A Wishing Moon (3 page)

Rachel relinquished a pair of sunglasses and a toy mermaid—a small
Ariel
doll, which had seen much wear at the hands of a little girl. Slowly, Arabella reached out her hand to accept the pitiful offerings. First the sunglasses; she ran her fingers over the rims and lingered longer on the pieces that fit over the ears and the part which set over the bridge of the nose. These were the areas of the glasses that came into greater contact with Kathy’s face and carried the most lingering vibrations. As she touched the frames, she closed her eyes and tuned into the connection, which bound Kathy McLemore with something she had worn every day. A warm sensation began to flow from the object into her hands. As always, with her eyes closed, she began to see images and started to experience emotions she had no, legitimate, reason to feel. Waves of fear and panic began to seize Arabella as she saw Kathy shout at the little girl to
Run, Lea, Run!
Rough hands threw Kathy to the ground and a sudden blow to the head sent the whole vision into blackness.

Waiting a few moments and trying to get her blood pressure back to normal; Arabella took a few deep breaths. She knew Rachel was literally sitting on the edge of her seat, waiting to hear what Arabella had seen. She dreaded telling her the truth, but the truth was all she had to offer. “I saw Kathy tell Lea to run, and I felt big, rough hands grab and strike Kathy down. Rachel, Kathy and Lea were first attacked in your kitchen.”

Rachel Townsend looked flabbergasted. “There were absolutely no signs of a struggle, not a thing looked out of place.” Her tone did not infer she doubted Arabella, only that she was trying to make sense out of the dreadful news she was hearing.

“
Apparently, someone set everything back into order.” Arabella tried to help Rachel with an explanation. “How about Kathy’s purse and keys, were those left behind?”

“
No, both of those things were missing. The police asked me about the keys and her handbag right off the bat, and when I told them they were gone, they said it was likely she left of her own free will.”

Rachel held out the small doll and Arabella took the toy, dreading this part most of all.

She held the mermaid and touched the small figure the way a little child would, clutching it tightly to her breast, reaching down and rubbing the head and hair on her face. Confusion and terror washed over Arabella and the vision, which came to her eyes, focused on the backyard of Rachel’s house. Lea had been running from someone. Out of nowhere, a hand snatched her off the ground and she felt Lea’s small legs and arms flailing against her attacker. Arabella felt her mouth being covered by a large, rough palm and the airflow being cut off from her nostrils. Coming out of the trance-like state, she choked and coughed, sadly laying the loved, worn doll down on the table. “Lea has been taken, also. I can tell the attacker is a large man, I received no glimpse of his face, but his hands were unusually rough and calloused.”

“
Oh, this is terrible,” Rachel wailed. “I prayed the police were right, but I knew in my heart Kathy and Lea would have never left without telling me. We hadn’t had any serious disagreements, they were not unhappy, and we were making plans for Christmas. Kathy and I had already bought toys for Lea and they are still in the closet waiting to be wrapped—I checked. I knew if Kathy had gone with someone willingly, she would not have left Lea’s Christmas presents behind.” Rachel looked defeated, as if her head was too heavy to hold up. She slumped over and buried her face in the palms of her hands. “Is there anything else you can do, any more you can tell me?”

Arabella thought for a moment about what would be best. “I can use my pendulum and check a map of the area to see if I can tell which way they were taken.”

“
Yes, yes.” Rachel grasped on to any glimmer of hope. “Look at the map!” she urged.

Arabella got up and found her quartz pendulum, which hung on a simple silver chain. In a desk drawer, she found a map of the Texas Hill country and spread the paper out on the coffee table. Then, she sat down in front of it and held the pendulum over the area as near to the Townsend home as she possibly could. She could clearly see Cypress Creek and Ranch Road 12, and so she centered the pendulum near their current location. Usually, the pointed piece of crystal would slowly begin to move and gradually swing more and more toward the area in question. This time, however, the pendulum refused to move an iota. Rather, the mysterious clear jewel stood stock still except for a peculiar downward pulling sensation. A thought entered Arabella’s mind. “Rachel, I don’t think Kathy and Lea ever left your property. Is there some place they could be hiding?”

Chapter Two

The winter solstice had arrived in New Orleans, bringing a slightly cooler temperature of fifty-two degrees. Nanette Beaureguarde shuffled around the dining room table gathering the tools she would need to peer into the future. Each December 21
^st
, she filled a cauldron with water strictly for the purpose of gazing into its inky depths to see what she could see. The murky water came from an old well dug by slaves who had once lived on a plantation in New Iberia parish.

The plantation had been built on the spooky green waters of Bayou Teche. Many had been the time girls would gaze down into the dark waters on the night of a full moon to see if they would behold the face of their future husband. One bright moonlit night in 1956, Nanette Robicheaux had clearly seen the face of Alcee Beaureguarde.

“
Angelique! Angelique!” She called her companion of twenty-five years. “I’m ready to scry!”

The two women were inseparable. Angelique didn’t just work for the family, she was family. She also shared Nanette’s magical way of life. The two ladies practiced witchcraft, or their version of the ancient art. In New Orleans, traditional witchcraft is a combination of the Celtic craft, voodoo, hoodoo, with a little Appalachian Granny Magic thrown in for good measure. If you asked them what religion they practiced, they would tell you Catholic. Their everyday life, however, was filled with mojo bags, spells, charms and a constant awareness of the supernatural.

Angelique came into the room. A few years younger than Nanette and quite a few pounds lighter, her skin tone was the color of coffee sweetened by a few dollops of rich cream. “I have the mugwort and the sea salt,” she announced to Nanette. “The black cord, the crystals and the candles are in the bottom of the buffet cabinet.”

Nanette opened a drawer, withdrew the contents she needed and sat down heavily in one of the straight back chairs. Angelique placed the cauldron in front of her and filled the black cast iron pot with the fresh water. She arranged the black cord in a circle around the cauldron, and sprinkled the mugwort within the enclosed space. “Mugwort will power the spell.” Nanette held her hands, palms upward, and closed her eyes. Angelique sat beside her and watched her work.

Even though Angelique’s background was Santeria, she deferred to Nanette who came from a long line of powerful women. Nanette began by calling the quarters,

“
Guardians of the East, element of Air, hear my plea. Guardians of the West, element of Water, hear my request. Guardians of the South, element of Fire, I ask of thee a boon. Guardians of the North, element of Earth, hear my voice.”

Angelique handed her a white candle and a bottle of psychic power oil made from magnolia leaves. Nanette dressed the white candle with the oil by taking it on the tip of her finger and rubbing the fragrant concoction down the candle from the wick to the base. She lit the candle, and in turn lit a yellow, a blue, a red, and a green candle with the flame of the white candle. Picking up a large amethyst crystal, she held the purple stone in her right hand and began to speak.

“
Water, black as the night.

Grant me the gift of second sight.

Let me see my loved ones dear.

To me reveal their future clear.”

She dipped the crystal in the water, and then touched the cold stone to the center of her forehead. She laid the crystal down and began to gaze into the water.

Several moments passed. Angelique edged closer, but not too close. She did not want to interfere. Finally, Nanette began to speak, “I see much happiness at Wildflower Way. Love will come calling this year.” Nanette leaned over and looked even deeper into the depths of the cauldron. Suddenly, she reached out and grasped Angelique’s hand.

Nanette knew Angelique would understand, she knew her so well. Nanette had seen something bad. Angelique had lived with her through the loss of Alcee and their daughter Aimee. She knew Angelique could feel how cold her hands had become as the heat left her body, leaving her with a cold chill. “I see trouble. I see pain. I see death.”

“
Can you tell who?” Angelique whispered.

“
No, but I am not letting this happen again.” The older woman’s voice trembled. “Call Evangeline and pack our bags. We’re going to Texas earlier than we planned and we‘re staying until I know my family is safe.”

* * * *

Evangeline led the tour group back into the Bayou Magick shop owned by her boss, Cherline Sonnier. The shop could not be called a tourist trap, because the quaint location actually sold supplies for those who practiced real magick. That intriguing fact certainly didn’t keep the tourists from walking in; in fact, the selection of genuine ingredients such as herbs, gemstones, oils, and incenses fascinated them. In addition, real practitioners frequented the store and the possibility of mixing with real magical folk seemed to be an additional draw to those who came to the Big Easy for a taste of the exotic and the mysterious. Cherline had taken advantage of this interest and started a tour of New Orleans, which focused, primarily, on the city’s magical legacy.

A shy teenage girl with glasses and braces managed to edge her way to the front of the others and ask in a low tone, “Are you a real witch?” Evangeline sensed a longing for acceptance and empowerment in the young girl’s words. She wished she had time to spend with the lonely young woman. Evangeline just knew things about people after only a few moments. By meeting the eyes of this girl, she saw parents who were divorced, an unrequited love with the boy next door, and an intense longing to feel in control of her life.

“
Yes, I am,” Evangeline answered. “Witch is not the only term my family uses, we also call ourselves rootworkers.”

Another tourist spoke up, interested in the exchange, “What’s the difference between a rootworker and a witch?”

Evangeline probably answered this question at least once a night on the magic tours. The idea of someone who could really perform magic was intoxicating to most people.

“
A rootworker’s background is mainly hoodoo which is not a religion like Wicca, but true American folk magic. I am a witch; not because I belong to a coven, but because I was lucky enough to be born one.” She showed the group of twelve gris-gris bags, voodoo poppets, crystals and amulets specifically designed to draw love, money or give the wearer protection from their enemies.

Evangeline pushed her long, dark hair off her shoulders. The black dress and floor length cape she wore was, definitely, a costume, but she didn’t mind wearing the outfit at all. Her eyes were Creole black, actually the darkest navy blue. Tall and curvy, with light olive hued skin, Evangeline carried herself proudly. After checking out the customers who had chosen to purchase a few magical items, Evangeline consulted the schedule to see when the next tour group would show up.

The
Walk of Magic,
a two-hour tour, carried the group from the Voodoo Museum on Dumaine to the tomb of Marie Laveau at St Louis Cemetery #1, to Congo Square in the Louis Armstrong Park, with many other interesting stops along the way.

Evangeline had been working for Cherline part-time since she turned sixteen, and now worked full time upon graduating high school. Full time for Evangeline meant the night tours, a schedule she could easily handle and still maintain her full class load at Tulane. Nanette had been pushing her to stay the full four years at the prestigious New Orleans university, but she had her heart set on attending the University of Texas and living near her first cousin Arabella, whom she adored. From what she had read, Austin had the reputation of being one of the few places in the South where her chosen lifestyle would be as readily accepted as it was in New Orleans.

The curtain to the back room shifted and Cherline emerged. “Nanette said for you to come home. There’s a family emergency.”