Free The Seventh Witch by Shirley Damsgaard Page B

me. He pulled me around to face him.
    “Wait.” With his hand still on my arm, he stared into my eyes and his face lost all its humor.
    Again I felt the jolt of attraction.
    “I’ve had to spend time with Sharon, Ophelia, and I’m not kidding, she’s dangerous. Be careful,” he warned.
    I nodded, breaking the connection. Pivoting, and with a wave over my shoulder, I left Ethan standing at the mouth of the cave and began my trek down the mountain.
    One thought kept me company on the way home…just how much time did Ethan spend with Sharon?
     
    The next morning I put all thoughts of Ethan aside as I stood on the porch finishing my coffee. I was more concerned about the reaction I’d had to the runes. Or should I say their reaction to me? Ever since Abby had given them to me, I’d relied on them to help me. Their answers were often confusing, but eventually they’d always sent me in the right direction. They were my safety net. What if I found I could no longer work with them? How would I interpret my hunches without them?
    And then there was Abby—I depended on her guidance, too. It would be so simple to ask her about the past, but Lydia had said I wouldn’t be doing Abby any favors by digging around in events that occurred over fifty years ago. Did Idare ignore her warning and ask anyway? After all, I barely knew Lydia.
    No, I thought with a shake of my head. I could tell that whatever was eating at Abby, she didn’t want to talk about it. And my grandmother was a stubborn woman. If she decided I didn’t need to know, no power on earth would persuade her to tell me. I’d have as much luck questioning Great-Aunt Mary. But just the thought of that gave me the chills.
    Nope, I was truly on my own this time. No runes, no Abby—I had no choice but to rely on my gift to guide my actions. I could only pray that I had enough confidence to put my trust in it.
    Turning to join the Aunts and Abby, who were still in the house, I noticed Dad and Tink scoot around the corner of the barn. What were those two doing? Okay, maybe that was at least one mystery I could solve.
    I set my cup on the porch rail and hurried toward the barn, but when I rounded the corner, they’d disappeared. Shoving my hands in the pockets of my sweatshirt, I scanned the woods to the north. There…I caught a glimpse of Tink’s red jacket moving through the trees and rushed after them.
    They were so intent on what they were doing that they didn’t hear me barreling through the fallen leaves…until I stepped on a fallen branch. They whirled at the sound of the wood breaking.
    Guilt was written on both of their faces.
    Tink held a forked stick in her hands, and seeing me, she quickly stuck it behind her back. Dad didn’t have a stick. No, he gripped a piece of paper.
    I didn’t know why he had the paper, but I knew why Tink had the forked stick. Dowsing.
    Crossing my arms, I eyed the both of them. “What are you doing?”
    “Ah, ah…” Tink shot Dad a furtive look.
    “Ahem.” Dad cleared his throat and walked toward me,leaving Tink standing there with her hands still behind her back.
    “Ophelia, we’re conducting research,” he said in his best “Dad” voice.
    “What kind of research?”
    “Umm, well.” He shuffled the leaves at his feet. “We’re following ley lines. Tink’s tracing them with the dowsing rod.”
    “Yeah,” Tink piped in as she took her place next to Dad and held out the forked stick. “It’s willow, and I made it just like Abby taught me.” Her lavender eyes shone with excitement. “It’s so cool, Ophelia. We’re following the lines to burial mounds.” She glanced at Dad and smiled. “Grandpa bought this really neat map and—”
    I fastened a look on my father. “Let me see that map,” I said, holding out my hand.
    Reluctantly, he passed it to me.
    “Oh, Dad,” I muttered as I studied the paper in my hand.
    I didn’t know much about maps, but I knew enough to know someone had ripped it out of a