Witch's Mystic Woods Read online

  When he’d first bought the property, Grandpa Henry had planted the row of magical sentinels to protect their home and business from evil. Every tree on the place served practical purposes apart from being decorative. While the ironwood stood strong, he’d rued his choice with each farmer who asked him to fashion tool handles from the tough branches. Said they’d never be back to buy replacements, so he charged them top dollar. Clients didn’t seem to mind the cost, but he was right. They only returned if the wood’s spells needed tweaking for a new purpose. Working the ironwood had left Grandpa with a hunched back and a shoulder that pained him on wet days. He reasoned his injuries caused some folks to call the lumber “musclewood.” But when he died, his empowered soul took up residence in that tree row, claiming he was there to keep his family from the same silly notion of promising to work up the fierce wood.

  Wind swept Larena across the gravel lane and upended her long braid. She caught hold of a low branch and levered behind the smooth trunk to check the surroundings before continuing to the house. Although gusts beat the upper branches, air near the trunk remained strangely calm. That wouldn’t be the case if the blowing accompanied a storm front. Before she could determine the situation, the same headlights as before gouged at the trunks. She glanced backward at the shop and the neighboring farm beyond where the beams slashed along a wide curve. To better hide, she squeezed her shoulders together, her clenched jaw pressed against the rippling, muscle-like bark. “Grandpa, are you in there?” Unable to run the entire line of trees, she could only hope Grandpa’s spirit wafted near.

  Grandpa’s raspy cough came from the tree’s base. “I’m here, Reenie,” he said, his tone tremulous, almost drowned by the pounding of her rapid pulse. The bark under Larena’s cheek undulated, and she heard him more clearly. “Saw you dart from the shop. I tried to get here quick but couldn’t scoot along the branches in this wind. Land sakes. Is a storm brewin’? Had to slip through the root network.”

  “It might be a storm, but it’s coming from the east rather than the west.”

  “Comin’ from Kilfoyles’ way?” The ironwood’s lowest limbs bent protectively around Larena.

  “Yes. See those headlights? Can you tell who it is?” she asked. “I don’t think it’s a witch, so this wind’s probably nothing. Just a cold air thermal descending with the night. You know, meteorology. You can let go of me. I don’t need to be protected.”

  “I’m not acceptin’ your so-called meteor nonsense. The vibrations feel like some kin of the Kilfoyles. But it don’t make sense why they’d be raisin’ this to-do.” He resisted her attempts to wriggle from the musclewood’s hold.

  “What makes you think the wind’s from a Kilfoyle?” She wanted to ask if there was any connection to Sibeal, but knew if she did, she’d be out there all night answering Grandpa’s questions when she needed to get inside and care for Mom.

  The tree’s crown spread until wind shuddered through the trunk. Grandpa coughed and sputtered. “Hmm, a strong will, marred only by regret. Not the complex baggage you’d ’spect with an older person.”

  Larena pushed away from the tree, prying her arms loose and freeing her caught braid. “No magic and no baggage; nothing to worry about. Enough of this silliness. I’m going inside. Have a nice night, Grandpa. Say a good word to the moon for me.”

  “You get yourself in fast, you hear?” His voice cracked as the searching lights illuminated Larena on her way to the farmhouse’s back door.

  From inside the mudroom window, she waved to Grandpa. Branches of his tree twisted to face the waning moon. Larena chuckled as he croaked an homage, and she silently invoked the crescent to remove whatever unwanted energy plagued them tonight.

  “Larena?” With a slight quaver in her usually jovial voice, Betty lumbered from the kitchen, preparing to leave for the night. The long black coat she pulled on covered the violet flowers decorating her shirtwaist dress. Neither transformation seemed in line with Betty’s usual cheerful demeanor. Had she seen the invasive lights? “Is everything all right?”

  Larena forced a grin. “Oh, yes. Just don’t want to miss a chance to try and give my problems away to the moon.”

  “Goddess knows, you sure have aplenty to pass off and that’s the moon to take ‘em.”

  “How’d my mom do tonight?”

  “Not bad.” Betty grimaced, which meant worse than she said. “Awake and calling out names I don’t know. Talked to me like I was someone named Nancy, ’cusing me of wearing her dress. Tried to laugh with her, but it’s hard to say that was a good joke.”

  Larena’s smile drooped. “Nancy was her older sister.” This change was what upset Betty, not the strange lights and wind. Larena had long dreaded the time when the dementia would take Mom away from reality. And one more step away from Larena. Her shoulders sagged with the added weight.

  Betty rubbed a hand along Larena’s spine. “You call me if you’re needin’ anything. Anything at all.”

  Larena nodded, lips pursed tight to hold down new stabs of pain. “I will. Thanks.”

  The sound of the doorknob turning in Betty’s hand triggered Larena away from her suffering. Her gaze rocketed to the outside in search of the mysterious headlights but found only a dark, tranquil night. To cover her baseless concern, she added, “Guess the wind stopped. I was expecting a storm. Looks fine for you to drive home now.”

  Betty descended the steps. “All’s I know is nothing’s forecasted, either by mortal or witch predictions. Good night to you.”

  “Night.” Larena secured the door and peeked in on Mom, who slept soundly in the make-shift dining room bedroom. Due to working late, Larena missed the chance that night to help Mom with dinner and bedtime preparations. She silenced the cry from her heart. Mom’s need for good rest was more important. Larena leaned over and pulled the blanket across her mother’s bare leg. That simple act of caring warmed her.

  Mom stirred. Her blue eyes fluttered open and fixed on Larena. “Lou, honey, is that you? You look tired. Too tired. You’re working too long in the shop. Too tired. Come to bed. Too tired.”

  “Go back to sleep.” Larena patted Mom’s hand, then tiptoed to the kitchen, where she poured a glass of milk and slumped onto a chair at the table, alone. Much more alone than she’d been that morning.

  Under the salt dispenser lay a note in Betty’s flowing handwriting. A reminder of the unpaid bill for her services softened by a smiley face. Larena squeezed her eyes shut, willing tears not to form. A month overdue. She still didn’t have the money to pay. Not and keep the electricity going. Maybe in two weeks. She stared into the glass and swirled the milk as if some answer would be revealed there. Betty deserved to be paid on time, not six weeks late. She was all the help Larena had for her Mom.

  She gulped the last swallow, snatched the phone’s receiver from the wall, and dialed her brother.

  “Hey, Larena.” Emery’s carefree voice blended with buoyant background noise of people cheering. “What’s up?”

  “Where are you? I can hardly hear you.”

  “I’m with some guys in Boston at a Celtics game. You know, talking on a cell phone, one of those modern conveniences you aren’t allowed to use in the coven.”

  “Yeah. Must be nice.” She tortured the phone cord, winding its rubbery coils around her finger. He was having fun, while she battled more hardships every day.

  “Regretting your choice of staying there? You can still leave. Just get rid of the business. I’m sure someone would want it. You deserve a life.”

  She swallowed hard against the truth in the offhand remarks he always threw at her. “I could, but right now this is where I want to be and need to be.” She bit her lip, mad at herself for rationalizing her decisions, as if she had to answer to him because he was three years older and a foot taller. Hell, he wasn’t in charge of her, and barely managed to keep his own life together. She took a deep breath and started over. “The reason I’m calling is because Mom is a lot worse. She doesn’t recognize me. She
’s too weak to walk more than a few steps and has to use a wheelchair.” Larena’s words clumped in her throat, forming a sore lump. With a dry sob, they burst free like a geyser. “I have to bathe her, dress her, wipe her nose, trim her nails, most times feed her, do almost everything for her. Em, she’s wearing Depends. Seriously. I have to clean her butt like a—”

  “Whoa! Too much information.”

  “How dare you choose not to know what’s happening to our mother, and pretend everything’s okay. It’s not. And I need your help. With all the health care, the bills are mounting up. I’m exhausted doing all the work to care for her and run the business.”

  “So get rid of it. Don’t yell at me.”

  Larena barked into the phone, “Doesn’t our family heritage mean anything to you? What about Grandpa Henry, whose spirit lives in the row of ironwoods? And Dad’s been showing up in the elderberry hedge. Just leave them here?”

  Headlights shone through the kitchen window as a vehicle turned around in the drive.

  She stood to peer outside. They looked like the same blue-white light that she’d seen earlier.

  “Um, won’t their spirits move to wherever? Follow you?” Emery’s tone lowered as if expected to show remorse. “I mean you can’t tie yourself down because of them.”

  She balled her hand, entwined in the phone cord, into a fist. “I happen to like what our family has accomplished.” Again, she was back in little sister mode, defending her choices. She sucked in a breath. “Damn it, Em. Mom just started talking to people around her as if they were people she used to know. She’s living in the past. Can you take some time off and come help me? Or at least contribute some money for the bills? She’s your mother, too.”

  “I have three new projects and can’t take time off. I’ll send what I can, but I just bought a new place and am hoping to refinance it by summer. That is if interest rates go down. That’ll free up some money to help you out.”

  “Help me?” Words ignited in her mind and shot at him like missiles. “You mean help Mom, help Dad, Grandpa, your family. Forget about me. I don’t want the help you’re willing to give me.” She slammed the receiver down. The wall that held back her tears crumbled. She leaned over the kitchen table and burrowed her head, away from the world that offered her nothing, inside her folded arms. Perhaps he was right. She had a fantastic offer and should sell. Was that what she should do? Give up the life she loved so the coven would benefit?

  “Larena, wise up,” the maple drop leaf table said with a voice smooth and soothing as its fine shimmering grain. “You can do this.”

  She lifted her head and blinked in disbelief. While all the other furniture regularly offered advice, the maple table always remained tight-lipped, wood grain closed. The last time it had spoken to her was six years ago when Dad died.

  “You’re forgetting. You have talents from your mother that you can use to make more money.” Waves and swirls of the burled surface puckered. “You cut out fabrics for your own clothes here on my top, adding magic almost without effort. Same with your knitting. Why not add spells to handiwork items for sale? Hats, scarves, tree ornaments, think small and quick.”

  “Mom used to do that when I was in grade school to help out with the bills. Maybe I could. The coven market is open seven days a week now to get tourist trade from people visiting Bentbone’s art galleries. I could sell things there. That’s a great idea.”

  She pushed up from the table. After a quick check on Mom, Larena bounded up the stairs to the guest room, which long ago had been repurposed into a sewing and craft room that happened to also house a twin bed. She pulled boxes from the overfilled closet and underneath the bed. Rooting through them like a tunneling mole, she assembled a pile of supplies. Satisfied, she called Betty, who stayed up late enjoying the witching hour, to share the plan to get her paid quickly and to have her come tomorrow an hour earlier.

  Larena’s goal for the night: make as many items as possible to take to the market. Tree ornaments filled the bill. Cut from scraps of fine brocades and satins, she embellished them with colorful embroidery, yarn crewelwork, glass or wooden beads, and added spells to their cotton stuffing. Setting the magic into them also infused her outlook, which kept her eagerly working through the night and reciting remembered poignant poems, cheerful ditties, and joyous chants. Many were laced into the decorations for market.

  But she held to a strict schedule. Upon completing each ornament, she checked on Mom. A routine bathroom visit ended with Mom believing Larena was her own mother. Mom cried and clung, refusing to settle into bed. The struggle reached a peaceful ending when Larena hung one of her new ornaments, which sung a gentle lullaby, on the bed frame. Pleased with how the charm quieted Mom’s usual tossing and turning, Larena made several for the market.

  ***

  As Larena drove to Coon Hollow Coven’s market building, a pale gray sky tinged with fresh pink hope shone above the rolling tree line. Usually quiet on a Tuesday, the building was already alive with commotion thanks to the coming Christmas and Yule holidays. Of the dozen garage doors flanking two sides of the long structure, only a single pair stood open in order to minimize heat loss. Pulling all manner of carts loaded with boxes and crates, sellers jostled through the one entry.

  Why did the coven need the Lockwood property for another marketplace? This one was spacious, with room for over a hundred vendors and an open central aisle that accommodated plenty of food stands and benches for resting. And parking was ample. Situated on a main county road that led straight from Bentbone, the marketplace provided decent access for shoppers coming from the village art galleries. Larena shook her head. The only thing she could imagine was the inconvenience of the ten-mile drive, whereas Lockwoods’ Antiques would be a prime location at only a half-mile from town.

  She parked the shop’s vintage delivery truck and grabbed her load of three shallow boxes, good for one night’s work but meager compared to that of other vendors. Swept inside by the streaming crowd, she easily spotted Kandice Kerry, the affluent marketplace coordinator and wife and mother of two Coven Council members, her husband Art and son Kyle. Dressed in a fitted red skirt suit, the model-tall woman stood apart. Although not as fancy or businesslike, Larena felt proud, wearing her favorite creations, a colorful Scottish Fair Isle yoked cardigan, over a pleated skirt of soft camelhair. She’d made both during happier days, and the spell work in the garments lifted her spirits for this new endeavor.

  Kandice spun to and fro on her red pumps as she chirped hellos and marked her list with a holly-decorated Yule pen. She caught sight of Larena and smiled. “Why hello to you, Larena. Are you bringing goods to sell or donate?”

  Heat crept up Larena’s neck, but she stood taller and spoke with an assertive tone. “To sell. I’ll need to leave these at the community booth since I have to get back to the store.” The strength of her words extinguished the heat of embarrassment, and she breathed more freely. Being poor wasn’t a crime.

  “Of course. Not a problem. And what sort of wares are you offering?” Kandice’s red bow lips curled into a warm, genuine grin.

  “Tree ornaments stuffed with spells. Tagged according to spell. Probably best for mortal tourists, but the lullaby spell worked so well on Mom that some from here may want one for their babies.”

  “Oh, how delightful. I have just the location where those should do well. Follow me.” The coordinator tucked the holly pen into her sprayed-stiff salt and pepper coiffure, turned and zigzagged through the human maze. She exchanged cheery greetings while maintaining the staccato of her heels against the concrete floor. Although a bit over-polished for Coon Hollow, she excelled at community work and treated everyone fairly, which won her hordes of friends.

  At the opposite side of the wide hall, Kandice paused and waved a hand of crimson nails. “This booth will be perfect. It’s staffed by volunteers who are experienced witches, well able to guide tourists to make wise purchases of magical items.”

  “Sounds good.” Lar
ena laid her boxes on an empty table space and opened the lids to reveal fifty lovingly crafted ornaments displayed against silver satin. “My name is on the back of each tag. It’s not much, but I’ll bring in a larger collection over the next few days.”

  “I bet they’ll be gone before day’s end. And such beautiful handwork.” Kandice held an open palm above the collection and exclaimed, “I can feel the spells. Amazing. You’re adept at both your mother’s and father’s witchcraft, which is so rare. With that kind of talent, you won’t have any trouble following your family’s path and empower your soul for the afterlife.” She made notes on her clipboard, and Larena adjusted items that had shifted during transport.

  “With such heaping praise, I have to have a look.” The familiar high-pitched whiny voice made Larena flinch. Sibeal Soot fingered a royal blue heart-shaped ornament, her pointed nose wriggling and sniffing like a brown bear on the prowl after winter hibernation. The carefully wrought spell, a gentle version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” instead wheezed out with the alarming squeak of a pet toy, and the puffy heart flattened like a deflated balloon. Many other spells in the same box expired in the same pathetic way. With her mouth curled into a sly grin, the seer glanced at Larena. “Hmpf. Not so impressive after all. With luck, maybe I can get you at least a token sale or two.”

  As Larena spun and walked straight out of the hall, heat traveled up her neck. Jaw locked, she willed her embarrassment and defeat to transform into rage, which burned at her earlobes. Her resolve hardened, tough as Grandpa’s ironwood.

  Chapter Five: Accomplice and Hunter

  Invigorated by the heat of Larena’s fury, Sibeal smirked at the girl’s back. Only after the market coordinator’s glare caught her, did Sibeal soften her expression to a sad smile. “A real pity for that young woman, facing such hardship with her mother’s illness and running the family business alone.”