Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3

by Marsha A. Moore

  ***

  As soon as the slim waxing crescent shone on my back lawn, I headed out. After a quick check to make sure of no black magic vibrations or the banshee’s frigid breeze, I called down the moon goddess I badly needed.

  The new crescent curved right as she gave me her wild, untamed grin full of grand ideas and plans untampered by reality. Just what I needed, her unlimited hope to support me along a path not followed. “Nimue, I call upon your power this night.” Her power of new beginnings and growth radiated down to me.

  Enlivened by her gift of power, I darted back to the slab porch where my totes of supplies waited.

  Fenton’s face appeared inside the door window, his lips pressed together and forehead etched with lines. He’d begged to join me at his grave, to speed the raising since his body would react quicker to his request. But being so close to his body would almost guarantee an appearance by the banshee. We couldn’t chance that, even though it meant I’d have to work alone.

  Energies other than mine, his, Ellie’s, or from the moon goddess would confuse the delicate summoning process. Earlier during dinner, Logan insisted on being present for my safety. We compromised that he and his security man Duncan would take turns keeping watch from the base of the hill.

  Loaded down, I trudged behind the shed. Without Busby or Waapake this time, I had to rely on my own skills. Hypersensitive, my senses and witch intuition fired at the slightest disturbances, which thankfully all turned out to be normal. To safely work at the gravesite, I planted one knee on solid ground and the other slightly forward in a lunge position. Fenton’s corpse might be so attracted to my life force, it could draw me into the earth if I didn’t take precautions. Or leave me suffering from complications of chronic illness and depression.

  I arranged all my supplies within reach, then rang a small brass bell borrowed from Vika. A signal to the body I was ready to make contact.

  With shaking fingers, I lit two candles, black and white. My voice trembled up from my ribs and squeaked the proclamation, “This black candle will draw the body of Fenton Patrick O’Mara to provide a sample of his remaining hair. The white candle will share the energy raised here with his body. Come forth and provide the sample I seek!”

  The ground at the grave remained still, devoid of all vibrations. This was going to be harder than I expected. I moved on to something that might tempt the body out.

  I anointed myself with an oil I’d created from foods Fenton liked. I dabbed a sweet honey-pomegranate-orange mixture onto my wrists, over my heart, throat, forehead, and crown. “I consecrate myself as a creature of the Earth so that Fenton O’Mara’s body will come forth from the Earth and give me what I request.”

  I sat quiet, eyes fixed to the grave while I walked my fingers to take hold of the bronze dagger.

  The old cracks of the gravesite widened a half-inch, and then closed.

  I flinched and pulled the knife to my side. Heartened I’d made a connection, I thrust the dagger into the air with my right hand and circled it wide around both me and the grave three times counterclockwise as I called out, “By the ancients’ bronze blade, I cast this circle to defend me against evil. Let spirits who enter here be only of pure intent.” I lay the dagger aside, placed my brown skull in the circle, and tapped it three times with my yew wand.

  The ground beneath the cracks rumbled. The tools seemed to be working, smelly but powerful.

  Into a large ceramic bowl, I poured honey and added pomegranate and orange wedges.

  Before I could utter the accompanying invocation, the cracks gaped.

  “Let these offerings appease you, Fenton O’Mara. Come forth and provide a sample of hair.” I poked the pad of my right index finger with a sterilized needle and squeezed three drops of blood into the bowl. “I make this offering of my blood that it may feed you with my life force to provide me with what I seek.”

  The grave soil pulled apart, inch by inch.

  I rolled back onto my heels, in case I needed a quick getaway, but kept my head forward. I rested my left hand onto the skull near me. Words refused to utter from my mouth. I silently restated my request, willing the message from my heart.

  The earth shook with underground groans. A dark, bony hand poked through, clutching at loose soil until it gained a secure hold.

  The beam of a flashlight swept across me, and the hand dropped out of sight.

  My fingers dug into the skull’s eye sockets. Heat flooded my own face, ringing my eyes.

  The corpse’s hand and wrist thrust upward and again grabbed hard onto firm soil. Had the intrusive light angered the corpse? Would it attack me?

  My breathing became shallow. I squinted to register the smallest motions from the grave.

  A ridge pushed up. Dirt dropped away and a head emerged, draped in torn fragments of flesh that exposed gray shredded muscles and patches of glistening bone. The hollow mouth creaked open and emitted a guttural moan. A shoulder lifted. Its arm flopped across the ground, hand resting inches from my foot.

  I flinched but held steady, afraid to even breathe.

  The hand lifted and smacked the head but fell away. The mouth expelled another agonized growl. Again, the arm jerked upward to briefly land on the head. Again, the arm fell lifeless to the ground, overcome by gravity. “Take,” the hollow mouth grunted.

  I floundered to pick up the scissors I’d brought. My fingers refused to thread into the handles. At last my shaking hand cooperated, and I leaned forward. My chest heaved. Nausea from the stench turned my stomach. I exhaled sharply to expel as much of the rancid odor as possible, then snipped gray, wiry hairs into my open hand. Sweat dripping into my eyes, I dropped the scissors to my side and felt for the collection jar.

  With the sample secure, I lifted the yew wand and tapped the skull three times. “I give you thanks, body of Fenton O’Mara, for the sample you have shared with me. May you depart in love and joy.” I exchanged wand for dagger and raised it to close the circle.

  “Thaannkeee,” the head moaned, and its eye sockets followed me as I stood.

  I circled the dagger three turns clockwise this time. “I close this sacred site. As rising waxing crescent, it is done!”

  Again a flashlight intruded on the sacred space. After the beam passed, I glanced in the direction it came. Shadows darted along the hill and my driveway.

  Fenton’s torso flopped forward, both hands now grabbing anything in reach. One clamped my ankle.

  I screamed, then caught myself. I couldn’t risk drawing attention. I clenched my teeth. Colder than the meat in the butcher’s freezer in New Wish, the corpse’s touch paralyzed my entire leg. I inched my free foot farther outside the circle.

  “Pleeeasssee.” From the corpse’s energy, I understood his intention. My haptics read him clearly, a single-pointed desire to be alive. But while he meant no harm, for him to live meant I would hand over my life force and die. Ellie hadn’t mentioned this problem, so I went with my instincts.

  I shot a huge amount of my sun energy into that leg.

  The corpse grunted and fell back and down into the grave.

  I spread golden sun magic overtop. “Rest in peace, joy, and know that you are loved.” The cracks closed, and underneath the gentle shifting soon quieted.

  Satisfied with my modification, I gathered my supplies and darted across the far side of the shed to my back porch.

  Fenton swung open the door and closed it behind me. “I felt me body. Did you get the hair?”

  “Yes.” Breathless, I swept to the kitchen desk, withdrew the keepsake, and opened its lid. I dug in a tote for the jar of hair and thrust it at him. “You need to add the strand.”

  His fingers shook as he turned the lid and lifted out the sample. “Aggie, I’m ’fraid this piece o’ me body being inside the house will invite the banshee to come get me. Going out to help with me grave would’ve only taken minutes. This is something different…”

  “Only if you keep it separate from the keepsake,” I spat the wor
ds at him, well aware of the danger. “The family magic will fuse over your hair.”

  “How do you know this?”

  A knock sounded at the front door. The nauseating vibrations of black magic I’d sensed last night seeped under the door. Would Cerise’s protective ward hold against that evil witchcraft?

  “Ellie told me last night. Do it! Now,” I hissed.

  He dropped the hair into the box, and I secured the lid. The pentacle in the goddess’s hand sparked, then quieted, a signal the magic had been accepted.

  “It’s done. Just in time.” My gaze fixed to the darkness boring through the outside door.

  The evil hesitated, then slid silently away from the porch.

  “Whoever was there came with strong black magic, but both are gone now.” Keeping hold of both wand and keepsake, I peeked through the door’s side window.

  Ned Murdock limped to the end of my driveway where Gladys and the others from last night met him. He shook his head and sauntered across the road to his house.

  Duncan rounded the hill near the road and scattered the black witches by showing his gun.

  My heart thumped against my ribs, and I sank onto the floor, back against the door.

  ***

  That night, I dream-walked back to my home in New Wish and visited with Gran, still alive to me. Her open arms drew me in and gave me oversize helpings of love and courage I so needed. As a dream-walker, the edges of reality began to blur. The nightstand phone rang first in my dream, and then beside my bed.

  I flopped a hand to grab the receiver and muttered a raspy, “Hello?” I propped up on an elbow. The nightstand clock read two in the morning.

  “Aggie. It’s Logan. I know it’s late. I’m on your porch. I wanted to check on you after what Duncan just told me. Can you come down?” His words were clipped, voice strained.

  “Um. I guess.” I hoisted myself out of bed, found my slippers, and stumbled down the stairs. After peering through the side window to make sure it was really him, I opened the door. “What’s going on?” I stepped aside for him to enter, then relocked the door.

  He cast midnight eyes on me. Silver lightning streaked through his irises. “Duncan just reported in on break from his patrol. Told me about what he saw with Ned and Gladys hanging around here. Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I got Fenton’s hair from the body. It’s safe now, inside the keepsake. All the trouble from them seemed to stop once we did that last step. I’m drained, but otherwise okay.”

  “I’m glad for that much.” Logan’s chest heaved as if still weighed upon by other troubles. Dressed in all black shirt and trousers, he looked like a fierce storm.

  “Did you have a bad night?” I asked.

  “You could say that. I’m exhausted from working these long hours and can’t sort out something that has come up.”

  Unable to read him, I gave a tentative smile and touched his arm. My haptic reading scorched my hand, and I jerked away. Hurt feelings boiled at his surface. Frustration directed at me.

  “Someone told me tonight you had a date with Eric Beck last Saturday. Is that true?” His words speared into my sides, still soft and unprotected from pleasant dream-walking.

  “No. I told you I met with him—”

  “Which is it? Yes or no?” Logan’s pointed gaze burned through me.

  What was he insinuating? I’d done nothing wrong. Heat rose in my face, and sun energy sparked at my fingertips. I locked my eyes onto his glare and declared, “No. It wasn’t a date. We had lunch at—”

  “At Dairy Queen. Some of my workers saw you there. And he made plans to take you out again. Is that right?” he growled.

  My neck stiff, muscles taut, I shouted, “He asked, and I turned him down.”

  “So you did go out with him.” His harsh words stung.

  I snapped back, “You’re jumping to conclusions. Don’t you trust me?”

  Logan’s lower jaw tensed as he hesitated, or prepared to pounce, I didn’t know. “Aggie, how can you really care about me and go out with another guy?”

  Determined to get through to him, I grabbed for his hand, and he yanked it free. “It wasn’t a date. Really.”

  His lips quivered for an instant, then his chin jutted out. “If you don’t want to be with me, let me know.”

  Though we’d never talked about being a couple, hearing him say the words cooled my heated skin and embraced my heart. My voice shook and the explanation tumbled out. “I do care about you. Please listen. I met Eric for lunch because he had information about witches raising a zombie on my property. He refused to tell me over the phone. But, I promise, it was a business meeting, at least for me.”

  Logan hissed a breath through closed teeth. “I didn’t know that’s how you got that tip. You said the information came from Dulcie. I thought you heard it through some ladies’ gossip at Shireen’s.” He brushed the long bangs from his eyes, leaned against the foyer wall, and stared into space. “I’ve been working so hard…and worried about you…not sleeping. I don’t remember how you said you found out, only about what Gladys and Ned were doing.”

  “I know I mentioned I saw Eric at lunch, but I didn’t make a big deal of it. It wasn’t a big deal. What he told me was the important part.”

  “Well, Rissa made a big deal about it, how nice you looked and—”

  I raised a brow. “She’s friends with Dulcie. She and all her friends hate me.”

  He rubbed a hand across the blond stubble on his jaw.

  “Do you think maybe she misunderstood and exaggerated…a lot?” I retorted.

  He tilted his head and looked at me with a guilty grin. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Too much stress.”

  I held out my hand, and he accepted it.

  “Will you forgive me? I’ve been a real jerk. I woke you up, and you have to work early in the morning.” He took hold of my arm and pulled me close, snaking the other arm around my waist.

  “It’s okay. I wasn’t sleeping much after the night I had.”

  “I want you to be my girlfriend. Just us.” He glanced at me with hooded eyes and his sexy smile. “Will you be mine, Aggie?”

  “I will.” Any residual anger melted with the smile beaming across my face.

  He pulled me close and held me while I spilled the details of what had happened with raising Fenton’s body. I shook while telling him how I’d narrowly managed to get the hair into the keepsake before Ned Murdock came to my door. “They were all out there waiting, like evil vultures.” I pressed my head against his shoulder.

  His supportive warmth freed tears I’d held back. I sobbed as he ran his hands along my back and stroked my hair.

  “I only have one more week,” I sputtered. “I don’t know how to use the keepsake…where to find the banshee…how to challenge it.” I gasped for air, the words sticking in my strained throat.

  Logan held me tighter. “You are special. You can do anything in a week. I know.”

  When at last my breathing eased, he pulled back and kissed the wet trails of tears on my cheeks.

  “I don’t know if black magic can counter Cerise’s ward. I’m afraid to let the keepsake or my wand out of sight.” I slapped a hand to my head. “I left them in my bedroom!”

  I raced upstairs and into my room, Logan close behind. I hugged the two magical tools to my chest.

  He checked the window latches and peered outside. “All’s fine. Duncan’s patrolling till dawn.”

  “I’m glad for him. He seems a bit odd, in a creepy way, but—”

  “His heart’s in the right place. He was a good friend of my father. Our families have been close for decades. I’d trust Duncan with my life.” Logan leaned to look out at an angle. “I see his flashlight shining across the road, but I don’t see any other people. He’s probably just letting Murdock know he’s around.” He turned and motioned me to bed.

  I set the valuable devices on my nightstand and sunk into the fluffy featherbed.

  His hand lingered at the bedside l
amp, and his lips curled into a dimpled grin. “Would it be okay for me to stay with you?”

  “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.” I lifted a corner of the quilt and scooted to make room.

  He turned off the light and undressed to his undershirt and shorts. The white cotton caught the moonlight and revealed ridges of hard muscles along his chest and back. He settled into the soft bed and pulled me to him.

  The heat of his body sent shivers along my skin. I ached for his kiss, and I rubbed a hand along his unshaven jaw. The whiskers tickled my skin into delicious shivers. I twisted to press my lips against his, nudging them open as our tongues met.

  Giving and taking breath from each other, we gasped and moaned into the kiss, our torsos pressed hard together.

  He took hold of my hand at his jaw and gently kissed my fingers. “It’s not the right time. I’m beat. Let me hold you.” He wound a strong hand between us and guided me to turn over.

  I pressed back into his protective warmth, spooned against his life force, our cocoon I’d longed for.

  Chapter Thirty: Morning Kisses and Dew

  I woke in a delicious tangle of blankets and Logan. Wrapped in our cocoon, I’d slept soundly, without dreams.

  He breathed full and slow, still in deep sleep. Poor guy. He already had so much to deal with in his duties as high priest. Working every night on top of that had exhausted him. As much as I wanted to wake him for, well, other plans, for now I’d stifle my needs.

  I wanted to stay snuggled close until he stirred. Refreshed, we’d be able to have some fun. My eyes followed where my hands longed to travel, along the muscles of his shoulders, his pecs lightly dusted with hair. I smiled at how his undershirt had been lost during the night. Caressing him with my gaze for several minutes, I hoped he’d wake and we’d have at least a short time together.

  Though I willed the clock’s digital display to stop, it kept ticking onward. I couldn’t put it off any longer. I hated to leave him, but I couldn’t let Shireen down. I pressed my lips against Logan’s shoulder and eased away from our warm nest. Tiptoeing, I gathered clothes for work and dressed in the bathroom.