Writing Wrongs: Crow’s Feet Coven, Book One

by Gael, Christine

As he headed down the street back toward the library, my phone dinged with another notification. I pulled it out glanced down.

  You have a reply!

  Oh, Gaia’s Gathering, what wisdom did you have to impart upon me?

  I anxiously opened the app, scrolling down to my post. My fingers tingled as I skimmed the reply.

  Hello, MoonSister958!

  I haven’t personally run into any magical objects like this, but there are rumors out there for sure. From what I remember reading, back in the 1800’s, there were apparently several covens in the New England area that possessed items like this. They were all said to be Crone’s Covens, that is, covens made up of all women who didn’t come into their real power until they were well into their forties or fifties. I don’t know much about them, aside from some passing notes in an old diary I found a few years ago and some cryptic stuff on the dark web but most legit sites have written it all off as some conspiracy theory.

  The message went on to offer some helpful advice and websites, but I couldn’t stop reading the first paragraph over and over again.

  A crone’s coven.

  As much as it should chafe to think of myself as a crone, back then, people didn’t live as long, and frankly, all I felt was excitement. It sounded crazy, but I was living proof that there were at least some bizarrely magical items left in the world. And the fact that the witches who had these powers were older when they came into their magic made perfect sense.

  This puzzle wasn’t solved yet, but several key pieces had clicked into place and now I had a jump off point to research more. I stopped and read through the response again, furrowing my brow.

  Conspiracy theory, huh?

  There was one person in Rocky Knoll who knew more about conspiracy theories than just about anyone else on the planet, and she happened to live in the same house as me.

  Get ready, Mee-maw. We’ve got work to do.

  Chapter 11

  “Stop looking at me,” Mee-maw commanded, her eyes narrow as they slid over to me. “Don’t you know what they say? Staring’s rude. Keep it up and your eyes’ll get stuck like that.”

  And here I had been thinking she wouldn’t notice the increasingly-frequent furtive glances I was casting in her direction. I was well aware she was fed up with being babysat, and I couldn’t blame her. I sure as hell wouldn’t want my relatives all over me twenty-four-seven, fawning and asking how I felt. I’d had enough of that in the aftermath of my separation from Greg, thank you very much.

  But that didn’t change the fact that Mee-maw was at the center of my attention, for better or worse. Every time I saw her, I caught myself wondering if saving her had been a dud, if any minute now she would have another heart attack, the words disappearing from the page as she disappeared from my life forever. She was like a time bomb, and the idea that it might happen again was almost unbearable.

  But that wasn’t the only thing, was it?

  No, of course not. I had spent the rest of the day trying to figure out the best way to approach her, wondering how much I should tell her in an effort to solicit her help. I had promised myself I would reveal everything, but that had been before she’d nearly died on my watch. Until I had the whole thing worked out, knowing the half of it might be more stress and worry than she could bear. I’d hoped I’d have more information after my coffee date with Connie, but she’d canceled an hour before via text, and hadn’t replied to my request to reschedule. With lots of questions and little in the way of answers, it had quickly become clear that there would be a need for more white lies to my loved ones, something I didn’t relish but couldn’t avoid. It wasn’t like I could just come out and say it, could I?

  So Mee-maw, I’ve got some news for you. Not only did my new typewriter almost kill you, but I think I might be a witch, so if you would be so kind as to do some digging for me, I’d really appreciate it, yeah?

  No. Hell no.

  I cleared my throat. “Sorry, Mee-maw. I’m just--”

  “Worried about me. I know. And I’m telling you, you’re wasting your time. I’m gonna outlive you all. Just wait and see.”

  My lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Hmph.” She pulled her green afghan blanket more securely around her. She had been on the couch all evening and was practically melting into it at this point. It had taken persistence to get her to let me make dinner—and by “make dinner”, I mean “run down to the Golden Lantern and pick up as much fried rice as I could carry home” —and she was still in a funk about having to take it easy. Her bread-making had taken it out of her, though, and eventually she had been forced to sit down, whether she liked it or not. It turned out, spunk and grit weren’t enough to overcome the lingering effects of a sudden heart attack, after all.

  At least now she’s getting some rest, I thought dryly.

  This was a golden opportunity from my point of view. She had been practically climbing the walls in search of something to do, and I was about to give her the perfect project…all I needed was the right approach. Mee-maw smelled disingenuousness. It was almost uncanny.

  We were now sitting with our feet up in the TV room, watching episode after episode of Murder, She Wrote in an otherwise standoffish silence. My mind kept going back to the post on Gaia’s Gathering, ideas about crones, covens, and enchanted objects running through my mind on an endless loop. My outing—date? —with Patrick still had me feeling girlish, of course, and the fact that I’d been able to open up to him a little about my situation had taken a surprising weight off my shoulders. My work wasn’t done, though.

  Far from it.

  “You’re not watching,” Mee-maw observed gruffly as I glanced down at my phone again.

  “Neither are you,” I retorted. “You look like you’re falling asleep.”

  “Yeah,” Mee-maw agreed. “Out of boredom. No one should have to spend all day on the couch. It’s enough to make a woman go crazy.”

  And there was my opening.

  Sitting up in my armchair, I tried to come across as nonchalant as I replied, “You know, I’ve got something you could do, if you want. You won’t have to get off the couch.”

  She snorted. “Some good it’ll do, then.”

  “You haven’t heard my suggestion yet,” I protested. Her hawk-like eyes settled on me and she quirked an eyebrow, as much of a go ahead as I was going to get. “So I had this book idea,” I began.

  “Yeah?” she asked. “What about?”

  “Witches,” I replied, eyeing her to gauge her reaction.

  Mee-maw’s expression was unreadable, but I thought I saw an encouraging glint in her eyes. “That so?”

  I nodded. “It’s going to be fiction, I think, but I want it to be realistic. I was wondering if you’d like to do some research for me—specific research. It might be a good distraction for you.”

  “Say no more,” Mee-maw said, already hauling herself to her feet and flinging the afghan blanket back onto the sofa. “That sounds like it would be right up my alley.”

  “I thought so,” I said, grinning a little as she scurried off into another room with surprising speed for someone her age who had just had a heart attack. I could hear the sound of her rummaging for a moment, and before I knew it, she was back in the living room, her laptop tucked under her arm and a notebook under the other. She plopped back down on the couch, seemingly completely reanimated, and I had to be proud of myself for a moment—it was clear this was the right move, for her sanity as well as mine.

  Mee-maw patted the seat next to her on the couch, and I didn’t hesitate to come sit beside her. I watched her open the laptop, her eyes wide and half-wild, and she began to scribble in the notebook as she waited for it to boot up. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” I warned her as I settled in. “The wi-fi here sucks.”

  Mee-maw laughed, shaking her head without even giving me a second look. “You think I use that crappy wi-fi I gave you the password for? Nuh-uh. You wanna search the deep web, you need power an
d speed, baby. I have my own modem with a different password.”

  I stared at her for a moment, taken aback—not only by the fact that she’d been holding out on me, but by the fact that a woman her age even knew what the deep web was. “Wait a minute,” I began. “Who said anything about the deep--”

  She waved me off. “You said you needed research done. I’m no one to go into things half-cocked. You tell me what you need, Cricket, and I guarantee we’ll find it here.” She slapped the back of the computer affectionately, like it was a trusty steed.

  “I’m… impressed,” I told her, ducking my head a little. “I don’t even know how to access that kind of stuff.”

  “Well,” Mee-maw said patiently, not looking up from her notes, “they call it the deep web for a reason. You need a fast computer, a private server, a strong password… Okay, here we go,” she said as the computer finished starting up. “Now sit back and let the master prepare her tools.” She began to tap away at the keyboard, and I couldn’t help but feel my curiosity piqued.

  I tried to crane my neck to get a look at what she was doing, but she shot me a withering look, lunging forward with almost frightening speed and covering the screen up with her wiry arms. I opened my mouth to protest, but she raised an eyebrow knowingly. “Reason it’s lightning fast is because I’m the only one on it, and I’m fixing to keep it that way. You dig?”

  I rolled my eyes, but was too amazed by her tenacity to make a retort, and couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto my face. “Sure. Okay. I dig.”

  “So what kind of research are you looking to do, specifically?” Mee-maw asked, back to business in a flash.

  “Do you remember the old stories about witches in Rocky Knoll?” I began.

  “Sure, a bit,” Mee-maw replied. “Folk tales. Mumbo-jumbo for the tourists, I say, but I never really looked into it. I’m more of a chupacabra girl myself.”

  “Right, yeah,” I said, not arguing. “But it’s still interesting, though. I think it would make a good basis for the… book I want to write.” I shook my head, the guilt about the lie still pinching me a little, but ignored it. “Anyway,” I continued, “those stories were what gave me the idea. I did a little research already, down at the library.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “According to the local legends, in the 1800s there was a coven of witches in town who didn’t discover their magic powers until they were older—middle-aged, more or less.” She nodded, watching me with that annoyingly perceptive stare. I worked to keep my expression neutral, even though I knew I was theoretically describing what was happening to me right now. “They say, usually witches discovered their powers young, which is what made this kind of thing special. They called it a crone’s coven, or something?”

  “Charming name,” Mee-maw remarked, her eyes crinkling.

  “Anyway, I was curious to learn about other covens that were said to be in the area,” I continued. “I took a look on some of the conspiracy theory message boards--”

  “Is that right?” Mee-maw’s face lit up at the sound of those two little words, and I knew she was hooked. For a moment, she reminded me of the woman she had been when she was younger: equally tough-as-nails, equally spirited, but with the kind of wide-eyed curiosity that tended to diminish with age.

  If there was one thing I knew to be true about my grandma, it was that she was passionate about her conspiracy theories.

  I nodded. “According to the lore, the people of Rocky Knoll burned the first group of witches at the stake. Then, soon after, they started hanging them.”

  “Why do you reckon that is?”

  “That’s part of the question,” I admitted. “No one’s totally sure why, but word on the street is that one of them wouldn’t burn, so that’s when they switched to hangings.” I wasn’t about to speculate on the magical logistics of hanging versus burning as far as execution methods. For a moment, an absurd image of the townspeople finding out about the typewriter and showing up at my door with pitchforks and torches flashed through my mind.

  “Grim stuff,” remarked Mee-maw.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “So that’s where my research left off. Between the work at the bakery, and the flea market, and my… other writing projects…” I cringed inwardly as I thought about the shark attack again, but Mee-maw mercifully didn’t seem to notice. “I haven’t had time to really dig deep,” I continued. “As deep as I want to for this book, I mean. So I was thinking maybe you could help me.”

  “If it means getting away from Angela Lansbury for a day or two,” replied Mee-maw, “I’ll write a whole dang research paper for you.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I thought you liked Murder, She Wrote.”

  “Sure,” Mee-maw responded, not missing a beat. “I like hot toddies, too, but you won’t catch me having them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, chuckling, before letting my expression turn serious again. “I need you to find as much information about the witches of Rocky Knoll as you can,” I told her. “Superstitions, legends, articles, anything. Are you up to this, Mee-maw?” I felt a little like the chief in one of those generic blockbuster spy movies. Your mission, should you choose to accept it...

  “Up to it?” Mee-maw exclaimed, beaming with a smile that I hadn’t seen in a while. “Are you kidding, kiddo? I was born for this.” Cracking her knuckles like she was about to hack into the Pentagon, she began to type away at the laptop at supersonic speed, pausing only to scribble a few notes down whenever she caught sight of something interesting.

  I had to admire her handiness with a computer, but I still couldn’t completely fight off the guilt I felt about the story I had concocted. In a way, it would have almost been better if she’d caught on to the lie. At least then I could get the confessions over with and I wouldn’t have to keep hiding this magic stuff from her any longer. But I’d be damned if my plan hadn’t gone down nearly without a hitch. This was exactly what I had been hoping for when I decided to approach Mee-maw about this. With luck, she would be occupied for a day or two, at least, and her information-gathering skills were second to none. I knew already that she would leave no proverbial stone unturned, allowing me to get more info without dragging anyone else into this mess. I already felt like I was at the edge of my sanity; it wouldn’t be right to involve yet another person into the madness until I knew more.

  Shaking those thoughts from my mind, I got to my feet and stretched. I felt like I had been wasting away in that armchair for a week, at least. On the TV, Jessica Fletcher was having a revelation, forgotten entirely at this point. I grabbed the remote and switched off the tube, and Mee-maw didn’t protest. She was already absorbed in her work. Thank god for that, at least.

  “I think I’m going to turn in pretty soon,” I told her. “I’m supposed to be at the bakery early tomorrow morning.”

  “Sure, sure,” Mee-maw said, waving a hand at me but not looking up from the computer screen. “Sleep well, Cricket.”

  “Thanks, Mee-maw,” I told her, and then left to get ready for bed. I was scheduled to go in before the bakery opened the next day and then work a full day. There were cinnamon buns to be drizzled and cookies to be iced. Zoe had been burning the candle at both ends just like I had, and I wasn’t going to leave her to man the bakery alone.

  Besides, the sooner I got my obligations out of the way, the sooner I could focus on what was really important.

  Like, magic.

  Chapter 12

  There was something almost magical about the bakery in the early hours of the morning. Everything smelled amazing, and the heat of the massive ovens drove away the morning chill. Zoe and I often worked without talking, music blaring to keep us motivated.

  Of course, with my newfound magical abilities, or whatever they were, it was hard to stay focused on the sea of scones, muffins, and cookies just waiting to be devoured by hungry Rocky Knoll-ites.

  I’d slept well enough, especially when I took into
account the slightly stressful evening with Mee-maw. Sure, it felt nice to know that she was on the case, too, and more than willing to help me dig up as much dirt as she could on the crone’s covens. But I was still feeling a tad guilty over not giving her the full scoop. Not that I was really lying to her, just omitting a few key pieces of information.

  Like, “Oh yeah, by the way, I have the ability to divine the future through an antique hunk of metal I bought at a flea market.”

  Mee-maw would believe me if I tried to tell her the story, but that almost worried me more. If she knew the whole deal, she’d never jump off the conspiracy theory train. Before we knew it, we’d all be sporting tinfoil hats.

  I sighed, glaring down at my disobedient fingers. Despite getting a good night’s sleep—and not even waking up with an aching back, which was a first since taking up residence on Mee-maw’s spare bed—I couldn’t shake the itchy feeling that raced up and down my digits.

  Thus far, I’d tried hot water, cold water, lotion, oil, scrubbing the crud out of them, and Benadryl as a last resort. No dice. I really wanted to put it down to a nice, normal reason. Something like carpal tunnel or arthritis, but I knew better than that.

  My fingers were desperately trying to remind me that it had been far too long since they’d been on the typewriter. I wanted nothing more than to rip off my apron, run home, drag out the key, and unlock my favorite cursed item.

  Lucky item, I reminded myself with a grimace.

  I pulled my hands out of the dough with a groan, scrubbing my hands on the front of my apron. Eventually, this batch of beautiful gluten would become cherry-almond cream cheese Danishes, as long as I could get my head together enough to finish them.

  Without warning, Zoe leaned up against the counter next to my station, fixing me with her patented stare.

  “Okay, that’s it. Spill.”

  “Hmm?” Maybe if I played dumb she’d let it go.

  Zoe rolled her eyes and huffed a sigh. “You’ve been itching and wiggling all morning. What’s going on?”