Witch's Mystic Woods

by Marsha A. Moore

  “You can call me Larena.” She didn’t know if she should bow or curtsy or make some gesture to honor a fae king. She decided upon a deep nod but kept her eyes, as much as possible, on him. His dress, in brown biker boots, olive corduroys and a pine-colored waffle-knit shirt, appeared nothing other than human.

  Larena clasped his outstretched hand and met his gaze. Are there jagged lines in his eyes? For that instant of their handshake, toothed edges of leaves patterned his irises in layered green hues.

  A chorus of whispered laughter and cheering sounded from inside the building. The moment Larena’s hand separated from the king’s, the background voices silenced. His eyes changed to a more normal emerald, if that vivid gemstone color could be considered normal. Slowly the color ebbed back to juniper. While the changes seemed odd, Larena knew at least one witch, High Priest Logan, whose irises reflected the interactions between his powers and emotions.

  “You are indeed one who understands the trees, Larena. Remarkable for a human.” King Shango shined a knowing smile. Did he detect something about the status of her magic?

  She cast him a quizzical glance, but asking seemed out of line since they’d just met.

  “I’m glad you’re both here. Please, come inside.” He held the door for them. A half wall of dark wood with stained glass upper panels separated the entry from the dining area. “Let’s relax and have a beverage while we do business.” He led them past a hostess station created from the store’s renovated counter, complete with vintage cash register. They turned into a dining hall rich with old wood and ivory linens.

  The original floors and wall paneling had been refinished to a dark gleam. Long lace panels hung at the sides of the back wall’s expanse of tall windows. Outside lay the snow-covered lawn, which Larena and her friends had traversed during their rites of passage. She looked over the area, now dotted with ice-encrusted lengths of picket fencing.

  “We attempted to lay out our plans for the garden, but winter came too soon,” King Shango said.

  She surveyed the large dining room. Enhancing the soft natural light, frosted glass globes hung from the painted tin ceiling. Short, full curtains of the same diaphanous lace billowed at smaller windows along the hostess station and stairwell. Enthralling ancient magic crackled like static around her. Could this strong power repair hers? “It’s amazing how much work you’ve done since early November. Nothing looks the same. How did you accomplish it all?”

  “Yes, in many ways it is remarkable.” Shango winked at Mr. Tynker. “Tyne, I assume you’ve told her of our ways?”

  “Only that you’re the leader of the fae Summer Court,” Mr. Tynker replied. “Though I know a fair amount about magical tools used by various fae courts, I’m here to learn about your customs as much as Larena is.”

  “I’m pleased to know you’ve studied fae tools. My workers discovered artifacts suffused with fae magic but not of my court. I’ve put the items before my eldest summer fae, who are more than five hundred years of age, and they cannot explain. I’d be grateful for your assistance to learn more.”

  Mr. Tynker’s eyes gleamed. “It would be both my honor and pleasure.”

  “Very good. We’ll make arrangements.” The king faced Larena. “To more fully answer your query, my court can accomplish tasks much faster than mortals, even witches. However, tasks which we can’t use magic for hamper me now as we face our deadline of opening at Yule. That is what I’m hoping you can expedite.”

  “I hope so, too.” She hesitated. “King Shango, I have to be honest—”

  “Just Shango suits me better.”

  “Yes, Shango. Unfortunately, I’ve been a recent victim of a dark curse and cannot use my tree mysticism. However, I do have a shop full of already-charmed furniture and decorative items I would gladly sell to you.”

  He stroked a light growth of blonde whiskers that highlighted his jawline, as if the summer sun had kissed his rosy skin despite the recent gray winter days. He motioned in the direction of the sole table dwarfed by the vast open dining space. “Let’s be comfortable and work toward a deal.” He pulled out a rickety vintage chair for Larena, then called to one of the open doorways, “Wren, will you bring us some beverages?” He settled himself between his guests at the table’s head.

  A diminutive young woman, who appeared to be in her late teens, scuttled out carrying a filled tray. Her nut-brown feathery hair hung to her waist. Casting curious glances at the two witches, she set the tray on the table. “I also brought a regular pinot grigio, in case summer wine doesn’t suit witches.”

  Larena exchanged cautious looks with Mr. Tynker.

  “Good to have on hand, Wren.” Shango selected the decanter containing a pale-yellow elixir that bubbled like champagne and scintillated with sparks of light. “Though I expect witches of the caliber of our guests should readily enjoy our customary choice.” As he poured samples into two glass goblets and filled a third, beads of light fizzed to the surface with an explosion of sunshine. “Perhaps a small taste, first?” He glanced at his guests and lifted his glass for a deep swallow.

  Larena accepted a glass and tentatively sniffed its contents. A bouquet of woodsy greens—syrupy maple sap with mellow oak—was followed by delicate sweetness of summer flowers and fruits. She caught a whiff of juicy pawpaw fruit, one of her favorites, a local delicacy from the scrawny woodland trees. The pawpaw fragrance circled her nose, speaking to her of the exact location where the crop had been harvested. She swirled the wine up the goblet’s sides to break more scent bubbles, which bathed her face and hand in a golden glow. She visualized the nearby stand of trees in remarkable detail. Had her tree mysticism been restored? Did the fae magic in the drink reset her powers? Or, was this merely a trick to tempt her into making a deal that favored the Summer Court? Fae were well known to be tricksters.

  When Shango spoke to Wren, Mr. Tynker tipped his glass but didn’t allow the wine to touch his lips.

  Although he was a hugely respected specialist in magical tools, Mr. Tynker, like most empowered witches in the coven, interacted little with fae. Only hedge witches had the Sight. They could see fairies without their magical glamour masks and, therefore, better understood their hidden agendas.

  Larena wished she’d had time to reach out to Esme Underhill, a well-respected hedge witch who worked daily with the fae. There hadn’t been time with Mom’s recent decline. To compensate for that disadvantage and to keep her wits about her, Larena lifted her glass to fake a swallow. Before she could lower the goblet, the succulent pawpaw scent effervesced into her nostrils. Inside her skirt pocket, she grasped Grandpa’s Troy pendant. She needed his old magic to counter the fae king’s.

  Despite that, the tree mothers of the pawpaws beckoned her to drink. As a friend to all trees and helpless to their call, Larena allowed a sip to bathe her tongue.

  Mr. Tynker flinched.

  The wine fizzed and exploded with the scent of sweet honeysuckle that Larena recognized from where it rambled along the guardrail protecting the Owls Tail Creek Road ravine. She swallowed and sunshine warmed her throat, spread into her stomach, and oozed throughout her entire body.

  Shango smiled at her. “Tell me more about how you were blocked from your magic.”

  A little cautious as the wine warmed her, she took her time to recount the recent interactions with Sibeal.

  “I see.” Shango placed his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “My court has history with the seer. She and High Priestess Adara once tried to control the Summer Court, thought our wildness foolish. Larena, were they attempting to steal your magic? I understand your gift is quite rare.”

  “I…I don’t think so,” she stammered at this unconsidered possibility. She looked to Mr. Tynker. “What do you think?”

  He scratched his head. “As for Sibeal, I believe she simply wants a way to earn income and acclaim, not purposely to harm others. I hadn’t thought that Adara might be involved. Her heart was purely black.” His voice quavered and gaze
fixed on Shango. “You speak of her as if she’s alive. Do you know if she is?”

  “Her energy is still viable. That is all I know.” Shango seemed to ignore Mr. Tynker squirming in his chair and faced Larena. “What sorts of furnishings do you have available and how are they charmed? I have this dining hall and five rental units I want to have furnished this week. Ten more rentals before spring.”

  “There are four dining sets of various sizes, all equipped with the ability to make special occasion meals more memorable, which is my standard charm. I have three bed frames, one queen and two doubles, that ensure restful sleep, and possibly three or four twin headboards, though I’m not certain of their enchantments. Two nightstands are charmed to settle sleep or wakefulness over an entire bedroom, according to the amount of daylight present.”

  “Very good. I could use more queen sizes, but those might serve as a good start. What woods and styles?” Shango asked.

  “Mostly birch or poplar with spool-turning. One of the doubles is an oak sleigh bed. Two matching twin headboards are oak mission style.”

  “Please hold all of your bed frames and headboards for me.” Shango drank from his glass, and sunlight from the wine danced up strands of his blonde hair. “What about sitting room furnishings?”

  “For parlors,” she tapped a finger to her chin, “two coffee tables will prevent objects from becoming lost on them no matter how much clutter. Two settees, each with a matching chair, that sit deceptively like soft contemporary pieces despite the upholstery’s actual tough horsehair stuffing—a huge hit in the coven where we must decorate with the old styles.”

  “Perfect.” Shango nodded. “Hold those items also. Those enchantments will all do well for our opening, although I hope to include some spells that are unique and localized to smaller items, ones our guests can enjoy as passing entertainment.”

  “I have boxes of light bulbs that perform assorted tasks which may interest you. Our shop has many decorative items too numerous to describe, and a good assortment of games and puzzles with enchantments in degrees of difficulty.”

  “Oh, I must see those.” He smiled. “I’d like to come by Monday to finalize my selections and arrange transport. Maybe at an hour before you open?”

  “Seven-thirty will work best for me.” Larena readjusted her seat. “What terms of payment are you wanting?”

  “Cash or trade or both.” The king’s lips curled. “I’m curious if you have any hope of restoring your powers? My interest lies both in the offer of trade I may make you today, as well as the potential for our future business dealings with custom spell work.”

  “I’m making a set of Ogham staves for divination. I want to learn how to reverse Sibeal’s hex and also stop her and the Petersons from taking my family’s land. I just need to collect one more tree sample to complete the collection.” To avoid his gaze and whatever he might read in hers that could give him the upper hand in their deal, she swirled the goblet and stared at the fizzing bubbles of light.

  “A personal Ogham is powerful, perhaps even more in the hands of a forest sage. My fae craft and use them. I was about to offer to provide you with a set. May I assist you in any other way?”

  Larena continued to stare at the shifting sunlight and the dappled patterns radiating through the glass onto the table. She pondered whether to tell him about the nemeton. She didn’t want to reveal too much and give him the upper hand in their deal. “My grandpa mentioned something. The sacred grove near our woods strengthened his powers when he was in need.”

  “Ah, a nemeton,” Shango said so loud that both she and Mr. Tynker recoiled. “Fae of all four courts nurture such areas. They are where powers may flow between worlds. They balance our Underworld with your Middle Earth and also with the Upperworld. Was Grandpa Henry the first forest sage in the coven?”

  Larena nodded. “He was, and his soul still knows the ways.”

  “I never met him in person but heard of his reputation. A forest sage like him, and now perhaps you, who can tap powers at a nemeton is someone who can do much good for my court. In payment for your already-enchanted furnishings, I offer sixty percent of your retail price.”

  “I can’t afford to lose forty percent.” Larena gripped the table edge.

  “Our future dealings, on custom work that will be more valuable to me, will be paid at a higher rate. But I can sweeten the pot some.” He reached beneath the table and returned his hand holding a fifteen-inch branch from a holly bush. “To finish your Ogham set.”

  How had he known her missing stick? Larena pursed her lips, trying not to be impressed by his perception. “I can get a holly branch from Esme Underhill, our new hedge witch. Seventy-five percent of retail.”

  Shango’s face lit with a grin, and his skin glowed with what seemed like golden sunshine, obviously pleased with her reaction. “Thirty percent off retail and I’ll give you a valuable bit of knowledge: To embrace the powers of a nemeton, stay on the bridge between the invisible and visible.”

  Larena wished Grandpa could have been there. She locked eyes with Mr. Tynker, whose lifted brows conveyed nothing useful. If she could believe Shango, fae nurtured the nemetons. She might benefit from knowing him. With trembling fingers, she reached toward the holly branch.

  Before he released it, he said, “First, repeat my guidance to see whether you fully grasp what I’ve offered.”

  She voiced the sentence, though her tongue felt clumsy and wide, the words heavy and slow.

  The king’s eyes twinkled with a silent question.

  “The words seemed to resist me, if that makes any sense.”

  “It does. Have another sip of summer wine. Fae magic might allow you to see better, know more.”

  She took a small swallow, and again warmth permeated her body and mind.

  “Now repeat the saying,” he directed.

  “To embrace the powers of a nemeton…” Larena said, her tongue now free of sensation, but a storm of energy pounded meaning into her mind. She raised a hand to touch her buzzing head. Her eyes widened and Shango nodded for her to continue. “Stay on the bridge between the invisible and visible.”

  Chapter Seventeen: The Ogham

  Before relieving Aggie at the antiques store, Larena checked in at home. She assisted Betty with the diaper changing and to comfort Mom during the process.

  Her mother’s shaking fingers skittered along edges of the plastic undergarments, and her mouth opened to form soundless words, as if trying to comprehend the recent changes.

  Larena kissed her mother and said to Betty, “If traffic is light, I’ll close the shop for an hour at dinner and come over. I need to look for something in the woods and might try to also do that.”

  Larena slipped out the back door and through the ironwood tree row, wishing she had time to talk to Grandpa about what King Shango had told her. That conversation would have to wait.

  A thin branch fell across her arm as she passed. “Larena! You have fae magic on you. What in tarnation have you been up to, girl?”

  “Mr. Tynker and I went to see King Shango of the Summer Court.”

  Grandpa chuckled. “Shango’s a slippery fella. Long as you can hold yerself in a deal, he’ll treat you with respect. Of all the courts, he’s partial to trees so we stand in good stead with him.”

  “You know him?”

  “Course I do. We exchanged a few enchanted things through Cyril. Never met Shango outright. What’s he like?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it later. I have to get back to the shop now.”

  “Ah, the bustle of Yule. Can’t say I miss that. Scurry along then.” He chortled as he let her go.

  Larena entered at the workroom door and helped Aggie and Mr. Tynker finish sales for three waiting customers, each purchasing small items that required boxing or bagging. When the counter area emptied, Larena said, “Thanks lots for helping.”

  Aggie’s eyes widened and strands of her blonde hair crackled with snaps of electricity as she whispered, “Was Ki
ng Shango frightening?”

  Mr. Tynker smiled as he met Larena’s gaze.

  A laugh escaped Larena. “Hardly. Though he oozes with strong, ancient power and could probably be formidable.”

  “Definitely.” Mr. Tynker nodded. “He had more magic than the three of us put together.”

  “He seemed pretty cool, a bit sly, too,” Larena added.

  “Is he willing to help you?” Aggie asked.

  “I think so.” Larena checked the pad where Aggie had made a few notes from clients. “He knows a lot about the sacred grove and about Sibeal and Adara. He’s coming here Monday morning to see the furniture he asked me to hold.”

  “Ooh, great. I’ll have Logan check in on you.” Aggie gathered her coat. “Glad I could help out. If you need anything, you can call me or Logan.”

  “Don’t hesitate to contact me either.” Mr. Tynker waved and left with Aggie as a clutch of six customers entered.

  Just after noon, the Sunday weekend trade was in full force. Thankful for the steady stream of small sales as well as the big-ticket purchases by King Shango, Larena allowed a morsel of hope into her heart. Plus, it meant being able to pay for Mom’s doctor bills so she could pass without pain. It meant being able to have a place to live after Mom passed. Larena shivered. Too much to think about.

  Unable to accept those thoughts, Larena considered Shango’s advice: To embrace the powers of a nemeton, stay on the bridge between the invisible and visible. The visible world seemed obvious. What did he mean by invisible? Was it like her mysticism? Since she was a child she’d read the trees, their experiences. She’d talked to those willing to converse, all through invisible means. The concept of the bridge confused her. It had all seemed so clear after a taste of the summer wine, but not now. Maybe the Ogham could help her.

  Thankfully, that morning she’d finished cutting the seventeen staves, then burnt symbols into their centers and applied a coat of lemon oil. The easy work between customers kept her from worrying about Mom.