Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3

by Marsha A. Moore

  Logan laughed and wrapped his strong arms tighter around my waist.

  I rested my arms on his shoulders and leaned into the warmth of his chest. The heat between us eased my hurting heart.

  His head bent lower, and his lips grazed mine. A gentle brush that carried the scent of musky male with undertones of citrus.

  I hesitated to return his affection, though my body fought for it. Could I trust him?

  Logan pulled me closer, and his lips pressed hard against mine in a probing kiss. How unfair, this kiss. How could I fight what I so badly wanted? My hand slipped to the back of his neck and gripped the silky curls. I pulled him tighter while my lips responded in kind and answered the questions he silently asked.

  Chapter Twenty-One: The Sun’s Affair

  My Monday morning workday proved as muddled and slow as the dark molasses Shireen poured into her teacup. Every chance I could, I peeked at my golden beryl bracelet, but the stone remained inactive. The gem supposedly increased the wearer’s psychic awareness. Would it help me know if the banshee approached? I’d not noticed any enhanced skills since Waapake had given me the bracelet. Hopefully, the lick of Coyote Mother’s tongue triggered that magic, and more importantly, the ability of the beryl to ward off psychic manipulation from others.

  Whenever I found a break in dressmaking chores, I slipped the wand from my messenger bag. It, too, remained quiet, as did Gran’s amber and the tiny firefly inside. With each inspection, my mind wandered, sifting again through unanswered questions and trying to piece together dangling clues. Hypersensitive, my skin responded to the slightest drop in temperature, one of the few physical signs I associated with the banshee.

  Each time I checked my wand, Shireen’s gaze followed me, until she blurted out, “What on earth is the matter, girl? You’ve been thrashin’ around like a short-tailed bull in fly-time.”

  I recounted what had happened in the cemetery last night.

  “Shew-wee, Aggie! I’d be jittery, too. It’s enough excitement for you to be drivin’ yourself, like you found out yesterday, let alone all that spirit and demon business. You might need your tea spiked with molasses or maybe something stronger. I keep brandy on hand to brace my nerves and fight off chills in my bones.”

  “No, thank you.” I replaced the wand and positioned the messenger bag on a high shelf, out of easy reach. “I need to get some work done.”

  She lifted a brow. “Well, true ’nough, whistlin’ ain’t what makes the plow go. All’s I know is that work might take your mind off all that.”

  For the next hour, I struggled to focus on enchanting finished garments, spools of thread, and unfinished seams, then hemmed half a dozen straight skirts.

  “You’ve done a full morning’s work in next to no time. Worry’ll do that to you. Let’s take a break for lunch.” Shireen set aside the garment from her sewing machine and rose.

  I rested a hand on my unsteady stomach, which hadn’t wanted any breakfast earlier. “I’m not very hungry.”

  “Well, I’ll bet you get an appetite if I heat some o’ my hambone bean soup. That’ll fix you right up.” While Shireen clattered in the kitchen, I pulled down my messenger bag and sneaked a peek at my still inactive wand.

  The shop’s phone rang. I hurriedly stowed my things away while I let Shireen know I’d answer, then picked up the old, black rotary’s receiver. “Meiklam’s Fine Dress Shop. How may I help you?”

  “By having dinner with me tomorrow.” Logan’s voice was deep and slow, like a drip of honey.

  Tingling from his response, words escaped me. I smiled into the phone, as if that might suffice. Eventually I managed to say, “Only if I’m speaking to the high priest.”

  He chuckled. “You certainly are. There’s a steakhouse in Bentbone that’s good, and about the only real restaurant around. Will that do? Or should I see what I can cook that won’t scare you away?”

  “Steak sounds great. How should I dress?”

  “However you want. It’s not in the coven.”

  “When I was with Jancie the other day, I bought a few new clothes I’m eager to wear.” With my outfit planned, I smiled into the phone. But how would I fix my hair?

  “I’ll have to work to find something other than my old-style suits. Cooking dinner for you might be easier.” His teasing smile rang through the phone. “Will six-thirty be okay?”

  “Fine with me.” I tried to sound casual, but my heart wanted to betray me as it pounded in my ear against the phone.

  After we said goodbye, I stared at the phone until Shireen’s call to lunch broke my daydream. I glided into the kitchen, light as the homemade biscuits she placed on the table. The savory smell of navy beans sweetened with glazed ham tempted my nose. My underfed stomach growled, and I scooped a brimming spoonful into my mouth.

  “And you weren’t hungry.” Shireen’s eyes shone. “I know my soup’s powerful good, but the way you’re shoveling it in makes me wonder. Who called?”

  “Logan. He asked me out to dinner,” I mumbled between mouthfuls of the rich soup. “Our first date.”

  Shireen’s grin reached to her ears as she forked a bite of biscuit dripping with red-eye gravy. “’Bout time.”

  Daydreaming about Logan, I spent the entire afternoon on autopilot. I anticipated an evening lost in his blue eyes that changed hue with his emotions. Or being snug inside his strong, warm arms, intoxicated by the citrus fragrance of his cologne mixing with his own musky scent. My lips burned to feel his on mine again, the brush of velvet skin. Delirious with these sensations, my fingers worked with minimal guidance on my dressmaking jobs. Yet, a different thought kept worming its way in. Was I ready for a relationship?

  Back home, I’d dated boys; at twenty-six, Logan was definitely a man. Apart from that, even the idea of dating seemed shaky and unfamiliar. I’d only gone with those boys to teen gatherings organized by the coven or to parties at homes of my friends’ parents. Adults chaperoned those events. The only alone-time came on walks home that ended at my door with pecky kisses stolen so fast they usually missed my lips.

  Except for Billy, the boy who shared my first real open-mouth kiss. On many hot summer evenings, we sat on my porch and together survived the awkwardness of learning how to touch. I smiled at the sweet memories. They were just that, sweet. Awkwardness camouflaged any passion. I shivered. Was I ready to let my desires surface?

  When work ended, I headed straight home, a bit apprehensive about driving far after Logan had to help get my car out of the ditch. A yellow sun teased the tops of trees with gentle kisses. By the time I slid the shed door behind my parked car, the sun, now shimmering a passionate orange, fully embraced the yellow-leafed trees. Its light stroked each dark limb, and the hairs along my arms lifted as I imagined Logan’s caress. I absorbed the sun’s energy to restore my needed witchcraft power, but to my surprise, I received much more. Mind locked on Logan, my body tingled deep inside, awakening parts that had been stirred that one summer on my parents’ porch.

  My messenger bag vibrated against my side. At first, I mistook this for the spread of my own inner awakenings, but the buzzing intensified and broke my delirium. I flinched and, with trembling fingers, unlatched the buckles. Inside, my wand shook, and Gran’s amber emitted faint sparks.

  I extended the wand before me and spun in place. The air remained warm from the sun’s ardent love affair with the trees, which stood still as if rapt by the petting. No sign of the banshee’s icy gusts upset the liaison. No apparition appeared. Everything lay calm and peaceful.

  What then caused the wand to vibrate? I ran a hand along the sycamore wood grain, and the quaking increased, along with a pleasant warmth under my touch. I squinted to examine changes in any imperfections. Unless a potential trick by the death demon, this action seemed welcoming, like an eager invitation. Could Nannan want to see me prior to the consecration? I’d planned to visit her privately before Wednesday, to give my thanks to her and the Mother. Although, as a witch of the New Wish order, payi
ng gratitude was expected of me, I was eager to do so. Now seemed to be a good time.

  I set my sight on the trailhead and took a few quick steps in that direction, wanting to race along the stream to find her. My heel dropped into a low spot in the lawn, and I silently cursed the pretty T-strapped dress shoes.

  I rushed into the house, unfastening my blouse while heading upstairs. I lay my bag on the bed and yanked the top over my head on the way to the closet.

  “Aggie, there’s me working gal.” Fenton’s tenor caught me off guard, my vision blocked by the garment.

  With my shirt now off, leaving me in my bra, the weightless arms of a ghost embraced me. “Get away!” I jumped back, the top clutched to my nearly naked chest.

  “Just giving my lassie a hug after having been busy for the past days.” He crooked his lips into an apologetic grin, impossible to resist. And the twinkle in his black eyes said he knew the effect he elicited.

  I fought against his manipulation, but at the same time loved the warm sensation of his encompassing attention. When we’d met, he put me under what I thought was a love spell. Suspecting the same, I forced my gaze away from his dazzling eyes. When my lucidity returned, I swallowed a bubbling concoction of anger and attraction in order to choose my words with care. He was close friends with Maggie, and I needed her guidance with oneiromancy to fight the banshee. Although the honor of dream-walker had been bestowed upon me, I didn’t have any idea how to use that magical appointment.

  Blouse now in a wad across my front, I finally uttered, “I’m glad to see you, too, but can you step out and give me privacy to change?”

  “Course I can.” He lifted his fedora and gave a slight bow before drifting into the hallway.

  “I looked for you and worried, you know.” I closed the door behind him, as if that would be any barrier. I needed to see Nannan, but had important questions for Fenton. His answers might help me piece together clues about the curse, the O’Mara women, and the banshee. I’d not lied. I had searched for him, wanting answers to those questions.

  I tossed the wadded garment onto the bed beside the bag. As if in response to my mental conundrum, the wand inside buzzed so vigorously that the whole purse shook. Decision made, I changed to jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt. As soon as my hiking boots were tied, I snatched the bag and darted into the hall. In a loud voice, I called, “Fenton? Will you be around tonight?” I paused at the banister but received no response. Downstairs, I repeated my question to a house that stood silent except for groaning boards from the doings of house spirits.

  At the back door, I tried once more. Where was he? I scanned corners and crevices. Fenton seemed happy to be back from whatever had kept him busy lately. Unlikely he’d disappear again so soon. Could he have run into trouble? Coyote Mother’s activation of the beryl had marked me. Did that signal the banshee to Fenton’s location? Was the wand urging me into the woods as a ploy to attack me, or him, or both? My hand froze on the brass knob. My breath caught. Time suspended. I waited for a sign.

  While my hand remained immobile on the back door, the beryl on that wrist awakened. A brilliant flash blinded me and flooded my mind with a vision. An image formed of Fenton passing objects back and forth through the upstairs mirror with Maggie. They engaged in a strange dialog about what appeared to be the glass figurines from the parlor’s curio cabinet. As expected, their comments didn’t follow a logical conversation because empowered spirits like hers couldn’t hear him. But it surprised me that her remarks didn’t make sense even as a monologue. Had Maggie’s intense study of dream magic taken her sanity as Hypatia said? The miniatures moved across the plane of the mirror according to a noticeable sequence based on color and shape, as if Fenton and Maggie actually communicated in a way I couldn’t understand. Could they be speaking a different language? Mesmerized, I wanted to go upstairs and uncover their secrets. But the wand vibrating in the bag at my side didn’t relent. At least Fenton seemed safe…if I could trust the beryl’s vision. I turned the knob. I had to trust something.

  Outside, I secured the door to give Fenton some measure of protection. The banshee hadn’t been able to pass through its locks before. Hopefully nothing had changed. I turned toward the trailhead and raced across the lawn and into the woods. Dusk had settled with a chilly dampness. Becoming a dream-walker came with a price. The banshee now knew me as its opponent. I imagined the demon everywhere and longed for the safety of the homestead cabin. Descending cool air set off my hypervigilance. I checked the trees. Only a slight breeze swayed their limbs. Anxious that the chill had nothing to do with the weather, I picked up my pace to keep the visit as short as possible. Dim light and raised roots made the narrow trail treacherous. With my boots thumping against the packed earth, I took care to avoid obstacles.

  After I’d taken not more than half a dozen paces, the ground ahead lay free of roots. I looked more closely, and the growth sunk into the ground as I approached. That meant one thing—Nannan was truly the one calling me. Only she, the matriarch of these woods, could command the network of joined roots to lower for me. Heartened, I lengthened my strides. My heart pounded, propelling my legs harder and faster. Although I’d only hiked this trail once before, I raced with uncanny skill along twists and turns that followed the sinuous stream. I said silent thank-yous to the Mother and to Nannan for their assistance.

  Out of breath but exuberant with the freedom their protection allowed, I ran with arms open wide to the mother sycamore. I could only embrace a tiny portion of her near fifty-foot circumference, and walked my fingers out to hug as much more as possible. I pressed my cheek to her smooth trunk and closed my eyes, panting through my smile. Connecting to her with my thoughts, I spilled out my worries and confusions about the banshee: becoming its destined foe and marked target. When at last I’d spent all those troubles, I channeled my lesser concerns about entering a relationship with Logan. How could I be ready, without as much experience as he? Did it mean anything when other men, Eric and Fenton, stirred my attraction? Once all frustrations expired, I rested against her sturdy form. She held me up, and my mind cleared of all thoughts, save for the calm, steady motions of my breath and heartbeat against her mighty trunk. I drifted along the meditative rhythm.

  Against one of my palms, a tickling sensation alerted me Nannan was writing me a message.

  I opened my eyes to total darkness. Several minutes must have passed since I arrived. I detected each spidery letter she drew against my hand.

  The great tree spelled out the words, “I am with you, always. Since long ago.”

  Water welled in my eyes, and I closed them tight to comprehend her continuing directions.

  “Through Gran’s song on the wind, Coyote Mother and Waapake curled at my trunk.”

  Nannan had known my Gran. Tears leaked from under my eyelids, and I tasted their salt through my smile.

  “For each problem, one path. You will find them, but only with your heart. I will help.”

  When her message ended, I pressed my cheek tighter against the trunk and conveyed my reply silently to her. “Thank you, Nannan, and you, Great Mother, for these precious moments of safety, understanding, and guidance. Nannan, I’ll return in two nights, at the full hunter’s moon for our formal union, even though we’re already joined. And I’m so thankful for that.” I breathed a long sigh, though her advice about using my heart to find the correct paths left me confused.

  Again, my palm tickled from the matriarch’s touch. “More of my magic will open to you then.”

  I hugged her with renewed strength, inching my fingertips out to embrace more of her. After a heartfelt goodbye, I parted from her trunk and turned onto the path for home. Safe in Nannan’s woods, I walked with determined strides, proud and visible to all creatures and spirits who looked, rather than darting like a frightened rabbit.

  “Nice to see you about. A fine, clear night,” a familiar raspy male voice came from the darkness ahead. Cyril the Raccoon King stepped onto the trail and sniffed his
black nose in my direction. He raised his large body onto his hind legs as if to display the silvered muzzle like a badge of wisdom. “Will be seein’ you for the hunter’s moon. I’ve ordered up the weather to hold till then. All here are eager.”

  “Thanks. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Well, work to do.” He snuffled in another direction and waddled into the dense brush.

  “Who all are going to be there?” I called after him, but received only the responses of birds chattering as they settled onto their nightly roosts.

  As I made my way home, I wondered how he knew I’d be back for the full moon. I’d not spoken about that aloud to Nannan. And who all were eager to join? I’d expected only those I invited to attend. I stepped onto the homestead’s lawn where cooler air urged me to hurry to the house. I turned the key in the lock and shivered. My consecration would be a public event, open to every demon and danger.

  Chapter Twenty-two: The Pendulum

  As I stepped onto the high floor of Logan’s sedan, my straight mini-skirt edged up my thigh. My left hand held firm to the creeping hem, forgoing its customary job of bracing me as I took a seat. I attempted a graceful twist maneuver intending to land the rest of me inside the car without revealing the color of my panties. Instead, the high heels of my new boots plus his intoxicating citrus, musk cologne jointly threw me off balance. I overdid the turn and landed with a plop on the passenger side of the bench seat. My messenger bag stuck into my back, my skirt wadded near my hip crease, and heat flushed my cheeks. How did Jancie accomplish the feat? I wished I’d thought to ask her when I purchased these new clothes.

  As he shut my door, Logan eyed my legs.

  He rounded the car and I laughed to myself. The skirt’s perks definitely outweighed the difficulties. If only the tangled fight between my new dangly earrings and curled hair would produce similar rewards. The other parts of my outfit proved less complex. The V-neck ribbed sweater hugged my curves without pinching or binding. The heater in his car worked well, and I unbuttoned my charcoal jacket, a new hip-length style Shireen had finished yesterday. I welcomed the thick wool of the coat.