Free The Witch is Dead by Shirley Damsgaard

had been silent. Tink pushed her corn around on her plate with her fork and only took a bite when she caught me watching. I tried to keep up some form of conversation, but soon even my food lost its appeal. Any appetite I’d had was crushed by the weight of silence that hung around us. I gave up, asked Tink if she was done, and filled up the dog bowls with our scraps.

    Taking my coffee back to my office, I ran my fingers idly over my pictures, my crystals, and my books lined up neatly on the shelves. If only I could find the answer to my dilemma between their pages. Worry picked at the corner of my brain, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.

    I could deny it, I could run from it, but the cause of the worry was inescapable. We had a problem. And it started Friday night with Tink’s dream of rotting corpses pleading for help. Abby liked to say that there was no such thing as a coincidence, and Tink coming in contact with a man whoseoccupation was death was no coincidence. Then to have the man die on his own embalming table. I didn’t need a map to know something was up. The question was, what? And how did I protect Tink, and for once keep my family out of a murder investigation?

    I glanced at the phone. Light still on. Good, I thought, taking a sip of coffee. I hoped Tink would share her troubles with Nell.

    I wondered how much Nell knew about our gifts. She’d been a front row witness to Tink’s misadventure with a Ouija board in May. The troubled spirit of Summerset’s last murder victim had tried to choke a participant when Tink inadvertently summoned him by way of the board. The five girls at that session had all learned that messing with the Ouija board wasnot a harmless game.

    I frowned. Maybe Tink had taken her lesson too much to heart and now was afraid to let her guard down at any time.

    The shrill ringing of my cell phone filled the room. I leaned across the desk and flipped the phone open.

    “I can’t get through on your land line,” came Abby’s voice from the receiver.

    “I know,” I said, sitting in the chair behind my desk and placing my bare feet on the edge. “Tink’s talking to Nell.”

    “How did she take the news about Mr. Buchanan’s death?”

    I pulled one hand through my hair. “You can talk now? Aunt Dot isn’t around?”

    A slight sniff sounded in my ear. “No, she’s out in the yard looking for fairies. Seems she does better seeing them after a couple of glasses of wine.”

    A sudden thought occurred to me. “Abby, what if all these years, Aunt Dot’s fairies have been a result of her tippling?”

    “Who knows?” Abby gave a long sigh. “Right now, I don’t have time to worry about fairies. I’m concerned about Tink. What happened?”

    Quickly, I repeated my conversation with Tink and her reaction to Mr. Buchanan’s murder.

    “What are you going to do now?” Abby asked when I’d finished.

    “A rune reading. I want us to stay out of whatever’s going on, Abby,” I said in a firm voice. “The only reason I’m doing the reading is to find a way to protect Tink.”

     

    Two hours later, I’d made my preparations and my office was ready. A circle of salt ringed the polished oak floor in the center of the room. A thick purple candle sat in heart of the circle, waiting to be lit. My runes, along with a square of linen, lay next to the candle. I had one last thing to do before I did my reading.

    After climbing the stairs, I walked quietly down the hall and slowly opened the door to Tink’s room. Moonlight filtered through the lace curtains on the windows, creating a shifting pattern on the rag rug. From the bottom of Tink’s bed, T.P. lifted his head, and two bright eyes stared at me in the darkness. He sighed and settled his head back on his paws. A sleeping form sprawled in the center of the bed, her pale blond hair fanned across her pillow.

    I tiptoed over to the bed and gazed down at her. Instinctively, my hand moved to stroke the soft strands