Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3

by Marsha A. Moore

  Adara thrust out her chin, shook off the psychic’s grip, and marched out of the tent, doling out curt orders as she toured the grounds. Some coven folk sneaked quick glances her way while their hands never left their work. Others scurried down alleyways between tents.

  A flutter of a crow’s black wings down the carnival’s main thoroughfare separated a group of witches arguing about the colors to conjure for the signage of the rides. The bird gave a loud squawk and circled inches above their heads, dodging raised wands and dozens of curse words. The sleek, iridescent crow landed on the corner of a tent next to where Adara surveyed a centripetal swing ride. The chairs wound in and out braiding their chains while a circular motion lifted them into flight.

  “Those lights aren’t in sync with the ride. Get it right, you there,” she barked with a husky voice at Darin, the gangly operator.

  “Uppity today.” The crow flapped a few times before folding his wings. “Bee in your bonnet, Adara?”

  Adara looked around them to make certain no one heard the bird’s outspoken comment. “It’s Priestess Adara, you loathsome black devil.”

  “You just wish I was the devil,” he retorted. “Word is you’re a pill today. Is someone gumming up the works?”

  “Dearg, you don’t know squat.” She eyed him without her usual interest in bantering with the quick-witted bird. “Why don’t you blow?”

  “Hmm. Must be a troubling matter of power or love. I wonder which?” He clapped his beak with raucous laughter. “Maybe both.”

  Adara focused her eyes and channeled her gift of transformation onto the metal pole where he perched.

  “Yeow!” Dearg lifted one claw, then the other from the hot metal. “You got an axe to grind, or what?” He hovered above her head a moment, then circled the Ferris wheel and set to work helping its male witch operator.

  Flustered, Adara shook her head and headed toward her Packard sedan. She grabbed the wheel as if trying to choke any life out of it. You need to get control. Even that damn crow knows you can’t reel in a man as extraordinary as Rowe. She tilted her head up and looked in the rearview mirror, letting the curtain of hair fall away from her scar. See that? Don’t forget what you’re fighting for—a second chance at what you lost.

  ***

  In the parlor of her rambling brick Victorian house, Adara yanked the drapes closed, their brown velvet worn thin next to the draw cord. She crossed the room to the writing desk. With her weight balanced on one foot to the left of the desk, the single pine floorboard creaked underneath the red Persian rug. With the small stipend awarded to her as the coven’s high priestess over the past five years, she’d at least managed to purchase new carpets and accent rugs. The 1915 Tabard family homestead looked much the same as it did when her mother, the former priestess, passed. Adara’s home breathed with familiar personalities through its old but fine leather wing chairs, tufted ottomans, and shabby window seats. Scents of her family’s long-gone witches permeated leather, fabric, and wallpaper. They taunted her with icy stares from black and white family photographs from where they’d always hung in every room, save the kitchen and her bedroom. Their glares were a constant reminder that she hadn’t been the one chosen to own this family home.

  Still balancing on one foot, the floorboard finally dropped down a half-inch, and Adara strained to reach the key from the upper right desk drawer as it sprang open. She drew a circle in the air counterclockwise twice around the lock before inserting the key and opening the rolled top. She removed her most valuable possession—the family grimoire. The book had passed from mother to daughter for more generations than she knew. Most often, the eldest daughter was the recipient. Keeping to tradition, her mother had willed the oldest of three daughters, Evelyn, to receive the coveted book.

  Father served as High Priest of the coven for decades, and Mother, even more powerful with the Sight, led the coven after his death. She must have known her eldest daughter would die, or at least that’s what Adara told herself to hide from what she believed to be the truth.

  As a teenager, Adara had made a fateful mistake, all for the love of a young man, her first and only love. While joy-riding one summer evening, they’d drunk too much hooch, and he swerved his fast car into an old model T driven by her only brother Clement with Evelyn along as his passenger. Both were killed. Adara and her boyfriend suffered many cuts and broken bones. Adara healed except for the three-inch long white jagged scar marring her cheek, which served as a daily reminder of not only her siblings’ deaths, but also heartache after her boyfriend left her. Whether he was scared of repercussions of her mother’s strong witchcraft or fearful of being charged with manslaughter by the law, her boyfriend stayed clear of Adara thereafter. Twenty-four odd years later, her heart still ached for him and her family. She knew loneliness too well.

  Adara’s mother publicly shunned her, giving her favor and the inheritance of her grimoire to the middle daughter, Fia, who learned about her witchcraft gift only minutes before that grievous accident. Fia inherited Mother’s talent in a strange way as Dark Sight, a negative clairvoyance that happened too close to the oncoming events to deter those in harm’s path. She saw the hot rod and model T accident unfold without time to stop it from happening. Marked by that black gift, Fia chose a life of solitude, claiming she’d be better off not knowing anyone. Perhaps it was a way to block the gruesome mental awareness. Adara could only guess, since Fia lived as a recluse farther south along the Ohio River and avoided even her family’s company. She’d heard word that the Dark Sight turned on Fia and drove her to madness.

  Upon Mother’s death five years ago, her will left the family house and all possessions to Adara by default as the last in line, including the grimoire she found under her mother’s mattress. Assuming the magical book had been repossessed from Fia, Adara knew her mother hadn’t wanted to give it to her. To Mother’s last breath, she must have blamed Adara.

  Adara did her best to cast aside those ill feelings of the past. She rubbed her hand across the black leather cover, worn with age. Thumbing through pages, she took in a host of fragrances worn by witches before her, who’d used the volume. Scents of green wood, sandalwood incense, chili pepper, and ashes wafted past her. She let their strength and conviction enliven her as she selected the needed spell.

  With the volume clutched to her, she retreated to her favorite room in the house, the large country kitchen. There, without the condemning stares of framed faces of relations, she set to work creating a mixture of dried lavender and vervain flowers that would instill peace. She covered the mixture and placed it on the mudroom bench near the back door. From under the bench, she snatched a small gathering basket and headed outside to the property’s far edge where the wood-line met a pond.

  At that junction, stood a prized patch of blue vervain she’d planted under Mother’s guidance. Their blossoms only three-quarters up the spikes, Adara found plenty for her needs. She clipped a handful of the late summer bloomers and made a mental note to dry the rest soon. Prickles of some Joe Pye Weed grabbed the hem of her silk skirt. Cursing the plant, she bent and freed herself.

  Back inside her kitchen, she used a large mortar and pestle to press the juice from the stems over a bowl. She poured the liquid into a small glass and set it alongside the dried flowers on the back bench. In the alcove off the kitchen used as a sewing room, she located some thin gold cord, cut a thirty-inch length, and dropped it next to the other items. Adara locked the grimoire back in the desk and stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine of her garden. In a large market basket from her shed, she gathered half a dozen dried corn stalks, their ears drooped and shrouded in golden husks.

  She walked the mile to Lenore Whiting’s house where the young woman lived with her elderly mother, Freda. When she arrived at the crumbling frame farmhouse, Adara rapped on the door, and their Terrier mutt barked.

  The door opened, and Freda gave a wide, nearly toothless smile. “High Priestess. What honor brings you visit?”


  “I’m delivering blessed corn for the coven’s doors in preparation to welcome the gods to our homes during the Mabon equinox.” Adara opened a pocket knife, slashed three ears off a stalk, and held each for a few seconds. “From this life, life to come.” She passed them to the stooped woman. “As we always do, open the husks and tie them to your door.”

  “Thank you kindly.” Freda accepted them into her knotted hands. “I’ll do that soon as Lenore gets herself home. Should be anytime now.”

  Adara gave a polite smile. “If she does arrive soon, will you have her follow the road to my house and help me distribute these offerings to the Smiths and the O’Neills? I’d be ever so grateful. With more than two hundred homes in our coven, I’m always happy for help.”

  “Be glad to. I’ll send her along straight away.”

  Adara nodded with a grin as she stepped from the cracked cement stoop. The dilapidated looks of the broken down abode frustrated her more that Rowe paid Lenore such undeserved attention. Her own home sprawled across six acres landscaped with several gardens through both lawn and woods, still pastoral if a bit wild and untended. Perhaps Adara’s home was not quite on par with Rowe’s grand manor house, but the dwelling where Lenore lived marked her well beneath his standing in the coven. Adara clenched the handle of the basket into her fist and took her time retracing the road home.

  As expected, before twenty minutes passed, Lenore jogged up. She joined Adara leaving the Harper’s log cabin door with her basket now empty. “Mama sent me to help you pass out blessed offerings for Mabon,” Lenore said between gasps for breath.

  “Thank you for your help.” Adara smiled having snared the naïve girl. “I’ve run out of corn and need to return to my garden for more to deliver to folks farther along this road.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “You’re such a good helper, Lenore.” Adara led the way and made small talk about the carnival’s progress while they walked the quarter-mile.

  At the edge of her garden, Adara set the gathering basket down and found two long knives in the shed. She returned, and they cut stalks. “While you’re here, I could use your help with another project for the Mabon ceremony.”

  “Sure. What is it?” Lenore brushed a strand of dark blond hair from her pale face which was flushed in blotches from physical activity.

  “During the autumn equinox ceremony, I need a young woman blessed with a female mandrake to honor the earth’s fertility stored in her seeds.”

  The girl’s gray eyes grew wide. “But Priestess, I beg you. I’m not wanting children now. I have no husband.”

  Adara’s lips curled. “Perhaps, this will attract one. No one else in the coven is as well suited as you for this tremendous honor.” She hoped the young woman’s ego desired honor, or her hormones desired a husband. It didn’t matter which reason prompted Lenore to accept as long as she did. Adara held her breath.

  Lenore straightened. “I’m not ready for no husband, but for the coven, I’ll do my best.”

  “Very good. Let me get what we’ll need from my house.” With only one step inside her back door, Adara collected the supplies she’d left on the bench. She didn’t want to waste time and let Lenore reconsider. “Come here around the side of my house and kneel with me at this planting bed.” When the girl joined her, Adara sprinkled the dried flower mixture over a section of mandrakes, their tops withered and brown at the season’s end. “This potion will bring peace to the mandrake and block the root from making screams, which can drive the one pulling it up mad. In addition, drink this juice to protect you, in case it manages any harmful noise.”

  Under Adara’s watchful eye, Lenore gulped the liquid without question. “Okay. But if it yells, I’m gonna let go.” Lenore took a handful of the papery leaves and twine-like stems. After a breath, she yanked. The gnarled root resisted, only its top shoulder coming out of the soil.

  “Try again,” Adara said. “There was no verbal complaint from the root. Put your weight into it.”

  The girl screwed her face and pulled. With more encouragement from Adara, she leaned back and gritted her teeth. Finally, the tan root came loose, and Lenore fell backward onto the grass. The root wiggled in her hand but remained quiet.

  “A female mandrake on the first try!” Adara declared. “I knew you were destined for this role in our coven. Keep a hold of it while I tie it up.” She secured the writhing root with the gold cord and hung the now compliant mandrake around Lenore’s neck. “Wear this day and night until after the ceremony.” She smiled and stood. “Let’s deliver this corn now.”

  With the second part of her plan completed, Adara sprang along the half mile trek to four more log and limestone cabin homes tucked along a wooded lane. Smoke twisted from the cabin’s chimneys and reminded Adara of her devious, convoluted plan. She smiled to herself and reached home before dinner hour.

  ***

  Home again and too eager to eat, Adara prepared for the evening. Even though Lenore claimed she wasn’t ready for a husband, Adara knew better. The temptation of being able to control a man’s favor and seduce his desires would prove too great. Only a naïve girl could think otherwise.

  Adara showered and anointed her skin with a lotion she’d made of vanilla and patchouli. She inspected every angle in the tall, ebony-framed mirror. Over her forty-three years, her hips had widened into delicious curves. Her stomach remained flat and bosom pert since she’d not borne children. She dressed in a black silk garter belt and rolled sheer nylon stockings over her long legs. Tap panties and a matching brassiere of cool slippery silk, fine Parisian lingerie she’d purchased with Rowe in mind, made her feel like she covered herself with fresh air. Inhibitions flowed off of her skin, a feeling she’d long forgotten. She buckled black patent Mary Jane’s with high stacked heels onto her feet to complete the outfit.

  From a pink Depression glass tray, she slipped on a marcasite ring she’d worn since being appointed the coven’s high priestess. Accepting the family leadership role, she chose the ring, originally owned by her great grandmother, to focus her own power. In the shape of a snake, it coiled around her left ring finger, a constant reminder that her path in life was coven leadership. Dreams of exciting new love belonged to the girl she once was, but the woman she’d become appreciated the advantages of power and control.

  In her bedroom, she walked to the black cherry bureau that held a large inlaid jewel case. She opened it and selected onyx drop earrings and threaded their wires into her lobes. Last and most important, she lifted a massive onyx pendant to her throat.

  Unlike Adara’s mother, whose Sight required no aid, her father had adopted that pendant as his focus amulet when he became high priest. He died while wearing it, and therefore much of his power remained in the gemstone.

  While cleaning out the house she’d inherited, Adara worked for a week to find the spell that opened the locked drawer of the roll-top desk. Her reward was that pendant and the energy it contained.

  Since then, Adara had taken to wearing it on special occasions, when she needed to borrow his skills. At first, she resisted using it, wishing to lead by her own merit. Over the years, she needed more and more control to validate her purpose, tempting her to wear his amulet often. She still didn’t fully submit to her lust for authority and wear it at all times. Tonight, she needed her father’s magic to satiate her desires.

  Adara slipped her bare arms into a dark trench coat and tied the belt tight at her waist. If her plan failed, she couldn’t face being disgraced.

  Downstairs, she peered out through windows to make sure the road was clear. A quiet, purple dusk settled over the rolling terrain. She darted through the breezeway to her garage, rounded the side, and pulled open the double barn doors behind her Packard.

  She drove to the next coven road, a rough dirt lane extending the length of the hollow as it twisted along Owls Tail Creek. After a meandering mile, she parked in the meeting hall’s gravel lot in the front of the two-story box of a brick building
. Since she often made use of the coven’s office at all hours, the presence of her car wouldn’t be questioned.

  Adara slunk from beside the car’s wide front fender to the tree-lined walking trail that followed the creek behind the meeting hall. Her fancy shoes made the hike difficult, costing her valuable time as she picked her way over roots for a half-mile behind a cluster of three log homes until she reached the back of Rowe’s massive acreage. This better not be a trip for biscuits. This needs to work.

  His manor house, the McCoy family home, loomed an impressive three floors, a pale stone Tudor that rose like a ghost haunting the navy sky. Similar to her own, it retained a shabby art nouveau charm of the early 1900’s. High arched windows and gothic towers stood intact despite numerous cracks and discolorations to the walls.

  Sheers at the French doors did little to hide the yellow light bathing the interior. She’d not arrived too late. A nervous smile lifted the corners of Adara’s mouth.

  Rowe and Lenore schmoozed at the corner of the grand dining room table where they shared a bottle of wine. Against the buttoned bodice of a clean but plain shirtwaist dress, the girl wore the mandrake talisman as Adara hoped. Rowe looked snazzy in a burgundy waistcoat over a French-cuffed white shirt and pleated trousers. With his dark hair sleeked back into a low ponytail, lamp light shone along the strong angle of his jaw.

  Fearful of being discovered at her hiding spot behind a trellis, Adara stood stock still, even held her breath shallow.

  Rowe leaned across the table and took Lenore’s hand. He kissed her fingers and stood, pulling the girl into an embrace.

  Adara held her breath, watching the final stages of her spell on Lenore unfold. She moved closer, behind a yew outside the door.

  While Rowe favored the girl at least a little, perhaps to ward off his loneliness, the female mandrake enchanted him and transformed his fondness into outright lust. He encircled Lenore’s waist and locked his mouth hard on hers.