Charmed and Dangerous: An Appalachian Magic Novel (Appalachian Magic Series Book 1)

by Debbie Herbert

  “Andrew Scott.”

  “Well, Andrew, this could be your lucky day.” He loosened the knife’s pressure a fraction. Andrew tensed, a crafty look flitting across his face.

  “I’m not letting you go unless you agree to my terms.”

  Andrew smiled without humor. “You have my attention.”

  “Here in the hollows, there’s a new and better way. We’ve learned to exist in peace.”

  “I . . . have heard such,” he admitted.

  It was James’s turn to be surprised. “How?”

  “There are rumors. I’d heard some younger immortals are changing from the Old Ways. But I didn’t believe it.”

  “Believe it.” He loosened his hold slightly, testing Andrew. When he didn’t try to escape, James felt a stir of hope. Maybe this man would be different.

  “You mentioned terms?”

  “First, you must swear never to be the aggressor in a fight unless it’s to protect the New Ways or another’s life.”

  “Agreed. Next.”

  Andrew’s quick acceptance was a relief. “As proof of your sincerity, you must hand over your broadsword.”

  “Hell, no.”

  James sighed. “You’d rather die than surrender your sword? Don’t be stupid.”

  “My sword is my power. You would leave me defenseless.”

  “No. You’ll still be immortal and have all the physical strength as before. You will adjust. I fought and defeated you with only a bowie knife.”

  Andrew studied him a few heartbeats, assessing the offer. “I agree to your terms.”

  He eased the knife from Andrew’s throat, still alert for any sudden aggressive move. Those who trusted too easily tended to die early.

  Andrew slowly sat up, grimacing in pain.

  “You wound hasn’t fully healed,” James said. He extended his hand and pulled Andrew to his feet. The movement left James light-headed. He’d lost more blood than he’d thought when Andrew cut him.

  Andrew staggered to the tree where his sword was impaled in the trunk. He groaned with the effort but managed to extract the weapon.

  He held it out, its point lowered to the ground. “This belongs to you now. I thank you.”

  James nodded, surprised at Andrew’s grace in defeat.

  “I don’t understand these changes in our kind, but I think they could be a good thing.” Andrew’s throat worked, and when he spoke again, his voice was gruff. “I owe you my life. Should you ever need me, I live in Horse Creek about thirty miles north.”

  James took the sword, and they shook hands. Andrew turned and walked down the mountain, injured yet able to live another day.

  “Hey, how old are you anyway?” He yelled out before Andrew slipped from view.

  “Six hundred nineteen.”

  He sat down abruptly, Andrew’s sword clasped in his hand, and awaited the sword’s transfer of power. Although not as intense as the Quickening—when a defeated immortal’s life energy passed to another—absorbing the sword’s energy would be a physical ordeal, especially with all the blood loss from the fight. His body shook as the sky turned dark as night. Thunder rolled in, and large, blue-white bolts of lightning rained down.

  And then all was blackness.

  * * *

  Callie poked at the fire, mind alternating between searching for her father and thoughts of James. Only a week had passed since returning home, but so much had happened, it seemed longer.

  “I like action, not sitting around,” she told Grendel.

  The orange tabby continued grooming without deigning a look in her direction.

  “Ever since I came here, everything feels so out of control.”

  Grendel walked over and rubbed against her legs. She picked him up and set him in her lap.

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

  Grendel purred in evident contentment. Some sympathy.

  “You sure are mellow right now,” Callie said with a sigh. “You must be all tuckered out from tormenting Willow all day.”

  Grendel yawned and closed his eyes.

  James had been friendly enough all week but never once asked to see her outside class. Had his father turned him against her? The weekend stretched before her, empty and uninviting.

  “At least I’ll see my friends tonight at the coven meeting,” Callie muttered.

  Grendel opened one eye reproachfully and jumped out of her lap, settling down on the rug for uninterrupted sleep.

  “Some friend you are.”

  Grendel gently snored in response.

  A vague unease stirred in her chest. She opened a book, trying to shake the gloom and foreboding. She struggled to concentrate, but after reading the same paragraph five times, she gave up. Callie slammed the book shut and stared into the fire. The unease grew, and her breath came in shallow gasps.

  Annoyed, she got up from the rocker and paced. Grendel looked up with a little meow, warning Callie not to step on him. She glanced out the window and came to an abrupt halt. Despite the clear sunshine, large dark clouds hovered above a spot on Booze Mountain. Lightning bolts rained down unceasingly.

  A shiver passed through her. Something was very wrong. Grandma Jo called isolated rainstorms a ‘devil’s doorway.’ If it was over Booze Mountain, James might be in some kind of trouble.

  Callie raced to her room and sat by her altar. Her hands trembled slightly as she lit a candle and set out the divining bowl. Scrying wasn’t her strong point, but she silently thanked Aunt Mallory for insisting on teaching her the basics. Anything was better than sitting around waiting for bad news.

  Damn. She didn’t have any charged water. Callie ran to the pantry to see if Mom or Grandma Jo still kept a supply. She tossed soup cans and boxes from shelves until she found the large Mason jar marked ‘moonshine.’ Not the clear liquid rednecks drank; it was water that had been set out on a full moon night to absorb lunar energy.

  Clutching her treasure, Callie hurried back to the altar and poured the moonshine in the black-bottomed divining bowl. She took deep breaths.

  “Hope this works,” she muttered, stirring the moonshine with a willow wand. After three clockwise stirs, she chanted:

  “Be with me, dear spirit guide.

  Don’t allow mischief to hide.

  Illuminate my mortal mind

  And reveal to me some signs.”

  Callie set the wand aside, stared with determination into the dark water, but saw only her own reflection. She kept at it and breathed upon the water’s surface. When the ripples subsided, she began an incantation:

  “Part the dark veil of waters for me

  So I may magically know or see

  Why the storm cloud hovers above.

  Has any ill fallen on those I love?”

  The water shimmered, and she picked up the faintest hint of a smell . . . It was . . . oh no . . . it was blood. Yes, she was sure of it. Her stomach heaved. She picked up the sound of the winter wind whirling through the treetops. The candle flickered, and the sudden chill on her skin gave her goosebumps.

  Still, she couldn’t see what was happening. She debated driving up the mountain or trying to scry again. She decided to give it one more go.

  “Open my mind and free my heart.

  Let the physical barriers part,

  Not by any personal skill,

  But from thy benevolent will.”

  Steam rose as if the water was a geothermal spring from inner earth’s core. Through the shrouded mists, a man lay on the ground with a pool of blood on his side. James. Her psychic eye zoomed out to take in the surrounding landscape for exact location clues. He lay near a meadow about a hundred yards from Devil’s Bend, a sharp curve on the main road.

  She would find him. Quickly, she closed the magic circle and asked for help.

  “Be with me as I make haste.

  Do not let me arrive too late.

  Help him, heal him, and breathe him life.

  Guide me in whatever’s right.”
>
  Callie snuffed the candle and grabbed what she might need: keys, cell phone, bandages, blanket. She ran out to the Dixie doodlebug and threw all but her keys in the backseat. She pressed the ever-present amber tightly in her palm the entire drive up Booze Mountain.

  “Please don’t let me be late,” she said repeatedly, driving as fast as she dared.

  At Devil’s Bend, she pulled off the side of the road and got out to check the sky. The storm clouds hovered just beyond the field to her left.

  Callie grabbed the supplies and ran toward the thunder. The sound of the wind, rain, and thunder roared in a dark patch of sky.

  She had no idea how to find him from this point. She ran and screamed his name into the darkness. It was like being in a black and white nightmare with no ending.

  Against the stark backdrop, she spotted an irregularity—a slight patch of blue on the ground near a ridge. She ran toward the only color in the terrifying landscape. With each step, the blue object came closer . . . It was a wool jacket laying on the ground next to . . . a motionless body.

  James. Dead or alive?

  * * *

  Consciousness returned in degrees. At first, he could only hear the wind. The world was black at the edge of his senses. He awoke for a bit, felt the cold on his skin, and then slipped back into nothingness. Time and reality were meaningless; only the need to rest and sink into oblivion mattered. His vision returned last. He opened his eyes and saw treetops and open sky. Not normal. He wiggled his fingers, and mud oozed through them. Okay, he was lying in the woods on his back. What in the hell was going on?

  A voice called, so faint James wasn’t sure he could trust his hearing. It sounded as if he were beckoned from a great distance. Against the whirling siren of the wind, he strained his senses. This time he was sure. Someone was calling him. Though he was too weak to answer, the voice kept getting closer. Beneath him, the earth vibrated with approaching footsteps. He tensed and hoped whoever was coming was friend, not foe. He was too drained to defend himself.

  “James? Are you okay?”

  The face of an angel appeared. No, it was better than an angel. It was Callie. Her eyes were enormous, her hair plastered in thick, honeyed ringlets over her face.

  “Callie,” he said weakly.

  Her face crumpled as rain ran down her face. He must look as bad as he felt.

  James gave his best attempt at a smile. “Do you always bring the rain with you? It’s like the day we met.”

  “I think you’re the one causing the rain. We really need to talk about that. Not now though.” She reached behind her and picked up a blanket. “Cold?”

  “Freezing.”

  Callie bent, about to pull the blanket on him, when she suddenly stilled, and her eyes widened.

  “You’re bleeding! There’s so much blood, it soaked through your jacket and spilled on the ground. What happened?”

  It all came back to him. The fight with the immortal and the energy transferred from the sword. Andrew’s weapon must have packed extra power because he used it so many years in battle.

  Callie lifted the side of his jacket and then his shirt. “I don’t see a wound. Where did the blood come from?” She sounded puzzled and relieved at the same time.

  Uh, oh. This would take some explaining. He couldn’t tell her the truth—that he was an immortal, and all injuries quickly self-healed. But his brain was too tired to come up with a rational explanation, so he kept silent.

  “What’s this?” She lifted the fallen broadsword by his feet and examined its bloody blade. “You were attacked.”

  James grimaced. “It’s my sword. I tripped and fell on it.”

  She clamped her lips together but didn’t challenge the lame story. Callie dropped a warm, thick blanket on top of his shivering body. “My car isn’t far but you’re too weak to make it there.” She reached in her jacket and pulled out a cell phone. “Should I call your dad or an ambulance first?”

  “No ambulance!” Doctors would order all kinds of lab tests. No telling what kind of freak show that would turn into.

  “Okay. Give me your dad’s number.” Her hand poised over the number pad.

  “Just give me a minute, and I’ll be able to walk to the car.” Already the warmth of the blanket and being with Callie was working its magic. The rain stopped, and the dark clouds washed away with the dying wind.

  * * *

  “I can make it now.” James rose to his feet and swayed a bit.

  Callie put out a hand to help steady him, but he pushed it away and wobbled forward a few steps. “I’ve got it.”

  “You sure?” Stupid male ego. What seemed a short distance when she ran across the field earlier now seemed to stretch for miles. “The ground’s not too wet; I’ll drive my car over and get you.”

  “I won’t argue with that,” he agreed.

  Callie took off at a run. When she got in her car, she turned the heater on full blast. No telling how long he’d been lying unconscious in the cold. She peeled out from the road and straight into the field. A few feet from James, Callie jerked the steering wheel in a sharp turn so the passenger door was directly in front of him.

  “Get in,” she said, unlatching the door from inside.

  James fell in the seat in an ungraceful heap. “The heat feels amazing.” He leaned back, eyes closed. “Thanks, Callie.” He didn’t open his eyes as she sped across the bumpy field. “Hope this doesn’t tear up your car’s shocks. It’s so old, they’ve got to be about spent.”

  “My car’s the last thing I’m worried about right now. Should I take you to your house? Is your dad home? I don’t mind driving you to the hospital—.”

  “—All I need is a little rest.”

  Callie tried to think of a tactful way to discover the truth. “I don’t mean to pry, but are you epileptic? Did you have a seizure that made you fall?”

  “No.” He kept his eyes shut and didn’t volunteer any more information.

  “Diabetic?”

  “No.”

  Callie’s fingers tap-danced on the steering wheel. “Looks like you lost a lot of blood back there.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Blood’s all over your jacket, shirt, and that scary sword. But I didn’t see any kind of cut or other injury.”

  “I have no explanation for that.”

  “Seems pretty strange.”

  “Maybe it’s strange you suddenly appeared out of nowhere.” He pinned her with his gaze. “Matter of fact, you knew I was out there. You were calling my name before you found me.”

  Callie kept her eyes on the road. “I have no explanation for that,” she said, repeating his words back to him. Two can play that game.

  By the time she reached his house, the silence between them was awkward.

  “Thanks again,” James said, reaching for the door handle.

  Callie sprang out and hurried to the passenger side.

  “I don’t need any help.” There was a definite edge of irritation in his voice.

  “Humor me. I’ll walk with you to the door.”

  James rolled his eyes and stepped past her, the sword dangling in one hand by his side. He wasn’t unsteady now, but he moved slowly as if exhausted.

  At the porch, he turned and cupped her face in his hands. “I don’t know what to make of you.” His smile was rueful.

  “Ditto,” she said in a husky voice. She reached around his neck and hugged him, so relieved he was okay.

  He gently pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length.

  “Don’t you want my phone number? Every time we meet, I don’t know if I’ll see you again outside of class.”

  He laughed and touched her nose. “Oh, you definitely will.”

  The door opened, and she jumped.

  “Excuse me. I was on my way out.” James’s father jiggled his truck keys.

  “Hello, Mr. MacLauren.”

  He nodded but didn’t return her smile. “James, I’ve got a pot roast in the oven and . . . What’s
wrong with you?” Carter frowned and looked from James’s pale face to the sword at his side.

  “Tell you about it later.” Father and son exchanged a guarded look. “Callie found me and drove me home.”

  “How convenient.” Carter studied her and rubbed his chin. “You just happened to be in the area?”

  It sounded like an accusation. “Yes, sir.” She stared down at her feet hoping he wouldn’t see the guilty flush.

  “I reckon you better tell me about it now,” Carter said to James, heading back inside.

  “Your dad still doesn’t like me,” she observed.

  James laughed but didn’t deny it. “Does it matter?’

  “Guess not.” She barely knew the man, and James didn’t seem to care.

  She drove home with more questions than when she’d left. But at least she knew he was safe. That was a start.

  4

  Wolf Moon Howling

  “Mother Moon shining bright,

  Bring us wisdom, healing, light.

  Be amongst this coven of friends,

  The magic circle never ends.

  We honor the Old Ways

  This wolf moon phase.”

  The high priestess raised her wand in her right hand and pointed to the moon. As one, the white-robed coven members raised their wands.

  “We draw down the moon

  And call on its power.

  Be with us all

  This magic hour.”

  A tingling bolt of lunar energy entered Callie’s wand and traveled from her fingertips up her arm. She pointed the wand to her heart, and a silver-blue pulsing encircled her body in a halo effect. Light-headed, she glanced at the others. No doubt they were used to these group rituals, but she and Aunt Mallory never raised this kind of vibration in their solitary work. She was at one with the earth, a part of each moonbeam, tree, and stone.

  They had met tonight in the usual place in deep woods by a sacred, old oak tree. In the small clearing, they joined hands and cast their magic circle. In the center was their altar—a wide tree stump ringed with white and silver candles and a chalice of water. Myrrh, sage, and St. John’s incense burned in the black cauldron and lent a heavy, mystical fragrance to the ritual.