Legacy of the Witch

Chapter 1

Forcing myself to breathe, I reached for the door.

It opened before I could touch the knob. An auburn-haired woman in a navy jacket looked back over her shoulder. "Nonetheless, if you think of anything—" She plowed into me, and we stumbled apart.

"Whoops," she said and laughed. "Sorry. You okay?"

She was a little shorter than me—maybe five-seven. Her hair was darker than my true, pale red. And of course she was younger, somewhere in her late thirties. A professor? Another not-too-young student?

"No harm done." I straightened the front of my forest-green blazer.

A man with thick, dark hair streaked with gold loomed over her shoulder. "April?" he asked. He wore a navy suit with faint, gold pinstripes, his white shirt open at the collar.

I nodded, and he broke into a grin. He had a lovely, even smile, the outside corners of his brown sugar eyes crinkling, and my stupid heart jumped. "You're right on time," he said. "Come in."

The woman sidled past me.

I was definitely not right on time, but I wasn't going to argue the point. "Thanks for seeing me, Dr. Stoltzfus." I walked into the office.

"We're too old for titles. Call me Zeke."

My mouth pinched. I wasn't that old, and my advisor couldn't be over fifty. But Zeke was less of a mouthful than Stoltzfus.

He shut the door behind us and motioned toward a cluttered wooden desk. "Have a seat."

Bookshelves lined the walls. Spider plants lounged on a windowsill overlooking the lawn I'd just raced across. Behind the glass, students scurried, heads bent, across the thick grass.

I pulled back a rolling chair and sat, tugging off my gloves.

My advisor walked around his desk and dropped into the executive chair opposite. He gusted a breath and motioned toward the closed door. "Sorry about that. It was another of those witches."

I blinked. Ah, what? Had the college's folklore program expanded to witchcraft? "Witches?"

He pulled a tie from the pocket of his suit jacket and dropped it beside a stack of papers marked in angry red ink. "You'll come across a share of them in your research. Braucherei is hot in the witchcraft world these days. American witches are looking for western magic so they can't be accused of cultural appropriation."

My gaze clouded. "You mean... powwow?" It was old Pennsylvania Dutch faith healing. Silly stuff, superstition. I was surprised the practice still existed.

"There's some controversy over that name," he said. "Not that the Penn Dutch care. They're in their own world. But the pagan community and the academics do."

I glanced back toward the closed door. "And she was a witch?" I asked, twisting the gloves in my lap.

"Has her own online mystery school, if you can believe it," he said cheerfully. "But let's talk about your thesis proposal." His brown eyes grew serious, and his chin lowered. "Tell me the truth. Why are you really studying Pennsylvania Dutch folk art?"

I froze in my chair. Dammit. He knew. How did he learn about my plans? I'd only told a few friends, and they were far from Pennsylvania. I cleared my throat.

"Why?" I repeated stupidly.

"Yes," he said patiently and flashed that Hollywood smile again. "Why?"

I hesitated. I couldn't tell him the truth, that I wanted to start a business selling modernized versions of Penn Dutch décor. He'd think I wasn't serious about my masters.