“I wish Dad and I got along better. I don’t want us to have these disagreements, but I’m tired of him giving me orders when he doesn’t like something I do. A chance to talk to Mom and say goodbye is more important. More important than anything.” Hot tears stung the backs of Jancie’s eyes, and she looked down to hold them off.
“And you’re going to have that chance.” Rachelle reached across and took hold of Jancie’s hand. “We’ll help you get to that witch.”
“We sure will,” Willow added. “I’m off all weekend but work on Monday.”
“I’ll call Lizbeth at the library and fill her in.” Rachelle leaned back to make room for Rhonda to set plates on the table.
“Maybe Lizbeth can look up about that moonstone locket. She can find anything.” Willow stood, and turned sad eyes to Jancie. “Guys, I’ve got to get to the kitchen. Let me know what we’re doing this weekend.”
“Will do, and I’ll mention looking up information about the locket to Lizbeth.” Rachelle repositioned her plate in front of her.
“Thanks, Willow,” Jancie said and bit into a fry. The salty crispness tasted good, and she reached for the ketchup. Having friends on her side eased both her nerves and stomach.
“So what does this hot male witch look like?” Rachelle forked a piece of meatloaf and dunked it in gravy.
A grin lifted the corners of Jancie’s mouth. “Tall with dark brown hair in a low ponytail under his hat. Big brown eyes. Chiseled jaw with a five o’clock shadow. Wide shoulders and ripped. I ran into his chest. Solid.”
Rachelle lifted a single brow. “How?”
“Being a dope. I wasn’t looking when I entered the gate.”
“Good move. Wish that’d happen to me.” Her friend paused for a bite. “Sounds like your type. It’d be your luck to fall for a witch. Your dad would have a coronary.” Rachelle chuckled.
Jancie snorted. Munching on a pickle, the grin wouldn’t leave her face. She loved her friends. They always made her laugh when things went wrong. She wondered about Rachelle’s comment about falling for Rowe, but his life was so different than hers. She’d learned that the opposites attract thing didn’t work from dating Harley.
The two women ate in silence for a while, and the couple of witches from the bar walked hand-in-hand to the check-out counter. While the man paid their bill, the woman scanned the room, and her gaze stopped on Jancie.
Like when she first saw Rowe, Jancie couldn’t look away. There was a sense of familiarity, but she’d never seen the woman before that she could remember. She studied the witch’s hair. Brunette in a chin-length bob that curled into a soft roll along the ends. Round horn-rimmed glasses overshadowed her perky nose. About thirty-five, the petite woman carried a few extra pounds in her hips.
The tall, thin man who accompanied her took the woman’s arm, and they left.
“That was creepy,” Rachelle mumbled through a mouthful.
“You saw the way she stared at me?” Jancie leaned in. “The weird part was that I couldn’t look away even when I tried.”
“Get out. Really?”
Jancie nodded and finished the last of her sandwich.
Rachelle wiped her mouth and said in an urgent tone, “We have to go there now.”
“Where? The carnival?” Jancie asked and took a long drink of water. Going back to hear Rowe’s moonstone tale was a must, but Jancie didn’t expect to go now. Her friend’s impulsiveness spread over her.
“Sure. Don’t you still have time before you have to be back at the bank?” Her friend waved for Rhonda.
“Thirty minutes, or a little more since I’m the manager. Let’s get going.”
“There you be.” Rhonda laid their bills on the table. “Have yourselves a great weekend.”
“Thanks, Rhonda. You too.” Jancie quickly left a tip and moved to the register.
Outside, Rachelle took her arm. “With all these strange things happening, I’m too curious to stay away.”
Jancie pulled her friend with her as she jaywalked toward the intersection of Maple Street. Fear tickled the back of her throat and spilled out as a stream of giggles.
The pair race-walked down the mile-long incline to the edge of town.
Chapter Five: Opening Night Jitters
In the tiny booth inside the carnival’s entrance, Rowe checked the ticket sale records book. He thumbed back to the bookkeeping for the previous year. Only four hundred. That Friday night and most of the weekend last year had been rainy and cool. Both of the coven’s seers, Keir and Sibeal, predicted the current Indian summer weather would hold up several days. Good for the coven and good for me. Large crowds will keep Adara busy. He secured the record book in a locked drawer, left the booth, and pushed the heavy wooden gate open a crack to leave. Vintage cars and trucks belonging to coven members lined the road.
Rowe’s familiar, Busby, followed at his shoulder.
About a quarter mile up the hill toward town, two young women hurried in the direction of the carnival. Jancie and another whom he vaguely remembered. The carnival didn’t open until five o’clock. He stepped out to greet them.
The wind lifted Jancie’s golden-red hair. It caught the sunlight and looked like strands of gold. Even at this distance, her energy felt familiar. The other woman wore her layered brown hair to her shoulders. She walked with long strides, and the hem of her skirt whipped in the strong breeze.
Rowe gave them a wave, and Jancie’s arm shot into the air returning his gesture.
She attempted to speed up her pace, but the stony roadside gave her trouble with her high-heeled shoes.
The two women hesitated before an intersection.
A Dodge Ram pick-up pulled up on the cross road about a hundred yards away from Rowe, and turned toward town and the women, slowing as it approached them. The driver rolled down his window and thrust out his gray head. He yelled at the pair, but Rowe couldn’t make out the man’s words. His energy reeked of hot rage.
“Busby, stay there,” Rowe called over his shoulder and ran toward the women.
From the other direction, Logan’s burgundy Nash Ambassador drove down the hill.
The man in the truck shot a glance at Rowe, and then sped away.
The young women talked to each other, arms moving rapidly, then turned toward town.
“Jancie!” Rowe called as he ran.
“I can’t talk now,” she called over her shoulder, not stopping as she and her friend climbed the hill.
Rowe wanted to know if Jancie was okay. Something about the interaction he’d witnessed was wrong. Really wrong. But he’d just met her and didn’t feel he had the right to interfere in her life. He wondered who the man in the truck was and about his relationship to Jancie. Rowe stood motionless at the side of the road, confused by the scene, wondering what he should do. He watched Jancie walk up the hill.
A trace of urgency from her energy wafted to him. She gave a backward glance his way but kept her pace.
Eyes fixed on her, Rowe took a step forward.
Logan pulled up and leaned over to roll down his old sedan’s passenger window. “Are you hexed?” Logan laughed, and his blond hair fell forward into his eyes. He brushed his bangs away.
Rowe moved to the open window. “There’s something about her. The girl with the ginger hair. I know she needs my help.” He lifted the pendant away from his chest. The moonstone gave faint flashes of blue and purple.
“Check that out!” Logan slapped his thigh. “That old gem does have some magic left in it. Get in and tell me what happened. I’ve been wanting to talk to you. Vika told me an earful. We’ll take a drive and check the local motels for tourist capacity.”
After a last glance at the two women, Rowe slid onto the passenger side of the bench seat. He took a look at his friend Logan and wondered why Adara hadn’t chosen him as her conquest. He held high stature in the coven as a powerful witch even though he didn’t come from a founding family of the coven. Women found Logan handsome, with his boyish golden
blonde hair and blue eyes offset by a strong Roman nose and chiseled jaw. At twenty-six, Logan was only a year younger. It was well known that Logan disliked Adara, but Rowe didn’t like her either, and that didn’t seem to stop the woman. More likely it only would provoke her to seduce his friend.
Logan put the car in gear, and the old Nash chugged and lurched forward.
“You need to get this boat worked on. The transmission sounds off.”
“Yeah, well I didn’t get lucky enough to inherit those fine Studebakers like yours or the Packards a few others drive. Maybe I’ll get lucky at the carnival and tell some rich guy’s fortune. Better yet, advise someone how to win the lottery and cut me in.” Logan chuckled and ran a hand along the curve of the steering wheel.
“Attendance should be up this year.” Rowe lifted his fedora and smoothed his hair before replacing it at the proper cocked angle. “With the nice weather holding for a few days, you might make a pretty penny.”
“So fill me in about that girl back there.”
“Not much to tell.” Rowe pulled his hat lower onto one brow, hoping to avoid his friend’s piercing glance.
“Uh huh. Sure thing.” Logan’s voice lifted with sarcasm.
“Really. I just met her Wednesday. Her name’s Jancie. She came to the carnival looking for the witch with the moonstone. She missed her mother’s passing and wants to connect to say goodbye.”
“Sounds sweet and simple.” Logan turned past the Hideaway Inn. “Full up with cars. Yee-ha! I’ll be making money tonight.” He glanced at Rowe. “By the look on your face back there, it’s not that simple.”
“Sweet maybe. But far from simple. I began to tell her the ancient tale, and she set off the magic. My stone started flashing. I’m sure it was going to open, but Adara showed up and stopped everything.”
“Ah, Adara. Vika told me about your problems with our fearless leader, but I didn’t know you had this other young thing on the line.”
“I don’t.” Rowe squirmed in his seat. “I told you, I just met her.”
“The intense look on your face back there said differently.” Logan’s brows rose. “But what if she can open the locket? Are you ready for that?”
“I don’t know.” Rowe’s voice cracked, and he looked out of the passenger window.
They drove in silence until Logan passed another motel. “Looking good! The Bentbone Lodge has a no vacancy sign. What I don’t understand is why Adara is after you? No disrespect, but there’s lots of available coven men like Keir or Shaw. Or me. I’d love to take her on and come out on top.” He winked. “In both ways.”
Rowe chuckled. “You’ve always had a love-hate relationship with her. You’re two of a kind.”
“Wrong on both counts. I do hate her but would love to control her any way I can. And she and I aren’t the same, or you wouldn’t count me as a friend.”
“I’ll give you that.” Rowe chuckled. “You have a heart buried somewhere deep inside, albeit small and shriveled. You do more than your share of charity work.” He admired his friend’s tireless work with the coven’s elderly.
Logan nodded. “Thank you for acknowledging my benevolent side. But my efforts aren’t completely altruistic.”
“Last I heard, you were getting schooled in the ancient dark arts by Skena Stoddard.” Rowe glanced at the driver.
“That’s been working well. In return for household magic which she can’t do anymore, she’s taught me how to draw darkness from shadows. It’s incredible.”
Rowe laughed. “If you can trust her ninety-five-year-old mind.”
“Don’t forget about her acclaimed skills that won her a forty-year term on the council. She’s sharp as a tack. I wasn’t born into a high coven position by inheriting advanced magic. I’ve had to scrounge for it wherever I can.” Logan’s face lit with a wide grin. “And I think I’m finally ready to challenge our lovely leader. She has no idea what I can do and will be caught off guard. Besides, I have a friend in need.” He stopped at an intersection of county roads and faced Rowe. “According to Vika, I have to thank you for providing me such an opportune reason to go after her.”
“Why don’t you skip all the backbiting and just run for coven leader?” Rowe shook his head. “The Mabon equinox is only just over three weeks away. Coven leaders can be overthrown in an election after the ceremony’s closing.”
“And when was the last time that happened?” Logan scoffed.
“Well.” Rowe ran his hands down his thighs. “I don’t remember when it happened, but my parents talked about it.”
“That means a long time before Adara’s mother and father were coven leaders. No one would vote against a Tabard, if they value their life.”
“I don’t know. People aren’t too pleased with Adara. We’ve lost a lot of coven members during her three years as high priestess.”
“Seventy-three since she was appointed.”
“Just my point.”
“Those who left won’t be voting. Coven people with lesser powers, less courage, remain and fear her. You take that for granted since you can hold your own against her. I remember Adara’s mother cornering my mother. Ma had used some of our neighbor’s share of blackberry foliage to do some spellwork. White magic to heal some children when we had an outbreak of chickenpox. Grizela Tabard wanted the glory of curing those children for herself and charged Ma with using more than her quota of the herb’s harvest. I was there, peeking around the corner of our barn when Grizela ignored Ma’s pleas and burned all her hair off.”
Rowe sat straighter and gave a sharp exhale through his nose. “That’s why your mother always wore a head scarf?”
Logan nodded and clamped the steering wheel. “It never did grow back. It’s almost a blessing that she’s lost her memory of that now, in her old age.”
“I didn’t know this. I’m sorry. I do remember when I was a kid, Mother whispering to Dad about something she heard at the orphan’s home.” Rowe rubbed a hand across his brow trying to figure out a way to stop Adara from following in her mother’s footsteps. “You’re right that I don’t fear Adara personally. I’m confident I could take her in a duel of powers. My problem is that there are rules preventing that action against the coven leader. Unless she causes permanent damage to someone I consider a friend. Knowing Grizela hurt your mother, I suspect Adara won’t hesitate to harm those in her way. That’s what I fear.”
“Vika said Adara tricked Lenore Whiting into taking a vow of chastity. Doesn’t that count?”
“A vow of chastity to save her fertility for the gods at Mabon.”
Logan sighed. “That’s an honorable sacrifice to promote fertile spring crops for the coven. Hardly a disgrace or torture. Is Lenore upset?”
“Not that I can see. But I suspect she’s enchanted.”
“Hmm.” Logan pulled the Nash up to the carnival entrance behind Rowe’s Studebaker. “I’m going to be on Adara like a hawk, looking for anything she does to harm someone. Can I count on your help?”
“You’ve got it.”
“I’m going to pay our friend Keir a visit as well and see if he’ll join with us. A seer could be useful.”
Rowe opened the car door and placed a foot on the ground. “Always good to have a seer on our side, especially since Adara considers Sibeal her best friend.” He stepped out and joined Busby who perched atop the wooden privacy fence next to Rowe’s coupe.
***
At home, Rowe fed Busby some grain and gave him free time to chase mice before they needed to leave for the carnival. In the large farmhouse kitchen, Rowe poked his head into the refrigerator, an electric upgrade to the original icebox his mother insisted upon. His parents adhered to the coven’s expected traditions of 1930s lifestyle. But they finally relented and remodeled the turn-of-the-twentieth-century, art nouveau house with electricity and indoor plumbing. Some inconveniences were just too much. They were among the first in the coven to update their home, and over the years all others followed suit as they could affor
d.
Rowe rubbed the stubble on his chin and pulled out a milk carton. His stomach was in knots, and he didn’t feel like eating. He sat at the breakfast table with his glass and thought about the horrible experience Logan related to him about his mother. As coven council members, Rowe’s parents had always supported the governing group’s usefulness to insure fairness and trusted that an unfair coven leader could be removed or controlled. They must have known about Grizela. How had they dealt with the situation? He made a mental note to visit Vika to see what she might remember.
He rinsed the glass and moved to the library, combing the walls of books for any kind of journal, diary, or records of coven business his parents may have used. Nothing turned up in the shelves of spell books and animating studies. He looked around for another place to search, but the Westminster grandfather clock that housed Uncle Ernie’s spirit yelled, “Get your butt to that carnival and do your job!”
The clock rang three o’clock louder than usual, and Rowe knew the noise was meant to get him moving, as if Ernie’s reminder wasn’t enough.
Rowe ran upstairs to shower and change into his formal witch’s attire. A double-breasted suit in black pinstripes. Despite the summer weather, black was required for show. He swapped his cream-colored summer fedora for a black one with a chocolate band. As a special touch, he animated a white handkerchief for his jacket’s breast pocket. It sparkled a trail of miniature silver stars and moonbeams whenever he moved and encircled the moonstone resting against his black shirt.
Outside he hurried to the pale green roadster and checked his pocket watch. Moving quickly, he heaved one of the garage doors open. “Busby, are you in there? Time to go.” The bright sunshine outside hampered Rowe’s vision inside the dark, repurposed barn. “Busby, are you here?”
Receiving no answer, Rowe stepped out and scanned the nearby rooftops and trees. He called out, “Busby, it’s time to go.” Training a familiar sure tested his patience. He turned all around, hand shielding his eyes.
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