Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3

by Marsha A. Moore

  Grammy had built a good rapport with The Cousins, faeries who’d located forest herbs for her doctoring. In turn, Gram provided all sorts of treats they like to eat or collect, as well as growing plants that they favored. She often said, “The fae are often present but rarely visible, by their own choosing or to those who have the Sight.” She never admitted to seeing a faery and only responded with a smile whenever Esme asked, eager to see one.

  Esme surveyed the woods for signs Gram had taught her that indicated the presence of fae: spheres of light, chilling sounds or laughter, sudden breezes, strong flower scents, odd behaviors from familiar animals, feelings of warmth on your skin or eyes on you. The calm forest revealed nothing. With so much against Esme, she desperately needed their help. She shrugged and faced Dove. “I’ll have to see if Gram left any notes on what works best for offerings. My pinecones were always accepted when I was a girl.”

  “The seasons changed. And you sure aren’t a girl no more.” A raspy male voice slithered to Esme upon a thread of gray smoke tinged with the same pungent mint odor she’d smelled there yesterday.

  Upon first whiff, she backed away, gaze fixed on the forest, not wanting to experience the ill effects again.

  The shadow of a tall, thin man glided toward the chestnut tree.

  The smoke twisted after Esme. She walked backward, awkwardly negotiating garden plots. When it circled her, she gasped and cried at the shadow man, “What do you want?”

  “Why nothin’ more than to extend thanks for turning the seasons early.”

  “I had nothing to do with that. Please let me go.”

  A badger barreled at her from the hedge underbrush, fierce claws ripping hunks of sod into the air, snout recoiled and hissing across menacing teeth. “You, witch, stole our last month and will pay. With your life. Like Eugenia paid in spite o’ your blood ice.”

  Esme screamed. The smoke around her dissipated. She raced toward the cabin.

  Dove hissed and huddled against the back door, ears flattened.

  She scooped him up, zipped inside, and locked the door behind them. Panting, she raced to the kitchen window.

  At the chestnut, the shadow man twisted the badger’s neck until it lay dead, mouth seeping blood. The strange man vanished into the woods.

  Hands shaking, Esme stumbled from the window. What just happened? Were those faeries? What did they want from her? She sank into the big rocking chair next to the hearth. Her heart pounded against the wooden slats.

  Dove leaped into her lap, and she pulled him close.

  The shadow man expressed gratitude that Esme had brought on an early winter, while the change of seasons made the badger determined to kill her. What did that mean?

  And the angry animal mentioned a connection between her and a woman named Eugenia who’d been killed in spite the blood ice. That made no sense to Esme. The animal called it, “Your blood ice.” Somehow he thought the blood ice was hers. And who was Eugenia? Could she be the woman Oscar buried? Possibly murdered? How could her magical ice have protected Eugenia? Esme’s head ached trying to find answers.

  She was grateful the shadow man stopped the badger’s vicious attack. However, something deceptive about him bothered her, his hidden figure as well as how he seemed to have known her as a child. She rubbed a finger along her temple. Did a change in her goals, her demeanor, bring about the change in seasons? A nervous laugh escaped her lips, bristling the smoky fur along Dove’s spine. “How silly. I can’t affect the weather any more than I can bring my sweet Grammy back from the dead. If only those things were true, though. Oh, how I’d love to have her here with me.” Moisture welled in her eyes. More problems, added to yesterday’s. Could she do this? Be on her own? How did Grammy remain independent for thirty years after her husband passed?

  Determined to be strong, Esme refused to let the tears fall. She blinked them back, scooted Dove to the floor, and jumped from the rocker to check the energy trap. “Nothing different here. Apparently energy from those faeries never entered Holly Cabin. I hope it stays that way. We have work to do starting with an appointment at Alice McAllan’s at ten. That leaves me twenty minutes to work on talismans for us.”

  Esme opened a case of crystals on one of the many bookshelves in the main room. Without hesitation she selected two natural pieces of jet, black stones drilled with holes. She smiled at the memory of taking Gram to last year’s Indianapolis gem and mineral show. How Gram had loved the show and Esme’s gift of those, as well as other stones. She said to Dove, “These pieces of jet, witch’s amber, are what we need to protect us. They absorb evil and keep it from the wearer.”

  The cat sniffed the crystals and flicked his tail.

  On a shelf lined with jars, Esme searched through labeled water samples, including willow water, stump water, dish water, lightning water, snow melt, hail melt, and moon water. The last three she set out to replenish during the new winter season.

  “Hmpf. The one I need to charge our crystals into protective talismans isn’t here. Probably ’cause the ditch along the road’s nearly always filled.” Her stomach tightened at the thought of going out of the cabin without additional protection.

  Esme gathered a pail and long-handled ladle from the back porch. To keep out of sight from the woods as much as possible, she carried the bulky tools through the cabin to the front door.

  Dove tried to nose his way outside ahead of her, but she pushed him back, not wanting to endanger him.

  She scurried across the road and ladled several scoops of algae-covered grunge into the pail. With no sign of threat at the chestnut tree, Esme scooted over the cobblestones and arrived safely inside.

  Esme recited a simple wish as she deposited the two crystals into the pail, hoping it held the power of a spell. “Strengthen these crystals of witch’s amber jet, to keep both us and our secret safe from threat.” Esme wrinkled her nose at the ditchwater’s sour odor, but a second whiff brought her an aroma of robust strength—the magic of that water. Keying on the second note, she stuck a hand into the pail, fished out the black amber pieces, and set them on a towel to dry. She threaded the larger on a black silk cord, and the smaller on a leather thong. After she washed her hands and gathered a tool basket she’d prepared the night before, the stones were dry enough to be tied around her neck and Dove’s.

  Less accepting of the magical talisman, the cat pawed at the stone which hung over the white dove patch on his breast. Esme hated to cover the symbol of freedom that’d meant so much to Grammy, and still did to her, too.

  She made a final affirmation of the jewel case protecting her thoughts, and they headed on foot to Alice’s house, the next cottage a mile north. Esme crossed the road to put distance between them and the woods where she encountered The Cousins.

  Gaze riveted to the smallest movements at every tree and bush, she set a brisk walk pace to make sure her watchfulness didn’t make her late.

  “Hello there, Becky!” Alice shouted Esme’s first name.

  Startled for only a second, Esme took Dove into her arms, pulled her basket tighter to her side, and ran at least a quarter-mile to meet the old neighbor lady.

  Alice smoothed the cat’s back and grabbed the panting young woman into a tight hug. “Had to think fer a bit how you called yerself. You didn’t answer to Esme, which I thought Flora called you.” The old neighbor both felt and smelled soft, the fragrance of rose salve wafting around her.

  “Oh, no. I like Esme better. I didn’t hear you ’cause I was intent on watching the woods in case anything jumped out. Had a badger run at me this morning.”

  “Shoo. Them are bad.” Alice took a small step back but still held Esme’s hand. A wide smile parted deep lines of her aged face. “Look at you. All grow’d up. Wanted to talk with you at Flora’s funeral, but knowin’ how yer Ma is, I didn’t expect anything other than her keepin’ you from us coven witches. It’s been some time since I’ve gotten to see you. Maybe three years. You were finishin’ up yer master degree ’bout plants a
n’ eager to start yer first job. Musta missed you on yer holidays to Flora’s after that.”

  Esme rolled her eyes. “Mom still tries to control me, even though I’m twenty-seven. Did you walk all this way to meet me? Am I late?” She set Dove on his feet and checked her watch. Fifteen minutes before the hour, plenty of time to reach Alice’s cottage.

  “No, child. Yer not late at all. I was eager to see you, and I just like to get out whenever I can. And be thankful I’m still able.” The old lady straightened the red kerchief on her head, which caused even more wiry white strands to escape. She led the way to her cottage with the clop of her sturdy hiking boots worn beneath both jeans and a gray skirt of rugged cotton.

  Esme doubted Alice would ever find herself unable. A slight twist in her spine hinted her age to be well over eighty, although the vigor in her sinewy limbs and bright eyes indicated a woman at least a decade younger. She’d been a close friend of Gram’s for decades.

  They walked arm in arm toward Alice’s place, both smiling. Dove trotted behind them, close at their heels. Although Esme still kept watch on the woods, the presence of the older woman, who knew the forest like the back of her own hand, diminished her fears.

  “Yer eyein’ them woods. After that run-in with the badger, I can’t blame you.” Alice’s voice slowed and hushed. “All sorts live in this stretch, you know.”

  “What sorts? Like The Cousins?”

  Alice nodded, eyes scanning the hedge-line. October’s golden leaves lay dead and brown on frosty ground not yet warmed by the dim sunlight. Bare black branches etched their silhouettes against a bleak sky. Esme felt their dark sepia trunks watching her. She sniffed the air, though its crisp dryness didn’t convey any clues.

  “Grammy always left them offerings so they’d help her. I’m trying to—”

  “Take extra care in what you leave them.” The old woman’s bony fingers threaded tight through Esme’s as Alice spoke next to her ear. “With winter here early, there’s likely to be some unrest.”

  “Why’s that?” Esme raised a brow and glanced at Alice.

  “Oh, different faeries prefer different seasons.” Alice pursed her lips. “The summer ones are tucked away somewheres keepin’ warm. The fall an’ winter sorts are out an’ about now, likely tryin’ to decide which season it is.”

  “Hmm. I hope Gram kept good notes. I’ve just started reading some of her journals, but she had so many.”

  “Most root workers keep their magic secret to themselves, but she always know’d she’d be leavin’ Holly Cabin to you. She wanted you to have her magic. Seemed natural to me, just addin’ to yer way with plants an’ all.”

  Esme grinned. “That makes me feel good that she kept those records for me. I miss her so much.”

  Alice patted her arm. “I do too. She was a good soul. So many miss her. I assume yer gonna follow her path as a wildwood mystic healer?”

  “Yes, I am. Oh, I brought you a jar of Gram’s salve that her notes indicated you like.” Esme let go of Alice’s hand and motioned to the basket she carried. “I really want to work as a healer, more than anything. I’ve taken a leave from the research company, doing part-time work for them from here. But I need to earn some income locally to keep me going. I was disappointed when the Council didn’t grant me ceremonial status along with the land title transfer. I’m worried Gram’s customers won’t trust my ability ’cause of that.”

  “That standing won’t do you no good, that’s fer sure, but don’t fret. I’ll take you round to her regulars and introduce you. Some will take my word.”

  “Oh! Thank you. I really appreciate your offer. If some are pleased with my work, then others might accept me.”

  Alice twisted her thin lips to one side. “Strange the Council decided that way, but you haven’t been a residential member since you were a tyke. I wonder…they must be actin’ only on the most basic and most urgent matters since they’re all of a sudden down two members.”

  “Down two?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Just at Samhain, the new high priest Logan Dennehy cast ’em out.” Alice dropped her voice to a hush. “Councilwomen Gladys Blinkhorne and Viola Plackstone, along with a few others, were caught usin’ black magic to bring harm to fellow members. The whole of the coven drove them from the Samhain celebration. Logan did right by us and most are glad to have him. Though not all…” Alice’s voice trailed away and her gaze drifted to a distant point.

  “How soon will those councilwomen be replaced?” Esme asked.

  “At the next esbat, at the Oak Moon, when we’ll all vote. A few have already thrown their names in the hat. There’s a push to have the replacements come from foundin’ families who’ve been here since the Thirties. ’Specially since four of the eight positions are currently held by newcomers, so to speak.”

  “Eight council seats? What happens in case of a tie vote?”

  “The high priest breaks the tie, but he happens to also be from a new family. The female seer Sibeal Soot has already declared she’s runnin’. She’s a wild card, with ties to the wicked former priestess, Adara Tabard, who Logan replaced. Ernest Foottit also declared he’s in the race. He’s a fussy young man who wears them Coke-bottle type spectacles and keeps his nose in a book.”

  Esme laughed. “With a name like Foottit, I can’t blame him for being an introvert.”

  “Me neither.” Alice hooted. “Good thing he’s from the old Rourke family, a normal name, through his mother’s side. She’s a pain-in-the-arse stickler for followin’ rules, and I’m sure her son’s the same. No better than Nathan Wells we already have on council. I’m a hopin’ a few others stand up for the two openings. Those choices don’t suit me, nor plenty of others. Logan, along with councilmen Rowe McCoy, Clarence Douglas, and the Kerry father and son, have been makin’ rounds to get others to run.”

  “What about Burnhard?” Esme’s voice crackled when she spoke his name.

  “He’s a strong supporter of Sibeal and Ernest. Been out talkin’ them up.” Alice’s summary of the political positions of the various council members painted a clearer image of Oscar and solidified Esme’s fears.

  Esme needed to find a way to report the potential crime she’d witnessed. But she didn’t want to divulge that to Alice. While the woman had been Grammy’s dear friend, Alice seemed to know everything about everyone. No need to drop juicy secrets into the lap of a gossip. Esme searched her mind for how to obtain information in a roundabout way. “If I want to approach the Council to get their ruling on my ceremonial status changed, who’d be the most empathetic?”

  “I’d say either Logan or Rowe. Probably Rowe since Logan has so much on his plate with learnin’ to be high priest.”

  “His last name is Mc—?”

  “McCoy. I’ll find you his number when we get to my place.”

  They rounded the side of a hill where the forest dropped into a ravine. When the land leveled a bit, Alice’s home place came into view. A buck with at least ten antler points froze, nose twitching as it detected their scent. Esme hesitated. Could the animal be possessed like the badger? She, too, tested the air. The animal emitted a musky odor with a trace of trepidation, but no sign of aggression. She relaxed her breathing and resumed her pace.

  Alice waved a hand toward the woods. “I’ve seen orange bittersweet thickets along this way and hoped you wouldn’t mind helpin’ me pick some.”

  “No problem. I’d be glad to.”

  “That’s why I’m wearin’ this strange garb, case you wondered. Set to do some gatherin’.” Alice brushed a hand low against her thigh toward the jeans. “I’m wantin’ to make decorations to brighten things, now that the dark half of the year’s set in. I’m needin’ plenty, both for my humble home and for the coven’s next esbat.”

  Esme said nothing as she followed off the road, while Dove kept to the gravel berm. She set her basket down, removed a pair of shears, and cut long lengths of the orange-fruited vines, staying close to her neighbor. She’d often seen Alice dres
sed in rough clothes, either on her way to or returning from the woods. With her, Esme felt safer near the trees but still kept to the outer edge.

  In past springtimes, Alice brought Grammy tasty mushrooms. Together they’d forage for sweet sassafras bark to make tea. In late summer Esme loved juicy papaws Alice shared with them and hickory nuts in fall. Many folks in the Hollow foraged. Gram did her share of nosing in the woods, although for healing plants. She never wanted for food with her large garden. Her clients often came around with a basket of eggs or slab of fresh-butchered meat from their livestock.

  Gram didn’t have time for raising animals, which suited Esme fine. She liked nothing better during her long summer visits from school than to lie in on a garden path and study how tendrils of a muskmelon found their way. Or getting up before dawn to watch morning glory flowers opening to kiss the sun.

  When Esme amassed a large pile of bittersweet, she said, “How much do you need?”

  “Oh, my! That’s plenty. Yer a hard worker.” Alice held the corners of her faded yellow apron that bulged with vines. She wound her way to the grassy area where Esme stood. “Let’s take our load to my porch.”

  When Esme lifted her vines, a shadow moving between trees caught her attention. Like before, the shape seemed to be male. Her heart jumped. She hurried to the cottage porch.

  “Thank you much, dearie. Would you like a mug of hot mulled cider? Just pressed from Abner’s orchard?”

  “Sounds great. I can work some of these into wreaths while I’m here,” Esme offered, hoping the shadow man would go away if she stalled her trip home. She handed the jar of salve to Alice.

  “Thank you for both. I need mostly wreaths a foot in diameter, but a bit larger’s okay. I’ll get yer money fer the salve and Rowe’s number, too.” Alice went inside, while Esme sat in a rocker that gave her a view of the woods as she bent vines into circular shapes.

  Dove hugged her ankles, narrowly missing getting switched by vines.

  Another shorter human shadow joined the man’s silhouette among the trees. They seemed to peer at Esme from behind trunks. Darting from tree to tree, the shadow people inched closer.