My swallow of coffee went down the wrong way. I sputtered, and my eyes watered while I tried to wrap my mind around what Shireen said.
“That riddle explains a lot.” Logan leaned back.
“It does.” Cerise fingered the strand of pearls at her neck. “Say it again, Aggie. Slowly.”
I cleared my throat, cast my gaze down, and focused on each word. “The near homestead has a spirit and a keepsake, both wanted by the dark beyond. Find use of them before October’s second first quarter moon comes awake, and you’ll gain the notch you wish in your wand. Fail and your powers will break, under curse of the dark bond.” I scanned their faces, with eyes wide and fingers clenched to my mug. “What’ll happen if I find the keepsake before the banshee? And if I don’t?”
“The second first quarter in October. When’s that?” Shireen chewed on her lower lip.
Cerise and Logan each checked their cell phones. They both said, “Samhain,” at the same moment. She shoved hers back into a patent leather handbag. ““You have a cell, too? I guess I won’t be in trouble for having one, then.”
He slipped the phone inside his suit-coat. “Didn’t see it. And you didn’t see mine.” He grinned. “I’m new as coven priest, new enough to be questioned by the Council. We have enough problems without those council biddies getting on their high-horses about avoidance of technology to keep our magic pure.”
“Amen to that.” Shireen rolled her eyes and tilted her head back.
“I’m leaving the tech fight to Rowe, who’s on the Council.” Logan twisted toward me. “So you have until Samhain to get the job done. Only a month. And what happens then? Good question.” He shrugged. “More power of some kind. That can’t be bad.”
I rubbed the end of my staff. After a steadying breath, I repeated the question they’d all avoided. “But if I fail?”
He looked down, and Cerise studied her mug, but Shireen’s gray eyes met mine as she said, “I’ll say it straight as I see it: you won’t be a witch no more.”
Silence hung in the air.
I couldn’t imagine living without my witchcraft. Sweat trickled down the nape of my neck. I yanked up a question that’d been stuck in my throat, the words burning my tongue as I spoke them. “Could the banshee take my life?”
Shireen gave a single nod. “Could, depending on exactly what that curse is.”
“Or what the ‘dark bond’ means,” Cerise added.
I looked down and blinked back tears welling in my eyes. My life had just begun. I wasn’t ready to face death. I couldn’t.
Logan touched my arm. “That isn’t going to happen. I won’t let it.”
“Neither will I,” Cerise quickly added.
“Thank you.” I met their gazes, swallowed the tears gathered in my throat, and gave a strong nod.
“You can bet your boots I’ll help all’s I can.” Shireen pried out of the rocker, came to my side, and pulled me into a bear hug.
Over Shireen’s shoulder, I saw Cerise torture her pearls into a tighter twist. “Aggie, I think you should move back in with me and Toby. It’s not safe where you are.”
“Cerise’s right.” Shireen rubbed a hand along my back. “All’s you got to do is move outta that place. You can stay here if you’d rather.”
“Or with Jancie, who lives in town.” Cerise jumped to her feet. “That would be the best place, to get you away from the coven. I don’t think she’d mind.”
“Thanks, but nothing has happened to me.” Feeling overly mothered, I pulled away from Shireen.
“Oh, really?” With an accusatory tone, Cerise glared at my legs. “What about that hexed cat bite?”
“Shireen’s cat has nothing to do with the curse,” I hurled the words at her, defending my independence. I moved to Coon Hollow to be on my own, and wouldn’t be shuffled around like an orphaned puppy.
“Don’t be so sure.” Logan stood. “That riddle makes me uneasy, how it linked you to the curse. You may be bound to that challenge until Samhain, regardless of where you are.”
“Well,” Shireen huffed. “I’m half-tempted to go over there an’ give that Fenton character to the banshee myself. Don’t think I can’t, neither. When my friends are in trouble, I can be mean enough to steal acorns from a blind hog.”
Logan buttoned his suit jacket. “We need to talk with Keir. He’s a seer and specializes in reading the spirit world. He might be able to figure out more about the curse. Jancie and Rowe, too, since they just fought off a curse.”
“And, I’ll ask Fenton if he knows more.” I bent and picked up my walking stick. “According to Cyril, this is my wand. I don’t know anything about wands and need to learn fast if it can help me.”
“Good thinkin’.” Shireen rubbed my arm. “It sure can. I’ll lend you a hand or find folks who can. We’ll get to that today. I’m ahead on my sewing and can spare the time.”
“Well, ladies, I’m going around back to fetch Tiber and take him to Vika’s.” He ran down the steps. “I’ll call if she discovers what witch is making him act out.”
“You do that. I want to know everything,” Cerise called after him.
Shireen bolted for the door. “Can’t bear to see my baby possessed like this.”
On Cerise’s way off the porch, she clutched my elbow, her manicured nails gouging my skin. Her gaze seared into me. “Listen to me. You’re my husband’s kin, and I won’t let harm come to you. If you need anything, call me or Toby, at any time, day or night.”
I nodded and gave her a hug. “Thanks. Really.” A cocoon of warmth surrounded my heart to know she and her husband were there for me.
Logan staggered toward his car with the weight of the cage in one hand.
Shireen’s familiar hissed and growled, attempting to claw through the bars. More like a wild animal than a calico housecat. When Tiber’s gaze landed on me, his irises sparked orange, and his aggression turned to a frenzy. A shake of fear trembled through me, and I slunk inside the dress shop.
***
To keep my mind off problems, I got busy right away. With fabric for fall fashions cut and ready for Shireen to sew, I supplied warmth of different degrees to the threads she’d laid out. While golden, orange, and red firepower poured from my fingers to the spools, she piled a stack of reference books about wand-making on the work table. Although eager to devour them, I needed to put her chores first. So I worked faster.
“Done.” I leaned back from my bench seat at the table’s other end. “After channeling some of my sun energy into these spools, I won’t suffer from a fever while fighting the hex.”
“May be, but runnin’ your main craft power low makes you a weak witch.”
I balled a wad of scrap fabric in my hand and whipped it hard across the room to let go of some stress. “With this hex, it’s so hard to keep my powers balanced. Used to be easy. When I felt my magic going weak, I got more from the sun or flames. Now, I have to worry about too much sun and just the right amount of moon energy.” I blew out a breath through clenched teeth. “I don’t feel like me inside.” Frustrated tears welled in my eyes.
“I know. Your powers are out of sorts. Using a wand might help you store some sun power outside of your body. That’d make it some easier.”
“That’s a big plus I hadn’t thought of. Then I need to take advantage of Nannan’s branch.” I moved to sit in front of the books, at least ten on wands or with sections dedicated to that topic.
Shireen’s face lit. “The fact she chose you says a lot. It’ll hold more magic that way.”
I glanced through the stack. “Wow. This is a lot of information. Thanks for these.”
“Glad to help.” She grinned and took her place at the larger of the two sewing machines and threaded one of my spools.
I perused contents. Some references had too much detail for me to understand. I arranged them from simple to complex and dove in. Throughout the morning, I read about choosing the correct tree for the wood. Considering the matriarch sycamore, Nannan, had
chosen me, I didn’t worry much about those procedures. However, I came to appreciate her wisdom in giving me this branch. She understood my personal goals better than I did. If I could manage all the rest of the steps—wand fabrication, decoration, consecration, and proper use—this branch that had been part of her would not only serve me, but also guide me. Encouraged, my pulse raced and I read faster.
By noontime, exhausted from information overload, I used some of my lunch hour to gather woodworking and carving tools from Shireen’s garage shed. I didn’t want to leave the dress shop workroom earlier, in case she needed me to adjust the magic she detected as she sewed.
“Aggie! Aggie, come here!” Shireen’s voice called.
I grabbed a handful of tools I’d gathered and scurried into the backyard.
“I’ve been bellering for you.” She waved her arm hard, as if to move the air and pull me to her faster. “Logan’s on the phone. He’s got news about Tiber.”
Hindered by my darned leg, I could only pick up my pace to a twisted skip. Inside, I dropped the tools on her kitchen counter, zipped to the parlor showroom, and picked up the register desk phone. “Did Vika learn anything?” I gasped, out of breath.
“The witch who’s possessing Tiber is Botilda Murdock.”
“Botilda Murdock,” I repeated. “Any relation to old Mr. Murdock across the road from me?”
“Oh, Lord,” Shireen wailed.
Logan replied, “She’s the—” He continued talking, but another voice invaded.
From across the room, a strange, steely voice articulated each word with exactness, “His deceased mother, still determined to even the hand I dealt her son, no matter how deserved it was.”
I scanned the room to see only Shireen and the beady eyes of her own mother, Hypatia Meiklam, bugged out from her hall portrait.
Chapter Fourteen: Sawdust and Blowballs
From Logan’s dark red Nash Ambassador, I walked toward my front porch.
Logan had won the skirmish to take me home after work, but Cerise followed us anyway, pulling her old sedan onto the drive behind his. She hopped out and waited for him to gather a box from his back seat. Together, they hurried to join me.
I contemplated the homestead’s weathered door with its rusty but proud iron handle. It gave no indications what apparitions might be inside. The massive oak structure stood solid and strong against the elements, like impenetrable doors guarding a medieval fortress. A shiver passed along my arms, bare to feed my witchcraft with late afternoon autumn sunshine. What if the sturdy door failed to fend off banshees?
I set a tote bag and my backpack on the porch, unlocked the door, and gave it a cautious shove. I swallowed hard and listened. Only the usual creaks and groans of a century-old house greeted me, a familiar chorus from settling timbers and dozens of house spirits. I shrugged to Logan and picked up my belongings. “Seems okay.”
“Wait. Let me go first.” He waved me aside and swept through the foyer and parlor, head turning side to side.
Cerise and I stepped in.
“Fenton, it’s Aggie. I’m home.” I steadied my voice, although my nerves dangled on edge as I scanned every corner and piece of furniture in the front rooms. "It’s me. I’m home."
I followed Logan into the kitchen and placed my bags on the counter alongside the box of wand-making supplies and books he deposited.
He briefly peered into the backyard, then opened cabinets and searched behind large chests.
A floorboard creaked in the hall. I flinched and spun around. My heartbeat pounded up my throat. I willed myself to follow the noise, but stopped when Cerise spoke from that location.
“Fenton, it’s Cerise,” she sang in a honey-sweet voice usually reserved for coaxing her boys into compliance. But now, only house spirits who lived in wall photos paid notice and turned her way. “Aggie told me you were still here. I thought I’d pay my charming uncle a visit.” The exaggerated saccharin notes of her drawl belied frustration.
A clatter sounded from the second floor, and Logan and I rushed to join Cerise. He motioned for her to continue talking to Fenton.
She leaned against the banister. “Uncle Fenton, remember when you used to dance me through the house on your shoe-tops?”
After several moments of silence, Fenton’s deep voice responded. “Happy times, with one hand holding me cane, an’ the other tight to you so your mama didn’t complain.” His vaporous form drifted to the landing and slid down the last railing. At the bottom, he tipped his fedora to her and offered a slight bow. “My little niece sure turned out a beauty.”
Cerise took a step backward. With pursed lips, she white-knuckled her handbag and nodded to him. “So nice to see you again. I’ve wondered why I’d not seen you with the other house spirits." She waved a hand toward the ghost. "But you’re clearly not one of them. Why not?”
“Ah, well. I didn’t…” he stammered and lowered his head. “Long story.”
Logan surged forward, his wide shoulders square to the specter. “Aggie said you’ve cheated death by using some old-world magic.”
Fenton straightened and floated several inches off the ground, glowering at Logan. “What I’ve done be none of your business, whoever you think you are." The words hissed from his mouth with an ominous black-violet vapor.
Logan thrust out his chiseled chin. “I’m Logan Dennehy, Priest of Coon Hollow Coven. The safety of this coven is my business.”
Fenton yawned and leaned against the banister.
The ghost’s apparent indifference set the sun energy inside me on fire. I fought to keep it away from my fingers and hair, visible areas that would likely escalate the present tension.
Logan bristled, and a storm brewed in his eyes. “I’m here to be sure Aggie is safe.”
“An’ it be yer thinking that I’m putting her in danger?” Fenton loomed above his accuser.
My witchcraft crackled from my tingling scalp along the length of my hair. Ends of my ponytail radiated over my shoulders, spraying golden sparks. Although not fully understanding the tension going on, I sensed fields of witchcraft billowing around me. I suspected Logan, and many in the coven, had little patience for unempowered souls.
Logan’s arm raised, his hand filled with a loose mass of gray magic, which mirrored the look in his steely gaze.
Nostrils flaring, I veered between them. “Wait!” I cried and looked from one to the other. “Fenton and I have a mutual interest. We must follow that riddle. I need to gain my independence. He needs to keep his soul safe. We have to work together, not fight.”
Above my head, the two men eyed each other in tense silence.
“He needs your help. That much’s certain.” Jaw muscles bulging and clenching, Logan’s stormy gaze threatened, first me, and then Fenton. “I expect him to help you.”
Like an incoming storm, Logan’s magic lifted hairs along the back of my neck. I recoiled, and the instinct to fight surged magic into my hands. A moment later, I relaxed and straightened, glad for the intensity of his protection.
Fenton scowled and slunk backward against the banister. “I intend to do no less for the lass," he spat under his breath, head lowered like a cowering dog.
“Well…Uncle Fenton,” Cerise interjected, her voice shaking. “If you mean to help, then start with this. You know the old guy, Ned Murdock from across the street, don’t you?”
He shot her a dark look. “Aye.”
“We just learned his deceased mother’s spirit is out to get Aggie. Botilda Murdock took control of another witch’s familiar, and directed that cat to infect Aggie with a hex through its bite.” Cerise motioned to my reddened lower leg. “Do you know why she might have it in for Aggie?”
He pushed up his fedora and scratched his brow. “Seems there was something back a ways ‘tween Ned Murdock and Margaret.”
Cerise’s face fell. “My mother?”
“Oh, aye. He was sweet on her, but Maggie wouldn’t have anything to do with him. Everyone knew that.” He pushed
a stray black curl aside and reset his hat. “Now I remember. Something happened near the time she was to wed your pa. Ned played some mean trick that I can’t remember just now. And Maggie did something in return that put him in his place.”
When I learned this new clue, my breathing relaxed. I swept a hand through my ponytail to discharge my magic. “It was Shireen’s cat who Botilda possessed to attack me. Did the Meiklam’s dress shop have anything to do with either trick?”
“Can’t say I know, but Hypatia Meiklam was thick with Margaret.”
Logan’s shoulders, padded and squared by his suit coat, inched down, and wisps of magic dissipated from his open hand into the air.
“Cerise? Is that you, dear?” a melodic female voice drifted from the upstairs.
“Yes, Mama. I’m here,” Cerise replied with a cheerful call and dashed up the steps. She glanced at us and said, “Mother’s spirit stays in her bureau mirror. I’ll ask her what she knows about this.”
While Fenton sailed past us all, Logan and I chased after Cerise.
In the pink bedroom next to mine, an image of a pretty older lady beamed from the mirror. Above a tucked white linen blouse, strands of pearls adorned her neckline. Although Margaret wore her silver hair in a mature braided bun style, her dark eyes shone with youthful brightness like her daughter’s. “There you are. You look lovely, Cerise, but your eyes are crinkled. You know that’s bad for you. Whatever’s the matter?”
“Mama, you’ve probably seen Aggie in the house, but let me introduce you.” Cerise pulled me by the arm to stand beside her. “Aggie is a relation of Toby’s. She’s from—”
Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3 Page 43
