Witch's Mystic Woods

by Marsha A. Moore

  Anger scalded her cheeks. She chided herself again for allowing self-pity into her thoughts. And as for Reid, they had no commitment, no relationship, not even a real friendship—just a wisp of desire, a whisper of a smile, a warm breeze of song. Who was she kidding? Those were her feelings, not his. The fact he was moving, had accepted a different job, proved that truth. She’d contrived the possibility of a relationship with him because she needed hope. Again, a self-serving direction, which only left her deluded and downcast. Embarrassment stung her already inflamed skin. She’d made a fool of herself flirting with him when Shango had put him in a position to vie for her attention. She misread Reid’s confusion as jealousy.

  She hadn’t asked Shango about the missing Troy pendant because, of the two, she suspected Reid more, considering his job put him in opposition to her. As a fae king, Shango surely didn’t need the pendant’s magic. With all the turmoil in her life, she couldn’t ascertain what reason he might have to take it. Now, considering the message, it seemed less likely Reid possessed the pendant. It wouldn’t be of much use in New York. Could he have stolen it for someone else?

  She lifted her head and glared at the phone. Why not call him and demand to know if he’d taken the amulet? What did she have to lose? He was moving. And she could have the satisfaction of letting him know his leaving didn’t hurt her.

  But as she reached for the phone, Larena realized his leaving did more than cause her pain. His brother would be solely in charge of the contract she was expected to sign in exchange for some paltry negotiables granted to soften the starkness of the eminent domain takeover. That change would also void Shango’s plan to use the elandine on Reid. Could the artifact have any desirable effect on Ben? Likely not, since his heart was black enough to endure the nemeton and hack off branches of one of its guardian trees. It didn’t seem possible Ben’s soul harbored any altruism or compassion, to be revealed by the elandine’s magic, which would prevent him from forcing the deal.

  Compassion—what she needed from others. The first step, like Shango said, must be from within herself. She gave up on opening the store. The only thing she needed to do that day was to be present for her mother. Nothing else mattered.

  ***

  At home, Larena tried to give Betty the day off, but her friend wouldn’t hear of it.

  “You go on and be with your ma. I’ll do the dishes.” She rolled up her sleeves and set to work. Later, when plied with the same request, she did laundry, or dusted, or vacuumed, until Larena gave up.

  She sat in the dining room and worked on her knitting. Something easy and meditative allowed her to monitor the energy in the room and hold a safe space for Mom.

  In the afternoon, when Larena returned with a cup of tea, she found her mother’s eyes open and alert, clear blue and full of life. “Mom, you’re awake. How are you?”

  “Doin’ okay. Okay. How’re you?” Mom replied.

  Larena almost dropped her cup. “I’m good.”

  Her mother strained to lift her head a few inches from the pillow.

  “Let me get you some pillows.” Larena set her tea on the buffet, then raised the bed’s head and added an additional pillow. “Is that comfortable?”

  “Yes. Fine.” Mom’s gaze followed Larena around the room, as she hadn’t done for months.

  Beside herself, seeing color in her mother’s cheeks which had long held a sickly pallor, Larena hovered at the bedside. She couldn’t resist asking but feared yet another disappointment, “Do you know my name?”

  “Of course. You’re Larena.” Mom struggled against a tongue and jaw that wouldn’t cooperate, but got the words out with real vigor and lucidity—a miracle.

  Larena’s eyes misted with joyful tears. “That’s right. I’m Larena, your daughter.”

  “Yes. My daughter. Wonderful daughter.”

  Larena gently hugged her mother’s shoulders. “I’ve missed you, Mom, so awfully much.”

  “Missed you, too.” Clearly, her mother parroted back some of the words Larena spoke, but she worked hard to enunciate with such real warmth, her sincerity was undeniable. She fought hard against the dementia for Larena—there could be no greater gift. Larena’s own compassion had been more than repaid.

  Elated, Larena continued to stay near, holding her mother’s hand and babbling about anything that came to mind: the shop, the weather, how Grandpa was doing. Even complaints and gripes came out sounding happy because Mom heard her and tried to respond. “There’s a man I met. His name’s Reid. You met him the day you went to the hospital. He carried you back into the house.”

  Mom nodded and grinned, her eyes gleaming with undeniable recognition. “Carried me. Yes. Carried me.”

  Euphoric, Larena rambled on. “Well, I was stupid. I thought he liked me. He’s so handsome.”

  “Handsome fella.” A garbled chuckle escaped Mom’s lips.

  “He really is. But, I was wrong. It was just business, and when the deal wasn’t going to happen, I saw that was all he wanted from me.” Larena let out a heavy breath.

  “Not wrong. Not business. Not wrong.” Mom’s words slipped out in a sing-song pace, like the familiar mantra repetitions from earlier in her illness. However, a tight squeeze on Larena’s hand added meaning she couldn’t ignore.

  “He never liked me and is moving away. He only needed me for that deal.”

  An aura of health glowed around her mother. Pink flushed her cheeks and her eyes sparkled with remarkable determination, a beautiful vision of the woman she was years ago. “He needs you. Open your heart.”

  Larena gaped at her mother. Was her intuition about Reid correct? During the past months while Mom struggled against her illness, she’d comprehended more than Larena thought possible, and all that she’d hoped. The love she’d given had been received.

  She hugged her mother tight. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too, Larena.”

  Larena never wanted their embrace to end. She shut her eyes, holding back tears that wanted to explode. Yet, she only managed to keep back the sadness of the bittersweet moment. Streams of happy tears mingled with her wide smile.

  “I forgot to tell you to clean the chicken.” Mom mumbled. “Clean the chicken. It’ll go bad if you don’t. Things need to be done still.”

  The message at first seemed like nonsense, but Larena didn’t let go. As she hugged, the meaning sank in—Mom was saying goodbye, reminding Larena to do what hadn’t gotten done, telling her whatever her failing mind discerned as important.

  “I will clean the chicken, Mom.”

  “Clean the chicken. Clean. Yes. Clean.” Her mother’s lucidity faded into a jumbled string of wordless sounds. The incredible strength she’d mustered to say goodbye was spent.

  When at last she quieted, Larena stepped to the end of the bed, still exchanging grins with her mother, both of them reluctant to let go of that precious moment.

  When Mom’s strength waned and her lids drooped, Larena, unable to dampen her broad grin, returned to the bedside chair.

  Betty hung in the doorway, tears streaming down her dimpled cheeks.

  Chapter Twenty-four: The Price of Contempt

  Larena sat near her mother’s bed for the next few hours watching her sleep, hoping she’d awaken with the same lucidity as earlier that morning. Larena started at each twitch or rustle, but with the passage of time, she slipped deeper into an unresponsive state. Her eyes only fluttered briefly when her undergarments were changed. Her jaw hung open and breath rattled with a raucous gurgle.

  Larena’s complaining stomach, hours without a meal, added to the chorus of fatigue. During a quick trip to the kitchen, she heated soup.

  Betty patted Larena’s back. “It took a lot of strength for her to interact with you. Was her gift to you in return for all the care. Her goodbye.”

  Larena looked down, eyes moist. “I know. It was an amazing gift, something I’ll always treasure. My job now is to hold space for her. Let her know I’m there to keep her saf
e as she takes her final steps to the other side.”

  “Do you want me to keep vigil with you?”

  “It’s up to you. I’ll be okay. I’m ready. Mom’s ready. We got to say goodbye.”

  “I know you’re strong, but no one is ever ready to lose their ma.”

  Unable to look ahead, Larena replied with a blank stare. This moment—staying with Mom’s spirit as it separated from her body—mattered more than Larena’s grief. Like Shango had said, grief was for later. Larena now understood.

  With bowl of soup in hand, she rounded the corner into the dining room to the bedside chair. The chicken broth coating her throat and warming her stomach sated her corporal body so it could remain passive as she prepared to accompany her mother’s journey. The broth’s rich vapors were Larena’s last connection to the tangible world as she set the bowl aside and centered herself in preparation for the mental journey.

  With eyes closed and body silenced, her soul canopied Mom’s bed. Vibrations throughout the room shook the threads connecting Larena’s soul back to her body’s core, her lifeforce. Her torso trembled, not from physical discomfort or consequence of emotion, but as an extension of her soul’s direct experience. With a new perception, far different from the five senses used to navigate the living world, Larena interacted with her mother’s spirit as it hovered near the edge of her body. And with her father’s that lingered to protect his wife during the transition.

  Larena detected other distinct reverberations, more than she could count, pressing down upon her from every angle in the room. Some transmitted familiar resonances from distant family she knew through pictures or stories handed down through the generations. Others seemed to belong in the room only by the way they were able to draw wisps of her mother toward them. Were they childhood friends, old lovers, previous employers? Larena didn’t know. The only commonality of the varied frequencies was that—they beckoned Irene, open to receive her with outpourings of joy.

  Larena was alive and her soul incapable of interacting with spirits other than those of her parents. Yet, the presence she could contribute provided a vital link, a bridge for her mother to travel across.

  Dad comforted his wife as she traversed the bridge, holding her hand, murmuring her name, offering sweet fragrances from the pure, white blossoms of her favorite rose bush. Empowered, he was able to add more than the vitality and solidity of Larena’s bridge. He contributed nuances of touch softer than velvet, a voice as inviting as a rain shower, colors so pure they almost blinded Larena’s optic nerve, and scents not from the mortal world but from the Goddess.

  Larena remained solid in her role, her focus so intent, only when daylight dimmed to darkness did she acknowledge the physical world.

  A click sounded nearby and light streamed onto her side. China clattered beside her.

  Breath puffed against her ear, and Betty whispered, “I made you a sandwich. I’ll hold the space for a while if you need a break.” She shuffled to a distant chair and sat. A few minutes later, her energy spiraled up from her being but remained an observer on the edge of the fervor and not a participant.

  Larena refocused on wisps of her mother’s spirit at the bridge. Lingering on the arched walkway, she harmonized with Larena’s frequency in song after song.

  At last, Mom diminished to a single clear note that swept across to accept her husband’s full embrace. Their conjoined resonance Larena knew well, from as far back as when she toddled between their legs. However, now that they stood in the plane of afterlife, she couldn’t join them.

  Their song faded. Larena redoubled her concentration and held on. The results of her effort lasted only moments, or perhaps hours. She only knew it wasn’t long enough. Her parents’ presence dissolved.

  Gone.

  The silence of the now deserted room stifled her. Blinded her as she blinked at the physical world. She flinched but her muscles, stiff from immobility, gave way. She swayed into the hospital bed’s side rail, where her mother’s body lay immobile and vacant. Larena touched her mother’s hand, still warm but lifeless, a lovely shell of the woman who’d given her so much. Desperate to etch every line and curve into her mind before death’s pallor claimed its beauty, Larena fought moisture clouding her vision so she could study the face, its vital color fading fast.

  Betty stirred and brought her slumped head upright.

  “She’s joined Dad,” Larena said, her words ringing hollow like a bell, though far from empty. She wiped away trickles of tears from her cheeks.

  “Yes, she has. I appealed to the Goddess to empower Irene’s soul.”

  Larena shook her head to throw off the haze clouding her dormant senses. The buffet clock read twelve-twenty, just past midnight. It was Sunday. Mom had passed on the Solstice.

  The significance of the date was more than a sign. It was the key Larena needed. While holding space for her mother to pass, Larena did more than walk the bridge between the visible and invisible—she had been the bridge. Confident she could now enter the nemeton and receive its assistance, she rose. “It’s Yule. I must go to the woods and mark the sabbat for Mom.”

  “Now? In the middle of the night?” Betty gaped, as if she could read Larena’s intentions from her expression. Quite possible, since Larena had been out-of-body for hours, long enough to become less capable of controlling how emotions played upon her face. She wished to do far greater things than mark the Sabbat.

  Larena kissed her mother’s gray forehead, and Betty stood to pay silent respects. They left the room and closed the French doors. Larena said, “I’ll call to make arrangements after daybreak. It’s late. You’re welcome to stay here in the guest room.”

  “Considering how you’re aimin’ to traipse out into the woods in the pitch-black of Solstice, I reckon I should stay close.” Betty huffed and lumbered up the stairs.

  “Thanks. I appreciate the concern,” Larena called after Betty, then in the mudroom, gathered her coat and flashlight and pulled on hiking boots. Her hair had mostly worked out of her braid, but she didn’t care.

  Outside, snow stung Larena’s face and unleashed more tears. She choked them back and reminded herself to be grateful for all that had passed and for her life that lay ahead. She strode across the lawn, and the elderberry bushes along the back of the property rustled as she passed to the hill beyond.

  Although the new moon cast no light, Larena didn’t need the flashlight. Her feet seemed to know the path. She walked with surety and at a steady gait. At the hilltop, her heart thumped not only from the vigorous climb but with eagerness. Her mother’s death left a void that she would grieve for months and years to come. Yet, despite the loss, Larena had also gained—a gift of compassion. Her need to help others, begun with caring for her mother, now swelled so great it threatened to explode out of her. How would this determination manifest into actions? She lengthened her stride, anxious to appeal to the nemeton for an answer. Could she save the Lockwood property and somehow benefit others in the process? Her heart opened to possibilities.

  She skirted the edge of the small ravine. The sacred grove lay around the next curve. Her pulse quickened. Adrenaline heightened her senses, much like her experiences when Mom crossed the bridge. The crackle of brush under her feet, like applause, encouraged her onward. She inhaled the earthy smell of damp leaves stirred by footfall, and her lungs expanded with yearning. Larena held tight onto both what was visible in the forest and invisible in her heart.

  “Stop right there,” a familiar female voice snarled with a rasp that scratched Larena’s ears. From shadows ahead, near the nemeton’s entrance, a dark form moved onto the path.

  Larena didn’t need the flashlight to identify Sibeal Soot, though she flashed the light in the seer’s face to confuse her sight.

  “Get that outta my eyes. Who were you expectin’? Esmeralda?” Sibeal croaked, her long nose shaking like a resonating chamber planted between beady eyes. Clad in all black save for her white Peter Pan collar, her head appeared to float, gruesome a
nd ghostly.

  “Haven’t you done enough harm?” Larena directed the beam onto the ground. She worked to keep her voice steady and anger from her heart. “What do you want?”

  “This Yule, under a new moon, the nemeton will gift its powers to one person. That’ll be me. Not you.”

  Rage percolated through Larena’s veins. Killing her mother wasn’t enough for this woman. She intended to usurp any power she could. To kick Larena down lower in the process and prevent her from safeguarding the Lockwood land. She had to focus away from this venom or it would consume her.

  Larena’s free hand clenched. Her mind burned at the sight of the heinous seer who’d cut short her mother’s life. The benevolent intent she wanted to present to the nemeton dissolved. Muscles in her arms tremored as she tried to suppress her hatred. At last, she mustered a shred of compassion for Sibeal, though a saccharin note clung to her query. “What do you need from the grove?” Bestowing concern for one so vile was like staring down a viper. Larena clenched her teeth, and the tightness attacked her jaw.

  Sibeal scowled. “Thanks to Keir, I’ve lost my place as head seer except among my dyin’ clientele. ’Cause of him, I’m almost bankrupt. I’m here to stop him and take back my power. Power is what everyone desires. It’s what you’re here for, too.”

  “No. It’s not. The only power I want is goodwill.”

  “Really? Well, I should’ve expected you to be a Pollyanna.” Sibeal punctuated her smirk with a lilting cackle, then shot a dagger of flames from her hand across the dry grasses at Larena’s bare shins.

  Larena recoiled in pain, blood seeping along the slash marks. From a deep breath, she summoned her strength and shoved the old witch aside as she ran into the nemeton.

  Sibeal chased after her. Holding Grandpa Henry’s pendant on its silver chain in front of her face, the seer advanced safely into the grove.