What did surprise him was that she flinched from his slight touch. She couldn’t have perceived any pressure. Certainly not any heat since his palm had been cool, flooded with his winter magic in eager anticipation.
“It smells wonderful in here. I love their food.” Once seated in the red vinyl booth, she glanced his way and gave a tentative smile before regarding her menu. The flash of her eyes told Thayne he’d have to work harder to keep control. Ever since meeting her at the car dealer, her entrancing essence still erased all rehearsed political maneuvers from his mind.
When the waitress took their orders, he posed a new question to aim the flow of conversation. “If you enjoy your bioresearch so much, why have you come to the Hollow to work as a hedge witch?”
“Are you a witch?” She batted a curly strand of hair behind her shoulder and sneaked a knowing look from under her dark lowered lashes.
He shot her a twisted smile, vexed by how she answered with a question, though confident he had the answer she wanted. “I’m not a coven member, although I do practice.”
She looked him square in the eyes, but her flirtatious expression faded as she spoke. “I guess things fell into line. Gram passed and willed her cabin to me just when I needed to make a fresh start.” She picked at the wrapper of her straw.
He waited, hoping she’d elaborate. He must know what the talisman did for her. If he could meet that need with his magic, then gaining the gem would be an easier deal. He walked a fine line, one that winter fae by nature loved, getting her to divulge the important information. “Fresh starts can lead to wonderful things.”
She tore at the wrapper and pulled out the straw. “After a bad relationship, I needed to find myself, to be independent. My ex did a number on my confidence.”
“Relationships can be hard. I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure coming here will help you turn things around.” He sipped his pop and waited.
“I hope so, too. I can’t go back to my mother’s house, and definitely not to Doug. Being on my own is easier here where I loved being with Grammy. I wish she was still with me, but that wouldn’t help me stand up for myself. Kind of bittersweet.” She kneaded the paper into a ball. “I sure could use her help. I can’t please these people. Sales were horrible. And what some people said was worse. Not the tourists, but the witches…the ones who matter. I don’t know how I’m going to pay the bills.”
She knifed the wad with a thumbnail. “It’s more than the money. I need to make it, like Gram did. I need to know I can do it.”
“That’s important. I understand.”
She dropped the tortured wrapper, slid her hands to her lap, and met his gaze. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“Sometimes it helps to talk.” He smiled and checked the activity of the waitress. Since the service counter was free of plated orders, he felt he had time to pose a critical question before their food was delivered. “I thought you might want to talk. After I offered to buy your pendant, I felt bad. Really bad. I could see something was upsetting you. I want to apologize for the way I cut out. I didn’t know what to do. Does the black amber help reassure you during these changes?”
She fingered the gemstone. “It does. It makes me feel safer, more in control. It’s strange but since I’ve been wearing it, I’ve been thinking about my father more. I never used to think about him, never knew him. He left when I was a baby.”
Thayne leaned forward. “That is strange. Was your father a witch?”
She nodded. “A wayward.”
He plopped his back against the seat, eyebrows scrunched, mind jumbled. Her dad a wayward? If she didn’t know much about her father, maybe she didn’t even understand her own pendant. Thayne’s head spun with where to go next with this mysterious, enchanting woman.
Chapter Ten: Soft As A Snowflake
Esme’s dinner at the pizzeria with Thayne had begun as a friendly, at times flirty, evening out. Just what she needed after that disappointing market day. However, as soon as they’d eaten their meal, the conversation took on an icy silence that matched the frozen night air as he escorted her to his car. As if an unseen door had closed between them.
During the ride home he dodged questions she asked and didn’t comment on whatever topic she brought up. After three failed attempts to make conversation, she sat quietly while he drove. Had she offended him? She traveled back through their earlier talk but couldn’t determine anything amiss. I hope he’s not bothered by not being able to acquire my talisman. It would be just awful if he expected to make a deal after buying her dinner.
He pulled onto her driveway and, without looking at her, said, “Thank you for your company tonight.” The coldness of his words stung. At the start of the evening she felt certain they’d connected, obviously attracted to one another. Even now, as she waited for some reaction from him or sudden clarity to hit her, desire hung warm and heavy in the closed car. Thick with musk and patchouli.
“Thank you for dinner. I had a good time.” As soon as she spoke the words, she wanted to take them back. They were true and sincere, a wonderful surprise that she could actually have those feelings after the way her ex had treated her. She’d taken a big step by acknowledging her true feelings, rather than accepting what others wanted her to feel. But the conscience that protected her fragile confidence still resisted the risk of a relationship.
She faced him to encourage communication that might push the issue one way or the other. Either to validate her conscience or prompt a kiss that her body yearned for, the bliss of how she imagined real love. His features were frozen in a faraway stare. Waves of thick, black hair caressed the sides of his cheeks and brushed his broad shoulders. The shed’s security light illuminated his alabaster complexion…or was the glow from within? She turned sideways in her seat toward him.
Her motion seemed to trigger his reaction to exit the car and open her door. Not what she’d intended. At the porch he offered a simple “Goodnight” with no promise or hint to go out again.
From the door she watched him leave. When the sedan turned around, the scent of strong peppermint, again like Altoids, drifted to her upon a gentle breeze. Her head spun toward the chestnut tree at the hedge. Nothing appeared. All lay quiet.
After she entered the cabin and shut the door, as if on cue, sleet blanketed her safely inside.
Exhausted by the long day, Esme scooped Dove up from his spot on top of a radiator and headed for bed. Esme took a quick bath and snuggled beside Dove into the soft handmade quilts as Gram’s big cast iron bed welcomed her. The scent of new lavender sachets under her pillows lulled her quickly to sleep.
On a dark forest path, dimly lit by moonlight glancing off white snow, Esme followed a seemingly unending trail. Something moved ahead of her. She called for it to wait, but it only picked up its pace. She needed to catch it, though she didn’t know why. Hiking boots, large enough to fit a man, left footprints. Covered with only socks, her feet looked tiny in comparison. She chased after him, winding along a creek bank. She spotted the man as he disappeared at the top of an incline. She pressed on, climbing with all the strength she could muster.
Again, she caught sight of movement ahead and increased her pace. Something grabbed her clothing, and her white nightgown ripped. Gasping for air, she spun around to see what trapped her. Only a branch. She untangled her gown. Why was she in the cold woods in her nightgown and without shoes? As if in response, dripping water echoed along a wall of limestone that formed the mouth of a cave. There the footprints stopped. The place looked familiar.
“You came. Come here and dance with me, little one,” a deep voice called from farther inside.
A tinkling melody, like one from a music box, played. She hummed the tune. Where had she heard it before?
A strong hand took hold of hers, gentle and warm. “Stand on my feet like always.”
Esme placed one foot and then the other on the tops of his hiking boots. Black clothing hid the man’s shape. She tilted her head back t
o see his face. His features glowed as if moonlight had managed to crawl inside his skin. His shoulder-length hair curled in dark ringlets.
“It’s been a long time, little one. Too long. Do you remember?”
She nodded and buried her head in the crook of his arm.
He bent low. “Kiss Daddy soft like a snowflake so you keep remembering.”
She brushed her puckered lips against his stubbly cheek. “Come back with me, Daddy, please.”
“Soon, little one.”
“No. Now, please. Please come back. Please, Daddy.” Esme cried between sobs until the sound of her voice woke her from the clutches of the dream.
Dove let out a piercing meow, which startled Esme back to reality.
She freed her legs tangled in the quilt and locked her hand around her talisman, panting, sweat dripping from her face. Unlike normal dreams with shadowy edges that blurred as she tried to grasp them, this nightmare remained etched in her mind. The man’s face and voice, the same as in the previous dream, were her father’s. She was certain. But she’d never seen a picture of him, nor had any memory of meeting him. The place, that cave in the woods, she’d been there before, but when? Where was it?
Then a connection hit. The song was the same as the one that played in her mother’s jewelry box, a gift from Esme’s father. When Esme was very young, she’d begged her mother to wind up the music when she got into bed. The tune played her to sleep night after night. Had the song made her dream about her father? She wiped at a dribble of sweat near her temple, at the same time shivering with fret over these mystifying dreams.
Sleet tinkled against her window. The lavender plant on the sill filled her bedroom with its soothing scent, tinged with soft notes of mint, and she slipped into a dreamless sleep.
***
Esme woke to the morning sun and a fierce determination to take the formal step needed to expand her powers as a witch. Faced with the man at the market calling her a fraud and the disturbing nightmares, she needed to realize the powers inside her.
Dove followed her into the hearth room and took his spot in a puddle of sunlight shining through the back porch window.
She’d watched Grammy connect to the gods and goddesses and strengthen her. It amazed Esme and scared her, too. Mom said witchcraft was bad and that Esme needed to keep away from all of it. She made exception for Gram’s healing concoctions, but said those were medicine, not witchwork. Her mother never answered Esme's questions about what would happen if she opened up her powers.
Her legs weakened as she approached Gram’s wildwood altar on an antique washstand beside the hearth. A green cloth, to connect with both nature and The Cousins, covered the top. Two candles flanked a small dark pottery vase of twigs. Gram had told her they harkened to the World Tree and represented the three realms of deities important to a wildwood mystic. Upperworld Goddesses and Gods of the astral plane resided in the branches. The trunk embodied the deities of life in the world of nature, or middle Earth as Gram called it. The World Tree’s roots symbolized the underworld realm of fae folk who lived in the hollow hills.
A dark earthenware bowl sat on the left front corner and a wooden whistle on the right. This altar had served Gram’s magic, but Esme never used it. How could she open this altar to her own powers?
Several books about connecting to the mystic filled a nearby shelf. She removed one especially well-worn red leather volume. Bits of paper marked pages of prayers Gram had used. The table of contents contained a chapter on altar consecration. Esme followed the directions. From a vase of local bird feathers on the fireplace mantel, she selected a blue-black tail feather of a grackle and placed it on the altar. She filled two small clay bowls, one with vegetable oil and the other with salt water. Those, along with a stone she retrieved from the garden, she placed beside the feather.
The last item proved the most difficult—a flower. Problem was, nothing flowered at Holly Cabin in mid-November. Would dried flowers work? She opened a jar of lavender and put a handful of those blossoms on the altar. Unsure, she ran back outside, snipped off a small branch of holly berries, and added that as well.
She filled the dark bowl with water, as the book indicated, to honor the Threefold Goddess and invite her healing visions, her creative womb, and her sacred cup.
Gram’s green prayer shawl hung on the washstand’s wooden towel bar. Satisfied with the altar’s arrangement, Esme wrapped herself in the shawl and lit the candles. She knelt on a throw pillow before the altar and read a consecration prayer aloud:
Great Goddess and God, Lady and Lord of all living and of the spirits of the dead, I, Esmeralda Underhill, call upon you. You who are the magic in trees and stars, streams and oceans, please hear my prayer. Bless this altar, which I dedicate to you. Bless and hear all prayers which I will say here, and of any others who join me. Bless all magic work which shall be offered. Great Lady and Lord of the upperworld, middle Earth, and underworld, open the portals so this altar will allow communion with you and spirit presences.
Esme lifted the vase of twigs as a symbolic offering. Using the feather, she made the sign of an equal-armed cross within a circle on the altar. She traced the same pattern first with a dab of oil, then water, followed by the stone, and lastly with the lavender and berries. “I dedicate this altar to the Great Goddess and Great God, universal deities, whose wisdom is revealed in each realm round the World Tree.”
Dove flicked his tail and gave a loud meow.
She looked to him. “Now for the hard part. Try to keep quiet so I can concentrate.” She gripped the book with shaking fingers and recited the words with as much feeling as she could muster.
Great Lady and Lord of all changes wrought by magic, I, Esmeralda Underhill, call upon you to make me your priestess. Open to me the paths of wildwood mysteries so I may be of service. Make me a wise witch so that my powers will bring beneficial change. I give myself, my eternal being, the task of becoming wisely skilled in weaving fate. By your hand, let all my work done at this altar, and elsewhere, bring healing. Make me a wise witch.
Esme dipped her finger in the altar’s bowl of water and drew the same symbol as before upon her forehead. “Now I am reborn as a witch priestess by the power of the Triple Goddess of Rebirth, the Goddess of the upperworld, middle Earth, and underworld. So may it be.”
She picked up the wooden whistle from the altar. “In the name of the God of the Hunt, Wildwood, and the Underworld, I call on guardian spirits of the elements of all life. Hear me now, you spirits of air, fire, water, earth, and ether. Witness that I am now a priestess and come to my assistance. So may it be.” She puffed into the whistle, which gave a short toot. Not much of an announcement. After a deep breath, she blew long and slow and played a low, soulful note.
Dove joined her with a piercing yowl.
Esme replaced the whistle and stood. The book said when her whole body rebalanced, she’d feel a change: see a vision, feel a tremble, experience senses becoming more acute. Nothing felt different. She sat quietly in the rocking chair, eyes closed, focusing inward to detect any difference.
Dove bounded into her lap, and she flinched.
She stroked his soft fur and eased her thoughts back into meditation. Her thoughts wouldn’t silence, plagued with worries and questions. Did the Goddess and God turn her away? She’d avoided contact with them for years out of fear instilled by her mother. Esme bit the inside of her cheek, wondering if that was the reason, or maybe her powers weren’t enough to be useful. Or of the wrong type? What type of powers did she have?
Unable to remain still with the jumble of apprehension, she cradled Dove in her arms and walked to the kitchen. At the sink her body started to shake. Was this the sign of acceptance? The trembling quickly spread through her body and escalated to jerking tremors.
Dove squirmed to be free, but Esme couldn’t let go.
Didn’t want to let go. The new inner force terrified her. She gripped hard onto the cat.
He clawed at her hands, dr
awing blood.
The pain of his scratches pulled Esme from the delirium, and she loosened her grip.
He let out a sharp cry, leaped to the floor, and ran from the room.
The way she’d acted, she couldn’t blame the cat. She’d held too tight. Like she had with Doug. She didn’t think she could stand alone, be confident, independent. She’d clung to him, allowed him to abuse her. Thayne must’ve seen her true self and not wanted to know her.
Her stomach burned and convulsed, fighting against something vile. She sank onto a kitchen chair, head down on her arms folded across the table. This ugly sensation couldn’t be acceptance. She’d failed as a witch. She’d be exposed as a fraud, peddling merchandise no more magical than from the drugstore.
A horrid thought erupted, shook her with a wave of nausea. Logan had anticipated the sheriff might have her watched, and that seemed true by the way Garrett acted at the market. If Oscar was paying off the sheriff, wouldn’t he be informed of her identity as a witness? No evidence of a murder had been found to indict Oscar. Would he try to eliminate her, like he did Eugenia?
Water welled into Esme’s eyes. Her body heaved with sobs. Tears dripped onto her sweater sleeves. Acid churned from her stomach, as if flaming her heart. She ached to be somewhere safe. Not with her mother who didn’t provide any support, just criticism. Oh, if only Grammy were still here.
Ice pelted the house. Rather than the secure comfort it usually brought, this icy coating walled her in alone with fears that rose up like demons. Entombed with her failures. The heavy air pressed upon her lungs. She staggered from the kitchen to the back door and threw it open. The cold gust swept away all panic and left her numb.
Her mind became a blank, without memories. Without the burden of worries, freedom and lightness swelled her. She whirled across the porch, but her steps were drunken, devoid of emotion, disconnected from all memory, good or bad. Where am I? Whose life am I living?
Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3 Page 75
