School for Unwitting Wiccans Read online

  SCHOOL FOR UNWITTING WICCANS

  Third Semester

  Carolina Mac & Auburn Tempest

  Copyright © 2019 by Carolina Mac / Auburn Tempest

  SCHOOL FOR UNWITTING WICCANS 1st ed.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Cover Design: Book Cover Artistry

  Note: The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the author are illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  ISBN: 978-1-989187-20-3

  The witch knows nothing in this world is supernatural.

  It is all natural.

  ―Laurie Cabot

  CHAPTER ONE

  September 20th.

  The day before Mabon.

  Nine Saint Gillian Street. New Orleans.

  Misty’s feet ached. Standing at the long black worktable in the kitchen, she tied and bound bunches of honeysuckle, milkweed, passionflower, and thistle, preparing each for hanging overhead to dry throughout the winter season.

  Last year’s renovation to the large working kitchen of the LeJeune Victorian mansion, supplied her with much-needed cedar strapping across the ten-foot ceiling to aid in drying.

  The second harvest had been plentiful.

  Tomorrow she was hosting a celebration in gratitude to the goddesses to thank her for providing such bounty.

  Misty straightened and braced her hands against her hips as she stretched out the kinks of stiffness. With only seven weeks left in her pregnancy, her back ached continuously from the weight of her unborn child.

  “You should sit, dear,” said Claire. “You’ve been on your feet enough for today. Tie those last bundles sitting down.”

  “I’m too fat, Mother. I can’t get close enough to the table to get any work done.”

  Claire smiled. “Soon, you’ll be slim again, and the real work will begin. You know what they say, a mother’s work is never done.”

  Misty nodded. “Then, it’s fortunate that this baby has a loving father to help out.”

  “Yes, Luke is going to be a wonderful father.”

  “I was a good father, wasn’t I, Claire?” Josiah asked from the corner. The ghost of Misty’s late father often frequented that part of the kitchen, when he materialized. He used to join them often but hadn’t done it as much lately. Misty worried that his absence might mean her father was fading into the beyond.

  “You were always an excellent father, Josiah,” said Claire, “especially when Misty was small. You amused her for hours teaching her your spells. She could point a tiny finger and light a candle when she was two years old.”

  “I wonder if this baby will have powers,” asked Misty. “I guess we won’t know until he is past the infant stage.”

  “Of course, he’ll have powers,” said Josiah seeming to put more energy into making himself seen. He shimmered green and silver between the huge black six-burner stove and the curtainless window. “With both Mystere and Luke gifted by the goddess, the child will be a true force.”

  Misty smiled. Her daddy had always been the most vocal section of her fan club—supporting her, believing in her. “Mabon is the time to honor the spirit world, Daddy. What can we do for you that you would find special and uplifting?”

  “Get rid of George in the basement, child.”

  “Shouldn’t we honor him too?”

  “You can honor him when he’s out of my house. He’s not pleasant to live with.”

  “Nonsense,” said Claire. “I never hear a peep out of him.”

  “He’s crass and demanding, my darling. Life would be easier for me if he was gone.”

  “Life?” Claire raised an eyebrow.

  “You know what I mean. Okay then, my haunting would be easier without him.”

  “That’s better.”

  Luke appeared at the kitchen door and wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of a paint-speckled hand. Misty’s love was tall and broad, with kind eyes and long, auburn hair. Each time she saw him, her heart fluttered with a sense of recognition and love she cherished.

  He looked to her across the room and winked. “I’m on a break, ladies. Mind handing me a Miller’s from the fridge. My hands are sticky from the paint.”

  “How’s the color look, Lukey?” Misty fetched him a beer and walked it over. As he tipped it back for the first, long swallow, she recaptured his hair and tucked it back into his purple bandana.

  “It looks pale blue. That’s about all I can say about it.”

  Angelique handed him a rag with cleaner on it, and he thanked her.

  Claire finished with her last bundle and set it on the pile. “Once we hang a few things, the room will look adorable.”

  “What are we hanging up, Mother?” asked Misty.

  Had her mother gone shopping? Misty had become a bit of a recluse in the last two months. Baby-making was tiring work, and she found she’d been sending others out for groceries and necessities more often than not.

  Her mother took her mug and strode over to the counter to top up her tea. “I thought shelves for toys and stuffed animals might dress up the room.”

  Misty had no clue about baby décor. “Maybe seeing pictures in a magazine would help me with a few ideas. Maybe I’m not as ready as I thought I was.”

  Luke wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her head. “The baby won’t care how the room is decorated. At least not for a couple of years.”

  Misty sat down and let out a breath. “I’ve got time then to think about it. Charlotte, Michele, and Diana will have ideas. No doubt, they have friends with young children.”

  “You can ask them tomorrow,” said Claire. “They’ll be here for Mabon. They are quite excited about the celebration.”

  Misty’s eyes welled up, and she dabbed at them with her black apron. “Tomorrow’s feast won’t be the same without Casey. I miss him I can’t get used to him being gone.”

  Luke leaned down and hugged her. “He had to start school, sweetheart. It was time for him to go back to Austin and start college.”

  “I understand, and I do want him to go to college, but I miss him terribly.”

  Luke kissed her head and smiled. “We’ll have other special guests tomorrow. Sam is picking up Rowanne and Ben from the park and bringing them for the day.”

  Misty smiled. “I’m so happy they agreed to come. I want to hear all about their adventures in the forest.”

  Claire shivered. “Winter is coming, and they have no heat in that little shack in the woods. I wish they would at least come to town for the winter.”

  Luke was headed back upstairs to finish painting the nursery. As he passed through the elaborate foyer at the front of the house, Hoodoo, Misty’s big Bernese Mountain dog barked and scratched at the door.

  “Who’s out there, boy?”

  Luke peeked through the curtain covering the sidelight and caught a glimpse of a moving truck at the end of the street.

  “That old house must be sold. Needs a lot of work on the outside, shingles blow off with every gust of wind. I bet the inside is a mess too.”

  Thinking he’d get a better view from the second-floor window, Luke ran upstairs and took another look from Misty’s room—he supposed it was his room too since he didn’t sleep in the guest room next door anymore—at the front of the house.

  “Uh-huh. Somebody is moving in. Maybe they like the house falling apart the way it is.”

  Luke shook his head. The houses on Saint Gillian Street were at least a hundred years old. Some older. They all needed work and a lot of maintenance. The plumbing was a nightmare.

  This house is my problem. No others.

  He went back to painting his son’s room. Pale blue, as per Misty’s heart’s desire. Her pendulum told her it was a boy, and that’s what they were going with. If it turned out to be a girl, he was hoping his daughter enjoyed pale blue because he wasn’t repainting the room.

  Claire was right about the shelves. He’d go to Home Depot later and pick up three or four shelves and some brackets. Misty hadn’t gone out for weeks. She refused to go, and Luke worried she was sinking into a funk of some kind.

  Luke rolled the second coat over the last wall, and every inch of the large, empty space was covered in pale blue. Claire was right. They needed shelves. They also needed pictures and furniture. He’d picked out the furniture himself last week because Misty wouldn’t go with him.

  The store would deliver it today or tomorrow.

  The doorbell rang.

  Maybe that’s the furniture.


  Luke ran down the slippery mahogany staircase in his paint-spattered jeans and t-shirt. He opened the door, expecting to see a couple of delivery men. Instead, a twenty-something, dark-haired, heavy-set girl stood in front of him, smiling.

  “May I help you?” he asked.

  “I understand Madam LeJeune lives here. May I come in and have a word with her?”

  Misty would kill me if I let a stranger in. “She’s not up to having company right now, I’m sorry. Perhaps another day.”

  “I’m Marigold Rose, and I’m moving in down the street. Because we share similar professions, I am anxious to meet her. I am certain we will become the closest of friends.”

  “Perhaps, in the future,” said Luke, still blocking the door. “But, for the next month or so, Madam LeJeune’s time and attention will be otherwise occupied.”

  “May I ask what will keep her so busy?”

  “You may ask, but it’s private,” said Luke.

  Marigold’s smile tightened, but Luke didn’t care. It seemed there was always someone who wanted a piece of Misty. He could feel the self-serving energy rolling off this one. There were takers, and there were givers. Misty was a giver. This woman was a taker.

  He would play the part of the gatekeeper if he had to.

  “Very well, I’ll call again on her another day.”

  Luke nodded, shut the door, and locked it.

  Marigold Rose. Yeah, that sounds like a real name.

  “Who was it, sweetheart?” called Misty. “Is the baby’s furniture here?”

  Luke strolled into the kitchen before going back upstairs. “A woman moving in down the street, and she was intent on meeting you. Thinks she’s in line to be your new bestie.”

  Misty made a face. “Me? Why?”

  Luke shrugged. “She said the two of you share similar professions.” He helped himself to another beer from the fridge. “Are you baking for tomorrow, Angelique?”

  “Oui.” She tipped the big bowl of dough towards him to show him. “Homemade bread. It has to rise.”

  “I love your homemade bread,” said Luke. “All right, no rest for the wicked. I’m going back to work.”

  Louisiana Forest.

  Rowanne’s red hair had grown long and thick, living in the woods for the past six months. She loved Ben with all her heart but had to admit, some days when they weren’t hunting for food or having sex, there wasn’t much to do.

  She’d fixed up their hunting shack the best she could with a couple of sleeping bags and the camp stove her father had bought for them. They didn’t have much more: no electricity and no plumbing or running water.

  On the freezing cold days of winter that would come in a few months, they could stay inside and cook their food on the tiny stove and not bother with the fire pit.

  The cold didn’t bother Ben, but she felt it.

  Misty had sent them warm clothes and a couple of blankets, but the September weather stayed warm and humid. No need to get ready for winter yet.

  Every day without fail, Rowanne sat on the side of the cot with Nixa beside her and wrote details of what she and Ben did in the woods to survive. And in her grimoire, she wrote spells and tried them out. She didn’t have to practice magick or use her powers much in the forest because no one disturbed the two of them. Life was peaceful.

  A deep growl outside the shack startled her, and Nixa bounded off the cot and made a beeline for the door. Rowanne thought it must be Ben back from hunting. Sometimes he ran back home still in his fox mode.

  As she opened the door, the growling struck her as odd. Too late. Nixa charged through the opening, straight at a big, black bear. Rowanne screamed but didn’t catch her little hound dog in time. “No, Nixa. Get away from him.”

  Nixa ran in circles, baying and snapping. Rowanne grabbed her besom from where it leaned beside the door. There was no way she’d let a bear hurt Nixa.

  “Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.” She turned back, and the bear had shifted into a tall, dark-haired boy about seventeen or eighteen. He knelt and patted Nixa on the head. “My name is Rufus. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Rowanne sagged against the frame of the door and pressed a hand against her chest. “I’m Rowanne.”

  “Do you live here?”

  All of a sudden, Rowanne didn’t feel as safe as she had a moment ago. “Yes, I live here. With my mate. He will be back any time now.”

  “What’s his name? Maybe I know him. I know most everyone in the forest.”

  Rowanne heard a couple of twigs snap, and Ben appeared from behind the little hunting shack. He was pulling his hoodie over his head, a low growl rumbling from deep in his throat. “Who are you?”

  The bear boy stepped back. “Rufus.”

  “What do you want here?” asked Ben.

  “Nothing specific. I didn’t know anyone lived in this part of the forest. I scented the two of you and thought I would come and check it out.”

  Rowanne swallowed. “All right, well, now your curiosity has been satisfied. This is our home. Ben and Rowanne.” Rufus seemed oblivious to her unease. Was she overreacting? Was he just a lonely bear who followed his nose to come see them?

  Rufus turned and pointed. “I live in a large cave, many miles from here. I never saw anybody else in this forest before.”

  “There’s a lot of acreage,” said Rowanne. “Likely your territory and Ben’s have never intersected. We have no interest in trespassing on your hunting grounds or anything.”

  Ben stood beside Rowanne and sniffed her. He waved his arm. “Move back. You make Rowanne nervous.”

  Rufus frowned. “Hey, I wasn’t sniffing around your mate, fox. I told her not to be afraid. I was hunting and exploring and came on you two accidentally. I’ll go.”

  Ben nodded and stomped into the shack with his catch.

  Rowanne and Nixa followed him inside, closed the door, and latched it shut. “I never saw a bear in the forest before—shifter or natural. Are there many of them in our woods?”

  “A few,” said Ben. “They tend to den more to the north end of the park. Rufus is a shifter. I saw him looking at you.”

  Rowanne couldn’t help but smile at the adorable pout on Ben’s face. “He can look all he wants. You’re the shifter I love, Ben. Not a big, dumb black bear boy.”

  “He’ll come back when I’m not around,” said Ben.

  “I’ll lock the door. Now that I know he might be out there, I’ll be more careful. Our shack is a secure. I’m safe here.”

  “Forget about him.” Ben sat in the middle of the wooden floor and began plucking feathers from a dead Mallard. “Are we going to see Misty tomorrow?”

  Rowanne nodded and fetched a container to put the feathers into. “Daddy is picking us up on the west side of the park at noon. How long will it take us to get there to meet him?”

  “A couple of hours if we hurry,” said Ben.

  She sat next to him and pressed her hand on his back. The tension of meeting Rufus was still there. “We’ll leave at ten, to make sure we’re on time.”

  “Time doesn’t matter. Every day is the same.”

  “Except tomorrow. If we’re late, my Daddy will be sitting there waiting for us. That would be rude.”

  Ben plucked vigorously, obviously still upset. “What did you do all day when I wasn’t here?”

  “Hunted for food and wood around the shack. And I ate meat leftover from yesterday.”

  “Did you write words in your book?”

  “Yes, I did. When you’re finished with the duck, I can read them to you. Or, we can forget the words and snuggle into our sleeping bags.”

  Ben grinned. “That is my favorite thing to do.”

  Seventeen Saint Gillian Street. New Orleans.

  Marigold shoved a couple of chairs out of her way as she angrily pushed into the kitchen. “Everyone sit down and listen. We have a lot of planning to do.”

  The three black cats sat on their chairs and stared up at her, awaiting her words of wisdom.

  “Madam LeJeune didn’t even come to the door to say hello to me, my ferocious felines. What should my next step be?”

  The three black beauties all looked alike, but Marigold could tell them apart. Cassandra, Endor, and Morgan.