The Trouble With Witches (20 page)

"No, some kind of accident, but I couldn't find out what."

I felt a breeze prickle my skin. "None of these women died of natural causes?"

"Nope.
Seems the women in the Butler family don't die of natural causes."

"That's strange." I rubbed my arms, chilled again by the breeze.

"I think so. I also think it's strange all these deaths occurred
after
Juliet married Jason."

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I put my hair in a twist and held the strands in place with long bobby pins. While I did, my gaze slid to Abby, sitting on the edge of the tub, watching me.

"Okay, so tell me again why you aren't going to this dinner tonight?" I said, fastening the last pin in place.

Abby gave me long, patient look. "I don't think it would be wise to take
Darci
. I'm afraid her curiosity might give more away at this point in time than we want. Winnie might be easily fooled, but I don't think Juliet and Jason Finch would be."

"So you're staying home to
babysit
her." My mouth turned down in a frown.
"And sending me, alone, into the lion's den."

Abby's chuckle echoed off the tiled walls. "Don't you think you're being a tad overdramatic, my dear?"

"These people could be kidnappers. What if I don't come back?"

"I'll send Rick to storm the gates," Abby said, still smiling.

My frown deepened. "No thanks. I'll rescue myself if I need to."

"I thought as much." Abby rose and came to stand behind me, our reflections joined in the mirror.

Her eyes were twinkling with humor, but mine narrowed with worry.

Her expression changed as the humor slipped away. "Is your head still bothering you?"

"Yes," I said, opening the medicine cabinet and grabbing the aspirin. "I think I've taken a ton of these today." I shot the pills to the back of my throat and chased them down with a long drink of water. "Yuck," I said, and wiped my mouth with a towel. "I think they're starting to upset my stomach."

Abby studied my face in the mirror. "Drink some chamomile tea when you get home. It will relieve the stress you're feeling and help you sleep." She placed a hand on my shoulder. "Let the leaves steep for five minutes, okay?"

"Okay." I patted her hand and plastered an encouraging smile on my face. "I'll be fine. I don't want you to worry. That's my job, remember?"

Abby's reflection smiled back at me in the mirror. "Ophelia, I've worried about you since the day you were born, and will till the day they lay me in my grave. That's
my
job."

When Abby said the word "grave," a shiver ran up my back and I felt tears tease at the corner of my eyes. "I don't like it when you use words like that."

Her eyebrows lifted. "What words?"

I looked down. I didn't want to meet her gaze in the mirror. "You know—'grave,' " I said softly.

Both hands squeezed my shoulders. "Oh my dear," she said, her voice full of love, and a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. "Everyone must die someday."

"But not for a long time, right?" I heard the desperation in my words. A world without Abby was unthinkable to me.

She nodded.
"Right."
Studying my face again, her smile faded. "Maybe you shouldn't go tonight. You're awfully pale."

"I can fix that," I said with bravado, and picked up the makeup brush
Darci
had insisted I buy.

I swirled the brush around in the blush, another item she'd convinced me that I needed, and with heavy strokes applied it to my face. "There, how's that?" I asked, eyeing myself in the mirror.

Abby cocked her head and winced. "I think you should soften the color a bit. Right now you resemble a Kewpie doll."

She was right—my cheekbones wore two bright pink circles.

"Dang it, I'm never going to get the hang of all this
stuff
," I said, waving my hand at the makeup that littered the back of the sink.

"Here, try this," she said, and handed me one of those funny triangle-shaped sponges. "Blend everything in with this."

I wiped the sponge across my cheeks. "Humph, not bad," I said, turning my head this way and that. "It almost looks natural."

Abby laughed. "That's the point, Ophelia. You're not supposed to look like you have makeup on."

"Now that's stupid. Why wear it, then?"

Abby rolled her eyes. "I give up." She paused and looked me up and down. "You look very nice. The outfit flatters you."

I glanced down at my clothes. We'd decided my jeans and funky T-shirts wouldn't cut it for a dinner with the Finches, so
Darci
and Abby had picked my clothes for the evening. The outfit they'd come up with was a strange mix of pieces from both their wardrobes. The skirt belonged to Abby, as did the shirt I wore open over the sparkly little number
Darci
insisted I borrow. I didn't fill the knit top out as well as
Darci
did, but it looked okay.

Twenty minutes later I was walking up the graveled path to the door of the main cabin at the compound.

I stopped for a minute and gaped. Cabin—ha. The structure, made of weathered logs, was two stories high. A balcony ran all the way around the second story. Above the balcony a pitched roof, shingled in cedar shakes, pointed toward the night sky. Standing there, gazing at the house, it seemed that the roofs sharp peak aimed straight at the waxing moon.

A rectangle of light suddenly stretched across the ground and ended at my feet. My eyes followed the path of light to where Juliet stood in the open doorway.

Swinging the door wide, she motioned for me to come in. "Ophelia, I'm so glad you could join us tonight," she said when I reached her.

"Thank you for inviting me," I replied.

"There will only be five of us tonight. We eat our main meal together at noon, so the rest of the group won't be joining us," she said over her shoulder as we walked into the main room.

The cavernous room was two stories high, with the second floor balcony running around three sides. Walls made of white pine logs stretched toward the peaked ceiling overhead. And windows, overlooking the lake, ran from the planked floor to the uppermost point of the peak. Hallways on both sides led away from the main part of the house.

A kitchen, separated from the rest of the room by a long counter, sat to my right. I saw Winnie buzzing back and forth from the stove to the cabinets, removing bowls from the cupboards. Noticing me, she gave me a quick nod and resumed her tasks.

The smell of beeswax filled the room from the dozens of candles glowing everywhere.
Candles on a table next to heavy pottery plates and chunky glasses; on a stand in the corner, next to a loom with a half-finished piece of fabric attached to the frame.

Spying the loom, I turned to Juliet. "Do you mind if I look at your work?"

"Of course not.
Do you weave?" she asked, leading me toward the windows and the loom.

"No, I don't," I said, admiring the brightly colored threads.

She ran her hand across the piece. "I love weaving." Her face took on a faraway look. "To me, it represents life. All the threads form a pattern in the fabric, just the way events form the pattern of our lives. Pull one thread, and the whole piece unravels." She shook her head, snapping out of her mood. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be so philosophical."

"That's okay. It's wonderful you enjoy it so much." I examined the unfinished piece. "And you do beautiful work."

"Thank you," she said shyly. "But it's more than just creating something useful. The act calms me, lets me get in touch with my inner self, and opens my mind to another dimension."

"You're psychic," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

"You mean like your grandmother?" she asked, smiling.

My mouth dropped open. "How—How…" I stuttered.

Juliet laughed. "Don't be concerned, Ophelia. We don't broadcast what we learn here. Winnie saw what happened the other day in the grocery store between your grandmother and that group of boys. She's trained to see what others miss." She paused. "Your grandmother must be very talented."

"We don't talk about it," I mumbled.

She laid a hand gently on my arm. "You have no need to fear; you'll find acceptance with us. We've learned everyone has a certain amount of talent." Her face tightened in a frown. "But our narrowed-minded society refuses to let individuals explore their potential. And without that, there—" She stopped abruptly and her face brightened. "Jason."

I turned and saw Jason, walking into the room with
Tink
by his side. One hand rested lightly on the girl's narrow shoulders, but when he saw Juliet, the hand dropped. He hurried across the room.
Tink
stopped and stood rooted in the center of the room.

Without a glance toward me, he reached out to Juliet and took her hands in his. Leaning down, he kissed her on both cheeks while murmuring words I couldn't hear.

Juliet's face flushed with pleasure.

Stepping back, he slipped one arm around his wife's waist and turned to me.

When I met Jason at the lake, he'd worn sunglasses and I didn't see his eyes. Now I did. Dark and deep-set in his narrow face, they blazed as he looked into mine. They seemed to probe, penetrate, as if he was attempting to see inside my head. I felt mesmerized. Unnerved, I took a step back and broke eye contact.

When I returned my eyes to his face, the impression I had was gone. All I saw was a pair of dark brown eyes looking at me companionably.

"Ophelia, welcome," he said, smiling.

"Thank you."

He glanced over at
Tink
. "Come over here, darling," he said, extending his arm toward her, "and say hello to Ophelia."

Tink
crossed the room with her blond head down. Dressed in an outfit identical to the ones the adults wore, she took her place next to Jason.

Up close, I saw she wore her spider's necklace. The fragile silver web sparkled against the white of her tunic. And the
bloodred
stone in the center glowed in the candlelight.