When she reached the far side, from some distance a man called, “Jancie, wait up!” She thought of Rowe, but the voice belonged to someone else.
Adara’s head spun in the direction she’d heard the plea but was unable to determine who uttered it. She waited, hoping the man would repeat his request. Without luck, she listened intently to each man passing by. Hearing acuity was not among her exceptional talents as a witch. She turned toward one group, then the next, watching lips for movement. Frustrated, heat spread across her cheeks. I’m as helpless as a commoner. She clenched her jaw, determined to overcome the limitation.
A middle-aged couple stopped to thank her for her work with the carnival, and an idea sprang into Adara’s mind.
She strolled into the middle of the path and turned to face the traffic moving into the ride area. She smiled and greeted every group, her gaze focused on the males. Every adult responded.
After addressing at least thirty groups, her plastered smile felt like it would soon drop off her face. She approached a set of three young men, one a well-built, curly-haired blond. Attracted to his good looks, she thrust out her hand. “As high priestess, I’d like to welcome you to the carnival.”
He accepted. “Thanks, ma’am.”
Adara’s lips parted. That voice. He was the one. She gripped his hand tighter while casting a charm on him through her focus amulet, the marcasite snake ring. “Be sure to go on Racing Serpents. We’ve improved the snakes this year to actually hiss and nip at each other to make the ride even more exciting.” She rambled in order to buy time for the charm to transfer.
“Cool.” He responded with a flat tone and looked at her with an unblinking stare.
“Come on, Harley. Let’s go,” one of the other guys urged. “Jancie and her friends turned left up ahead. Them girls are hot.”
“Jancie. Oh, yeah. She’s a babe,” Harley replied.
The mention of the girl’s name enacted Adara’s spell. Instead of following the girl from a distance like a puppy, pleading with her to wait, he would now stalk her like a panther. His mission: keep Jancie away from other males.
Adara released his hand. “If you’d like to cut in front at Racing Serpents, I’d be glad—”
“No, thanks.” Harley’s glassy eyes fixed on the path ahead. “I have someone I need to find right away.”
“Okay, then.” Adara motioned them forward with a wide smile. “Have a wonderful rest of your evening.” She moved to the side and watched Harley zip through the crowd, his friends struggling to keep pace.
In the back alley, she located her crow and shot him a satisfied grin. “Well, our job just got a lot easier. But let’s enjoy watching the fun.”
“Carnivals are all about fun, even for witches.” He extended his wings and flew near her shoulder as they wound their way to Rowe’s tent.
At the edge of the pathway, Adara found no sign of either Jancie or Harley or their energies in the immediate area. She wondered whether her spell caused Harley to corner Jancie already or if the moonstone even called to the girl. Adara’s long nails dug into her palms. Her palm! That was the key.
She darted into the crystal ball reader’s tent just two down from Rowe’s.
Lumena sat with her bare, gnarled fingers spread over the crystal ball, conducting a reading for a young couple with a small boy. Inside the ball, white smoke swirled, indicating the process had just begun. The reader glanced up at Adara. “Welcome, high priestess. It is an honor.” Lumena’s shoulder-length iron gray hair stuck out like stiff straw in all directions. Yet her dress of black-flowered sheer cotton lawn fabric with a white lace collar softened her look. Her fingers and wrists, kept bare for her style of channeling, contrasted with half a dozen amulets decorating her neckline, along with swinging chandelier earrings dangling from her wrinkled earlobes. In equal contrast, her face was bare of make-up save for vivid pink lips. Lumena was all about opposites, in appearance as well as personality. Adara would need to be careful what she said to Lumena.
The crystal ball displayed an image of the couple where the woman was pregnant, the little boy playing at their feet. The woman clasped her hands together and let out a squeal. They thanked the reader, and the man handed her a bill as Lumena showed them to the door. She lowered the flap and faced Adara with a smile. “What may I help you with?”
Not wanting to whisper and draw suspicion, Adara took a determined step closer. “I need you to predict what will happen tonight to a young man I put a spell on.”
“Mortal or witch?”
“Mortal.”
Lumena lips formed a pink “o”, and she tilted her head. “All right.” She slid behind the orb and took a seat.
Adara took one of the four chairs set out for patrons and studied her right palm. “This is the hand I used to convey the charm. I assume it still has traces of his energy.”
“It should, along with your own of course.” The old witch extended her hand. “Let me have a look.” She cradled Adara’s hand from beneath, avoiding the palm. She gently placed it on the glass, framed by her own. She closed her eyes, and her orchid lips moved with an inaudible chant.
Fearful of what secrets would be exposed about her own life, Adara focused her mind on Harley. She didn’t know whether that would block transmission of her personal history or not, but most readings worked on joint channeling. A bead of perspiration formed along her upper lip.
Lumena’s eyes shot open, and she hunched over the sphere. As her experienced fingers caressed the glass, teasing the swirls of smoke, they changed from white to gray to steely blue. “Is the young man’s name Harley?”
“Yes, it is.” Adara leaned in, unsuccessful in her attempt to make out what the reader saw.
“He is strong and young, in his mid-twenties.” Lumena’s voice grew deep and flat. “He pursues a woman named Jancie, his ex-girlfriend. She left him, and he wants her back. But I see more.” She traced a fingertip around the outline of Adara’s hand.
Adara’s mind drifted with the smoke’s undulations. So that’s how Harley and Jancie are connected. Useful information to file away.
The smoke changed to a midnight blue, and Lumena closed one of her hands into a fist. Her action gathered the inky darkness into a small region. She arched a shaggy gray brow and glanced at Adara. “That is your essence. I did my best to not look, but dare I say, danger surrounds you. Some by your own calling. Be careful with your wisdom.”
Adara shifted in her seat. “I advise that you keep to the request I put upon you. Nothing more.”
Lumena pursed her lips into a thin line. The contained darkness fell to the bottom, and white smoke filled the ball again. The wisps thinned to reveal an image of Jancie stepping inside Rowe’s tent, and a moment later the door flap closed. At the sight, a gasp escaped Adara’s lips.
Lumena teased a side of the image to show a second image connected by a smokeless tube.
In that vision, Harley wore the same green t-shirt as when Adara charmed him. His jaw was set, and his drawn face caused his eyes to bulge beneath lowered brows. The picture widened to reveal him running and darting, arms wide to keep his balance as he twisted and changed directions. At times, his head turned back and forth, eyes scanning.
“He’s searching for her. Jancie. So wild, like a hungry animal. Is that your spell? Peculiar, since he already wants her back.” The reader shot Adara a questioning glance.
“It is.” Adara responded without giving explanation.
“His desire to possess her is maniacal. Dangerous,” the reader’s voice became shrill.
“I didn’t know of their relationship, or that he wanted her back. That must have intensified the spell.” Adara bit her lip for being played by the crafty old witch to reveal more than she intended.
“Indeed.” Lumena dragged fingernails along the images’ edges. “I assume you want to find him to remove your spell?” The old witch regarded her with piercing, narrowed eyes.
“Of course,” Adara replied in a neutral t
one to placate the interfering hag, but didn’t plan to take action on her words. She didn’t want anyone to be harmed, at least not for the present. But seeing her spell make Harley so dedicated to her purpose, power surged through her veins.
The moment the reader succeeded in expanding the views, the entire inner ball became pitch black. Lumena’s body fell back, slumped against her chair.
Adara moved to the old witch. “Are you all right?” She lifted Lumena’s limp hand, which the reader jerked free.
“Do not touch me with your darkness,” she spat at Adara.
Adara wondered what might have happened. She considered the moonstone’s magic. Jancie would reach Rowe. Could the moonstone somehow block this reading device? And why?
“Only once before has my ball dropped into total black.” Lumena spoke in a whisper. “When evil happened, and your older sister Fia was sent away.”
Adara laughed. “My sister’s own magic gifts caused her to go insane, knowing the fate of those she loved but not soon enough to protect them from harm. No evil chased her away. She asked to leave us so she would have some peace of mind.”
Lumena shook her head, her eyes set on Adara.
“Will Harley find Jancie?”
“I didn’t see, but I hope for her sake that he doesn’t,” the reader responded with a scolding tone.
Adara cupped a hand around her father’s onyx pendant to gain his strength and make her words more convincing. “In that case, will you help me find her so I can protect the girl?”
Lumena stared at Adara. “Tell me more.”
“We know Jancie will reach Rowe’s tent. Can your crystal ball reverse its action and be used as a signal? Like a beacon, to shine on her when she walks past your tent to reach his? That way I can physically stand between her and Harley and break my spell quicker.”
The reader nodded and struggled to drape her body over the orb. “I’ll do that much, and only once. After that, I wash my hands of your troubles. I will not allow your darkness to follow me home.”
Chapter Nine: The Griever’s Moonstone
Rowe sat behind the oak parlor table laid with fine antique linens crocheted by Charlotte Oatley, the wife of the moonstone locket’s creator, Jude Oatley. The table runners, normally kept in careful storage, were handed down to successive bearers of the enchanted jewel for its public display. Despite continual wear for over two hundred years, the pendant had withstood the test of time better than the yellowed crochet pieces. While Busby dozed at the top of a brass coat stand in the corner, Rowe leaned back from the table and studied the intricate threads. He wondered how the lady’s plight and the magic may have been woven into her handwork.
Only his second year serving as the bearer of the griever’s moonstone, his role at these public events still seemed unfamiliar. He gazed around the tent, which had been decorated by the coven council. The walls were hung with clear and milky quartz crystals. They radiated soft light from the fringed ivory shades of vintage brass floor lamps in each corner. A Turkish wool rug laid over a protective plastic tarp covered the floor. At least those items reminded Rowe of typical décor in the more well-to-do coven homes like his own. They seemed familiar and benign compared to the questionable potential of Charlotte’s linens and Jude’s locket.
Not far from his tent, Rowe sensed a tangled web of intense energies. He sat straighter, watching those passing his open door flap, but those milling past seemed unaffected. He heard no shouts or warning cries in any direction.
He rose to investigate, looking outside both ways along the path. Only happy carnival-goers passed. Some meandered while examining the light displays crowning each tent and ride entrance. Others wove between slower-moving groups, intent on specific destinations.
Few folks this evening had been curious enough about Rowe’s special psychic offering to peer through the doorway or step inside his tent. One middle-school aged girl had coaxed her mother to make Rowe tell the moonstone tale. When the gem failed to react, the girl seemed unimpressed, as though she expected something spectacular to happen since she’d just lost her pet cat. During his year and a half in charge of the moonstone, he’d told the story dozens of times always with the same result. Nothing. In fact, all written records of the moonstone locket opening happened before his or even his parents’ lifetimes.
When the mysterious energy disturbance faded, Rowe stepped back inside. The moment he turned to retake his seat, Jancie darted inside and stood anxiously on the Turkish carpet.
Busby jerked his wings open and lifted a foot off his perch.
Jancie’s chest rose with deep, rapid inhalations. Wisps of her red hair caught the lamp light and formed a golden halo around her head.
“Jancie.” He smiled and extended a hand to steady her. “I’m glad you returned. Are you okay?”
“Yes. I am. I really want to talk to my mother.”
“Wonderful. Please have a seat.” He motioned to the chair opposite his. “I saw you yesterday around noon with a girlfriend walking toward the carnival. When a man stopped you and you turned around, I worried. Is everything all right?”
She looked away and sat down, her tone matter-of-fact. “Just my father. Nothing I can’t handle.”
Rowe’s brows pulled together, but he didn’t press her for more information. “Make yourself comfortable while I close the door so we aren’t disturbed.”
The previous unsettling energies and Jancie’s uneasiness about her father made Rowe tie the flap closed and secure it with a spell. He returned to his seat.
Busby took a new perch, his talons clamped on the back of the chair beside Jancie, and she gave a start.
Rowe grinned. “This little barn owl is my familiar.”
“Oh.” She leaned away and eyed the bird with caution.
“He won’t hurt you. His name is Busby.” Rowe addressed his familiar. “Please speak to Jancie to reassure her.”
“Hello, Miss Jancie.” The owl lifted a wing tip in her direction.
Jancie gripped the seat of her chair and gave a weak smile. “Hi, Busby.”
Rowe nodded to him. “Busby, if you remain there, be still and quiet during the story.”
The owl resettled his perch. “I will, Master.”
Rowe faced Jancie. “Let me repeat some things I said before to be sure you understand the magic of the griever’s moonstone. If the stone’s energy connects with you, it will cause the locket to open. At that time, you may see or hear the presence of your departed mother and be able to communicate with her.”
Jancie scooted to the edge of her seat.
“Strong magic always comes with a price.” The moonstone had sparked twice before in Jancie’s presence, and Rowe believed there was a chance it might open for her. He felt compelled to warn her about what little he knew of the consequences. Usually he took for granted the locket wouldn’t open and was lax about giving cautions, unless for theatrical effects. “If the locket opens and connects you to your mother, like I said before, there will be consequences, good or bad. This is not magic I can predict or control. I am only the appointed bearer of the gem, the teller of the tale because I too recently lost a loved one.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Who?” Her hazel eyes found his and softened.
Rowe closed his eyes and focused on a vision of Edme, then looked at Jancie. “My wife and our unborn child.”
Jancie shook her head. “How horrible to lose them both. Have you used the moonstone to speak to her?”
“I have been able to make contact, but not through the gem.”
She smiled. “I’m glad you had that chance.”
He nodded and removed his hat to lift the pendant from his neck. “Again, there will be an unknown price if the locket opens. Are you okay with that risk?” He restated the question as much for himself as for her. His life would also be changed by triggering the enchanted gem. According to what he’d been told, if the locket opened, the moonstone’s magic would repair his heart, helping him to find another to fill t
he void. But, as he reminded her, strong magic comes with an equal price. The path to happiness could drag him through a lot of pain. That journey could be long, and Jancie might only be a person who would lead him to his new love. He was more than ready to replace grief with love, but doubted whether he could endure more pain.
Jancie tucked loose strands of hair behind her ears and sat straighter. “Yes, I’m ready for whatever happens. I need to say goodbye.”
He swallowed hard and reached a hand across the table. “Please give me your hand.” Cradling the back of her hand, he placed the moonstone into hers. The oblong milky gem, nearly an inch wide and an inch and a half long, covered most of her palm. He glanced at her, then looked at gem. “This locket was made in 1850 by Jude Oatley, a witch who lost his wife, Charlotte, to tuberculosis. While I tell his tale, keep your eyes on the stone.” Rowe cleared his throat. “Jude and Charlotte had a tremendous love. Jude placed the essence of that love inside this gem. They lived in a small village outside of Albany, New York. As part of his trade as a silversmith, he often traveled great distances from home to meet the train and exchange his wares for sale in the city. Other times, he rode by horseback for days into Quebec to trade with Indian tribes for raw semi-precious gemstones. On these long trips, the enchanted moonstone allowed Jude to carry Charlotte’s love with him.”
As if on cue, the moonstone in Jancie’s hand shined a brilliant blue. She gave a start, and her eyes widened but remained fixed on the gem.
Rowe cupped the back of her hand more tightly.
Busby’s white face reflected the blue color, his huge black eyes steady on the gem.
They leaned farther over the table, and Rowe continued. “It gave him real comfort both while she lived and after she died. Her loving face appeared to him, and she offered her support.”
“Eventually wanting to move past his grief, Jude put the moonstone away. Several years later, when he found it in himself to go though and give away Charlotte’s things, he rediscovered the enchanted stone. When he held it, the locket opened and guided him to find the purity of her love in another woman.”
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