Mabon Hollow, page 1
Mabon Hollow
A Ravenwood Hills Novel, Book One
Phaedra Weldon
Caldwell Press
Age is a state of belief. Make the most of your experience, your love, and your heart.
* * *
I love you, mom.
My mom told me I was meant for greater things. I knew she meant in a magical sense. Being the middle child of three, born into a family whose Witchy-ness harkened back to the Salem Trials, sometimes the prospects of greatness seemed limited. I’m pretty sure when I married a Cowen, their expectations plummeted.
Nearly twenty years later, in my CRV with a few suitcases and my cat, Pyewacket, I was over forty, divorced, daughter in college, no job, and no idea what to do with myself as I drove from Florida to Delaware to live with my best friend.
Apparently my greater thing—twenty years later—is to bring magic back into the world. Angels (Elohim) don’t want that to happen. Luckily I have my best friend’s coven on my side, the last of the Fallen, and the Night Shades. In the other corner? Angels and Werewolves. Wings, claws, and teeth.
Oof. Maybe I should have stayed in Florida…
one
Friday morning
September 27
Ravenwood Hills, Delaware
* * *
It started raining the second I crossed the imaginary city limit line into Ravenwood Hills, Delaware. I didn’t know if that was a sign, or just bad timing, or a reflection of my overall anxiety at entering a new chapter in my life. After nearly twenty years of marriage, I was moving to a new city, would live with my best friend, and start over.
Yes, I am woman, hear me roar.
Insert needle across vinyl record here.
Who was I kidding? I was scared shitless.
In nineteen years I’d never traveled outside of Jacksonville, Florida, never even bothered to look outside my comfort zone. I’d found that comfortable little corner where being a mom and housewife had fulfilled my purpose. That is, until my daughter was ready for college and I caught my now ex-husband in bed with one of his students.
Ah, nasty memories. They dig into our brains like little roaches clinging to life in corners as you relentlessly beat them into oblivion with your shoe until they stop moving and you hurl them into the trash or down the toilet. FLUSH.
And still they come back.
Like little horror movie monsters.
Ugh, that was a pretty gross analogy, wasn’t it?
My name is Phinazee Rain Teague.
I’m not kidding. Those are the syllables my parents used to name me. They are free spirits—my parents, not the syllables—and have a tree farm in Oregon.
They’re both members of a little nature worshiping group and have little get-togethers on full moons and old-world holidays.
Yeah…they’re Wiccans.
Witches.
The family rumor is we’re descendants of Edward Farrington and Mary Warren. I was raised as a Witch. There was a time when I believed in magic and I think I actually did a spell or two. My memories of those years are a jumbled mess, from graduating high school to slipping into college. I’d received a very nice scholarship and chose the college the farthest away from Oregon. Of course, my mother took credit for it with her spell-work. I preferred to believe I achieved that scholarship on my own.
At the University of Florida, I studied a myriad of things because honestly, I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up. I looked into horticulture, because of my love of plants and all growing things (I blamed that one on my parents). I looked into computer animation because at the time the industry was really changing. I even looked into being a lawyer—but I learned pretty fast that I did not have the temperament to keep my cool when I thought the other person was lying.
I have a tendency to speak my mind, which I did when I met my soon-to-be husband. He was handsome, with longish dark hair to his chin and blue eyes. He'd been feeding a group of girls a load of horseshit at a party. I called him out on it, pointing out that his information was hopelessly flawed. The girls departed, embarrassed for me and he followed me around the rest of the night insisting that he was right and I was wrong. Eventually I showed him (the next day), I was right.
In fact, I discovered he was in one of my classes. Chemistry. And we discovered we had…chemistry. Ha!
Clarence Poulson Hughes, Jr. He had two younger brothers, and his family owned a chain of grocery stores along the coast of Florida. They were well off and half expected one of the sons to take over the business one day.
Clarence seemed to have his shit together—with one major flaw.
He did not believe in magic. Wouldn’t even entertain the thought. So when I discussed my parents, I would only say they owned a farm in Oregon. Not much reason to go beyond that.
Me avoiding the truth should have been a large red flag.
Clarence was studying to be a geneticist, entering into Harvard later that year. His dream was to get his PhD and become a doctor. He settled for being a professor at the University of Florida.
Needless to say, I got wrapped up in his dreams so tight, I forgot my own.
But isn't that the way of most of women? I wasn’t raised that way. In fact, my mom was very not-happy about the whole marriage. I still have a vivid memory of her standing with me in the vestibule of the church just before the wedding started (I’d never been in a church until the rehearsal dinner the night before—his parents were very traditional—though my parents wanted a Handfasting, barefoot, in their tree orchard), her hands straightening the veil that was to come down over my face.
She looked at me with a sad expression, my dad showing up on her right shoulder and my brother and sister looking extremely uncomfortable in the background in their dress and tuxedo. My sister was my only bridesmaid.
“You sure you wanna do this?”
It was very disconcerting to have one’s mother—The Goddess brought down upon this world to manifest life for me—ask me that question two minutes before my “I do” was to be said.
And in that moment, I felt a cascade of doubt tumble forward like a wave, catching me off guard at the beach. I saw magic die for me and I nearly cried out as I realized I’d just understood what my immediate future would bring me.
Until the wedding planner—hired by his parents (because they didn't think me capable of planning a wedding)—clapped her hands and told everyone to get into their places. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone—especially not his family. But I’d never really considered whether or not I’d be disappointed.
Or how the Goddess would feel losing a daughter…
The banshee screech of my windshield wiper against a not-so-wet windshield brought my attention back to the now. I sat at a red light, my eyes the size of goose eggs as I gaped in awe at the colors of the trees around me. Hell, not just the trees—the houses! I crawled along at the given speed limit as I took a few unexpected turns and found myself in rural Ravenwood Hills. My Goddess…this place was beautiful!
From my water dappled world inside my late model Honda CRV, I beheld a picturesque town of autumnal beauty.
Leaves of reds, golds, browns, oranges, littered the streets, dusted the tops of homes built at the beginning of this town’s existence. Streetlights sat atop polls on the sides of the streets, and not strung up overhead with thick, garish wires. I turned the car left and found myself moving around a town square, complete with a center gazebo large enough to house a performance. All manner of hardwoods ringed the edge, adding their colors to the rainbow of fall. Pansies planted in rainbows along the sign welcomed everyone to Ravenwood Hills.
My first thought was what movie set had I driven into while I reminisced about my past mistake with Clarence, and my second thought was I am hopelessly lost. I was supposed to go to my best friend’s house where I planned on staying while getting my shit together. But his directions were in my purse, which had fallen onto the floorboard of the passenger’s seat. I was going to need to park and locate Alex’s house.
Alex Gardner. My best friend in the world. We’d met in Jacksonville about five years ago. He was a cop back then, and now a detective. He’d escaped Florida two years ago and come here. And now I was here. And feeling…very misplaced.
I spotted a coffee shop on the right, not a Starbucks, but more of a mom and pop place in a converted house with a wrap-around porch. It would do. Caffeine was caffeine and I needed me some. And a little bit of time to acclimate. It was close to 8:30 in the morning and Alex would be at work and I needed to find my directions and his text about where he hid the key.
On my second pass around the square a parking spot opened up and I pulled in. Once the car was stopped and I shut off the engine, a black, fuzzy creature with brilliant gold eyes leapt from the back and onto my shoulder.
My companion and best buddy for over a year, Pyewacket purred against my ear and rubbed his forehead into my hair. I reached up and back and scratched under his neck. “Hey bubbles,” I said softly. I adored this cat. He was a stray that showed up outside the house in Florida, the very day I found my husband in his compromised position. I’d been in the swing in my little garden in the backyard, bawling about how my life was a lie, and a harried little meow scream took my attention. I looked down, and there he was.
He wasn’t a large cat. I’d had large cats before. He was petite and fit into my large purse with ease. He seemed to like it there, so he traveled with me everywhere. I’d never had a purse-pet before. He jumped down into the passenger’s seat as I leaned over and pul
He stuck his head out and meowed at me.
I bent down and put my forehead to his. “I really wish you could talk, little guy. Sometimes I think you have a great deal to say.” I glanced at the dark Mercedes parked next to me as I pushed the door wider, careful not to ding the expensive car, and with a smile at Pyewacket as he ducked down into my bag, I muttered, “Here we go.”
My first step into a new city, a new state, and a new adventure.
If I’d only known…would I have gotten back in that car and never returned?
two
The interior was comfy, and not just in an aesthetic way. I mean, yeah, it was a converted house, but whoever designed it combined a franchised coffee layout with the homeyness of…well…a home. Glass enclosed the wrap-around porch from floor to ceiling. Tables for two and four sat along the walls and presented customers a picturesque view of the square in front of the business.
Tall, cylindrical heaters kept the area nice and toasty. Once inside, my jaw dropped when I realized someone had knocked out the front wall of the house and included the porch. An octagon counter greeted customers with shelves of goodies, including mints, coffee cups, pre-packaged cookies and a host of things I needed, but didn’t really need.
Ya know?
The place smelled of coffee, hazelnut and vanilla.
And…something else. A wonderful scent. It reminded me of a cologne musk, something I’d only smelled once…maybe twice in my life, from a man passing on the street. It was here…in this place.
I was third in line to order. To the right was the pick-up line with one man standing there, his back to me. He was dressed in an expensive black trench coat and Italian shoes. I recognized those shoes because Clarence insisted on buying a pair like that once for some dinner and then never wore them again. All I saw when I spotted them in the closet was a hole where five-hundred dollars used to be.
The guy’s hair was dark and well-trimmed, though a bit long at his collar. He was bent over, facing away, and I assumed he was looking at something, most likely a phone. Everyone was bent over phones these days. Even me. Though I realized at that moment I hadn’t actually looked at my phone in several hours.
“Welcome to August Brew—” the woman behind the counter snatched my attention. “You’re new here.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Uh…” I stumbled. “You can tell?”
“Oh yeah,” she waved dismissively. “But it’s okay. You’ve got that just-punched look going on. First-timers take a look and can’t figure out the inside design.”
“It’s…extraordinary,” I said as I neared the counter. It wasn’t too high and not too low. I liked it. A lot.
“Thanks,” the woman said. “Designed it myself. I’m Rose, by the way. I’m the owner.” Rose was an interesting looking woman. She was my height—well, maybe not because I didn’t know if she was standing on something behind the counter—with dark, curly hair pulled back into a short ponytail. I noticed purple streaks moving from her temples backward, and large amethyst earrings dangling from her ears. She wore a matching necklace of silver and amethyst, and one of those nice flowy, cotton tie-dye blouses I always admired on Facebook ads but never got for myself. “What can I get for you?”
I looked up over her head at the menu. “Anything you can suggest?”
She went up on her tiptoes and looked at me. “I’d say…you just got here. You’re a bit lost. And your Familiar is probably a bit hungry…himself? I’m getting a male energy.”
I blinked at her. “Wait…wot?”
She nodded to my bag. “Your purse is moving. I thought I saw a pointed ear peek out.” She leaned over the counter and addressed my purse. “It’s okay, dear. This is a Familiar friendly establishment.”
To my astonishment, Pyewacket peeked his head up and out and blinked at her. He gave a soft meow and I put my hand in the purse and scratched his neck.
Rose nodded. “Oooh, he’s a handsome little guy. I’d say some cream? And some soft scrambled eggs.”
“Oh no, you don’t have to—”
“Yes I do. Kindred spirits. You go find a table—and I suggest a table on the porch so you can see the square—and I’ll bring you something.”
“I haven’t ordered—”
She reached over and put her hand on mine. The shock was palpable and I pulled my hand away. But Rose only smiled. “I love it when I’m right. Just go relax and let the little one out.” She turned away and said, “Next.”
I wasn’t sure what just happened. But I knew I needed to get out of the way. I walked past the pick-up counter and noticed the dark-haired man wasn’t there. I didn’t get to see his face. Though why I was curious about a man escaped me. I’d just gotten rid of one. Why in the hell would I be looking at another problem?
Pyewacket climbed on my arm and settled himself on my neck—his usual position. He was small enough to fit with his front paws and face peeking out from my right shoulder, and his back legs and tail on my left. He looked like a little black scarf—only with claws and teeth.
He nudged my cheek when I passed an empty table in the back of the porch and decided this was where he wanted to be. I sat down at the four-person table, facing the front door and marveled at the view of the square.
I also went over my interaction with Rose in my head. What was going on? No one in Jacksonville had ever been that friendly when I went into a coffee shop. Usually, it was too busy and the ordering and pick-up process was more like an assembly line. But this felt—I don’t know—slower paced? And the way she talked to Pyewacket…it was almost motherly.
A Familiar? I mean, I knew what that was. Mom had an owl. And dad had the cutest little Shitsu you’ve ever seen. A mop head with feet. They took those animals everywhere with them—
Kinda like I took Pyewacket with me. I’d never really had an animal companion. Clarence hated animals. Said he didn’t have enough time for himself, so why bother with a pet? I wanted Cerys to grow up with one, so I bought her a Gerbil, which to my surprise, she also took with her everywhere. Although, she did tell me once her dream Familiar was a Fennec Fox or a Red Panda. I hated to tell her that I didn’t think having those as pets was possible.
But given my daughter’s penchant for manifesting things—well—who knows?
Pyewacket came to me at the right time, and I couldn’t have survived without him after discovering Clarence with that little—
Stop. Stop it now. Thinking about what that bastard did was not going to help me go forward. Besides, the State of Florida was going to take care of him. As were that girl’s parents.
But that brought me back to what Rose said. This was a Familiar friendly establishment? Did that speak of other Familiars in Ravenwood Hills? Were there other…Witches?
I mean, it’s not like the old Highlander movie—we can’t really sense when one of us is near—
“Here we go,” Rose said, abruptly beside my table. I jumped but Pyewacket was already scrambling off my shoulder to the chair beside me where Rose set a bowl of cream and a small plate piled high with soft scrambled eggs and I thought I saw bacon cut up in that. She then set down a plate filled with bacon, more of those delicious looking eggs, wheat toast with butter, just the way I liked it, grape jelly and to my shock, pepper jelly. She set down a beautiful latte with a leaf design in the foam, a glass of orange juice, and glass of water.
“This is too much,” I said, even though my mouth was watering.
“Nah. This is our morning special. You eat up. It’s on the house.”
“On the house?” I frowned up at her and realized her blouse was long and a matching skirt finished off the look. “No, I can pay for it—”
“Everleigh is getting it for you.” She winked at me, gave Pyewacket a scratch on the head, and left.
I sat staring after her, and then looked down at the food. Who the hell was Everleigh? And why was she paying for my food?
