Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3

by Marsha A. Moore

  “New Wish." Margaret nodded with a grin. "And she wants to be gone from home to learn to rely on her own wits. I’ve overheard. Smart girl.” She faced me, and her smile widened. “Please be welcome in our home, Aggie.”

  Cerise explained the situation about the Murdocks. Her handbag shook from her elbow as she wrung her hands. “What did you do to Ned Murdock that was so bad for Botilda to want revenge? And why on Aggie and not me?”

  “He’s been trying to scare me ever since I moved in here,” I added.

  "Oh, that," Margaret scoffed. Down the length of her thin nose, she scrutinized me.

  For nearly a minute, I shifted my weight from foot to foot while trying to decide whether she was angry with us.

  Then she snapped, “Who told you about that old tale?”

  “Fenton.” I waved a hand toward the ghost who leaned against one end of the bureau. Sweat beaded along my upper lip. I didn’t know who to trust. Fenton was cagey, and Margaret, evasive.

  “Fenton?" The old woman shook her head and let out a peal of laughter. "He’s still hauntin’ this place?”

  Cerise’s brow lifted. “He’s right here. Can’t you see him?”

  "No, can’t say—"

  “I can’t see Maggie either,” Fenton interrupted. “But I do hear her. Not being an empowered soul, like her, holds me back.”

  “Is he there now?” Margaret asked. “Fenton? Are you there?”

  “Mama, his soul didn’t become a house spirit so you can’t hear him." Cerise replied. "But he can hear you."

  “Oh. I see.” The woman twisted her crimson lips to one side. “Fenton Patrick O’Mara! What are you thinkin’ by foolin’ death?”

  “The banshee is after his soul and will hurt me in the process since I now live here in this homestead,” I explained. “That’s why we want to know if the Murdocks are involved. Mr. Murdock keeps reminding me that this house is cursed.”

  “Well. I don’t know exactly what Botilda might want." Margaret smirked. "Who ever could? But I do know Hypatia Meiklam got back at Ned for trying to ruin the wedding dress she was making for me. She asked my permission to stop his antics. I said yes, but never wanted to know what she did as long as no one got hurt. She agreed, not wanting to spoil my wedding day.”

  “Hmm.” I placed a finger along my temple. “That helps. Thanks. I need to have a talk with Hypatia’s spirit.” My thoughts zipped through the interactions I’d had with Hypatia. Nothing made clear sense.

  “You do that, dear. She’ll know more." Margaret faced her daughter. "Cerise, when are you going to bring your boys round again? I miss them.”

  “It was only last week, Mama.” Cerise smiled. “But soon.” Mother and daughter continued an ongoing conversation about family life.

  Logan and I moved to the door, but Fenton remained perched on the dresser, staring at the mirror. “He told me he can’t see her What’s with that?” I asked when we’d left the room.

  “Who knows?” Logan sneered. “He’s not all there. He should’ve either worked to empower his soul or be a man and accept death. I don’t have any use for him.”

  “I could tell that much.” I gave him a sidelong grin as we reached the foyer.

  “If anything ever happened to you, I’d . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, I just want you to be safe. And I don’t give a shit about him.” He glanced upstairs and then took a seat on the hall bench. “I want to hear if Cerise learned anything else before I leave.”

  I sat beside him, and he threaded his fingers between mine. The warmth of his touch zinged up my arm and lifted goose bumps.

  He stared at our coupled hands. “Aggie, you matter to me. Don’t risk yourself for that parasite.” He caught my gaze and held it with blue eyes so clear they reminded me of the forest pool. “I know you’re fighting for your independence. Don’t get me wrong. That’s great and something I love about you, but there’s no rush. Be safe and accept help. I’m here for you.”

  “Thanks.” He’d said he loved something about me. That was huge. I wanted to tell him how much I liked him, but words collided into a lump in my throat. I coiled my fingers tighter around his.

  Cerise’s heels pattered along the upper hall.

  Logan squeezed my hand, released it, and stood.

  “I didn’t learn anything much,” Cerise said when she reunited with us. “Just that Mama thinks Fenton is yellow and self-centered. Nothing we didn’t already know.” She rolled her eyes.

  Logan glanced at me. “Like I said.”

  Cerise pulled me into an embrace. “With Botilda after you, I’m doubly worried about you now. Will you change your mind and come stay with me and Toby?”

  I moved away and shook my head. “No, but thanks. I have to follow that riddle, and that means staying here.”

  “At least we know that Fenton will help you a little, if only to avoid Logan’s wrath.” She looked at Logan.

  “I think he knows the score now,” Logan growled under his breath. He paused with a hand on the door latch, and his chest heaved. “Aggie, I’ll be in touch in the morning about meeting with Keir, Rowe, and Jancie tomorrow night. Keir and Jancie agreed and Rowe needed to check on some Coven Council business first. Right now, we’re planning on meeting at Keir’s for dinner. Is that okay?”

  “Fine with me,” I replied.

  “Remember to call anytime if you need to.” His jaw tightened, and he opened the door.

  Cerise squeezed my arm and then left with him.

  I returned to the kitchen and my box of wand-making supplies and books. On top, sat a brown grocery sack of dinner Shireen had given me at the end of our workday. I placed the food by the sink, and the smell of navy beans seasoned with ham made me hungry. I removed the quart glass jar of soup along with baking powder biscuits wrapped in a clean dishtowel. I served the meal into dishes and placed them on the table along with one of her reference books.

  I poured over the text between spoonfuls of still-warm deliciousness. Shireen’s support, both with the books and food, heartened me.

  With my crude wand set on the table beside me, I paged through the book, reading more details of wand-making. At Shireen’s, I’d done the whittling to shape Nannan’s branch into my wand. Instructions from book to book varied, but they all agreed on a process called intuitive contouring. The approach needed to be subjective, maintaining or deviating from the original form as the witch desired. Initially, this guideline seemed too vague. I caressed the branching wand ends I’d chosen to leave natural, where peeling bark had exposed bare wood. Even with the most meticulous sanding and oiling, it would require years of use to match nature’s smoothness.

  More importantly, every time I used my wand, I wanted to remember Nannan had selected me to receive a piece of her. I wrapped my fingers around the rougher handle base and held the wand in front of me. Shortened from the original limb, it spanned a recommended length from my elbow to the tip of my middle finger. I studied the three branching tips, considering whether a crystal could be attached.

  The next chapter of the text described using crystals on wands. I flipped ahead and drooled over the pointed gem tips. They gleamed in a rainbow of colors, like the jewelry artisans made in New Wish to sell at local art fairs. One picture showed a wand with an amethyst crystal. That would look so cool with a pair of earrings I had. I poured over the book, searching for notes about amethyst. Aligned with Jupiter and Neptune and with the water element, the gem didn’t sound like a good match for my witchcraft. The gem encouraged dreaming, and would bring love, peace, and happiness into the bearer’s life. My heart sank. That all sounded lovely, something I could use to encourage Logan. He seemed interested in me, the way he’d held my hand, but I couldn’t be sure. I was just a plain girl from the tiny place of New Wish, who knew nothing about men. I sighed and lay the wand down. I needed to stick with my purpose: to make a strong magical tool that would help me fight the banshee.

  I spread more books over the table and did a search for
which gems served both my fire element and my purpose. One stood out in a big way: amber.

  I raced upstairs to my bedroom and removed my small wooden memory box of treasures from the nightstand drawer. I pushed aside both Gran’s locket and the first stone I’d been able to change into a tadpole and back again. I lifted an envelope which glowed white from comingled elemental energies in snips of hair from my parents, my brother, and me. I rubbed my thumb across the paper. Tingles of familiar warmth made me miss my family. As I set the envelope aside, my throat tightened. At the bottom of the box, lay an oval piece of amber. The faint glow from a tiny lightning bug shone from inside. I closed my palm around the gem for a few seconds, then rechecked to see the insect’s spirit shone brighter. My gran had given the amber to me on my tenth birthday, to commemorate the moment I reached my witch’s connection. My most cherished item in the box, because Gran had passed last year. Her magic had created this. She’d told me while the firefly’s magic is trapped inside, my fire element can pass through. I stared at the amber, half the size of my thumb. Would this be a good addition to my wand? Did I want to risk what might happen to this special gift?

  “That’s mighty fine, lass,” Fenton’s voice said from over my shoulder.

  I whipped around and clutched the amber to my chest. “I didn’t know you were there. Can’t you make some noise when you walk…er, glide? Or at least bang into some things in the room?”

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to give you a start. I’ll try to clatter about when I come out of me hatbox.” As he leaned closer, his black, wavy hair fell forward. “I’ll be! That’s a fireworm in there, magic and all.”

  I nodded. “Yes. It was a gift from my Gran for my magic attainment celebration. I’m thinking about adding this to my wand…you remember the branch I was carrying around yesterday. Do you know anything about wands or crystals?”

  “Can’t say I do. Maybe you should be asking Logan.” He huffed. “He seems to know ’bout everything…or thinks he does.”

  I shot him a frown and took my amber downstairs to the kitchen table. Attempting to ignore the ghost wafting around me, I stuck my nose in an open reference book. Half concentrating, I ran a finger along one page.

  “Learning anything of use?” Fenton asked.

  I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. “What’s it to you?”

  “The high priest has given me orders to help keep you safe,” he replied with a sour tone and a sneer, but his presence over my shoulder indicated genuine interest.

  I snapped the book closed and glared at him. “Stop acting so sour grapes. Logan’s just trying to protect me. That’s his job.” I did have to work with Fenton, but didn’t have to like his attitude.

  “Hmm.” He tilted his head. “There’s more to it than that. I saw that look in his eye. He’s sweet on you and will throw me to the dogs iffen I do you a hair o’ harm.”

  I smiled discreetly at his opinion of Logan. Had anybody else noticed or thought what Fenton sensed? Maybe Cerise. I couldn’t keep the warmth in check, and my lips curled into a grin. It’d be more fun to think about Logan all day, but I had more pressing things to get started on.

  I reopened to the gemstone chapter, located the passage, and read aloud, “Because amber is a fossil and was once a living thing, it has associations with time, cycles, and longevity. For that reason, not only is it aligned with the sun element, but also the fifth element, Akasha.”

  “Is that good?” he asked, his hand on my shoulder.

  I squirmed away from his contact, even if I couldn’t feel it. “Yes. The fifth element binds together Earth, Air, Fire, and Water—the ultimate source of power.”

  “Well then, I’d say your Gran’s amber might do well to boost your wand.”

  “I agree.” I ran a hand along the rough, whittled base of Nannan’s branch. “While it’s still daylight, I’m going to do some sanding on the back porch. Then, I’ll search for the keepsake. I could use your help with that.”

  “Aye. I’ll take a gander in the basement for it now.” He floated through the closed door to the lower level.

  I pulled on an apron and plunked myself onto a back step with wand in hand and a variety of sandpapers nearby. With the heaviest grit, I rubbed hard on the base. I checked periodically for odd motions of the trees or sudden gusts across the property. Only a bright blue sky deepened to azure and then cobalt as evening approached. Sawdust from my wand lifted into the air and reflected sunlight streaming across one eave of the roof. The particles glittered gold as if I’d imbued them with witchcraft. I marveled at the sight. The wand hadn’t been consecrated yet. I stroked one of Nannan’s smooth branch tips. Under my fingers magic vibrated. Hers or mine? Or both?

  My pulse raced, and I worked fervently until the dim light strained my eyes. I still needed to use the last two sandpaper grits and apply several coats of lemon oil. Despite the apron, dust covered my skirt. I removed my useless protection, gave it a good shake amid a hazy golden cloud, and brushed off my clothes. Inside, I stored my supplies in the kitchen but chose to keep the wand beside me. Even without consecration, it seemed to be functioning in some way.

  “Fenton?” I called.

  Outside the basement entry, he collided with me and lost his balance. “Sorry. I couldn’t see through the door.” His arms encircled me a little too long, especially for a ghost who should be able to see through anything.

  Disentangling myself from his vaporous limbs, which I could see but couldn’t feel, proved more than tricky, like pulling dandelion blowball fluff from my hair. My haptic sense of touch failed. I took an awkward step back and shook my head, trying to make sense of how a man who’d died nearly thirty years ago could be into me. Now I understood more why he and Logan didn’t like each other. Could they actually be jealous of each other? My mind spun at the thought of two men fighting over me. Just days ago, I’d felt so plain that no guy would ever like me. Now this. How could two men, who were so different, really like me? I clutched my temples to steady myself. I didn’t know whether to dance and twirl with all of the attention or hide in a corner.

  A hint of red seemed to flush Fenton’s cheeks, but his wispy form made it difficult to be sure. “I didn’t find much in the basement: old tools, canning jars and crocks, cauldrons of every size and shape.”

  “I had a thought,” I said on my way to the stairwell. “Yesterday, we searched in the coolest spots, where we thought the banshee had visited. Maybe we have it all wrong and should be looking in the warmest areas where the demon missed. Like the attic.”

  He nodded, floated ahead of me, and passed through the closed attic entry.

  I pried the door open and placed a foot on a rickety tread. A loud bang sounded outside at the front of the house. “Fenton!” I dashed to the first floor.

  Wand tight in my hand, I peered through the side window.

  A group of five young men about my age jumped over the split rail fence.

  I threw the front door open and ran onto the porch.

  They raced up the hill dividing my driveway from the carriage house lawn.

  In the dim light, I couldn’t recognize their features. I pointed my wand at them, and a familiar voice, staccato words of surprise, reached me as clear as if spoken into my ear.

  “That’s Aggie, the witch." The voice belonged to Eric from the pizza parlor.

  I cradled the wand close to my chest and sucked in a shallow breath.

  Chapter Fifteen: Bones and Stones

  I peered through the passenger window as Logan drove. A shiver shot through me. “The moon’s in first quarter tonight.” Its angular points threatened me like sharp steel blades.

  “October first.” He nodded, and his mouth twisted. “Thirty more nights before the Coon King’s riddle must be solved.”

  My hands shook, and Logan reached across the bench seat to hold the one nearest him. With the comfort of his warm, strong touch, the moon seemed to transform. Its glow highlighted the deep red of his sedan’s shiny hood. A lin
gering scent of wax hinted he’d spent time polishing his car that day. Was that to impress me? Butterflies tickled my stomach and drove off the last of my trembles. I squeezed his hand and, in return, received his handsome grin.

  We wound across rolling hills of small fields and pastures, then turned onto a twisty narrow lane. The corner sign read Owls Tail Creek Road. Dark tunnels of trees overhead blotted out the moonlight and any chance of spotting the creek.

  The old sedan handled the curvy road better than I did. With my free hand, I gripped the edge of the seat.

  From a heavy branch overhanging the road, a barn owl swooped at us, its breast snowy-white in our headlights. I gasped and reflexively lifted my hands to strike, fingers dripping golden sparks.

  Logan jerked my arms down. “Stop!” His reaction caused the car to swerve left and we headed for inky blackness.

  I gritted my teeth, imagining all sorts of hazards: a deep ditch; a tributary streambed; old-growth tree cover admitting no light.

  Logan clutched the wheel and cranked it hard. The Nash lurched away from the unknown. He slammed on the brakes. The car sputtered complaints until it died on a driveway inches behind an open-top roadster.

  “Phew! That was close.” Logan collapsed back against his seat, arms slack, head tilted upward. His chest rose, and he hissed an exhale through pursed lips. “At least we’re here and safe.”

  “I’m sorry.” I glanced at him, then the house. A red brick Victorian loomed large, commanding my attention. I murmured, “The owl—”

  “Belongs to Rowe.” He waved to the raptor as he fluttered to perch on the car ahead.

  He rotated his moonlike face toward us and gave a hoot.

  Logan leaned over the steering wheel. “That’s Busby, Rowe’s familiar. I can imagine how that looked to an outsider. A tremendous owl, wings spread, coming right for us.”

  Although he meant nothing hurtful, calling me an “outsider” struck a nerve, and I bristled.

  He grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. I hoped that meant he understood the reason for my sudden coldness. He looked up at the house and said, “I forgot to warn you about them. Which reminds me. This is Keir’s place, and he has a coyote for a familiar. Name’s Waapake, which means ‘to see.’ A Shawnee wise man gave the male pup to Keir when he completed his training.”