I placed it over the bark pattern and covered it with my palm. Intuition led me to spend a little of my precious sun energy, and I infused the leaf.
Tickling movements traced the creases of my palm.
I struggled to keep my hand against the matriarch tree. I closed my eyes to concentrate on the shapes being drawn against my skin.
Words formed. “To be,” I said aloud and pressed my cheek to the trunk. “Challenged.” Swelling tree energy throbbed in my ear. “And stronger.” The matriarch crystallized my goals into a mantra and a symbol I could use in my meditations.
When sensation diminished to the usual rush of power down the trunk’s veins, I cautiously peeled my palm away. With the special leaf still in my hand, I hugged as much of the tree as I could, sending it a silent thank you.
“Impressive!” A male voice chortled behind me. “Nannan drew you a sigil.”
I spun around and plastered my back against the supportive tree, no matter how much I wished to be challenged.
Chapter Ten: King of the Hollow
On the trail, three feet from where I stood, a full-grown raccoon snuffled its wet, black nose at me. I scanned the immediate area for the man who’d spoken, but only birds flitted between branches.
The coon cocked its head to one side. “Lass, you don’t seem to be following your wish.” By its large size, I guessed the critter to be a male. An old one with a grizzled muzzle where the typical black eye patches met his jaws.
I flattened my back against the trunk and dug my fingernails into the bark. “Are you some witch’s familiar?” I’d encountered plenty of rabid coons, and could defend myself with no problem, but after the incident with Tiber, I was wary of any animal who talked.
“Me? Shoo, no.” The critter rubbed a paw over his snout and twitched his gray whiskers that extended twice the width of his head. “Never was and never will. Though I’ve known me a few who were decent sorts. I’m Cyril the Raccoon King, namesake of this here hollow. I lead wildlife in these parts. Though these matriarchs seem to do as they please.” He rounded the side of the great sycamore and doused her with his scent and laughed. “I try.”
I caught a whiff of the pungent odor, and I stepped onto the path. “I’m Aggie.”
“And you live in the Murray-O’Mara homestead.”
“How’d you know that?”
“The wind and me are good friends.” He circled a paw, as if to add meaning to the cryptic answer. Whatever he intended was lost on me.
“There’s no wind now. How’d you know I was in the woods?”
“Nannan’s actions ripple ‘cross hundreds of acres. Her roots connect to thousands of trees. No one enters Coon Hollow’s woods without me knowing.” He waddled onto the trail ahead and raised his fur to appear twice his size. “What business do you have in my woods?”
“I heard a stream and was trying to find it.” I pointed past him.
“Just ’round the next bend.” He gestured with his snout, then shot me a scowl. “But that ain’t what you came for, is it?”
“No. I just wanted to take a walk.” Uncomfortable with his prying, I took a step to leave for home and glanced back at the design on the sycamore’s trunk. My sigil. I wanted to use it in my meditations. I fumbled in my jacket pockets and found a scrap of paper but had nothing to write with. Along with the paper, I shoved the guide leaf into my pocket.
“Tell me why you came, and I’ll show you how to copy that sigil.” The coon king plopped his heavy bottom onto the middle of the path and scratched the side of his neck. His persistence unnerved me.
What did I risk by telling him? No one had mentioned this coon king. “I needed to sort out some small problems. That’s all.”
“What problems would they be?” His shiny nose sniffed the air, as if trying to figure something out about me.
I shifted my weight from side to side. Heat flooded my face and fingers, sun energy I couldn’t afford to lose. Giving up on the sigil, I took a stride toward home.
A low snarl sounded on my heels. Raucous animal noises assaulted my ears. Screams, growls, caws, howls from every direction. I stopped and clamped hands over my ears. My eyes darted in all directions, but saw no movement. As I turned back toward the coon king, all noise ceased. I reeled, dizzy with the sudden change.
Cyril sat where he’d been before and licked fur along one paw. “I’m sure you know what troubles you, but take your time.” His apparent indifference to the potential dangers frustrated me. Did he control the animals’ actions in this forest? And my journey through it?
I suspected he did. Trapped, my powers boiled under my skin. Sparks dripped from my fingertips and set dry leaves smoldering with a sharp, sappy scent. “What do you want from me?” The rush of energy from my speech flattened his whiskers against his head.
He raised the groomed paw. “Hold there!” His black nose sniffed toward Nannan, then me. “You talk with trees, and I can’t. I need your help to serve them better. In turn, I can help with your challenges.”
“I don’t want help,” I spat. “I need to learn how to solve my own problems.” Electricity crackled along wisps of hair worked loose from my braid. This interaction with the coon proved to be a real challenge. I took a breath, recalled my sigil, and tried to accept the moment as a learning experience.
Cyril crawled a few feet closer. “Yes, yes. Of course I won’t be solving your problems. Only giving you a few clues here and there.”
Sweat beaded on my face and neck. The cooling effect stabilized my external fire, but more rose from inside me. On guard against Cyril, I was spending too much. A pang shot from my hexed leg, and I turned to leave with a pronounced limp. “I’m not interested.”
“Wait!” he called after me. “You’re hurt. I can help.”
I stopped and turned while fumbling to untie the sleeves of my jacket at my waist and pulled it on. Clammy with sweat under the jacket, at least I could conserve some sun energy.
“After the trail bend, the stream widens into an open pool. It collects light from sun and moon. Should strengthen a sun witch like you. Critters drink there to heal wounds.” He motioned a front paw. “Come.”
I hesitated, weighing the choices: spend my dwindling energy on getting as close to home as possible, or follow him and trust. Trust was the sticking point. Vika’s notes had included directions on how to make sun and moon waters for me to bathe in. The idea of a forest pool based on that magic seemed possible. But the fact that this coon king had tried to hold me captive made me uncomfortable.
A gust of wind scooped leaves from the quiet forest floor, sending them after Cyril.
I craned my neck and looked high into Nannan’s boughs, which swept in his direction. She’d proven herself my ally, so I heeded her prompt.
Cyril lumbered ahead, tangling his legs a few times when he looked behind. Unlike his measured speech before, he chattered incessantly. “Folks from all over the Hollow and beyond seek out my advice. Just ask Keir, the seer witch. He knows. Have you met him?”
“Yes. At a party.” I kept the coon’s pace, or he kept mine, as much as he checked on me. My leg hurt, stiff with increasing pain. The walking stick now served as a sturdy cane. The forest pool’s magic needed to work, or I’d not make it home. My head ached, and I labored to breathe.
As promised, when we rounded the bend, the stream came into view, gurgling its way over smooth stones. To one side, it passed into a small glade where the tree canopy opened onto a reflecting pool. When I stooped at the bank, I frowned. Six feet wide and ordinary in shape with a slight murky green-brown color, the pool didn’t look remarkable. Bracing with my staff, I leaned over the edge. I wore a halo. A circlet of sparks, like droplets of golden mist, hung from the ends of my wispy hair.
“Pretty girl, who shouldn’t suffer so.” Cyril gestured to the far bank. “Look there.”
“Oh, my!” I lifted a free hand to my mouth. The surface revealed images of both the sun and the waxing crescent moon, near its first qua
rter. “How can it reflect both?”
“Always has, at least until thick winter clouds cover the sky. Enough light gets stored in the pool’s water to cast their faces.” He dipped a front paw in and scattered the images. “It’s plenty safe. Give it a try. Should help you.”
I rippled the water with my fingers. The liquid caressed my skin like velvet, soft and soothing. My body relaxed; the throb in my head gave way to a gentle, meditative hum. “It’s helping.” I grinned. “Would it be okay for me to put my hurt leg in?”
“Don’t see why not? Plenty of critters do.” He rolled his weight backward onto his wide bottom, bracing himself upright with muscular haunches. “I’ll keep watch so others don’t surprise you.”
After a momentary glance around the clearing, I shed my boots and socks and rolled up the legs of my jeans. I submerged both feet and held my breath, which caught in my throat as a luxurious cooling sensation licked my swollen ankle. I scooted forward allowing the water to cover the extent of the cat bites, and my chest relaxed and brought a full, deep breath. The swollen shin and calf shrunk, as though the water removed toxins from my battle with the hex. Or maybe the hex itself. I was hopeful. “This is amazing.” I flashed the coon king a weak smile held back by my guilt for not having trusted him.
Cyril grinned and bowed his head. “Glad to help.”
As I leaned over and gazed into the pool, light caught on coins, pebbles glinting with mica, and quartz crystals. “Are these offerings?”
“Yes, to keep the magic alive.”
I dug in my pocket and threw in a quarter, offering my own silent prayer of thanks to the Mother, for her water springs that restored health. The coin winked a few times in the sunlight before sinking to the bottom.
While I soaked for several minutes more, Cyril rambled on about numerous examples of the healing abilities of this water. I nodded and added a word or two to keep him going and extend my time in the water.
When the skin of my toes wrinkled, I pulled out. “That was wonderful. Thank you.”
“Good. Let’s be heading you for home now.”
When I’d dressed, he led me back to Nannan.
I touched a hand to her solid trunk and shot a zip of energy to convey my thanks.
A vibration replied. I closed my eyes to concentrate. This time, words drew not on my palm, but inside my mind. I said them aloud as they revealed to me. “You’re welcome.” I leaned into the sycamore as she spoke through me. “And I’m proud to bear the fresh marking of such a fine king.”
Cyril bowed low to the matriarch. “After all the years, times I’ve talked to her for hours, I don’t have words.” He rose and faced me. “Thank you. And in turn, I’ll help you. To imprint your sigil, place the guide leaf overtop.”
I found the leaf in my jacket pocket and did as directed.
“Press your hand onto it like before. Wait a minute, then remove it.”
When I peeled the leaf off, it showed the sigil pattern. I smiled and secured it in my pocket.
“I hope to see you again, Aggie.” He looked along the trail toward my home. “I think we have much more to share.”
“Yes. I’ll be back soon.” I wrapped a hand around my walking stick. “How will I find you?”
“Through Nannan. She can send word through her roots to roots of others over the whole hollow. I want to give you a bit of advice. Only fair, in trade, like I said before. The forest pool told me your troubles.”
I knelt, and he placed a paw on my good knee.
“A riddle of sorts, from the wind: The near homestead has a spirit and a keepsake, both wanted by the dark beyond. Find use of them before October’s second first quarter comes awake, and you’ll gain the notch you wish in your wand. Fail and your powers will break, under curse of the dark bond.”
Reciting the verse aloud and then to myself, I tilted my head trying to comprehend. “Could the dark beyond be the banshee who’s been seen around?”
He nodded. “Or many other messengers. I don’t know more. Only what the wind is willing to share.”
“A spirit and a keepsake that I need to find in that house in just over a month. Hmm.” I sighed and rose. “Might be time to finish those cleaning jobs I put off. But there’s one problem. I don’t have a wand. Never have.”
Cyril rubbed his back against my walking stick and chortled. “Seems like you have found one today. Fashion this limb of Nannan’s into your own, to channel your fiery sun.” He lowered his snout to sniff the trail. “Now, meet your challenges.”
With a nod and a wave, I set off in the direction of home. My strength restored, I walked as strong as when I’d entered the forest. I sprang onto the lawn with my head buzzing over Cyril’s clues and armed with both wand and sigil.
Eager to search for the keepsake and research wand-making, I increased my pace. Dusk had plunged the side of the house into darkness.
A bang came from the front porch.
I raced around the corner, the walking stick kicking up clods.
No one was there. Again, the empty rocking chair swung back and forth on its rockers.
I darted past the porch and turned at the far corner of the house.
Nothing. Stillness. Not even a breeze.
I pushed on to the back wall. My heart thumped against my ribs. I unlocked the kitchen door, opened it, and peered into the darkened house.
A thud reverberated from upstairs.
Chapter Eleven: Old-world Pearls
I crept into the dim kitchen, which was lit through the open door by the shed’s floodlight. Rustling noise came from upstairs. My pulse throbbed in my temples. I took the steps one at a time, slowly shifting my weight to prevent creaks from the old boards. One groaned under my foot. My breath stuck in my windpipe.
I arrived at the second floor and paused to listen.
The noise continued. From my bedroom.
With a sweaty hand, I gripped my walking stick and lifted it to use as a club. It might convey my magic like a wand, but this wasn’t the time to find out. I tiptoed to the bedroom door.
Banging and shuffling came from inside. A thief? Or maybe the banshee was looking for the keepsake?
I fueled my hands with fire until my nails glowed and waited for more clatter to hide the noise of my next move. When a crash resounded from inside, I threw the door open.
An apparition, not a banshee, stood at my open closet door, facing me. Unless a banshee could be a startled-looking man in his late-twenties wearing a well-tailored suit.
He froze and stared at me through one eye, visible beneath a smart fedora cocked low on his forehead. Banshees I’d seen were females who wore flowing gowns and possessed long, wild hair. Ominous and ethereal messengers of the world of the dead. Although vaporous, this man didn’t chill me with the call of death, but threatened me in roguish manner. He looked every inch the ladies’ man with wide shoulders highlighted by his trim suit jacket and a clean-shaven square jaw. Maybe banshees here were different.
For a few long seconds, neither of us spoke. I stared back, not wanting to blink and miss any movement the spirit, whether banshee or deceased relation, might make.
Thick black hair contrasted with his complexion and heightened his ghostly look. Several strings of opera-length pearls hung over his necktie and crisp French-cuffed shirt. On the top of the nearby bureau, another strand hung from the side of a hatbox. The magical box I’d opened while cleaning the closet shelf days before.
With no movement other than a brilliant white smile, he said, “Hello. You must be Aggie.”
A spirit who knew me? I dug the fingernails of my free hand into my palm. “Who are you?” I sent more fire energy to my hands until the skin pained from the heat. House spirits of deceased relations did know the current residents but inhabited inanimate objects. What sort of ghoul was he? Sweat beaded on my upper lip.
“Oh, forgive my poor manners.” He touched the wide brim of his hat. “I’m Fenton O’Mara, departed great uncle to Cerise. I stayed in this
room through my last years. Lovely isn’t it?”
I took two steps closer, planted my feet, and shot him a glare. “It is, and I don’t like you in my room. Get whatever old stuff you need, but I’d like to ask you to leave and not return.”
“My pretty lass, I’m sorry, but I can’t abide by that request.” The corners of his lips curled lifting a pencil-thin mustache.
“Why not?” I waved a fiery hand at him, hoping the flames could frighten a ghost.
For an instant, his brows met and raised his hat. I was encouraged until he took a seat, looking comfortable on a toile wing chair with his legs crossed and manicured fingers folded into his lap.
My threat didn’t seem to faze him, but I kept it ready in case he was bluffing.
He cleared his throat. “It seems to me that it is I who should be asking you to leave. But that wouldn’t be gentlemanly to cast a lady into the street.”
My hair, a messy loose braid after being caught on forest twigs, charged with fire and lifted all around my head.
He chuckled. “That’s quite a hairstyle. Very becoming. Like a golden goddess of passion. I’ll bet you’re a wild one when it comes to love.” He laughed harder and drew a hand to his chest. “Dear me. I’d almost be afraid, but I’ve handled plenty of ardent ladies, and I doubt your magic can harm me.”
I hurled a fireball at him that zipped straight through his head and charred the lilac wallpaper behind. He had to be a banshee. And he could remove all of my powers. At a loss how to defend myself, I considered running. But to where? The haunted house wasn’t open on weeknights. The only neighbor, old Mr. Murdock, probably wouldn’t be willing to help me. I had no idea how to drive. Perhaps I could manage a call to Cerise or Logan and meet them down the road. Maybe. I swallowed hard.
“No doubts now.” Fenton twisted around. With one pass of his hand, he repaired the burn mark. He faced me, rearranged his seat, and raised an open palm. “Forgive me. I’m not making a good impression. Let me explain my dilemma before you judge me.” Against my will, his gaze held mine in a spell with his bedroom eyes so brown and deep I dropped into them, probably like many women before.
Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3 Page 40