Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3

by Marsha A. Moore

  The young lady on the page, now fully painted, waved at me. Dark hair like Cerise’s was swept into a braided bun, the same style as Margaret appeared now in the bedroom mirror. In the book, she bent over the bed of an elderly woman whose whole body shook with raspy coughs. The young Maggie placed a hand on the older woman’s forehead. As the patient’s ailments quieted and she curled into a fetal position, pen and ink lines drew another illustration on the opposite blank page. Maggie kept her hand in place and faced the developing drawing. She extended her free arm until ink touched her outstretched fingers. Colors flooded the outlines and formed dozens of thumbnail paintings showing the ill woman in healthier times and younger days. It appeared as if Maggie channeled the elderly lady’s dreams and that produced a healing or calming effect on her.

  The vignette ended. I turned the page, wanting to see more about Margaret’s life, maybe a scene with Cerise. I twisted my mouth to one side, frustrated with the realization this would be unlikely since Cerise still lived. The book contained only images of those who’d passed. But the illustration gave useful insight. Margaret could enter other people’s dreams.

  With the coyote’s beryl at my wrist the previous night, I’d slept deeper than any night since moving in. I turned my wrist over. The gem’s center pulsed with light. I inhaled deeply. Another clue, but what did it mean? Was Margaret my ally or enemy?

  Lost in thought, I paced the room. Another issue to discuss with Shireen’s mother Hypatia tomorrow at work. Regardless of the answer, my witchcraft had to be as strong as possible, my senses sharp to unravel these mysteries…and fight at a moment’s notice. In the kitchen, I made another cup of wintergreen tea to stay balanced. I expanded my spell-work plans to use even more fire, a whole darned bonfire.

  When I finished all the tea and midnight approached, I hurried to the barn for a spade and a large bucket, which I filled with water from the hand pump. Supplies in hand, I marched to the old fire circle beside the barn. A dozen or so cars remained at the carriage house, so thankfully the small hill hid the area from view. In the barn’s flood light beam, I picked out ashy patches in the circle, one in the center and four others at the compass directions. Tonight, I only required the main pit and placed the full bucket close by. I dug out sod in a ring around where I’d build my fire. The contents of my overfilled pockets clattered with my efforts.

  “Hi, Aggie,” Logan’s deep voice called from behind. “Looks like you’ll be doing some fire spells tonight. Good idea.”

  Beside him walked a middle-aged man, equally tall but thinner. His jacket hung loose on his wiry frame. The man stepped forward and extended a hand to me. “Name’s Duncan, ma’am.”

  I read dedication and honor in his touch, which pleased me.

  “Duncan’s coordinating the patrols during operating hours,” Logan said.

  “Iffen you see me ’round, know I’m here to keep order and safety fer you.” Shrouded by thick, dark hair, the man’s face never seemed to catch the light, but the steady bass of his voice paralleled what I’d read with my haptics.

  “Thank you so much. It makes me feel safer.” I faced Logan. “Did you get to talk with Dulcie?”

  He kicked at a grass tuft. “I did. I have to find out more.” Even in the dim light, his eyes flashed with bursts of silver, which told me whatever he’d learned wasn’t good. Likely, Duncan’s presence prevented Logan from explaining.

  “Kin I help you lay that fire?” Duncan craned his neck to the sky. “’Bout time fer the witchin’ hour. Best get busy here.”

  “Yes. Thanks.” I waved to the near wall of the barn. “There’s a woodpile there, though it’s hard to see.”

  “Will grab some kindlin’ from the woods to get it to take hold.” The man lurched into the darkness.

  Logan drew near and asked, “Is everything okay tonight?”

  “Yes. I’ve found some new clues.” I checked my watch, which read quarter till midnight.

  “I can’t talk now.” He nodded toward Duncan and took a step toward the wood pile. “I’ll call when I get home if it isn’t too late.” His hesitation rattled my nerves to a new level of agitation.

  I took a deep breath and recalled the spells I intended to conduct, focusing on positive outcomes.

  We each hauled dry wood to the burning pit.

  The fire lay ready. It was time. “I’m going to start with a chant that’ll increase the power of my fire spells. If you know it, feel free to join in.” I grounded my feet hips’ distance apart, raised my arms, and opened my consciousness to the lunar element. I took three deep breaths, looked at the crescent moon, and allowed it to blanket me. “O stars whirling through the inky round. O power hiding beyond the light.”

  Logan’s smooth deep baritone and Duncan’s lower bass murmured the invocation.

  Heartened, I spoke louder. “O black curling on the dark ground. O ebony treasures and the owl’s sweet cry. O misty clouds of the circling sky. Come to me! Bring your shadowed light. Fill me with your magic power and enfold me with your arcane might. Be with me at this mystic hour.” I reached higher, then bent to the ground, my fingers caressing the earth at my feet.

  I rose, found a pad of matches in my pocket, and lit the kindling. The scraps caught hold quickly and soon flames licked the length of thicker branches. Despite the heat making sweat bead on my face, I shivered. A fire that was fast to light meant visitors were on their way.

  Logan’s hand steadied my shoulder. “Do your spell.”

  I nodded and visualized the fire bathing me in protective light, pulled it inside me to infuse my witchcraft. The fire’s strength and goodness created a shimmering sphere that included all of me, body and mind. I extended my palms. “Craft my spell in this fire. Craft it well and weave it higher. Weave it of shining flame, so none shall come to hurt or maim. None will pass my fiery wall. None at all.” I dropped my arms and leaned back into Logan’s solid chest to brace myself as the influx of power spread through me.

  I stared absently into the flames, preparing for my next spell. The fire burned to one side, and my heart leapt. That meant love might be in the air.

  I dug in my pockets and pulled out the three Depression glass figurines from the curio cabinet, one of each color to represent the three groups who opposed me.

  The bonfire crackled and spit. We stepped back. Duncan hung his head. He must’ve known as well as me, that meant misfortune lay ahead.

  From behind, Logan placed both hands on my shoulders. “Go on. Be strong.”

  I closed my eyes and stilled myself. When I looked at the flames again, it was with soft eyes. My mind rested, peaceful and accepting of the present moment. “Hear me, o blazing flames. As you dance, give me now the secret glance. Call upon my Second Sight, and make me psychic with your light.” I repeated the lines until my lids grew heavy.

  The fire rose higher, and at the same time, the center died down. This foretold what I expected—an ending to an ongoing problem still bothered me.

  I stepped closer and tossed the three glass figures into the burning outer ring.

  Three jagged bolts rose up.

  I jumped back and collided with Logan.

  Each flame burned separately, and I whispered in his ear, “That predicts a momentous event is about to happen.”

  He wrapped me in his arms.

  The three fires dropped instantly down to the ash bed. Only red coals remained.

  Chapter Eighteen: Stealing Souls

  At work the next morning, two customers’ cars were parked at Shireen’s. Carrying large sacks of sewing notions, I entered through the back door. Garments-in-progress littered much of the center workroom table, so I cleared one end for the packages. I nosed around the doorway to the showroom, caught Shireen’s eye, and gave a wave.

  Kandice Kelly, whom I’d met my first time at the carriage house, leaned over a clothes rack. She fingered a hound’s-tooth suit, fitted like the one clinging to her tall, trim figure.

  “Hello, Mrs. Kelly,” I said a
s I joined Shireen at the desk.

  “Well hello, Aggie.” She removed her reading glasses and let them dangle from a fine gold chain. “How nice to see you again. I’d heard Shireen hired you. A valuable asset, I’m sure, to both her and the community.”

  “Thanks. I really like working here. My mother’s a good seamstress and taught me a lot.”

  “Shireen says you’re enchanting the thread to make her winter garments warmer. I can’t wait to try some. Maybe you can point out which styles you’ve enhanced.”

  I slipped from behind the counter and led Kandice to the clothing. “Mostly jackets so far, including suit jackets, like the one you were looking at, as well as casual styles.” I waved toward another rack. “A few coats, too. More of those will be coming soon.”

  I sensed eyes on me and glanced over my shoulder.

  In the wall photo, Shireen’s mother, Hypatia, gave a single nod, her dark eyes twinkling. She’d returned.

  My heart leapt. I still needed to talk with her about Margaret’s wedding gown, but didn’t dare do so in front of customers.

  Since I’d seen Hypatia last, strands of her jet-black hair had worked loose from her low bun. Like a wild woman with tangled wisps framing her face and dancing eyes, she hardly resembled the stern, plain woman from my memory. Only the prim black blouse hinted at her previous upright appearance. What had changed? Did it have something to do with the recent actions of Boltida Murdock or her son Ned?

  The addition of more dangling clues frazzled my nerves. My leg muscles twitched and set off a throbbing ache at the site of the hex bite. Since learning Waapake’s vision and Keir’s prediction, I’d been doubly careful to balance my intake of sun and moon energies. I couldn’t understand the reason for this setback. Was it the energy from Hypatia? Or my subconscious mind fitting clues together without telling my thinking mind? I felt like I’d go insane if the customers didn’t clear out soon.

  “These are all lovely,” Kandice raved as she stroked each garment. “I couldn’t stop touching that houndstooth one, it felt so warm and inviting. It’s so good of you to enhance her selections with your New Wish magic.”

  “There’s nothing good about New Wish magic being here in Coon Hollow,” a venomous female voice snapped from the adjacent front room.

  The familiar poison triggered my protective reflex, and my nostrils flared from the rancid stench wafting toward me. Magic shot into my fingers and lifted the tapered ends of my newly-cut hair around my face. In a wall mirror, I looked like a lion with its mane on end, ready to pounce.

  “Aggie Anders, haven’t you left town yet?” The pointy nose of Gladys Blinkhorne preceded the rest of her bony frame as she rounded the corner into the main room. “Given all the evil you’re attracting, you either have a strong spine or insufficient intelligence that’s keeping you here.” She punctuated her statement with a shrill cackle. “I expect it’s the latter.”

  “Nonsense.” Kandice stiffened and looked down her own graceful nose at the old biddy. “My husband Art and I are firm believers that all who seek to build the community are welcome.” Her supportive words calmed the outward display of my magic, but inside I still seethed at Gladys’ rude remark, like a lidded pressure cooker ready to blow.

  “Hmpf. We shall see soon enough which of us is correct.” The old councilwoman addressed Shireen. “Being warm-natured, I’m in no need of your current line of winter-wear.” She headed to the door. As she opened it, the ringing of its tethered bells halted mid-peal, as if their vibrations were sucked from the air. “I think your competitors’ garments might be more to my liking this season.” The door slammed behind her. The bells rang with tenfold their normal volume, so loud I clapped my hands over my ears.

  “Oh, that’s Gladys,” Shireen remarked.

  When we’d recovered from the painful noise, Kandice slid an arm into the hound’s-tooth jacket. “Oh, do you have a larger size? This one seems a tiny bit snug.”

  Shireen whipped a tape measure from her apron pocket. “Not at the moment. We can make—”

  “No. I must’ve been wrong.” Kandice pulled the garment over both shoulders and buttoned it at the front. “It fits perfectly.” And it did. As if made for her elegant long arms and torso.

  Brow raised, Shireen eyed me, and I covered my mouth to hide a too-wide smile.

  “I’ll take it. I just know it’s going to be my new favorite.” Kandice lay the item on the counter and pulled out her billfold. “And please custom-make a full-length dress coat in black melton and a camelhair suit in the style like those in navy. You should have my sizes from last season, and I’ve worked hard to keep them the same.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Kelly.” Shireen beamed. “I’ll have the order ready in about a week.” She scribbled down the details and handed her customer a copy.

  “And I want your magic in every garment.” Kandice touched my arm. “Don’t listen to that old hag Gladys. You’re doing a wonderful service for our coven.” She deposited a stack of bills on the counter. “This is to cover the jacket, along with fifty percent down on the custom order, plus twenty percent more for Aggie on my entire purchase.”

  “Oh, thank you.” My heart swelled, not only to be paid extra, but to have my work appreciated.

  Shireen’s round cheeks looked as if they’d pop from her wide grin. “Please pass the word along about Aggie’s contribution to our winter clothing line.”

  “I most certainly will.” Kandice clamped her purse shut and, package in hand, walked with strong strides to the door. A scent of lilacs trailed behind her. The bells rang with their usual pleasant music as she left.

  “You put your magic into that jacket so it’d fit the wearer, didn’t you?” Shireen asked the second the door closed.

  “Seemed like a good idea.” Not wanting to gloat, I tried unsuccessfully to subdue a smile.

  “A great idea! And pleasin’ Councilman Kelly’s wife could do us both a world of good.” Shireen patted my shoulder. “She’s Coon Hollow’s high society leader, case you don’t know.”

  With a grin plastered on my face, I bobbed my head. Kandice’s appreciation would do a lot to help others like and respect me. “Oh! Shireen, I almost forgot. I got your sewing notions.”

  “And you got your ears lowered, too.” She ran a hand along the tapered cut at the front of my hair. “Looks good.”

  “I didn’t know if there were rules about hair, if it had to be in some Thirties style.” I moved into the workroom, and she followed.

  “For us old-timers, yes. Not so much for you young folk.”

  “And I got this.” The corners of my mouth curled as I modeled my new brown canvas messenger bag. “And a few clothes like girls wear today.” I quickly added, “For when I’m not in public in the coven.”

  She motioned for me to raise the bag to her outstretched hands. “Mighty nice bag. Shouldn’t be no problem. And I don’t see why you can’t wear some unapproved clothes since you aren’t a coven member. Just take care to wear your garb accordin’ to your company.”

  “Not around Gladys Blinkhorne and her cronies, you mean,” I replied with a snort.

  We shared a laugh.

  “I’ll be leavin’ for Vika’s in a few minutes.” The laughter faded fast from Shireen’s voice. “She and I are gonna try to remove Botilda’s possession of my Tiber.” She stared across the room, eyes blank, as she absently fingered the untied seam ends on a new garment. “I don’t know what I’ll do if it don’t work. I want my kitty back.”

  I rubbed Shireen’s shoulder. “Do you need me to help with the unbonding?”

  “Thank you, kindly, but no. Until he’s free, your presence could set him runnin’ away from us.” She snuffled and wiped a teary eye. “’Sides, I need you to do some work while I’m gone. With the weather turnin’ chilly, customers are wantin’ their orders filled. I’ve laid out projects for you: enchantin’ warmth into spools of coat thread, buttons, toggles, and zippers. Iffen you get those done, I left some hemmin’ handw
ork on the center table.”

  “No problem. I’ll keep things going here.” I wished I could do more to alleviate Shireen’s concerns. If it wasn’t for me, the cat never would’ve been bonded to Botilda. I fumbled for words. “I’m sure Vika can fix Tiber.”

  “Hope so.” She honked into a handkerchief, then ran a thumb across the decorative embroidered edging. “Mother’s hanky. Sure does make me feel better to have a bit of her with me today. She’s been back in her picture, grumblin’ about how she’ll have to fight with Botilda Murdock for all of eternity.”

  “I noticed.” I bounced on my toes, itching to get to Hypatia’s picture. “I can’t wait to talk to her. Did you tell her Botilda has possessed Tiber?”

  Shireen sniffed. “Said she could smell that witch’s magic on my familiar soon as he bit you. She demanded to know why you didn’t come in to work yesterday. I told her the truth, but more than once she asked if you’d be here today.”

  “Did she say anymore? Did she ask anything specific? Like about Margaret’s wedding dress?”

  Shireen shook her head and took the handle of a large tote bag.

  “Well, I’ll find out what she wanted.” I glanced toward the main room and hoped the tote signaled Shireen would leave soon.

  Shireen looked down at the bag’s contents. “Them are Tiber’s favorite things: a large stuffed mouse toy with half-chewed off ears; cardboard tube from an old-style fabric bolt to hide in; a faded baby blanket he likes to curl in. Vika wants them to help him not be so skeered once unbonded. She said he’s likely to feel some shock.” She stooped and pulled out a blanket corner. “Had this since he was a kitten.”

  I shifted my weight from side to side. “That’ll be a real comfort to him when his spirit awakens.”

  “Well, I guess I should be goin’ now. It’s early, but I don’t want to chance bein’ late.”

  I exhaled an inner sigh and walked her to the shop’s door.

  “If you need me, Vika’s number’s on the open notebook there at the desk.”