Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3

by Marsha A. Moore

  “Thanks,” I said softly and closed the door, grateful to leave my concerns with him.

  I lit the charcoal burner and added the incense. Ribbons of smoke wafted through the room and shone in my bedside lamp’s yellow light.

  I pulled back the covers and got into bed. Eyes closed, I recited my invocation from memory. “Goddess of the moon, ruler of the night, bring me your faithful dream world companion Ellie O’Mara. Keeper of all secrets, divine bearer of wisdom, present me with her guidance at this time of need. Come out of the night. Come out of this night.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight: Dream-walker

  I jerked awake at the sound of my alarm clock. Lying in a pool of sweat, I threw off the covers. Disconnected images raced through my aching head. I held my temples, trying to discern shapes. I recognized Ellie’s face, but not like she appeared in the dresser photo, where an older woman wore a black dress, her peppery hair in a severe bun as wisps around her face fought for freedom. Instead, she appeared younger, as she had the night I visited her wildflower dream world while in the cemetery. In my dream, she sat on the dresser bench in my bedroom. Dark hair flowed loose past her waist. Her heart flashed beats of orange light through her white cotton shift dress.

  Hundreds of images zipped in a blur behind her. The more I tried to focus on them, the more my head throbbed. I clamped my eyes shut and pressed harder against my head. One image, the divine bronze dagger in my own hands, morphed into an amber jar of honey, and then one more changed into the brown skull from Tyne’s shop. Everything else raced past too fast.

  I dropped my hands and picked up the notepad beside my bed. The clock on the nightstand read ten o’clock. How had I slept so long? I scribbled notes and took them with me to the kitchen. Ravenous, I fixed and ate a full breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast while mulling over the dream.

  “So, Aggie, did you learn what to do?” Fenton’s cheery voice startled me.

  I turned the pad toward him and shrugged. “No. The only images that came to me were here in this house, not outside where I need to raise your body.”

  His pencil thin mustache drew down. “According to Maggie, shouldn’t you be able to travel as a dream-walker?”

  My eyes fell on the invocation I’d penned at the top of my notes. I jabbed the page with a fingertip. “This is wrong! My invocation asks the moon goddess to bring Ellie to me, not take me to her.”

  “Aye. That kept you in here. But you have three more nights to raise me body afore the other witches beat you to it.”

  I drummed my pen against the pad. “I should’ve known better with the invocation.”

  “It’s your first try. Don’t be so hard on yourself, lass.”

  I revised the prayer, placed it on my bedroom nightstand, and hurriedly dressed for work. I faced a long, tedious Monday until nightfall when I could attempt dream-walking again.

  I drove to the dress shop and finished up whatever jobs I could find, anything to keep my mind busy and pass time.

  ***

  Each passing night with unsuccessful dream-walking had drawn me further into an overwhelming state of panic. My usual lunch hour refueling with sun energy sparked my nerves like I’d drunk a whole pot of coffee. I peered at Shireen, sure my eyes would pop out of their sockets. “Do you need any errands run? Time had run out. The new moon would rise tonight. Every muscle and tendon in my body coiled tight, ready to strike.

  “No. You cleaned them all out yesterday.” With hands on her hips, she eyed me. “Land sakes. You’re ’bout as outta kilter as a short-tailed bull thrashin’ ’round in fly time. Don’t blame you a whit though, with what you’re up against tonight.”

  I wadded a scrap of fabric and hurled it at the wastebasket. “Damned waning moon!”

  “Don’t you be speakin’ ill of the waning moon goddess. Just ’cause you were tryin’ to learn new skills at a time she intends us to break away from what’s bad. Least you can make use of that tonight to break the black magic them witches intend at moonrise.”

  I paced around the central worktable. “I rewrote my invocation twice, changed the salt of my bath to sea salt, anointed my pillow and body with dream oil. Still no useful dreams.”

  “Was just the waning moon. Have some patience.” She finished pinning fabric pieces together and stared at me. “You aren’t gettin’ a lick done like this. You best take off from here and go red-up your spells to block them biddies tonight.”

  “But it’s crunch time for you.” I touched a pile of garments ready for hemming. “You need me to add spells to these seams.”

  She glared at me over the top of her reading glasses, mouth twisted into something like a mean frown, which flattened into a concerned line. “I said skedaddle, an’ I meant it.”

  I shook my head and gathered my things.

  As I passed her, Shireen engulfed me into a bear hug. “You take care tonight, you hear? I expect you here at work bright ‘an early in the morning’. Call me if you need anything.”

  I pulled away to see her make a quick dab at one eye.

  ***

  Under cover of the night’s first full darkness, I slipped out my back door, past the far side of my shed to avoid the flood lamp’s glow. Pressed against the purple shadow of the shed’s back wall, I slowed my breath and surveyed the area. Twenty yards away at the base of a scraggly hickory, lay Fenton’s disturbed grave. The pitch-black of a new moon pressed down, silencing the cricket’s songs.

  Busby’s rhythmic hoots reassured me that the expected trespassers hadn’t yet arrived.

  Waapake padded silently from the forest to my side, his silver coat gliding between shadows.

  To not draw attention to my work, only those two friends accompanied me. But the whole forest of trees and animals added its support through Nannan’s wand, strengthening my sweaty, shaking hand to maintain a firm grip.

  As Shireen suggested, I hoped the last of the waning moon’s energy would enable me to break what others intended to bring about on this night. I’d never faced black magic and needed all the help I could get.

  I moved in a zig-zag route toward the gravesite, stopping behind trees to hide my outline in case I wasn’t alone. One tree away, the disturbed earth cast shadowy ridges, the depressions between them inky black. I sniffed but detected only a lingering scent of yew potion, nothing fresh.

  Waapake lowered his nose to the ground and located the exact spot. The hair of his spine stood alert but not spiked.

  With his assurance, I knelt beside the plot and pressed my palm to the earth. Vibrations from below met my hand. I flinched, not ready to deal with that sort of magic yet. Necromancy. The word lodged in my throat. I needed Ellie’s help.

  Busby hooted.

  My heart skipped a beat before I registered his all-safe tone.

  Waapake rolled a stone to the toe of my boot. This was his assigned job, to find a black stone touched by dark art at the grave.

  I patted his side and sucked in a gulp of air. Wand already in my hand, I stood and flooded it with brilliant sun energy. Sparks flew from Nannan’s branch. Gran’s amber glowed like a beacon. Coyote Mother’s ghost bounded beside me and her son. I circled the wand high and wide overhead until bright light surrounded us and the grave.

  The little owl gave another assuring hoot.

  I let go of a held breath and knelt once more. I took the black stone into one hand and raised it to my forehead, projecting separation from all black witchcraft. I hurled the stone far into the forest and shouted after it, “With this stone dark magic be gone. Earth bind it, no one find it.”

  I slashed my wand down and dropped the lighted circle back to darkness. “The circle is released.” The spell complete, my breath dropped to the bottom of my chest. I listened for the slightest sounds. The fall of a leaf beat against my eardrums.

  A loud whoop sliced through me. Sharp female voices reverberated off the trees.

  Busby gave a trilled hoot.

  I darted behind a tree the way I’d come, then pau
sed at the far side of the shed.

  Waapake growled deep inside his throat, neck fur raised stiff and straight.

  Piercing yells moved behind me into the woods and sent a chill down my spine.

  Silently, I slipped toward my hiding spot. I’d purposely left the shed door unlocked and ajar so it didn’t make noise and draw attention. I picked my way around garden tools and old tires and kneeled at a lookout position, eye pressed to a cracked board in the back wall. My heart beat so loud, I feared others could hear it.

  From under her black cloak, Gladys Blinkhorne extended long, bony arms and called upon Hecate, goddess of the underworld. Another council witch, Viola Plackstone, joined her, as did Dulcie Quinn and another carriage-house actress, Rissa. In the night’s total darkness, their heads seemed to float, unattached to their black-clad bodies.

  “Fenton O’Mara, body and spirit, rise and unite to meet my will,” Gladys pronounced in a commanding tone, then lowered her voice to a snarl. “If you dare resist, your bag of bones will be pulverized by the hooves of wild boars.”

  Viola poured yew potion in the direction of the grave.

  The sharp odor made my nose wrinkle and my eyes squint.

  “Ack!” Dulcie jumped back onto her friend.

  “You got it on me,” Gladys snapped. “What’s wrong with you, Viola?”

  “The grave’s protected! A ward!” the other councilwoman yelped, dabbing potion from her hands with the hem of her cloak.

  “Gladys, you mucked this up again, I see,” the throaty voice of Ned Murdock resounded off the trees before he came into my view near the grave. “This O’Mara soul should’ve been fed to the banshee times over. You’re lettin’ Aggie Anders outsmart you.”

  Smoke hissed from Gladys’ mouth and fingertips. She leaned toward Murdock, teeth bared, sizzling smoke at his face. Black witchcraft oozed from her core. With that much darkness, could she detect my presence, traces of my magic…or my physical body? Would Coyote Mother’s magic protect, or at least hide us?

  Gladys’ smoke enveloped Ned. He whimpered and crouched lower over his cane.

  Unable to watch the horror, I turned away and huddled into Waapake’s side. Not even Ned deserved that treatment. The beryl at my wrist cast a glow around us both.

  Coyote Mother howled. I clutched Waapake and prayed those outside couldn’t hear his mother.

  Winds shook the shed. The door rattled. Garden racks crashed to the floor. My muscles tensed, and I jumped to my feet.

  Outside, Busby squawked a half hoot as if trapped…or injured.

  A lump lodged in my throat.

  I clamped my wand before us and fueled it. My only hope needed to work.

  A sharp beam of light cut back and forth across the opening in the shed door.

  Chapter Twenty-nine: Life Force

  Sweat trickled down the nape of my neck. I aimed my wand at the cracked shed door.

  The fur along the length of Waapake’s spine spiked like quills.

  “What’s up here?” a male voice boomed out, flat and deep. The man sounded familiar, but who? “This is private property. You all need to move along.” It was Duncan, the man Logan hired to coordinate security.

  I clasped a hand to my heart, but stayed huddled against Waapake until the black witches’ voices drifted away.

  When they blended with choruses of shouts at the carriage house, I ventured toward the door. Shook up after the scare, I tried to squeeze through like before, but this time the door grated along its track.

  “Who’s there?” Duncan barked and rounded the building, moving like a locomotive on his long, gangly legs.

  Not aware he’d remained, I flinched.

  Waapake slipped in front of me.

  “It’s just me, Aggie.” I slunk forward with limp legs into the shed’s security light shining on my driveway.

  Duncan tipped his cap and dark hair shadowed the sides of his face. “Best you be gettin’ inside, Miss Aggie. Not safe to be about on a new moon night.”

  “Thank you.” With Duncan wearing a gun at his side, I allowed myself a deep breath and secured the shed with still-fumbling fingers. “I’m glad they were afraid of your gun.”

  “Been huntin’ since I was knee high to a grasshopper.” He patted his firearm. “Folks here know I mean business. Don’t test me with no magic. Same as my daddy.”

  A clipped hoot drew my attention to the building’s gabled roof.

  Concerned, I stretched out my cloaked arm, and Busby slid to the edge of the roof, clinging with talons. Then he flopped clumsily toward my arm, one wing hanging at an outward angle. As I stepped forward, he gripped my arm and settled, talons biting a bit through my cloak.

  “Wing’s injured,” Duncan said. “Been hit by some evil magic, I reckon.”

  “I’ll call Rowe.”

  “Rowe’s the healer. He’ll fix the little guy right up.” Duncan tipped his cap. “I’ll stay till I see you in, then make rounds myself till dawn since we had a fracas. Sorry ’bout that. Should’ve been out here sooner.”

  “Oh, thanks for your help.” I gave him a weak but grateful smile, and then dragged myself across the lawn. I kept my thoughts free of what might have happened so my shaky legs wouldn’t collapse on the way to my house.

  Inside the kitchen, I held my arm so Busby could move to the back of a chair, and I called Rowe to explain.

  Within fifteen minutes, he arrived and passed healing hands over his familiar’s injured wing. “Just a whiff of black magic, not directed at him. With a few more repairs and rest, he’ll be as good as new.”

  I petted the bird’s head. “He was great, keeping us informed about what we couldn’t see.”

  “I’m glad he could help. I called Keir and he said, in light of tonight’s incident, keep Waapake with you overnight. He’ll pick him up before you leave for work in the morning.”

  “That’ll be a real comfort.” I kneeled and hugged an arm around the coyote, grateful.

  Rowe held out a leather wristlet and escorted Busby to his car.

  I waved them goodbye. Waapake stood tight against my lower leg. We supported each other.

  ***

  With Waapake lying at the side of my bed and Fenton seated in a wing chair across the room, I allowed my fears to slip away. Gladys and Murdock had been blocked, and everyone I cared for was safe. I rested my exhausted body and closed my eyes, silently reciting my question for Ellie: If I need a sample of Fenton’s hair to activate the keepsake, how do I raise his body from the grave?

  With no incense, anointing oil, special tea, or invocation prayer, I didn’t expect anything. But the question burned in my mind; I couldn’t push it away.

  Sleep took me into a dream where I visited Ellie’s meadow. The sun shone on waves of pink cosmos flowers that danced with the gentle breeze.

  “Aggie, I’m here,” a female voice called from behind me. Ellie cut through waist-high stems to reach my side. The ruffled short sleeves of her flowered dress fluttered, and her long dark hair floated away from her back. A wide smile decorated her young face. She looked to be no more than thirty. She carried my bouquet of purple asters, now fresh again with bright yellow centers. “Thank you kindly for the offerin’. I’ve been waitin’ for you. You asked me if you need Fenton’s hair for the keepsake to operate. You do and the only way to accomplish that is to gather hair from his grave.”

  “I have supplies that are commonly used to raise the dead, but how do I use them?”

  “Necromancy isn’t me specialty, but I do know a thing or two ’bout how to best tempt me brother.”

  We walked to the edge of a brook and sat on a sun-warmed boulder as she related the process.

  Coyote Mother joined us and pawed a small fish onto the bank for a meal.

  “That reminds me,” Ellie said. “Aggie, you need to drink from this stream. That way you’ll remember our conversation when you return home and wake.”

  I kneeled at the bank and scooped a handful of effervescent water to my
mouth. Bubbles tickled my tongue and nose with a taste of ripe, juicy strawberries. So good, I reached for another handful, but was dismayed to find it turned into a wad of sheet. I lay in my own bed. The aftertaste of berries lingered in my mouth. I rolled onto my back, arms spread wide. At last, the dream-walking worked.

  Waapake rested his front paws on the edge of the bed and asked, “Dream-walking?”

  I smiled and rubbed one of his long ears. “Yes. I visited Ellie and your mother.” I reached for the nightstand notebook and recorded what I needed to do tonight. Daylight streamed through the windows, and my clock read four-thirty. “Oh! I slept all day. And missed work. And I don’t have long to prepare for tonight.”

  As I pushed to the edge of the bed, Fenton glided through the door and said, “I thought I heard your voice. You must’ve been all in or went dream-walking or both.”

  I stretched and grinned. “Both is right.” I picked up the phone and dialed Shireen.

  “Aggie!” Shireen’s voice trembled. “I’ve been worried sick. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just slept late.”

  Shireen let out a loud low whistle. “At least Keir called around after he checked at your place this morning.”

  “Darn. I missed him. He was here to pick up Waapake. Keir must be worried.”

  “All’s okay. Waapake came out an’ told him you were sleepin’ heavy an’ Keir sent him back inside.”

  I stared in wonder at the coyote resting at my feet. “I slept for over fifteen hours.”

  “Pshew! That clearin’ spell must’ve taken it out of you. Powerful strong witchcraft will do that.”

  “And I really dream-walked to see Ellie. Finally!”

  “Gal, I can hear the smile in your voice.” Shireen laughed. “I’ll bet you’ve got a heap of witchcraft to do tonight now that we’re into the waxing moon.”

  “Yeah. But I missed work at your place. Can I make up the time the next few Saturday afternoons?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry ’bout it. Make up the hours as you can. Samhain’s only a week away. You got your work cut out for you.”