Witch's Windsong (Coon Hollow Coven Tales Book 5)

by Marsha A. Moore

  “Adara. Um. I wanted to ask you about her.” Chester’s voice flattened.

  “What has she been saying about me?”

  “Uh. Did you have a relationship with her that … um … went sour?”

  Keir let out a heavy sigh. “She appointed me as a coven seer, started my career, then expected favors—sexual favors.”

  Silence hung on the other end.

  Keir bit his lip, afraid to say too much or the wrong thing like he had with Mrs. MacElroy.

  “Couldn’t you have said no? Told her it wasn’t right?” Chester shot arrows that Keir couldn’t dodge.

  “I could have. But she would’ve used her influence and black magic to block my career. I should’ve found another way to begin my practice. I was young and made a mistake.”

  “You had the chance to say no and didn’t?”

  Keir leaned his forehead against an upper cabinet. “I wanted to. She set me up with a long list of referrals, recommended me to everyone at the first sabbat celebration, let me fill my schedule book. Then told me what she expected in return and that she’d ruin my career if I didn’t comply. I didn’t think I had a—”

  “You didn’t think. That was the problem. Right there. You wanted to do all those nasty things to her, tie her up and have her. Stuff like that has a price.”

  “I’m becoming too aware of that. But you have to understand, I never wanted to engage with her that way.”

  “Shit, most of us men have fantasized about being with her, and we don’t act on it.”

  “No! I never wanted—”

  “Too late for that now. You knew you shouldn’t have done all that. You played with fire and have gotten burnt. Your familiar’s dead—can’t say that I blame Adara after you took advantage of her. What a world of hurt that woman must have been shouldering. Might have been what weakened her powers and set her up to be driven out—and coincidentally replaced by your friend Logan. You got what you deserved.”

  “No. I don’t deserve that.” Keir replaced the phone into the receiver. He couldn’t bear to hear more, would only have lost his temper. His numbness had been pared away as easily as peeling an apple, leaving him vulnerable.

  He slumped to the floor, the cold tiles biting his flesh, his exposed soul. Shivering, he curled in a fetal position and cradled his stomach where the hardness had doubled in size. At the spot his hands laid, a convulsion seized his chest. He clamped his shoulders forward to repress the assault, resisting the emotion he knew too well. Straining, his shoulders quaked. His muscles spasmed, intensely in the recently injured thigh now immobile with stabbing pain. He clenched his teeth and denied tears that surged from the sob shaking his throat.

  He could withhold no longer. Fatigued from his decades-long battle, he relinquished to grief. Moans split his lungs. His cheek, resting against the icy tile, burned with hot tears. The contrast in temperature jarred a thought loose.

  He’d turned the furnace back—shut the whole house down to move away—when he’d left for the reservation. Why had he come back? To be pummeled by accusations? Told he deserved to endure Waapake’s murder as punishment?

  Though he’d anticipated all of these consequences when he decided to move, he believed somehow the distance would subdue Adara’s fire and buy him enough time to find leverage to stop her. Had Rowe set her off? Or information relayed from the white crow? Or from some connection to Unole he couldn’t understand? He should have stayed to find Unole, made her explain. She’d run from him—was it over between them?

  Struggling to sort out the truth, he recalled the events along the stream when they’d last talked: what she’d said, the silkiness of her hair, the softness of her curves beneath the rustle of silk, her lips pressing hot and needing against his.

  His body now exhausted and overwrought, Keir left it behind. His mind gladly discarded the snarl of confusion, welcomed a single-pointed focus: Unole. Her smiling face beamed in his mind’s eye. He breathed deeply of her sweet scent, and white flowers cascaded past. He imagined reaching to touch one, a delicate windflower. Using extreme care to not break its stem, he lowered to stand beneath the milky corolla and prepared for a shamanic journey down the slender pale green stem into the Earth.

  The soft loam was warm against his aching body. As if swimming, he pushed soil aside to follow the stem’s transition into roots, rootlets, and root hairs. From there, he hopped from one windflower to another and another. So many, he lost count. The sequential movements retained his mind on the pure, singular meditation of Unole—the peace he desperately needed.

  At some point, he latched onto the root of a different plant that lacked her perfume. Instead, the root vibrated with a soft, distant soprano. Was it her song? He scrambled inside the porous root and hurried up through the underground network to the widened tree trunk. The reverberations grew more intense, and a few feet higher, became a melody. He dared to traverse into narrower branches that swayed precariously in the breeze. Still, from that vantage, he could not hear words or know if the song was, in fact, Unole’s.

  He went mad searching up and down the branch for an opening. At last, he came upon a knothole and poked his head out to hear her voice.

  Lovely though bittersweet, it floated past him like a soft cloud with the promise of spring but also weighted with the solemnness of gathering storms. Like how a single tear might sound.

  While her ariose voice fluttered around his ears, he couldn’t experience her notes with his whole being, as he had before under the great willow. Desperate for that feeling of joy, he wriggled and tried to push through the knothole but couldn’t. He ran along the inside of the branch, searching for a larger opening. Nothing. He withdrew inside the trunk, then raced at top speed into another branch—in case she ended her song and his chance of connecting with her vanished. He slowed at bends and twists, where growth spurts or wounds might have torn the tree’s bark. Still nothing.

  Not deterred, he pushed on into narrower passageways, which must have been twigs. Unole’s brilliant soprano hummed along the inner walls; he had to be close to the outside.

  With his next step, his feet swept out from under him. Caught in an outflow of sap, he floated within the green of a swollen leaf bud. Arms flailing, he pushed to the surface and hopped to an adjacent flower, a magnificent fluffy catkin of a female willow. Water gurgled beneath him. Owls Tail Creek? At that height, the water lay far below. He clutched the flower’s center and chanced a second look. What he saw took his breath away—Unole knelt on the bank where he had kissed her that morning.

  He cried, “Unole, I’m here.” She didn’t notice. He tried again, louder. And again, yelling.

  Despite the lack of wind, the twig carrying him began to sway gently, and he held tighter.

  She stirred and looked in the direction of the branch. Her eyes narrowed, searching.

  He called to her once more, and her face lit as she broke from song and spoke directly. “Keir, is that you?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Above you.”

  “You’re here on my willow.” She jumped to her feet. “I can’t see you, but I hear your voice upon the tree’s wind. I thought you’d left for good … mad at me.” Tears filled her soft brown eyes, though the redness rimming them suggested she’d been crying for some time. Bits of dry leaves and twigs poked from odd angles in her misshapen braid.

  “How could I be mad at you? I miss you so much. I wish I hadn’t left.” He related the caustic accusations being hurled at him, how clients were leaving his practice, the fight he’d had with Rowe.

  “Have you seen Waapake?” She touched a hand to the willow’s trunk, and instantly Keir perceived her meaning with his heart.

  “No, I’ll collect his body tomorrow and arrange a burial. I hope Adara will at least allow me that much—”

  “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.”

  “It’s not your fault. I love you and want to be with you.”

  Her lower lip trembled as she said, “I want that too, to be with you. B
ut you must make Adara understand. You have to clear your name, no matter what lies ahead. Like my father said, you have evil clinging to you. You must become free of it to go forward into a happy life.” She looked down and her voice cracked. “For the same reason, I, too, must release darkness that is clinging to me.”

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I think we can help each other. I would like to come to you in the Hollow. Tomorrow, if you’ll allow me.” She gazed up, her eyes still wet, flickering with new glints of yellow.

  “Of course. Is being so close to Adara safe?”

  “As safe as being here. She visits the reservation whenever she pleases, announced or not, in her animal form as a badger.” Any trace of happiness on her face dulled, replaced by a cloud of grim sadness. “I’ll come, only if you promise you will cast out the evil. At whatever cost.”

  He didn’t understand the bargain, but his heart trusted her, and his whole body ached to feel her in his arms. “I promise.”

  “You will use the medicine my father gave you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I will come. I’ll leave tonight. Wait for me to arrive before you use it.”

  Chapter Twenty: The Phoenix Fire

  The thud of approaching footsteps yanked Keir from the streamside destination of his shamanic journey. Unole’s face was etched in his memory, and he thrashed to reconnect with her.

  Instead, surrounded by empty space, nothing registered. He scanned the blankness and finally spied a phoenix bird—his power animal—who might answer his questions. “Phoenix! Hello. Where have you been?”

  “I was with you during every journey you took. I tried everything to make you see me. Used my wings to sweep wind into your face.” The fiery bird continued speaking with its usual reedy but calm voice as it whipped an inferno’s heat at Keir’s face. “Even perched on top of your head once. When Waapake vanished, so did your focus.”

  “I wondered. Well, I’m glad to be able to see you now, but can’t say I’m any calmer.”

  “Your new friend has given you a gift of insight. Wait for her. You need her. And she needs you.”

  A hand clasped Keir’s shoulder, gently shaking him. He ignored the interruption and clung to his vision of the phoenix. “How can I help her?”

  “I have set a fire in you. Use it to do what is right and good.” The bird spread its wings, a grand display of flames eclipsing its form.

  “Wait! Please tell me how I can help Unole. I have to know,” he pleaded as he lost the bird in a sunspot—the blinding harshness from an overhead ceiling lamp. Eyes squeezed shut, Keir resisted the transition out of the spirit world. “Please, tell me. I have to help her.”

  “Keir, what is Unole’s problem?” Rowe’s voice broke Keir’s last hold on the journey.

  He squinted at his friend’s worry-etched face and groaned, “I don’t know. She asked for my help but didn’t explain how. She’s coming tomorrow. To be here when I confront Adara and collect Waapake’s body.”

  With an arm around Keir’s shoulders, Rowe guided him from the cold floor to the sitting room couch, where he wrapped him in a throw. “It’s freezing in here. Where’s the thermostat?”

  “On the wall beneath the staircase.”

  Rowe switched on the furnace, then called as he headed for the kitchen, “I’ll fix some tea and be right back.”

  Keir’s teeth chattered, and he pulled the blanket to his chin. Waapake always curled close to keep him warm on cold nights. A lump formed in Keir’s throat—so many reasons to miss him.

  A few minutes later, Rowe returned with two steaming mugs, handed one to Keir, and took a seat on the opposite end of the couch. “So, were you journeying?”

  “Yes, but it was odd. Not like any of my other trips. I hadn’t set an intention or even prepared to journey—it just happened. Surprised the heck out of me.”

  “You must’ve needed to learn something. Make any discoveries?”

  Keir related highlights of his mind traveling. He set his cup down and tossed off the throw. “Did you see Adara? Get a commitment from her to stop?”

  “Yes and no. I did see her at her house. She’d just returned from a gathering at Estelle’s organized solely for Adara’s purposes of smearing you. I asked her to zip her lips.” Rowe hung his head. “She refused.”

  “Shit. Why not?” Keir’s fingers dug into his thighs. “What’s in it for her? Or does she still want to get back at me for some reason?”

  “Maybe a little. She said she wants coven members to think differently of her—better, as someone who wants to do good things for others.”

  “Time to think gave her time to regret. That’s not a surprise. But does she really believe she can convince people she’s changed?”

  “It would take a lot more than words for me to believe.”

  He eyeballed Rowe. “That night you tricked me, I thought she had you persuaded, the way you sided with her.”

  “Like I said that night, I had to find a way to make you stay.” Rowe glanced over, as if testing Keir’s response. “You were desperate and wanted out. I can’t blame you. I would have done the same. But at the moment, I was being selfish. Couldn’t face losing one of my best friends. I hadn’t thought through the details, just knew we could find a way out—wasn’t going to tie you to that woman.”

  “Could have fooled me, as well as Aggie—”

  “And Jancie.” Rowe blew out a hard breath. “I can’t make her understand.”

  “After all of this is done, she’ll probably come around.”

  “Yeah, maybe now that you’re here to stay.”

  Keir hesitated, his mouth set in a hard line. “I’m not staying—came back to bury Waapake and set things straight. I have to clear my name, stop Adara from telling lies, regardless of where the future takes me. I can’t allow her defamation to follow me.”

  Eyes wide, nostrils flaring, Rowe met his gaze with silence.

  Keir was grateful for his friend’s quiet consideration. He accepted the unspoken invitation to relate the vehement protests made by Chester and Mrs. MacElroy. When Keir finished, he looked at Rowe and waited, likewise granting him the floor.

  The muscle at the side of his jaw twitched. “I had no idea—didn’t think they’d take those stands so fast, without letting you explain or asking for clarification. I understand what you must do; you have no choice.” He blinked back dampness clouding his eyes and briefly looked away. “You might have, if I hadn’t mucked things up. You’ve got my support now, no matter what it takes or where you’ll choose to go.” Rowe clasped the hand Keir extended with a firm grip as he asked, “What’s the plan?”

  “Chuquilatague gave me an incantation and taught me how to use it to block Adara’s revenge—negate it from her character.”

  “Wow.” Rowe gaped with an incredulous expression. “Can’t wait to see that.”

  “Geez, I hope it’s half as entertaining as it sounds.” Keir let out a nervous laugh.

  Unole will be here to advise and assist my preparations. She has a stake in the outcome, though I’m not completely sure of the details. When Adara left, almost dead after her battle with Jancie, Unole saved her. Somehow the act has tied them together. I wish I knew more—she won’t tell me.”

  “I want to be with you when you go to Adara’s.”

  “You sure you want to take on the risk?” Keir asked.

  Rowe nodded. “We’re friends.”

  “Thanks. It means a lot.”

  “Also, I think Logan should be there,” Rowe added. “As high priest, he can be more confrontational.”

  “Good idea. This evening. I’ll follow up on my phone messages. Try to head off the damage.”

  “I’ll help.”

  The front door knocker Tenskwatawa announced, “Tall Sam’s approaching,” shortly before his metal clanked. “Master, are you available for a visitor or shall I turn him away?”

  “I’m coming, Tenskwatawa. Please let Sam know,” Keir replied.


  Rowe made to stand, but with stiff unsteadiness, Keir hauled to his feet and said, “I’ve got this.”

  Rowe lifted his brows. “You sure you want to handle this one?”

  “Yes. It’ll be a good test. If Sam, who’s normally true blue, opposes me like the others, we’ll know better what we’re up against.”

  “Shaman Keir, are you there?” the client called, his slow way of speaking clipping faster than usual.

  Keir hurried to open the door and let the man in. “Hello, Sam. Can I help you?” His memory snapped to the last shamanic service he’d performed for the farmer, ridding Grandfather Clement’s silver snuffbox of the unwelcome badger spirit—Adara. Since Yule, she must have been using the container as a hideout while spying on him and Waapake—formulating her plan of deception. Keir ran a hand across his forehead. All this time, right under his nose.

  Rowe hung in the doorway to Keir’s office, as if blocking the way to keep the client from getting comfortable and staying overlong.

  The farmer tipped his cap to each. “Evenin’, Councilman McCoy, Shaman Keir. I’m wantin’ to … to …” He whipped off his cap, as if it were preventing his words from coming out. “I’ve been hearin’ some gossip and it ain’t good.”

  Keir’s pulse raced but he struggled to keep his thoughts positive. “I’m glad you came to me to learn the truth.” He gestured toward a wooden bench in the foyer. “Would you like to sit down?”

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather stand.”

  Rowe forced a breath out of his nose, whether releasing or building tension, Keir didn’t know but began his defense. “I suppose you’ve heard things involving Adara when she was high priestess.”

  “Yeah, and with you.” Sam’s honest brown eyes narrowed, etching lines deep between them. “Shaman Keir, what people are sayin’ ’bout you is mean-spirited, that you forced her into some sorta kinky relation. Tied her down with chains and whipped her, then made her do it to you—it’s not true is it?”

  “Most isn’t true.” Keir swallowed hard. “When I started my job, with no office and no clients, she offered me a room in the Council building as well as referrals, in exchange for sexual favors. She threatened to block my career. Heck, I was green and stupid; I made a mistake—thought I had no other way than to accept her offer.” He paused, hoping for encouragement or at least empathy, but Sam stayed quiet. “I never bound or incapacitated her in any way—I swear. She wanted to be in control.” His voice rasped to a whisper. “Which did include bondage and acts I’d rather forget.”