Witch's Mystic Woods

by Marsha A. Moore

  When the reaction ceased, he stuffed the card in its envelope. Why did it now have an odor? From the potion? But he smelled a faint whiff of patchouli. The image of the raven-haired temptress riddled his mind and threatened another wave of sweet intoxication. He took a wistful breath to hold it off. He had business to do.

  He climbed from his vehicle and crossed to the front porch. There, dizzy euphoria unsteadied him, and he grabbed for the railing, smiling to himself at the deal he was about to clench. If he could sell whatever that woman in the drugstore had done to him, he’d make a fortune.

  Luckily, the disorientation eased within moments. Intent on completing his transaction before another bout hit hard, he rang the bell and rooted for the greeting card. Still grinning too wide, he said hello to the pear-shaped matronly woman who answered the door. “I’m Ben, a business acquaintance of Larena’s. I know she’s not around now, but I wanted to drop off this get-well card for her mother. I heard she’s taken a hard turn.”

  “Well, that’s kind of you.” She extended a hand to accept the gift.

  “Would it be possible for me to give it to her myself?” He took a half step forward. “To bring a little cheer to a shut-in?”

  “I guess it won’t hurt. She’s up and some company might do her good. But only for a few minutes.” She turned and led him into a dining room. “I’m Betty, by the way.”

  “Thank you, Betty.” Ben fingered the edge of the proposal document inside his coat.

  A semi-conscious old woman sat staring into space from her propped-up position in a hospital bed.

  “Irene, this young man works with Larena. He’s got a card for you.”

  The sick woman inched her face a few degrees in their direction.

  Ben approached the bedside, removed the card from the envelope, and handed both to her.

  Irene’s hands shook, but she accepted the gift and stared at it with the same absent gaze.

  Step one of his mission complete, Ben grinned at the caregiver. “It warms my heart to bring her a moment of happiness.”

  “Well, thank you.” Betty folded her arms across her heavy chest and leaned against the doorway. “Not much happens to bring variety to her days now. I’m sure your visit is appreciated.”

  “It’s sad how our society seems to forget the older generation.” Ben rambled on with small talk that sparked a pleasant conversation.

  Once he’d managed a laugh out of the caregiver, he announced, “I’ll have to be goin’. When you see Larena, could you give her this business proposal—something we’ve been workin’ on.”

  “Will do. Thanks again for visitin’.”

  Ben handed her the other envelope. As he left the room, he glanced over his shoulder at Irene, eager to see if Sibeal’s spell had taken effect. In the space of a single breath, the lack of visible change in the old woman brought him relief. He strode to the front door and waved goodbye as he left. In a world of magic he didn’t understand, he didn’t want to be present and found responsible.

  Chapter Twenty: The Elandine

  After she’d worked the last night until nine and was up an hour earlier than normal for a Tuesday, Larena plodded down the stairs and through the new morning routine.

  Curled in fetal position, Mom snored with her back turned toward the door.

  Larena opted for the soft light from a lamp rather than the overhead light which might startle her mother. “Time to wake up.”

  Mom extended her legs but remained asleep.

  Larena moved through the usual procedures, talking about nothing in particular so the sound of her voice would rouse Mom. By the time for sponge bathing, she usually reacted, favorably or not. However, today the warm washcloth startled her out of a deep sleep. While Larena patted with a drying towel, Mom’s breathing slowed and deepened, her eyes shutting tighter. “I’m sorry. It is awfully early. I have a big job for the summer fae king in the town of Fable. You remember that little town of just a handful of houses, don’t you, Mom?”

  Larena paused, but received no response. Maybe Mom would perk up once Betty arrived.

  A few minutes later, when Larena headed to the door and left Betty in charge, Mom still hadn’t stirred. Outside, not even a blush of sunrise broke the navy sky. On her way to the garage behind the house, Larena shivered and tucked her knitted scarf into gaps around her coat collar. She would’ve rather been snug back in bed, too.

  After a wistful look at the Econoline van which had a well-operating heater, she took a seat in the old box delivery truck. Her trip took her through the coven and necessitated keeping to traditions. Turning the key with the gas pedal depressed only partway was the trick to starting the contrary beast. Winter clinging harder with nighttime chill, Larena succeeded after adding selective expletives to her third attempt. She turned the heater on full blast and produced a whir of frigid air followed by the chatter of her own teeth—an ode required to coax life into the mechanism.

  Unable to wait for the heater to fully enliven, Larena drove onto their quiet country road. She passed only a few trucks belonging to coven farmers, while the rest of the coven still slept. Witches, as a rule, preferred late nights, using the witching hour to enhance their skills. As she drove across the covered bridge at Flint Creek, the boards creaked and moaned louder than she could remember. Was ice and cold causing the wood to stiffen? The complaints were so emphatic, she wanted to touch the boards, determine what bothered them. But due at Fable in five minutes, she didn’t have the time and made a mental note to try on her way home if possible.

  With the curb in front of Fable’s general store occupied by workers’ vehicles, Larena parked across the road in a gravel lot. She left her truck and scurried the short distance, her breath puffing crystalline clouds that strangely sparkled in the streetlamp light. The effect of fae magic? She grinned, eager to learn more about their ways and, in turn, help them.

  Shango stood inside the door and opened it for her when she approached. Like before, he favored wearing green, this time in another uniquely-cabled tweed sweater over gray-green cargos. “Good morning to you, Larena. My fae are looking forward to working with you.”

  “Great. Where do we begin?” She stomped off ice and snow before entering.

  “Let’s start in here, then proceed to the guest lodgings, while Chef Berry and her staff prepare our breakfast.”

  A tantalizing aroma of buttery mushrooms and fresh-baked bread filled the air, and she replied, “If breakfast is what I smell, I can’t wait.”

  Shango waved across the dining area. “Please help arrange your bespelled chairs and tables into proper groupings to ensure the best outcomes for guests.”

  Two men, who worked on chandeliers, joined them. The workers wore jeans and buttoned shirts in shades of green. Larena guessed the pair to be part of Shango’s Summer Court and the color essential to their dress code.

  “Larena, let me introduce some of my court: Briar and Irvine.” The king gestured to each as he made introductions. “They’ll assist us.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Irvine said as he removed a green wool ball cap, and both bowed low.

  “Nice to meet you, also. Let’s see how I can help.” She touched the nearest table supplied from her store. Her test failed; she still couldn’t detect any vibrations of communication from the oak, though she could discern the magic she’d previously embedded into the grain. That was something, even if small. What had brought the change? The fae magic? Or something she’d done? “This table will be best for quiet gatherings since the spell helps diners appreciate subtle flavors in finely prepared cuisine.”

  Shango gave a hearty laugh. “With the way Berry and Wren are planning menus, I’d think all the tables should have that spell.” He surveyed the area and pointed to a dim corner.

  The workers moved the table, while Larena touched two dozen chairs, some hers and enchanted, others not. She clustered them into harmonious groupings then signaled which set best matched the oak table’s discrimination.

/>   Once finished, Shango stood in the vicinity of each cluster, eyes closed, as if trying to determine or appreciate Larena’s magic. After a moment, he looked her way. “I think I recognize what you indicated, but in order to be certain of my perceptions, I may have to dine at each.”

  Briar chuckled and green leaves sprouted from where his chin-length brown hair tucked behind his ears. “Seems the courtly thing for a regent to do—enjoy each one.”

  Shango joined his laughter, then reminded, “Check your glamour. You have leaves showing.”

  The worker adjusted some personal magic and the leaf tips vanished. “Sorry, my king. I’m not used to being outside the court.”

  “No worries, Briar. It’s advantageous to have a witch around so you may practice, since mistakes will cause no real problem. However, hone your skills. Regular mortals will be frightened.”

  “Um, what do you all look like without your glamour?” Larena asked.

  Shango nodded to Briar. “Go ahead. You need to practice transforming.”

  The man changed to fae in spurts. First his arms lengthened, then his legs, to make his height a head taller. As the joints in his hands expanded, he waved his fingers in ranges of motion impossible for normal human hands. His hair grew several inches, thicker and wavier. His complexion glowed with a golden sun-kissed hue, and his eyes sparkled with light, reminding Larena of the summer wine.

  “Oh, my,” she gasped, a hand covering her mouth.

  Irvine stepped aside from the group, spun in a circle, and by the time he faced Larena again, he’d changed his entire appearance. Like Briar, he became taller and his skin shone from within. Also, his cropped gray hair now glistened white-gold to his collar. With another turn, he resumed his glamour and said to Briar, “How it should be done.”

  The novice shoved the older fae’s shoulder. “Show off.”

  “You definitely don’t want mortals seeing you look like that,” Larena said. “Not unless it’s Samhain or their Halloween.”

  Irvine smiled and looked to Shango. “A fun idea. Shall we try it?”

  “Why not?” The king nodded, and his blonde hair gleamed as though he’d lost hold of a bit of his own glamour. “Maybe combined with the wine fest idea Berry suggested. And by then, Larena, with your magic restored you could create special enchantments for our festivities. What do you say?”

  “It sounds so fun.” She clasped her hands together, then let them fall to her sides, gaze sagging to the floor. “But what if—”

  Shango wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Believe in what I told you yesterday—fae cannot lie.”

  “I’m trying.” She looked up, remembering a question she’d had before. “Why did you whisper that to me rather than saying it in front of Reid?”

  “For one, he’s a mortal and wouldn’t understand what it means to be fae. But more importantly, he needed to feel the spark of jealousy.” Shango stepped away and smiled. “Do you understand?”

  Larena tilted her head and withheld her guess at what he meant. She liked Reid and thought he liked her, hoped he did. But she wanted an outsider’s opinion, especially since Reid might have ulterior motives that she couldn’t see.

  “Well, Reid likes you in ways he’s trying to deny.” A sly grin curled Shango’s lips. “A little romance could soften his steel-hard business head.”

  Her knees weakened at the thought of romance, and she reached for the back of a chair to steady herself.

  “Like how you’re struggling to open to what’s inside your soul, he is, too. You can teach each other much. You’re on different legs of the same path.”

  “I don’t get that.”

  “Keep looking. It’s there. But if you don’t, we do have another method.” He looked to Irvine. “Please gather the elandine from my office and bring it to me.”

  The worker hurried upstairs and returned holding a velvet drawstring bag. He handed it to the king.

  Shango withdrew what looked like an ordinary granite rock and extended it, cradled in his palm, for Larena to see. A gold coin, of a denomination unknown to Larena, was lodged into a crevice of the rock. Upon closer inspection, the rock seemed to have been formed around the coin, but how?

  Reflexively, without control of her actions, she reached for it. An intense craving to remove the coin blotted out all other emotions.

  Shango covered the rock with his other hand. The magical allure on Larena ceased, replaced by a painful vacuum in her chest, as if her air had been sucked out.

  The king said, “Irvine unearthed this while expanding the gardens behind this building. It’s old, even by fae standards. You, as a dealer of antiques, might find this especially interesting, as would Tynewell Tynker when I see him next.

  “This land around Fable has belonged to the Summer Court for generations, thousands of years. This, best my fae historians can appraise, is five thousand years old. It’s an elandine, one of a few we’ve turned up, but definitely the oldest.” The king rubbed a finger across the coin, which brightened as if polished, and his entire arm shook. Muscles of his neck and torso tightened. When at last he was able to move away, the metal surface dulled. “Elandines are imbued with powerful magic, as you could tell by how it invited your hand. No one is immune, even a fae king, though we regents can better resist its call. An elandine can force you to act upon things, hidden to you or not, that your soul desires. It can be used as a weapon or as a treatment, depending upon both the giver and receiver.”

  “How can this help me?” Larena asked.

  “All other elandines we’ve found have been destroyed, not even chancing to use them on the opposing Winter and Autumn Fae Courts. History indicates the potential for doing harm is too great. No elandines have been created in at least a thousand years. A wise summer king before me destroyed all records of the methodology for their fabrication.” Shango set a steady gaze on her, leaves dancing across his emerald pupils. “I had enormous respect for your Grandpa Henry. Tree mystics can expand fae knowledge. We need you, Larena. If no other means presents to help save your home place, your heritage, I’ll use this on Reid to open his heart to do what he knows inside is right. However, it will be a last measure because he may suffer ill effects from the magic.”

  Larena took a deep breath. “What sort of effects?”

  “Mania or mental collapse would be the worst. Persistent, common intoxication and silliness at the least.”

  “Can the effects be reversed?” she asked.

  “I’ve posed that query to my historians and magical scholars. They don’t know but are searching for an answer. We normally destroy elandines as soon as they’re found.”

  “I see.” She swallowed hard. “When might you use it on him?”

  “At Solstice. My scholars believe they may best be able to harness the elandine’s powers by using the lunar energy of a new moon coupled with that auspicious occasion. Our seers have foreseen the nemeton will open then as well. Then, the connection between worlds will be thin—another useful source of constraint. Therefore, Solstice will be the most prudent time, but safest of all would be to not have need of the elandine. Which is why I tried yesterday to ignite the mortal’s passion for you.”

  Larena touched a hand to her forehead, in attempt to still her dizzying thoughts. “I noticed how you tried to set Reid off but didn’t fathom why it was important.”

  Shango replaced the magical artifact into the bag and handed it to Irvine. “Please store this as before. Do not remove the covering under any circumstances.”

  “Yes, my king.” The worker bowed and withdrew.

  Larena leaned against the edge of a table to steady herself. “Can the elandine also help restore my magic? Maybe it would help me focus on the purity of my soul, as Grandpa says to keep my heart soft. Or as you advise, staying on the bridge between visible and invisible.”

  Shango’s eyes locked on hers, his expression stern. “That is not reasonable; the price is far too great. What good could you do with your magic if you were m
ad?”

  “But the risk is okay for Reid because he opposes me?” She folded her arms across her chest and answered the question, “Maybe it’s because he threatens what your court could gain from me, isn’t that right?”

  The king focused on a distant point. “The risk to Reid is not one we would wish. It is a last resort.”

  She saw in his contorted expression what he didn’t say—the fae valued her life more than Reid’s because she alone, as a tree mystic, could benefit their court.

  Shango straightened and gestured to Briar, and to Irvine, who had just rejoined them. “Let’s show Larena the guest lodgings and make similar adjustments in the placement of furnishings.”

  She moved through the remaining work, glad the previously applied enchantments had almost all been prearranged in complementary schemes according to furniture styles. She couldn’t force Reid Peterson out of her thoughts. For the past week, she’d been threatened, in part by him, with losing her family’s property to eminent domain. Now, knowing the threat could be terminated should ease her mind. It didn’t.

  Chapter Twenty-one: Covered Bridge

  Exhausted, Larena’s eyelids drooped as she locked the antique shop Tuesday evening. Thankful for a five o’clock close, she trudged across the lane toward home, both mentally and physically spent. Not having energy to visit with Grandpa, she ran a hand along one of the tree limbs as she passed through the ironwood row, a hello of sorts.

  “Hold up there, Larena,” Grandpa hollered from two trees distant. “I gather Irene’s some worse. I felt health care workers nearby, but they weren’t tensed up. How’s she doin’?”

  Larena faced the location where she’d heard his voice. She’d assumed, perhaps incorrectly, with his ability as an empowered soul, he knew what’d happened. “Her dementia’s advanced. She’s lost most of her strength and coordination. It’s hard.” She sighed.