The Witch’s Grave Read Online Free PDF Page B

squinted for a better look.
    My god—a swastika.
    Where the hell was I?

Five
    A cold, wet nose nudging my arm had my eyes flying open while my heart still raced. I shot straight up in the chair and took a long, deep breath of the moist night air. With a groan, Lady nuzzled her head in my lap as if trying to comfort me. The pounding of my heart slowed, and I reached down to scratch her ears.
    “It’s okay, girl,” I said softly.
    She cocked her head to the side, and I could see the doubt in her eyes.
    Stroking her ears, I forced a smile in the darkness. “No, really, I’m okay, but that was one heck of a dream. Remind me not to drink any more of Abby’s tea.”
    Was it the tea? It had to be. All my life I’ve had dreams, but never one that strange. Never had I dreamt of events that had happened long ago. Chewing my lip, I tried to recall the images. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the men in my dream were Nazis. The swastika on the medal was a big clue.
    Okay, the dream was taking place during World War II, or there about. I’ve never been a fan of military history, so why would I dream of that time period? I searched my memory for anything that might have triggered the dream. Had I read any articles about the war? Had we received anybooks on the subject in the recent past? Nope—not that I could recall.
    And what about the model thing? What possibly could’ve caused me to imagine that? As Darci frequently pointed out, I had no sense of fashion, and she’d made it a life mission to clear out all of the polyester in my closet. I wore linen in the fall and tweed in the spring—according to Darci—a big “no-no.” She’d even made me throw away my favorite hair accessory—scrunchies. Had Darci’s constant efforts to give me some style filtered into my subconscious, causing me to dream of being a model?
    I snickered at the thought.
    With a sigh, I tried to put the images out of my mind. I had enough to think about in this time period, instead of worrying about a silly dream of a time long dead. As the pictures in my head faded, I felt a band of anxiety squeeze my chest, and with it came the same feeling that I’d described to Darci earlier. The sense that there was something I needed to do, but couldn’t remember what it was.
    Could the runes Abby had given me help? The glyphs acted as my guideposts and brought clarity to my thoughts, giving me some sense of what my visions might mean. But the dream hadn’t been a vision, and my mind was too jumbled to attempt using the runes tonight. Shaking my head in frustration, I thrust the dream away. I needed to focus on reality. To think about that day and the events leading up to the shooting.
    Bill had asked me if anything in Stephen’s demeanor seemed odd. No. We’d walked down the lane talking. The conversation was normal for two people meeting for the first time. We stopped, then Stephen kissed me. I was facing away from the woods, so I couldn’t see if there’d been any movement in the trees. Stephen stepped around me when we heard the crows.
    My face twisted at my next memory—the crack of gunfire and the smell of sulfur, the expression on Stephen’s face, how he had staggered and fallen, his last words.
    I slapped my forehead and sprang to my feet startling Lady. Jensen, you’re an idiot . The book.
    I rushed to the back door, opened it softly and crept into my now dark and quiet house. Not wanting to alert Abby, I snuck upstairs and into the bathroom with Lady at my heels. Seeing the dress lying on top of the trash, I reached down and with two fingers lifted it out of the trash. Dark streaks, almost black, where I’d swiped my bloody hands, marred the navy material. My stomach clenched at the sight.
    At my side, Lady sniffed the air, took two steps back and gave a low whimper.
    “I know…you don’t like the dress either,” I whispered.
    At the sound of my voice, she plunked down on the floor and stared up at me.
    With hesitation,