“Is it all right?” Jancie asked.
“It’s perfect, with top quality ingredients my mother would envy. Thank you.” I placed my wand on the wide root.
With a smile, Jancie joined hands with Vika and Rowe, forming a connection with the others that began and ended with the great sycamore.
Only Keir, Waapake, and I remained at the altar. The seer spoke in his usual firm but gentle tone. “Aggie, with one hand touching the donor tree, pass the wand through the smoke and repeat the consecration verse after me.”
The wand bathed in incense, I presented it to the full moon, which coated the wood with a soft shimmer. With my other hand firm on Nannan, I focused on Keir’s face.
“I call upon strength of the elements.” Although spoken in a conversational voice, his words resonated as if amplified by speakers.
I repeated the line and he continued, pausing at breaks for me to speak.
“Radiance of this full Hunter’s Moon, empower this wand and channel my strength to safeguard others from harm.”
The responsibility of the pledge shuddered through me and knotted my stomach.
We continued our recitation. “Speed of Lightning, empower this wand. Swiftness of Wind, empower this wand. Depth of the Seas, empower this wand. Stability of the Earth, empower this wand. Firmness of Rock, empower this wand. And truest among all for me, Light of the Sun, empower this wand. I charge and empower this wand. So mote it be.”
Vibrations passed from tree to wand along my arms and torso, an electrical current far greater than my own.
“A wand is a tool of magical will, but also a partner, because it embodies your whole self.” Keir’s eyes scanned mine. “Do you feel that sensation now?”
Overwhelmed by the magic, I only nodded.
“A tree-spirit, if well-suited to the witch, as yours seems to be, can be a powerful and faithful familiar.” The seer nodded to his coyote, who curled between my leg and the tree trunk. “Wood from the matriarch embodies not only the spirit of her, but also spirits of every sycamore in this forest or entire valley. It is your responsibility to connect to the tree’s spirit, learn its verbal and gestural language. Gods, goddesses, and the spirits of Nature all dance together and understand the language of gesture. The incantation, song, or sound utterance of the witch follows the direction of her wand like a choir follows the baton of its director.”
I reeled as Keir’s message transformed from comprehensible words into vibrational patterns with a felt-sense that seemed both foreign and familiar, as if the knowledge had been stored in dark recesses of my brain. I stared at the wand, searching for a possible explanation.
A brilliant flash from the beryl on my opposite wrist closest to Nannan caused my head to snap in that direction. Instinctively, I checked the surroundings. The tree tops remained still and the temperature cool but steady.
Waapake rose and gave a long, poignant howl. The beauty of his call rushed chills along my spine and welled tears into my eyes.
As his mournful note faded, a filmy vision appeared before us. Coyote Mother. Her white-gray fur was more grizzled and her flanks leaner than her son’s. “Dream-walker Aggie, we meet again. This time to celebrate great strength, and I have one more gift to bestow upon you.” She bared her teeth, gnawed off a tiny patch of her son’s dark gray fur, and deposited it on the altar. “Thread these hairs into the porous grain along the wand where Nannan once fought boring insects. The enchantment of the wand’s core with a kindred animal spirit will harmonize with Nannan’s wood and Gran’s amber. All of creation will then be at your calling.”
Jancie raised the burning red altar candle near the wand.
Keir inserted his familiar’s coarse guard hairs into half a dozen holes left by burrowing insects on one of the three end twigs.
When he finished, Coyote Mother nudged her son. “Let us serve gratitude.” She lifted her graceful neck and howled.
Waapake joined her in a tune more beautiful than his alone. Their harmonies blended into an ethereal song.
Nannan swept her twigs past one another producing a sound like violins to accompany the coyotes. Overwhelmed by the vibrations of song and electrical gestures of the sycamores blending in perfect unison, I collapsed onto her trunk. The language of my wand resonated through me. With me. I looked from Keir to Logan, then the others. “It worked! I feel the wand, Nannan, my Gran, the coyotes, the sun. All one inside the wand. Inside me.”
The trio sang, louder and with more joy.
“This is when we dance,” Vika called out with a smile that wrinkled the corners of her eyes until they hid in folds of skin.
Around the trunk we danced, singly or in pairs. Our cloaks thrown back, we raised our faces to the matriarch’s canopy, alive with music, and sang whatever words or notes filled our hearts with happiness.
One song blended into another, each rhythm more exuberant than the last. I circled the grand sycamore more times than I could count. Drunk with euphoria, I held fast to any hand offered and dodged owl wings and bobcat paws best I could. Tendrils of fog played among us, lifting ladies’ skirts until their jagged hems resembled splayed flower petals. We whooped and yelled, while birds darted through the trees. Deer stamped and raced along the circle’s outer perimeter, keeping time with the music. Nannan’s lower branches swept to and fro with rising and falling melodies. My throat grew raspy and rough, but I didn’t stop singing or dancing or smiling. I now understood what my destiny meant to all of creation, to free them from the black magic clouding their world.
At one glorious moment, I collided with Logan, and he swooped me into his arms, his lips meeting mine. Although our feet stopped, I still spun. My heart danced. We held tighter. Song and fog twirled both before and behind my eyes as fantasy teased reality. The warmth of his chest pressed against mine confused my senses into a wonderful delirium. I wanted this music, this night, to last forever.
Notes blurred together like a fast-forwarded song, abruptly alternating between brisk and cheerful and at other times sharp and hurried. The tune was spinning out of control. I clung to Logan, holding the pleasant notes with me. With us.
A single note morphed into a shrillness I couldn’t ignore, and I pulled back. Trees whipped in all directions, and a bitter gust sliced between Logan and me, like a knife cleaving us apart. My euphoria transformed into fear slicing at my throat.
Jancie screamed, then froze.
The dark, shrouded form of the banshee swept along the circle’s northern perimeter, vanished into tree cover, then glided near us again.
Rowe pushed Vika behind the mighty trunk before filling his hand with blue powers from his pocket watch.
“Wait! Don’t fire,” Logan yelled at both him and me, my fingers dripping with golden energy. “That could break the circle. Especially yours, Aggie, the way you’ve just been strengthened. The circle magic is all that’s keeping that demon from us.”
The banshee bashed against the north point. The white candle flickered but remained lit.
“What if the circle doesn’t hold?” I asked.
“That demon is strong,” Rowe said. “More than I thought possible.”
Keir joined us, pulling Waapake to his side. “Black magic is harder to read.”
“Can I call upon the south wind?” Jancie asked from where she knelt by the trunk, almost hidden by the fog. “Or will my transmission break the circle?”
Everyone looked to Kier, but he shrugged and nodded to me. “Jancie uses her mother’s New Wish magic. What do you think, Aggie?”
A branch fell from high in Nannan’s canopy, and Jancie darted from its path.
I grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. “It would be as if I called directly upon the sun, which I cannot at night. You must be careful not to bring the south wind’s power inside. Direct it to only act externally. That takes a clear mind.”
Jancie’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “I don’t know. I haven’t used my powers long, only a few months.”
“You can try, and we’ll all stand ready to fire at the demon if the circle breaks,” Logan suggested.
Another branch dropped, scattering our group. The banshee opened its gaping mouth, a bottomless black hole of death, to let out a scream garbled by a chilling laugh.
My ears burned and I clutched my nauseous stomach. Ignoring the pain, I shot power into my hand. And, for the first time, into my wand. Gran’s amber blazed brighter than I’d ever seen.
“Go ahead and prepare, Jancie,” Logan cried above the winds. “Everyone else, fuel up and be ready.”
She lifted her open palms, her face contorted and her lower lip bitten back. “I channeled clouds to join into a storm mass. They’re on the way.”
The rest of us held power in our hands, arms poised to throw. My fingers ached with the enormous pressure.
The banshee opened gnarled arms, bones loosely covered in shreds of sinew and muscle. Impossibly wide, its reach covered half the northeast quadrant.
“Almost here,” Jancie called. “Lightning’s striking between them. A little more coaxing from me, and they’ll strike to the ground.”
The beast’s fearsome skeletal head poked inside the circle and let out an ear-bleeding wail.
A second shriek, more guttural and growling than the banshee’s, sounded in the distance.
Without hesitation, the banshee turned from our circle’s wall and glided at top speed into the darkness of thick brush toward the second cry. The violent winds receded into deafening silence. Tangible fear reverberated through all beings, permeating the fog with a rank odor. The beryl at my wrist shone with a single image of Fenton, his face drawn and tight.
Chapter Twenty-four: The Game of Figurines
“Fenton!” My words shot into the dark woods. I inhaled a sharp breath. My outburst could draw the banshee back to our circle. The next moments brought no response, no noise at all other than the wild thumping of my heart. I had to find Fenton.
I streaked to the altar and raised my arms high. “I call forth the power of this circle.” White light seeped from all directions forming loose balls in my open palms. Torn, I wanted to forget about closing the circle and listen for sounds in the surrounding forest. With the air now calm, I didn’t fear the presence of the banshee. Instead, whatever had made the second shriek challenged my focus. But the energy of a witch’s circle must be released and proper respect paid to the Mother, even if performed quickly. White light continued to flow toward me.
Unable to wait longer, I restated my command, “Power of this circle, gather in haste to me now.” Streams of light flowed from nooks along Nannan’s bark, from underneath leaves strewn on the ground at my feet, and from glistening droplets of fog. The balls in my hands, now twice the size, held all the night’s magic. An incredible display of brilliant light. “All that was taken to cast my circle, is now returned. Thank you, Mother.” I threw one hand up and the other down, then swiped my hands together in a brushing motion to release any remaining energy.
While I closed the circle, the rest of my group had gathered our ceremonial supplies. The men took the heaviest totes. Jancie shouldered a bag, lifted her own skirt, and took a firm hold on Vika’s arm. The elderly witch nodded her thanks. She gripped her cane with Siddie prowling along at her mistress’s side in a protective gait.
Logan balanced his load in his hands. “The sound came from the direction of the homestead. Aggie, you take the lead since you know the trail best.”
I slung the pack across my chest and set a quick pace, sun energy extended into the wand held before me. Although the shrill sound ended with a snarling note more like from an animal, my gut told me the second cry had belonged to Fenton. But what was Fenton? No one seemed to know if he was even a spirit.
I took the trail in wide strides, thankful Nannan again cleared roots away.
Leading with a full chest, Waapake ran alongside me. Busby sailed over our heads in silent flight.
Powered by adrenaline, my feet pounded the earth and my senses tuned to the slightest changes around me, while my mind hummed on its own path. No one cheated death like Fenton had done. Both his spirit and physical form, to some extent, remained intact. Outside the Hollow, people built their faith and hoped that would guide their souls to heaven. Here, witches worked their craft. Similarly, they hoped to reach an undefined level of mastery that would enable their souls to become empowered and interactive in this coven after death claimed their bodies. Fenton hadn’t chosen either route, nor had Maggie been able to protect his soul in a dream world. But it seemed she’d done something else to protect him. Their relationship puzzled me. I needed to understand their connection with that game of exchanging figurines across her mirror.
I ran onto the homestead’s lawn. Nothing seemed unusual, other than an eerie stillness, the typical reaction following the banshee’s visit. The cabin looked the same as I’d left it. Yellow front porch light spilled onto the circular drive. No sounds came from the carriage house, which was closed until the weekend.
With the two familiars still escorting me, I stopped by the shed doors. Panting, I turned to find Logan close behind. “I know that was Fenton.”
“Are you sure?” He tilted his head and took several long breaths. The shed’s security light shone on his cheeks, reddened from exertion.
Coming off the trailhead, Vika struggled with her footing over the lumpy lawn. Rowe took over for Jancie in assisting the old witch, who gasped for breath when they finally made it to the shed. She leaned against it, with Keir and Jancie ambling up beside her, chests heaving.
“It had to be Fenton,” I said in a hushed voice. “He said he’d be at the ceremony. He must’ve intended to distract the banshee.”
Waapake wandered behind the shed, and Keir followed his familiar.
“But that scream,” Jancie said. “It wasn’t human at all. Almost as creepy as the banshee.”
“I know, but my gut tells me it was Fenton.”
“Can you support that guess with your witchcraft senses?” Logan asked. “Anything that will give us more to go on?”
“A witch’s intuition is strong ’nough magic,” Vika chided as she hoisted herself from the shed. “No need to waste time analyzin’. Let’s get a look out for him.”
As she spoke her last words, a low growl escaped from the coyote.
Keir poked his head around the corner, his black hair glistening with sweat. “Come have a look at this.”
We hurried to where Waapake bared his teeth at a dark patch of ground, the forest thinned to meet scrubby grass. Visible in the full moon’s bright light, an inky discoloration stained the soil along a slight upwelling of cracks.
Logan eyed the spot, and then pointed toward the woods. “This is the direction Dulcie Quinn took that night when she was possessed and ran to the cemetery.”
I knelt beside the coyote to examine the finding. A sharp pine scent stung my nose and throat. “The smoke from my burning barrel wafted the same way when I disposed of the poisoned cloak scrap we found that night. This is yew potion, like we found on that torn piece of cloak fixed to the shed door.”
“Yew potion! Stay clear,” Vika barked, then lowered her voice as if the forest could hear. “That’s used to raise the dead. Don’t no one touch that. It’s highly poisonous. Make certain the familiars didn’t get in it or I’ll have to treat them with counter-potion straightaway.” She grabbed her bobcat by the neck scruff but wasn’t strong enough to hold her back.
Despite Vika’s cautions, Siddie crept past the coyote to the far side of the cracked earth, nose to the ground. Busby’s alert hoot from thirty yards into the woods sent Siddie leaping through the brush.
“Obviously, this is the way we need to head, then,” Logan called over his shoulder as he followed.
We joined after him, the tangled route marked by stinging pine odor. At a distance of fifty more yards, it intersected a wider footpath. “The way to the right has to lead to the streamside trail we were on.” I searched the others�
� faces. “What does this mean?”
Vika leaned hard on her staff. “All’s I know is there’s some necromancy craft happenin’ here. Raisin’ the dead by black magic.”
“Would the banshee do this?” I asked.
“Not likely. Don’t need to, strong as that creature is. Land sakes it’s wicked.” The old witch shivered and took Logan’s arm. “I’d be lookin’ to the witches who’ve been agin you. Best we get out of this spot of death-work. I want to take our familiars back home to check for signs of poisonin’. The rest of you, wash yourselves careful tonight. Rowe, can you and Jancie drive us?”
He nodded and we retreated, calling out for Fenton in shadows on the way to the house.
“Lucky you brought the sedan rather than your coupe,” Logan said to Rowe as the men loaded the coyote and bobcat into his backseat with Vika between them.
“Master, may I fly to Vika’s?” Busby asked Rowe.
Vika gave a stern shake of her head.
Jancie accepted a wristlet from Rowe and held out her arm to the bird. “Come sit with me.”
“Thanks for coming,” I said through her open window. “Sorry we couldn’t have the after-party we’d planned. Maybe another time?”
“Definitely.” Jancie smiled.
As Keir, Logan, and I watched them leave, a hunched figure moved between the trees across the road. “Fenton? Is that you?” I called and ran to the end of my drive. “Are you hurt?”
A glint of red plaid flannel caught the moonlight and gave away the form as Ned Murdock. Limping onto the road, he let out a raucous laugh that raised hairs on my arms. One of his suspenders hung loose, and his trouser cuff dragged the ground. A dirty sleeve of his shirt gapped with a tear. “You can quit your callin’ fer your Fenton O’Mara.”
I took a step past my mailbox. “What do you know about that?” Had he been present at the ceremony? Judging by his rumpled appearance, it seemed possible.
“That old shyster’s met his ends. Long time comin’ an’ that banshee was right pissed off. You’ll be safer now in that house.” A yellow color crept up his neck into his grizzled jaws, and he veered my way with a salacious grin.
Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3 Page 55