Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3

by Marsha A. Moore

  “She can set the wards then.” I found my way to a rocker.

  Logan leaned down, supporting his weight with my chair’s arms, to give me a quick kiss. “Tyne’s a good old guy. You can trust him. Along with our elderly, I’ve been lobbying to assist Tyne in setting up a museum of historic magical tools. Let me know what happens at your meeting.” After one more kiss, he traipsed across the lawn to the carriage house. His intoxicating scent lingered, and I hugged myself.

  ***

  At nine o’clock sharp Saturday morning, I raced out to meet Cerise idling her sedan on my driveway. “Should I drive?” I placed my messenger bag on the floor of the passenger seat. It sat heavy with a host of magical objects: wand, keepsake, my memory box from home, Paddy O’Mara’s watch that Fenton had lent me, the homestead’s Tales of Yore about the house spirits, and the set of three figurines used in the last round of my game with Maggie.

  “You can drive on the way back. I don’t want to be late. Jump in. Tyne is a stickler for promptness.” Cerise eyed my pack. “You’re loaded down.”

  I settled into the passenger seat. “I thought some other magical things might be useful.”

  “He’ll be glad to take a look, as much for his enjoyment as anything. He’s a dear, loves how old magic was stored in objects. He has quite a collection.”

  “Logan said he’s been working to help Tyne set up a museum.”

  “That’s great.” Cerise shot me a pert grin. Her fuchsia-painted lips matched the dress peeking out from her wool coat. “Tyne has an amazing collection that should be shared. Logan can do this coven so much good. Many are relieved he’s taken over as high priest.”

  I shivered and thought of Gladys Blinkhorne and her cronies, as well as Ned Murdock and his mother Botilda. I wished they shared that welcoming feeling.

  Along a narrow tree-lined gravel road, we passed Vika’s storybook cottage with its high gables, continued another half mile to a dead end, and turned onto a driveway of sorts. Tire tracks of crushed limestone turned past wide-trunked oaks and hickories until a large stone shop came into view. Contrasting with the fancy fretwork of Vika’s place, this building was plain but spacious and tidy. One story sprawled over a large rectangular space with simple juniper bushes protecting the foundation. A rusty-hued shingled roof and red door with a sign that read “Specialist in Magical Tools” broke the solemn gray of the stone.

  It took several minutes for me to notice the tiny log cabin, not more than two or three rooms, set back fifty yards and connected by a narrow footpath. “He must live for his work,” I said to Cerise as we exited the car.

  “Definitely, but in a good way. You’ll see.” Her eyes glittered and she took the wide cement walk with a spring in her step, her high heels clacking.

  Encouraged, I followed close, my bag of treasures secured with both arms to my chest. To be appropriate for this unknown adventure, I’d dressed in an ordinary workday outfit, but with ballerina flats to be more comfortable in a new experience.

  Cerise knocked on the front door and entered. “Mr. Tynker? It’s Cerise Rudman.”

  A hoarse voice replied, “Come in, Cerise. I’m so glad to see you. Come in.”

  The building’s exterior contrasted sharply with the inside. In the spacious room, dozens of antique curio cabinets lined one wall, their shelves packed with shiny display items. Gleaming swords hung from the walls. A network of display counters, lit with internal lighting as in jewelry shops, filled the rest of the room. Metal, gems, and polished ivory and bone objects gleamed in every corner.

  From behind one of the counters, a trim man who looked to be in his seventies slipped out with his hand extended to Cerise. When she accepted, he clasped hers warmly in both of his. The twinkle in his green eyes outshone his flat-lipped grin, mirroring the exterior and interior of his shop.

  I extended my hand. “Hi. I’m Aggie Anders.”

  “And I’m Tynewell Tynker, but call me Tyne. Be welcome here, Aggie.” He gave a single nod and took my hand. He wore his gray hair short and slicked back.

  I read his touch using my haptic sense and found a percolating enthusiasm that matched the look of his eyes. He dressed simply in a white shirt and pleated gray trousers, but an elaborate belt buckle adorned with fiery rubies gave away that the sun element also guided his witchcraft.

  “Cerise said you’d found a keepsake created by her grandmother in the homestead’s attic.”

  “Yes. I know it’s a magical tool of some sort. Maggie told me so from her mirror. But I can’t get it to do anything. I must make it work as a complement to my wand. Can you help?” I rummaged in my bag, withdrew the flannel-wrapped keepsake, and presented it to him.

  He leaned close but was careful not to touch the box. “I’ll need a better look at this. Please come this way to my magnifiers. My old eyes aren’t what they used to be.” He hurried to the far corner where several steel arms bearing wide lenses loomed like miniature construction cranes. He flicked on three lamps and spread a felt cloth on the counter for me to place the keepsake and open it.

  “I brought more magical items that might give some clues on how to operate the box.” I laid out the items from my bag, except for my wand. That, I kept with me. “This is personal. Let me know if you wish to study it.”

  He chuckled. “I can appreciate that. Some of my magic tools I won’t let anyone touch. Please give me a few minutes with these first.” With a jeweler’s loop strapped to one eye, he examined the keepsake inside and out with different lenses.

  While he worked, I strolled the room admiring collections of gem-encrusted knives, gilded compasses, inlaid wood cases, and wands with such patina they exuded tangible magical vibrations.

  Several times, he interrupted my survey muttering exclamations of “fascinating,” “incredible,” and “amazing” under his breath. Each utterance prompted me to take a step in his direction. But finding him hunched into a private world with the keepsake, I chose to be patient.

  One time Cerise caught my eye and subdued a laugh, then resumed her study of a case of amulets.

  As the minutes passed, Tyne studied my other objects. Finally, he looked up, his loop-covered green eye glinting with specks of gold. “These things you’ve brought contain a wealth of witchcraft skill. But this keepsake is something special. I’ve only seen one or two others like it, and from the same time period as this one, but brought from the old country. The locks of hair inside are the base of its strength, but the device has gone dormant. The magic has only a quiet hum. It needs additional hair samples from those who are in need of its powers.”

  “The locks are supposedly from O’Mara descendants who lived here in Coon Hollow,” I said.

  “Then likely Cerise may need to add a sample and some other folks as well.”

  Cerise peered inside the well of the box. “I don’t recall my hair being added to the keepsake. My black hair isn’t there. I’ll have to ask Mother.”

  “Aggie, may I have a look at your wand?” Tyne asked. “Please stay with me so you feel comfortable with my doings.”

  Under the intense lights, my wand glittered. I leaned closer, fascinated.

  Tyne’s flat lips twisted into extreme contortions. “How long have you had this wand?”

  “For a few weeks, but it was only consecrated during the full moon two nights ago.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted, and then the other. “Just wait until you use this wand. You’re in for a real treat.”

  He swerved the magnifier arm my way. “I’ll bet you’d like to have a look.”

  Under his large lens, the glitter was comprised of two shades of gold, lighter and darker. At the end tip, the two hues had fused into a blended shade. A smile formed inside my heart and spread to my lips. “These two gold shades are from me and my donor tree, aren’t they?”

  “Indeed they are,” Tyne said. “Yours would be the lighter—bright, bold, and strong. The tree gave the darker. That richness shows long-lived wisdom, like an aged fine wine
. A sagacious donor has honored a gifted, young witch.” A tear dripped from the corner of one of his eyes as they met my gaze. “Such a pairing, so remarkable, leaves me in awe of the beauty of witchcraft. In time, the gold hues will fuse lower toward the base, much like those exceptional wands I have on display.”

  I reached across the counter and held his hand. “Thank you for showing me this.”

  He nodded and looked down. “One more bit of importance I’ve learned is that your wand and this keepsake form the exact energy complement found in the union of the green glass pipe and pink dragon. For whatever reason, I do not know, but the exactness of the pairings is notable. It does indicate a bond of the keepsake to you and your donor tree. That much is clear.”

  My jaw slackened. Had Maggie known all along and manipulated our game to teach me this lesson? Dumbfounded, I stared at the keepsake and wand.

  “Thank you so much, Tyne. You’ve been so helpful.” Cerise faced me. “Aggie, do you have any questions?”

  “No. I may later, but this helps a lot. Thank you.” I swallowed hard, unsure how to apply his advice about the keepsake. Adding Cerise’s hair would be simple, but then what?

  “Do come back when questions arise, but be patient since we’re in a waning moon period now. Learning new magic will come more slowly since this is a time to let go, clean, and repair.” He wrapped the flannel around the box. “I’d love to be of assistance. The uniqueness of this magical tool is of particular interest to me.”

  Cerise set her patent leather pocketbook on the counter. “How much do we owe you?”

  “I had so much fun, it seems like robbery to charge.” He chuckled.

  “You need to eat, like the rest of us,” Cerise replied and pulled out her wallet.

  I rummaged in my bag for mine. “I’ll pay. It was for me.”

  “It’s my grandmother’s magic.” Cerise screwed up her pink lips.

  “Why don’t you ladies split the cost.” Tyne scribbled a bill and pushed it across the counter. His fee of fifty dollars seemed grossly undercharged.

  I whipped out forty dollars, and Cerise matched me.

  I packed up my belongings, and he saw us to the door.

  As I turned Cerise’s sedan around and headed past the shop to the road, I knew I’d be back, if only to learn from this remarkable man.

  Chapter Twenty-six: Flame Thrower Burger

  In the homestead’s kitchen, I set the keepsake on the counter and opened its lid, while Cerise rummaged through drawers for a pair of shears.

  She parted the back of her bobbed hair, grabbed a strand, and twisted her arm to bring the scissors there. “Hmpf. I can’t do this. Will you cut this? But only an inch; I don’t want it to show.”

  “I’m glad you’re so willing to make a sacrifice for the good of the coven.” I laughed and snipped below her fingers.

  She pursed her fuchsia lips and peered into the open box. “That’s plenty of hair. As much as anyone else donated.”

  I held out the lock. “You add it to the keepsake since the magic is probably specific to your family.”

  Cerise accepted the strand and closed her eyes for a moment. She deposited her hair and voiced a spell. “Accept this lock into the keepsake well, and enliven the ancient earthly spell, to aid Aggie’s wand of fiery gold, and break the dark curse stronghold.” Her black hair sparked with a faint green glow, then curled among the other locks. “That’s a good sign.” She replaced the lid, fastened it with a half-turn, and passed it to me.

  I brought my wand alongside and held my breath. “Nothing. Not even a difference in energy vibrations.”

  “Maybe you need to use your wand to activate the link between the tools,” Cerise said.

  “That’s what I was thinking.” I secured my sweaty palm around the wand base. Eyes closed, I took a breath and focused on the sun energy percolating in my heart. When my strength flowed into my arm, I opened my eyes and encouraged it into the wand. I pictured Nannan, and the wand’s terminal tip shone, flooding Gran’s amber. The keepsake remained quiet, the figures carved in alabaster serene and still.

  I contacted the hot-gold amber to the side of the box. “C’mon. Do something.”

  “The pentacle star!” Cerise exclaimed. “Touch that.”

  My wand’s tip rested on the five-pointed star with a circle. Golden light swelled along the lines until the entire geometric shape glowed. The light returned up my wand to where another of the three twigs intersected the main branch. “It’s working! Finally.” I released a deep breath.

  During the next minute, the glow pushed into the origin of that secondary twig, but failed to extend into its tip. The wand vibrated against my hand until my whole arm shook. The light ebbed, then flowed again into the twig, yielding a net gain of only a couple millimeters. The trembling passed into my shoulder, and I braced it with my other arm. Again, the glow strained forward another barely perceptible distance.

  My torso shook, and dizziness passed over me. Pain spiked through my hexed lower leg. “Ow!” I jerked my left hand away and clutched my aching leg. The wand went dark, and the glow faded from the keepsake’s pentacle. I collapsed onto the floor and rubbed my calf, face contorted as tears welled into my eyes.

  “Oh!” Cerise knelt beside me and touched my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  Nausea hit my stomach, and I curled into a fetal position. “Hex bite.”

  Cerise shot to her feet. “Where do you keep the wintergreen Vika gave you?”

  “There’s some left in the pot.”

  She clattered about on the counter and pressed a wet towel against the hex bite. “A compress of wintergreen tea.”

  Within seconds, the sharp pain eased to a stinging sensation, and I sat up. “That’s helping. There’s a jar of wintergreen ointment in the upstairs bathroom.”

  “Good. Can you hold that in place? The kettle’s on. I’ll run up and get that ointment and be right back.” She raced upstairs and back down, her heels clicking the hardwood like a tightly wound metronome.

  I clamped a hand over the soggy towel and stared at the now quiet wand. Why did it fail me?

  Cerise returned and handed me a glass of brownish liquid. “Drink this. It’s the rest of the tea.” She braced my shoulder, while I drank the entire glass. “The fresh pot is brewing. What happened to you?”

  “I couldn’t force sun energy into that one wand tip. I wanted to more than anything because I could feel Nannan’s energy wanted it, too. So did Coyote Mother. Her energy pushed hard.” I pulled myself up to the desk chair. “The twig that didn’t fill with energy is the only one we didn’t use during the ceremony. The longest has Gran’s amber, which lights first. The other has Waapake’s hairs threaded into those small worm holes. But the third twig has nothing special. Why won’t it work?”

  “Give it time.” Cerise rubbed wintergreen ointment on my red, swollen leg. “Seems like the keepsake needs to connect there but can’t quite reach. I’m sure Tyne gave good information, but it might take a bit more work than we thought.”

  “Yeah, but why did my hex bite act up? I’ve been careful to keep my intake of sun and moon energy balanced.”

  “I’m not sure. We may need to ask Tyne more questions.”

  I nodded. “I’ll work on using my wand without the keepsake nearby. Maybe strengthening that isolated skill will help the connection. If not, I’ll want to see him again.”

  “And keep up on your wintergreen. I’ll have Vika make some more. You’re running low on the tea.” Cerise eyed me. “You look stable. I’m going outside to bolster the ward, then I’ll check on you before I leave.”

  By the time she returned, tiredness hit me hard. I’d not had my energy unbalanced so fast since Tiber bit my leg. After seeing Cerise off, I dragged my body up to bed and let sleep claim me.

  ***

  Sunday afternoon, I set one end of the long kitchen table for two, then dressed in jeans and a pretty embroidered blouse.

  I popped into Maggie’s room, w
here she and Fenton kept busy with a boisterous round of their figurine game. Glad they were occupied, I sneaked downstairs in my soft ballet flats to wait for Logan on the porch. With a few minutes to pass, I worked more with my wand, which I kept with me everywhere. My unsuccessful attempt at following Tyne’s guidance with the keepsake had driven home the fact I needed better control of my wand. After a warm-up with a single command, I performed more than a half dozen double spells and my first three-part spell. I sent magic into the wand, and it followed my intention of lifting a stick from the ground. The vibrating branch went on to whip a yellow leaf off a maple tree. The leaf, in turn, spiraled around its neighbors and caused them to join in the dance, somewhat as I’d planned. But the third action worked only partially. The leaves didn’t spin fast enough to sing the melody I intended, instead producing a single note of the tune. Satisfied with the accomplishment of creating one perfect pitch, I set the wand on a side table and sat to massage my fatigued arm. My gaze traveled into the distance, while my mind replayed recent events.

  Logan’s sedan turned onto my drive and pulled me back to the present moment.

  I shaded my eyes and waved to him, the orange sun shining with anticipation as it tickled the treetops until they blushed.

  Logan greeted me on the porch with a kiss and handed over one of two paper sacks.

  “Mmm. Fried chicken from Babbett’s?”

  “You know it.” He laughed and opened the door for me. “Show me what’s in the keepsake before we eat. Cerise said her straight hair curled around the other locks.”

  I set my bag on the kitchen counter, picked up the keepsake from the nearby desk, and opened the lid. “Whoa! The hair looks different now.”

  He peered into the compartment. “Each hair’s tipped with gold. Even Cerise’s black strand.”

  “Nannan and my energy are gold. Maybe I’ve made some impact at enlivening the keepsake. What do you think?”