Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3

by Marsha A. Moore

  She parked at the Bentbone cemetery, and her feet followed the sidewalk she knew too well. Every chip and crack. Every slab lifted by welling tree roots. She knelt by her mother’s grave and steadied herself with a hand on the headstone. To her surprise, no tears came. Her grief had changed. She leaned into the stone and rested her forehead on the back of her hand. “Mom, I need some guidance. Things are happening so fast.”

  “Jancie.” Rowe’s familiar deep voice washed over her.

  At the sound of her name, she flinched. “Rowe?” She took hold of his outstretched hand.

  Chapter Fourteen: Welcome

  Holding Rowe’s outstretched hand, Jancie stood, and he guided her close to him, his other hand at the side of her waist. Her breathing slowed and deepened, tension leaving her body.

  He wore no hat. Strands of dark hair near his temples worked loose from his ponytail, framing his kind face.

  He let go of her hand and wrapped both arms around her.

  She rested her cheek against the front of his dark wool suit jacket.

  “Better?” he asked, his breath warm against her crown.

  She nodded and worked her hands to rest behind his neck.

  Tumbling leaves blew around them in the crisp breeze. Cold cut through the thin sleeves of her khaki jacket, but in his arms she stayed toasty.

  “Indian summer lasted only long enough for the carnival.” He pulled away slightly. “After working all day, I’m starved. Would you like to visit my house? I might be able to find us some dinner.”

  “Yes. I’d like that very much.” She wondered what amazing new things she’d see there.

  “I’d be glad to drive and then bring you back here to your car later.” He took her hand, and they strolled to the parking lot. “It’d be safer to not have your car seen in the coven.”

  “That’s fine.” His caution reminded her of her dad’s warnings. Despite a bit of apprehension, she was eager to learn about Rowe and his lifestyle.

  Rowe’s barn owl let out a hoot and swooped to perch on the hood ornament. Chest out, he seemed to contest that the chrome lady with her flowing hair and gown could be the true protector of his master’s car, rather than himself, a masterful bird of prey.

  “Busby, Jancie and I are going to my house. Check with your mother. If she’s still overtired, bring her along.” Rowe opened the passenger door of his pale green 1930s model convertible.

  “Will do, Master. Meet you along the route home.” The owl extended his brown wings wide and lifted away.

  Jancie slid onto the passenger side of the bench seat, and Rowe made his way around the car checking latches of the tan cloth top. “I just put the top up today on my way into the carnival but didn’t have time to double check the fastenings,” he said through the open driver’s window. “Summer’s over. Almost time for me to get out the sedan.” He found his seat and pulled away, changing gears with a shifter and clutch. The tan leather of Jancie’s seat was worn buttery soft as her mother’s kidskin gloves.

  “My dad owns a mechanic shop and just started working on the old coven cars.” She ran her hand across real wood trim that decorated the dash. “I’ve always wondered why coven folks live like they’re in the thirties.”

  Rowe chuckled. “Sometimes I wonder that myself.” He pulled a new cell phone from his pants pocket. “Not everything we use is vintage.”

  “How do you know what new things are allowed?”

  “The coven is governed by a high priestess or priest, like Adara Tabard, and also a high council. Together, they regularly update a list of changes made to the list of approved modern conveniences. Regular members of the coven can petition to have changes made. The allowances are few and made after strict consideration. It’s common thought that adherence to the coven lifestyle that existed when the group was officially formed will help maintain strong, original magic traditions. The transmission of the witchcraft needs to remain as pure as possible.”

  Jancie twisted in her seat. “I can understand the importance of cell phones, but I see a travel mug. How is that allowed?”

  “Shh.” He grinned. “Actually, cell phones aren’t either. Something I intend to change soon since I’ve just been appointed to the council by the high priestess.”

  Jancie’s brows jumped several inches. “Cell phones are forbidden? Get out of here. No way.” She eyed him. “And doesn’t Adara want you on that council just to keep you near her?”

  He nodded. “Yes, that’s right. There’s danger in dealing with her, but I should have enough magic to take care of myself. I want to bring about some much needed changes. My parents served on the council for decades. I need to continue their efforts, now that they’re gone.”

  “What a wonderful thing to do, carry on their dreams.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled at him. “But be careful.”

  He returned her smile. “I’m glad for your concern. Somehow I don’t think that part has anything to do with the moonstone’s power, but it feels good to have someone care.”

  The corners of her cheeks lifted higher. “It does.”

  “It sure does.” He pointed to a group of three knotty oaks still clinging to withered, brown leaves like old ladies huddling together in thin, winter coats. “Those trees mark the coven boundary on this road. Have you ever been here?”

  Jancie studied the first farmhouse they passed. “Hmm, let me see.” A vintage pick-up with faded red paint and a wooden bed sat on the gravel drive. Electric wires swooped to one eave, and an oblong propane tank squatted behind a big lilac. Nothing odd-looking there. She’d hoped to see more differences. She faced him. “A couple of times. Mostly on dares in high school, when we tried to sneak into the coven’s cemetery.”

  Rowe chuckled. “That’s pretty far into the center of the coven. Did you ever get there?”

  “Yeah. Two or three times. Once it was so dark, I don’t remember seeing anything. We heard noises, dogs barking from nearby log cabins, and ran. One time I did see the statues. Some were so beautiful. I heard a rumor that they talk. Do they?”

  “Yes, they do.” He nodded and glanced her way. “But only to witches.”

  “That one time, I thought I heard a boy call my name. Rachelle didn’t believe me, so I guessed it was only the wind, but now I’m not so sure. Do you think fate brought me to connect to the moonstone?”

  “Fate, or inheritance, or both. That moonstone connection may have triggered an entombed soul to speak to you.” He rubbed a hand along the dark stubble of his jaw. “Interesting.”

  “Maybe we can go there some time?” she asked.

  “Umm.” He hesitated, eyes scanning the horizon. “Yes, some time.” He pointed into the distance to the left. “There, in that big woodlot. That’s where Vika lives. We’ll definitely add that to your list of places to visit. She’d love to show you her potion kitchen.”

  “Oh, yes! A potion kitchen. How cool is that. I want to go. “Jancie squinted but couldn’t see any part of a house. She noticed that Rowe avoided promising to take her to the cemetery. Some of the pain of losing his wife must’ve still hurt him a lot. That was why Jancie needed to keep helping him find a way to ease that burden—her responsibility in their moonstone connection.

  Against the dark eastern sky, white faces of two barn owls drew nearer. Jancie pointed. “Look! There’s Busby.”

  “And his mother, Maeira, who used to be my wife’s familiar. She usually watches over Edme’s statue in the cemetery, but lately she’s been involved with Vika’s work. Maeira took a tumble with that big Maine Coon, and I’ve kept an eye on her health.”

  The owl pair sailed overhead as Rowe turned onto the twisty river road that wound through the entire valley.

  The rising moon lit up a gorgeous display of yellow-leaved maples and cottonwoods along the creek. Cozy cabins were tucked in among the trees. Jancie leaned forward. “How pretty it is along here.”

  “My house is just ahead around the next bend.”

  Jancie str
ained to catch a glimpse of it. Light bricks along the top edge of a chimney stood taller than surrounding trees.

  Rowe turned onto the circular driveway of a sprawling mansion. The house had a shabby chic look, still grand even though some of the white bricks were stained or chipped.

  Jancie stepped onto the drive where he’d parked in front of wooden front doors. Two turrets stood sentry. Looking at the house, she imagined lively parties from years ago where flappers sat gracefully in the wide, arched windows or lounged in the garden rooms. “This reminds me of the 1920s.”

  “It was built just after the turn of the twentieth century. Art Nouveau style.”

  “The windows with the leaded glass are so fancy.” She moved closer to admire a front window.

  “By moonlight, they look amazing. He waved her to the door. “Come inside.”

  Jancie crossed the threshold, breath held, eyes scanning every direction. She expected to find the unknown in a witch’s house, especially one with this much old wealth and history. She turned to come face to face with her own startled reflection a foot from a hall stand’s mirror. Hadn’t it been more than three feet away moments ago? She jerked to the center of the entry, pushing into Rowe’s side.

  Busby and Maeira sailed through the open door. She perched on the banister, while he sat on top of the menacing furniture beside Jancie. She looked to him for help, but the little owl only gave a round of hoots and clacked his beak. This seemed to do nothing to slow her attacker.

  “Uncle Bertrand, please be less helpful.” Rowe took her hand and motioned toward the looming piece of furniture. “This is Jancie, who is not a witch and isn’t accustomed to animated souls.”

  “Forgive me, my dear.” The wide stand straightened his hunch. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Hello,” Jancie squeaked.

  “In human form, I was Rowe’s great, great, uncle Bertrand. I made it with my grandpappy. I knew straight away when I honed my magic skills as an animator along with learning carpentry, that this was would be where I’d leave some of my spirit after I passed. And I’m proud to serve and help young Rowe now.” He bowed, hinging below his central mirror.

  Unsure what to do, Jancie nodded but couldn’t decide what to say.

  Rowe patted his free hand along one of Bertrand’s shelves. “No need to be afraid, Jancie.”

  Before she could bring herself to touch the animated piece of furniture, dozens of what appeared to be Rowe’s deceased relations congregated around her.

  Rowe laughed and held her hand tighter. “The candleholder is Uncle Petrus, the silver handled pistol is Maxwell, and there’s Tanita, the fireplace poker.” The numbers soon overwhelmed his attempts to keep pace with introductions. “Wona and the rest of you all, introduce yourselves to our guest, Jancie.” He held up a palm. “Not you, Tilly. Please wait where you are, and I’ll be sure we come visit you.”

  Jancie did her best to touch a hand and smile to each animated object. The way some jumped and vied to greet her warmed her heart.

  Rowe took hold of her elbow and whispered, “Come this way or we might have a fight break out over who gets to meet you.” He led her to the living room where the open French doors were blocked by an oversized, upholstered wing chair. “Jancie, meet my great aunt Tilly.”

  Seeing how the huge chair seemed to relax back into the room with their attention, a chuckle escaped Jancie’s lips. She looked at Rowe. “You certainly have some very loving and caring relatives. How wonderful to be able to stay in contact with them all.” Since Mom passed, Jancie longed for family. Dad couldn’t seem to accept her as an adult, but Mom’s aunt Starla had been great.

  He smiled, leaned against the door frame out of the way of the cavalcade approaching her, and folded his arms across his chest. “It’s a great comfort. I just wish my parents would decide to return and settle their spirits here. I miss them.”

  “Oh. Is anything wrong?” She straightened.

  “No. Nothing that I know of.” He brushed a hand along his facial stubble, a gesture Jancie knew revealed concern. “I expect them to come back soon though.”

  Tilly cleared her throat and spoke in a gravelly voice. “Miss Jancie, I seem to recollect meeting you before, but I don’t see how that can rightly be possible.”

  “I know I’ve never been here, and I sure would’ve remembered you, dear Aunt Tilly.” Jancie touched her hand to one of Tilly’s flared wings.

  Maxwell’s pistol jumped to the chair’s upper edge. His point waving at Jancie made her flinch even though Busby sailed up beside him. “I was just thinkin’ the very same, Tilly, as if this young woman do seem remarkably like a lass I’ve known afore,” Maxwell said with a thick Scottish accent.

  “That’s funny.” Jancie ran a hand along her temple. “A coven lady noticed me in town and then said the same thing when she saw me at the carnival this past weekend.”

  “Oh really?” Rowe drew nearer. “Who?”

  “Cerise. A pretty woman in her thirties. She came up to me in the Arcane Aviary.”

  “That’s interesting. Nothing to worry about that I know. She’s a nice and upstanding coven member. I teach her three boys in grade school. Cute little fellows.” He tapped a finger against his pursed lips. “Some of her relations live outside the coven. I wonder if there’s a connection.”

  “You teach school?” Jancie smiled. “And want to serve on the council. You have a big heart.”

  “Thanks. I teach animation to all school levels.”

  Jancie’s eyes lit. “I remember seeing a booth of magical projects at the carnival before, and at some of the other holiday events. Those are amazing.” The more she learned about Rowe, the more she admired him. It made her proud to be able to help him through their moonstone bond.

  When all of the animated relations had greeted Jancie, she and Rowe made their way to the kitchen.

  The two owls settled on a brass perch at one side of the spacious room.

  Jancie looked around. “There’s no one here to meet me?”

  Rowe laughed so hard that he struggled to lower his voice to a whisper. “My relatives are too pompous to take up in lowly kitchen gadgets. So you’re safe in here.”

  “That’s a relief.” She grinned. “Do you use magic to cook, or do things the old fashioned way?”

  “Some witches can cook with magic, like Babbett at the carnival who sold the pastries that change flavors in your mouth.”

  “And the popcorn that changes. That was delicious. How do they do that?”

  He shrugged with a grin. “No idea. Not my kind of magic.”

  She located the sink and washed her hands. “Let’s see what sort of kitchen witch I can be with the food you have on hand. Don’t hold back on helping with whatever powers you have,” she added with a grin. She located some chicken breasts and enough ingredients to make a marinade. Along with frozen veggies, she created a simple meal.

  While they sat and ate, Jancie made quick glances his way.

  “This is so good,” Rowe said and dug in. She smiled with relief, happy she’d pleased him.

  Afterward, the lack of a dishwasher surprised her, but she set to work at the sink.

  Rowe rolled up his shirtsleeves and helped her at the sink. “One of the modern conveniences that probably won’t happen in the near future.”

  “That’s okay.” She lifted a handful of suds and blew them at him. “At least it’s fun to do together.”

  He flipped water from his fingertips at her.

  Jancie squealed and laughed.

  “Washing dishes is definitely more fun with you here.” He chuckled and picked up a pan to dry.

  When they finished cleaning up and the owls were fed grain and turned out to hunt the property for the evening, Jancie looked at her watch. “I need to be getting home. I have to work in the morning.”

  Rowe located his keys on the kitchen counter and motioned to the side door. “Let’s leave this way so my relatives won’t have to take your time saying goodbye.�
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  “They’re so nice. I really like them.” Jancie stepped outside, the chilly air cooling her cheeks flushed from their laughter. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much. It felt nice. Mom was right; she would have good times ahead and this was one.

  When they headed back to her car, Rowe turned on the heater. “Vintage cars have vintage heaters. They require patience.”

  She shivered, and he held her hand between shifting.

  They drove in silence, but Jancie sensed a thousand thoughts springing into her mind from the feeling of their fingers interlacing. His touch was so warm and comforting, and it seemed to travel up her arm and make the rest of her body melt. When they left the tree cover of the river road, she glanced up at the sky. “The moon is bright out here in the country.”

  “The moon is waxing.” He leaned forward over the wheel to peer upward. “It won’t be long until the full harvest moon, an important time in the coven.”

  “What happens then?”

  “Witches’ powers are stronger at the time of a full moon.” He rubbed his thumb over hers, sending a chorus of delicious shivers along her skin. “And this one leads us into the Mabon equinox festival. At that time we honor the earth to keep the seeds that will bring us new and abundant life come spring.”

  He pulled into the Bentbone cemetery’s parking lot. He stopped next to her car and paused to look at her. “Jancie, I had a wonderful time tonight.”

  “Me too.” Her words came out as a whisper.

  He cupped her hand in both of his and looked into her eyes. “I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun. Thank you.”

  She smiled, surprised and happy to not feel the expected awkward struggle to look away. “Me neither. It was great.”

  He leaned in, and his arm slid along her upper arm, turning her toward him. His touch left a trail of tingles, and she moved closer. His warm palm rounded the curve of her shoulder and caressed the skin on the side of her neck.

  She shivered at the delicious sensation, and he brushed his lips against hers. She sighed and touched a hand to his shoulder.