“Terra, dear, can you come over tomorrow? I want to practice my magic but find I need your help to do it,” Jean Branchworthy said to me as she continuously snapped her fingers trying to exude a spark. “See. Nothing.”
I nodded as the ladies settled down, each taking a seat around the table. Pixel pranced around their feet, tail upright, sniffing for any hidden treat and making gurgling noises.
Mrs. Twiggs slowly walked to the table, carrying a very old and tattered black pointed witch’s hat. She carefully and respectfully placed it in the center of the table. All the ladies removed their hats and placed them in a circle around the hat.
“Tonight, we remember our fallen sister, Emma Tangledwood. We pray for her light to follow its true path to the next world while we release her magic into our world.” Each of the ladies stood and placed a hand on Mrs. Tangledwood’s hat. The ceremony was a token of love, grief, and respect.
I drifted away, remembering a similar night. A group of young Cherokee healers had come to train with Agatha. She closed the curtains as the candle glow illuminated her long, angular face. I saw a glimpse of her true self, and I never looked at her the same way again. My eyes flew open. I thought I saw Mrs. Tangledwood’s hat move, just a twitch, no more than a field mouse’s whisker. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief until I noticed the ladies appeared to have seen it also. They were quiet, wide-eyed, and waiting. Another twitch. A collective gasp rose from the ladies gathered around the table. This was not Emma Tangledwood; this was not of her making. The hat flew off the table, knocking Mrs. Stickman to the ground.
“Abigail,” I shouted. “Read the incantation—now—Abigail, speak the words,” I urged her, rubbing against her with force.
Abigail stood, watching the hat in disbelief as it flung into dishes and crashed into pots and pans.
Mrs. Loblolly grabbed the hat in midair and wrestled it to the floor, wrapping her body over it. When she looked up to smile at us, she was hurled into the blazing fireplace.
Mrs. Stickman raised her arms, releasing a deluge of rain over Mrs. Loblolly, extinguishing the fire. Smoke filled the room.
“Abigail,” I screamed over the downpour.
Pixel pounced from under the table, grabbing the hat in his teeth. He rolled around the floor, ripping at it with his claws.
“Tied by knots of thread, held by hands of dead, bound by earth, covered by dirt, lie eternal by woods.” Abigail said as Pixel flew to the ceiling entangled with the shredded hat. Pixel and the hat fell to the floor with a thud.
Pixel stood up, shook himself off, and stared the hat down. “Bad hat,” he scolded, giving it one more swipe with his paw before he turned his back and started cleaning himself.
Chattering away, the ladies settled back around the table as if nothing had happened.
Abigail stood still, her eyes on the hat. “What just happened?” she asked. “Am I crazy? Or did a possessed Halloween costume go crazy and tear up the cabin? Terra?”
“I-I…” I had no response.
“What are you all doing?” Abigail asked. “I don’t know about you, but I’m shook and mad, really mad. Aren’t you supposed to be the dream team? The League of Justice? The most powerful white magic in Asheville?”
“Abigail, calm down. This is why I’ve had you study the spell books. Magic cannot be destroyed, only transferred,” I said, nuzzling up to her and rubbing against her. “The magic left by Mrs. Tangledwood’s passing was absorbed by her hat. The dark creatures we woke in these mountains craved that magic. They would use it for evil. Mrs. Tangledwood left that magic for us. Magic is neither white nor black, evil nor good. It is how we use it and who commands it.”
“I miss Emma. She was such a good friend,” Doris Stickman said, her eyes clouding with tears. Although it had been over six months since Emma Tangledwood passed, the ladies still missed her. A gentle rain flowed over the table, focusing on Mrs. Stickman.
“Doris, you’re doing it again,” Mrs. Twiggs scolded.
“Oh dear, I’m sorry. I can’t control my emotions.” Mrs. Stickman held a handkerchief to her eyes.
Walking around the table, Mrs. Twiggs put her arm around Mrs. Stickman. “Bless your heart, Doris. I miss Emma too.” She paused and then said, “Emma lives on in our hearts and through her legacy. She donated the proceeds from her estate to the preservation fund for the Biltmore Estate and its grounds. I’m stopping at the Tangledwood Estate tomorrow to help Miss Hartwell sort through her belongings for the upcoming estate sale.”
I nudged her. “Yes, Terra, I know we have more urgent matters to discuss,” Mrs. Twiggs said. “Terra, why don’t you explain to our friends?”
I leaped onto the table. As I paced back and forth, I searched for the words that I could not find. “The black magic that took Mrs. Tangledwood opened a door for other magic to enter. The woods are awakening. I’ve seen shadows stirring. Shadows drawn to our white magic. They need to feed off us, drain us of our light.” We all stared at the shredded hat. A dark cloud gathered over Mrs. Stickman. Pixel leaped into her lap, kneading her with paws and purring. “No fear. No fear. Terra fix.”
Mrs. Stickman smiled. As quickly as it came, the dark cloud disappeared, and a small rainbow appeared in its stead. “I will be working with each of you individually to help you.” I assured them with a confidence that I hoped I could live up to.
Abigail stood up and passed out spiral-bound notebooks to each of the ladies. The ladies browsed through the books, studying the handwritten recipes.
“These are basic spells, potions, incantations. All of them will help you focus on your individual powers,” I explained, walking back and forth along the table.
Mrs. Loblolly raised her hand. “I can’t read this. What language is it?”
“This is Ogham. It’s an ancient language of the druids. Each of the stick symbols you see represents different trees. Each tree has different words associated with it, depending on how the symbols are arranged. The symbols themselves hold great power. They’re still used on headstones to this date to open portals to different realms.”
“If we can’t read these spells, what good are they to us?” Mrs. Loblolly said.
“They’re written in that language because very few can read it, and I’m going to teach you all how to read Ogham starting tonight.” I used my paw to point out a symbol in the book. “This symbol is for the rowan ash tree, my bloodline spirit tree.” I pointed at the two adjacent symbols. “This is the oak, and this is the thorn. When the three combine, it makes the holy trinity of the fairy world.”
Abigail stood up again, walking around the table. Standing behind Mrs. Stickman, she pulled back her silky black hair and placed a silver pendant around her neck. Mrs. Stickman examined the pendant, which was engraved with the oak, ash, and thorn trees. Abigail repeated this, placing a pendant on each woman. “These will help protect you as you learn. Their strength comes from our strength. Those pendants are all formed from the same piece of silver. The woman who owned this cabin owned that silver. She blessed it and enchanted it,” I said, remembering Agatha Hollows hiding the silver in her storehouse so the soldiers would not find it.