Free Witches by Kathryn Meyer Griffith Page B

faltering, and then rushed on. “Seeing a movie with me one night? Maybe going out to supper? Just as friends, I mean. You need to get out more.”
    She gave him a full smile. “I’ll think about it, Ernie. Thanks for the offer.”
    He nodded, content with that, and walked to his truck to drive off, waving.
    Amanda closed the door, still smiling. She watched the mail truck disappear over the nearest hill.
    She cleaned up the mess in the kitchen and put on some of Jake’s old blue jeans and one of his bulky sweaters.
    If she was going to be cleaning, she’d want comfortable, warm clothes on.
    * * * *
    The morning was the best she’d had in months. She cleaned and swept out the workshop, rearranged things, and took stock of her supplies. She dragged in the new cake of clay.
    When everything was in place, she built a fire in the potbellied stove and got to work on Ernie’s pot, humming contentedly as the sun’s strong light slashed through the room.
    As she spun the wheel and threw the pot, hands lovingly shaping the clay with her fingers or a wet sponge, her mind didn’t wander far from her task, happy to be working again.
    She made it a point not to think about Rachel but she found her thoughts dwelling on the dilemma of the witchcraft cult and what spells she’d have to perform to flush them out. How hard it would be and how long it might take. She already knew it could be a perilous undertaking for her if black magic was involved. It could destroy her if she went up against them and wasn’t stronger than they were.
    Unfortunately, she’d no way of knowing that until she caught them.
    She dribbled water onto the spinning pot, not taking her eyes from it. The excess clay glopped up on the edge of the wheel and fell to the floor with dull thuds. She wiped straggling hair back from her face, leaving smears of clay on her cheekbones.
    Finishing Ernie’s pot, she set it aside to dry. It was perfect, even if she was a little rusty. She began another smaller one.
    The morning flew by.
    Later, when her back began to ache and she realized how hungry she was, she quit, proud of the three pots she’d thrown in her first day. Stretching as she put things away, she scrubbed up the wheel and her tools.
    Amadeus materialized and sat observing her with huge eyes from a murky corner under the shelves. He kept growling softly, slinking restlessly around her feet until she noticed him.
    “Amadeus, what is it?” She grilled him as she finished the cleanup.
    Amadeus was snarling low in his throat.
    Something’s wrong. I can feel it.
    She finally glanced down at the cat. He was crouching there in the gloom, hissing, his head tilted up toward the window.
    “What?” She grabbed a towel from the table next to her, wiping her hands clean, and walked over to him. He never acted like this unless something was really disturbing him.
    Stooping down, she reached out to the cat. Instead of jumping into her arms as he usually did, he met her eyes for a brief second, his cat thoughts insistent.
    Something bad is out there! Something evil.
    He took off, running out the door as if he were in pursuit of something.
    “Amadeus. Amadeus! Come back!” She went to the door and shouted after him, “Don’t try to do anything without me if it’s that bad.” She thought of the cult. Her eyes searched for the cat on the fringe of the woods where he’d disappeared. No Amadeus.
    A shadow wafted across the sun. A bad omen. Though no matter how hard she stared, she couldn’t see anything out there among the trees that could’ve upset Amadeus so. She couldn’t sense anything, either.
    What spooked him? Why had he run off like that, disobeying her? That wasn’t like him at all. He must have been really upset.
    She called for him, even went outside in the bright afternoon light and looked for him. She cast a spell out. Something, she didn’t know who or what, blocked it.
    She mulled over Amadeus’s strange behavior. He could take care of himself,