Pushing Mom ahead of her, Betty said, “Well, you sound chipper.”
As soon as Larena wiggled out of her coat, she dug in her purse and handed Betty the amount she owed for her last month’s services. “Had a generous client today.”
Betty beamed. “Good for you. Hope the job’s not too hard.”
“Nope. A simple bookcase.”
“Hmm. Wonder if that client was the same nice man who came by this afternoon when you were at the hardware store? He left you and Irene flowers.” Betty leaned around Mom’s shoulder. “That daisy looks pretty in your hair.”
Mom drew a trembling hand to touch the blossom, then yanked it out to have a closer look. She pronounced it “pretty,” then feebly attempted to replace it into the soft, silver hair, held by a barrette at her ear.
Betty, patient as always, threaded it into place. “You don’t need to pull it out every time you want to see it. Just look in a mirror.” Her voice remained calm, although Larena was certain she’d repeated the same guidance half a dozen times. Being able to pay Betty for her kindness lifted the stone of debt from her shoulders and allowed her to breathe more freely.
While they replaced the flower, Larena moved past to see the bouquet on the kitchen table. Who would have brought her flowers? Yellow roses perfumed the air and snuggled among mums, daisies, and baby’s breath. She leaned close and inhaled the fresh fragrance. This day kept getting better.
She picked up the card tucked under the vase. Her face fell and her body became leaden. Reid Peterson. What did he intend with this gift? Did he think she could be talked out of her land by some trumped up romantic pursuit?
“Pretty. Pretty,” Mom crooned and fingered her daisy as Betty parked her chair nearby before heading to the mudroom. Larena resisted the urge to toss out the flowers. They gave her mother happiness.
Betty returned wearing her black coat. “I’m sure you two will have a wonderful dinner with that lovely centerpiece. See you all tomorrow.”
After making sure Mom couldn’t reach the vase, a potential danger if she knocked it over, Larena moved toward the caregiver. “If that man comes to the door again, send him away. Better yet, don’t answer. He’s part of a company trying to buy us out to build a new mall. I’m working with Logan to fight them.”
“Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry to hear this news.” Betty rubbed Larena’s shoulder.
“It is a good price, but I don’t want to sell. It’s not the right thing for Mom.”
“But what about for you?”
Larena shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m proud to be a tree mystic and keep up the family traditions. That money they offered is tempting, though. If I could find a way to earn more, I’d not even consider the offer. This place feels like a part of me.”
Betty slipped a hand in her pocket and offered Larena back the money she’d just paid. “It’s Yule time. A gift from me to you.”
Larena took a step back, palms up. “No. I want you to have it. You earned that and more the way you take care of Mom.”
“Nothin’ doin’.” The big-hearted lady tucked the bills into Larena’s coat pocket and opened the outside door. In a loud voice, she called back, “Bye, Irene. See you both tomorrow.”
***
Larena spread tools across the kitchen table to burn the labyrinth pattern into her Troy pendant.
Four short steps away in the parlor and within eyesight, Mom sang along to old-timey tunes on her favorite radio show, “Prairie Home Companion.” She pronounced words hit or miss, humming most of the time, but grinned and clapped along with the audience after the songs. Other times, she tried to sing over the short dramatic skits, breaking off and restarting louder as if trying to force her melody upon the actors.
The bittersweet scene hung a shadow around Larena’s heart, and she silently cursed the dementia. Remembering Grandpa’s advice, she cast the darkness aside and rejoiced in the raspy, off-key voice singing with pure happiness. That purity was the key to fabricating her Troy pendant as well as receiving the nemeton’s power, which could help her overthrow Sibeal and the Petersons. Unfettered spontaneity resonated from her mother, but could Larena recreate that emotion with so many problems weighing upon her?
She plugged in her pyrography tool and allowed it to heat while she studied her grandfather’s pattern. After testing the electric pen on scrap wood, she picked up the ironwood disc and drew three parallel lines representing the labyrinth’s entrance and exit paths. Her hand shook. A lot rode on her performance, not only on the exactness of design, but also on her mindset. The latter worried her much more than her hand skills. She listened and allowed Mom’s giggles and hums to penetrate her, then burned the two outer circular paths.
In Larena’s peripheral vision, a petal dropped from one of Reid’s flowers, which she’d set on a chest in the sitting room for Mom to appreciate. Larena’s concentration shattered. As if the heirloom vase itself had fallen, she flinched and dropped the hot tool. The wool table pad sizzled. She snatched the wood-burner. Damn you, Reid!
Although glad for the flame-retardant cloth, she worried whether her Troy pendant was ruined. Despite no visible error marring the design, her thoughts were anything but altruistic. Why had he brought those flowers? Did he really think she was shallow enough to be swayed by false romance? Betty said he intended them for both her and Mom. Was it possible he felt remorse for being so aggressive? A laugh interrupted her smirk. Who was she kidding; he’d be willing to do anything to get her to sign that contract. Only a fool would think he had any genuine interest in her. Her logic was irrefutable, but she wanted to be wrong. She longed for a romance and to feel special and important. It’d been years since she’d even had a date. That he would tease her this way made her dislike him even more and hope he lay awake tonight, worried about his precious contract.
Larena chided herself for these idle thoughts that did nothing to keep the business going or her mother cared for. And for not being able to overlook the negative association to Reid and simply enjoy the flowers for their inherent beauty. She envied Mom the ability to live in the moment, unconcerned with consequences.
Larena took a seat beside her mother’s wheelchair in the parlor, on an old but comfortable overstuffed couch. When the next song began, Larena sang along, laughing whenever she missed words, just like Mom. Why struggle? Life was more fun when she didn’t. At the end, she pulled Mom into a giggly hug, then helped her blow her nose.
Larena returned to the kitchen table with renewed spirit and completed her design, an accurate copy of Grandpa’s pendant. Satisfied, she brushed a coat of lemon oil overtop, checked on Mom, and moved on to the Ogham staves.
A tangle of twigs protruded from the cardboard box. She separated the contents, including a page listing the various trees represented. As she identified each, she marked it off. Some brought back fond memories of the adventures she and Dad had when they gathered the samples. Like their trip to southern Michigan to get the aspen, along with a trailer-load of estate sale antiques. Or dripping like drowned rats after traipsing across ponds for thick enough reed stems. She missed him and those good times. Simple, pure-hearted fun. It really was the key.
Of the twenty trees required for a proper set, she lacked holly, yew, blackthorn, gorse, and heather. The last three were only found in the UK, so she’d have to mark common wood samples with those trees’ symbols or borrow from Grandpa’s set—something to ask him. The Coven Council forbade members to raise yew trees, which were used in black magic to incite death. However, ornamental yew bushes lined many foundation plantings in Bentbone. Dad purposely left that one till last, saying the strength of the set cloaked with the bearer’s intentions would prevent any wrong-doing. Equally tricky, holly held strong association with the Otherworld, the faery kingdom. To take a holly twig meant negotiating with a faery, not an easy undertaking with so much confusing magic carried on their words. Larena sighed. Maybe she’d get lucky and find a long enough holly twig at the market, since the leave
s were used in Yule decorations.
After assessing the various thicknesses and lengths of straight sections, she decided her set should be five inches to match those borrowed from Grandpa’s. She cut a few common local types—willow, ash, apple, and oak—to length using a hacksaw.
“Need to pee,” her mother called. The show had ended and the station played modern music.
“Be right there.” Larena shook off the past and jumped up. She hadn’t noticed that the show ended while recalling fun times with her dad. Her breath flowed freely and her shoulders hung low and relaxed, the ever-present knots of tension absent. Good memories infused her Ogham set.
***
Before work the next morning, the market hummed with anticipation of the coming weekend. Larena carried in her decorations. She’d improved the strength of her spells and spent more time on needlework details that might appeal to buyers in case Sibeal managed to destroy the enchantments.
Larena deposited her satin-lined display boxes at the community booth, but the wicked seer was not there.
A kind-faced elderly witch with a snow-white bun accepted Larena’s offerings with a warm smile.
“Have you seen any holly branches or twigs in the market?” Larena asked. “Not just leaf and berry clusters.”
“Ah. You’re a forest sage like yer pa, aren’t you? Bet you’re makin’ some Ogham sticks.” The old lady winked and lifted a knobby hand. “Look down that aisle there. Hilda might have some at her booth.”
“Thanks. Have a nice day.” Larena checked in with Kandice, the market coordinator, and sought the indicated seller, all the while keeping close watch for Sibeal.
Toward the end of the central aisle of more than a hundred vendors, Larena located the booth, situated far back because it catered to witches more than mortal tourists. Every year the market changed to bring more money into the coven. Would coven members back Sibeal’s plan to build a mall on the Lockwood property? Would they ultimately force Larena and her mother out without a care? She bit back those fears and surveyed the wares.
“Lookin’ for anything special, dearie?” asked the wide-hipped lady running the booth.
“Holly twigs or branches, at least five inches long and pencil thickness.”
“’fraid I don’t have anything near that long.” The lady produced bottles of products. “I have holly berries for weather divination, dried leaves and tinctures to fight fever and jaundice.”
“No, thank you. Do you know anyone who has any?” Larena addressed the seller but noticed Sibeal lurking near a support column.
“Can’t say I do. You might try the hedge witches. Esmeralda Underhill would have them for sure being that she’s got a whole row of the bushes thriving around her place. In fact, it’s called Holly Cabin. She only comes in on Saturdays, though, so try back then.”
“Thank you.” Larena crept along the row of booths to blend in with the growing crowd as she eyed Sibeal.
The vile woman peered from behind the post at the other coven seer Keir, his coal-black cropped head of hair visible above most who gathered around him and his coyote. Why was Sibeal spying on him? To play mean tricks on her competition? That woman knew no bounds. I hope she gets caught in one of her evil webs.
“Larena,” a man’s voice called from behind.
She turned to see Logan approaching.
He caught up with her, his hands animated, blue eyes gleaming a bright cobalt. “I was going to call you today. I have some ideas.”
“Great.” Her brows shot up.
“Is it okay for me to come by your store tomorrow with Keir and Councilman Tynker? Maybe late afternoon? What are your Friday hours?”
She shrugged. “Till nine with no dinner break.”
“Then we’ll bring dinner and hopefully I can get my girlfriend Aggie to watch your customers while we talk. Does that work for you?”
“Yes, thanks.”
He patted her elbow and hurried off in another direction.
Her courage boosted, Larena looked over her shoulder where she’d seen Sibeal.
The seer’s black knit skirt swept from behind the post.
On her way out, Larena sauntered past Keir. She waited till he saw her, then exchanged knowing nods, hoping Sibeal noticed and found Larena’s alliance with the competing seer troublesome. Hearing shoppers commenting about the icy roads, Larena scurried to her delivery truck in order to make the slow drive home and still open the store on time. Had she been too brazen toward Sibeal? The hairs on Larena’s arms stood up. Would she pay for her impulsive act against a witch rumored to work black arts? She wished she’d not done that, but Logan’s confidence went to her head. Like Grandpa says, my hot head.
Back in the antique shop, Larena attempted to still her mind by applying herself to the bookcase project. The unusual wood proved interesting. Although actually receiving communication from it, she couldn’t seem to transmit replies. The reddish wood seeped a resinous glittery crimson when cut against the grain, like honey dripping from cells of a comb. As she worked, happy memories filled her, childhood games in the woods with her brother. Times she hadn’t thought about in years.
Customers came and went in a blur, and during each break she hurried back to the workroom to enjoy the wood. Sanding filled the air with shimmering crimson dust, which smelled of mouth-watering tart cranberries. She inhaled deeply and her fingers embraced the rosy grain. The mental tableaus progressed in a timeline, from when she was a toddler through high school. Too soon, the bookcase took shape. In late afternoon, she applied the stain Ben indicated, turning the blush pink hue to a vivid violet redwood.
After four-thirty, the flux of customers ceased. Memories that swam in her head from the bookcase boards left Larena eager to chase free through the woods like she did as a child. She called over to the house to ask Betty to stay a little past five.
With her Troy pendant swinging from her neck, Larena dashed across the crunchy ice-covered lawn to the trailhead. Upon ascending the hill, her feet seemed to float above the ground. She climbed effortlessly past the crest and reached the small, secret ravine in minutes, calm and not gasping for breath like after the previous trip.
At the edge of the nemeton, she stood in awe as she examined the dozen trees marking the circle around the clearing. Gnarled and misshapen, they resembled human forms, like old crones bent and dancing around a ceremonial sabbat fire. A slight breeze stirred their branches as if motioning for her to join them.
Encouraged, she took a tentative step closer to the demarcation between two of the grand trees. Outside the clearing, ice coated dried leaves of crumpled, dull weeds. Across the boundary, grasses dressed in brighter-than-autumn metallic shades of rich rust, warm amber, and brilliant gold danced in waves sweeping away from the point where she stood.
With her heart free and eager to fully embrace the nemeton’s welcome, Larena lifted the face of the Troy pendant into her view. Mentally walking into the labyrinth, she slid the toe of one boot over the line.
In an instant, the grasses reversed their motion. Waving toward her, they burst into flames that licked the hem of her skirt. She tried to step back but tree limbs lowered and twined in her hair and around her arms. Trying to hold her in the fire.
She screamed, or at least air rushed from her diaphragm and out her mouth, yet she produced no sound. She thrashed against her captors. The wool of her skirt smelled acrid, like burnt hair.
Her legs tightened, prepared to run. She searched for a way out. A sea of flames filled the glade and undulated on the whipping grasses. Retreat was the only escape.
With arms clamped against her sides to avoid the trees’ grasp, Larena dug her hands into her pockets. There, her fingers found Grandpa’s pendant. She’d forgotten to return it to the safe. She yanked it out. Held it before her like a tiny shield. Would its magic protect her? Her heart raced, as if it would explode. Without another choice, she had to trust. In what seemed like several long minutes, her thoughts tracked to the story Grandpa to
ld her. How he returned from the nemeton to find the best magic—the letter that concluded his military service and his wife expecting their first child—of hope and love.
A violent wind tossed her out of the circle, off her feet, and into a fast-rolling motion across icy fallen leaves. Her stomach clenched rock hard. She must have spun thirty feet before coming to rest at an old oak that had welcomed her two days ago. Twisting back and forth, she checked and patted her clothing to make sure nothing still burned. One side of her skirt and coat hem were charred black. With a hand on the trunk to balance her, Larena staggered to her feet and conveyed to the oak, “What just happened?”
No response registered against her fingers, and she took another look at the tree. It was certainly one she’d spoken to before. Why didn’t it respond? She gasped. Had the nemeton stolen her magic? She sent another message and again received no reply. Her pulse thrashed against her eardrums making her dizzy.
She staggered away from the nemeton, touching tree after tree, trying unsuccessfully for communication, until at last she gave up and sunk onto the frozen dirt. Careful to avoid contact with any tree or plant she could no longer befriend, Larena clutched herself tight into a ball. She hugged her knees and buried her head, letting tears flow.
Only when the wind carried a shrill note to the hill’s crest where Larena sat did she stir. It was her name and Betty’s voice laced with alarm.
Larena crawled to her feet and ran down the hill.
“Larena, come quick.”
With a leap, Larena jumped the stream, not breaking stride until she reached the back-porch steps. Panting, she rushed through the door, muscles still pumping with adrenaline. “What’s wrong?”
Betty met her a few steps from where Mom sat propped up by pillows in the wheelchair. “She’s started fallin’ sideways in her chair and can’t sit up on her own. I’m afraid she’ll hurt herself. I need your help to get her into bed.”
Mom’s eyes were glazed over, distant and emotionless as the women hoisted her from the wheelchair and lowered her onto the bed. Her lips opened and closed but no words formed.
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