Charmed and Dangerous: An Appalachian Magic Novel (Appalachian Magic Series Book 1)

by Debbie Herbert

  Callie patted the back pocket of her jeans. “Right here. I have it on me all the time. Just like you told me to do before you . . . went away.”

  Grandma Jo came between them. “Callie, get a quilt and go on outside. You’ve had a long day, and it’ll do you good to relax.”

  “I could run a marathon right now. Sitting in a car all day was torture.”

  “I don’t know how you did it,” Mom said, shaking her head. “I can’t imagine taking such a long trip alone, especially not in one day.”

  Callie believed her. Mom hadn’t changed much. Callie strode past her and went out on the porch, wrapping up in one of the abandoned quilts. Mom had always been on the timid side. Callie used to shield her from any kind of stress, even did most of the housework. But it wasn’t enough, and Grandma Jo moved in permanently to help out. Which was a good thing since it got worse after the night of the Ouija board incident. Mom quit her job and sat all day and night vegging out in front of a TV shopping channel, although Callie never saw her order anything.

  The porch door opened, interrupting the unhappy memories.

  “Here you go,” said Grandma Jo, handing her a small demitasse cup.

  Cocoa and sugar for love and sweetness. Callie accepted it and tried to relax.

  All three started rocking in syncopated silence. Each sipped their hot chocolate and gazed at the moon. Here, in the moonlight, with the forested mountains in the background, she was in tune with nature’s energy. Aunt Mallory always claimed that Piedmont, where the ancient Appalachians gradually bottomed out, was a special place filled with secrets, whimsy, and mountain lore of old customs and old ways. Callie could almost picture fairy rings deep in the piney woods.

  “This is awesome, Grandma Jo. It has a hint of mint or some kind of herbal taste.”

  “One of my special concoctions,” she answered, flashing a look at Mom.

  “You’ll have to teach me to cook while I’m here.” Callie straightened in her chair. “Speaking of which . . . how long are you expecting me to stay?”

  The question startled Mom, who looked to her own mother to answer.

  “At least for a semester or two at the junior college,” Grandma Jo said with her usual calm. “I know we can’t force you at your age, but I promise we have your safety at heart. For tonight, let’s just enjoy being together.”

  They all raised their cups for a toast.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Callie said, feeling a bit light-headed.

  A few more minutes of rocking and moon gazing, and her limbs grew heavy with an unfamiliar lethargy. She shook her head to clear it, but it became harder and harder to keep her eyes open. It was a pleasant drowsiness, like a clock winding down. Her hearing and sight became paranormally acute. Each night sound was amplified, and the waxing moon was extraordinary, a beautiful coral orb.

  “What did you put in that drink?” she heard Mom whisper to Grandma Jo.

  “Just a little something extra.”

  No wonder she felt so strange. Indignant, she stood to give Grandma Jo a piece of her mind. The sudden movement left her dizzy, and she swayed like a drunken sailor.

  “Let’s help her to bed,” one of them said.

  Callie tried to protest, but her body and mind weren’t in sync.

  She leaned on two sets of arms as she wobbled to her room. Someone removed her shoes, and the warmth of a quilt settled around her body. They tucked her in bed like a helpless toddler. They had no right to treat her like she was still a kid. And she would tell them so as soon as her brain functioned again.

  * * *

  Six o’clock a.m.

  Callie stared at the alarm clock in surprise. She’d slept a good ten hours. Quite unusual. Then she remembered. Her own grandmother had drugged her. A fine welcome home.

  She sat up and looked around her old room curiously. It was unchanged from when she’d left seven years earlier. Several prints of ballerinas in lavender tutus hung on lavender walls. The lavender and pink patchwork quilt matched the same color theme. Evidently, at age twelve, she’d been into lavender in a major way.

  Callie got out of bed and tried to unpack her suitcase and hang her clothes without waking everybody up. Normally, she started her day with Tai Chi, and today she was even more eager to exercise after being stuck in a car all yesterday.

  She had no idea when the others would be up, so she dressed quickly and stepped out of the house. The air was heavenly-cool, fresh mountain air. She took a deep, cleansing breath and scanned the backyard for the trail to Lavender Mountain. It would be perfect for a morning hike. The exercise would calm her down, and she’d be prepared to confront Mom.

  * * *

  A slight movement and the glint of sunlight on honey hair stopped him in his tracks as he neared the top of Booze Mountain.

  Although she was a good two miles away on a rock outcropping on the next mountain, James’ supernatural vision zoomed in on the girl.

  She was doing a combination of martial arts and yoga, moving from one pose to another in a fluid, graceful pattern. Even in the crisp, wintry air, she wore only a close-fitting tank top and yoga pants. What a body! Her muscles rippled with each movement. Her high kicks showed off the nice curve of her hips. The hair was a mass of waist-length curls, pulled into a ponytail.

  He had to get closer to see her face; sure it had to be as striking as the rest of her.

  Damn, she was hot. When did she move in town? James realized he was standing still as a stone. He didn’t move, though he knew no human eye could detect him from this distance.

  After about fifteen minutes, the girl stopped and sat on one of the boulders. She appeared to be meditating. Then, with no warning, she jerked as if startled. The girl raised a hand up to her eyes, shielding them from the sun, and looked straight at him.

  James instinctively stepped behind a large tree. How could she know he was here? He waited a few seconds then looked again.

  Nothing. She had vanished.

  Disappointed, he ran a hand through his hair. Unless she was an immortal too, she couldn’t have seen him. As far as he knew, there were only a couple of immortal females anywhere near this area. Females were rare and all immortals immediately sensed when one of their kind was present. It was a primitive, animalistic instinct that prepped them for either self-preservation mode or a battle for power. He sensed nothing from her.

  A foolish grin split his face. It was a coincidence she’d looked his way. But for some unfathomable reason, he had to see her face, had to know if she was the complete package. Tomorrow, his morning jog would be on Lavender Mountain. With any luck, she’d be back.

  * * *

  By the time Callie returned to the house, everyone was heading out—Mom to her job at the local humane shelter and Grandma Jo to her volunteer stint at the library. Geez, she’d been here less than twenty-four hours, and they were already going about their business like today was nothing special.

  “Aren’t you worried I’ll be in danger home alone?” she asked with false sweetness.

  Grandma Jo shrugged into a tomato-red jacket. “You should be fine here at the house. Tonight, we’ll have a talk about you running around the mountain by yourself like you did this morning.”

  Callie crossed her arms at her chest. “If you’re going to treat me like some kind of prisoner while—”

  “Don’t be melodramatic,” Grandma Jo said sharply before softening her tone. “I could stay home today,” she offered. “Things aren’t usually busy on the weekend.” She paused by the door.

  “No, go on. I’ll settle in and maybe later take a drive around town. After all, I did sleep a good ten hours last night because someone slipped me a spiked cup of cocoa.”

  “Well, if you’re sure now,” Grandma Jo said without blinking. She didn’t look a bit apologetic.

  Once she had the house to herself, Callie walked through each room, curious if there were any changes. But it was as if time stopped seven years ago and the same old furniture arrangemen
ts and knick-knacks had been left untouched.

  Magic was everywhere. Crystals hung from every window, casting rainbow rays of light. The kitchen and pantry smelled of dried herbs. Colored candles adorned almost every surface. Much of the outdoors was indoors; potted plants, fossils, river rocks, and water fountains.

  She smiled, thinking of calling Aunt Mallory later. She would get a real kick out of the open secret of their birthright on display. Grandma Jo said that’s how most secrets are best kept, in plain view for all to see. Even their personal and revered Book of Shadows, with its special spells and recipes, lay out on a table sandwiched between Southern gardening books and romance novels. The plain black leather cover had no title emblazoned on its spine.

  Back in Jersey, Callie stuck the label ‘geography notes’ on her own Book of Shadows. It sat on the desk in her room, and none of her nosy cousins ever looked at it. If ‘diary’ had been on the cover, Callie had no doubt they would have shown it to everyone in the neighborhood.

  The house was quiet, refreshing. She would take her time in the shower and then explore more.

  Thirty minutes later, Callie emerged feeling recharged. She put on a robe, went to the den and curled up on a sofa, grabbing her cell phone to update Aunt Mallory. Before she could finish dialing, a loud knock erupted at the front door.

  It sure as hell can’t be for me. No one knows I’m here. She ran to her room and threw on jeans and a t-shirt.

  Ding-dong. Whoever it was repeatedly jabbed at the doorbell.

  “I’m coming,” she yelled. Barefoot, she hurried to the door and opened it.

  “Surprise!”

  A punked-out girl her own age stood on the front porch beaming. She should have looked scary with orange and purple streaks of hair, black clothes with silver studs, and heavily made-up, smoky eyes. But those eyes were full of good humor. Callie smiled back at the vaguely familiar girl.

  “Do you still have a Ouija board?” the girl asked.

  It clicked.

  “Skye. I can’t believe it’s you.” Callie’s jaw dropped as Skye sauntered into the hallway. Hard to believe a mere seven years ago, this rocker chick was in pigtails and blue jean shorts.

  Callie waved Skye into the den, and they sat across from each other and stared. Callie tried not to look too long at the dark lipstick and multiple ear piercings, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “How did you know I was here?” she asked to ease the awkwardness.

  “Grandma Jo told me you were coming this weekend. I drove by and saw the car with Jersey plates, so I knew it was you. Either that or your grandma has her a Yankee boyfriend.” Her grin widened.

  “Oh.” Callie shifted uncomfortably. She felt like a fresh-faced misfit next to her old friend. “It would be more likely for Mom to have a boyfriend than my grandma.”

  “Yeah, I suppose. But your mom kind of keeps to herself though, know what I mean?”

  “I guess.” Actually, she had no clue. Did her mother date? Total strangers probably knew more about Mom than she did.

  An awkward silence descended. When she’d first moved away, she and Skye had faithfully written every week . . . which eventually drifted to every month . . . then dwindled to birthdays and Christmas. . . and then nada, except for an initial flurry of emails when Skye opened a Facebook page. For Callie, the communication was too painful. She’d ask Skye for information on Mom and Grandma Jo. Skye would write back saying she’d bumped into them in town shopping or at the library, they looked fine, etc. Callie’s heart would clinch, wishing she was home, wondering when, if ever, they would let her return.

  Abruptly, Skye leaned forward with an intent gaze.

  “What?” Self-conscious, Callie ran her fingers through her still-damp hair. Was mascara running down her cheeks? Jeans unzipped? T-shirt ripped in a revealing spot?

  “I’m waiting for you to do something incredible.”

  “Excuse me?” Callie said with a snort.

  “You know, like suddenly become invisible or change your eye color or something.”

  Callie gaped. Either Skye had lost her marbles over the last few years or she was making fun of her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Skye shrugged. “People say you’re the super witch.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “Nope.” Skye’s voice was easy and sincere. “Everyone in the coven says you’ll come into your full power on the summer solstice. When that happens, we’ll see awesome magic.”

  “Hate to disappoint you, but I’m just your everyday run-of-the-mill kind of witch. I know a little about herbs, a good bit about channeling energy and casting the elements, but other than that—nada. Everyone makes too big a deal about my birthday falling on the same day as the solstice. It’s a coincidence.”

  Skye’s grin drooped.

  Callie laughed. “Hmm. Let me think. I can do Tarot readings, see auras, and sometimes I can—”

  “Auras! You can see auras?”

  “They’re usually faint,” she admitted. “Unless the person has a strong personality.”

  “What color is my aura?”

  Callie relaxed at Skye’s honest interest. She wasn’t as hard and sophisticated as her appearance suggested. She was still her old friend.

  “Let me grab a candle and set up an altar so we can meditate together. Then I’ll be able to read you.” Callie got a white candle, and together they sat crossed-legged on the floor across from each other. She lit a match, and they stared into the flame taking deep breaths. Callie began a chant:

  “Auras of light,

  rays of power,

  come to me

  this witching hour.

  Harbors of power,

  beings of light,

  be now present,

  grant me the sight.”

  A light breeze blew back Skye’s hair. Callie concentrated on her and allowed her vision to lose focus. Wisps of orange energy encircled Skye’s body. The energy patterns became more vivid and defined as an ovoid shape. Callie closed her eyes again, breathed in and allowed the room to come back into focus.

  “What did you see?” Skye asked. She leaned forward, rubbing a leather band bracelet.

  “Orange, of course.”

  “Like my hair, right?” Skye groaned. “I wish it had been indigo or violet or something cool like that.”

  “It was colorfully unique,” Callie said. “Orange represents cheerfulness, creativity, and a positive outlook.”

  “That’s me. No doubt.” Skye shrugged. “I’d rather be fascinating and mysterious, but I guess you are what you are.” She looked around the room mischievously. “Now where did you put that Ouija board?”

  “I’ll never play with that evil thing again.” At least her friend didn’t appear traumatized by that night. Callie blew out the candle and stood. “Grandma Jo was right. It attracts petty spirits who amuse themselves by scaring the crap out of people.”

  Skye rose. “Let’s take a drive around town. We’ll go in my truck. I’m parked behind you.”

  * * *

  Callie paced the bedroom, waiting for Mom to get home. Spending the day with Skye had been fun, but now it was time for business. They had put her off for years, but tonight she would get answers.

  She walked by the dresser, and her hip bumped against something heavy, foreign. Surprised, she looked down and saw a thick, black book covered in dust that hadn't been there yesterday. She picked it up, curious, and rifled through the yellowed pages filled with a metallic, crimson handwriting.

  Hexes.

  Poison.

  Psychic dominion of the weak.

  Callie clutched the dresser as her vision tunneled to a pinprick of darkness. The book fell from her hands, hitting the carpet with a muffled thud. She took huge gulps of air and waited for the dizziness to pass. When it did, she sank to the floor, weak and nauseous. She reached for the book again in morbid fascination. There were detailed spells and rituals to injure and curse opponents by calling on demo
ns and using frightening ingredients; blood, nail clippings, toxic herbs.

  Mom's?

  Impossible to tell from the elaborate calligraphy with its bold flourishes. She flipped to the front for an inscription, only to see a torn page.

  She didn't want to believe it belonged to Mom or Grandma Jo. But it must. If she was in danger, it was from one of the two. Someone had placed this book on the dresser for her to find. A warning perhaps.

  Pots rattled downstairs in the kitchen, domestic and normal. Grandma Jo was already home when Callie returned this afternoon. If it was her book, why would she leave it out for Callie to find?

  It had to be Mom’s. Callie paced again, considering. It made a sick kind of sense. Mom's breakdown and long absence could have been caused by dabbling in black magic. It had eaten away at her sanity, corroded her mind and will until she broke completely and ended up in the psychiatric hospital.

  The light from a car's beam flared against the windowpane.

  Mommy's home.

  Callie raced downstairs, book in hand. The kitchen was bright and cozy, alive with the comforting smell of fresh baked bread and lasagna.

  “Oh, for the love of Saint Brigid,” Grandma Jo said. “What’s she dragged home now?”

  Mom bustled in carrying a large animal tote with two cats, a huge grin lighting her lined face. “Got a surprise for you, Callie. I think you’ll love him.” She opened the tote and out ran a tiny orange tabby, meowing loudly.

  Callie’s heart melted as she knelt on one knee. The tabby looked at her for several moments, decided she was no threat, and then leaped into her arms. Love at first sight.

  “I knew he was the one for you.” Mom grinned, relaxed in a way only being with animals did for her.

  A mangy-looking, underfed black and white cat walked out of the crate.

  “I declare, Ginnie Fae, why this cat?” Grandma Jo asked, hands on hips.

  “She’s a full-grown female, dropped off last week. I’ve been watching her with the kittens at the shelter, and she’s very patient and loving. She’ll be good company for the tabby.” Mom rubbed the older cat affectionately. “I’ve decided to name this one Willow.” She straightened and sniffed. “Smells great. I’ll help you set out the dishes.” She took a step forward and then stopped, her eyes on the book in Callie’s hands. “What’s that?”