The Witch is Dead (21 page)

Get used to it, Jensen, until Tink is found, that’s a question you’ll be asked a hundred times.

Should I tell her how I really felt? Like my heart had been ripped out of my chest and tromped on by a herd of elephants.

No, I’ll save my pain for when I’m alone.

“I’m hanging in there,” I replied politely.

Gert sat back and crossed her legs. “This is the most awful thing. A lovely girl like Tink…” She abstractedly fingered the silver charm. “She must be beside herself with fear. Humph, God only knows what that poor child is going through.”

I knew Gert was only trying to commiserate with me, but her words were like a stick poking a raw wound. I had to put an end to the conversation.

“I appreciate your concern, Gert, but I’d rather not discuss Tink right now.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said as a funny look flashed across
her face. “Here you are, beside yourself with worry, and I’m rambling on and on. I just wanted you to know that I understand.”

I doubted if she truly did understand. How could anyone understand until it happened to their family?

Gert stood. “I’d best be going.” She patted my arm sympathetically as she passed by. “You take care, you hear?”

I nodded without answering.

Thankful she’d finally left, I stared out over the yard. I’d been through some tough times—Brian’s murder, Grandpa’s sudden death of a heart attack—but I’d never felt anything like this. This sense of total, utter uselessness.

I heard the door slam again and a familiar voice came from behind me.

“Are you just going to sit there, or are you going to do something to find Tink?”

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw her standing by the door, her hand fisted on her hip and a challenge in her eyes.

Darci.

After Darci and I were done crying and apologies were made—mine—we set about making plans.

“I’ll stay here at the house to answer the phone while the three of you go to Abby’s,” Darci said.

“I need to run this plan by her,” I replied with hesitation. “She’s not thinking straight right now.”

“Why?”

“She blames herself.”

“She shouldn’t.”

“I know. Aunt Dot tried to convince her, but it didn’t work. I hope I can.”

“Hmm…” Darci thought for a moment. “What’s Plan B
if the ceremony doesn’t work?”

“Plan B?” I blew out a breath. “I don’t have a Plan B. Do you have any ideas?”

She pursed her lips. “Not at the moment.” Her eyes widened and she snapped her fingers. “I’ll make a list.”

I made a derisive sound. “What kind of list?”

“Oh, you know, one with all the suspects, a timeline, everything weird that’s happened, that kind of stuff,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“Darce, that only works on TV shows and in the movies.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You got a better idea?”

“No, I don’t,” I said with a sigh. “Go ahead, make your list. At this point, it can’t hurt, and who knows, maybe you’ll be able to make some sense out of this tangled mess.”

“Listen to me.” She leaned forward, her face intense. “I have a lot of faith in our ability to figure things out. And I think we’ve been pretty successful for a couple of amateurs—”

“It was blind luck.”

“So? Who cares how we did it? We still solved the crimes.” She tossed her head. “I know you didn’t want to get involved in this investigation, that you promised Bill—”

I held up a hand, cutting her off. “All bets are off now.” I stared at her with a glint in my eye. “Iam involved. Whoever took Tink made this very, very personal. I’m going to use every means at my disposal to hunt them down.” I pushed myself out of the chair. “Whether Bill likes it or not.”

Twenty-One

We escorted Aunt Dot across the yard to the summerhouse. It had been Abby’s private space since Grandpa brought her to Iowa. Inside, Aunt Dot seated herself in the old rocking chair, while Abby and I examined the rows of old journals contained on the bookshelves.

“Aunt Dot,” Abby said as her eyes traveled down the row of worn books. “Whose journal do you think might have the spell we need?”

“Ack, I don’t think we’ve had this happen before in the family.” She slowly rocked back and forth. “The closest thing would be when cousin Edgar ran off and joined the circus at the age of ten.”

“Who was Edgar’s mother?”

“Minnie.” Aunt Dot shook her head. “I don’t know what his mother did to that boy when she found him, but Edgar feared clowns for the rest of his life.”

“Did she use a spell to locate him?” Abby asked, taking one of the old journals in hand.

“I’m sorry, I can’t remember.”

“Hmm.” Abby thumbed through the pages of the book. “Ophelia, you start at the other end. Look at each journal
and see if you can find anything about searching for lost children.”

I did as she asked. I found remedies for easing childbirth, curing a child of the croup, protecting yourself from gossip, but nothing about missing children.

Finally, Abby slammed one of the books shut. “This is taking too long. We’re just going to wing it.”

She walked to the cupboard and took out two blue candles and a silver one. Placing them on a small table in the center of the room, she then removed five stones from a drawer—four blue lace agates and an amethyst. After lighting a small ball of sage contained in an abalone shell, she passed the candles and stones one by one through its purifying smoke. Once she finished with the candles and stones, she set a bowl of water and a bowl of sea salt next to the candles.

Stepping back, she eyed the table. “Do you have the picture of Tink?”

“Here,” I said, reaching in my backpack and pulling out Tink’s most recent school photograph.

Taking it from me, she laid it carefully on the table in front of the three candles now safely secured in metal candlestick holders. The top right corner of the picture pointed to the north, and she began there, laying the blue lace agate at each point. She laid the amethyst at top center directly in line with Tink’s face.

I didn’t need to ask what she was doing. The blue lace agates and the blue candles were for communication, to help us in our quest to reach Tink. The positioning of the stones represented the four elements—to the north, Earth; to the west, Air; to the south, Fire; and to the east, Water. The very top stone—the amethyst—represented the Spirit, and, along with the silver candle, would help increase our psychic energy. And if Abby drew imaginary lines between the five
stones, it would form a pentagram over the picture of Tink.

Satisfied that all was as it should be, Abby crossed to a small closet and handed both Aunt Dot and me a white cowled robe.

Since Aunt Dot was several inches shorter than Abby, the sleeves of her robe hung down her sides while the hem puddled at her feet. She reminded me of a child playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes.

Abby walked back to the table and, picking up the smoking shell, wandered about the room wafting smoke into the corners and around the doors and windows. Then she returned to where Aunt Dot and I stood and did the same to us. We hadn’t taken the time to purify ourselves in a saltwater bath, so using the smoking sage was the next best thing.

Together we moved to the table.

Abby picked up the bowl of salt and, walking clockwise, sprinkled a circle around us on the worn floorboards. She joined us at the table, and after adding a pinch of salt, dipped her fingers into the water. Again, moving clockwise, she flicked the water in a circle around us. She lit the candles.

Holding each other’s hands, we began.

Staring at Tink’s picture, I conjured each of the elements in my mind. Rich black dirt warmed by the summer sun. I inhaled and imagined I caught the scent of lavender and lilacs drifting on a light breeze. I saw logs blazing on the hearth, the heat radiating out from them and chasing away the chill I’d felt since Tink had disappeared. From outside the summerhouse, I heard the whispering of a gentle stream as the water tumbled over rocks in a riverbed.

Finally, the Spirit—Tink’s spirit. Her humor, her grace, the way every day was an adventure as she stood poised at the threshold of becoming the person she was meant to be.

My throat tightened as sadness gripped my heart. I felt the
warmth fade and my concentration slip. Worry ate at me.

I scrunched my eyes shut.Deep, slow breaths, Jensen , I told myself while I fought to regain control.

Abby sensed my distress and her hand gripped mine firmly.

I felt her energy pour into me, strengthening me. A slight squeeze of my own hand let her know that I’d won the battle.

Opening my eyes, I focused on Tink’s picture and let all the love I had for her rush out. Her face shimmered in the flickering light as irritation and frustration niggled at me.

Irritation? Frustration? Those feeling weren’t mine—they were Tink’s.

I stared harder at her picture, and in my mind I flashed back to the night Tink and I had walked in the woods, talking about the adoption.

As in reality, Silas Green suddenly appeared, only in my mind he held a pile of bones in his arms. I gasped in horror as I noticed a shiny gold bracelet dangling from one of the bones. Tink’s bracelet. Did it mean Tink was dead? No, she stood next to me, as she had that night in the woods.

I focused again on Silas.

Specters floated around him, their faces angry. Their mouths moved in silent curses. I cocked my head to listen, but the words sounded like static on a radio. Turning, I looked at Tink, only to see her being pulled away from me by invisible hands.

Shock registered on her face, and as she faded in the distance, the sound of a woman’s maniacal laughter overrode the static in my head.

I pivoted back to Silas and saw Walks Quietly standing behind him, watching me with disappointment in his eyes.

The spirits swirled and twisted around both of them as
images spun through my mind.

Tink, the first day I’d met her at Gunhammer Lake in Minnesota. The awful night at the abandoned cabin when Juliet had tried to use Tink as a vessel to summon a demon. Winnie slinking off into the woods as the cabin burned to the ground. Tink playing with T.P. at Roseman State Park the night of the ill-fated campout.

The images came faster and faster until it felt like my brain was in overdrive.

Panting like a dog, I tried to draw air into my lungs, but I couldn’t seem to fill them. My body began shaking so hard, it made my head rattle—

As if someone flipped a light switch, the images ended.

I opened my eyes, not realizing that I’d closed them, to find Abby standing in front of me, shaking me for all she was worth.

“Ophelia!” she exclaimed.

I clenched her arm to stop the shaking. “I’m okay,” I said, my voice trembling. “Man, Ihate it when that happens.”

Abby led me over to the rocking chair. “When the images take over?”

“Yeah, this experience was like the one at Darci’s when I tried to tune in on the murder this spring.” I rubbed my face with my hands. “There’s got to be an easier way to do this.”

Aunt Dot sat next to me and patted my knee in sympathy. “You’re getting your color back now.”

Abby handed me a glass of water. “Drink this.”

I drained the glass and passed it to Aunt Dot. Resting my head against the back of the rocker, I watched as Abby closed the circle in silence.

She snuffed out the candles, and walking counterclockwise, seemed to drain the energy from the room. After picking up the blue lace agates, she pulled up a chair next
to the rocker. She handed one of the stones to Aunt Dot, set aside one for herself, and held out the last two to me.

“Place these in your left pocket,” she said as she pressed them into my open palm. “I’m leaving the amethyst by Tink’s picture until she comes home.” Settling back in her chair, Abby studied me. “How are you feeling?”

“A little shaky.”

“Aunt Dot, there’s a notebook and a pen on the stand next to you…would you please give them to me?”

Aunt Dot did as Abby asked.

“What did you see?” Abby asked then, poising the pen over the blank paper.

Quickly, I related my vision to her, and she scribbled my words down.

Abby nibbled on the end of the pen. “You saw Silas Green? And he had Tink’s bracelet?”

“Yeah. I never met the man until a week or so ago. Now, lately, I’ve run into him at Roseman State Park, at the Farmer’s Market, and at Buchanan’s funeral.”

“You ran into him three times before Tink’s disappearance?”

I nodded. “Is that significant?”

She doodled on the paper as she thought about my question. “The number three has a lot of power associated with it.”

“What about the bracelet?”

“I don’t recall seeing it the day she disappeared. Do you?”

“I couldn’t even remember what she had on,” I said, scrubbing my face with my hands. “Let alone whether or not she was wearing the bracelet.”

“What about Walks Quietly? He was in the vision, too?”