However, she wasn’t ready for the market. She’d made a few new lines of candles and sachets, but wanted to create products infused with real powers so customers would trust in her abilities. Her attempt at consecrating the altar and declaring herself a witch had failed miserably.
The image of herself as a faery gave her an idea. With the magic ring, what if she could use the adder’s tongue like Halcyon, to heal wounds in a matter of minutes? That would win her plenty of customers. She turned to where Dove curled on the bed, eyes closed. “We have work to do,” she proclaimed and marched to the hearth room’s storage shelves with the cat complaining as he followed.
Esme searched through the jars without luck, then noticed several accordion file folders stuffed with uneven pages on the top shelf. Using the kitchen step stool, she climbed up and found collections of leaves Gram had pressed: trout lily, may apple, lamb’s ear, Indian tobacco, dock, and adder’s tongue. Esme pulled the correctly labeled folder down and set to work enlivening the dried leaves in trays of water.
In the garden she couldn’t find any unfrozen soil and almost gave up until Dove cried out from under the holly bushes along the front porch. There, the ground remained soft. Did that have some connection to the remarkable story in Gram’s journal about how the young man had planted them in the frozen earth? Esme portioned the damp dirt into plastic containers with the softened leaves in another. In less than an hour, her coven sedan was packed and ready.
One critical matter remained—Crimson’s ring. She didn’t dare go to the market looking like a faery, and she didn’t know how to use glamour to camouflage her appearance. She’d performed the preparatory adder’s tongue treatment while having some fae sensibilities. Would that be enough to charm the leaves? She’d have to take the risk. What did she have to lose? She’d already failed at the last market day. Another failure wouldn’t change anyone’s opinion.
She slipped off the ring and stored it in Gram’s dresser. Esme transformed at once. Snarls tangled her hair, and she wore a rumpled coat and dirty jeans. She quickly cleaned up and dressed in coven-appropriate clothing, a skirt and sweater set.
She headed to the door, and Dove wailed to go along. “I’m sorry. You can’t be at the market. You were so tired before. Enjoy a nap.”
As Esme drove to the market, several bats darted along the roadside. She clamped the steering wheel and was thankful for the occasional Winter Court guards, who seemed to keep Raclaw from attacking. Still, she stepped on the gas and arrived safely though frazzled. Tripping over herself, she managed to set up her booth just in time for an onslaught of tourists. They scooped up her candles and lotions, unlike her witch clients who questioned the products with doubtful comments. At least she’d likely turn a profit today, even if she did nothing to help her reputation as a hedge witch.
At lunch hour she chased out to grab a sandwich from a food vendor’s cart in the common area. With the election a week away, political signs for candidates running for Council seats hung everywhere. The majority of banners were for Sibeal Soot, and it pleased Esme to see Kandice Kelly wearing a Tyne Tynker button prominently on her stylish suit. Esme searched for Rowe or Logan with no luck.
When Esme returned to her booth, the tow-headed, loudmouth man who’d accosted her last Saturday studied her product tables. She set her uneaten sandwich down and braced herself for the worst, being lambasted again for providing products that contained no efficacious magic.
“So does the new coven root doctor have anything this week to back the claims to her title?” he smirked, then chawed on his wad of tobacco a moment. “Same old, same old. No witch-fire.”
Although he wasn’t the client with whom she wished to make her first attempt using the adder’s tongue, she didn’t have much choice. The alternative meant a sound defeat for today or maybe forever at earning respect in the coven. She met the man’s gaze. “Yes. I do have a way to heal wounds completely in a matter of minutes. I’d be glad to demonstrate if—”
“Matter of fact, I do have a puncture wound from mendin’ a barbed wire fence that’s festered and botherin’ me bad.” He lifted a hefty work-weary hand, its palm bandaged and glanced at her. “Name’s Joel.”
“Nice to meet you, Joel. Let me gather my supplies.” Esme smiled to herself—he’d taken the bait—though her hands shook as she turned away to gather the adder’s tongue and soil.
When she moved back, not only did Joel display a clearly purulent gouge to the heel of his palm that was worse than expected, but Councilman Oscar Burnhard also stood in her booth. Sweat beaded along her hairline. Though she told herself to breathe deeply, only shallow puffs moved in and out of her lungs. Still, stress raised a painful ache in her throat. “That does look bothersome. Keep it laid flat while I apply these leaves.” One would’ve covered the injury, but with Oscar standing there, the stakes had tripled. She placed three neatly over the entire swollen area and closed her eyes to pray to every god and goddess she could think of, while applying gentle pressure. Following Halcyon’s healing practice, Esme covered those on the man’s hand with a clean white towel.
While she held the dressing in place, a strange sensation came over her. She glanced down at her talisman, now encased in a purple glow. As if she didn’t have enough problems. Why did her wayward powers start up their internal fight again at this critical moment? She needed her head about her. At least the purple aura added to the effect of her procedure to wow onlookers. To enhance the effect and avoid Oscar’s stare, which she felt burning through her, she stood still, pretending to be entranced, and listened to the rumblings within her.
What she detected surprised her. It wasn’t the expected writhing mass of internal pressure. Instead, a new sort of connection to nature. The open container of soil drew her attention. In small flashes, this experience paralleled her sensations with the spearmint wine—a sort of knowing from a familiar past she didn’t remember. Her fae magic. It was present and clear to her.
She directed Joel, “Two minutes longer,” but didn’t know if that’d be enough time. She checked her watch and after a minute, under scrutiny of the two men, regretted the length she chose. She hunched over the watch to avoid interaction.
Finally, the allotted time passed. She removed the leaves and submerged them in the garden dirt. Chewing the inside of her cheek, she stared at the man’s puncture wound.
Slowly, the swelling receded. The redness lessened.
“I’ll be damned! It’s workin’,” Joel declared, spittle dribbling from the corner of his mouth as he shook his head.
Oscar’s normally ruddy face blanched. Grimacing, he stroked his triple chin.
After a minute, the wound’s skin knitted together.
Joel’s face lit and he boomed out, “Missy, you got the moon-rise and witch-fire both in you.” He slapped a broad hand across Oscar’s back. “Councilman, looks like we got ourselves a new root doctor in town.”
“Hmm, perhaps so,” Oscar mumbled and struggled past the horde of customers spilling into Esme’s booth. His odor of bitter vengeance remained long after he left to stand and glare at her from across the hall where Sibeal and a pack of other older witches loitered.
The rest of market day kept her busy selling out of most products and healing an array of skin wounds and ailments. Despite that, her appointment book for home visits listed no new clients. Many coven members bought products and addressed her kindly but often glanced to where Sibeal and Oscar stood guard. Esme wondered whether fear of those two kept coven members from becoming her regular clients. She bristled at Oscar’s attempt to undermine her. Would her limited success today be enough for the Council to grant her ceremonial standing at next Saturday’s esbat? Did she still want that honor? She’d longed for the honor, but now her head swirled with doubt and confusion. After all, she used fae magic to heal injuries today. Esme cringed at the dilemma, and aching muscles reminded her what her father said: using wayward magic would end badly.
She drove home churning t
hese thoughts back and forth, but generally happy to have money in her pocket. And even more grateful for Gram’s forethought which gave Esme the freedom to choose a wise direction, whether fae or witch, that would spare her from life of a wayward.
She parked in front of Holly Cabin, filled her arms with a stack of empty crates, and stepped with care across the ice to open the door. “Dove, I’m home! And with plenty of cash to buy you Fancy Feast.”
She took one look around and dropped the crates from her hands. The house had been ransacked. Everything from Gram’s bookcases lay in ruin on the floor, jars and crocks broken with their contents scattered, books soaked with the spilled collection of various waters, and her energy trap scattered across the table. The house itself seemed intact, although all magical items, save for the altar, had been destroyed.
This couldn’t have been Raclaw’s doing. Thick glaze ice coated everything outside.
Amid the chaos, the house seemed oddly quiet. She picked up a broom she might use as a weapon.
“Dove, where are you?” Esme tiptoed over broken glass through the hearth room but saw no sign of him. Had he slipped out, frightened, when the perpetrator entered?
Debris of smashed scrying glasses and charmed mirrors littered the floor of the bedroom, as if every shred of magic in the place had been purposely broken. Her heart beat with a wild jerking rhythm.
Dove lay sprawled on the bed, limbs at odd angles, neck snapped.
A scream rolled from the pit of Esme’s lungs, but crashed into the air as a choked, dry sob. She cradled the lifeless body into her arms, wishing either of her magics could bring him back to her.
She collapsed onto the bed and discovered a postcard where Dove’s body had lain. It read, “You were warned.” She turned the card over. “Vote Sibeal Soot for Coon Hollow Coven Council on December’s Esbat.”
Chapter Nineteen: Be Free
Thayne was startled awake from a jag of pain between his eyes, a momentary shift in his royal magic. The energy around him resettled. The change had come from his sister’s aragonite ring, now quiet. Esmeralda must’ve taken it off.
He analyzed the surrounding energies, vast, subtle, and all in between. The Winter Court lay in deep daytime slumber, although his own internal powers thundered.
Without the ring, Esmeralda would soon fall prey again to her battling wayward magics. He hoped the temporary reprieve afforded by the ring wouldn’t allow the onslaught to rush harder against her mind and physical body. He twisted one of his garnet rings, uncomfortable that she must fully face her dueling powers in order to choose between them and discard one. Had the experience he provided helped her decision process?
Worried about Esmeralda enduring unavoidable suffering, Thayne couldn’t rest. He listened for her unique song that could provide a clue about her emotions. Nothing. Only empty silence, which left him uneasy.
During intervals of waking, he normally checked this way on the welfare of his court. At those times he often heard distant melodies from local animals. Some expressed delight with the plunder of their foraging and hunting, while others, stalked by prey, sent whimpers of fear that cut the air like arrows. He’d routinely checked their forest home for over a hundred years, even as a boy, taught to always keep the court safe.
For the first time, no sounds reached him. Had Raclaw, in some frustrated attempt to gain Esmeralda’s black amber, cast a shielding spell over the Grand Ravine? Thayne’s gut knotted thinking she was in danger.
He pulled on clothes he found crumpled in a chair, and fumbled with his boot laces. He headed out the door and tossed on his black leather jacket against the freezing mist that spit from a gray sky. Not weather that would favor Autumn Court magic. If not them, then who cast the evil over his court? He gave a nod to the pair of king’s sentries at his door.
On the far side of the ravine, a tall shadow slipped along the healers’ cave, paused in a crevice, then darted inside the entrance with speed that’d not be detected by normal fae. However, Thayne noticed the two trailing steel gray braids of his adviser. The stealthy behavior concerned Thayne, but he didn’t want to voice incorrect suspicions. Choosing not to involve the guards, he announced, “I need to take a walk to clear my thoughts. No need to accompany me. I’ll get Captain Shade.”
Thayne scurried along the ravine and into Shade’s rooms at the officers’ quarters. Although past noon, Shade hadn’t gotten more than a couple hours of sleep after last night’s party, but Thayne didn’t trust anyone else.
The captain snored in a fetal position, pillow tossed onto the floor and blanket wadded at the foot of his bed.
“Shade.” Thayne shook the captain’s shoulder and received a sputtered grunt in reply. “Wake up. A spell is threatening our ravine.” He whispered, “I just saw Grayson slink in stealth mode from the outer wall into the healers’ cave.”
One chocolate-brown eye flashed open, and Shade rolled onto his back. As soon as the second lid lifted, he was on his feet. “Gimme a minute to dress,” he said with a voice hoarse from too much song.
Thayne stepped out and paced the sparsely-decorated sitting room.
Shade appeared in his somber work garb of Carhartt pants and jacket, eyes bloodshot from imbibing too much of last night’s spearmint wine. “I’ll lead the way.” He combed long fingers through his straggly blue hair and settled his pork pie hat into place.
Shade took them toward a lesser traveled rear path out of the Ravine. Whether from anxiety or lack of sleep, the pair grappled for footholds on exposed roots. Even coated with ice, the steep trail should’ve posed little problem to winter fae.
Thayne dug his boots harder into the traversing roots and spread his wings for balance. The higher they climbed, the thicker the ice, as if a force tried to keep them in the ravine. Flying out wasn’t an option since trees grew too close along the walls to allow full wing expansion.
Several minutes later, they arrived at the top and stared at each other, panting.
Thayne motioned a few yards beyond the rim, where the ground lay free of frozen precipitation. He stepped past the demarcation, and was assaulted by a raucous mortal sound laced with screeches of vengeance coming from Holly Cabin.
“Trouble?” Shade followed and touched a palm to the enclosure, then squinted in the direction Thayne looked.
“Yes. Mortals resonating revenge. We need to go.” Thayne glanced down at the sleeping Winter Court, unable to detect the peaceful melodies of his own fae. “The Ravine is sequestered by winter fae magic. It’s not harmful, but seals us off. Did your patrols set the spell?”
“No, my King. I got reports from the head guard at dawn’s shift change. Though not in a right state of mind at the time, surely I would’ve taken note of this. To my thinking, this is more of a confine than a shield. What did you say Grayson was up to?”
“Slinking and darting around the healers’ cave in stealth shadow form. I can’t think of a reason he’d have to cage the court. Leave the spell for now. I see no imminent danger. Breaking it will take time we don’t have.” Thayne started toward Esmeralda’s house.
“Has Grayson been acting odd in any other way?” Shade asked while they ran.
“He’s always odd. Nothing unusual.” The remembrance of Grayson countering Thayne in public yesterday made him bristle. He tried to evaluate other recent interactions they’d had, but the noise from Holly Cabin grew deafening.
Halfway to the hedge, a short streak of pale gray whipped past and almost tripped Shade. “Good goddess! Gale, is that you?”
Thayne paused, as did the messenger who gasped for breath as she sputtered, “Can’t get in the Ravine. Kept circling to find a way. Holly Cabin’s being looted.”
“Is Esmeralda safe?” Thayne blurted.
“Yes. Our patrols followed her to the market.” Gale’s tiny chest heaved.
“Who’s looting the place?” Shade asked.
She shook her head. “We don’t know.”
Thayne glanced back toward his court.
If Gale was blocked from entering, the restricting spell posed a greater threat than he initially thought. It seemed unthinkable Grayson could be responsible for putting the court in such danger. Did the spell connect to the criminal activity at Holly Cabin? Thayne didn’t know which threat he should deal with first. Maintaining safety of his court must always be top priority. He opened a fist and icy daggers fired from his fingers to pierce through a fallen trunk. Again, his head and his heart gave opposing answers. For the moment, both Esmeralda and his winter fae were secure. Although enclosed, the court contained no apparent internal danger. But with Raclaw desperate for the black amber, and that very stone causing Esmeralda tremendous suffering, she seemed at greater risk.
“My King?” the captain touched Thayne’s shoulder and broke his deliberation.
“To the hedge.” Thayne set off at top speed, leaving Shade behind by a few seconds.
At the boundary between forest and lawn, they met Sergeant Bracken. No vehicles were parked in Esmeralda’s driveway.
“Did you see who entered?” Thayne asked both him and a patrol who’d joined them from his post farther along the hedge.
“Yes. An older mortal, a witch. She didn’t take anything and left no more than ten minutes ago. Since we’d not seen her before, we peered through the windows. She destroyed much inside, selectively and fast, in the matter of only a few minutes.” Though Bracken’s midnight eyes held steady, his blue-white face contorted. “No type of ice we applied stopped her. I sent Gale to inform you.”
Thayne took a step toward the house, then turned. “What did the woman look like?”
Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3 Page 83