The Trouble with Witches Read online

  I turned the first one over.

  Othlia. “Oath-awe-law,” I said aloud, pronouncing each syllable slowly to myself. Okay, it means a vision, an ideal, one who might be consumed by the past. Could mean Rick, or it could be the reason Brandi got involved with the group. She was consumed by an idea.

  I moved on to the next one.

  Ansuz. “Awn-sooze.” I repeated it as I had Othlia. Hmm, to take the advice of someone. Someone older and respected. Well, that definition certainly fit Abby. So the advice of the runes was to listen to Abby. What a big surprise.

  I hesitated before turning over the last rune. It was in the “future” position. I knew enough about magick and the runes to know they didn’t lie. Did I really want to know the answer? What if the answer was one I didn’t like? The future always had the potential of holding some nasty surprises. My hand hovered over the last stone. With a sigh, I flipped it over.

  Perthro. “Perth-row.” I said it softly. Mystery, secrets, the occult. Now what in the hell did that mean? The occult? Because most people associated the occult with witches, and Abby and I were witches? Mystery? No kidding, mystery. We had a missing girl on our hands.

  Frustrated, I picked up the notebook and pen. I tapped the pen on my chin while I stared thoughtfully into the candle’s flame.

  The flame seemed to brighten and dim in a rhythmic pattern, while the air currents eddied around it. The sight was mesmerizing, and I don’t know how long it held my attention. When I finally shook myself out of staring at the flame, I was surprised to see how far the candle had burned down. I’d only stared at it for a few moments, hadn’t I?

  I looked down at my lap at the notebook and my hand that still held the pen. Suddenly, the pen slipped from my nerveless fingers and rolled toward the candle.

  Across the once clean, white surface of the paper, written about a hundred times, and in my loose scrawl, was one word. Magic.

  And I didn’t remember writing it.

  Monday morning I stood at the bottom of the flight of steps leading to the library and looked up at the old limestone building. Until last fall, the library had been my home away from home. When I’d taken the job of Summerset’s librarian five years ago, after Brian’s murder, I used the job to hide emotionally from everyone except Abby. I’d come to Summerset broken, swamped by feelings of guilt over my failure to stop Brian’s murder in time. The vision I’d had witnessing the murder had come too late to save him.

  It had been Rick and the events leading up to Adam, Benny, and Jake’s capture that had finally knocked down the wall I hid behind. I’d been forced to accept who and what I was, to embrace my talent, to follow my destiny. And for that, I owed him.

  Now I had to face my next problem. How to explain my trip to my assistant? Darci was a leggy, busty blonde who most people wrote off as an airhead. I shook my head. If they only knew what went on behind those big blue eyes. She possessed a sharp mind and the ability to figure things out faster than most. Sometimes it seemed like she was the psychic, not me. And she always wanted to be right in the middle of what she called “my adventures.” And when I told her about Rick’s phone call, she would insist on going to Minnesota with Abby and me.

  But my answer had to be no.

  Reluctantly, I trudged up the stairs. Pausing at the top, I hoisted my backpack firmly on my shoulder and swung open the door.

  Darci stood behind the counter, filing library cards. Her long red fingernails clicked against the countertop as she picked each card. When she looked up and saw me standing there, she smiled. “Good morning. Hey,” she said, pointing a figure at me, “that eye makeup looks really good on you. Makes your brown eyes pop.”

  I touched my face self-consciously and nodded. Thanks to Darci, my medicine cabinet was full of things she had assured me I needed—blush, eye shadows, mascara, and all the girly stuff I’d never paid much attention to. And if I didn’t use the entire gunk she picked out for me, it hurt her feelings. Now my morning routine had been extended by twenty minutes.

  “How was your weekend?”

  I crossed to the counter. “Okay,” I replied, and stowed my backpack on one of the shelves. “Nothing too exciting.”

  She eyed me suspiciously. “I doubt that. Didn’t you tell me Henry was coming by with some pictures?”

  “Yeah, but it didn’t work. I didn’t see anything that could help him find his missing person. The man’s dead. A suicide. But I couldn’t tell him where to find the body.”

  “How did Henry take it?”

  “In typical Iceman fashion,” I said, picking up my own stack of cards and thumbing through them. “He wasn’t going to let on how disappointed he was, but I could tell. He really wanted to be able to give the man’s family some kind of answer.” I stopped, feeling the frustration pick at me once again. “Some answer other than, ‘He’s dead and we don’t know where.’”

  “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard when you don’t see things clearly.”

  “Yeah. Well, it’s going to be harder on his family while they wait until his body’s found.” I turned away from the counter and grabbed a pile of returned books from the shelf. Setting them on the counter, I flipped the cover open. “Ahh, Darci, there’s something else I want to tell you. Rick called—”

  She grabbed my arm. “Really? When? Is he coming back to Summerset?”

  I held up my hand, stopping her. “Calm down. He called late Saturday night, and no, he’s not coming to Summerset. Umm, he has a little job for us. He wants us to come to Minnesota and help him find a missing girl.”

  “Great, when do we leave?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

  I gave her a pointed look. “Darci, when I said ‘us,’ I meant Abby and me.”

  Her face settled into a pout. “Why can’t I come, too? You might need my help.”

  “I also need you to stay here and take care of the library while I’m gone. I’ve got all the arrangements made with the library board, and we’re leaving tomorrow,” I said, my tone final.

  “I don’t think that’s fair. You’re always trying to keep me away from all of the excitement.”

  “I’m also trying to keep you out of harm’s way. Look, the girl was mixed up with some kind of cultlike group, and I don’t know what we’ll be walking into when we arrive. I’m going to have a hard enough time keeping an eye on Abby, without worrying about you, too.”

  “Humph,” she said, not buying my excuse. “I suppose I can’t force you to take me with you.” She stopped and eyed me thoughtfully. “What does Henry think?”

  The sudden shift in conversation startled me. “What do you mean?”

  “Does Henry think you should go?” Darci asked in an even voice.

  “I don’t need his permission,” I said indignantly.

  “You’re right, you don’t.” She traced a finger across the counter. “But I imagine he’s not going to like it.”

  I lifted my chin a notch. “I don’t care whether he likes it or not.”

  Darci looked at me skeptically.

  “Well, I don’t. And don’t be manufacturing another one of your imaginary romances starring me and Henry,” I said, shaking a finger at her. “There’s nothing between Henry and me. He barely likes me.”

  She arched an eyebrow.

  “I mean it,” I said, and paced over to the bookshelves with an armload of books. “I’ve got enough to think about right now. So much has happened to me since last fall that Henry Comacho is the least of my concerns.”

  Darci walked over and stood beside me. “Like what? What else is bothering you?”

  “This town,” I said, shoving a book onto the shelf. “Haven’t you noticed all the sideways glances I’ve been getting?”

  “Well, you have demonstrated a real talent for finding dead bodies. Last fall, Butch Fisher, and then this spring you found Gus.”

  I winced when she mentioned Gus Pike. Another friend I’d lost thanks to Charles Thornton. Gus had been a harmless old man, a reclus
e, and my friend. Charles, in his fervor to stamp out witches, had assumed Gus was a witch and had literally scared the old man to death. Then he buried Gus’s body in a ditch, hoping I’d find it. I had. Tripped and fell right on top of the spot Charles had buried the remains. Only Henry, Abby, and Darci knew of the vision I’d had that led me to the ditch and Gus’s shallow grave.

  “Look,” she said, lightly touching my arm. “It will all blow over eventually.”

  “When?”

  Darci shrugged. “Soon. When the next big deal happens. Just don’t find any more bodies in the meantime.”

  “No problem.” I shuddered. I hated finding dead people. “But what do you think will happen when it comes out at Charles’s trial that he suspected Abby and me of being witches?”

  “Nothing.” She shrugged again. “He’s nuts.”

  I hoped Darci was right, but I doubted it. What would the conservative little town of Summerset think when they learned that, yes, witches were among them?

  Three

  By seven o’clock that evening my suitcases were packed and lined in a neat row in the hallway by my front door. Not that I had many—I’m a blue jeans and T-shirt kind of a girl, and packing a week’s worth was a snap. Now all I needed to do was fetch the cat carrier in from the garage. But that would wait until morning. Queenie viewed the box as an instrument of torture, and if she saw it before then, she’d take off and I’d be playing hide and seek trying to find her.

  I stood in the hallway, hands on my hips, surveying the suitcases and going over my list of last minute details in my mind when the doorbell rang. Startled, I jumped. Who could be stopping by this time of night? Probably Darci with one last bid to be included in the trip.

  When I peeked out the window, I was surprised to see Henry Comacho standing on my front porch. Dressed in jeans and T-shirt, he glanced around the neighborhood before pressing the bell again. Now what did he want? I’d failed so miserably in helping him find the missing man; he surely didn’t want me to try again? Nope. I didn’t see a folder in his hand. I crossed to the door and opened it.

  “Hey, Henry. What can I do for you?” I asked.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets before answering me. “Ahh, sorry to stop by without calling, but I wanted to apologize if I was a little short with you on Saturday.” He stared at a spot over my right shoulder, not meeting my eyes. “I know you did your best.”

  Hmm, the Iceman apologizing? I knew the words “I’m sorry” tended to gag Henry, so he must really feel bad. That or he wanted something else from me.

  “It’s okay,” I said, swinging the door wider. “I know you were counting on my help. I’m sorry that what I saw couldn’t lead you to the body.”

  “We, ahh, found his car Sunday. There’s a bike rack on it, but no bike. And his wife said his backpack is gone, too.”

  “So he could be anywhere?”

  “Yeah. And if what you saw was the truth, now we know he’s dead.”

  I thought about the pile of bones. “Oh, he’s dead,” I said emphatically.

  “Yeah, well.” Henry stopped, pulled his hands out of his pocket and ran a hand through his hair.

  I felt Henry’s doubt, his uncertainty. My talent was hard for him to accept, so I took pity on him. “Listen, would you like some iced tea? It’s too hot for coffee, but I’ve got sun tea in the fridge.”

  He ran a hand through his hair again. “Yeah. Sure.”

  I turned and started to walk back to the kitchen, presuming Henry followed. But when I glanced over my shoulder, I saw he had stopped and was looking at the neat row of suitcases.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked.

  “Yup.” Okay, so do I tell him the truth or not? Abby always said honesty was the best policy, so I opted for the truth. At least part of the truth.

  “Let me pour the tea,” I said, hustling down the hall, “and I’ll explain.”

  In the kitchen, I poured two glasses of tea while Henry settled down at the table. Seating myself, I took a long drink from my glass, stalling.

  “Are you going to tell me where you’re going?” Henry asked, watching me.

  “Yes,” I said, setting my glass down. “Abby and I are going to Minnesota. To Gunhammer Lake.”

  Henry’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Umm, an old friend invited us.”

  His eyes were narrowed into slits now. “What old friend?”

  “Rick Delaney,” I said, popping out of my chair. “Hey, would you like some sugar for your tea?”

  He reached over and lightly grabbed my arm. “No thanks. Will you sit down and tell me why Rick Delaney invited you to Minnesota? He’s the reporter involved with you in that drug bust last fall, isn’t he?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I said, sitting back down and tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “He has a little problem and he thinks Abby and I can help him.”

  “What kind of problem?” Henry took a long drink of tea.

  “Oh, you know. Just a problem,” I said, wiping the beads of moisture off my glass of tea.

  “No, I don’t know,” he said, watching me closely. “‘Just a problem’ isn’t very specific.”

  I should’ve known it wasn’t going to be easy telling Henry only part of the truth. He was a cop, and, I knew from experience, very good at pulling information out of someone. He tried often enough with me in the past. Might as well lay the whole story out.

  “Okay. There’s a missing girl he thinks we can help him find. She was last seen at Gunhammer Lake, where she was involved with a group up there.”

  “Group?” His voice had a distinct edge. “You mean as in cult?”

  I slapped my hand on the table and smiled. “You know, Henry, it’s funny you should say that. I asked Rick the same question.”

  He slid his glass out of the way and folded his hands. “And his answer was?”

  My smile faded. “Ahh, he didn’t think so?”

  “Are you asking me if that’s what he said?” He looked at me intently.

  “Well, no.” My words stumbled out of my mouth. “I mean, you weren’t there, so how could you know what he said?”

  “You’re right, I wasn’t there,” he said in a tone one would use with a four-year-old. “I don’t know what he said. That’s why I’m trying to get the information out of you.”

  “There’s no need to be sarcastic about it,” I said, taking another sip of tea.

  Henry pulled a hand through his hair. It seemed to be a constant habit of his whenever he was around me.

  “Look, just tell what you’re planning on doing.”

  “Oh, all right,” I said, and gave up on disseminating. I looked at Henry with steely eyes. “You’re not going to yell, are you? Lady doesn’t like it when you yell.”

  Lady, from where she was laying on the floor by Henry’s chair, perked up her ears at the sound of her name.

  Henry reached down and scratched her ears. “No, I’m not going to yell,” he said, smiling down at the dog.

  “Well, then. The group in Minnesota that the girl, Brandi, was involved with is supposedly conducting research into psychic phenomena and the paranormal. We’re going to ask some questions; snoop around. Rick thinks—” I was so involved in my story, I missed the look on Henry’s face, and I jumped when his voice echoed off the kitchen walls.

  “You’re what?”

  “Hey, you said you wouldn’t yell,” I said indignantly.

  “I said that before I knew what a scatterbrained scheme you’ve gotten yourself into.” He pushed back from the table.

  “It’s not scatterbrained,” I said, my voice rising. “Rick thinks it’s a great idea sending two psychics up to the lake to investigate. Rick also thinks—”

  “I don’t give a good god—” Henry stopped and tried to compose himself before continuing. “I don’t care what Rick thinks. Number one,” he said, holding up one finger, “neither you nor Abby are trained investigators.” He held up a second finger. “Number two, you have n
o business bumbling into a situation that could be dangerous. Number three—”

  “Look, I understand,” I said, cutting him short. “And I take exception to the word ‘bumbling.’ I do not bumble.” I crossed my arms in front of me.

  “No, you just fall over dead bodies all the time,” he said, glaring at me.

  “Only two,” I shot back.

  “That’s two more than most people,” he said, leaning forward and crossing his arms on the table.

  “Hey, that’s not my fault. And finding those bodies helped catch two killers. Did you forget about that?” I pointed out, leaning forward.

  “Right. And the first time you got shot, and the second time you were going to be strangled and dumped in hog manure.”

  He had a point.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “You are not going,” he said decisively, and sat back in his chair.

  I sprang to my feet and stood as tall as my five-foot-four height would allow. “Listen, you have no right to tell me what I will or will not do. If I want to help find this lost girl, that’s my business, not yours.” Now it was my voice that echoed in the kitchen. “You didn’t think twice about asking me to help you.”

  By now Henry was also standing. “When I asked you to help me, it didn’t require you to be put in the line of fire. All I did was ask you to look at pictures. Not cozy up to some cult.” He took one step toward me.

  “We’re not joining a cult,” I said, taking a step toward him.

  “No, you’re going to stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong. Again. And one of these days, it’s going to get cut off.” He took another step forward.

  The distance between us had closed, and we were right in each other’s face. Henry’s eyes were flashing black fire, and I’m sure mine were just as angry.

  “It’s none of your concern if I get my nose cut off,” I said right in his face.

  “Maybe it isn’t.” He took a deep breath. “Maybe you expect your psychic talent will save you,” he said, his voice derisive. “Or maybe witchcraft.” He snorted. “I hope you do a better job for Rick than you did for me.”