Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3

by Marsha A. Moore

  “No, you aren’t,” she protested.

  Shade scrunched his face. “That’ll be some purdy bruises.”

  “Bruises aren’t going to stop me,” Thayne retorted. “Apply your salves and do whatever to patch me up, while I ask some questions. Please remove your staff from the area so I may talk openly.”

  She snapped orders to three workers to bring supplies and provide necessary assistance with complex procedures. All three worked longer than Thayne wished medicating and bandaging the most severely affected areas on his limbs.

  When at last the staff left the cave, Halcyon administered an assortment of topical lotions to lesser injuries, and wafted him with inhalants.

  Thayne lowered his voice. “Just after noon I saw Grayson enter this area. Do you know why he was here?”

  Halcyon stopped her application and met his gaze. “Our main storeroom was broken into, sometime after we secured it to attend the moon celebration. The two daytime healers on duty said no one entered.”

  Leaning heavily on the cane, Thayne wrestled with his weak muscles to stand.

  Halcyon rose and touched his arm. “A large bottle of fairy weed digitalis has gone missing. In small doses it’s used to treat off-kilter heart rhythms, but more is deadly, fast and irreversible.” She searched his face. “A fearful knowledge just now flickered in your eyes. Like what I saw when you brought Esmeralda here, both of you under extreme stress. Is she in danger now?”

  “Yes, I read the sounds of her agony. Maybe from Grayson or some other source. I don’t know.” He lifted his chin toward Shade. “We have to go back to Holly Cabin—now.”

  “When her wayward powers unleash, you read her easily.” Moisture clouded Halcyon’s eyes, and she briefly squeezed Thayne’s arm. “Go in safety.”

  He puzzled about her observation.

  “Beg pardon, my King and Captain,” the voice of Sergeant Bracken called from the cave’s mouth. “Requesting permission to enter.”

  “Permission granted,” Thayne replied, and Shade stood to greet the officer.

  “I have news to report. Adviser Grayson left the Ravine as we entered.”

  Halycon’s riddle would have to remain unsolved. Thayne leaned on the cane and lengthened his stride out of the cave as much as the bandages would allow.

  Chapter Twenty-one: Breaking New Ground

  A knock on the cabin door shot a bolt of fear through Esme. She threw aside her grief. In its place the wayward powers restarted their battle. An erratic pulse thudded against her temples. She struggled to grasp the broom, then staggered to the hallway entrance. Peering into the hearth room through the front kitchen window, she glimpsed a state patrol car parked on the drive. It wasn’t the sheriff. That was encouraging. She went to the door and cracked it open.

  Two stiff-shouldered officers touched the wide brims of their hats. One stepped forward, his jaw twitching. “Ma’am, I’m Detective Spence, and this is my partner, Detective Brown. Are you all right?” The concern carved into his lined face gnawed into her gut, and her skin itched with the powers seeping out.

  “Esme, it’s safe.” Rowe stepped into view.

  She swung the door wide and collapsed onto his comforting arm. Like before, her muscles and senses weakened, as her keen smell tuned to the smallest emotions.

  “It’s okay. It’s all over.” Rowe patted her shoulder. “We found Eugenia’s body and sufficient evidence to press charges. Logan’s there now with other officers. Can these patrol detectives take a look around?”

  Esme uttered an unintelligible affirmation and stammered against a tightening in her throat, “Sibeal and Oscar killed Dove…Grammy’s…my…cat.” She hid her face in the cozy woolen smell of Rowe’s suitcoat, even if it offered only a momentary escape.

  Footsteps beat with halting rhythm across the wooden floors as the men picked their way through the rubble. She couldn’t accompany them, fearful they’d point out more horrid details. She’d seen enough. More than enough.

  “Esme, I’ve supplied the detectives with your statements about witnessing the murder of Eugenia Trustwell.” Rowe’s authoritative citrus-pine scent comforted her. “They’ll want to take your direct testimony.”

  She pulled back from Rowe, blinking to rid her vision of a gathering purple film. Why did they want her testimony? She stared into space, lost. Then a shred of understanding hit. “Did you say you found the body?”

  “Yes. It had been moved and hidden with magic under some old farm equipment.”

  After all the difficulties, she almost didn’t believe the news that would free her from living in fear of Oscar, Sibeal, and their allies. With her perceptions transforming as her wayward strength surged, his revelation seemed like a cruel dream. Esme focused on his face in attempt to regain lucidity. “Are you sure? How did you find her?” She shifted isolated thoughts past each other like puzzle pieces without success of connecting. Could Rowe’s finding make the Autumn Court more determined to take her talisman, or worse—strip her of her powers.

  Rowe touched her arm, his eyes flitting across her face. “Are you all right?”

  “Umm, yes.” She rubbed her temples. “Just a little shook up. I’ll be okay.”

  “We noticed disturbed ground under one edge of a mower deck.” Rowe lifted his fedora and ran a hand through his hair, nervous tension exuding from his scalp. Was he telling the truth or was her sensory input confused? The detectives didn’t seem to question his statement. Rowe and Logan had combed the area repeatedly. It seemed illogical they’d missed the mower.

  “Ma’am, do you feel well enough for us to take your statement now?” Detective Spence asked, while his partner took photographs.

  Esme nodded and slunk onto a chair he pulled out at the kitchen table. With fae and witch powers shifting inside her, she concentrated on a mental picture of the gruesome scene with Oscar and the body he dragged, both drenched in red freezing drizzle.

  As the detective fired dozens of questions, she took care to check her memory before answering slowly and completely, measuring each word. It was her duty to give an accurate account. The truth would free her.

  After several minutes, Spence put a hand over hers, which she realized was clamped tight to the table edge. “That’s all I need. Relax. I know it’s hard. You did great.”

  Esme let out a slow exhale and slumped against the back of the chair.

  “Do you have someplace else to stay tonight?” he asked.

  Her mind went blank. She pressed her temples in a poor attempt to still the magic crawling through her skull. “Can’t I stay here?” With her unpredictable wayward magic rumbling, she didn’t want to chance acting out at Alice’s. Worse yet, she might harm the dear old lady.

  Spence looked to Rowe before he answered. “If you feel safe, it’s okay with us. We need to take pictures and gather evidence for a few minutes, then we’ll be out of your way.”

  Rowe leaned close. “We’ll remove your cat…if you want.”

  “No.” She choked and coughed. “I want to bury him, for Gram.”

  Rowe gently took her elbow. “Let’s go wait in my car while the detectives work.”

  She allowed him to guide her to the passenger seat of his huge black sedan. The leather seat cradled her, and she sank into the cushion.

  After a few minutes the smell of stress left Rowe, and she asked for more clarification, “Didn’t you check the mower before?”

  He faced the porch for a moment, then replied, “Yes, and never noticed anything with the dark magic camouflage. The body was discovered by your friend Thayne, King of the faery Winter Court.”

  Esme sat up, her gaze fixed on Rowe. “You saw Thayne?”

  “Yes. For a few minutes. Fascinating man. I wish we could’ve talked longer, but he didn’t stay. He said he located it to stop what was happening to you. And he freed Eugenia’s soul before he’d let us examine the crime scene. Seemed like a man of honor, more than I expected from all the talk of The Cousins being tricksters.”

>   She smiled and rested against the seat. “They drive hard bargains with precise language you must grasp or you’ll end up fooled.”

  “Strange. He didn’t ask for anything in return, just for us to be here to relay the information and reassure you.”

  They sat in silence, waiting for the detectives to finish. Despite the two magics fighting inside her, Esme thought about what Thayne had done and found some calm. She welcomed long, deep breaths and closed her eyes against the growing purple haze of her wayward energy. Thayne had given up on the bargain he’d pressed on her. In exchange for exposing the murderer, he’d badly wanted her witch’s amber. Rowe was correct; Thayne had broken a cardinal rule of The Cousins for her safety. Knowing he was truly on her side warmed her.

  Noise on the porch and Rowe stirring beside her alerted Esme.

  “The detectives look to be done. If it’s okay, I’d like to come back in a couple hours, around seven, with my girlfriend Jancie and some dinner. We’ll help clean up your place and stay to eat with you.”

  “That is so kind. Thank you.” Esme smiled even though it shot sharp pain from one temple to the other. Although happy for the concern and help, she hoped her wayward affliction wouldn’t incapacitate her by then. “I don’t know how much of an appetite I’ll have. But you’re welcome to come.”

  Despite dizziness taking control as Esme moved from the car, she managed to navigate her way onto the porch where she said goodbye to the detectives and Rowe.

  After they left, she shut the door and sank into the hearth rocker, head spinning and magic writhing under her skin. The time to decide had arrived. Fae or witch? Or madness and death? She still didn’t know what choice to make.

  Crimson’s ring offered a way to buy time. Did Sibeal destroy it? Or take it? Esme hadn’t checked. With the room whirling around her, she staggered from chair to loveseat to doorframe, sliding along the hallway wall to lean over the bedroom dresser where she’d stored the ring. Inside the top drawer, she touched the pale blue stone. It twinkled its inviting magic at her. Did she dare put it on? Just until I can make a choice. My wayward powers are coming on so fast now. The next time I let them surface, will they come on faster and kill me before I can—.

  She jerked her hand away and slid the drawer closed. In the mirror she caught a glimpse of the black amber pulsing with purple light. The oscillations of light matched the waves of pain cutting through her brain, a hypnotic cycle.

  She pulled herself from the crippling display and made her way to the hearth room’s phone. She dialed her mother’s number. With each ring, she willed Mom to answer until the machine picked up. At the beep, Esme sobbed, “Mom, if you’re there please, please pick up. I need you. I need to know what type of magic Dad had…that I have. It’s hurting me. Killing me. Please pick up.” Tears streamed from her eyes as she set the silent phone down.

  The hearth room was a disaster, books and valuable stored supplies broken and jumbled together, just like herself. Her goals had shattered, her health and life now crumbling. Hopeless, she let her gaze drift mindlessly, not fighting the wayward powers.

  Amidst the destruction, the altar, like the aragonite ring, remained untouched. A sign? A slight smile spread across her lips. Both altar and ring were spared ’cause they contained fae magic. Could the altar help her choose the correct path? She dropped to the floor and sifted among the strewn books. Weak, with her heart beating a wild, erratic dance that gouged her lungs, she groped for the volume about prayers until at last she located its worn red cover.

  She thumbed through several bookmarked pages and skimmed the prayers. Satisfied, she gripped the edge of the washstand that held the altar and pulled to her knees. Her arms shook as she drew the crimson cloak from the washstand’s towel bar around her shoulders. After three tries, she sparked a match and lit the two candles.

  She read from the book with a thick, halting voice that sounded nothing like her own:

  Goddess of Fate, Faerie Queen Goddess, I, Esmeralda Underhill, invoke you. Lady who ordains the ebb and flow of every tide and the wine in the cup of all life, I call upon you. Please, please help me to know my own fate clearly, to understand the signs, and divine their meaning. May fae folk, in your name, bring good opportunities in which my life may serve life, my happiness and good fortune be of benefit to many.

  She raised the vase of twigs representing the World Tree as an offering, then drew the sign of an equal-armed cross onto the altar cloth using samples from the four elements: air’s feather tip, fire’s dab of oil, water from winter’s first snow, earth’s garden pebble, and most importantly holly berries carrying the spirit of fae. She picked up the wooden whistle, pressed it to quivering lips, and played a long but trembling note to reverberate her wish into the spirit world.

  The talisman stone beat chaotically against her chest, sucking the air from each breath she took. Her appeal to the fae spirit didn’t work. She’d chosen incorrectly. Death grappled for her life force.

  Maybe her father would be able to help, if she could find him. She rubbed the throbbing black amber and waited. Nothing happened. Perhaps she needed to be outside, like before. The moon hadn’t risen, leaving the outdoors pitch black. She needed light to help see through the purple mist clouding her vision. With an altar candle, she lit a lantern and forced her withering body to stagger from the back porch.

  “Daddy, help me.” She wandered aimlessly searching for a sign of him. “Daddy, I’m dying. Help me.”

  The holly berries along the cabin sang a tender dirge and smelled of the sweetest sorrow.

  “Daddy, what am I to do? I chose, like you told me, but it didn’t work.”

  A purple glow outlined a male form in the forest.

  She crept closer, too fast for her unsteady legs, and fell.

  “My little one, let me help you up.” Erebus appeared at her side. He set the lantern aside on a tree root and lifted Esme into his vaporous arms with a surprisingly strong embrace. “Can you dance with me one more time?”

  “I wish I could. I’m dying.” She clung to his broad shoulders, her legs limp as he held her weight against him.

  “No. I won’t let my little one die. Dance once more before we say goodbye.” He turned them slowly in place and sang next to her ear, “In your heart’s dreams, we’ll meet again, my little one. I’ll come to you out of long ago, for little girl kisses soft as snowflakes.”

  Although her body hung like a rag doll, she sang the lyrics with him, tears streaming down her face. At least she was with him, a wish she’d clung to throughout her whole life. She could face death now that her wish had been granted. She relaxed into him, gave up the struggle against the wayward force claiming her life and kissed his cheek.

  At once he ended their dance. “Do not give up like that. You must not die.” His voice strong and commanding, he gently lowered her to the ground and helped her sit up. He offered her two flat rocks from his jacket pocket. “Now, you are close enough to see your fae and witch powers separately. Take off the black amber and use these to smash it apart. Keep the power you chose and release the other. Goodbye, my little one.”

  Blinded by purple fog and tears, she cried, “No. Can’t I go with you? Please.”

  “No,” he roared with a voice that shot fear through her and rustled tree branches behind him. “Hurry. I only have a little time left. I can be visible only long enough to warn you. I want to know you’re safe.”

  She removed the talisman and set it on the larger rock. Holding the other aloft, she peered at him and squeaked a goodbye. With all the strength she could muster, she smacked the raised rock downward, but her arm swerved out of her control and missed the gem.

  An arm clad in a sleeve of camouflage fabric shot out from the darkness toward the black amber.

  “Watch out!” her father yelled.

  Esme yanked her talisman clear, holding it to her chest as she stared into the glowing golden eyes of King Raclaw.

  Although human-like in form, he hissed through
a hideous grin of fanged bat teeth. “Give me that amber or I’ll kill you.”

  She backed away on hands and knees.

  As the king took a step toward her, his hands clawed the air and long, gray nails pushed past his fingertips.

  Too weak to retreat, she clutched the talisman tighter and cast a glance at Erebus. “Dad, what do I do?”

  “Your wayward power! Turn it on him.” The ghostly form of her father swept between Esme and the autumn king. “I can only cloud his vision.”

  The black amber pulsed against her hand. The energy it contained was hers. If fae kings fought for her hafling power, it must be strong. Could she use it now? If only she could control its chaotic force long enough to stop Raclaw’s attack.

  The king lurched closer, his pointed ears twitching in her direction. “Give it to me. You were trying to destroy it. If you don’t want it, give it here. I know what to do with that precious power. My Autumn Court would dominate all of Faerie. Maybe over man, too.” He licked a pointed fang with his long, brown tongue.

  With a deep inhale, Esme pulled the talisman’s energy inside her. The magic burned her fingers. She didn’t let go. It flamed along the veins of her forearm. She winced, but held fast. Her upper limb shook, and she braced it with her other hand.

  “You can’t even use its power.” Raclaw slashed a fingernail through her father from head to torso, divided the filmy mass, and stepped across to Esme. “Give me the amulet.”

  What remained of Erebus lay on the ground, oozing and shapeless.

  Esme’s internal power stormed. Raclaw had harmed her father. Her eyes burned with both wayward force and rage.

  Raclaw’s camouflage clothing confused his outline. But the intense stench of his greed told her he was directly above her.

  She pulled hard on magic still within the talisman. Only a little came to her.

  A double-jointed hand of daggers jerked above her head.

  She yanked the remaining wayward energy into her with a burst that couldn’t be contained in her arm. She dropped the empty amber. Her arm ached, overloaded. She flung its contents, a shard of sizzling purple light, at Raclaw’s gleaming fangs.