I ate a quick bite of breakfast washed down with cold wintergreen tea forgotten during all that had happened last night. Back upstairs, I loaded my bag with the tools I dared not leave behind.
“Hey,” Logan said with a sexy voice hoarse from sleep. “Going to work?”
“Yeah.” I let my gaze drink in his bare chest, then perched near him on the edge of the bed. “Wish I could stay, but Shireen’s gearing up for Yule sales. I can’t miss.”
He yawned and stretched an arm around my hip. “I slept great. How about you?”
“Deep and dreamless.” I leaned down and brushed my cheek against his, thrilling at the whiskery tingles that spread luxurious heat past my belly button.
His fingers inched the skirt up my thigh and murmured in my ear, “Wish you could stay.”
The phone ringing on the nightstand ended our moment. I reluctantly answered.
“Aggie, how’d it work last night?” Cerise asked in an anxious tone. “I know you have to get going, but I’m on pins and needles.”
I filled her in on the basics, but her questions continued. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later on my break.”
“Let me talk to her.” Logan reached for the phone. “You have work to do for Shireen.”
Her voice raised to a tinny pitch as she streamed on in Logan’s ear.
I laughed while gathering more items into my bag. I set a house key on the nightstand, mouthed, “Front door,” to Logan, and he nodded.
“Yes, I spent the night.” He chuckled into the phone. “It seemed like the best way to keep Aggie safe after what happened. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?” He held the earpiece away from his ear as Cerise’s voice rose another decibel.
Cheeks aching from my too-wide grin, I waved him goodbye.
***
Home from a full Saturday at the dress shop, I opted against volunteering at the carriage house. Testing the keepsake, now with Fenton’s hair, weighed foremost on my mind.
I rounded up Fenton and set out precautionary remedies on the kitchen counter: a fresh pot of wintergreen tea with a cup poured, a towel, and Vika’s wintergreen ointment.
I shot him a glance and placed the keepsake on the counter. “Ready?”
He nodded from his seat at the desk chair.
I powered my wand and touched it to the pentacle carved in the keepsake’s lid. As before, golden sun energy traveled from the main terminal twig through Gran’s amber and around the lines of the pentacle’s five-pointed star and outer circle. Continuing along the same path as my first attempt, it returned to my wand and strained once more at the base of the unmarked twig.
I squinted to concentrate harder on the wand’s unempowered tip. The wand vibrated with my determination, and I clutched it tighter. More sun energy increased the tremors. I didn’t relent. My whole arm shook and grew weak. I braced it against the refrigerator door, gripped my free hand over the wand’s base, and sent more power into it. Heat flooded my neck and face. If I failed, the impact of my destiny affected so many. My mouth contorted with the effort. To eek out the strength I needed to endure, I pictured the face of every good and kind person I’d met in Coon Hollow…people who depended upon me.
I forced them from my mind, gritted my teeth, and pushed more power into the wand. The returning energy jumped a half-inch up the twig. Heartened, I supplied one more burst of strength. Trickles of sweat flowed into my eyes and blurred my vision. The smiling faces of my coven friends blended into one large, gaping mouth of the banshee that shrieked and spewed evil. I collapsed over the counter, gasping for air, wand limp in my hand.
The wand’s third tip glowed to within an inch of its end. I braced my head with my hands and cried, “What does it take?”
Fenton wrapped a weightless arm around my shoulder. “Are you okay? Can I help?”
I shook my head, tears and sweat dripping freely. “What’s wrong with my magic? It’s not working. The keepsake should be ready now.”
“Don’t know, lass. You look a bit peaked. Do you need any remedies?”
“No. Tired and drained. Frustrated.” I pressed away from the counter.
He guided me to the table and pulled out a chair. “Rest a spell with some tea. Maybe with some quiet time to ponder, you’ll know what happened.”
I accepted the mug from him and took a deep swallow of the minty brew. “Why do I feel better this time? I spent a ton of energy, and I’m exhausted, but no pain in my leg.” I rolled up the leg of my jeans and ran a hand over the area of the hex bite, now unmarked and smooth. “What the heck? The bite’s gone!”
“The keepsake must’ve healed you.”
“Why?” I asked.
He scratched his brow. “Not rightly sure, but maybe you have to be whole.”
“Yes, maybe for the tools to work as one with me. You think?”
“Could be. Why don’t you ask Ellie?”
Totally spent and with a good reason to head to bed early, I trudged upstairs. I ground out strength to shower and put on a fresh nightshirt, in case guidelines of uncleanliness might be a deal-breaker for dream-walking.
Despite slept-in sheets that smelled deliciously of Logan, I traveled through my sleep along paths in the surrounding moonlit woods. I started down the yew-laced trail from Fenton’s grave, which I’d never had the courage to follow in my waking life. After a short distance, the trees became so thick they cut out all light from the moon and stars. I felt my way with hands in front of me and lost the trail at a crossroads. I turned in place and called for Ellie.
“Clear your mind to choose the correct path. When the veil thins, O’Mara magic in the keepsake will fully open to yours.” The calm of her voice loosened my hold on the dream, and I floated in darkness, content in knowing her presence watched over me.
***
It was still dark outside when I woke, and my clock read five-thirty Sunday morning. Thankful I hadn’t missed another day I couldn’t afford to lose, I rose and went down to make tea. With the steaming mug in hand, I stepped onto the front porch. The brisk air invigorated my senses and dashed away the heavy grogginess from sleeping so long.
A round gray shape scooted from under a bush onto my front lawn, lit by the shed’s security light. Leaving a trail through the dewy grass, it turned and flashed a black and white striped tail in the air.
Heart racing, I called to him. “Cyril?”
The critter paused and turned its white-masked face to me, long grizzled whiskers dripping. “Aggie, is that you?” the Coon King chittered.
“Yes. Stay there. I’ll be right down.” I ran onto the yard, not bothering with shoes or coat. I dropped bare-legged onto the damp grass before him, disregarding the cold. “I need to know where the crossroads is in the forest. Do you know?”
“Course I do. Don’t you?” Dew glistened on his wiggling, black nose.
“I need to pick the right path leading from there. Then my magic will work to fight the banshee. Can you take me there? To the crossroads?”
Cyril pawed silvery dewdrops from the ends of his whiskers. “Gladly, whenever you’re ready.”
My head still woozy from my night spent dream-walking, I blurted, “As soon as I get dressed.” I jumped up and caught myself, recalling last night’s journey. “No, wait. What did Ellie say? ‘When the veil is thinnest.’ Oh, the night of Samhain.”
I studied the dark green pine boughs sweeping the lawn from the edge of the woods where Fenton’s grave lay. “On second thought, I would like to see it now, to be prepared for that night. Will you take me there now?”
Upon receiving no answer, I looked down. Cyril had vanished, without even a trail of dewy footprints.
Chapter Thirty-one: The Veil Thins
In the gloaming hours of Samhain, I mingled with close friends in the homestead. Since I was too nervous to act as hostess, Cerise seemed more than happy to fill that role. Jancie, Vika, and Shireen had prepared trays of finger foods and baked treats. Everyone dressed in their nicest ceremonial bla
ck outfits, of velvet, lace, and satiny brocade. I wore the gown I’d worn to my wand consecration, nice but not as lavish as the others’. And this time, I donned my trusted hiking boots. Running from a wailing banshee with dress boots catching in lace wouldn’t give me any advantage.
While everything smelled delicious, with my stomach in knots, I couldn’t eat. I held a glass of punch with a napkin to keep it from slipping in my sweaty palm.
Prepared to accompany me, Waapake paced from room to room, panting.
Fenton flitted in all directions, at times passing directly through people, which momentarily unsettled their energies, even though they all could see him.
Voices filled the parlor and kitchen, but an undercurrent of foreboding silence stilted laughter and cut conversations at awkward moments. With the veil thinning more with each passing minute, we sensed the spirit world vibrations on every normal air current, whisper, and whiff of scent.
Keir massaged his phoenix talisman along the coyote’s neck. Rowe repeatedly checked the time on his pocket watch, which glowed more and more with his blue magic. The two men took turns scanning the parlor and checking outside from both the front and back porches. At intervals, Busby circled the property and reported back to them.
“You doing okay, Aggie?” Jancie startled me from my blind meditative stare as I leaned against the parlor doorway.
I flinched and my drink sloshed onto my hand. “Um, as good as I can be, I guess. Ready to get on with this night.” I dried my fingers on the napkin.
She rubbed my arm. “It’s hard that Logan can’t be here.”
“It’s his big night. Halloween at the carriage house and the coven’s ceremony at the cemetery.” I sipped my punch to ease the lump in my throat. “He couldn’t be with me in the forest anyway. I have to do this by myself.” The truth of those words stung. According to Waapake’s vision and Nannan’s word, my destiny was mine to follow alone, but I would’ve given a lot for Logan to be with me through the next few hours. I’d made preparations: mastered my wand’s magic, practiced communication with Waapake, and been coached by Keir on every version of banshee lore he knew. Despite all the preparations, I wasn’t ready for what I had to face. The stakes were high. The banshee could destroy my magical powers…or even take my life. I wanted Logan’s cocoon protecting me. With the excuse of rinsing my hand, I moved to the kitchen, glad to stop those feelings from spilling onto Jancie and overwhelming her.
As the hours progressed, Waapake and I continued meeting on a nervous circuit among those present, each of us unable to remain still. I rubbed his ears, and my haptics revealed fragments of the vision we’d shared at Keir’s dinner party. Through his sight, again I saw the huge boulder where he and his mother stood against the banshee’s gusting winds.
He whimpered and moved away from my touch to peer through low windows.
At ten-thirty, I picked up my long, black cloak from the foyer’s hall tree and pulled it on. My fingers fumbled with the ties.
Shireen scooped me into her wide arms. “No matter what, you take care of you, you hear? We’ve lived with this curse for decades, an’ can live on plenty more. But we can’t lose you.” She pulled back abruptly, her face scrunched, as if holding herself together. Not stopping to fix her support stockings rolling below her knees, she darted out of sight to the kitchen.
Watery eyed, I smiled after my big-hearted employer. Earlier today, I’d called home to talk with my parents and little brother. Just to hear their voices. I couldn’t tell them the dangers I faced going up against the cursed banshee. Didn’t want to scare them. Heck, it scared me. I had to force the risks out of my mind. I wiped my eyes, trying not to let Shireen’s outpouring submerge me in my fears.
Jancie grabbed both Vika and me into a group hug. They flowed gifts of their unique energies to me. As I broke away, the bonding melded deep into my heart.
Fenton wrapped vaporous arms around my shoulders, an unfelt hug that set tears leaking from my eyes. “Wish that I could go with you, lass. If need be, call out me name. I’ll meet any darkness rather than let your life be cut short.”
I nodded. “Thanks.” He’d risked so much for my safety. The continued existence of his soul in this world depended upon me. It was now my turn to repay his bravery. I lifted the strap of my messenger bag across my chest and patted it to be certain the keepsake and wand rode safely.
To avoid calling unwanted attention, only Keir and Rowe escorted Waapake and me outside. We all scanned for signs of Gladys’ group of black witches. Busby circled the area and landed on Rowe’s arm.
A bright yellow glow on the Murdock porch silhouetted human shapes. Tonight, a last quarter moon corresponded with the time the veil between underworld and living realms would be at its thinnest. No doubt they would make a strong attempt to raise Fenton’s corpse and draw his spirit out the house. Unified, he would be presented as a gruesome sacrifice to the cursed banshee. I shuddered at the thought of losing my friend. Other than feeding their malevolent hearts, what did that act serve? Unfamiliar with the ways of dark arts, no answer came to me.
Although I’d performed a quick ceremony as before and cast out a black stone from the ground above his grave, I didn’t hold much hope in that protection. The thinning veil could empower witches, including those who practiced black magic. Thankfully, Vika and Shireen had volunteered to sit with Fenton in the homestead. Their combined years and wisdom reassured me.
The dim glow of the last quarter crescent moon shone at the distant tree line, an hour from rising.
At the trailhead behind the shed, Keir touched my shoulder. He spoke in a higher tone than usual for the ever-calm seer. “I’ll maintain uninterrupted mental connection with Waapake until we know you’re both safe. He’ll alert me if things go wrong.”
I took hold of his hand, and he pressed it to the talisman at his heart and said, “My fire energy will be with you.”
Busby gave a soft hoot and said, “Remember Logan’s request.”
“Yes. I’ve got it.” Rowe passed something into my palm. “From Logan. He said you’d understand.”
The amethyst pendulum. I met Rowe’s gaze and nodded as I put it into my skirt pocket. “Thank you.” The gem warmed my insides, a welcome reminder of our cocoon.
I scanned the woods for Cyril but didn’t find him. Each evening this past week, I’d walked the woods looking for him to show me the crossroads. Not even Nannan had seen the Coon King. He’d promised to be our guide tonight. Why wasn’t he here? I dreaded to begin the journey without him, but he left me no choice. From my dream-walking, I knew my journey began at this trailhead. I had to go ahead, with or without a guide.
Waapake brushed against my side, a touch to signal us to start our journey. Though Waapake had spoken to me on occasion, I was thankful our communication worked best through touch. Silence could be an advantage tonight.
I patted the coyote’s side and set off on the path still scented with traces of lingering yew potion. Compelled to test its freshness for signs of the black witches, I took an overly deep breath. Even the slight residue made my head reel.
The murk of the forest reminded me of a dream. My whirring mind established my internal pace. In compliance, my pulse and heart raced, though my feet couldn’t keep up. Hidden turns and dips forced me to go slower than I wanted. While some roots lowered mere seconds before I stepped, others did not. Whiffs of yew potion confused my senses. I couldn’t imagine what it must’ve done to the exposed trees.
Desperate to be in full control of my faculties, my agitation heightened with the passing deliriums. I scanned the brush for Cyril but he was a no-show. Panic sent my heart thumping against my ribs. Hindered by the yew potion, we needed his help even more.
I fought my way along the drug-laced path. I couldn’t allow the poison to overtake me and leave me vulnerable. What was going the right direction? I had to focus on the positive to regain some semblance of calm. With the wand humming through the canvas bag at my side, I didn’t doubt
Nannan was with me. Although walking in the opposite direction from her, I trusted the matriarch’s underground connections spread far through Coon Hollow.
I hesitated down a sharp descent on the trail, and Waapake took the lead. He guided me through the pitch-black depression that seemed bottomless. At times, he paused and glanced back at me, yellow eyes aglow with his magic.
A rustling noise, like something rooting through dry leaves, came from the crest of the next hill.
A woman’s voice drifted into the ravine, but I couldn’t make out her indistinct words.
Waapake halted, stiff as iron, and sniffed the air.
Unable to see through the total darkness, I concentrated on reading energy vibrations reaching my exposed skin. Weak without direct contact, my haptics revealed a familiar and kind power, much like the animals who’d attended my consecration. I let go of a long exhale.
Even though we’d gotten good vibes, it’d be foolhardy to let our guards down. We inched up the grade, faces lifted and joints bent to spring into action and meet the unknown. A tremble shook Waapake’s spine. He stood still, on high alert.
I contacted his hindquarter with my leg.
He’d gained a positive observation that I couldn’t perceive.
He lifted his muzzle, then bounded forward and looked back at me with a low word of assurance, “Cyril.”
The two animals were touching noses by the time I joined them. The Coon King raised on his haunches to address me. “Sorry. The stench here bothered me nose.”
“The woman’s voice I heard. Who?” I choked on the words, adrenaline tightening my windpipe.
“Black witches. This way. Hurry.” He turned and waddled away. The white bands of his striped tail swaying from side to side gave me a much-needed visual to follow.
We picked our way over fallen logs and into and out of another ravine. At the crest, more voices reached me, raised in shrill chants. The melody reminded me of the invocation Gladys’ group sang when forming their circle around Fenton’s grave the night of the new moon. I prayed to find the banshee before they called upon it. How much time did I have? When would Gladys and Murdock raise Fenton’s body? They had to do it before midnight so they could attend the coven ceremony and appear as if nothing had happened. I sucked in a breath and increased my pace, following nearer behind Cyril.
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