Witch's Mystic Woods

by Marsha A. Moore

  “What does this mean? What’s he gotten in with?” His mother strangled her knife and looked to Lloyd, who shook his head.

  Reid shrugged. “I talked to Melissa. She doesn’t know but is really worried.”

  Lloyd pulled his cell from his jeans pocket and hit a speed dial button. Moments later, he growled a message, “I expect to see you in my office tomorrow at noon. Since you didn’t respond to my first request, consider your mid-month paycheck held if you don’t show.” He disconnected, his face stony and pale. “That should get his attention. Reid, I expect you there as well. We need to get to the bottom of this for Ben’s sake.”

  “Yes. I will be.” While necessary, the obligation held consequences for Reid. He stared at his plate. He’d not had a chance to dissuade Ben from aligning with that witch who used black magic against Larena. Even if Reid didn’t mention those actions at the upcoming meeting, they’d become known soon enough from the talk around town. Along with Ben’s troubles today, Lloyd was sure to end or diminish his company duties and hand them off to Reid. He couldn’t take on his brother’s work load and get moved in time.

  The meal passed mostly in awkward silence peppered with bits of his mother’s idle chatter about relatives or her girlfriends. None of that conversation engaged Lloyd, whose free hand remained clamped into a fist while he stabbed meatloaf.

  ***

  Sunday at noon, Reid paced in front of his father’s desk while Lloyd rattled into the phone coordinating a purchase of steer. Ben was absent, his car not parked in the lot. Until the past few months, he’d always been fastidious about punctuality. Reid braced his arms on the back of a chair, exchanged a frustrated look with his father, then resumed pacing.

  Lloyd ended his call and checked his watch.

  “I can’t believe he isn’t gonna show,” Reid said.

  “He’ll show.” Lloyd leaned back in his padded chair, arms crossed over his chest. “He likes his money too well.”

  Reid checked his phone for texts and messages but found none from Ben. To pass time, Reid read and answered mail.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Ben swept in and took a seat directly in front of Lloyd. “I just got your message.” He wore the same pants and wrinkled dress shirt as last night. Hadn’t he been home to change?

  “Why’s that?” Lloyd asked, his bass voice loud and commanding.

  Reid hung a hip on the far corner of the desk, his jaw tensed.

  “My phone battery must’ve gone dead.” Ben tapped the pocket holding his phone.

  “Seems you’re havin’ trouble answerin’ me lately. The last time I wanted to see you, you lost your dang phone.” Father leaned forward, half-way across the desk, and eyed Ben. “Whatever’s keepin’ you from doin’ your job for me, you need to end that right now, you hear?”

  Ben squirmed in his seat. “I’m doin’ my job for you just fine, old man.”

  Lloyd jerked forward as if he wanted to jump across the desk at his younger son. “You owe me your livin’, boy. What’s gotten into you, actin’ this way? You’re not the boy I knew. Don’t even look like him.”

  “Ease up. I almost got that Lockwood deal closed. The way your other son’s honeying up to that Lockwood woman, he’ll end up responsible for her once I take the property.”

  A pang shot through Reid’s temple. “After you cursed her with a spell so she can’t make a living there or anywhere, you ought to be responsible. You and that liaison witch Sibeal left Larena so broke, she has no recourse but to sell out.”

  “That true?” Lloyd scrubbed a hand across his face.

  Ben looked down, silent.

  Lloyd pounded a fist on the desk. “Answer me. Is that how you treat the family name?”

  “I need the money.”

  “That’s not the right answer, boy.”

  Ben met Lloyd’s glare, chest out and beady eye for beady eye. “It’s gonna have to be the right answer, whether you like it or not, old man. Before long, it’s gonna be just you an’ me. Wharton boy’s taken a Manhattan job at Goldman Sachs.”

  Reid flinched and their father’s head swiveled toward him. “Something you need to own up to?”

  Reid wiped a hand along the back of his neck where a film of cold sweat chilled his spine. This wasn’t the way he’d wanted to tell his father. “It’s true. I just accepted a contract with them starting early January. I wanted to be sure before I told you since it’ll be a big change for everyone.” He seethed at his brother, holding back the urge to lunge at him. “How’d you find out?”

  “Got my ways.” Ben laughed and crossed his arms, clearly glad he’d managed to shift the topic away from him.

  “Ben, you best smarten up and find ways to do business without hurtin’ people,” Father replied. “You make things right with Larena Lockwood or—”

  “Or what?” Ben scowled. “You’ll fire me when Wharton boy’s leavin’?”

  “You can bet on that.” Lloyd lurched forward. His arm collided with his mug, and the brew splattered his younger son.

  Now on his feet, Ben yelled, “I know you think I’m stupid, too stupid for you to pay me to go to a fancy school like Reid, but surprise…I’ve got the trump card now.” With his nose in the air, he faced Reid. “You could’ve told Dad when you had that Skype interview weeks ago.”

  Reid knocked a chair over as his fist collided with Ben’s shoulder, sending him staggering backward.

  Lloyd swept a dismissive hand at them and busied himself with work at his desk. “I don’t have time for your secrets. Get out, both of you.”

  Ben stormed out, and Reid, close behind, hooked his brother’s elbow. Ben yanked it free, venom spewing from his mouth. “Get your hands off me.” At that range, Ben’s brown irises dwarfed speck-like pupils, and red vessels shot through the whites. Reid dropped hold of his brother’s arm as if it were a hot poker. Was he bewitched? Ben slammed the door on his way out.

  Chapter Sixteen: Summer Wine

  The ringing phone jolted Larena awake. Reflexively, her arm moved toward the sound. With receiver in hand, she realized she’d spent Saturday night on the parlor settee rather than her comfortable bed. Anxious over Mom’s worsened condition, Larena didn’t feel comfortable sleeping upstairs. Exhausted, she dozed off well past midnight, still wearing street clothes.

  Gray daylight seeping through the lace curtains assured her it was morning, although she felt nothing close to rested.

  She sat up against the complaints of sore back muscles and uttered a scratchy hello.

  “Larena, it’s Tyne Tynker. You recall our offer from the king of the Summer Fae Court who’s opening a new local resort?”

  “How could I forget?” She swung her legs to the floor.

  “He’d like to meet with you later this morning. Will that work for you?”

  “Um, I have to work nine to nine. Can he come to my shop?” Larena asked, then listened with her other ear for any sounds coming from Mom in her converted bedroom.

  “No, that won’t do. He wants you to see the resort. I wonder. If I can get ahold of Aggie, would you be willing to have her cover for you at the store like the other evening?”

  “Yes. That’d be fine, but doesn’t she have to work at Shireen’s?”

  “Let me find out,” Mr. Tynker said. “I’ll call you back within the hour and if all is okay, I’ll be most happy to pick you up. That is, if you wish me to accompany you.”

  “Since you know the man…er, fae, I’d like you to be there. I’ve never met a fairy and could use your help.”

  He chuckled. “We’ll both be learning how to interact with the fae. Although my line of work as a magical tool specialist may prove useful.”

  They hung up and she hoisted herself to a standing position.

  Even though it was a Sunday, the shopping season made life hard. She’d extended store hours from nine to nine. After yesterday’s ice storm forced her to close, Larena couldn’t afford to open late today.

  She plowed forward into the morning routi
ne she’d followed for a couple months, then caught herself. Mom’s health is worse now. The thought was the mental equivalent of walking into a wall. She hadn’t wrapped her mind around what the neurologist said, and now she had to face more change. Many household procedures needed to be rearranged to accommodate Mom’s worsened condition, all in the next hour. The stress weighed upon Larena’s already aching back.

  Larena peeked in on Mom, who thankfully still slept. Her trips to the bathroom would now be reserved for bathing with a shower chair. On top of the lavatory wall cabinet, Larena located a bedpan the hospital supply store provided with the rental bed. At the time, she hadn’t believed it would be needed. She sighed. Facing the truth hurt. This final journey with Mom had been all about change. Change occurring faster than acceptance. Every month brought a new complication, a new task for Larena and Betty, and most of all, Mom.

  At least she could still manage to stand with someone holding her upright for a few seconds. Enough time to change a fitted bed sheet. With luck, that would only need to happen daily. Sheets. There was only one clean set. The laundry hadn’t gotten done yesterday because of the power outage. Larena ran down to the basement to start the wash, then up two floors to jump into the shower.

  She dragged a comb through her wet hair, forgoing makeup until a free minute came available. Dressing in a white blouse and tan tights, she stepped into a brown wool skirt and loafers. Larena snatched her cabled cardigan from a cedar chest, for more reason than coordinating with the skirt. On her way downstairs, she buttoned the sweater. It gave a smidgeon of support from a confidence spell she’d knitted into it years ago—just what she needed today.

  Mom stirred in the dining room, and Larena zipped to her side.

  “Morning. You slept a long time. Yesterday was a hard one.” As Larena continued to chatter in a cheery tone, the sleepy slits of Mom’s eyes opened more fully. Larena kissed her mother’s forehead. “I’m going to change your underwear now.” Larena couldn’t bring herself to say the word diaper. The hospital nurse suggested keeping Mom in those round the clock now, rather than just at night as Larena had been doing for the past six months.

  On cue, Mom touched a feeble hand to the bedrail, a failing attempt to get out of bed as she always did. Her eyes widened with a hint of fear, and she clutched Larena’s forearm.

  “We’re going to try a new way today.” Larena pulled back the covers, unfastened the disposable adult diaper, and rolled Mom onto her side. Slipping the bedpan under her proved impossible. Together, they didn’t have strength to lift Mom’s hips. A few unsuccessful attempts left her whimpering and shaking, and Larena stressed. That technique would have to wait for Betty’s aid. For now, a warm washcloth and a clean diaper would have to do.

  While rinsing out the cloth and placing it in a laundry bucket, sorrow crept into Larena’s bones. She couldn’t help with Mom’s Sunday shower due to extended holiday store hours. Larena always enjoyed using a special lotion or powder her mother selected, usually her favorite lavender scent. Betty agreed to give Mom a sponge bath today and assist Larena with a mid-week shower. Every small act of care was now more complicated.

  At least she could make Mom feel better now with clean face and hands. Larena prepared a tray with supplies, which included lavender face and hand lotions. She cleaned the wrinkled, knobby fingers with care and smoothed a soapy cloth over the sparse, gray brows. As she lovingly massaged in the creams, Mom’s quivering mouth twitched and her eyes glistened.

  While Larena put the toiletries away, Mom managed to reach a shaking hand to her nose for a sniff.

  Larena blinked back bittersweet tears and headed to the kitchen to make their morning oatmeal.

  Later, while she fed Mom the last spoonfuls of breakfast, Betty arrived carrying shopping bags from the local drugstore. She eyeballed Larena’s stringy air-dried locks. “I’ll take over. You need to get yourself ready for work. It’s quarter till nine.”

  “Thanks.” Larena carried the breakfast tray back to the kitchen and wolfed down her own now-cold oatmeal.

  On the first ring, she picked up the kitchen wall phone. Mr. Tynker informed her he’d be by at ten-fifteen with Aggie, who agreed to watch Lockwood’s until around noon.

  Larena pounded up the stairs and called to Betty about new care-giving details. In her bathroom, Larena clutched the lavatory counter, took a deep breath. The day hadn’t started and she needed a break. She half-heartedly brushed her hair, wound it into an easy braid, and slicked on a bit of lipstick. That and the nice lavender scent on her hands would have to do.

  ***

  At ten-thirty, Larena took a seat in Mr. Tynker’s Packard sedan. The exterior, long and black, looked as conservative as the way the man dressed. However, the inside he’d retrofitted with every possible vintage gadget, from an array of horns to clusters of dials and meter displays. As a specialist in magical tools, he loved his toys.

  Larena sucked in a deep breath when a pack of eight shoppers entered her antique store. She’d given Aggie a crash course in how to run the place, but knew a out-of-town tourists could overwhelm her. Bright sunshine had melted the ice off the roads and almost guaranteed a good turnout today. Having too many customers was a good problem to have.

  She smiled, glad for friends like Aggie and Mr. Tynker. Larena relaxed into the soft black leather upholstery. It was the first pleasure she’d enjoyed since viewing Sibeal’s defeated face at the market upon discovering Larena and Keir were working together. No, that wasn’t enjoyment; it was revenge, no matter how sweet.

  But she had genuinely enjoyed Reid’s company at lunch, despite their differences. Too bad that couldn’t go anywhere.

  “Has your tree mysticism returned, at least in part?” Mr. Tynker’s question pulled her out of her own thoughts.

  “No. I still have my mother’s specialty though. I guess Sibeal wasn’t concerned about that with her hex.” Larena felt in her skirt pocket to be sure the two Troy pendants, Grandpa’s and hers, hadn’t slid out.

  “Well, needlework skills aren’t tied to your livelihood, are they?”

  “Why did she hex me?” Larena asked. “She’s from a founding family and is so powerful. She has a beautiful, big Victorian house and doesn’t need anything. Does she just like to be mean?”

  Mr. Tynker chortled. “Oh, I expect she’s not as well off as you might think. Keir’s given her a run for her money since he did that training with a Native American shaman.”

  “True, but she has her loyal clients, friends of her prestigious parents.”

  “Those folks are aging and passing on. Sibeal’s family home, no matter how grand, is old and wanting repair. She needs new customers or another way to earn. I suspect that’s one reason she pursued election to the Coven Council, for the token salary but moreover for the notoriety and high visibility associated with the position. She’s likely counting on the income and credit to her name the mall project will bring.”

  Larena cocked her head to gaze at him. Could it be Sibeal Soot, for all her long, noble heritage, shared the same shortfalls as she? Larena stared at the passing hills and ravines, reflecting on Sibeal’s attempt to solve her financial problem.

  They drove past the southern border of Coon Hollow Coven, crossed a covered bridge and then made a sharp turn along Flint Creek, a twisting half mile to reach a crossroads and the deserted town of Fable. Larena remembered the place as a cluster of dilapidated homes fifty or more years older than any in the coven. The main road had once been a thoroughfare to Bloomington. After state engineers decided to alter the course of the Calash River, the road no longer was a direct connector to the city, and Fable quickly dried up to a ghost town.

  Some of the buildings had real ghosts, too. As a teenager, Larena and her girlfriends used to dare each other to walk behind the vacant general store and see if they could use their magic to startle the specter of an old woman. This rite of passage for each of them often involved several attempts, sometimes requiring more than one summer. Whi
le carrying an oak limb Larena picked up from the edge of the woods and enchanted, she frightened the old hag on her first pass. Proud of wielding magic so rare it spooked the spook, her confidence and love of her heritage soared. Being a forest sage was an incredible gift. Smiling at the memory, she silently thanked Grandpa for connecting to the nemeton, which allowed him to start a family that gave her life.

  Now, the handful of buildings were anything but rundown. The exteriors had been re-sided and painted pretty colors of peacock, raspberry, and admiral blue, all except that haunted, flat-topped general store. It stood apart from the vivid summery colors with a celebration of preserved patina. The rusty metal siding and silver-hued weathered porch beckoned. Dark red paint highlighted metal of the porch roof, gutters, and second story window trim, freshly applied yet deceptively vintage.

  “Sure looks different, doesn’t it?” Mr. Tynker parked along the curb in front of the store.

  “Wow, yes. I drove past here picking up furniture not long ago, maybe late October. We had an early winter. How did they get all this done?”

  “Did I mention the owner is a fairy king?” He laughed and hopped out.

  She exited the car and spun in place to take in the surroundings. In all directions, houses and old businesses nestled off narrow lanes and foot paths. Magic whipped around her, expanded her lungs, mind, and heart. Fae magic?

  She scurried onto the front porch to join Mr. Tynker. “This place seems filled with the most amazing magic. Do you feel it?”

  He pressed his flat lips together and scratched under the brim of his fedora. “Old magic. Fae power is as old as the Earth.”

  One of the front double doors opened. A handsome man, well-muscled, tall with shoulder-length blonde hair and juniper-green eyes, stepped out. He exuded an expansive aura of the same ancient magic. “Tyne, hello again. You must be Miss Lockwood. Be welcomed. I’m Shango, the owner of Fable.”