Witch's Mystic Woods

by Marsha A. Moore

  “My car’s in the shop. My husband dropped me off,” she chirped, way too energetic. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you at this hour. What’s up?”

  “Need some info for the Lockwood project.”

  “I’ll get outta your way of the files then. Time for me to make a second pot anyhow.” She rolled her pear-shaped hips, clad in black knit pants, around the corner of her desk to the small snack counter.

  “Oh, I don’t need in there. It’s you and Lloyd I’m after.”

  Rose stood quickly from where she poked into a lower cabinet, her trademark dangling earrings swinging free from their cage of chin-length, straw-colored hair. Her penciled brows shot up and her fuschia lips parted.

  But it was his father who spoke. From behind Reid, the bass voice, sandpapered by the cold morning air, rasped, “What do you need, boy? Ben gettin’ the upper edge on you?”

  Ignoring the jab, Reid replied, “I’m concerned about him.”

  “You should be, fast as he works.” Lloyd slurped from his mug. His thick gray mustache dripped into the brew.

  “That’s what I mean. He’s driven. Melissa told me he’s been working nights, almost doesn’t sleep.”

  “She said that?” Lloyd’s golden eyes fixed on Reid. “Not like her to open up, unless it’s to ask for more money.”

  “Be nice,” Rose admonished, but leaned closer. “What else did she say?”

  “She’s gone back to work, when the kids are in school, to help with the bills. But she thinks that’s not enough, according to Ben.” Reid hushed his voice. “She has no idea what he’s doing at night. Worried about an affair.”

  “He’d be a damn fool, pretty as she is,” Lloyd retorted. “Can’t say I know what he’s doin’ of nights. I’m an early-to-bed-early-to-rise fella. But I’m well aware that he’s changed and not for the good.”

  Rose twisted the corner of her mouth. “One night I came by to get my purse I’d accidentally left. Ben was talking with a man and a woman I didn’t know. They were young, in their twenties, and looked rough. I wasn’t comfortable and didn’t stick around. Wish I had now.”

  “Did you overhear anything?” Reid asked.

  “Sorry. They clammed up when I walked in. Looked fidgety and nervous.”

  Lloyd’s mustache twitched. “Don’t like the sound of that. He’s not to be in the office for anything other than company business. I’ll set him down for a talk.”

  “I’m hopeful our competition on the Lockwood deal brings him and me head to head,” Reid said. “Like when we were younger, after fierce fights we always reminisced about other good matchups. If we can do that again, then I’ll be able to get him to open up about any problems.”

  “I had my reasons to pit the two of you agin each other. More than to get the job done before year-end.”

  With a grin, Reid mocked his father, “You, having a hidden agenda? Sneaky old badger.”

  Lloyd clapped Reid on the back. “Takes one to know one. But don’t be takin’ that contract signin’ any lighter, you hear.”

  “I’ll keep my ears open about Ben,” Rose added. “Can I do anything to help?”

  Reid’s smile spread wider. “As a matter of fact, yes. I could use a woman’s advice on how to cajole Larena Lockwood into signing. My usual charm didn’t work well enough.”

  Rose chuckled. “She must be one tough gal. You can pour it on thick.”

  Lloyd perched on the front of his secretary’s desk, the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement as he nursed his coffee.

  “Given the news about Ben, I’d like to go full throttle on this. Maybe that’ll push him to answer my calls or take me up on lunch like he used to.” Reid chose not to reveal his other matter of urgency: his acceptance of a new job. The news would only upset his father and slow everything to a crawl with the upheaval. Once Reid had both his brother and Larena in his grasp, he’d make the announcement.

  “Well.” Rose planted her hands on her ample hips, as she always did to ground herself while in deep thought. Her lips curled. “Seeing’s how you’re single and, last I heard, so is she, you have an advantage over your brother.”

  Lloyd perked up. “Let’s keep Peterson Corp. honorable. Don’t want my good reputation smeared.”

  “Nothing shameful about a handsome man sending flowers to a girl, especially if she’s pretty. I’ve never seen Larena. Is she?”

  Reid nodded, trying his best not to let the truth sink too deep and become an anchor, but the corners of his mouth lifted. He sipped his coffee to stifle the expression.

  “Flowers. Maybe take her to lunch or even dinner. Why not?” Rose beamed.

  Reid met her gaze. He’d be leaving soon. What did he have to lose? He returned her smile. “Yeah. Why not?”

  ***

  Armed with a cheery bouquet of pink and yellow flowers, that included some nice-smelling roses, Reid parked next to an old Thirties-style car at the side of the Lockwood house. Why wouldn’t Larena take the money? Most people would jump at a half million dollars. But all he needed was to get her to accept the offer, not understand her logic. After all, he’d be moving to New York in less than a month. He sauntered along the length of the rambling farmhouse to the front door and clapped the striker. While he waited for an answer, he checked the surroundings. The wide porch seemed well kept, no worn paint or loose boards. Tree witches seemed to keep things in order and the house might serve as a nice office for the new mall adventure. He made a mental note to advise his father.

  The door swept open and a tall, gray-headed woman wearing a shapeless flowered dress met him. “Hello. What can I do for you?”

  “Who’s there?” a frail female voice uttered from inside. “Who, who, who’s there?”

  “Please give me a moment.” The lady at the door turned and stepped away. “It’s okay, Irene. Just a nice young man with some flowers. Let’s see what he wants.” She returned, pushing a sickly woman in a wheelchair near the door’s sidelight.

  Clutching tightly to a cloth doll, the elderly woman regarded Reid without any reaction until her weak blue eyes came to rest on the bouquet. She reached a trembling hand toward it, her mouth opening and closing as if to form words that never came. The disconnect stabbed his heart. Despite poor health, she clearly resembled Larena, sharing the same high cheekbones and narrow, delicate chin. Probably the mother she cared for, who appeared more ill than he expected.

  The other lady faced Reid. “Sorry for the interruption. What can I help you with?”

  “Uh, um. My name’s Reid Peterson. I, uh, I tried the shop, but it was closed. A sign said to, uh, check at the house. Is Larena here?” Seeing Larena’s daunting responsibility in caring for her mother threw him off his game, and he lost his usual charm.

  “No. She just ran over to the hardware store in Bentbone. Won’t be but a few minutes till she’s back.” She opened the door wider, inviting him in. “Good to meet you. I’m Betty. I watch over Irene while Larena’s at work.”

  “That’s okay.” The genuineness of these two women, in light of the obvious hardships they faced, disarmed his original plan. “I just brought these for the Lockwood family as an apology in case I offended Larena yesterday.” He offered the gift, and Betty accepted.

  “That’s so nice of you.” She sniffed the flowers. “Pretty. I’ll put these in some water and be sure to tell her your message when she comes home. Or you can wait and tell her yourself.”

  “No, thank you. But, if you’ll give her my card, in case she wants to contact me.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her his business card. Given what he now knew, maybe a subtler approach, allowing Larena the next move, might work better to encourage her to trust him and the advantages of his business deal.

  “Will do,” Betty called as he stepped off the porch. “You take care now.”

  As he found his way back to his pickup, he considered how, shouldering so much responsibility, Larena might have been threatened by his more aggressive approach. Or at least he hoped t
hat was the case.

  He turned onto the main road toward the neighboring Kilfoyle property, still wanting to check Clem’s files.

  He pulled into the driveway and found his brother’s BMW SUV outside one of the smaller barns close to the house. Reid parked alongside. As he got out, a herd of curious angora goats bleated at him, surely alerting Ben of his arrival.

  He pushed open the barn’s smaller door. The screech of a power tool concealed both the bleats and the squeal of the door’s hinges upon his entry.

  His brother bent over a small stack of four-foot boards, working an electric planer.

  Reid moved into sight, but Ben didn’t stop. Reid waved and shouted above the din, “Ben, take a break!”

  Ben jumped back. “Why’d you sneak up on me for?” He slumped against a support post and dragged a hand over his forehead, sweaty even though the unheated barn was frigid.

  “I didn’t. What are you doing?”

  “Can’t say.” Because he wasn’t wearing goggles, the whites of his brother’s eyes were bloodshot and weepy. Without a shop apron, sawdust covered his V-neck sweater and wool dress pants. Had this been a spur of the moment decision?

  “No wonder you didn’t see me. Your eyes are red and leaking like crazy. Why aren’t you wearing goggles?”

  “Can see you fine.” Ben’s nostrils flared. “What da ya want, Reid?”

  “For one, Melissa told me you’ve been working nights. I’d like to know why. What’s pushing you so hard?”

  Ben shrugged, not meeting Reid’s gaze. “You know Melissa. She wants it all.”

  “She told me she’s gone back to work part-time and you don’t need to—”

  “You’ve been talkin’ to my wife behind my back?” Ben demanded.

  “Well, you don’t return my calls anymore.”

  “Don’t want to give Wharton-boy any advantage that’ll take food away from my family.”

  The accusation snapped Reid’s nerves. He pinned his brother’s back against the post. “What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothin’. Leave me be.” Ben shouldered his stockier, shorter frame into Reid’s ribs, hard enough that he gasped and reeled onto a sawhorse. “An’ leave my family alone, too.”

  While Reid caught his breath, his brother lifted the stack of boards and headed outside. Reid watched from the window until Ben drove away.

  Balance not fully regained, Reid wobbled into his pickup and followed his brother to Lockwoods’ where Ben parked in the shop’s lot. Reid, desperate to know more, considered turning into the driveway but continued on. What the heck was Ben up to?

  The Lockwoods’ Antiques truck now stood at the back entry, so Larena must’ve returned. He wanted his method of approach with her to be distinct from whatever Ben attempted. Reid turned around in the next lane, and made another slow pass.

  The SUV’s rear door stood open. His brother pulled boards out, shouldered them, and trudged toward the store.

  Stymied, Reid revisited the Kilfoyle farm in pursuit of clues. He unlocked the side office door and entered the unoccupied house. Uncle Clem’s file cabinets were labeled according to his various businesses: cattle, sheep, goats, hay, farm maintenance, payroll, household, and other. Looking for connections to the Lockwoods, Reid began with the “other” drawer and reached dead ends in files of taxes, bank records, and health care receipts. Household proved an amalgam of warranties and owner’s manuals for anything and everything in the home.

  Reid withdrew one folder marked “furniture.” It contained receipts and business cards from furniture dealers in Bloomington and Indianapolis. He turned over each document until he found one, two, ten transactions with the Lockwoods, including his five-foot wide oak desk. In some cases, Clem had paid cash, but in others they bartered for butchered beef and lamb or sheared wool from the goats and sheep.

  Reid gathered the receipts and strode through other rooms in the home, still furnished since Clem had passed less than a month ago. In the family room, he located a small maple side table and held his breath. He turned on the lamp resting there and, with caution, ran the tip of his non-dominant pinkie finger along the golden wood. It took only one swipe. He flinched, as much from the burning, prickling sensation as the confirmation of his hypothesis. Under the light, a circle of tiny blisters rose on the fingertip.

  He blew out a breath through his teeth. No doubt now. Lockwood magic recognized and negatively reacted to either him or the Kilfoyle-Peterson attempt to take their land. Was this response limited to the few pieces of furniture? Could he merely avoid touching his desk? Or was the effect more potent? He tucked the receipts into his inner jacket pocket and went back to the office. After replacing the folder, he left and secured the house.

  On the way to his truck, Reid glanced at the maintenance barn where he and Ben had argued. In his hurry to follow, he’d left it unlocked. Upon his return to the door, a question knifed him in the gut. What about the wood Ben had been working on? Would Larena, either knowingly or not, infuse those boards with the same dark spell? Would a newer construction have a more dangerous effect? Heart thumping, Reid stepped inside, in search of clues he wasn’t sure he wanted to find. Sunlight streamed in through a window, illuminating the floor with Ben’s wood waste. Curly edges of the planed shavings beaded with what looked like droplets of blood. Reid knelt close and held his breath, careful not to touch the potentially noxious enchanted slivers. Business school hadn’t prepared him for this.

  Chapter Nine: The Horned One

  Sibeal snatched her hall phone too fast after the first ring, and her wrist grazed the Lockwood-made oak table. A resulting throb of emotion stabbed her brain and overwhelmed her with hardship of an enormous workload like Larena’s. The pain displaced her mental preparation for the two calls she awaited. Need to get rid of this blasted table. Through a grimace, she garbled a greeting, straightened to the length of the receiver’s cord, and sucked in a steadying breath.

  “Hi. It’s Estelle.” If anything, Sibeal’s nosy neighbor was punctual when it came to sharing gossip. Finding out everything discussed during Estelle’s interview with the other coven seer Keir Sheridan would help Sibeal guide the second call she awaited.

  Unable to read her own future, Sibeal needed Keir’s invaluable insight. But she didn’t dare ask for his help or attend his monthly prophesy meetings after full moon esbats. That would expose her limitations to both him and the coven. After his sojourn with the Native American shaman, Keir had usurped many of her regular clients. She couldn’t afford to lose more.

  Still reeling from noxious Lockwood vibrations emitted by the table, Sibeal gingerly picked up the phone’s base and moved the three-foot distance allowed by the wall cable. “You said at his recent public meetin’ he revealed the dangerous nemeton grove would open to someone who could embrace its power. The rare occurrence would be at the time of the next new moon, already made more auspicious by happenin’ at Solstice. Were you able to press him for more about how those powers will manifest?”

  “Indeed, I did,” the older lady replied with a chipper tone, seemingly proud of her snoopiness. “I started by asking for personal guidance, as any client would, then pushed for what you wanted. He revealed that trio of powers, you just mentioned, will not only open into our coven but also to my own family. As a consequence, my daughter will be hired for a job. I’m overjoyed. Cindy’s been searching everywhere for employment. We were hoping she could get on somewhere as holiday staff and stay.”

  “How wonderful for her. What sort of work? Did he say?”

  “Apparently, as lunar energy shifts toward the new moon, owners of a local resort will be able to speed its preparations beyond expectations for an early opening and be desperate to hire staff.”

  “Interesting.” Sibeal drawled the word as she fingered the curved edge of her blouse’s Peter Pan collar. “I’ll do a divination and see if I can discern which resort, to be sure Cindy applies.”

  “Thank you kindly. It may not matter though. I as
ked Keir which resort. He requested an object belonging to her to encourage his insight. I happened to have borrowed her compact mirror. Using that, Keir said her new job was marked in the stars, destiny.”

  “I’ll still give it a try,” Sibeal said. “Did he say how the nemeton would speed the resort’s openin’?”

  “He said its energy will enliven the hedge. I asked how, but he wouldn’t explain, only gave me that sly grin of his. And his coyote pawed the ground and crinkled its nose at me when I pressed further. I’m not familiar with the hedge, are you?”

  “The hedge,” Sibeal repeated in disbelief. “It’s where witches known as wildwood mystics, hedge witches, or root doctors, meet and trade ways and magic with beings of the Otherworld, such as fae and elves. Only a few in our coven lay claim to that gift.”

  “What about the new girl? Flora Freestone’s granddaughter, who took up her practice after she passed? Some say she’s got the calling. High Priest Logan for one. Maybe she can help you.”

  “Esme Underhill,” Sibeal grunted through clenched teeth. Everything was going well until the mention of that name. She’d killed the girl’s cat in an attempt to keep her quiet about witnessing Councilman Oscar Burnhard disposing of a dead body. A lot of good that did. Sibeal’s friend Oscar now sat in jail, removed from the Coven Council for using black magic to fix a gambling ring and murdering Eugenia Trustwell, who’d threatened to expose him. Would Sibeal be dependent upon Esme to bring her mall project to fruition? She’d never agree to help; that much was certain. But without assistance of a talented hedge witch, the energy troika might take the coven mall out of her grasp. And allow one more twist in the downward spiral of her family’s reputation.

  Sibeal strangled the phone cord between her fingers, releasing her rage to keep her voice calm. “Thank you, Estelle. You know I always appreciate your help.” She withheld a torrent of gripes and outrage. Estelle liked to help, but also liked to talk.

  “Well, our families have been neighbors since the coven’s founding. And I’ve known you since you were born. I understand how it’s not easy for you to attend Keir’s prophesies. He’s your competition after all.”