She set the two new twigs, yew and holly, on a small counter beside the checkout register, where she often worked on small projects as customers shopped.
Stripping sappy needles from the yew, she thought about her lunch with Reid. He infuriated her. If only he’d been an ordinary customer, or anyone not associated with the company out to claim her land—someone she could actually get to know better. As she pulled off the needles, she imagined removing him from her life. The resulting bare twig represented a fresh, clean palette but also seemed meager and lonely.
Larena set the yew aside and removed leathery evergreen leaves from the holly branch. With a sharp blade, she cut the twigs to create five-inch staves and sanded the ends. Evergreen sap filled the air with a fragrant holiday scent. Into the yew and holly centers, Larena burned five-barred and three-barred symbols, respectively. She borrowed the blackthorn stave Grandpa had brought from Ireland, the only non-native wood represented by her Ogham. Polishing the blackthorn with oil unified its energy with the others. She did the same with the two newest sticks and gave the completed set a hopeful smile.
Larena waited impatiently for a couple shoppers to exit the store after their purchases of jigsaw-cut stocking stuffers and a set of candleholders. In what would likely be only a few free minutes she could devote to divination, she took the collection of twenty sticks in one hand. Behind the checkout counter, she settled her thoughts onto one magical question—how to regain her tree mysticism.
She tossed the staves gently into the air and focused on that one question as they fell on the floor. A loose pile formed. The upper staves held greater importance. Her breath grew shallow along with her eagerness to determine which trees those sticks originated from. The topmost was birch, which indicated new beginnings with a change to her higher self, accepting self-sacrifice for the common good. Little surprise there, since Grandpa harped on that exact message. She huffed out a breath, still unable to grasp that altruistic mindset as fully as she should. Maybe the secondary trees would offer some help.
Beneath the birch lay rowan, willow, and vine side by side. Larena touched a hand to her heart. Those did give useful clues. The rowan indicated a need to concentrate on inner magical work. Combined with the willow, she needed to focus on Otherworld contacts and associated new journeys. The vine stick that revealed hidden knowledge and strength to overcome adversaries could be found in the Otherworlds. The information confirmed the advice Shango had given her about the nemeton.
Below those three staves rested two more, also positioned close. Easy to spot was Grandpa’s blackthorn, which Larena expected to see in the upper part of the pile. A knot formed in her stomach. Blackthorn foretold change, death, an end. Mom’s passing was inevitable although Larena couldn’t face that fact. Alongside the blackthorn lay the fir stick, indicating new realizations about to become known as relationships formed. Together, that coupling indicated ending and beginning, a sense of wholeness. Although the future was unknown, at least there was hope of something good.
The remaining sticks had scattered far from the stack and added no meaning. She picked up the outliers and upper members of the pile. Oddly, when she lifted the blackthorn and fir, nestled directly underneath sat the yew. She first bristled at its association with Reid, then even more at the connection to the wood’s association with love. She snatched up the yew and the other staves, dropped them into a small cardboard box, and shut them and their divination away in the office.
***
With the information from the summer fae king confirmed, Larena’s heart and mind pulled like a magnet toward the nemeton. At five o’clock, she called Betty to inform her where she was going and put a “return at six” sign on the door.
Larena marched up the hill behind their property, armed with Shango’s message and the two Troy pendants, her own and Grandpa’s as a backup. Although she knew those woods like the feel of her own skin, the fact that Ben and Sibeal had been traipsing the area prompted Larena to carry a flashlight.
Less than a week before Solstice, night fell early. At any sound other than squirrel chatter or bird tweets, she flicked the light toward the noises. Several raccoons and a mother deer with two nearly grown fawns froze in the beam, their eyes wide and ears trembling. She cringed at intruding upon their evening foraging.
At one point, her light caught the metallic canister of a fire extinguisher lying cast off in a ravine.
“Is that yours?” a female voice demanded from behind.
Larena spun and waved the light toward where she’d heard the woman but saw nothing. Her heart thumped against her windpipe, and she squeaked, “Who’s there?”
“Is that yours?” the woman repeated from impenetrable shadows cast by thick oak trunks. If only Larena had command of her tree mysticism, those trees would divulge the person’s identity and location.
“No, it’s not mine,” she replied in strong voice, the truth giving her courage.
“Larena. I didn’t think a forest sage would defile this hallowed place, but had to be sure.” Without the sound of any footfall, the unknown voice manifested before her as Esme Underhill, the hedge witch Larena had met only once and briefly. Esme’s long, dark, wavy hair spilled over a blood red cape. As if lit from within, the pallor of her skin glowed against the darkness. “Recently, a man has been desecrating this nemeton.”
“Saying the name of the sacred grove might tempt him to return,” Larena replied. “Mortals and witches should not voice that name.”
Esme’s tinkling laughter seemed to lift a breeze and stirred branches in bewitching accompaniment. The sound raised hairs along Larena’s arms. She had little experience with hedge witches, but this young woman, new to the coven, seemed far different than the market’s usual herb pushers.
Esme possessed strength that swept in a wide aura around her. “I am allowed to speak the name.” Her tone, though quiet, resounded like a melody. “This nemeton is nurtured by the Winter Fae Court, with whom I’m connected. I’ve seen you here many times. Why are you wanting to link with the Otherworlds?”
“I was guided here by Cyril and my grandpa. They said the powers might strengthen my own because I face serious problems.”
“I’ve heard your mother is gravely ill with dementia, and I’m sorry for her and your suffering. Is there anything I can do?” Esme asked.
Larena hesitated, but Esme’s concern for her mother seemed genuine. “There are other problems I could use help with. People are trying to take my family’s land where I earn a living, or try to. Some of those people, in order to drive me off my land, have blocked my tree mysticism. I cannot enchant items for sale.”
As soon as Larena spoke the words, Esme’s aura gently enveloped her, conveying tender support. “Who are these people?”
“Sibeal Soot and a mortal man named Ben Peterson.”
Esme clenched her hands into fists. A storm cloud obliterated the rainbow fire of her moonstone ring. Her aura transformed from an embodiment of compassion to electrified rage and bitterness. “I have no use for Sibeal. As a wildwood mystic, I work closely with the fae and the nemetons they maintain, which is why I’m here tonight. I will help guide you safely inside the nemeton, but it will only strengthen you at your own request.”
Larena pulled the two Troy pendants from her coat pocket. “I have these labyrinths to help me align my thoughts to purity and openness, without malice or other darkness.”
“Good. Use the one that speaks the strongest to you.”
“And King Shango of the Summer Court, a friend of my grandpa, gave me a saying he claimed would help.”
“Excellent.” Esme drew near, smiling and, again, embracing Larena with her aura. “Repeat that over and over as you mentally journey through your labyrinth. You may concentrate without concern, since I will lead you into the nemeton.”
“Thank you.” Larena bent her head and mentally stood at the labyrinth’s entry of her own Troy pendant. To embrace the powers of a nemeton, stay on the bridge between
the invisible and visible. She imagined herself following the entry path.
Esme touched Larena’s elbow and guided her slowly past the outer circle of knotted guardian trees, which she noticed from the corners of her vision. Their gnarled limbs bent toward them, but Esme’s aura kept them at a safe distance.
Still, Larena’s heart thumped, frightened of their previous attack. She refocused on the labyrinth’s lines and silently repeated the saying. Devoid of significance, the words tormented her. What did it mean to walk between invisible and visible? Was she doing it? Pain stabbed her temples.
Around her legs, tall grasses shimmered with glints of purple light that seemed to emanate from Esme. Larena had never seen that sort of magic. What kind of witch was Esme?
As Larena’s feet shuffled with her guide, she traveled around one of the labyrinth’s hairpin curves, which shifted her thinking to the other side of her brain. Her mind softened. Her heart softened. Was this what Grandpa and Shango meant? Between the visible and the invisible?
The guardian trees sighed, creating a whining breeze, and red liquid dripped from their lowered twigs. A single droplet splashed onto her hand, another onto the face of her pendant, obliterating the design. She looked up. The trees shuddered, weeping blood. Two hemorrhaged from deep gashes within thick limbs, open sores cut with a dull saw—Ben’s crime that had cost this special place and Larena dearly. As well, it slashed at her family’s heritage. Rage pumped through her veins. With renewed zeal, she imagined the knit hat she’d enchanted with a dark spell for Ben. He deserved that gift.
Branches encroached and Esme gasped. “We have to leave now. I cannot hold off the Otherworld Guardians. They will not counsel with you.”
They sped outside the circle and Larena panted, steaming with anger. “It was my fault. I’m sorry. I understand I must stay on the bridge but somehow cannot do it.”
Esme patted Larena’s shoulder. “You will when the time is right. You say you understand, but not completely enough. Not yet.”
“Thanks to you, I know more about the nemeton and its rules. It’s not to be feared, as I thought before.”
“Only if your intent is sacrilege, like Ben’s,” Esme snarled. “It’s too bad Sibeal didn’t enter with him. The nemeton would have had her witchcraft for that crime.”
“What allowed Ben to endure the wrath of this place?” Larena asked.
Esme shrugged. “He will pay one way or another.”
“You know so much about the sacred grove. Are you a fairy or a witch?”
Esme’s lips curled. “I know both magicks well, as should any good wildwood mystic. Let me lead you out of this wood since you seem shaken.”
They walked together to the edge of the Lockwood property, where they parted.
The encounter in the nemeton had left Larena’s stomach queasy, without any appetite for dinner. She checked her watch and fifteen minutes remained before she needed to return to work. Trembling and exhausted, she trudged into the house. She needed to hug Mom. While in that embrace, it struck Larena that she’d need these arms to hold her and they’d never again be available.
The time was up too quickly, but no amount of time would have been long enough. Betty handed Larena a sack of leftovers on her way out.
In the shop again, she met a trio of waiting customers, who left ten minutes later empty-handed. Larena stared between objects on her office desk: the unopened dinner bag, the hat she’d knitted for Ben, her Ogham set, and the two Troy pendants. None of those things would solve her problems. She had to do it.
***
Before dawn, Larena moved through the second day of a new care system with Mom. The growing familiarity with a new routine gave some ease or at least steadied Larena a bit after her unnerving experience the previous night.
She pulled on a sweater that used to fit well and now hung loose around her hips. She’d lost weight. Dinner last night had been forgotten, and a few bites of oatmeal sufficed for breakfast that morning. She had no appetite.
As soon as she and Betty completed Mom’s morning changing, Larena headed to the shop. She entered through the back, and a shadowy figure caught her eye in the showroom. A thief? Ben or Sibeal?
Larena tip-toed forward, her eyes darting around the showroom, until she recognized Shango. What in the world? “How did you get in?”
“I passed through the door,” he said matter-of-factly, as if everyone entered that way. He dressed in jeans and a handmade green sweater covered with unusual cables, surely of fae design, which Larena coveted.
“Well, at least I was expecting you.” She breezed past him, waving her arm. “Over here are the settee and chair sets I told you would sit like deep-cushioned upholstery.”
He relaxed into a chair. “Impressive. It looks upright and stiff but feels nothing like that. You set this charm?”
“Yes, when I had my magic.”
“My court messengers informed me you entered the nemeton up the hill last night. Was your experience positive?” he asked and tried out the matching settee.
“Anything but. I was allowed to enter, but couldn’t keep my rage from flaring.”
“What do you think went wrong?”
“I just don’t know.” Larena plopped down on the settee beside him. “The instruction you gave me, finding a line between the invisible and visible, seems like what Grandpa means by keeping a soft heart. That sounds easy, but for me it’s like walking on a tightrope and not along a bridge like you said. There is so much worry pounding inside me that I can’t silence. I’ve got to find a way.”
“With your mother’s health, you do have a hard situation.” He spread his arms wide along the back of the settee behind her and sank into the magical cushions. “Henry’s advice and mine share much. Let me give you a helpful suggestion. Try looking at those ideas from different angles. First, up close and literally. Where are some nearby bridges? You need to feel you are making a passage, a journey to a new place. And then from a distance consider the abstract meaning of those words. The eyes of another may help you understand what is deeper and more complex.”
Larena tilted her head, even more confused with this new information. “Could you give me some examples of what you mean?”
A male figure appeared outside the front window. With his hands cupped to the glass, Reid’s face peered into the store.
“Ugh. We’re closed,” Larena huffed. “What is he doing here?”
“He’s here to help you understand.”
Chapter Eighteen: Jealousy
Reid’s first Monday morning appointment had canceled at the last minute. The dairyman woke up with the flu and didn’t think his staff could explain the monthly report in his stead. Already up and dressed, Reid used his free time before the next meeting to drop by Lockwoods’ Antiques. Although an hour earlier than Larena’s scheduled opening time, he thought she might be there doing some prep work. With the news he had to share, he was eager to see her, despite the way she’d sent him away two days ago.
Before that moment, during their lunch, he’d made headway toward warming her to negotiate the deal. She’d want to know follow-ups from their conversation—how his father demanded Ben make reparation for his involvement in disabling her magic.
He pulled into Lockwoods’ driveway. A truck parked outside the store indicated Larena might be present. Encouraged by a light inside, he parked and tried the shop’s door. It was locked. He peered through the picture window. Instead of working, she sat beside a well-built guy on a couch having a friendly discussion. The man, somewhere in his late twenties, could’ve passed for a surfer, blonde and tan. His arm nestled behind her shoulders. Unable to look away, Reid’s stomach hardened. The man’s wide chest exuded confidence. Was he there to help Larena counter the Peterson/Kilfoyle offer? Or was it personal? A burning sensation spread through Reid’s chest and made him cough.
Larena spotted him and moved to unlock the door. “I’m not open. What do you want?” The sound of the door’s jingling sleigh
bells contrasted with her gruffness.
“I thought you’d want to know—I reported to my father what Ben did to you.” Reid shot the words out, worried she might close the door on him. “He demanded Ben make amends for impairing the magical ability you use for your livelihood.”
“Thank you.” She glanced over her shoulder at the man, then, with a raucous jingle of the door’s bells, opened the door fully for Reid to enter, although her pursed lips didn’t encourage him much.
He edged past her and extended a hand to the stranger, who stood a few feet from the display furniture. Since Larena seemed to be having a private meeting with him, he must be important. Reid wanted to know as much as possible about the man—in case he opposed the mall project. Or, had a personal relationship with Larena. Reid scanned the stranger’s expression. The twinkle in his bright green eyes, as they flickered over her, bothered Reid the most. “I’m Reid Peterson, assisting Miss Lockwood in negotiating a shopping mall deal.”
Larena scoffed, but the man gave a strong handshake with his own firm grip. “My name’s Shango. I’m the new owner of the small town of Fable, converting it into a resort. Good to know you, Reid. We both have that entrepreneurial spirit.”
Before Reid could answer, Larena scowled at him. “I’m grateful to have Shango’s business so I can pay my bills. No thanks to your brother.”
“My father will hold Ben accountable for his actions and make him set things right with you.”
“I appreciate your help and his, but don’t know if my magic can be restored,” she said, her down-turned mouth flattening.
“It can.” Shango advanced closer to her and rubbed a hand along her shoulder. What did he intend with that affection?
She gazed up at him. “How do you know?”
He leaned in and brushed her ear. His neck muscles bulged as he whispered words Reid wanted to hear but couldn’t.
“How’s your mother doing?” Reid bristled and addressed Larena, in an attempt to make his familiarity with her known to Shango.
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