Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3

by Marsha A. Moore

  The mousy woman beside Gladys gave a polite nod, but her lips held steady in a thin, flat line. “I received your residence papers Monday. Everything appeared in order, but I need to check some references before I can finalize your residence. Don’t make any permanent arrangements until you hear from me.”

  Gladys cleared her throat. “Also, we need to inform you of a few things. While you’re here, please try to keep your…um…unusual witchcraft to a minimum. We pride ourselves on keeping transmission of our unique magical skills to future generations as pure as possible. We don’t want our young ones tempted by your ways.”

  Hushed affirmations resounded from her group. I looked from Viola to Gladys, finding not a shred of empathy. Anger stabbed the pit of my stomach, and heat rose through my face until the tips of my ears threatened to burst into flame. I fingered the edge of my hood and hesitated, but the heat increased so much, I feared I’d soon pass out. I pushed the hood off.

  A wave of murmurs spread throughout the room. Most gasped in shock, some voiced support for the old biddy, and, with pitchy squeaks, others mentioned the banshee’s wail. I guessed they all saw my hair. When I became angry, really flaming mad, sparks coursed from my crown down strands of my hair. A few small flashes glinted off the front sections of my blonde hair.

  I became a spectacle, my fingers burning with my fire. Not wanting to cause more of a scene, I clamped my arms to my sides. Sparks must have fallen from my fingertips, because Gladys flinched and took a quick step back, her face contorted into a pained grimace.

  She leaned her torso forward and peered down at me through her glasses. The lenses magnified and distorted the green specks in her steely eyes to look like facets of an insect’s irises.

  The outside door opened, and Logan walked through the entry looking frazzled with his blond hair hanging in damp ringlets. His eyes were dark like a thunderstorm.

  “We wish to rear our children free of intrusion from outsiders. One New Wish witch is enough.” Gladys glanced at Jancie, “But at least your great grandfather was one of us.” The biddy spat words at my face with a hushed voice. “If it weren’t for a few council members, we’d only allow other witches to pay short visits, so consider yourself lucky. Or maybe not, since the spirits of Cerise’s home place seem on track to take care of intruders.”

  Logan yanked off his wet cape and parted the group of dissenting women. He towered above Gladys. “As your new high priest—”

  “Not by my choice.” Her mouth twisted into a scornful glower.

  “Let me remind you,” Logan aimed his sharp Roman nose at her hooked beak, “your slanderous remarks are punishable under regulations of our covenant. I suggest you not speak or act on those ideas, or you will meet unwelcome consequences, including possible removal from my council.”

  She glared at him, her bony fingers curling and extending. “You can’t do that. No one will support you.”

  “Watch yourself.” He directed his attention to Viola, who quivered under his strong gaze. “And you, too. Toby Rudman’s family has been well-respected in this coven for decades. I trust his word on Aggie’s papers. I expect you won’t find faults.”

  “No, sir, I don’t expect any,” she replied and rounded her shoulders forward.

  Gladys grabbed Viola’s elbow and herded her group of biddies to cluster in a corner. There, I recognized the fat man, the Council member named Oscar, who’d proudly presented me as an intruder in the carriage house garage. Their arms waving wildly, they scowled and engaged in heated discussion.

  “I’m sorry for that incident.” Logan’s voice startled me.

  “Thank you for standing up for me.”

  “That’s my job.”

  Rowe slapped a hand on Logan’s back. “And a fine job you’re doing, too.” He gave a hearty laugh. “Keep up the good work, my friend.”

  Logan touched my arm and took a deep breath. “I just wish I’d been here sooner, since I invited you to make you feel welcome. I wanted to dispel any fears about what happened at the haunted house.”

  “What kept you?” Rowe asked and took a swig of punch.

  “Art and his son Kyle, along with Keir and me, searched for Dulcie.” Logan faced me. “Keir is a seer and, with help from his coyote familiar, we caught a trail that went on for miles.” He said to Rowe. “Keir and Kyle are still looking for her.”

  Those close enough to hear looked down without speaking. Their intense concern spread to me without direct contact.

  My breath hovered low in my chest. I worried about the woman, most likely an innocent caught in someone’s evil web.

  ***

  The next morning, Cerise and I drove to the homestead to clean it up, while Toby fixed breakfast for the boys. We met few cars on the road since most coven members stayed up late, gathering at small, private parties after the general meeting hall gathering. We’d chosen to end our evening early to avoid chancing more difficult encounters.

  The quiet morning was comforting. Warm sun and blue skies, peppered by a few lazy clouds, gave welcome respite from the bitter winds of the past few days. The pleasant weather encouraged me to work hard at cleaning the old cabin to make it my own.

  Cerise parked near the porch. She stretched her shoulders back as she rounded the car’s rear fender. “It’s a lovely day for us to shake rugs and sweep out your new place.” She opened the trunk and filled her arms with mops, brooms, and buckets.

  I let the sun wash any worries from me and grabbed up all I could carry.

  “Let’s start upstairs.” Cerise pushed the door open. “You web the walls, take the sheets off of furniture, and dust. I’ll wash down bathrooms and vacuum. Then we’ll mop ourselves down the stairs.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Sun streamed in through the wide front windows of the parlor. Whatever spirits lived here, they didn’t seem to like sunshine. The house was quiet, except for creaks and groans of the old stairs under our weight.

  “Which bedroom do you want to be yours?” Cerise bounced along the hallway opening doors. “Have a look. We don’t need to thoroughly clean all five, but they do need a lick and a promise.”

  I peered into each. Without morning light, the two along the back house wall seemed drab. I needed to connect to my witch’s element as much as possible. I stepped across the hall to evaluate the last two bedrooms and a small nursery.

  The nursery had been left filled with old toys. In the corner, sat a red hobbyhorse with a mane matted from where children likely grabbed hold. Through layers of dust on a bookcase shelf, a row of tops hinted at their bright colors. Below them a dozen or so porcelain-faced dolls nestled together. Another shelf held a toy circus train, complete with tiny lions, giraffes, and elephants. Nice collections that had been on display for years without anyone to enjoy. I closed the door and made a mental note to give this room a thorough cleaning later, in my free time.

  The two larger bedrooms were of equal size, one decorated in pale pink and the other in lavender. The latter, with two dormers rather than one, had an edge over the pink one. A dark-stained Victorian bureau was fitted with a lovely white marble top and hinged mirror. A matching highboy chest, washstand, and nightstand beside an iron-framed bed completed the room. Years of sun and thick dust muted the drapes to a pale lilac color. I watched the clusters of lilac flowers on the wallpaper to see if they moved like in Cerise and Toby’s house. None did, or at least not while I watched.

  I pulled the dust sheet off the iron-framed bed. It was fitted with a fluffy feather bed over straw mattress and rope supports. Questioning the strength of the old, worn roping, I cautiously sat on the bed. Not only did it hold, but the soft support invited me to sprawl out.

  “Sleeping on the job already?” Cerise laughed and stepped into the room. “This was where Fenton stayed, Mom’s uncle. She took the pink room and helped him through his last years, then lived here more than a decade alone.”

  I sat up and pushed off the plush bed. “This room has a relaxed feeling, and I like th
e sunshine.”

  She grinned. “I knew this would be your choice.”

  While dusting, I discovered small things about my new room. When I replaced a hatbox filled with old photos onto a closet shelf, the lid tipped off and instead revealed a lavender flapper’s cloche hat. Upon closing and reopening the lid again, strands of long pearls and beads filled the interior. An old phonograph atop the chest set itself playing a cheery ragtime tune, and the beads rose like dancing cobras. I snapped the lid on, and at once the music stopped. I set the box on the shelf, stood back, and took a deep breath. “Just harmless spirits probably wanting some company.”

  “Aggie, did you say something?” Cerise called from down the hall.

  “I had a friendly encounter with a magic hatbox. That’s all.”

  She poked her head from the bathroom as she laughed, cleaning rag in hand. “That’s normal. You’ll find lots of those things. If you make friends with the house spirits, they might do nice things for you, like closing windows if a rain comes up or turning the oven off when your baking’s done. Mine do. Some witches I know even claim to get theirs to clean the kitchen or do the wash after the family goes to bed. But that might be wishful boasting.”

  “Good to know,” I called back and resumed dusting with a new outlook.

  Anxious about more encounters, I examined the rest of my room, the adjoining bath, and main hall. None of the house’s previous residents appeared. It seemed as if when I looked for spirits, they hid, but if I forgot about them, they appeared. That was my new theory, and so I concentrated on the more mundane cleaning chores. I carted loads of drapes, bedding, and rugs outside to shake until my arms ached. I washed woodwork and enjoyed uncovering the dark-stained oak grain.

  Cerise made the bathrooms and windows shine, helped me shake large rugs, and swept dust from the hardwood floors.

  After a few hours, we mopped ourselves down the stairs.

  “I’m starved.” Cerise headed to the kitchen. “I’ll get us some lunch.”

  While she prepared the sandwiches and other food she’d brought along, I gathered trash. Outside at the burning barrel, which stood a safe distance beside the shed, the yew-contaminated fabric lay at the bottom. I wasn’t sure whether burning was the proper disposal method for yew, but burying it seemed wrong. That might wake whatever dead lay in the nearby earth. I added what we’d accumulated as we cleaned and lit a fire.

  Once the flames died to a safe smolder, I joined Cerise on the back slab porch where we could keep an eye on the barrel. We ate and rocked in the rusty metal glider chairs as we basked in the afternoon sun. Its warmth made me thirsty, and I took a long drink of ice-cold homemade lemonade from a canning jar. Lemonade had never tasted better. “I might give these chairs a coat of paint come next spring.”

  She laughed through a mouthful of ham sandwich. “Spring plans already? I love your ambition.”

  “Hello,” a male voice called out. “Hello?” I recognized Logan’s voice rounding the side of the house.

  “Hello! Logan?” I replied and stepped off the porch to meet him as he turned the corner.

  “I just drove up to the haunted cabin and saw Cerise’s car. Thought I’d come offer a hand, if you need some help.” He nodded to Cerise.

  “We do need some furniture moved so we can clean behind.” She held out a tin of cookies. “We can pay in cookies.”

  “Well, that seems like a fair trade.” He selected one and took a bite. “Homemade oatmeal raisin. My favorite.”

  “Thank Aggie. She made them yesterday.”

  He faced me and bowed low at the waist. “Fair witch, I am under your cookie spell.”

  I felt heat in my cheeks as a giggle slipped from my lips.

  Logan finished the last bite, dropped to his knees, and lowered his arms to my feet.

  Waves of infectious laughter spread among the three of us. I hadn’t laughed that hard since I’d arrived in Coon Hollow. It felt good.

  After a few swigs of lemonade, we went inside, and Cerise directed Logan to scoot a tall pie safe cupboard away from a kitchen wall. While we swept, mopped, and dried the floor, he did the same with a glass-front mission-style bookcase in the parlor, and an oak hall tree in the foyer.

  When the pieces were replaced, he claimed one more cookie. “Aggie, if you need anything in the next month, I’ll be checking on the haunted cabin almost every day. I can always stop over.”

  “Thanks lots.” I wrapped up another cookie in a clean rag and handed it to him. “I appreciate the offer.”

  He accepted with a smile and a nod. “And you’re always welcome to come over just to make friends. The actors are a darned crazy bunch.”

  “Did you find Dulcie?” Cerise asked.

  “Yes, we did.” He looked down and his side swept blond hair fell across his face. “Around dawn over on the east side of the coven near the cemetery.”

  Cerise replied, “That’s a long way.”

  “How is she?” I asked.

  “Pretty shook up. She’s resting at her mother’s place. We haven’t gotten much information from her yet about what happened.”

  Cerise sighed. “At least she’s okay. And you have someone else to play her role for a while, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “I have an awesome crew.” He faced me. “Come by and meet them sometime.”

  I grinned and walked after him as he left through the front door. “I might just do that. I could use a few friends here.”

  He waved and headed off the porch in the direction of the carriage house. His long legs made wide strides through the side yard, until he came to a dead stop. “Aggie, Cerise, you need to come see this.” He pointed toward the shed in back.

  I ran out to meet him with Cerise not far behind. The smoke rising from the burning barrel had separated into two layers. Typical gray-white trash smoke rose above the treetops where the wind carried it southward. The other layer, an inky blue-black, hung low, only a few feet from the ground, and wound in a snaking pattern along the side of the shed toward the woods.

  “Don’t anyone breathe those fumes. I burned a cloth someone soaked in yew potion we found last night on the shed door. The way that looks, it could be dangerous.”

  Logan gave me a curious stare, his eyes narrowed.

  “Yew is used to raise the dead,” I replied.

  From a distance, he pursued the twisting smoke.

  Cerise and I followed close behind, and we all stopped in sight of where the indigo cloud threaded into the woods. “That’s where we picked up Dulcie’s trail last night.” He shook his head and looked from Cerise to me, the pale blue of his eyes turning gray.

  Chapter Four: Mama’s Pizzeria

  At the back door to Cerise’s house, Bud and Harry met me with handfuls of rocks.

  “Look, Aggie!” Bud lifted one as high as his five-year-old arm could reach. “We goth river stones. Can you make us some frogs?”

  I hesitated, tired from a long day of cleaning and despondent after finding the latest confusing and possibly threatening omen of the black smoke trail at the homestead.

  “Pleeeeease.” Bud fixed an irresistible pout on his round face.

  “Come on!” Harry planted himself in my path and shoved a handful of rocks under my chin. “I bet you can’t do it.” He waved a fist. “Bet you can’t. Bet you can’t.”

  With the combined effects of Bud’s extreme cuteness and Harry’s obnoxious insistence, I caved. Anything to stop their torment. Not wanting to reward Harry for his bad behavior, I selected a smooth stone from Bud’s hand.

  His face lit up with a wide, partially toothless smile.

  “Let’s go onto the porch.” I led them out of the kitchen. “I don’t think your mom wants frogs indoors.”

  In the enclosed back porch, I stooped on the braided rag rug with the two boys on either side.

  Cerise hung in the doorway to the house. From our hard day, her hair stuck out in all directions like the tufted brush we’d used to remove cobwebs from the wa
lls. I appreciated her helping me on top of keeping up with her three boys.

  I set the stone on the rug and covered it with my hand, adding a bit of sun energy until it warmed. I willed my intention through the network of that energy. For dramatic effect, I said, “With my witch’s gifts, I speed the circle of life. Rock to dust to Mother Earth to plant to frog. Blessed be our Mother for all life.” The smooth-skinned frog wiggled beneath my fingers and its breathing rate increased. I lifted my hand and sat back to allow the boys a full view.

  “Wow!” Harry snatched up the frog as it made a few hops. It filled his small hand.

  Bud looked at Cerise. “Mom, did you see? She did ith!”

  “I never doubted Aggie.” Cerise grinned and dutifully examined the frog, which Harry shoved at her.

  Toby and Dustin walked in from the backyard, and Harry ran to meet them. “Look it! Aggie made a frog from one of our river stones.”

  “Cool!” Dustin held his hands out to take the frog from his younger brother.

  Harry faced me. “If I say those words you said and send my energy, can I make a frog from stone too?”

  “If you want it bad enough.” I patted his back.

  Toby rubbed his wife’s shoulder. “You girls look tired. How about dinner out in Bentbone? Maybe pizza?”

  “Yeah! Pizza!” Dustin hollered, soon joined by the other boys.

  Cerise nodded. “Okay with me, if you give us time to clean up. We’re pretty grimy.” She sent me a questioning look.

  “I definitely need a hot shower, but yeah. It works for me.” I headed inside to the stairs.

  Bud ran after me. “Can you make one more frog firsth?” His lisp made me grin.

  “I will, but later. I’m hungry.” I trudged up the steps, my legs complaining against the weight of my boots.