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

by Marsha A. Moore

  A cough sputtered from Rowe’s lips.

  “For how long?” The few tight words revealed nothing about Sam’s inclination, nor did the way he was wadding his cap.

  “About a year.” Keir shifted from side to side while searching for something credible to defend that unearthly long length of time he’d serviced Adara. “Until I’d built enough rapport with my customers and trusted they would recommend me on my own merit.”

  “So, you were sexually assaulted, then,” Sam clarified, his gaze sizing Keir up.

  Keir gave a single nod. “I feared for my job. She appointed me and could just as easily end my career by smearing my name—like she’s doing now.”

  Sam pressed his lips together, as if weighing every word Keir had said along with every hair on his head, then proclaimed in his usual slow and reassuring cadence, “I’m with you, Shaman Keir. You’ve done my family a world of good. We all make mistakes when we’re young.”

  “Thank you, Sam.” Keir sagged against the nearby wall.

  The farmer waved his hand holding the cap in a half circle. “It concerns me that a whole heap of people don’t know the truth.”

  “That’s a real problem we have to address.” Rowe pushed off from the doorframe and came closer. “We will make calls to defend Keir and spread the truth.”

  “You can count me in.” Sam met their gazes, his jaw set.

  Keir stepped forward and offered his hand to his client.

  Sam readily accepted and Rowe joined, grasping their united hands with both of his own.

  Keir proclaimed, his voice strong, resounding, “The unrest Adara is spreading will be stopped. I’ll check her actions, no matter what it takes. This is more than personal—it’s a fight for the coven and what is right.” The fire of the phoenix burned in his soul.

  Chapter Twenty-one: Crimson Stains

  Keir sipped his coffee and watched the sun rise. Eager for Unole to arrive, he’d woken early and crept through the house, while his friend was asleep. Rowe’s offer to spend the night was supportive but also necessary since they’d stayed up late forming plans with Logan, who dropped by at eleven. They’d drawn up an expanded list of coven members, divided between the three of them—four, counting Aggie—to call during early morning.

  The previous night, Tall Sam, Rowe and Keir talked with two dozen of his clients. Results had been mixed, with more than Keir expected condemning him outright. However, most were reluctant to commit to either side. Only one asserted his innocence but refused to stand with him when he confronted Adara.

  Midmorning, a car chugged onto Keir’s driveway. A half-rusted Ford Pinto, neither sufficiently old nor new enough to blend in with vehicles that usually drove the coven roads. He recognized the vehicle as one of several dilapidated cars that never left Chuquilatague’s front yard. At least it made the seven-hour drive.

  Outside, he waved and hurried to Unole. He wanted to sweep her into his arms but stopped short—awkwardly too short—when he saw her cautious smile and eyes darting in all directions. His hands floundered until they located his pockets.

  Lucky for him, she had her back turned, collecting things from the car.

  “How was the last part of your drive?” He took a large bag from her.

  “Good. The short nap helped, like you suggested. I’m not used to driving at night.” She moved ahead of him to the back porch.

  Inside, the smell of bacon greeted them, and Rowe called as the couple entered the kitchen, “Hello, Unole. I’m Rowe.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Her hunched shoulders eased, and she flashed a wider smile.

  Keir set her bag down, then helped her out of her coat. His fingers brushed the silk of her top. Its fluid softness—like the reservation stream rippled by her windsong—begged him to touch her, but he resisted. Her black hair hung loose over her shoulders, picking up the iridescent hues of her indigo jeans and sky-blue tunic.

  “Thought we needed a hearty breakfast in preparation for this day.” Rowe waved a spatula toward a loaf of bread. “Keir, why don’t you make toast? Coffee’s almost done brewing.”

  “Sounds great. I’m hungry. How can I help?” Unole offered.

  “Thanks,” Rowe said. “Ordinarily, my girlfriend Jancie uses her magic to whip up a feast in a snap. I’m afraid we’ll have to make do with simple, non-magical fare.”

  Unole lifted her brows at Keir.

  “Jancie and Rowe disagreed on how to deal with Adara kidnapping Waapake.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” The smile dropped from her face, and she wrung her hands.

  “Nothing for you to be sorry about,” Rowe said in his usual easy manner. “Now that Keir and I are working as a team, like friends should, she’ll probably come around.”

  Despite his reassurance, Unole bit her lip.

  Keir interceded. “You can help set the table, while I make toast.” After she gave a nod, he squeezed her hand, then led her to the cabinet where dishes and glasses were stored. He dropped slices into the toaster and assisted her with setting places at the breakfast table as he asked Rowe, “Do we expect Logan for breakfast?”

  “He and Aggie will be over soon. No idea if they’ll be hungry.”

  “Ha. Logan’s always hungry.” Keir accentuated his laughter for Unole’s benefit, hoping to help her relax—and did his nerves some good as well.

  Before they sat down to their plates, Rowe started another skillet of bacon.

  Within minutes, the back door opened and Logan called from the mudroom, “Mmm. Bacon. Just what I need.” He wandered in and shrugged the parka covering his suit coat to the back of a dining chair.

  Aggie entered moments later, head down and talking on Logan’s cell phone.

  Eyes rimmed with shadows, neither of them looked like they’d slept much. That sluggishness didn’t stop Logan from wolfing down several strips of bacon before Aggie, now off the phone, asked with a laugh, “Didn’t you just eat?”

  When she spied Unole, Aggie’s laugh trickled out and her face brightened. Before Keir could swallow and make introductions, Aggie swept past, wrapping an arm around Unole’s shoulders.

  Unole—to Keir’s relief—returned the embrace, her eyes twinkling as she said, “I’d know your spirit anywhere.” Smiling, the two hugged like best friends meeting at a school reunion.

  The three men stared at them until they pulled a few inches apart.

  When Aggie became aware of their attention, she explained, “Waapake’s mother lived for a while near my Gran. Even after Coyote Mother was relocated to the reservation, she returned to visit her before she passed.”

  “Coyote Mother’s affinity to witches was what made my father gift her son, Waapake, to Keir as his familiar,” Unole added.

  “Look! Mother Coyote’s spirit recognizes you.” Aggie displayed the pulsating golden beryl stone on her wrist to Unole, which prompted another hug between the pair. “It does feel like I’ve always known you,” Aggie said with a grin, then peered around. “Jancie’s not here?”

  “Did you expect her?” Rowe’s eyes went wide.

  “She said she was thinking about it or maybe showing up later at Adara’s. A lot of people will be there to witness what happens—at least those Logan and I spoke to.”

  “You told her I was helping Keir?” he asked.

  “Yep. She was happy about that but wanted to see for herself.”

  “Sounds like her,” Rowe gave a sharp retort and took an even louder slurp of his coffee.

  “Hopefully, you two can work things out.” Unole’s voice flattened, the glimmer in her eyes upon meeting Aggie now strangely faded.

  Logan checked his pocket watch while munching another piece of bacon. Through the mouthful, he said, “Aggie, grab some food if you want. We need to leave soon. I made an appointment with Adara for ten-thirty—just didn’t tell her others would be joining me.” He glanced at Keir. “You ready?”

  “As much as I’ll ever be. I’ve meditated on Chuquilatague’s focus, studied and memorize
d his incantation, then centered again.” Keir patted the inner pocket of his suit coat. “And have the verse and notes with me in case I need a quick reminder.”

  Unole touched his arm and searched his face. “Thank you.”

  Something in her touch made Keir’s bothersome thigh tense. “I’m glad you’re here, but should you go with me to Adara’s. Is it safe? I can tell you’re worried.”

  “It will be safer for everyone if I’m there.” Not waiting for his response, she picked up dirty plates and went to the sink to help Rowe clean up.

  Keir did his part, then grabbed his fedora and carnelian amulet from the office desk. When he returned to where the others gathered in the mudroom, Rowe was checking the placement of his pocket watch. “Think you’ll need that?” Keir asked.

  “Let’s hope not,” his friend replied and angled his own hat in a jaunty tilt. However, a muscle twitching in his jaw belied the apparent nonchalance.

  Unole shot Keir a quizzical look.

  “Rowe’s an animator and can place his power into inanimate objects. His pocket watch contains his energy, as well as some from his ancestors. Using it, he can throw that power in a fight.”

  Rowe leaned closer to them. “You mean in defense.”

  Keir swallowed hard at his poor choice of words. Unole couldn’t have missed his blunder. He’d been in many battles alongside his friends and, and discounting Rowe’s recent, atypical betrayal, knew what to expect from them. It was Unole who worried him; she’d crumbled when the enchantment on the white crow broke. That sort of response today—at the wrong moment—could endanger her or others.

  “You guys, dressed in your old-time hats and striped double-breasted suits, look like gangsters heading for a heist,” she quipped with a nervous laugh.

  Logan paused with his hand on the doorknob and turned back to survey the other two men. He flashed a stiff smile. “Funny, I was thinking how I felt more like an old-west sheriff with his band of deputies—not a coven high priest backed up by a Council member and a seer.”

  “Time to roundup the outlaw,” Rowe cracked, adding only a morsel to Logan’s levity. No one laughed.

  Keir rode with Rowe, in the backseat with Unole. When Adara saw the black Studebaker arrive, Keir wanted her to know right away she didn’t hold sway over his best friend. What he couldn’t gauge was how she might interpret Unole’s alliance.

  They drove behind Logan and Aggie into the Tabard driveway. Five coven-style cars were parked along the road. Among them, Keir recognized Tall Sam’s wooden stake-bed pickup, but also Estelle and Joe Webber’s Buick Roadmaster and Tynewell Tynker’s Packard. The Webbers would support Adara to the end—as would Sibeal Soot, if she’d accompanied Tyne. Keir had always counted the magical tool specialist among his friends and supporters. However, after how the fae spell affected Tyne at Yule, he didn’t know what to expect.

  Sam left his truck and came alongside. He opened Keir’s door and said, “I’ll stay near the cellar door just in case you all need help at that spot.”

  “Good backup plan.” Keir stepped out, patted Sam’s shoulder, and rounded the car to open the door for Unole. With his back to the house but visible for her, he rubbed his fingers along his carnelian amulet; affirmation they both needed that his anger was in check.

  She cupped her hand over his on the gemstone. The reassurance spread wider, beyond himself, as if they were somehow joined. The strange sensation lingered long after she let her hand fall.

  As they waited at the front door behind Logan and Aggie, Keir whispered in Unole’s ear, “Thank you.”

  Sibeal greeted them, her peppered hair hung loose in bouncy curls like a school girl’s. She looked vibrant, less matronly, as if gaining a large chunk of his client base took years off. “Welcome, High Priest Logan and guests. Please come in.” Her cloying voice modulated several degrees louder—too loud for addressing someone directly before her. “Keir, what a nice surprise. We thought you were at the reservation.”

  The group entered and Logan stopped at the end of the foyer as he spoke into the parlor. “Ms. Tabard, we’ve come to gather the body of a dead coyote familiar named Waapake belonging to Keir Sheridan. I have reason to believe that the body is here in your house. Is that true?”

  “Yes, it is true and you may take the body. It’s no longer of use to me.”

  Keir didn’t need to see Adara to know a look of manipulative glee belied her artificial, dispassionate tone.

  “I should not have to remind you, as a former high priestess, killing of another witch’s familiar is an offense. You will—”

  “Have Sheriff Barnes contact me,” she said with an audible smile, and Keir envisioned her lips curving into a lacquered red bow. With the same lipstick she had smeared and stained and ruined dress shirts he couldn’t afford to replace as a new seer.

  “You may not know that Sheriff Barnes was suspended as a result of his involvement in a gambling ring led by Councilman Burnhard, who I dismissed for that reason.”

  “Oh, silly me. I should have known you’d make changes.”

  The muscles across Logan’s back and shoulders tensed. “You will be summoned to stand before the Coven Council.”

  “But I wasn’t responsible for the animal’s death.”

  Keir exchanged glances with Rowe beside him.

  “Three coven members witnessed the coyote caged in my basement,” Adara said, her tone affected and monotonous, as if the questioning bored her.

  Logan took a half-step and moved Aggie behind him.

  Keir shifted his weight but failed to gain a better view.

  Adara’s derisiveness persisted. “And of those three, one also happened to be the last person to see the animal alive.”

  His jaw clamped, Rowe dug into the pocket containing his watch.

  Keir grasped his carnelian and tried to dispel the tension spitting from the hard pit in his stomach—it hadn’t softened, no matter how much he’d meditated.

  “I’d been away for a day and was surprised to return and find it dead,” Adara reported smugly.

  Blue magic tinged the upper edge of Rowe’s pocket, and he pushed next to Logan.

  As if again blinded by the intense beam of Adara’s flashlight, Keir couldn’t think. He cast out the possibility of blame Adara tried to pin on Rowe. Anger surged. White-hot and seething.

  From where he stood, Keir strained to view Adara. By the way Unole quivered, he wondered if she could see more—or did she detect and fear his simmering anger?

  He gulped a steadying breath, felt slightly more at ease, then took her hand. Her fingers trembled, icy cold against his own hot skin. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and noticed her tears. He held her tighter and she leaned into him, her peace acting like a salve to his temper.

  “Also, when I returned home I found traces of Councilman Rowe McCoy’s magic where he jimmied my outside cellar door lock.” Adara proclaimed, throwing a razor-sharp argument point at the bullseye. “It’s still there. Check for yourself.”

  Charged magic dripping from his wrist, Rowe strode to the main room, yelling, “You bitch! You’re a liar! You’re just trying to smear my name, too, since I rejected your offer for sex the other night.”

  “I had no intention of killing the beast,” Adara snarled, a cornered cat. “Logan, go to the basement and see for yourself what magic remains on the corpse.”

  Not waiting, Rowe stomped forward and a door flung open.

  Revulsion—no, allegiance to his friend—propelled Keir, along with Logan, to the parlor.

  As though attending a gala and she was the guest of honor, Adara wore a shimmery black evening gown that betrayed her and clung like a coating of noxious motor oil. She dripped with her family’s power-encrusted gems—the serpentine ring belonging to her great grandmother and elaborate black pendant worn by her father—used by all Tabards for additional power in difficult situations. Whether Unole wished it or not: Adara was prepared for battle.

  Logan glared at her, then
headed down to the basement.

  Sweat beading on his face, Keir locked his gaze on the stairwell and tried to dissociate from his emotions. He had to keep his thoughts free, his heart clean; only then would blame be properly dealt, the woman’s evil stopped.

  He motioned for Aggie and Unole to descend ahead of him. For his past mistakes, he would gladly accept whatever foul black magic Adara might hurl, rather than have them harmed.

  Aggie complied and hurried after Logan.

  Despite Keir’s attempts, Unole refused. “She won’t hurt me.” She trembled but held her head high and looked squarely at Adara, who mirrored the younger woman, both staring and shaking, neither speaking.

  Unole’s confidence mystified him—or did she trust Adara? Only when he turned away, did Unole move to follow.

  While clinging to the railing, he watched over his shoulder and was relieved to see the others of Adara’s party, Tyne and Sibeal first, file down after Unole.

  When Keir faced forward, his sight filled with the crumpled mass of silver and tan fur which lay limp in a corner of the cage. He missed the bottom step and half fell, half lurched into the open enclosure. Kneeling, he caressed what remained of Waapake.

  Logan drew near and knelt. After a few moments, he quietly asked, “Do you sense any magic?”

  “I … I’m not the best at that. Spirits talk to me readily. Sadly, Waapake’s is absent. I can feel bits of Rowe’s and Adara’s magic, not how they were used.”

  Logan whispered, “Tyne is capable. Do you trust him?”

  Keir glanced up at where the Councilman stood in the corner between Sibeal and Adara. “No. Not under that fae love spell.”