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The Witch Is Dead
An Ophelia and Abby Mystery
Chapter One
Tink stood with her nose pressed to the large plate-glass window, then whirled around, her thin face a picture of excitement. "Look," she said. "Do you think that's Aunt Dot's plane?"
From where I sat next to Abby, I searched Tink's face to see any lingering signs of last night's vision. Her eyes seemed clear, not shadowed as they had been. Her smile seemed real, not forced. Relieved, I smiled back. "It should be landing soon." I glanced at my watch, then up at the large monitor showing the arrival times of flights. "It's three-thirty now, and the flight from Raleigh is supposed to arrive at 4:05."
Tink turned away and went back to her vigil. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Abby studying me, her face mirroring the consternation my face had worn when watching Tink.
"What?" I said defensively.
My grandmother lifted an eyebrow. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Her voice carried the soft lilt of the mountains in Appalachia where she was born.
Scrunching my eyes shut and rubbing my forehead, I thought about how to answer her.
Do I tell her about Tink's nightmare? I didn't want to upset her. Abby hadn't seen her mother's sister, Dot, since her visit three years ago to her girlhood home. My grandmother had anticipated Aunt Dot's visit to Iowa for months. I didn't want anything to mar it.
Opening my eyes, I slid a look at Abby sitting there, the picture of calm. Her silver hair was done in a neat twist at the back of her head. She wore a floral skirt and ivory shell with a matching scarf. An understated amethystbroach, one that my grandfather had given her many years ago, held the scarf in place on her shoulder. She was elegant and charming.
Unfortunately, it's hard to hide things from your grandmother when she's a psychic witch. Even if you're one yourself.
I blew out a breath. "Okay," I replied reluctantly. "Tink had a dream last night—"
"A dream or a dream?" Abby asked, breaking in.
"A vision. Rotten corpses walking toward her in the woods."
"How awful for Tink." Abby's lips tightened. "What did they want?"
"I don't know. Tink said they definitely wanted something. They were approaching her with their hands outstretched, as if they were pleading, but they never spoke."
Abby tapped her chin. "Hmm, whether we like it or not, evidently some sort of connection with Tink has been made." Her eyes wandered over to where Tink stood at the window. "That girl is a strong medium. Her energy must be a beacon to restless souls."
"Any way we can tamp that energy down?"
Abby shook her head. "No, she and I have tried. She's gaining more control over her talent, but as she grows older, the talent is growing stronger." She paused. "Did you say 'corpses,' not 'corpse'?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"So it's more than one spirit trying to reach her?"
"I guess. Is that important?"
She gave me a knowing look. "Ophelia, as a psychic, by now you should know every little detail can have meaning."
I glanced back at Tink. "It's significant that there was more than one?"
"Yes." Abby's face lightened. "She hasn't been by a cemetery recently, has she?"
"I don't think so. She doesn't like them, you know. She says there are too many voices to overcome. A few always manage to break through her guard."
"Well, another explanation might be a mass death somewhere."
"You mean like a plane crash, or train wreck?"
She nodded again. "Yes. The combined energy of the spirits is breaking through her resistance."
"I haven't heard of any recent tragedies, have you?"
"No, but Tink's vision doesn't have to be about something that happened recently. It could be out of the past."
"How 'past'?" I asked with a frown.
Abby lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "I don't know. Maybe once Aunt Dot arrives, she can shed some light on what's happening to Tink. After all, she's lived all these years with Aunt Mary, and Mary's the most powerful medium that I've ever known."
I shuddered at the mention of Great-Aunt Mary's name. I'd met her as a child when Abby took me to the mountains. Great-Aunt Mary had struck fear in my adolescent heart. Towering over me, she had a way of drilling me with her green eyes that made me want to confess every childhood misdemeanor I'd ever committed.
Abby picked up on my reaction and patted my knee. "Don't worry, dear. Aunt Dot is nothing like Mary."
"I know. She's the exact opposite, if I remember correctly."
She smiled. "Yes, she is. She's still as wide as she is tall. Whenever I think of her, I see her standing in the kitchen, in her cotton dress and orthopedic shoes, with both hands in some bowl, mixing away. And she always smelled like cinnamon."
Abby's memories of Aunt Dot matched mine. I grinned as I let my gaze fall on the book Tink had brought to read. Picking it up, I thumbed through it.
"That kid!" I exclaimed.
"What is it, dear?"
Holding out the book, I showed it to Abby. "Tink marks her place by turning down the corner of the page. I don't know how many times I've told her not to do it."
"Isn't that one of the paperbacks she bought last week at the bookstore in Aiken?" Abby asked.
"Yes."
"So it's her book. She can do what she wants," she said with a lift of her shoulder.
"But it's disrespectful."
She gave me a playful nudge with her elbow. "Quit being such a librarian, Ophelia."
"I suppose," I responded reluctantly, and put the book back on the seat next to me.
To kill time, my eyes traveled around the room, looking at the others who were waiting.
My gaze halted as I noticed someone sitting on the other side of the room who seemed familiar.
The Witch Is Dead
An Ophelia and Abby Mystery. Copyright © by Shirley Damsgaard. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
