Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3

by Marsha A. Moore

  At Gertie and Tad’s door, a pack of three kids and two dogs swarmed the two women. The aroma of the meats seemed laced with magic. Despite Esme’s troubles, she floated on the delicious cloud, not even fazed when Gertie refused her potion samples.

  Gertie accepted Esme’s bread with a sweet smile but gave a sharp retort, “Like I said before, I won’t be tryin’ until I hear back from the market talk that folks like what you’re sellin’.”

  “That’s fine. Thank you for inviting me.” Esme set the samples aside. The woman’s double-edged personality wouldn’t ruffle her today. With all the problems, Esme needed a few hours’ release at a party where eating good food and laughing were all that mattered.

  Or so she thought, until she offered to help in the kitchen with the gravy.

  Tad sliced the venison and addressed Alice. “I hear Oscar and Sibeal have formed a partnership to get her elected. Some founding families are calling in favors to obligate folks to vote for her.”

  “Doesn’t sound good.” Gertie plated the slices.

  “Nat Duner is fixed to lose his tractor iffen he don’t cast his hand for Sibeal,” Alice added. “Says he can’t afford to pay off the loan and will lose everything come spring without puttin’ in crops—either through legal means or by Sibeal’s underhanded magic.”

  Stirring the pot without watching, Esme’s eyes widened. “What else have Oscar and Sibeal threatened?”

  “Mostly callin’ in real, existing debts, but I wouldn’t be s’prised to hear they’d used black magic if they had no other way,” Alice replied. “Them two were thick with Gladys Blinkhorne and her lot who just got themselves ousted for using it.”

  Engrossed in the conversation, Esme caught the gravy rising to the pan’s rim before she turned down the heat.

  Gertie handed Alice the serving plate. “We don’t owe them founders nothin’, and I aim to keep it that way.”

  “Tynewell Tynker’s now running. He’s got my vote.” Tad moved on to carving the turkey.

  “Mine, too. An’ Ernest Foottit’s soundin’ better every day. Least he’s honest, though too pious about rules fer me.” Alice filled her hands and carried food to the table.

  After the meal Esme’s fears about Sibeal’s threat temporarily subsided, thanks to a belly full of venison, turkey, smashed potatoes, buttermilk biscuits with red-eye gravy, and her pumpkin bread topped with heaping spoons of Alice’s pawpaw butter. She lumbered after the children into the yard and sat on a tree swing. The happy family hosting the party made her think about her own: the father she longed to know and the mother who wouldn’t speak to her, now that she’d moved back to the coven. She’d called Mom in the morning and left a message that she loved her. Esme had wanted to ask about her father’s fae magic but knew that would guarantee no reply. Holiday blues of loneliness and isolation ate into her goal of independence. She shrugged and pumped the swing.

  She turned over her swing to little Lottie, gave her a few pushes, then wandered inside to find the adults. “After that meal I need to take a walk. I’m going to head home.” Surely with the Winter Court guards watching over her, and most humans occupied with the holiday, she’d be safe.

  “I’m ’bout ready to leave myself if you want to ride along,” Alice offered.

  “Thanks, but no. I need some time alone. I’m missing Mom and Grammy.”

  Alice patted her shoulder. “Holidays are hard.”

  “I’ll package up some leftovers for you and send them with Alice,” Gertie said with a warm smile.

  “Thank you for that and for having me over. It was great.” Esme waved goodbye and easily reached the front door since even the dogs were full and lazing from their duties.

  Outside, crisp sunlight kissed her face as she walked the winding road. Esme let her methodical footfall numb her thoughts to the disappointment, fear, and stress she’d dragged around since her near-death experience last weekend. She gulped huge lungfuls of air laced with smells of roast meats and baked goods from nearby cabins. Her Winter Court guards weren’t in sight. She expected they’d used glamour to hide from Gertie’s family. She reminded herself again that holidays were safe days, off-limits to danger and worry. No threats from Oscar, Sibeal, the sheriff, or his deputy. She wasn’t in danger, at least for today.

  At the next crossroad lay a trailhead that led behind Holly Cabin, one she used as a girl. A trek through the woods like she used to do would be fun. The trail twisted down from the road and stayed on high ground around the lip of a deep ravine. Dry leaves crunched under her feet.

  As she rounded a wide sycamore trunk, something moved on the trail ahead. She picked up her pace and so did whatever was in the lead. At a jog, a difficult speed with all the roots and rocks littering the path, she still couldn’t gain the advantage. Her foot caught and she stumbled. “Wait!” she cried with a child’s voice she recognized as her own from the dream of her father. Was it him? She freed her foot, but her banged ankle throbbed. “Please wait! It’s me. Esme.”

  A raccoon’s striped tail waved, then disappeared in the brush.

  Suspecting Raclaw’s fae, Esme took hold of her talisman and limped cautiously forward.

  “Hello, little one.” A diaphanous form of her father, like in those dreams, stepped from where she sighted the animal.

  Esme gasped but didn’t let go of the crystal. “Daddy?” she asked with a tentative tone.

  “I’m with you, little one. I’ve always been.” He held his arms open, shoulders broad. “Dance with me like always.”

  She hobbled closer and surged toward him, unable to resist the chance to touch him even if this turned out to be a trick. Her arms closed on air. He’d vanished. She spun and cried to the bare trees, “Daddy? Where are you? Come back.”

  “Esmeralda, your father’s spirit’s here in the Hollow for you,” a raspy male voice said from behind, and she whirled back to see a large, old raccoon speaking to her.

  She took several steps backward. “Who are you?”

  “Don’t be scared, lass. I’m Cyril, the Raccoon King, namesake of this here hollow.” He lowered his pointy snout, long gray whiskers sweeping the ground.

  “What do you want?” She grabbed the talisman to protect it from the attacker.

  The critter lifted onto his hind legs and sniffed the air to his right.

  From that direction her father spoke and then stepped onto the path. “I’m inside you, like always. We’re the same.”

  “It’s my amber! You’re speaking to me through it.” She held the stone in front of her, and tears of joy streamed from her eyes.

  “You’ve brought my magic in you to the surface. Be careful with it. More than I was.” His tall form faded until all that remained was his smiling face and blue eyes that matched her own.

  Esme clutched the amber tight against her heart and wailed, “Don’t leave. Please, stay.” When at last his eyes vanished, she rubbed the amber between her palms.

  “That ain’t gonna make him return.” The raccoon sidled up to her. “In the Hollow, spirits do as they please.”

  “Spirits?” Her brows pulled down and a stream of tears squeezed onto her cheeks. “He’s dead?”

  Cyril shook his snout. “I’m sorry. Grammy Flora drew you back to the Hollow for him.”

  She dropped to her knees beside the raccoon. “How do you know this? Are you a Cousin?”

  “No. I lead wildlife in these parts. Spent many days walkin’ with Grammy. She was a great hedge witch. She brought you back to Holly Cabin for your father’s teachin’. Here words of the dead ring truer than voices of the livin’.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Listen with your heart and you’ll learn.” He frantically pawed his whiskers and wrinkled his nose. Alarm shot through his eyes. “Something foul…run home quick!” He scampered into the brush.

  Through the muddled confusion, his warning registered a sharp twinge down her spine. Esme forced the complaining ankle, now more swollen and painful, to endure a
s she rose.

  A guttural snarl twisted from behind.

  She turned to see a bobcat coming for her, fangs bared and claws extended.

  Chapter Thirteen: The Forest Pool

  The bobcat lunged for Esme with a look so predatory, she felt her stomach twist in fear before his sharp teeth clamped onto her thigh.

  She screamed and tried in vain to pull free. Razor-edged canines sank deeper, red-hot like flaming pokers. The bitter smell of her burned flesh shot a wave of nausea to the pit of her stomach.

  A snow squall on the trail whipped around her, and the vicious beast locked onto her leg. Cyril had been unable to stop the unnatural beast. Could he be one of Raclaw’s fae?

  The gusts churned into a cyclone. In its midst Thayne appeared, jaw clenched, eyes flaring green and purple lights across black irises. Fingers pulsing with icy daggers, he shredded the bobcat’s back fur and muscle.

  The cat morphed into a human-like creature with a bark brown face, almond-shaped hazel eyes, and clawed hands. The faery hissed and recoiled, lying in a pool of blood.

  Thayne struck again, slashing across the attacker’s face.

  Esme flinched, her stomach roiling.

  With his long claw hands cupped over the gash, the faery pleaded, “Stop. Please. Mercy.”

  “Mercy?” Thayne grimaced and laid open flesh of the clawed faery’s arm. “What does your Raclaw want?”

  The autumn faery crouched at the base of a sycamore trunk, trembling and whimpering. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “What does your king want with her?” Thayne raised his arm, muscles taut, blue-white hand poised to strike, and then blew a stream of frozen vapor at the captive. While awed and a little frightened by his courage, Esme now believed whole-heartedly in his promise to protect her.

  Winter’s touch turned the clawed fae’s lips a lifeless gray-blue. He coughed in spasms and gurgled, “Stop. Please.”

  Thayne waved a hand that removed the assault of frigid air. “Speak!”

  The trapped faery sputtered out mouthfuls of gray fog between words. “King Raclaw’s orders…bring her to him…alive…wearing…the witch’s amber.”

  “What does he want with her witch’s amber?”

  The autumn fae curled tighter into himself, shivering as Thayne loomed overhead, exhaling icy breath.

  “Tell me!”

  The captive muttered, “With it, Autumn Court will rule all.”

  Thayne’s discharged the ice daggers from his hand, gouging the ground at the brown faery’s feet. “Go now.”

  The trembling creature skittered to his feet, then tore through the brush.

  Thayne dropped to where Esme lay shaking. “How are you?”

  “My leg feels like it’s on fire.”

  He rubbed his hands together until the intense white remained only in his fingertips. “Your wounds need to be healed, the autumn fae magic removed. I can stop the bleeding. But unless you have winter fae magic, to try more could cause additional injury.”

  She grimaced and lifted the skirt of her dress above the wound. Several tooth marks gushing blood pierced a six-inch diameter area of blackened skin. Her head felt weak, dizzy. She leaned heavily on an elbow, struggling to watch Thayne.

  He gently pressed his pointer finger to each mark.

  She winced but forced herself remain still.

  Thayne shook his head. “You’re not tolerating winter magic well. Don’t know whether it’s because you’re human, or because you have some fae blood that doesn’t match. Hang in there. I have to stop the bleeding.”

  “Go ahead.” She tried to make her shaking voice sound resolute.

  When he pressed hard at the worst site and the flow slowed to a seep, she flinched. He repeated the action at the other bites. After the third, she writhed in pain.

  “King Thayne, may I help?” Cyril poked his wet nose onto her knee. “Water from the forest pool ahead might do the trick.”

  “Cyril, hello to you,” Thayne replied. “That’s a good idea.”

  Esme pushed to sit more upright and shuddered at the sight of her leg. Rings of Thayne’s white magic circled the bites. The entire side of her thigh was charred, swollen, and bruised. “Is that close? I can’t make it very far.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll carry you,” Thayne offered.

  “Thanks. This leg’s swelling fast.” Esme wrapped an arm around the back of his neck as he positioned to lift her.

  “Run ahead and we’ll meet you there.” Thayne addressed Cyril, then scooped Esme into his arms.

  With the foreign magic weakening her body, Esme was glad to trust his strong arms to hold her. His first step was all she noticed. Trees whipped past and wind rushed against her face.

  In no more than a minute, he slowed and clutched her tighter before stopping beside a brook. Where it trickled into a wide pool, he set her onto her good leg.

  “Where are we? We traveled so fast, I lost my bearings.” Now upright, dizziness sloshed through her head, and she kept hold of Thayne’s arm.

  “Steady, there.” He eased her to sit on the bank. “About five human miles from where we started, opposite in direction from how you were headed home.”

  “Wow. That far? Do all fae move that quick?”

  “All are much faster than humans, but regents and guards move the fastest,” Thayne answered while scanning the surrounding forest. “And we’re still in Autumn Court territory, on the far border.”

  “Are we safe?” Her vision blurring, she was grateful for his protection.

  “I’ll make sure we are.”

  “Safer than before,” Cyril said as he scuttled to join them, panting. “Only a short ways from the O’Mara homestead, where the Hollow’s matriarch sycamore stands. She’ll keep a look out.” From beside Esme, he reached a paw into the dull green water and jerked it out with a shake that coursed from nose to tail. “Cold, now that the weather’s changed. Brace yourself, lass, but it’ll ease that fae bite.”

  She removed her shoe, hiked up her skirt, and plunged the leg in with a yelp, “Geeze, it’s cold.” The icy water shot clarity through her foggy mind.

  Thayne knelt and braced her back with his shoulder as she submerged the injury.

  “The coldness isn’t so bad now. Just at first. I can feel the muscles starting to relax, and my dizziness lightening.”

  “The water’s suckin’ out the magic.” Cyril rested back on his haunches. “Has power of both sun and moon. Do you see both their faces, lass?”

  She leaned forward. Slowly her vision cleared enough to reveal reflections of a shining sun and a waxing moon nearing first quarter. The moon would reach full in a little more than a week, the esbat. That was the time of the Coven Council election and also when she hoped to be awarded ceremonial status as a wildwood healer. She’d made so little progress toward that goal, especially since influential coven members stood against her. It seemed impossible for her to succeed by the esbat. Frustrated, she extended her knee and rippled the water with her foot to break the moon’s image. The joint moved easier than expected, and she worked it to encourage more loosening. “The magic’s leaving quickly. If autumn fae magic made my leg swell, doesn’t that mean I don’t have that type of fae blood…if I am a hafling like my father? But then wouldn’t that also prevent the Autumn Court from using the magic in my talisman?” So much had happened to her since she’d moved to the Hollow. Her life in Indianapolis seemed a lifetime away. Perhaps her mother had been right to shelter Esme from the dangers of learning about her father’s magic. She might’ve done the same to protect a small child from this.

  A tremble shook through Thayne’s shoulder against her back. “Hard to tell. Considering that autumn guard’s order and the way you reacted, he spiked his bite to tranquilize you for easier transport.”

  “Fae and witches both visit here to remove unwanted magic,” Cyril said. “Works well unless laced with a black spell.”

  Thayne groaned. “Let’s hope that’s not the case.”
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br />   “Why did you want the talisman? Will it help your court?” Esme fingered the black gem hanging from her neck.

  Thayne looked down for a moment as if measuring his words. “It might. But it also could be dangerous. I’m only certain that I must keep it from Raclaw.”

  “Noticed his guard didn’t take off in the direction of their court.” Cyril moved to inspect her leg.

  “Not a surprise. After failing his mission, I’d expect Raclaw would choose to finish the guard off,” Thayne said.

  Esme shivered. The fae world seemed dangerous. Did she want to be a part of it? Did she have any choice if she’d inherited fae blood? Certainly she didn’t want to be connected to the Autumn Court and leaned against Thayne’s sturdy shoulder.

  He replied, “They don’t value life as much as the other courts.”

  “Can faeries die?” From where she touched him, a strange and wonderful sensation seeped into her, inviting her to let go of her worries and fears. She peaked over her shoulder at his overlarge eyes accented by purple shadowed lids and black brows that extended almost to his angular cheekbones. He could pass for a rock star.

  “Yes, but only from physical harm, not from aging.”

  “So how old are you?” she asked.

  After a moment’s thought, he replied, “Almost two hundred human years.”

  She jerked free and peered at him.

  “Keep the leg in the water, lass,” the raccoon reminded with a chortle.

  “Oh, yes.” She spun back and splashed the limb down.

  “It’s looking better though,” Thayne said. “The gray is almost gone and color’s returning.”

  Cyril sat back and curled his tail around one hind quarter. “A few more minutes.”

  Esme glanced over her shoulder at Thayne. “How long have you been a king?”

  “Not long. Only a year. Although I’ve been training for the job since I can remember.”

  She swept her leg through the water. “It must be great being able to choose what you want to do, what’ll happen in your court.”

  Thayne laughed. “I wish. It’s nothing like that. My every decision must be in the interest of my court, and measured against actions of previous kings, especially those of my father. My personal preferences must never enter into my decisions.”