Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3

by Marsha A. Moore

  Rowe nodded. “Big old silver-haired fellow who can bite a sapling in half.”

  “That’s the one.”

  “You two hang out with some wild dudes in those hills.” Logan shrugged and led them through the hall into the library. He gestured to a wide coffee table and sank his sinewy frame into a soft leather club chair.

  “Sometimes.” Keir nodded with a grin. “I couldn’t make out what he was jabbering about other than two secret charms.”

  Rowe lit several lamps which had moved nearer to the assemblage, the spirits of his ancestors obviously curious to the goings-on. One sat precariously at the edge of his father’s oak desk. He put an unanimated dictionary in front of it.

  Keir perched on the edge of an ottoman with the coyote curled at his feet. The seer dug in his satchel and withdrew a beaded pouch. In the amber lamplight, his near white skin took on the ruddiness of an American Indian. His cropped coal-black hair blended with the shadows of his charcoal suit jacket lapels. Rowe watched his friend transforming into the essence of his mentor. “Hold this bag in your hands.” The contents clattered as Keir held it out to Rowe.

  Rowe accepted, and Keir removed two of the many necklaces he wore. He waved a Wiccan quartz amulet and a string of Indian beads around the outside of Rowe’s hands while chanting in a Shawnee Algonquin tongue. The chant completed, he took the bag, opened its drawstring, and spilled an assortment of small bones and stones across the table.

  The stones Rowe recognized as local river rocks worn into various shapes by currents, but he puzzled over the other pieces. “What are we looking at?”

  Logan blew a breath out from between his teeth. “Some scary native American witchcraft only he knows.”

  “River pebbles and coon bones all from this hollow.” Keir leaned over the arrangement for at least a minute before sitting back.

  Logan draped himself over his knees, fidgeting as if he wanted to say something.

  Rowe knelt at the table wanting to urge their friend to speak but knew better than to hurry a seer.

  Keir swallowed hard and gave a slow exhale. “After the harvest moon, the weather will grow stormy, more and more leading up to Mabon.” He pointed to an intersection of two of the largest bones. “Winds from north and south will fight a grueling battle where life will be lost and neither will win.”

  Rowe shivered, and the lamps flickered.

  Silence hung between the men as they looked from one to the other, broken only by the wind rattling the tall windows.

  “So, what does this mean?” Logan looked up, his blue eyes gleaming with an edge of steel.

  “The winds might represent people, but who?” Rowe moved to sit beside Logan on the couch. “Adara is an expected force. Who will be her opposition?”

  Logan lifted his head higher.

  Rowe placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “I know your ambitions. Be careful, my friend. Death is foretold.”

  Waapake threw back his head and howled as a sudden gust shook both the doors and windows.

  Keir stroked the coyote’s long ears. “He reminds us that the north wind is known as the wind of death.”

  Logan buried his head in his hands, and Waapake moved to nuzzle the crown of his head.

  Keir gathered the scattered objects. “I will take this riddle to my shaman. He may be able to help with the meaning. Logan, will you go with me?”

  Logan sat up. “I sure will. We all need some good advice about now.” The invitation seemed to spark life back into him. “And I need to visit Skena Stoddard and her old friends. Maybe they can find some records of covered-up wrongdoing by the Tabard family while serving as coven leaders.”

  Rowe glanced at his father’s desk. “I started to search the house for my parents’ council records. I’ll get back to that.” He rubbed his chest out of nervous habit, feeling for the locket. “I need to conjure a fake moonstone so the entire coven isn’t up in arms about what happened tonight. Before dawn, I’ll work with Vika at Jancie’s house to protect her and learn more about the unusual garden her deceased mother left behind. Filled with fae.”

  Keir flinched and stared at Rowe. “The north wind is gathering force.” The seer stood. “Rest in what’s left of this short night. In the days ahead, there is much to do.”

  Chapter Twelve: Garden Fae

  The short night brought Rowe only fitful sleep, and he rose early. While his coffee percolated, he roused Busby and intended to let Maeira sleep, but she stretched her wings and legs and seemed intent on joining them.

  Checking his phone, Rowe found no reply to the text he’d left Jancie after Keir and Logan left last night. He hoped working with Vika in the pre-dawn outside Jancie’s windows wouldn’t frighten the young woman or her friends.

  Rowe washed down a slice of toast with coffee and poured a second cup into a travel mug, one of the small but essential modern conveniences he allowed himself beyond what the council permitted. He stared at the unapproved items, mug and cell phone, and a ray of clarity hit.

  Accepting Adara’s offer to sit on the coven council now seemed like a good idea, but for no reason she would welcome. Until Jancie had awakened the moonstone, he’d been mired in self-pity after losing his beloved Edme. Coven matters hadn’t affected his hermit-like existence. Keir’s reading the previous night expanded Rowe’s view. The coven was in for turbulent times. Lives would be lost. With his family’s good standing, he could protect innocent people from being harmed.

  Rowe accepted the fact that adherence to the traditions and lifestyle that existed at their coven’s conception kept the magical practices pure. But dictating practices as small as how to consume coffee was suffocating the spirits of individuals. Personal growth needed to be part of coven life for the community to thrive. A principle his parents strongly adhered to and defended. Newly married and too busy making a family of his own, Rowe had failed to uphold their values after their deaths.

  The Tabard family, including Adara, had long been strict about maintaining status quo. It served their interests to remain as leaders. And in recent years, drove members out of the coven.

  His parents must have kept records. Rowe strode into the library, sat at his father’s desk, and yanked open file drawers. Folder after folder contained coven bookkeeping which had been his father’s primary council responsibility. Rowe dug to the back of a deep drawer, and his hand met a leather book. He pulled out a green notebook and thumbed through pages of hand-written entries. Meeting agendas were annotated with his father’s personal observations and opinions. Some entries were written in his mother’s hand.

  Rowe was eager to spend more time studying this. He placed it in a safe he kept secured with not only his own ward, but a couple other protections supplied by his departed uncle Ernie and aunt Tanita. Rowe looked forward to the time when his parents’ spirits would rest in a favorite household object. He expected his father’s essence to return sooner. Since Mom had relations throughout the southern part of the state, as well as Kentucky, she might wish to visit them for awhile first.

  Coffee in hand, Rowe called up the stairs. “Any barn owls going with me to pick up Vika?” Quicker than he expected, they winged down the staircase, and he ducked to avoid being hit. “Whoa! I admire your enthusiasm.”

  The pair flew overhead as he drove to Vika’s. Still in the darkness of the same night, it felt like Rowe’s visit with Keir and Logan had been a dream. If only that ominous prediction had been one.

  When they arrived, Vika’s face appeared in the window beside her front door. She turned on the porch light which illuminated leather suitcases and wicker market-baskets with bottles and branches poking out of the tops.

  Rowe met her on the steps with a chuckle. “Are you moving out?”

  “Something’s gotten you in a high mood.” The old woman eyed him as she slipped her arm through the handles of two baskets. “With all this danger, it’d do me good to hear what you’re about.”

  “Like you said last night, I’m living a full lif
e.” He grinned and hoisted the two suitcases into his car’s trunk. “A few days ago, Adara offered me a seat on the council, intending to keep me close to her. I’ve decided to accept for a different reason. I think the council needs my help.”

  Vika clucked her tongue and shook her head. “You are your father’s son, turning a gathering storm into a time to build windmills.” She chuckled. “You’ll do us all some good, but see to it you keep yourself safe.”

  He steadied her shoulder and helped her stiff body into the passenger seat. “You can be sure of that.”

  Paying no attention to the owls, Siddie slid into the narrow space behind her mistress’s seat and curled into a tired-looking ball of fur. Lack of sleep must have dampened her jitters over the evil in last night’s air.

  On the drive, Rowe shared Keir’s reading with Vika. She didn’t comment or show surprise, but her fists clenched in her lap.

  An hour before dawn, Rowe parked at the curb in front of Jancie’s house. Busby and Maeira waited on the neighbor’s TV tower.

  As soon as Vika cracked her door open, Siddie coiled out and stood guard, her tail flicking in all directions as if sensing for danger. “These old bones aren’t as fast as yours, sweet one,” the old woman said as she wedged herself from the leather seat and arched into a standing posture. Hands bracing her low back, she peered from under the shawl drawn around her head to examine Jancie’s house. “Your ward is still plenty strong, Rowe. You’re too modest about your powers. This house has old native limestone walls that I’m sure hold centuries' worth of secrets.”

  Rowe unloaded the trunk. “Where do you want these?”

  “Leave them here until I’ve had a look at that garden.” She waved at Busby who flew closer. “I need to first determine the orientation of plants and fae. Busby, will you lead the way?”

  In a few strides, Rowe caught up to the rest. Even though well-protected by three familiars, he didn’t want her to trip in the dark backyard and break a bone. He took hold of her elbow, and she let out a small yelp of delight.

  “Look at that garden, teeming with fae.” She veered off the driveway. “Everyone stay clear, even from overhead.” She hunched low and paced around the bed’s perimeter. “Drat. Footprint energies are too numerous and overlapping. I can’t rule out that Adara might’ve been here.” She drew a step nearer and peered across the bed. “It’s so dark, the faeries’ glow blots out what I can see of the plants.” She folded herself down onto the grass, legs sprawled out from her long, full skirt. “I need to join the energies that are here in order to identify their natures.” She patted the ground beside her. “Siddie, help me girl.”

  The Maine Coon obeyed and spread her body, all except the fluffy tail, flat to the earth between Vika and the bed.

  Rowe signaled the owls to perch on lookout branches of the yard’s large shade tree. He dove a hand, fueled with blue light, into his pants pocket, fingers touching his pocket watch.

  Vika took a deep inhale and settled herself. “Mother Earth. Feel my bones, my skeleton, my flesh. Pull me to you. Make me part of you.” Her voice grew stronger and louder. “A mountain of your creation. I am grass, trees, grains, fruits, flowers, beasts, metal, and precious stones. At your will, I will return to dust, to compost, to mud. To my mother.” The old witch sat in silence, her breathing deep and steady.

  Siddie’s body flattened closer to the ground, but her tail remained alert. Always on watch, a quality of an exceptional familiar.

  The quiet around them unsettled Rowe. His skin prickled. Vika seemed peaceful with her connection to the earth, but his magical tendencies, aside from his gift of animation, were more aligned with air magic. Even the gentle breeze in town, carried a tinge of dark energy.

  Unaware, or tuning it out, the old witch sat in silent meditation. The tails of her wiry, white hair floated out from where they were gathered in a black ribbon.

  The back door to the house creaked open, and Jancie poked her head out. Slim, bare legs stepped onto the stoop. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders. A close-fitting nightshirt skimmed the curves of her slender body. Rowe felt the tightness in his chest relax. Somehow, Jancie’s purity obliterated the evil in the air.

  He moved toward her and offered his hand, fingertips still glowing a faint blue.

  Barefoot, she descended to meet him and gave him a wide smile that lifted his heart.

  A few moments later, a tremor shook through Vika’s spine.

  Jancie flinched, and Rowe gripped her hand tighter. He whispered, “She’s fine.”

  Siddie sprang to attention and bounded to Jancie’s feet, as if to pounce on an invader, then became still and purred between her legs.

  “It seems my big kitty has taken to you, young lady.” Broken from her meditation, the elderly lady faced them, blinking. “I’m Vika.”

  “Hello. I’m Jancie. Thank you for coming.” The younger woman knelt beside the older. “May I help? I know a fair amount about this garden. Mom had me help her, even as a child.”

  “Can you answer how such a thriving colony of faeries came to live here?” Vika rubbed her cat’s long ears.

  “Faeries? Really?” Jancie gasped and leaned closer. “I see a glow around the yarrow heads and chrysanthemums. And along the sage leaves.”

  “That’s it!” Vika leaned in, and Rowe drew nearer.

  “That is so cool!” Jancie exclaimed, then sat back. “Is it safe?”

  Vika said over her shoulder to Rowe and Jancie, “Not to worry. The energy is all good. Adara didn’t put these wee folk here. Or guide them with her evil either.”

  The owls sailed down and perched on the garage gutter at the back of the garden.

  Jancie gave Rowe a questioning glance. “They’ve looked like that as long as I can remember.”

  “Look closer.” Vika pointed to a leaf. “See those purple pinpricks?”

  Busby hovered low, fanning the cavalcade of light spots with his tail feathers until they moved faster.

  “Yes!” Jancie squealed. “That helps, Busby.” She picked a leaf with a single fae.

  “Well, those fae are there to do good, not only for the plants, but also for this property.” Vika allowed a few to crawl onto her thumbnail, then passed one to Jancie and another to Rowe. “The question is how they got here. Fae are rare in home gardens anymore. An old practice. Now they exist almost entirely along forest streambeds. I have a colony at my house, not even half of this one, but I work like the dickens to keep them happy there.”

  Jancie stared from the fae in her hand to Vika and shook her head.

  “Well, no need to find that answer now. We can set to that problem later since there’s no evil afoot.” She looked up at Rowe. “Will you please bring my supplies?”

  “Will do. Busby, come help me.” Rowe walked away as Vika talked a blue streak about her favorite topic—Earth magic. With the help of the two owls each carrying a basket in their beaks, he completed the task in one trip.

  From one of the suitcases, Vika withdrew a large flat river stone. “This is a guardian stone that will keep evil from your garden and property. I’ll show it to the four winds to gain their blessings.” She lifted the stone to the east, south, west, and north before holding it to her breast and closing her eyes. She placed it at a front and central position in the bed and rummaged in one of the baskets for a small flask. “I sprinkle the stone with my potion to empower it with life.” She replaced the flask and sat back. “Now, Jancie, it’s your turn.” Vika handed over a short branch devoid of bark.

  “Is this a wand?” Her young assistant eyed the stick.

  Rowe leaned over her. “I wondered the same, but I’ve not seen you use a wand, Vika.”

  The old woman chuckled. “It is a wand charged with Earth energy. The only use I ever make of such a thing.”

  Jancie ran her fingers along the smooth wood. “So cool!”

  “With the end of the wand, draw three symbols all in one row in the garden dirt. A plus sign, a heart, and another pl
us.”

  Jancie drew the indicated marks and handed back the wand.

  “Excellent.” Vika beamed, her eyes glinting in the pink light of dawn. “You should retrace this pattern at least once a week to keep the protection strong. Use your finger since it’s contacted my wand. These two protections will keep you, your fae, garden, and home safe. Now we need to find a way to protect you when you leave home.”

  “I could possibly animate an object with your protections, something that Jancie could carry,” Rowe said to Vika.

  “Hmm.” She ran a bony finger along one temple. “Now that it’s getting light, I can see many plantings here give off both love and protection. Fine qualities for a home to have. That lilac bush overtaking the far side of your house offers great protection, especially now that I’ve boosted its energy. These garden herbs—angelica, yarrow, mint, and chrysanthemum—are all protective in nature. As are those peonies lining the drive. Amazing.”

  “Mom loved them all. Flowers were everywhere in the yard when she was alive.”

  “They will be again with just a little of your care.” Vika patted Jancie’s bare knee, then gazed beyond the girl. “Look at that mighty maple in the center of this back yard. All about love.” Vika slapped the ground. “Double drat. I almost forgot.” She rummaged in the other suitcase and pulled out three old horseshoes. “Siddie, my dearest, will you please bury one under that maple, another under the lilac, and the third between the peonies?”

  “Gladly, m’lady.” The Maine coon clutched one in her jaw and trotted off, tail tasting the air. Claws extended, dirt flew fast from between her hind legs. Positioning and burying the bespelled horseshoe required more time and effort.

  While the cat worked, Vika faced Jancie. “You seem to have been close to your mother. Do you have anything of hers you can keep with you at all times? A piece of jewelry maybe?”