When the murmurs settled, she turned back and surveyed the room filled with at least thirty of the most influential members of Coon Hollow’s coven, founding families and respected leaders. Through the years, most of them were staunch supporters of the Tabard family’s leadership.
Four of the eight Council members were in attendance: the two Kerry men, Sibeal, and her boyfriend Tynewell Tynker. Under that strange love spell, he posed no threat. He’d go along with whatever Sibby wanted him to believe. Nathan Wells wasn’t there. No surprise since he was a loner. Clarence Douglas hadn’t come. No pity. Adara didn’t miss his progressive righteousness which often blocked her actions as high priestess. No one expected Oscar Burnhard, who was suspended pending the outcome of his criminal charges. But she thought Rowe would be present. And maybe even Logan. However, those absences presented no real problem.
It was the Kerry family, or Art’s wife Kandice, who commanded the coven’s social scene. She coordinated the highly successful coven market, which brought in enough tourist revenue to provide income for a third of the members. Dressed in a smart pearl-gray suit and matching heels, Kandice spent ages gaggling at the dessert table, filling her plate with only two confections.
With a smile and a slight nod to her hostess, Adara addressed the group. “I want to thank Estelle for opening her home on such short notice.”
From her perch on the arm of the upholstered chair fully claimed by her husband’s girth, the woman replied with a dismissive gesture. “We’re just happy to welcome you home, aren’t we, dear?” Her bony arm fluttered across his wide shoulders. Even when the steely curls of her bob brushed his bald spot, the man sat silent, knees relaxed outward. Though his hooded eyes gleamed, fixed on Adara.
She muffled a chuckle. Apparently, Estelle hadn’t told him the abbreviated version of what Adara was about to reveal. Joe knew her too well and clearly was anticipating a good show, which she intended to deliver. “It’s wonderful to have such a warm welcome and to be back living in my old homeplace. Those I visited with at Fable resort’s Yule party may know that I spent the past few months away recuperating. Not only to restore my powers, but to renew my focus. It turned out to be a surprise opportunity. Taking time off from the busy schedule as high priestess allowed me to realign my purpose, rededicate myself to enhancing life here in the Hollow.” Her voice rang clear and strong as she met each pair of eyes. The truth of that ultimate goal, zinging through her entire body, bolstered her to relate—even justified—the misinformation she was about to tell.
“High Priest Logan is doing a remarkable job.” Kyle interrupted her prepared speech, his tone deep and assertive, his broad shoulders leaned into the crowd. “With him, our Council has ferreted out criminal rings and enacted legislature to bring advancement to the coven.”
“Sometimes change can be good, but not always. Take you and your father for example. Art worked on the Council for years under my guidance, and my mother’s before me. His decisions made on behalf of the coven are tempered with experience. Yours are perhaps more impulsive, as may be those of the new high priest.” Without breaking her rehearsed delivery, she captured the glare from Kyle’s narrowed eyes. Her lips curled ever so slightly, but she took no pause as she seamlessly continued her persuasion.
“Although I’m only a little older than you, Logan, and your peers, I have decades of Tabard history in coven leadership at my disposal. Without adequate background to moderate careless and impulsive decisions, we stand to lose much of what we treasure in our lives here, what we’ve worked hard to attain.
“That is the very reason I returned: to bestow knowledge for the sake of the greater good. And is why I must disclose the darkness of someone who serves you all in a high position. What I must make public is difficult for me—it reveals my own shortcomings, but I now walk a higher path and am willing to suffer any reproach.” This portion of her speech rolled smoothly off her lips. More than anything, she wanted people to believe she was righteous and honorable, like Keir. Can I pull it off?
Time for her planned dramatic pause. Desperate for a steadying breath, Adara gulped air, her lungs refusing to relax. Instead, she silently counted to ten, allowing the impact of her words to sink in.
No one dared to speak, not even Kyle, but many shifted in their seats or watched her from over of their cups. Though their expressions were unreadable, she did own their rapt attention.
“When I began my term in office, in interest of progress, I appointed a second seer, Keir Sheridan. I did so at the request of our members, many wishing to have equal representation of genders in that coven role. As an inexperienced seer, he lacked a client base and consequently the funds to rent an office. To lessen those dilemmas, I offered Keir space in the Council building and worked to establish his clientele. I realize now I shouldn’t have aided him.”
As the bitter lie puckered her tongue, Adara’s hands shook. She tried to still them, then stopped; nervousness would add well to her credibility. Her eyes slid toward the door. If only Keir would appear in this last moment. In past, his dimpled smile was enough to brush away the guilt from her web of deception. What prevented him from doing so now? Especially after she’d changed, now reached toward his lofty standards?
The door opened and footsteps sounded in the foyer. Her heart sped.
A moment later, an older couple, Herta and Tom, tiptoed in. The woman announced, “Sorry we’re late.”
Heat crawled up Adara’s spine. She could wait no longer, had to proceed with her plan. Her best seemingly wasn’t good enough for Keir. He’d chosen that naïve girl, Unole, instead.
Adara moistened her lips. “I should have exposed Keir Sheridan’s true nature sooner. My appointment of him should have been revoked. It was during his initial year, when he had little work and perhaps too much time, he … um … made advances toward me … of a sexual nature.” She cast her eyes downward to affect an air of embarrassment and dishonor. “I knew better, but didn’t wish to lose the seer everyone had requested.” She sucked in an audible breath. “I found myself engaged in a year-long relationship with Keir Sheridan that included kinky sex, submission, and bondage.” She rubbed one of her wrists, in an attempt to signify she had been the victim and avoid statement of an outright lie. Only then did she look up and gauge responses.
Della Washburn, directly in Adara’s line of sight, tipped her cup. Tea dribbled down the woman’s leg, creating a welcome diversion for Sonia and Glendy on either side as they hurried to clean her up with overzealous care.
Others broke their blank stares and looked away when Adara’s eyes met theirs. Some faces had gone pale, others red, whether from embarrassment or betrayal, she didn’t know—didn’t care. Either response worked for her.
Only when Kandice Kerry hopped up and managed to bolt out of the room on four-inch stilettos did Adara worry.
The socialite’s movement set the room into motion. Too many, from all corners of the room, volunteered with napkins to help poor Della, while a throng gathered to console Adara.
Concerned about whatever Kandice was doing, Adara slipped away into the dining room to refill her cup.
Kandice spoke heatedly into a phone, her crimson nails blurring through the air as if a warning flare to whomever she spoke. Adara considered approaching the Councilman’s wife to reinforce her argument. She needed the woman’s confidence but changed her mind when she spied Kandice’s husband and son.
The same hue of red flamed up the necks of both councilmen. Art’s thick peppered brows knotted together, his eyes zeroing in on Adara. His son ground his teeth. When Kyle’s gaze locked on hers, he lurched from his seat, parted the crowd, and headed straight for her.
The group around her was embroiled in besting each other about obvious signs they missed that would have revealed Keir’s dark side. Glad for that, she set her cup down and excused herself without concern though not soon enough.
Kyle reached for her arm, and she dodged between a clutch of large women toward where the
hostess stood in the foyer.
Adara drew a shaking hand to her chest—the fluttering reminded her of her role. She accentuated the trembling a degree, then, feigning the need to steady herself, grappled for Estelle’s arm and said, “Thank you so kindly for this tea. I … I think I must leave.”
“You poor thing. I’m not at all surprised.” The hostess clutched an arm around Adara’s waist. “What an ordeal. It took such courage to tell everyone the truth.”
As if on cue, Sibeal appeared with her hexed boyfriend in tow like a puppy dog, and offered, “Let me drive you home.” She whispered in Estelle’s ear and waited only long enough for the hostess to redirect Kyle to where Tyne hovered, before leading Adara out the front door. Sibby chuckled. “Don’t think you’re going to convince that young one.”
“No. But I’d hoped to get his mother on my side. Not sure who she spoke with on the phone while in the kitchen.”
“Wish I could help, but Kandice has never cared for me. Too stylish and uppity for my frumpiness. The way the two of you used to compare notes on shopping, I figured by your new outfit alone she’d be with you.” Sibby heehawed as she plopped into the driver’s seat and drove off. “Your talk seemed to go well. You’re a darned good actress—though I could tell some parts were the real deal.”
“Do you think the others could tell the difference?”
“Nope. Tyne couldn’t. He flinched at all the juicy bits. Afterward, everyone I heard was wantin’ to formally remove Keir from his position. I enjoyed that bit the most. Can already feel my wallet gettin’ fatter.”
Fidgeting with her black polished nails, Adara questioned Tyne’s competence as a reliable indicator. A dull ache lodged in her chest, not from her lies but from knowing that Keir hadn’t shown up and saved her. She’d held onto that hope until the last possible second, like miserable sappy women who needed a man to justify their existence.
She should’ve known better. She’d seen him through the window at Chuquilatague’s sitting on the couch with Unole tight against his shoulder. Tears leaked from Adara’s eyes. Though tempted, she couldn’t alleviate the pain by seeking revenge upon the girl. Even by her previous darker standards, she couldn’t rationalize that action: Unole had saved her life. Adara swiped the corners of her eyes and set her mouth in a scornful scowl—she didn’t allow people to make her cry.
After a moment, she asked Sibby, “Will you help me set some wards around my house? Double the power seems like a good idea, considering the reaction of those two Kerry men.”
“Will do. I can stay the night if you’d like,” her friend chirped in a perversely happy tone that matched the look on Tyne’s face at the party.
Sibby’s reaction was so far out of line from Adara’s dire situation, she began to doubt her best friend and declined the offer.
As they rounded a curve, the Tabard house came into view. A yellow Studebaker roadster was parked in the driveway. And Rowe leaned against it. Adara’s spirits immediately brightened. Of course. He needed her empathy, now that Keir had rebuked him and moved to the reservation. They could console each other, become better friends. He saw the new light in her heart, even if Keir didn’t.
Chapter Nineteen: Exposed
Left alone while Rowe tracked down Adara, Keir paced the enormous first floor of Rowe’s manor house. His friend hoped to convince Adara to stop spreading rumors. Stronger action, allowing her no choice, might have proved wiser: favors from that woman came with a price. Keir meandered around furniture in the larger parlor, through the connecting foyer, and to the more formal receiving room.
Preoccupied, he didn’t notice the wide wingback chair, inhabited by the empowered spirit of Rowe’s Aunt Tilly, until her arm swept him up in a wide arc and said, “Give your soul a rest and sit a spell.” She spun him into her plump cushions, scarcely different than the big woman’s hugs when she lived. What she likely intended as comfort during his time of grief, instead smothered him. No matter how he squirmed, Tilly wouldn’t let him free.
The clanking of the knocker provided a welcome escape, or so he hoped. Walking through the entryway, he sucked in a breath and squared his shoulders before opening the door.
Matilda MacElroy’s mouth dropped open. She froze for an instant before whirling on the heel of her black oxford. She took the steps so fast that her prim salt-and-pepper bun bounced and catapulted hairpins, as if a detonating weapon to deter him from following.
“Mrs. MacElroy, please wait.” Keir chased after her. At least two feet taller, he easily outpaced her and halted on the walk ahead. “What’s wrong?”
She lifted her nose in the air, her throat straining against the starched white collar of her dress. “I came to speak with Councilman McCoy—not the likes of you. I have business with him concerning the annual magical, puppet-animation show. To tell him your assistance with the children is no longer welcome.”
“What? Why not?”
She quirked a brow. “People now suspect you might be a pedophiliac or pedophile or some such, from your abhorrent preferences. I’ve already gotten three calls from concerned mothers.”
He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm his scrambled thoughts. “What is this about? I’m not a pedophile.”
“You’re a pervert.”
“No, I’m not.” He lifted his open palms. “I’m the same shaman you’ve trusted for years to care for your entire family.”
She hissed in his face, “Not any more, you sadist. You tied up Adara, that poor woman, and whipped her.”
“She forced me to do those things. I had no choice.” His mouth went slack as his client crossed her arms and eyeballed him with irises as gray as the weathered tin of Rowe’s garage roof.
“Pffft. How could a woman force any man to do those sorts of things?”
He bristled at these accusations, his neck and face hot. “She was the high priestess and capable of black magic. I was a kid who needed a job.”
“You’re telling me she paid you for those services—as a gigolo?” She choked out a hoarse, mocking laugh.
“No, you don’t understand.” He reached for her arm, but she flinched away and marched toward her car. He followed a few steps. “Wait. Mrs. MacElroy, please. I can explain.”
She never looked back, never met his gaze even when she turned to get into her car.
As he watched her drive away, his stomach clenched around a hardening pit.
He leaned against the trunk of the lawn’s oak tree and looked up for Busby, who wasn’t there. Twilight shrouded the sky in indigo and purple, a time when wildlife gave their last squawks, trills, and whoops before settling into nests or burrows. Yet, no sounds came from the woods across the road or from the banks of Owls Tail Creek behind the property.
He remained there watching the sky darken to inky black. Waapake was gone. Keir’s closest companion, a true soulmate, took a part of his magic into death. He had never felt more alone: his clients—at least the straight-laced ones like Mrs. MacElroy—had cast him out; his friendship with his best friend was stretched thin; Unole had run and hid from him.
He glanced at Rowe’s house. It seemed to be retreating into the night’s shadows and away from him. That didn’t matter; he couldn’t stay here. Not after hitting Rowe. And it wasn’t home—but where was?
Freezing mist prompted Keir toward his car though he had no destination, no goal.
He drove to his own house. Numb from all he’d lost, not even stakes of failure and guilt driven into him by the family home and its handed-down keepsakes could bring pain.
The surreal veil of death still cloaked his home in darkness. Security lights shone solely outside the property lines in strange, malformed arcs. That also didn’t matter; he didn’t need to see anything or feel anything.
He turned onto the driveway and cast a half-hopeful look at the porch in case Waapake’s spirit happened to wait for him. But nothing stirred there or around the garage where he parked. The bucket and log, his coyote’s toys, hadn’t moved�
�weren’t even stirred by Adara’s deceiving north wind.
Keir trudged toward the back door, shielding his wounded soul with a trance-like stupor.
In the mudroom, he avoided turning on lights to resist facing reality. His body worked methodically to kick off boots and hang up his jacket.
Feeling his way from room to room, he sank into the soft leather of a parlor chair. He grimaced into his hands, willing tears stuck in his throat to flow and purge the ache throbbing against his skull. No sobs would come. Instead, the effort intensified the pain, creating knife-like jabs at his temples.
The phone rang and shot an excruciating stab into the base of his brain. He stumbled to the kitchen and picked up the landline. Thirty-nine messages flashed on the answering machine.
“Keir, is that you? How you doing?” the cobbler’s hearty voice greeted him.
“Hi Chester.” Keir didn’t know how to answer the leading question and avoided it. “What can I do for you?”
“From what I’ve been hearing, I suspected you might not be doing so well. Just wanted to check on you. Have you found your coyote?”
Keir squeezed his eyes shut. He’d assumed everyone knew about Waapake. “He’s dead. Adara—”
“Oh, dear God. I am so sorry. I didn’t know. What happened?”
“Adara killed him.” Keir’s words rang hollow, tinged with his own disbelief.
“Adara. Um. I wanted to ask you about her.” Chester’s voice flattened.
“What has she been saying about me?”
Witch's Windsong Page 15
