,” Tink answered reluctantly.

  Aunt Dot chuckled. “Ack, he’s a clever one, our Nisse. He waited until you dozed off before gobbling it down, but don’t worry, child. He’ll remember your kindness.” She picked up the platter of ham and made her way to the table. “If you two are done eavesdropping,” she called out in a loud voice, “breakfast is ready.”

  Two

  Abby and I crossed the kitchen like two little kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar, but Aunt Dot ignored our red faces and motioned us to the table.

  “Have a seat. Mary will be out in a minute,” she said, bustling over to the stove. “Her rheumatism’s acting up, and—”

  “Nonsense, Sister,” announced a strong voice. “Nothing wrong with me. I just needed to work out a few kinks.”

  My head whipped toward the doorway. There she was…Great-Aunt Mary, sitting in the wheelchair she sometimes used to get around the house. Dressed in a cotton housedress similar to Aunt Dot’s, and with old-fashioned hose rolled down to the top of her sturdy shoes, she sat as if a rod had been rammed down her back. No osteoporosis there. Her hooked cane lay across her lap, ready to snag any unsuspecting passerby with whom Great-Aunt Mary had decided she wanted to have a word. A smart kid quickly learned to stay out of reach—I’d been a smart kid. From behind her glasses, those pale blue eyes glanced at Abby before landing on me. Tilting her head back, her eyes raked me up and down.

  “Ophelia,” she finally said in a curt tone, “I see you haven’t changed much.”

  “Ah, well,” I stammered, “I—I did have a growth spurt. I’m taller since the last time you saw me.”

  “Stands to reason,” she replied, breaking her stare as she grabbed one of the wheels of her chair and spun it toward the counter. “I haven’t laid eyes on you since you were thirteen.”

  Moving to the table, I gripped the back of the closest ladder-back chairs. “Umm, you know how it is with teenagers—”

  “Yes,” she broke in, “never have time for their elders.” Her face softened as her gaze landed on Tink. “Thank the stars you learned from your mistakes and are teaching this one some respect.”

  I clamped my mouth shut. Great. Now not only would I be receiving advice from my mother, but also my hundred-year-old spinster aunt.

  As if I’d conjured her, the screen door suddenly slammed shut and my mother breezed into the room, with my father following behind. Even at this time of the morning her hair was perfect, her face made up, and her clothes were of the latest fashion…for Florida. Her bright clothing stood out in the rustic kitchen with its wood-burning stove, scarred oak table, and old plastered walls stained from years of wood smoke. She looked like she belonged in South Beach, not the Blue Ridge Mountains.

  My father was a different story—he looked exactly as he should. A somewhat vague, retired professor who now spent his days playing golf in Palm Springs and putzing around with his favorite hobby, archeology. His face broke into a big smile when he spotted me.

  “Ophelia,” he cried, holding out his arms.

  I released my stress-induced grip on the chair and ran to him. “Dad, gosh, it’s good to see you,” I replied as I received a bear hug.

  Not letting go, he stepped back and sized me up. “You look well.”

  I nodded.

  His eyes narrowed. “But there’s something different about you,” he continued in a cautious voice. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but—” He broke off and looked over my shoulder at my mother. “Maggie, don’t you think there’s something different about Ophelia?”

  Uncomfortable with their scrutiny, I wiggled out of my dad’s embrace and hugged my mother. “Hey, Mom.”

  After returning my hug, my mother held me at arm’s length and studied me as intently as my father had. “Yes, I think you’re right, Edward. What—”

  “Mom, aren’t you going to say hi to Tink?” I asked, cutting her off.

  I felt a momentary pang of guilt, siccing them on Tink like that, but I didn’t want to go into a long explanation about my epiphany, especially not in front of Great-Aunt Mary.

  Tink didn’t seem to mind me throwing her overanxious grandparents at her. She shyly stepped forward and allowed both of them to smother her. She took their murmurs of “My, look at how much she’s grown since Christmas,�
� and “Isn’t she pretty?” in good stride. She even smiled when my mother started to give her advice on proper skin care. “Use sunscreen and moisturize, moisturize. Don’t want wrinkles someday, do you?”

  I saw Mother’s eyes slide my way with that statement, but I ignored her.

  I don’t know how long the lecture would’ve continued—Mom was on a roll—but a loud “ahem” from Great-Aunt Mary interrupted her. Chagrined, both she and my father stepped over to Great-Aunt Mary and paid their respects to her and Aunt Dot.

  Glancing at Abby, now sitting calmly at the table, I caught the twinkle in her eye as she watched Mother kiss up to the Aunts. Yup, this was going to be some visit. With a quick shake of my head, I joined her at the table.

  My father detached himself from the group of women at the stove and crossed to Abby. Leaning down, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gave her a peck on the cheek.

  “You look exceptionally lovely this morning, Abby,” he said with a big grin.

  She fluttered a hand in his direction. “Oh stop, Edward,” she said in a tone that belied her words.

  With a chuckle, my father pulled out the chair next to her and sat. “I’ve been reading about this area, and—”

  “Edward,” my mother said, placing a bowl of jam on the table, “they’re not going to let you go digging things up around here.” She turned accusingly toward me. “You went up the mountain this morning, didn’t you?”

  My eyes slid toward Abby then back to my mother. “Yes.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared down at me. “I would’ve liked to have gone with you.”

  “Maggie,” Abby said, drawing her attention, “we’ve plenty of time in the coming days for all of us to go.” She smiled gently at Mom. “I think it would be nice if Ophelia, Tink, and you all accompanied me up the mountain.” Her smile widened as she laid a hand on my mother’s wrist. “To have all my girls with me would be wonderful.”

  Placated, Mom uncrossed her arms. “Well, okay then.”

  Dad, ignoring the exchange between Mom and Abby, leaned forward and focused on Great-Aunt Mary. “Now, about this area…I’ve read several Native American tribes hunted this valley.”

  “Yes,” Great-Aunt Mary said, positioning her chair at the head of the table. “This valley’s provided sustenance for many over the years, and our family’s respected that.” She gave a quick nod as she ladled a spoonful of grits onto Tink’s plate. “We’ve tried to be good stewards of the land. The family still holds—except for one—every acre my grandfather bought.”

  Abby stiffened slightly in her chair.

  Glancing sideways, I saw she sat with her head bowed, staring at her plate. She’d laid down her fork and her hands were hidden beneath the table. I reached out and grasped one. It felt ice cold. “What’s wrong?” I asked softly.

  Her head shot up and her eyes went directly to Great-Aunt Mary. Their gazes locked and something unspoken passed between them.

  Perplexed, I squeezed Abby’s hand and repeated my question.

  It broke the spell.

  A forced smile played across her face while her eyes moved toward Tink. “Would you pass me the red-eye gravy, dear?”

  Oh no you don’t Abby, I thought, you’re not sliding out of this one. I turned sideways, placed an arm on the back of my chair and studied her. “What’s going—”

  “Ophelia,” Great-Aunt Mary said, cutting me off, “your grandmother said you’ve finally decided to get with the program.”

  Catching me off guard with her terminology, my brows wrinkled. “Huh?”

  “You’ve decided to use your gifts, use your magick.”

  Everyone’s attention now centered on me. I dropped my arm and shifted nervously. “Um, well, yeah, I guess—”

  “You guess?” Great-Aunt Mary interrupted from between puckered lips while her eyes pinned me to my chair.

  I stopped fidgeting and faced her. Squaring my shoulders, I met her stare with one of my own. “Yes,” I replied in a strong voice, “I have.”

  She gave a snort, and I watched as her eyes traveled to a spot directly over my left shoulder.

  A shiver shot up my spine.

  Damn, she’d done it again!

  “There’s one last slice of ham, Ophelia,” Aunt Dot said, holding the heavy platter in front of my face as we stacked the dirty dishes on the counter.

  The meal had been wonderful—even the grits and the red-eye gravy—but I didn’t think I’d ever be hungry again.

  I held up my hands in a gesture of submission. “I can’t, Aunt Dot,” I exclaimed. “I’m stuffed. I’m going to have to hike up the mountain ten times to work off all this food.”

  “Oh, nonsense,” Mom said as she dried one of the stone-ware plates. “If anything I think you’ve lost weight since Christmas.”

  “No, I haven’t.” I argued back. “I’ve—”

  Great-Aunt Mary’s voice suddenly rang out. “No, Edward, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  Mom had Dad well-trained. After we’d finished eating, he tried to help the women carry the dishes to the sink, but he was shooed back to his seat at the table. Aunt Dot told him in no uncertain terms that in the mountains, the men don’t wash dishes. That remark caused my mother’s eyebrows to lift so high they disappeared beneath her razor-cut bangs. Given no choice, Dad stayed at the table quietly talking with Great-Aunt Mary. Only now the conversation had turned not so quiet. I sensed an argument coming.

  “But I won’t disturb anything,” Dad insisted. “I simply want to take a look around.”

  Great-Aunt Mary spun away from the table with the bowl of jelly resting on her lap. “No,” she insisted again, “you don’t know these mountains. A man could get lost and wander for days—”

  “I won’t get lost.”

  “Humph,” she said, grabbing a jar and scraping the jelly into it. Her pale eyes fastened on me. “Sure seems your family has a problem sticking their noses in where they don’t belong.”

  “Ah…” I stammered, trying to think of a response.

  Dad saved me the trouble. “I was told there’s a line of burial mounds that run through this valley. I just want to take a look at them.”

  Great-Aunt Mary wheeled to face him. “Have you ever thought, Edward, that there are some things best left alone?”

  “I’m not afraid of spirits,” my dad said quietly.

  Shaking a finger, her lips tightened. “Maybe you should be. There are things in this valley that a Yankee like you couldn’t possibly understand.”

  Please give it up, Dad, I thought. You’re not going to win an argument with her. But my dad was Danish, and Danes never give up.

  “I may be a Yankee, but I’ve been a historian for forty years, Mary. I’ve been to many places considered haunted and never suffered any ill effects.”

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Great-Aunt Mary scoffed.

  “But—”

  “Are these mounds along ley lines, Grandpa?” Tink suddenly piped in.

  Great-Aunt Mary’s features relaxed when she turned her attention to Tink. “What are those, child?”

  “Oh,” Tink replied, flapping a dish towel, “lines of energy running through the earth. I read about them on the Internet.” Her lavender eyes sparkled. “They’ve even mapped them out and discovered sacred sites built right on top of them.”

  “Sacred sites?” I asked.

  “Yeah…it’s really cool…churches, burial mounds, standing stones—”

  Next to me, I heard Abby’s quick intake of breath. Looking at her, I saw her lips clenched so tight a white line formed around her mouth. Her eyes were focused on Great-Aunt Mary, and again something passed between them. Great-Aunt Mary gave a slight shake of her head, and Abby seemed to deflate. Puzzled, I moved toward her, but she quickly crossed to the table and started vigorously wiping the worn surface.

  “What did you say they’re called, child?” Great-Aunt Mary asked, ignoring Abby.

>   “Ley lines,” Tink replied.

  Folding her hands in her lap, Great-Aunt Mary smiled. “We don’t use fancy words around here, but Pappy Jens always said this valley’s full of magick. It’s one of the reasons he chose this spot.” Wheeling back to the table, she positioned her chair next to Dad. “We’ve lots of things planned for y’all, Edward,” she said sternly. “You’re not going to have time to go traipsing around the mountains.”

  Dad shifted uneasily in his chair. He immediately had my sympathy. Would Great-Aunt Mary intimidate him enough for him to give up his plans?

  Nope. I knew my father, and just maybe I’d go with him on his little jaunt. The idea of thwarting Great-Aunt Mary had a certain amount of appeal.

  Her eyes traveled around the room like a general observing his troops. “Now, y’all need to unpack,” she said, waving her hand at Tink, Abby, and me. “We’re having lunch at Cousin Lydia’s.”

  I stifled a groan. I didn’t want to be impolite, but I honestly didn’t think I could cram one more morsel of food into my mouth. Maybe they’d let me take a nap instead, I thought hopefully. Nah. I could see by the expression on Great-Aunt Mary’s face that she wouldn’t tolerate any insubordination from the ranks.

  Three

  Abby and I trudged back to the small bedroom we were sharing. Tink was camped out in the finished attic where she had stayed during her last visit. She loved it up there. She said looking out over the valley from the dormer windows gave her time to think, but I imagined it would also be a good spot for her to hide away from adults.

  Once in the back bedroom, Abby and I got busy unpacking. The room contained two twin beds with old-fashioned iron headboards. Thick feather beds had been placed carefully over ancient mattresses and metal bedsprings. Sheets and pillowcases, softened by a thousand washes, had welcomed me late last night. Under the sheets and covered with a hand-stitched quilt, I’d nestled down and dropped into oblivion immediately.