The Trouble With Witches (14 page)

After hooking up the motor and the battery to the boat, I started the motor and cast off. Slowly, I put the propeller in reverse and eased away from the dock. Once away from the shore, the light breeze tossed my hair around my shoulders, while the hot August sun beat down on the top of my head. I lifted my chin toward the sky and took a deep breath. The air carried the aroma of lake water and pine, mixed with the faint odor of gasoline from the exhaust of speedboats. Not since my last time fishing with Grandpa had I smelled that particular combination of scents. Looking over the side as the boat glided across the water, I saw submerged weeds weaving back and forth, pushed by unseen currents.

I exhaled slowly, and the tension I didn't know I carried seemed to release knot by knot.

God, I'd forgotten how much I loved being out on the water.

All too soon I neared the opposite side of the lake. Cutting the motor and raising the prop, I allowed the small boat to glide into shore. Barefoot, and with my pant legs rolled up, I jumped out. Soft sand squished around my feet while cool water lapped against my ankles as I waded to the shore, tugging the boat with me. I secured it to the nearest tree with the rope attached to the bow. Satisfied the boat would stay put, I slipped on my shoes and clambered up the hill, away from the lake and into the pines. All the time praying I didn't run into any poison ivy.

The hill leveled off and I headed east toward the area where I had seen the ghost light. As I walked, sunlight filtered through the braches of the pine trees, and their soft needles littering the ground muted my steps. The only sound I heard was the rattling of the birch leaves.

I stopped, closed my eyes, and turned on my radar.

I probably look like a dog sniffing the air, I thought.
A dog
?

Once, I'd used the analogy of a dog's heightened sense of smell to describe my psychic talent to Henry. My lips tightened in a frown. I hadn't thought of Henry since he stormed out of my house. So much had happened that I'd blanked him from my mind. Why had Henry suddenly popped into my head now?

I shoved the question away and continued walking. Out of the corner of my eye, light glinting off metal caught my attention. I took off toward it.

A high woven-wire fence stretched between metal poles wound its way through the trees. It must have been the fence Rick mentioned, the one that created the boundary of the old Butler estate. I thought it was much farther down the lake. Had I walked that far? Looking over my shoulder, I tried to judge my distance from the lake, but the trees blocked any glimpse of water. Turning back, I noticed a section of the woven wire had been pulled back away from one of the poles, leaving a hole.

A hole big enough for someone to wiggle through.
Someone about my size.
I took a step forward.

Don't do
it
,
said my common sense.

Hey, it's not like I haven't trespassed before
, I argued back.

Right
—
and got shot in the process
, the little voice pointed out.

Oh, yeah. Maybe I should listen this time.

I turned away from the fence and began to retrace my steps, when a chattering squirrel drew my attention.

He sat high in the tree, watching me and prattling, as if scolding me for contemplating trespassing.

"Enough already," I said aloud, stopping under the tree. "I'm leaving."

The squirrel paused as if he were out of breath from his prattling.

And when he did, I heard it—a whimper. Or thought I'd heard a whimper. I cocked my head, straining to hear a sound.
Nothing.
Looking back up at the tree, I saw the squirrel had disappeared, and on the same bough, a hawk now sat.

Motionless, the hawk stared down at me. A second later, with unbelievable grace, he launched himself airborne. He circled twice above my head and then flew in the direction of the fence. The hawk circled again.
This time directly over the hole in the fence.

I couldn't shake the impression he wanted me to follow—through the fence. Without a second thought, I did—I squirmed right through the break.
So much for common sense
.

I walked deeper into the woods, occasionally glancing up at the hawk flying in the sky above me. The trees grew thicker together in this section of the forest, blocking more and more of the sun the farther I walked. The air seemed to thicken, too, and the birch trees no longer rattled. Again I glanced up, looking for the hawk, but he'd vanished.

Thanks a lot. You lead me here, and then you disappear, I thought while my eyes scanned the branches above me for a sign of the hawk.

Head tilted back, I walked along, still searching the branches for the bird. A shock, as if I'd touched an electric fence, stopped me. Jerking around, I looked for what I'd touched, but nothing was in sight.
Only an old, abandoned cabin, sitting in a clearing about fifty feet from where I stood.

I remembered Rick's map of the Butler estate. Had he drawn a cabin this far away from the main house? I didn't think so. And all the cabins he'd drawn were inhabited. Eyeing the cabin, I didn't think anyone could be living in it. Sections of rafters peeked out from holes in the roof. The main door hung crookedly from rusted hinges, and on either side of it, windows, their panes broken, stared out toward the clearing. Two steps, with the treads half gone, led to a sagging front porch. And along the porch ran a wooden railing with several posts missing. It reminded me of a smiling mouth with several teeth missing.

Ghost lights.
Abandoned cabin.
Was this where Fred Albert, Violet's brother, spent his last days?

I took another step forward, only to be shocked again.
But by what?

Perplexed, I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, while I studied the ground at my feet. Could there be some kind of invisible fencing buried in the ground? Like the ones people used to keep their dogs in their yards? No, an invisible fence only worked with a collar that acted like a receiver. But maybe my psychic talent acted the same way.

Kneeling, I picked up a stick and dug at the ground, but the hard-packed dirt snapped the stick in two. When the stick broke, the smell of cedar filled the air. I sat back on my heels and examined the broken end. I took a deep breath.

Yup, definitely cedar.

My eyes skimmed the clearing, but I didn't see any cedar trees. Examining the ground around me, I saw another stick to my right, then another to my left. The sticks seemed to be in a pattern. Standing, I followed the trail of cedar sticks. They ringed the cabin. And with the sticks, in regular intervals, lay bundles of leaves, tied in the middle with rough string.

I didn't need to smell the bundles. I recognized the leaves by their silver-gray color.
Sage.
One of Abby's favorite herbs.

No way. This couldn't be a piece of Abby's work. She hadn't been at the lake long enough to do something like this.
But if not Abby, then who?
And why?

I stood and took a calming breath. Opening my mind, I sent a tentative finger of energy toward the circle of cedar. I felt a shock, but not as strong. I tried again, only instead of a finger of
energy,
I pushed with both hands against what felt like an invisible wall.

The wall seemed to bend inward against my hands while the scent of cedar grew stronger.

I shoved harder this time, and felt the wall crack.

Warmth seeped out and enfolded me with soft, gentle hands. The cedar smell that had been so strong only a moment ago was replaced with the aroma of apples and cinnamon, reminding me of childhood days spent in Abby's kitchen. I relaxed, and as I did, I thought I heard a muted voice in my ear.

"
Let me take care of you. Everything you desire will be yours
," said the sibilant tones.

Take care of me
? I tugged against the invisible hands that held me, but their grip strengthened.
I don't want to be taken care of. And everything I desire might not be good for me
. I tugged harder.
Without need, want, and struggle, you don't learn, you don't grow
. In my mind, I saw myself prying grasping fingers from my wrists.

As I did, the air around me changed with a sudden surge of cold. The cloying scent of something rotting replaced the comforting smell of apples and cinnamon.
And the soft, warm hands?
The flesh melted away until nothing was left but bone.
Bone that poked and pinched as if trying to find a point of entry into my body, into my soul.

As I struggled, I looked at the cabin, with its broken windows and crooked door, and it appeared to take on a malevolent look. Black dots feathered the edges of my consciousness while I stared at the leering facade. My last thought before the dots merged into total darkness came out of my mouth in a rough whisper.

"Abby."

Cold
—
I'm so cold
.

A tiny bit of heat sparked somewhere inside of me as a warm cloth wiped my face. With it, the darkness in my mind faded. Opening my eye, I saw Abby's face, filled with concern, hovering over me. A gasp of relief escaped me—I was back in the cabin, in my bedroom. I'd survived whatever had happened in the woods.

After struggling to sit up, I threw my arms around Abby and hugged her close, and the smell of the baby powder she always wore chased away the rotten smell that still lingered in my senses. I squeezed my eyes shut to hold back the sudden tears that filled them.

Abby's arms tightened around me and she murmured soft words in my ear while my body trembled with a cold deep inside me.

What had I stumbled onto in those woods?

Opening my eyes, I noticed Walks Quietly standing silently at my bedroom door. Our eyes met for only a moment, and then, without a word, he turned and left.

Releasing Abby, I scooted back toward the headboard, while she reached around behind me and plumped the pillows. When I settled back against them, a cool hand stroked my face while the other hand tucked the blankets tightly around me.