The Seventh Witch by Shirley Damsgaard Page A

spell then changed her mind when it didn’t work out like she’d thought it would—”
    “‘Be careful what you wish for,’” Mom muttered.
    “Exactly. I guess her lack of gratitude made the witch angry—” I broke off, remembering what Aunt Dot had told the girl about the unnamed witch’s magick. “Do you think one of the cousins has gone against the family’s tradition?”
    Mom shook her head swiftly. “Absolutely not. Everyone shares Mother’s attitude…you don’t mess with a person’sfree will. And,” she said stridently, “I’ve never heard of anyone in the family putting a curse on someone.”
    “Yeah, but what if one of them tried?” I asked persistently.
    Mom shifted on the swing and looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “Do you really think Great-Aunt Mary would allow that?”
    “No,” I replied, my tone short. “So if Aunt Dot wasn’t talking about one of the cousins, it means there are other witches in these mountains.”
    “That would be my assumption.”
    “Have you ever heard stories about another family practicing magick?”
    “No.”
    I leaned toward her. “Wouldn’t it be interesting to know if there is?”
    My mother smiled.

Eight
    I forced myself to relax and enjoy the afternoon. Abby and the Aunts were still out visiting, and Tink and Dad were off to who knows where. I sat on the porch swing once again, dressed in comfy sweatpants, my old University of Iowa sweatshirt, and tennis shoes, debating whether to read the latest Mary Wine romance or Angie Fox’s demon slayer, both buried in my carry-on. Hmm, hot sex or hot adventure? Maybe neither and a nap instead. I’d almost made up my mind when a Chevy SUV came rambling up the back road in a cloud of dust and stopped.
    Cousin Lydia.
    The car door slammed and she walked to the front of the SUV. Shading her eyes, she called out, “Y’all come with us, darlin’. We’re headed down to the General Store.”
    I searched for an excuse not to go but came up empty.
    “Okay,” I replied with some reluctance. “Give me a chance to change.”
    I ran in the house and back to the bedroom. After changing into jeans and a decent T-shirt, I flew into the bathroom. As I twisted my hair and anchored it in place with a clip, I took a quick peek at myself in the mirror. I really should slap on some makeup, I suppose, I thought. Nah…it’s not like anyone around here knows me. Satisfied I looked okay—maybe not great, but okay—I joined Mom and Lydia.
    As we bumped along the mountain road, I considered asking Cousin Lydia about other witches living in the area, but decided against it. I’d leave it to Mom to ferret out the information. She could be far more subtle than I.
    Twenty minutes later Cousin Lydia pulled to a stop in front of Abernathy’s General Store. Three other buildings sat at the little crossroads, a post office, Maybelle’s Beauty Shop, and a Shell gas station. Food, gas, beauty supplies, and their mail—the crossroads was a one stop shop. And from the beat-up pickups and SUVs gathered in the parking lots, I could see many of the mountain’s residents did just that.
    Abernathy’s was housed in a wooden building, and its weathered boards looked like they’d received their last coat of paint about twenty years ago. Wide steps led to a broad porch littered with rustic chairs and benches. Several elderly men dressed in bib overalls had gathered there, and as I exited Lydia’s SUV, I couldn’t help smiling to myself. It’s the same no matter where you go. Back home we referred to old men like the ones swapping tales on the porch as the “Liars’ Club.” Without even listening to them, I knew they were exchanging gossip and trying to top each other with stories of what was happening in the valley. And in each telling, the rumor would be exaggerated until one couldn’t recognize the original story.
    Shaking my head, I followed Mom and Lydia through the glass door and into the store. Instantly, the sweet smell of