Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3

by Marsha A. Moore

  “I know Ma insisted upon she and I doing more community service than most women. And she refused to teach me more than the basics of oneiromancy, no matter how I begged. Said it would bring me trouble.” Cerise shook her head. “But, a curse…”

  “Hypatia said Maggie worked hard to protect her family from the curse. She even sent Ellie’s and Dodie’s spirits into their own dream worlds to keep the banshee from abusing them.”

  “Ma did work day and night. I’ve always thought she went senile from all the time spent inside other people’s dreams.” Cerise stared with blank eyes across a field of golden cornstalks. “I was about five when Grandma died, and I never knew Dodie. I knew neither were granted empowerment of their souls when they passed so they weren’t around as house spirits. Ma always held that up to me to scare me into studying and serving the coven. But I don’t know if she protected their souls. She did that to many lesser witches on their deathbeds, so it’s possible. Maybe she kept that from me, just like she kept me from her dream magic.”

  “Hypatia said Dodie and Ellie’s souls are in the cemetery, frozen in their dream worlds. Is that true?”

  “It’s true that they’re there. I don’t visit them much because they can’t interact unless Mama invites them, and I didn’t really know them. But about them being locked in their dreams, no idea. They talk but don’t make any sense. I always thought it was dementia brought on by their oneiromancy.” She shivered and looked at her hands. “More than likely that runs in my family, which is probably why I don’t visit them. Don’t want to face the idea that may be my fate, too.”

  I reached over and took Cerise’s hand and wanted to say something to comfort her, but no words came.

  After a moment, she sighed. “If it’s true my family was cursed, what do you have to do with it?”

  “I’m still trying to understand. What I know from Hypatia is that, like the O’Mara women living in the homestead as outsiders, I’m involved in the dark magic of the curse. Keir and his coyote predicted I’m destined to battle the banshee in an attempt to break the curse.”

  “Oh, Aggie.” Cerise leaned over and scooped me into her arms. “That’s so dangerous. And too much for one witch. It’s my family; I should be responsible. Can’t I help you? Regardless of their visions?” She sat back, eyes fixed on mine.

  “To break the curse, I need to be accepted by those who don’t want the curse broken. Community service will help me with that. Or at least give the old biddies, who probably want the curse to remain, less to criticize me for. You can help me find ways to volunteer in the coven. As for connecting to the spirit world, I’m not sure. I hope I can learn more at the cemetery.”

  Cerise dabbed at mascara puddling in the corners of her eyes. “I’ll make some calls today, including to Logan, and set you up for service work. I’m sure he can find ways for you to help out at the carriage house even tonight. Does he know what you found out about the curse?”

  “Yes. I called him. He cautioned me to stay away from Ned Murdock and not go to the cemetery alone.”

  “Definitely.” She gave a single nod and moved the car onto the road. “And I need to have a long talk with Ma.”

  During the rest of the drive, Cerise chewed on her lower lip. Odd that she didn’t offer to go with me to the cemetery. Perhaps her fears were too great. If so, she’d likely be more of a problem than an aid to me. Or maybe I should heed her avoidance and be more afraid.

  ***

  At three o’clock on the dot, Toby pulled the dark green sedan, my Nash, into the dress shop parking lot. I jumped up from where I waited on the porch and poked my head inside to call goodbye to Shireen.

  She scurried out with her cat Tiber close behind, who hugged her heels now that Boltida’s possession had been removed.

  I ran to meet Toby. He’d washed the car, and its hood shone like waxy green holly leaves.

  I took a step toward the passenger side, but he opened his door and leaned his lanky torso out, “No you don’t. Get over here. You’re the one driving this flivver.”

  Giddy, I tripped over my own feet, but managed to arrive at the driver’s side without falling. I took the seat he vacated, and tested different ways to grip the steering wheel.

  “First, adjust your seat and then the mirrors.” With nimble, thin fingers, he helped me find the adjustment levers before continuing instruction about other driving controls. “Have you driven anything before? A truck at home?”

  “Yeah, Dad’s old truck, but just from the barn to the field and back during hay season.”

  “That counts. You’ve used a clutch, right?”

  “The peddle at my left foot?”

  “Exactly. Now let me get to the passenger side and we’ll start her up.” Once situated, Toby patiently took me through steps of starting the car and getting it into first gear.

  The car lurched and chugged and stalled several times. With the car at a dead stop, I rubbed perspiration from my brow. “What am I doing wrong?”

  “It’s a matter of learning how this particular clutch feels. How much to let it out as you press the accelerator. It’ll come with practice.”

  Finally, I got us moving in first gear and drove the entire circular turnaround.

  From the porch, Shireen clapped and hollered, “Woohoo!”

  “Okay, take us down the drive and shift to second.” Toby’s long legs relaxed open, but his left arm twitched as if ready to grab the wheel.

  Barely rolling onto the long, wooded lane, I glanced at the shifter, to make sure I knew where to find the gear, and went through the steps. I released the clutch too fast, and the sedan pitched forward, but I redeemed myself with a smooth stop at the road. “Which way?”

  “You pick, but we’ll stay in the coven. The sheriff stays clear of our territory, not liking to be involved with magic. Our Coven Council takes care of most of the policing here, so you don’t need a driving permit. If you drive out of the coven, you’d need one.”

  “I’d like to see where the cemetery is.”

  Toby checked his watch. “We only have half an hour before I need to get back to your house and head home. Turn left, then at the dead end, make a right. Stay on that road for a couple miles.”

  I navigated the turns like an elderly driver. But once on the main road, I pressed on the accelerator, and jerked us into third and then fourth gears. When I reached forty-five miles per hour, the engine purred, as if it knew I was a woman on a mission.

  The car hugged the curves well, though Toby placed a hand on the dash. “What’s the rush? Slow down. Some of these curves are tight.”

  “No rush.” I didn’t want to go into the involved story I’d told Cerise. “I’m just curious what the cemetery looks like since I’ve heard so much about how you can talk to the spirits there.”

  “Fine with me. In another mile or so, we’ll merge onto a smaller road, Memories Lane.”

  I turned where he indicated and soon the cemetery came into view. Bordered by coven farms on three sides and a woodlot on the other, the cemetery stood quiet. “Do we have time to look around?” I held my breath.

  Toby checked his watch again. “A couple minutes. Park over there under that tree.”

  I followed the gravel driveway back a hundred yards. Between stubbly remains of cornfields, wide limbs of a lone sugar maple hung over a small lot. Not in tune with how much pressure I needed to stop at the current speed, the brake grabbed and threw our shoulders forward.

  “We can have a look from the gate, but it’ll take too much time to go in,” Toby said.

  I didn’t understand what he meant until I stepped out of the car. Lilting voices, almost in song, floated to us. Many sweetly called Toby’s name and begged him to visit with them. A short distance beyond the tree, stood a massive black gate. Smoldering autumn brush fires at neighboring farms tinged the air with the smell of burnt sap. I held out my hand to touch the wrought iron leaves forged in circular swirls.

  He batted my arm down. “Don’t to
uch the gate! It might open, and we’ll have a hard time getting away from all the spirits wanting to talk.”

  “Does it open for everyone?” If the gate was protected by a spell, I wanted to know how to open it.

  “Only for coven members, folks who know the dead.”

  I wasn’t a coven member. Were there spirits I knew here? None personally, unless Hypatia was visiting. I scanned the area, keeping my haptics open in case vibrations hit me.

  The cemetery occupied at least four acres, possibly more. I couldn’t determine a good estimate with all the rolling hills. Mazes of boxwood-lined pea gravel paths cut in all directions between marble statues. Some in the likeness of adults, some children, and others as animals who were once familiars. Closer statues nodded and waved to us. Energies of the spirits crowded the air, and hairs along my arms lifted and tingled with their vibrations. A torrent of readings confused my haptics. Afraid to blink, for fear of what might happen, I could understand why Cerise didn’t like the place. I could only imagine what would happen after dark and what new knowledge would become visible among the shadows.

  Toby pointed to a central circle marked with steppingstones that paid homage to the four pagan gods of the compass directions. Benches and columns of elaborately carved limestone decorated the perimeter.

  I walked along the gate to gain a better view. “Lord of Air to the east, Lord of Fire to the south, and Water and Earth at the west and north. It’s lovely. I wish I could see more.”

  “Another time.” He nodded toward the east, past the cemetery. “Over there, that limestone and frame house is where Logan lives. His family home. A good place for a coven priest to be, near the spirits.”

  With my gaze fixed on the property, I weighed Toby’s statement. Would Logan impact the spirits or vice versa? Regardless, I wouldn’t be comfortable living so close to hundreds of interactive souls. “Do they help him?”

  “Many do. Logan’s worked for years helping the coven’s elderly. They love him and continue to support him in spirit form.”

  “Does he live there alone?” I asked.

  “Yes. His sister married out of the coven and moved to Texas. During recent years, while the Tabards served as priests and priestesses, we lost many members. We’re all hoping Logan can act fast enough to restore faith in the system, bring in some new ideas and practices, which will appeal to younger members. He’s done a lot in the two weeks he’s been high priest. Turned the old guard of his council on their ears and insisted on new living conveniences to all residents.”

  Large yellow-leaved maples dwarfed the corners of the small ranch house set on a postage stamp half-acre lot. Those guardians, though planted on the four compass directions, bowed red-tinged crowns toward the cemetery. The property was humble, the home of hedge witches. I admired Logan for coming from a modest upbringing to rise to head a large coven. The home whispered to me about his determination, intelligence, and character.

  “We need to be going.” Toby turned toward the car. “You feel like driving us back to your place? I left my car there.”

  Startled by his question, I flinched and shook off my daze. “Yes. I want to drive.” I gave the cemetery a long last look in case some unseen clue was now evident, then headed away. I’d learned about Logan from seeing his home, so why didn’t the secrets of the cemetery reveal themselves to me? As I drove, I memorized the route. I had to return.

  ***

  Back home, I locked the barn door behind the car. “My car,” I said aloud even though Toby had left. The words sounded amazing. Inside the house, my stomach growled, but dinner would have to wait while I worked at the carriage house until time for it to open for customers. Unwilling to leave my wand, I strapped the messenger bag over my chest. Munching on an apple, I headed across the yard.

  Six cars, none of them Logan’s, lined the closest row in the field used for parking. I searched the old-time sedans, eager to see Kandice Kelly’s. It wasn’t there, but thankfully neither was Gladys Blinkhorne’s. One of the wide, sliding garage doors stood open, and voices came from within. I poked my head in, blinking to adjust to the dim light, and called out a hello. After no response, I stepped inside and addressed a few people I remembered from last week’s coven party. “Hi. I’m Aggie, and I’d like to help out with whatever work needs to be done.”

  Two men looked away, and another went into the house. A young woman, maybe a couple years younger than me, gave me a smile. Her short blond hair curled toward her slender chin. “Hi, Aggie. You can add cobwebs across the walk paths around the carriages.” She lifted a handful of white filaments and motioned to a burlap sack against one wall.

  “Thanks. I’ll get started.” I took a step closer, and a middle-aged woman pulled the girl by her arm through the back door. I wondered what that was all about.

  The large garage housed six carriages. Shadows of people moved in and out of the vehicles, but no one spoke to me.

  Undaunted, I gathered a big handful of spider webbing and draped the threads, using the girl’s finished decorations as examples. While I worked from one area to another, I tried to make eye contact with other workers.

  Those who met my gaze quickly looked away. Gladys must have made an impact on them. With this cold treatment, I could imagine how the O’Mara women felt and why they withdrew into seclusion.

  But I persevered. Whether these coven members liked or accepted me didn’t matter. I did want them to realize I intended to help. Most people were good. My mother raised me to believe that, and I held fast to that idea. Only a rare few black hearts, like Gladys or Ned, would wish harm to me if I put my best foot forward.

  When finished in the garage, I moved to the front porch and created webs there.

  A group of laughing women approached from the parking area. All actresses, dressed in ragged costumes and made up with ghostly, pale faces. One looked like the banshee I’d seen on the roof during opening night, Dulcie Quinn.

  She sashayed onto the porch, head high, and the rest of her friends fell quiet, their eyes on Dulcie. “Aggie, what an awesome job you’re doing. No one else can bring a real black magic curse to the attraction. That’ll scare the shit outta our customers. Why didn’t I think to invite you over before?” She let out a peal of shrill laughter, echoed by her gaggle of friends.

  People from inside the garage gathered at the door but remained silent.

  I continued draping webs. Sun energy in my fingers, aching to be hurled at Dulcie, glued the nylon filaments to my skin and everything I touched.

  “There’s something else you can do…if you really want to help.” Dulcie’s voice rose, as if to mock my goodwill intention.

  Sticky threads immobilized my hands, and the toxic odor of burnt plastic sent a sharp stab of pain through my head. I fought the urge to scorch the hem of Dulcie’s costume, make it appear more authentic to her role.

  The actress laughed and stepped closer.

  “Dulcie, stop!” The girl who’d guided me in the garage pushed through the line of people at the open doorway.

  “Aggie, why don’t you go to your place and roust out some zombies? That’d sure bring the customers. Make the coven money we…” Dulcie continued talking.

  But I didn’t hear her as I strode quickly back to my own porch, away from the trail of laughter assaulting my ears.

  I flung myself into the rocking chair. At least I’d not retaliated to fuel bad rumors about me. Though allowing myself to be walked over left a bitter taste in my mouth, the perfect complement to the burnt plastic odor stuck in my nose. As darkness fell, I thought of Ellie and Dodie O’Mara and felt a kinship with them. When activity next door heightened, I crept to the crest of the small hill that divided the two buildings and sat down in the grass, damp with gathering dew. With hundreds of people only yards away, I felt completely alone.

  Chapter Twenty: Coyote Mother’s Gift

  With one eye struggling to stay open, I reached for the ringing phone on my nightstand.

  “Aggie, it
’s Logan. Sorry to call so late. Emily, one of the high school girls who works at the carriage house, told me what happened. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Just pissed. I wanted to help. I need to help, like Hypatia told me to. It’s important.”

  “I get what you’re trying to accomplish. The three groups represented by three separate bonfire flames: those founding family witches who want the curse left intact; the coven’s spirit world; and the banshee. Like the three paths Keir said would open to you. It’s starting to make sense. Each must be addressed for you to break the curse. Community service will help put you in better standing with the old witches who resist change, maybe some of the spirits, too.”

  “Everyone shunned me, all except that girl, but Dulcie was the worst. I wanted to flatten her.” I clenched burning fingers into my palm. “I should’ve, but I held back to keep down any negative rumors about me. I hated not defending myself, but I don’t want to end up like the O’Mara women.”

  “I know. You’re a fighter. As high priest, I might be able to make a difference. Come over a few hours before opening tomorrow. I’ll give you jobs and expect the others to treat you with respect.”

  “Thanks. That’s a step. Hopefully, they’ll come to see I have something to offer.”

  “How can they not?” He chuckled. “You got my attention even while I’ve been so busy learning how to run the coven, I almost don’t know my own name.”

  I joined his laughter, and the stiffness in my shoulders relaxed. “Okay. I’ll be over around five.”

  “I wish I’d been there tonight. I could’ve prevented what happened.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll keep trying to be useful.”

  His voice softened. “And I missed a chance to see you.”

  I smiled into the phone. “I miss you, too.” After we hung up, I lay awake, amazed at how just a short conversation with Logan made me feel lighter amid all this turmoil.

  ***