The Seventh Witch Read Online Free PDF Page A

been looking for a warm place. He probably crawled in sometime last night.”
    I choked on my tea. “He was underneath the bed all night?”
    “Possibly.”
    Great. I’d had my last restful sleep here. I could see it now—I’d be straining all night, listening for another telltale rattle.
    Great-Aunt Mary read my expression. “Don’t fret, Ophelia. I’ll make sure a snake never enters this house again,” she said firmly.
    I thought of the conversation I’d overheard between Aunt Dot and Tink. “How? Ask your Nisse to be a little more alert?”
    I knew I sounded disrespectful, but at that point I didn’t care. Abby could’ve been seriously injured and the idea made me angry.
    “For a fairy whose job it is to protect, he didn’t do a very good job, did he?”
    Aunt Dot whirled away from the counter and rushed over to me. “Oh, Ophelia, you mustn’t say that. You’ll offend him.”
    Right now I was more worried about getting bit by a snake than dealing with a ticked-off fairy, but Aunt Dot looked so concerned that I decided I’d been mouthy enough for one day and kept silent.
    “Sister will lay a spell,” she said with a nod.
    Abby glanced up at Aunt Dot, then at me. “I think it would be best if we didn’t share what happened this morning with Maggie and Edward,” she said, changing the subject.
    No kidding. Mom would faint and Dad would want to spend the night guarding our door with a shotgun. Which—when I thought about it—didn’t seem like a bad idea.
    I was puzzled, though. Cocking my head, I studied everyone again. Abby was a psychic with the gift of foreseeing the future. Aunt Dot communed with the fairies. Great-Aunt Mary and Tink received messages from beyond the veil.
    And me? I seemed to have a talent for finding things. I was in a house full of women who all possessed a sixth sense, and not one of us foresaw any danger. Why?
    But before I could voice my question, Great-Aunt Mary pushed away from the table and headed for the kitchen doorway. “It’s nearing lunchtime—we need to get ready to walk to Cousin Lydia’s.”
    I rose swiftly to my feet. “You’re kidding, right?” I asked.
    Great-Aunt Mary spun around. “I never kid,” she replied bluntly.
    That one I believed.
    “Great-Aunt Mary, we’ve had a shock, especially Abby. You can understand why we may not be feeling too social right at the moment, can’t you?”
    “No. If you let all of life’s little bumps upset you, a body’d never get anything done.”
    With that remark, she headed out the door.
    I looked at Aunt Dot in bewilderment. A rattlesnake one of life’s little bumps ?
    With a light pat on my cheek, she smiled. “Get used to it, child.”
     
    Dad had come back from Cousin Lydia’s to help escort Great-Aunt Mary and Aunt Dot. The wheelchair left at home, both aunts strolled sedately on either side of my father, the wheels of their walkers leaving thin tracks in the dusty road. Abby had positioned herself on the outside, next to Great-Aunt Mary. Her hand rested lightly on Great-Aunt Mary’s arm as the little procession made their way toward Cousin Lydia’s. Tink and I brought up the rear, and in our hands we carried Aunt Dot’s contributions to the luncheon—two homemade apple pies fresh from the oven. Wrapped in dish towels, I could feel their warmth while the aroma of apples and cinnamon followed us like a cloud.
    “Hey,” Tink said abruptly. “I’ve got a question.”
    “Okay, shoot,” I replied, getting a tighter grip on the pie.
    “Great-Aunt Mary and Aunt Dot are sisters…why don’t we call Aunt Dot ‘Great-Aunt Dot’?”
    I gave a soft chuckle as I watched my elderly aunts toddle along head of us. “When I was your age, I asked Abby the same thing.” Stealing a glance at Tink, I gave her a wide smile. “Aunt Dot doesn’t like to be called a ‘great-aunt.’ She said it made her sound too old.”
    Tink’s brows knitted in a frown. “But she’s only nine years younger than