Coon Hollow Coven Tales 1-3 by Marsha A. Moore

Author:Marsha A. Moore [Moore, Marsha A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-01-10T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen: Bones and Stones

I peered through the passenger window as Logan drove. A shiver shot through me. “The moon’s in first quarter tonight.” Its angular points threatened me like sharp steel blades.

“October first.” He nodded, and his mouth twisted. “Thirty more nights before the Coon King’s riddle must be solved.”

My hands shook, and Logan reached across the bench seat to hold the one nearest him. With the comfort of his warm, strong touch, the moon seemed to transform. Its glow highlighted the deep red of his sedan’s shiny hood. A lingering scent of wax hinted he’d spent time polishing his car that day. Was that to impress me? Butterflies tickled my stomach and drove off the last of my trembles. I squeezed his hand and, in return, received his handsome grin.

We wound across rolling hills of small fields and pastures, then turned onto a twisty narrow lane. The corner sign read Owls Tail Creek Road. Dark tunnels of trees overhead blotted out the moonlight and any chance of spotting the creek.

The old sedan handled the curvy road better than I did. With my free hand, I gripped the edge of the seat.

From a heavy branch overhanging the road, a barn owl swooped at us, its breast snowy-white in our headlights. I gasped and reflexively lifted my hands to strike, fingers dripping golden sparks.

Logan jerked my arms down. “Stop!” His reaction caused the car to swerve left and we headed for inky blackness.

I gritted my teeth, imagining all sorts of hazards: a deep ditch; a tributary streambed; old-growth tree cover admitting no light.

Logan clutched the wheel and cranked it hard. The Nash lurched away from the unknown. He slammed on the brakes. The car sputtered complaints until it died on a driveway inches behind an open-top roadster.

“Phew! That was close.” Logan collapsed back against his seat, arms slack, head tilted upward. His chest rose, and he hissed an exhale through pursed lips. “At least we’re here and safe.”

“I’m sorry.” I glanced at him, then the house. A red brick Victorian loomed large, commanding my attention. I murmured, “The owl—”

“Belongs to Rowe.” He waved to the raptor as he fluttered to perch on the car ahead.

He rotated his moonlike face toward us and gave a hoot.

Logan leaned over the steering wheel. “That’s Busby, Rowe’s familiar. I can imagine how that looked to an outsider. A tremendous owl, wings spread, coming right for us.”

Although he meant nothing hurtful, calling me an “outsider” struck a nerve, and I bristled.

He grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. I hoped that meant he understood the reason for my sudden coldness. He looked up at the house and said, “I forgot to warn you about them. Which reminds me. This is Keir’s place, and he has a coyote for a familiar. Name’s Waapake, which means ‘to see.’ A Shawnee wise man gave the male pup to Keir when he completed his training.”

“How cool! A seer who practices Native American ways.” I released Logan’s hand and stepped out of the car.

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