“With me corpse exposed, it’s powerful hard to keep apart from it. If I do enter that bag of bones, the banshee can get me soul in its clutches.”
“And keep the curse active…what those black witches have wanted for generations. Who are they?” I asked.
“Don’t know them all. There were five, four women and a man.”
“Ned Murdock from across the road?”
“Aye. And I spied a tall stick-like old woman I knew as Blinkhorne.”
“How have you been resisting the attraction to your raised body?” I faced him so our eyes could meet. “And at the last full moon, you left this house? I had no idea how much risk you took. How did you get back here?”
“The night o’ the Hunter’s full moon, I fought like the devil himself against them witches and me own zombie. Darted away from viny tendrils of black magic smoke coming at me from all directions.” He lifted a long strand of pearls from between his jacket lapels. “Used me mother’s old-world magic. Been wearing this since they first started summoning me body.”
“When was that?”
“Right after you moved in, the first quarter.”
“That last full moon, when your clothes were torn, that was from the fight you had, and not just running through brush to escape, wasn’t it?” Tears welled into my eyes. I tried to lean against his bent knee, but his vaporous form wouldn’t hold me. I had to support my own weight, my own troubles, my own destiny. I would have to raise Fenton’s body and gather a hair sample to complete the keepsake’s magic.
***
“It’s good Tyne could see us on such short notice and on a Sunday.” I glanced at Cerise and turned my old Nash sedan off her driveway onto the road toward his shop.
“I think he’s got a soft spot for you. Your strong magic could help him test the full capability of some of his collection.” She covered a yawn with her manicured hand. Dark circles shaded her usually bright eyes, and a few ends of her hair resisted the bob’s downward curl. She wore a mismatched outfit of a yellow dress with a gray sweater, green shoes, and pink purse.
“Tired?” I asked. “I’m running on adrenaline. Couldn’t sleep thinking about how I had to combat Gladys and Murdock to get a chance at the banshee…if there’s anything left of me.”
“Yes, all that plus my youngest decided to jump on our bed this morning.” She slurped coffee from a travel mug. “Tyne needs to have some good ideas.”
“I left Logan a couple messages since I didn’t get to talk to him. He didn’t expect to finish work until the early morning hours. But he did tell me earlier that I could trust Tyne. Should I tell Tyne everything we know about coven witches doing black magic against us?”
“No. Let’s be safe. We’ll just ask for him for help to raise the body of a dead O’Mara so we can gather hair for the keepsake. Like you asked, I talked to Vika last night. She knows a little about black arts, not so much doing them as blocking them. She’s working on a spell to at least temporarily stop Gladys and her lot.”
“Thanks. That makes me feel better.”
At nine sharp, I knocked on the door of the magical tool specialist’s shop.
Tyne met us, his green eyes gleaming. “Come in, ladies. With the delicacy of that magical device, I wasn’t surprised we needed to meet again.” He already wore his jeweler’s loop and motioned us to follow to his examination area.
I laid the keepsake on the padded counter and displayed the contents. “We added Cerise’s hair, but when I applied magic through my wand, only the tips of the hairs accepted the power.”
“As I see. You told me over the phone there is another relation, now deceased, who isn’t represented in this collection of hair.” He glanced at Cerise, his magnified eye now clouded to a gray-green. “Is that true?”
“Yes, my Great Uncle Fenton O’Mara didn’t contribute a hair sample. By the way the keepsake partially responds, it’s my feeling his missing contribution will allow Aggie to activate the full magic.”
Tyne closed the lid and ran a finger over the chipped edge. “My, what happened here?”
“Fenton’s spirit wanted to find out whether his hair was in the box.” Cerise fidgeted with her purse. “He had an unsuccessful tussle trying to open it.”
“I see.” The specialist raised a bushy, gray brow, then bent over the carved surface. He placed a palm overtop and briefly closed his eyes. “The fluidity and paleness of this design in a translucent alabaster speaks of oneiromancy, an old-world dream craft. I knew your mother well and respected her vast talents in that magic. Was the creator an expert as well?”
“Yes. Grandma Ellie was exceptional at dream magic,” Cerise replied.
Tyne nodded with a grin. “I suspected your mother inherited that tendency from one parent.” He wrapped the keepsake and handed it back to me.
“Can you help us?” I blurted too fast, unable to contain my anxiety.
He pushed the loop high on his forehead, now crisscrossed with lines, and looked up through hooded eyes. “In part. As I only consider myself an expert on magical tools, I’ll gladly supply you with some of the finest customarily needed to raise the dead. But as for the procedures to follow, you will need to contact the creator.”
I felt blood drain from my face. “Do I have to raise Fenton’s body? Since I have permission of Fenton’s spirit, can’t I just dig up his body and take a piece of hair?”
Tyne met my gaze. “No. The body must be honored. That is our way. Follow me.” He quick-stepped down a short hall and out the back door to a small building of the same design. From his trouser pocket, Tyne withdrew a large ring with at least fifty keys and selected one that fit the lock. He pushed the door open, stepped through, and flipped on dim lamps that barely lit the windowless room.
Inside, stale air pressed on me. A heavy odor of identifiable wormwood, anise, myrrh, and yew, along with something unfamiliar, lodged in the depths of my lungs. I coughed to eliminate the foreboding stench. “What’s that awful smell?”
“Rancid graveyard dirt, most likely,” Tyne said matter-of-factly and turned on a ceiling fan. “I’m sorry for the close air in here. It’s the nature of necromancy tools. They’ve been cleaned of past energies, but some have become embedded. This collection must be kept separate for that reason as well as to preserve their darkness.” Instead of glass-front cases and glittering display counters, heavy oak floor-to-ceiling cabinetry lined the walls, making the small room close in on us.
He walked around a central dark-stained table, selected another key, and opened a set of double doors. Dozens of skulls of various sizes, ages, and conditions stared at us. Most looked into space, but a couple seemed to fix their empty eye sockets on me.
To test the creepy connection, I watched the skeleton heads as I walked past the collection. The two skulls pivoted in my direction. My mouth dropped open.
Tyne studied me. “Has one connected with you?”
“Two.” I pointed to a medium-size earthy brown skull and a larger of pearl gray.
“Interesting. Most cannot claim even one’s attention. Will you need to receive verbal communication with the risen body? If so, you will need the gray one, which possesses a lower jaw.”
“I need the body to hear my request and allow me to take some hair from its head.” My voice shook, considering my affinity to particular skulls. “I wouldn’t think the corpse needs to speak.”
“Then the brown-colored one will be best and less expensive, too.” He removed the selection and placed it in a willow basket on the center table. He secured the first cabinet and opened another, which revealed drab-looking blades made of brass. “Touch each and determine which is best aligned with you.”
I narrowed the collection of dozens to a few, then chose a short-handled dagger and passed it to Tyne. Compared to the others, this one didn’t shoot fear and dread through me. Either it was the correct choice, or the only one that wouldn’t do anything at all. I swallowed hard and accepted my intuition.
Next, Tyne o
pened a cabinet that made us all wheeze and cough. “Yew wands. Please select one as before, taking care not to touch your face or clothing. You will wash after your selection is made.”
With one hand over my nose, I picked up each. The icy fear from the knives heightened to stabbing needles of panic and alarm piercing my skin. All produced the ill effect, but I persevered until I found a yew wand that didn’t send waves of nausea to my stomach.
Tyne accepted the wand into a muslin sack and showed me to a sink on the opposite wall.
“Those are all the tools I know to supply you with. There will likely be anointing oils, incense blends, and such you must create.”
“We’re working with Vika on those preparations,” Cerise mumbled through the handkerchief covering her nose and mouth.
He nodded and wrapped my items in tissue before arranging them in a small wooden crate. “I was just about to send you to my dear friend. But if she is lacking a special dark ingredient, please ask. I stock a small selection of rarities, though in general I do not cater to needs of herbologic magic as she does. We’ll go to the main room now and enjoy the lighter air.”
While gulping lungfuls of air, I negotiated payment of the five-hundred-dollar bill with Cerise.
She wouldn’t back down from paying four hundred. “This is for my family. Honestly, Aggie, I should be paying you for the service of your witchcraft.”
We thanked Tyne and left. I stored my purchases behind the driver’s seat. When we were both inside with the doors closed, the stench from the tools soon wafted around my head. Dizziness and nausea plagued me as I started the car.
Cerise cracked a window. “That stuff’s heady. Let’s drop by Vika’s to get whatever she’s prepared. Like I said before, I’m not expecting much in the way of black magic and necromancy. I picked up enough dream magic from Mama to know that’ll be your best method to contact Grandma, who can help with the messy business.”
I eyed her, but didn’t ask. It took all of my faculties to drive.
***
At home that same afternoon, I deposited my crate of noxious dark art tools and bags of oils and potions from Vika in the kitchen, then marched upstairs. “Fenton? I need your help.”
In desperate need of sleep, Cerise had asked to go home and rest. But I needed a lucid O’Mara family member with me while I talked to Maggie about dream-walking.
“Aye. Here I be.” His voice resounded from the closed guest room, and then his form filtered through the lock to stand before me.
“I need to talk with Maggie about how to use divine dreams to contact Ellie. I think she can teach me the correct procedure for raising your body. Since Maggie doesn’t always make sense, I need you to explain what she’s saying.”
“Will do me best.” He lifted his chest. “Just remember, she can’t hear me. You’ll have to do the talking.”
I entered her bedroom, but she wasn’t in the dresser mirror. “Maggie? Are you there? It’s me, Aggie. I have a few questions you might help with.”
The mirror showed only my reflection, not Maggie’s, and not Fenton’s either though he stood beside me. “Here, let me give it a go.” He leaned over the bureau, selected a green Depression glass hatbox tied with a wide ribbon, and passed it through the mirror.
Maggie sprang into view, patting stray wisps of silver hair into her braided bun. “Fenton! You old dear. It’s early for our nightly game, but I’ll play if you wish.” She put on a pair of horn-rimmed eyeglasses and stared my way. “Aggie, it’s you. But this is Fenton’s game piece.”
“He’s here with me. We both want to talk with you about something important. I have a chance to break the dark curse and keep the banshee from claiming Fenton’s soul. But to do that, I need to activate the energy in Ellie’s keepsake.” I held the marble box so she could see it.
“Where’d you get that? It belongs to Ma, an’ she’s gonna be mad.” A deep crimson flushed Maggie’s neck and inched up her jawline.
Fenton’s arm veered toward my messenger bag. “She’s about to blow. Quick, show her your wand.”
I displayed my wand. “You directed me where to find it in the attic using Nannan’s wand.”
“A wise old tree. So, what do you need from me? Get on with it so we can play our game.” She frowned and fidgeted with the pearls at her throat, then moved a pink elephant across the mirror. “Fenton, your move.”
“Do you know how I can talk with Ellie through my dreams?” I asked. “I need her help to activate the keepsake she made.”
“Ah. Dreams. Divine dreams. My life’s work.” Maggie smiled past me. “Write your dream question down and keep paper and pencil by your bed. Wash your bed linens, purify your body in a bath of sea salt, and your bedroom with dream incense. All the while thinkin’ of your question. Arrange an offering. Ma loves flowers, the wilder the better. Before bedtime, recite a prayer callin’ to her, then let sleep bring her. She’ll come. She always came to me. After all’s done, write down your dream straight away so you can figure it out in the morning.”
“Thanks. Do you know what it means to be a dream-walker?” I asked. “Ellie made me one.”
“A dream-walker?” Her eyes bugged over the top of her glasses. “And you haven’t taken a divine dream journey? What are you waitin’ on, girl? Get to it! An’ you, too, Fenton. Play your piece! I’m an old woman and gettin’ older by the minute. Time’s wastin’.”
Fenton moved a glass game piece across the mirror, but I was too distracted to keep track of their match.
She let out a guffaw. “Got you beat, you wily dog.”
“Maggie, excuse me, but what is a dream-walker?” I asked again.
With a laugh, she said, “It means in your dreams you can go places, not just invite spirits or deities to you.”
“Oh! That’s exciting. Thanks. I’ll let you two play your game, while I do some preparations.”
In my own bedroom, I laid out a pad of paper and pen from the nightstand drawer. I stripped my bed of sheets and started them washing in the basement.
In the kitchen, I rooted through Vika’s sacks. She’d included some last minute items to help promote psychic dreaming: a cellophane packet of her own dream tea; several small bottles of herbs and flowers; a navy pillar candle; and a scribbled recipe for dream incense. I hoped it’d be as simple to make as she indicated.
Into a ceramic bowl, I mixed sandalwood and rose petals using my hands while adding my own energy. I visualized the goal of the incense to foster my dream-walking and incorporated a few drops of camphor, tuberose, and jasmine oils.
The flowery scents whirled around my head, commanding my senses and blocking thoughts. The camphor’s heady vapors pulled me lower, inviting me to take a seat. The combination weighed upon my eyelids, and I struggled to light the candle. Its blue invoked psychic growth. I connected to the flame’s energy and took the bowl into my hands. I visualized myself asleep with my mind traveling far and sent sun energy into the bowl and mixture. “I charge you by the Sun and Moon to open my mind to a dream-walker’s divine dreams to bring skill and knowledge for the purpose of good. So mote it be!”
I found a canning jar in a cupboard and stored the compounded incense. I double-checked Vika’s notes. I’d done everything as written, but still needed to gather flowers as an offering to Ellie.
I snatched my old corduroy jacket from the back door hook, along with a market basket from the shelf above. Without time to unfasten the shed’s double locks, desk scissors would have to do. I darted through spitting cold rain to where volunteer wildflowers encroached upon the lawn. The asters, which had lifted their purple heads to the sun last week after I’d consecrated my wand, now drooped. We shared the same despair over this setback. With a bit of sun energy in my fingers, I touched the sturdiest stems. Their heads perked, petals widening to greet me. Their willingness heartened me. Together we’d meet this new challenge. I snipped a small handful of the most eager into a bouquet and ran back inside.
With the days sh
ortening toward winter solstice, darkness usually came faster than I wanted. Not tonight. I raced through evening chores. Logan and I shared a simple dinner before his nightly work. I dusted and vacuumed my bedroom, fitted the bed with clean sheets, and arranged and rearranged the altar on my dresser with a small photo of Ellie, the vase of asters, and an incense burner. I’d written and rewritten my words of invocation as well as the question I wanted Ellie to answer: If I need a sample of Fenton’s hair to activate the keepsake, how do I raise his body from the grave?
Rather than the exhaustion that had sent me to bed earlier every night since the consecration, adrenaline pushed me like a locomotive. With a clock placed in view, I forced myself to stay in the salt bath fifteen minutes, the minimum length of time to expel unwanted energies. I only had table salt from the kitchen and not sea salt, but it was too late to get some from Vika. Would it work the same? That and dozens of other questions crowded my mind. My hands shook as if from too much caffeine. I popped on a fresh nightgown and headed to the kitchen.
“There’s me dream-walker lass,” Fenton said in a voice too quick to be his normal, calm tone.
“Thanks for the company.” I gulped wintergreen tea to ease my jitters as he sat across from me at the table. Neither of us spoke for several minutes as the last rays of sunshine clung to walls and furniture. Was that my altered perception? Or did the house spirits try to hold back the night, plagued by their own apprehension of what might happen in my dreams?
“Tis dark enough.” Fenton shifted in his seat. “Best you be switching that out to dream tea soon or you’ll be peeing rather than dreaming through this night.”
I nodded and made a cup of the new blend. With the first sip, fragrances of rose, jasmine, and peppermint enveloped me much like the incense. Hopeful, I padded upstairs, cup in hand.
Fenton glided behind me. “I’ll be here in the hall outside to give you peace. Leave your worries here with me. But remember I’ll be close in case you’re needing me.”
Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3 Page 59
