Witch Clan: Matriarchs by John Stormm (best beach reads of all time TXT) 📖

but things are going to get much worse before they get better.”

“Will they hurt him?” she asked, not sure she wanted an answer.

“Yes,” her mother said. “But he’s been hurt before and he’s tougher than most children. But he’ll need a lot of love to heal, nonetheless.”

“But who, better than yourself for that?” Elvyra asked cheerfully, obviously trying to break the glum mood. “Oh, look. Your granddaughter is here to see you.”

The lioness was keeping her haunches low in the tall grass then pounced and rolled in the grass near her feet.

“I said, Leona’s here to see you,” Willard said, trying to shake her out of her sleep. “It’s early and Ralph and Evy have just pulled in with her baggage. I’ll get some coffee on. Get up, sleepy head.” Emma lay there a moment, collecting her thoughts and recalling her dreams. Pulling on her robe and slippers, she made her way out to the front room. The sun wasn’t up yet and all the house lights were on, revealing a pair of suitcases sitting in the living room and Leona coming out of the bathroom to greet her. Evelyn and Willard were talking in the kitchen and Ralph was checking out his car under the streetlight, making sure everything was in working order, and that all the fluid levels were proper. He was meticulous that way.

“Grandma, I missed you,” Leona said, hugging her. “I got all A’s and a couple B’s this year in school. That makes me an Honor Student.”

“Johnny did very well this year too,” she said. “But I’d expect as much from my two best students.” She pulled Leona in by her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

"It's not going to be the same here without him," Leona said. "But, I'll get to have you all to myself and not feel so selfish."

"Here's your chance to pass up your cousin," she said. "Let's get those suitcases to your room. Johnny has some of your things in his closet for you too. Breakfast will be shortly, so let's hop to it, young lady." She grabbed the larger of Leona's suitcases and started up the stairs with her granddaughter in tow.

Evelyn and Ralph stayed long enough for breakfast and coffee. They had driven through the night from Cleveland to get a jump on the Fourth of July traffic. Leona had slept most of the way in the back seat. It was impossible to miss that she was excited to start her summer studies with her grandmother. Emma smiled to herself as Leona practically rushed her parents off, who themselves were already in a hurry to beat the traffic.

The garden had suffered a couple weeks worth of neglect, while she and Willard took Johnny to be with his mother. Emma and her granddaughter donned gloves and brought out gardening shears and trowels to bring it back to order.

“This tall, lovely lady is called Angelica,” she said, indicating the lacy plant. “Her leaves and roots are used in making medicines and the stems and seeds make an excellent confectionery for flavoring foods and teas.”

“Grandma?” Leona interrupted. “I really need to talk to you.”

“What’s on your mind, little witch?” she asked, picking at some weeds at the base of her plant.

“Aunt Lorry doesn’t like witches, does she?” Leona said with a troubled frown.

“That’s not true, dear,” she objected. “She loves us all very much, I’m sure. She was the last of my girls to leave home.”

“But Mommy and Aunties say she never liked the craft,” her granddaughter persisted.

“Well, no.” She paused. “I guess she didn’t. She never had much time for it, and had all her own friends outside of the family. She’s experienced more than her share of her grandmother’s magick while growing up, but you must understand that some of it didn’t work out so good for her. Why does this trouble you?”

“Daddy knows almost nothing about all this,” Leona said, spreading her arms to indicate everything around her. “So Mommy and me don’t talk about these things when he’s around. But when I’m with you and Grandpa Willard, I can talk and ask all I want and be as witchy as I like. Does Uncle Dave or Aunt Lorry have any idea what Johnny is like?”

“Not exactly, dear,” she said reluctantly.

“I couldn’t imagine what it would be like if he lived in my home, with us.” Leona went on. “My dad would have a nervous breakdown in a month, and my mom is a little uncomfortable around him too. I can‘t imagine Johnny being Johnny, anywhere else but here.”

“Neither can I, little witch,” she said with a sigh. “Hopefully, by this time next year, we’ll have our boy right back where he belongs. Then all of us will be happier.”

“I’ve been so worried since Mom read us your letter about taking him out to California,” Leona confessed. “Even she was shaking her head as she read it. I feel so bad for him.”

“Not too bad, I hope,” she said. “He’s got a new baby sister that just thrills his little heart, and a whole new kind of Nature to get acquainted with and you know how curious he gets about anything he’s never seen before. He has a big field across the street where he can go play and be himself without upsetting his parents. He’ll make the best of it, I’m sure. Now, back to this elegant lady named Angelica, dear...” Emma directed the conversation back to the garden work and her lesson in herbology. In the far back of the yard, Willard was working on one of his projects making a storage shed. Every so often the sawing would stop and Willard looked back over his shoulder at an empty fort and sighed. Emma pretended not to notice.

They weeded the garden and harvested some of the herbs that were ready. After they cleaned up and had lunch, the lessons resumed their pace in the summer kitchen. Here, she taught Leona how to prepare several varieties for decoctions and tinctures for her cabinet while others dried on hooks or in ventilated baskets. In the process of discussing the properties of medicinal plants, Leona also learned the essentials of basic spellcrafting.

“There are warm spells, dry spells, dizzy spells,” Emma recited, “fainting spells, sit-a-spells, rainy spells and on and on. What clue does that give you about spellcraft?”

“That it’s a period of time where something is happening,” Leona answered.

“Exactly that,” she said. “For a witch, a spell is a period of time, where a certain influence, or even more than one, is brought to bear, to bring a desired goal to pass.”

“But that covers just about everything,” Leona protested.

“Yes, it does,” she agreed all too gleefully. “A wise woman learns to artfully weave these circumstances to manage her environment.”

“But that’s hardly magick at all,” Leona observed.

“When you know what‘s going on,” she explained, “the less it seems like magick, even if you‘re calling up faeries. To the aborigines of the South Sea Islands, the airplane was a magickal construct, because they didn‘t understand the science behind it. If you were to ask most people how the airplane flies or how their television works, they couldn‘t tell you. The best of them might say it was something to do with wings, or use some words like volts, amps or ohms. But because they still didn‘t understand the principles that caused them to operate, these would be little more than magickal mumbo jumbo, but to those wizards of engineering and electronics, those words would explain so much more.”

“So, the more you know, the less it seems like magick,” Leona concluded.

“Oh, there’s more than enough real magick happening everyday,” she said. “People often refuse to acknowledge it. They couldn’t explain it and don’t understand it, but to them it happens, just because...”

“You mean, like the forces of nature?” Leona asked.

“In general, yes,” she said. “But don’t forget the forces of their own nature. People often don’t understand even themselves. To a witch, all of these things and more serve as tools. Here’s a good example: Your Grandpa Willard often forgets things, like he forgot to mail this letter today. He doesn’t like to be nagged about things. He’s a grown man and he likes to think he’s his own boss, so he’ll resent you if you remind him.”

“So, what do you do?” Leona asked. “Mailing it yourself is hardly a worthwhile spell. You’ve got enough to do already.”

“True,” she said. “But Grandpa Willard has a nature that I can rely upon.”

“To forget to mail a letter and get mad if you remind him?” Leona asked.

“Oh, he’s not all that bad, really,” she said. “Most men feel that way and are forgetful of domestic chores, but there’s a point that influences him, and I can make use of that to help him remember, so that he thinks it’s his own idea. He has a sweet tooth.”

“How will that help?” Leona puzzled.

“Watch this, and then watch how everything turns out.” Emma took the unmailed letter and placed it on top of the candy dish of pastel mints that Willard kept on top of the television cabinet near the front door. She and Leona went about their business, saying nothing, as Willard came in from the front porch and absently stuck his hand in the candy dish and found the letter. Popping a mint into his mouth, he looked at the letter a moment.

“Honey, I’ll be back