Witch's Mystic Woods

by Marsha A. Moore

  Larena’s heart thudded against her ribcage. It was Sibeal who stole Grandpa’s pendant. And could use it. How?

  Branches from the guardian trees bent toward them. Their knobby twig fingers circled, grasping air, as if confused whether one, or both, of the witches violated the sacred space.

  As Larena stared at Sibeal, rage scraped her eyes and masked the compassion, which filled her moments ago. Could the Otherworld beings see what lay deep inside her heart? Or would they only smell the anger oozing from her surface? Could she embrace enough resentment to fight this wicked opponent and at the same time keep a soft heart? Contempt spread like an invading vine, claiming her thoughts.

  Although the odds were against her, it seemed unlikely Sibeal’s black heart could win the nemeton’s favor—Larena’s only hope. Unless the seer could use the Troy pendant to persuade the Otherworld to do her malevolence. The thought sizzled with loathing through Larena.

  Sibeal unsuccessfully swatted one branch attempting to wrap around her ankle. “See how you like this magic?” she hissed and pointed the amulet at the invasive tree, infusing her own powers to propel Grandpa’s magic forward. It contorted into a burning cloud that charred the limb.

  Larena flinched. She’d discounted the old witch’s powers. Larena couldn’t win on any level. Dark thoughts prevented her alliance with the nemeton, kept her from reclaiming the magic she needed to fight the seer and safeguard her family’s land. Grandpa, Dad, and maybe Mom would all become imprisoned on land which didn’t belong to the family, not even to a coven witch, but to a corporation. The trees they inhabited—along with their souls—might be destroyed without a care.

  A twig scraped at the arm of Larena’s coat and crawled toward her neck.

  She jumped. Her contempt put her at risk from the defensive trees. She was indistinguishable from her opponent—what she had sworn not to become. She needed to fight Sibeal with zeal prompted by valor rather than animosity—but how?

  From an overhead branch, bloody sap dropped onto Larena, its stench burning her nostrils.

  Sibeal repeated her trick with the pendant to thwart the same guardian from raining sulfurous fumes over her. Victorious, she left the tree misshapen as if struck by lightning. Facing Larena, the seer extended the Troy pendant before her.

  Larena shivered. Could Grandpa’s energy be turned against his own granddaughter? Was Sibeal that strong, that vile?

  Not waiting to find out, Larena leapt aside and tried the only thing she could—the truth. So simple, the approach might well fool the deviant witch. Poised ready to run, Larena cried, “You won’t get help from the Otherworld if you harm me.”

  “Ha! What makes you so special?” The seer shot a wave of darkness that smoked a trail through the golden grasses toward Larena.

  The nearest guardian lowered a hefty limb and encased Sibeal’s waist.

  “Stop!” She touched the pendant to its bark.

  The limb shuddered and shrank away. On her other side, snaking branches from two trees caged the seer.

  “Unless you’re selfless, the grove will drive you out.”

  “I blocked your powers. How are you in cahoots with these trees?” Sibeal took aim at Larena again, but the trees tightened their cage, pinning the seer’s arms from firing.

  “Altruism and compassion are what they honor. Has nothing to do with me.”

  Sibeal charged her hand holding the Troy amulet. Apprehended by the pair of trees as she shot, her line of fire petered out before reaching Larena.

  Smug satisfaction tugged at the corners of Larena’s lips. Not allowing the grin to spread, she cast out her elation over Sibeal’s difficulty and transformed the feeling. It is truly sorrowful the seer attempts to solve her problems by wishing harm to others—Keir, my mother, me. Perhaps, if the guardian trees see fit, Sibeal will be granted a new direction, a more positive outlook. Larena clung to that hope.

  As if the trees heard Larena’s thoughts, they swept the seer, unharmed though visibly unhinged, outside the nemeton.

  Sibeal glared at Larena for a long moment, then tromped off.

  Calm descended upon the area. The circle of gnarled trees grew supple, bearing white roses, which bathed the entire grove in soft light. Tall grasses swished and danced in waves ahead of Larena, who set across the expanse at a mindful, rhythmic pace. With each footfall, her heart expanded with grace and desire to help others more.

  She circled the inner perimeter and let her wishes grow more specific. During her first trip around, she invoked positive energy to help her mother’s soul become empowered and for her parents to find happiness together in their afterlife. White petals fluttered from the trees, perfuming the air with delicate sweetness.

  Circling once more, Larena hoped Shango would prosper and delight his guests at Fable.

  On her third pass, she entreated the Otherworld to help the Peterson brothers, that Reid would find satisfaction and fulfillment in his new job. And Ben would thrive without stress of competing with his older brother. Larena felt in her coat pocket. The charmed hat she’d knitted for Ben remained. She pulled it out and removed the wrapping. Grasses parted for her as she cut to the grove’s center, where Sibeal’s scorched line ended. Larena deposited the hat there and watched with gratitude and relief as the Otherworld swallowed it up, freed her from the weight of past revenge.

  She bowed to each guardian tree, then left, her heart lighter. Without her mother, the day ahead would be hard, and the day after, but she’d find her way.

  Along the trail home, she heard a scream. Sibeal? Ahead of her?

  Larena switched on the flashlight and ran in the direction of the cries. She sped down the hill and jumped the narrow creek, amid loud chatter from surrounding trees. Her feet contacted the opposite bank as recognition hit—her mysticism had returned. She nodded to the communicating trees, transmitting responses, on her way to the back of the Lockwood property.

  There, the elderberry bushes trapped Sibeal’s thick waist in a maze of branches. Her scuffed black boots and holey stockings were fully displayed by the security light. “Larena, did she do you any harm?” Her father’s voice boomed.

  “No. I’m fine. Let her go.” Larena laughed. With her magic restored and goodwill in hand, she no longer feared the seer.

  As soon as he did, Larena took Sibeal’s place and hugged every branch and twig she could gather into her arms. “Dad, you’re here. You’ve come home. I’ve missed you. Is Mom going to become empowered and join you?”

  “She’s already empowered and promised to be with us soon.” His twigs stroked her hair.

  Sibeal stepped up, eye to eye with Larena. “We aren’t done yet. I will take your land. Count on that.” The seer stalked to her car parked at the antiques store.

  In spite of the warning, happy tears streamed down Larena’s cheeks. She was thankful for the good fortune the nemeton’s powers had already given her—her father had returned and her mother would also.

  Chapter Twenty-five: New Moon at Solstice

  At home in bed, Larena stared out the window at the darkness that would linger long on this Winter Solstice. Despite her exhaustion, sleep wouldn’t come. She lay in a wad of blankets, tangled from fitful episodes of sleep after she’d returned once the witching hour passed.

  Overwhelmed with joy that her father had taken up a position in the elderberries, Larena wanted to spend the night catching up, learning about the adventures of his soul’s journeys. However, there would be another time. They were both well aware of the continued battle she’d face against Sibeal on the coming day.

  The stakes were high. Reid had removed himself from the struggle over the Lockwood land, which ended the competition between the Peterson brothers. Who knew if Ben would continue to ally with the seer? If he did, that would put Larena at a greater disadvantage, having to fight harder to maintain property ownership.

  While she might’ve been able to sway Reid into giving her a favorable deal, Larena couldn’t blame him for exiting. Be
ing implicated, through company association, in his brother’s actions against her mother might harm Reid’s chance at another job. She wholeheartedly wished him well. Yet, a sad pang of self-pity lurked in her heart because he’d not reciprocated her personal feelings.

  Overwrought with recent losses, Larena rose weak and drained two hours before sunrise. She showered and dressed in one of her few clean outfits. During the past week, laundry had been shoved aside. She selected one of her best dresses, a navy plaid wool challis Mom had made, appropriate since visitors would begin paying respects today. Larena added a charcoal cardigan she’d knitted with spells of peace and goodwill, her usual Yule sweater. She swallowed hard and glanced at another she’d infused with courage, which might be more useful if Sibeal caused trouble.

  Larena tiptoed past the guest room where Betty slept and headed to the kitchen.

  While Larena cleaned the butcher-block table, the wood sent a communication, “Larena! I hear you again, but poor you, you’re wringing with grief. Are you all right? I was so worried.”

  “Oh, I can’t believe I forgot to speak to you.” Larena rubbed a coat of lemon oil polish into the frantic table to calm it.

  She repeated the process with several of the more vocal pieces of furniture in the house: the cherry chest and drop-leaf table in the kitchen, the buffet who wept beside Irene’s empty body, and the radio cabinet who had played for decades all the shows her mother loved.

  When dawn peeked above the trees, Betty lumbered downstairs.

  Larena called Logan to inform him about her mother’s passing, as well as Sibeal’s greeting card and their interaction at the nemeton. With the high priest’s help, Larena set a date midweek for her mother’s burial in the coven cemetery.

  “I’m so sorry.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Did the nemeton return your magic?”

  “Yes, it has. I’m so thankful for that.”

  “Have you been able to use it to examine that card sent to Irene?”

  Another thing she’d forgotten. “No, but I will. I don’t have the card. It’s over at Shango’s. He thought it would be safest to contain the dark spell there.”

  “Wise decision, but you might be able to learn something he can’t. There’s a huge open house at Fable today. Might be a good chance to check out the card. I’ll be there later. If you find out anything, let me know.”

  “What time’s the open house?” she asked.

  “Starts at four-thirty to honor the last light of the holly king’s day, then the party goes all night to welcome in the oak king.”

  She paused. “I’m not much up for a party.”

  “Understood.”

  “But at least I’ll go have a look at the card. I want to thank Shango for his help, too.”

  As Larena said goodbye to the high priest, Betty nodded with a smile. “Sounds like a great idea. You need to get out and mingle with other folks a while, put aside your troubles for a bit.”

  “Do you want to come with me?”

  “Thanks, but no. I’m tuckered out from not sleepin’ in my own bed last night.” Betty gathered her things. “Fact, I’m gonna head home now. I’ll check back tomorrow.”

  “Thanks lots.” After they shared a hug, she saw her friend out, sad to see her go.

  Throughout the day, the phone rang with coven members expressing their condolences and a few stopped by.

  Betty got in touch and reported, “Just wanted to let you know I got a heap of calls today about your ma, wishing her and you the best. Many wanted to order up some furniture from you, things they were holdin’ off gettin’, but now want to do you a good turn.”

  “That’s so nice.” Larena grinned. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  As the afternoon passed, her home filled with flowers and cards, all imbued with charms of hope and sympathy except one—a letter from Hasselwell law office delivered by a carrier. The communication announced the enactment of Peterson and Kilfolye Corporations’ established right to eminent domain.

  Larena didn’t need to analyze the letter’s paper to know Sibeal had instigated the heartless message.

  ***

  As Larena headed toward the garage, Grandpa called out, “Happy Solstice to you, Larena.”

  “Same to you, Grandpa. Did you hear that Dad’s back? And that Mom passed and—”

  “I did. Happy day. Lou and I have been talkin’ up a storm, sending words on the breezes, even swaying our limbs to help move the air back and forth the few yards between us. I’m thrilled your parents are gonna be together soon. I’ve wished my wife could’ve become empowered and waited for this day to be with my son again.”

  “I’m on my way to a Yule party at Fable hosted by King Shango,” she said.

  “Sounds fun but take care. Sibeal’s still hot from last night, even torched a piece of furniture I made for her family years back.”

  Larena’s brows rose. “Really? How’d you know that?”

  “Oh, from a wind who’s a friend of mine. I recently used him to enhance spells I’d previously set on furniture for the Soots and Kilfoyles. To make them sting a bit more. Thought I might help you out.” He let out a chuckle.

  “Thank you, Grandpa.” With a dismissive laugh, she waved goodbye but feared his spells might’ve aggravated Sibeal to take more action against the Lockwoods.

  Larena crossed the coven to Shango’s town. Parking spots near the general store were already taken, so she drove into the nearby lot. The refurbished building looked grand, decorated with wreaths and garlands for the Yule.

  Inside, Larena found Shango at the front desk, greeting guests along with Wren, who wore live birds in her flowing hair. Cindy, going for a similar festive look, had a color-changing tiara in her blonde bob. She darted back and forth between the hostess station and dining area, escorting guests to tables or the bar. Those from the coven mingled freely, most with glasses of fizzy summer wine in hand.

  “Larena, be welcomed.” Shango stepped close and took her by the arm, his white smile spilling sunshine over her shoulder. A sunbeam draped along a pocket watch chain across the jacket of his slim olive wool suit. Braids threaded with gold hung from his temples. “Your work has exceeded my expectations. Our lodging guests are over the top with excitement and our books are filling up, even for wintertime stays.” As he introduced her to guests and lauded her talents, he drew her toward the stairwell and lowered his voice. “Let’s go upstairs for a minute to speak alone.”

  He led her to his office, and she took a seat. “My mother passed today, just after midnight.”

  “My deepest sympathy for your loss. But does her soul continue?”

  “Yes. She will return.” Larena managed only a half smile, the joy of reuniting too distant, the loss too fresh. “I hope soon, but it took Dad five years. That seems so long.”

  “I’d heard that good news but wanted to confirm. May the time be short, for your sake. I’m also aware that you were welcomed by the nemeton last night. My fae who monitor that particular location told me it was a breathtaking sight. Wish I’d seen it.”

  “It was beautiful, and my magic was restored.”

  “I’m so happy for you.” His smile flowed sunshine across the desk. Clearly having a tree mystic at his disposal gave the Summer Court some advantage.

  “I want to thank you for your kind help,” she said. “Since I have use of my magic again, I’d like to—”

  “A good idea.” He withdrew the bag and card from his desk. “I also heard Sibeal caused trouble and was escorted out.”

  “She wanted more power and wished to harm Keir for being more popular with clients.” Larena removed the card from the sack. “High Priest Logan needs to know who was responsible for this horrible crime.” She centered herself, taking care to align her thoughts with altruism in case the dark spell might still be viable. She rubbed a finger across the greeting’s cover. At the surface lay some magic, more of a slight charm than a true spell and gray rather than black in nature, intended to make her mother�
��s symptoms appear worse for the scope of a few days then recede completely. Vibrations belonging to Sibeal, still fresh in Larena’s mind from last night, laced that enchantment.

  Confused by her findings, Larena opened the card. The interior sizzled under her touch and emitted a fragrance of patchouli and vanilla. It’s intent—to speed death to her terminally ill mother. The spell creator’s name wouldn’t reveal itself. Larena attempted another communication directly with the paper. The fibers choked and uttered a warning of a vile woman who’d called herself a paramnesia, a twisted corruption of a memory where fact and fantasy about her had been distorted. Who could that be? Not Sibeal. She had no need to hide her magic since she’d stripped the sole tree mystic, the only one who could read the paper, free of powers.

  “Well?” Shango leaned in.

  “It wasn’t Sibeal, but I can’t tell who set the magic. Do you know any who claim to be a paramnesia?”

  “No. Paramnesia is a concept, not a person.” He accepted the card she handed and turned to secure it in his drawer.

  “Do you know any witch or fae who wears a patchouli vanilla perfume?”

  The sunlight beaming along his watch chain went dark for a fraction of a second. However, he looked at Larena with his same sunny smile. “Very vague clues, indeed.”

  Larena studied his inscrutable expression. The fae king knew more about who sent the card than he revealed.

  “I’ll be watchful and alert my advisers to prepare the elandine against possible threats.”

  The mention of the elandine reminded Larena to explain Reid’s status, to keep him safe from harm. “Reid notified me that he’s moving to New York, pulled out of the mall project.”

  “Then he poses no risk like before, but what about his brother Ben?” Shango asked. “My fae notified me that at your encounter with Sibeal last night, she threatened to continue pursuit of your land—an action strongly opposed by my Court.”

  “Don’t know about Ben. Haven’t heard. Sibeal worries me, how she’s driven by greed.”