Witch's Mystic Woods

by Marsha A. Moore

  “I…I can’t…” she stammered, her fingers wadding the hem of her coat. “I don’t know how—”

  “You will. Trust me. Start by having compassion for your mother. The rest will follow.” He stood and picked up the sack containing the card. “I’ll keep this here, in case it’s needed. It will bring no harm to fae. You need not face a source of your anger now.”

  She rose and swallowed against a wall of tears. “Thank you so much.”

  He saw her to her truck, and with a lightened heart, she turned toward home. She paused at the Flint Creek covered bridge to wait as an oncoming car used the single-lane road. As she dug in her pocket for a tissue and blew her stuffy nose, again, moans and plinks of the old boards beckoned. Her magic hadn’t returned. She couldn’t communicate with wood or trees. What did this mean?

  She’d ignored those signs too many times. After setting the park brake, she hopped out and walked under the bridge’s 1880 sign. Peeling red paint cascaded like tears. She touched the sidewall but detected no vibrations of communication. Continuing on, Larena walked the bridge’s length. Emerging from the other end, sun rays peeked above the tree line and kissed her boots. She let the sun accept her worries and fears for a moment, then returned, not along the road, but upon the support beams at one side. Her stride matched the distance between boards. Measured and rhythmic, the pace and the thump of boots against aged wood soothed her mind into a meditative state—free and spacious, able to take on the new challenge. I will not become vindictive like Sibeal.

  As Larena took a seat in her truck, she noticed how the current of Flint Creek flowed from the direction of Fable. Could the bridge be infused with fae magic? And explain Shango’s advice—to stay on the bridge between what is visible and invisible? She took a deep breath, confident that pieces were fitting together, and returned to her vehicle.

  At the antique shop, she moved with a quickness she hadn’t felt for a long time. As she prepared the sales register, she noticed her Troy pendant sitting on the side counter. She must’ve left it by mistake Sunday after her trip to the nemeton. She’d been exhausted. But where was Grandpa’s pendant?

  She searched but came up empty handed. Panic found its way back to her heart, as a vise set and readied to tighten. She turned over notebooks, stacks of shopping bags, everything lying on the sales counters.

  In her office, she opened the safe, looked all over the desk, and dug into her coat pockets. No luck. His Troy pendant, possessing far more power than her own, was gone.

  Could someone have taken it? A shopper? Probably not by accident, since her pendant had been behind the counter, out of reach. She’d never caught anyone shoplifting. Who then? Other than tourists and clients, only Reid and Shango had been there. She squeezed her eyes shut, to wall herself off from the pain of suspecting either of them.

  Chapter Twenty-two: Twice in One Week

  Reid flicked on the light in his apartment, tossed his keys on the kitchen table, and grabbed a beer from the fridge. The head foamed over the open top onto his fingers, and he cursed the beer along with everything else going sideways in his life. He wiped on a dishtowel but left the puddle on the counter. It didn’t matter. Not much did. He sank into a worn-out recliner.

  Since their heated meeting, his brother avoided him even more than before and his father offered curt answers in place of his usual heavy-handed advice. With the word out about Reid’s impending move, Mom had cried when Reid saw her in the office hallway. The secretary Rose gave him the ice queen treatment. Had they all expected him to stay in this hick burg for the rest of his life?

  And Larena, though unaware of his plans to move, played games with him. She’d made him jealous of that man Shango, then confused Reid more by flirting when they were alone. What the hell?

  He smacked the arm of the chair, widening a rip. Not a problem. It would be going to the dump soon, along with most of the reminders of his life here. He’d shot his mouth off too much, shown Larena his feelings for her. Maybe he could leave that mistake in the dump, too.

  He brushed hair back from his forehead. Who was he kidding? He hadn’t been able to get her out of his head since the day he delivered candy to her and saw the tempting flash of hazel in her green eyes. Thoughts of her would follow him to New York and make him miserable that he’d left. The amber lager promised an escape, and he sucked down a long draught.

  He closed his eyes and rested his head back, letting the buzz simmer.

  Rather than the release he’d hoped for, instead, sweetened by the alcohol’s haze, Larena’s face and honey-colored hair haunted him. He downed the beer to get rid of her, then got another.

  He settled at the computer. When the side of his hand touched the desk, an instant burning seared his skin. “Ow! Damn it.” He jerked his hand up and stared at the blister, cursing himself for not remembering about Larena’s spell. Has she just been playing with me all along? Leading me on and making me jealous to get the upper hand in the business deal? Maybe the spell on this desk is a part of her grand scheme. He hadn’t bothered to get rid of it since it was slated to join the load going soon to the dump. Using a calendar under his wrist, he turned on the computer and swigged the brew while waiting to log-on.

  How did he think he could outsmart a female witch who was that pretty? Heck, avoiding the wiles of a regular woman took grit. He’d worked hard to stay unattached and not alter his career goals for anyone.

  He emptied the bottle and swore, I’m done with her, done with Peterson Corp., done with family, done with everything here.

  The computer was ready. He opened his email, where he was asked to sign in—a routine security procedure since he’d been in his email via both his phone and Rose’s PC today. Once in, he deleted unwanted mail while the sticky residue of being treated the fool by Larena clung to him. He shoved the mouse aside, collected the empty bottle, and fetched a third.

  Another long swallow bolstered his resolve. Telling her their game was over might give him some peace. He pulled his cell out of his pocket and called Lockwoods’ Antiques. A recording surprised him. He checked the kitchen stove clock. Six on a Thursday—she was closed. At the sound of Larena’s recorded, silvery voice, he gritted his teeth and wished he could fast forward to the message beep so he wouldn’t waver. Finally, the beep sounded. “Hi. Larena. This is Reid Peterson. Just wanted you to know…I’m quitting Peterson Corp.” He hesitated, unsure how personal to make his message, then his tongue took over and flapped out a bunch of shit he shouldn’t have said. “I won’t be trying to take your land anymore, or negotiate to make things work out better for you. I’ll be moving to New York to take another job.” He looked at the phone a moment, tongue-tied. An emptiness filled his heart, as if there was something missing, something else to be said. No other words came. He disconnected and moved back to his computer.

  Slumped again into the chair, he took care to avoid the desk. The screen displayed an open email, one which came daily but he never bothered to check. The message indicated his service had been accessed by another device that day. His hand moved to delete it, but with his coordination impaired, his eyes lagged behind, fixed on the IP address of the other device. The beginning numbers weren’t ones he recognized as networks he used. He jotted the address down. An online search indicated the location of the unknown device to be local and using a public network. More digging showed the device to be currently located at the street address belonging to his brother.

  Reid paced to the kitchen and gripped the edge of the counter. Had Ben hacked his email? That’s how his brother knew about the Goldman Sachs job. Why was he spying? Whatever reason, it wasn’t good. Damnit, they were family. Reid snapped. He hurled the bottle. It smacked into the sink’s porcelain with a resounding clank and shattered.

  Reid grabbed his coat and headed out. He’d find his brother even if it took all night. Although he didn’t expect to find Ben at home, it was a place to start. Melissa might know something.

  Luckily, the precipitation t
hat night fell as rain. Temperatures weren’t supposed to drop below freezing until late. Reid flicked on his wipers and headed toward the Bloomington suburb.

  Twenty-some minutes later, he turned into their driveway and found Melissa’s side of the garage open. She bundled the two girls into the backseat as he walked up. “Hi Melissa. Have you seen Ben?”

  His niece waved at him from her car seat.

  She handed a doll to the toddler, then turned toward Reid. Melissa lifted a shaking hand to her forehead. “I just got a call. He’s in the emergency room.”

  “What happened?” Reid’s eyes bugged.

  She closed the backseat door and wobbled.

  He reached to steady her, and she broke into a mass of sobs.

  While pulling car keys from her pocket, her words spilled out between halting gasps for breath. “The nurse said he overdosed.”

  “Drugs?” Reid asked. “You’re kidding me.”

  “I can’t believe it either. Someone found him passed out, barely breathing. They called an ambulance.”

  “Bloomington General?” After she nodded, he offered, “I’ll lead to make it easier for you.”

  With a nod, she headed to her car, and they took off.

  Reid gripped the wheel, his head now reeling with the beers. Take it slow. While stopped at a traffic light, he called his father. When Lloyd picked up, Reid filled him in.

  “Lord, what got him mixed up in this?” Lloyd asked. “Your mom and I will meet you there.”

  A loud wail coming from Mom in the background forced his dad to disconnect.

  Reid kept an eye on his rearview to be sure he hadn’t lost Melissa. Three miles later, he turned into the ER entrance, his chest tight, breath shallow. The experience of taking Irene Lockwood to the same place a few days ago hit hard. Were she and Larena doing okay?

  Melissa parked next to him. He unbuckled his youngest niece and hoisted her into his arms. The older stared up at her mother’s face, clinging to her hand as if someone intended to wrench them apart. They crossed the wide covered entrance and approached the desk.

  Melissa spoke to the woman at the desk. “I’m Melissa Peterson. I got a call that my husband Ben was brought here.”

  The attendant checked her records and confirmed. “He’s stable. If you’ll give me some necessary information, we’ll get you back to see him right away.”

  With hair straggling in her face, Melissa fumbled with her purse and billfold but managed to pass the insurance card across the counter.

  Before she and Reid were seated, his parents arrived and took charge of the two girls. A prim female nurse called for family. Reid and Melissa went first. In a small office, the nurse explained, “Mr. Peterson is stable but very lucky someone called for an ambulance. He suffered a significant opioid overdose. During transport, the EMT reported Ben stopped breathing.”

  Melissa gasped and wrung her hands.

  Reid placed an arm around her shaking shoulders.

  An ER doctor joined them. “I’m Dr. Hanes. You’re his wife and brother?” When his question was confirmed, he asked, “Have either of you noticed recent changes in Ben’s behavior?”

  “Yes.” Melissa glanced at Reid. “We both have but didn’t think drugs. He’s been working late and looking tired for a while, most of this year.”

  The nurse gave them a fact sheet about drug overdose, the symptoms, and treatment.

  Dr. Hanes explained, “Opioid abuse can mimic exhaustion: extreme sleepiness, moodiness, confusion. We’ve given him Narcan to reverse the opioid effects. Ben’s going to be okay but will face a long road of recovery from the addiction.”

  “Addiction?” Melissa’s face paled, as if she was about to faint.

  The nurse moved to her side, and Reid steadied her on the other.

  “You mean he’s been doing this awhile?” Melissa squeaked.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” the doctor replied. “Ben admitted he’d been using for almost two years.”

  A moan escaped Melissa lips. “Since our youngest was born. Why then? That was a happy time. Unless having another child meant more financial responsibility to him.” She trembled, internalizing too much.

  Reid scanned the list of symptoms. Pinpoint pupils and mood swings were ones he should’ve caught. Why hadn’t he? Was he too busy ignoring life here, dreaming of landing a job in Manhattan?

  “I’ll take you to see your husband now.” The doctor moved toward the door. “After you see him, Nurse Allen will discuss possible treatments with you, Mrs. Peterson.”

  They followed through a maze of corridors to a curtained room. Although he had no way to be sure, Reid thought it was where Irene had been treated. The exact same heavy weight of stress hung in the air.

  Ben lay awake but quiet, hooked to an oxygen mask, his skin gray and his lips tinged blue. He gestured toward Melissa, who grasped the offered hand. As tears streamed down his wife’s face, he said, “I screwed up big time. I’m sorry, hon.”

  Melissa choked out utterances of her love and apologies for whatever reasons she could find for causing the problem. “We’ll get through this.” The more she heaped blame on herself, the more Ben’s expression pinched, until he cried with her, their foreheads touching.

  Reid stepped around the bed and accepted Ben’s other hand.

  “Bro, I’ve been…” Ben’s voice cracked, the words lost.

  “It’s okay,” Reid replied.

  “No, it’s not okay.” Ben squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then refocused on Reid.

  “How did this start?” Reid searched his brother’s eyes for an answer, which had become usual procedure as Ben had grown more distant over the past year.

  “From prescription meds I got after I broke my wrist helpin’ the Dawsons set a barn foundation.” Ben paused to suck in oxygen for a few breaths. “Then when the meds ran out, I found ways to buy it. Seemed easy enough to make connections. It was when I needed more than my loose cash to pay for the drugs, things got dicey.” A laugh became a raucous cough, and he gasped for oxygen again. “At least the drugs let me cope with what that hag of a witch Sibeal asked me to do deep in the coven’s woods. Them woods, boy, I still don’t know whether those were some weird trees or the trip I was on.” His words trailed off into a convulsion which rattled through his chest.

  “Take it easy.” Reid rubbed his brother’s arm while thinking back to their encounter at Kilfoyles’. Ben had glared at him with fiery eyes that matched the red oozing from the lumber he cut. Reid should’ve known then and pressed for answers. He had the chance to help now, but Ben had to do his share. Drugs had warped Ben’s judgement, but that didn’t excuse everything. “I’ll help you, but you need to do the right thing and fix what you’ve done to others.”

  “Yep, I know. I’ve done ’bout anything to scrape money for drugs. Even started dealin’. Too bad I couldn’t compete with you, Wharton Boy. Even hacked your computer to see how to get one up on you. Nothin’ worked. You got your fancy New York job, and I got nothin’—only Dad madder than a penned bull because he’s left with just me.” Ben rasped in more lungfuls of air. “You win, Wharton Boy.”

  As his brother confessed to his wrongdoings, Reid’s anger crumbled to despair and helplessness. He looked down at their joined hands and blinked back tears. He pulled Ben into an embrace, long overdue. “Everything’s going to be okay.” Just as in the stilted message he’d left for Larena, Reid’s words rang hollow. He wished he could say more, give more. Emptiness gnawed at his heart.

  Chapter Twenty-three: Goodbye

  Opening the antique store on Friday morning, Larena dreaded the start of another four-day work weekend, which meant she’d not be able to spend as much time with Mom. Did Larena’s absence matter now? Mom slept round the clock, her eyes only briefly fluttering when Larena or Betty cared for her. Larena went through her shop routine on auto-pilot, her mind clinging to the shred of what remained of her mother across the lane.

  Larena shook off the depressive thoughts,
the very outlook Shango told her to guard against. She couldn’t let herself wallow in self-pity because Mom no longer interacted. Larena’s involvement in her mother’s life was still important, to hold space and make her feel safe, to offer compassion.

  Larena grasped the “Open” sign and paused, desperately wanting to keep the shop closed today. Would it matter? Did anything matter? Larena felt alone.

  Seeing her reflection in the glass of the door, she shuddered. Was the gaunt woman her—where had ten pounds gone? Food tasted bland and she had no appetite, eating by the clock rather than to assuage hunger or enjoy a meal. Her braid kinked around lumps and tangles. She glanced down at her broadcloth blouse, usually ironed and sharp, now rumpled from lack of care.

  Fifteen minutes to opening time, she slogged to the office. The answering machine—a recent advancement High Priest Logan had permitted for coven businesses—pulsed its red light. She sat at her desk and pressed play.

  “Hi. Larena. This is Reid Peterson. Just wanted you to know.” He hesitated, perhaps trying to decide what to say. “I’m quitting Peterson Corp.”

  Her eyes opened wider and she leaned toward the machine.

  “I won’t be trying to take your land anymore, or negotiate to make things work out better for you. I’ll be moving to New York to take another job.” Instead of saying goodbye or disconnecting right away, she thought she heard his breath heavy against the phone for several seconds before the static ceased.

  She stared at the phone. No other message followed. Nothing to counter the sting of his goodbye—no, his resignation. He’d not said goodbye. She folded her arms across the desk and buried her head. Tears and sobs for a dozen hurts stuck deep in her chest, refused to release. They clung and festered with layers of pain. Why wouldn’t they flow? She longed to be free of them. Instead, Reid’s message swelled the abscess growing within her. She was losing her mother, losing him, and worst of all losing herself.