“Keeper of secrets, release what was taken, Hear me now—answer in three
Return to me what has been forsaken,
By earth, air, fire, and sea…”
She continued to chant as power infused her body and the air charged with energy. Her aunt's yelling and repeated attempts to break into the circle disappeared as Tierra lost herself in the spell. Her lungs expanded, and her heart raced. New spring flowers swirled in a tunnel of frenzy as vapor in the air caught fire and rained sparks. She drew the blade across her palm and blood flowed into the copper bowl, mixing with the dandelion, myrrh, sage, and wormwood.
Something tore free from her, stealing her breath, and the contents of the bowl burst into flame. Silvery, iridescent smoke twirled like ribbons into the starry, midnight sky, splitting and then shooting three different directions. An implosion shook the circle and the resulting percussion sealed the spell.
Tierra was thrown backward. The soft meadow grasses reached up to cushion her fall. She lay there, catching her breath as her mind raced.
The earth sighed and a truth she was never supposed to know manifested itself.
Her spell had broken another. A banishing spell as old as she was.
Whatever had been taken from her had also been banished never to be reunited. The acrid taste of pine was sharp on Tierra's tongue.
“What have you done?” Justine whispered, though the words sounded like a scream inside Tierra's head.
Justine's jade eyes were wide and scared, and her cherry-red hair had been teased into a chaos of twists and coils around her ashen face. Her aunt's mop of hair was always restrained, her clothes perfectly neat. Nothing about her was restrained right now. She looked wild and desperate.
Just how hard did Justine try to break into the circle?
A skittering of fear shivered over Tierra's skin. Shaking, she climbed to her feet, breathing like she'd hiked to the top of the Olympic Mountains.
“Would you quit overreacting?” she said, reaching for the shift to cover her nakedness as the cold needled in. “It's not like I just brought about the end of the world.”
“You insolent witch.” Justine slowly got to her feet, her face a mask of anger and terror. “That's exactly what you've done.”
I
Moira
By Cynthia St. Aubin
1
“What in the Sam Hill you doing, girl?”
Moira Malveaux shooed the teacup pig out of her suitcase and tossed in a handful of silky black panties. “Hog-tying a catfish. Packing. What’s it look like I’m doing?”
Uncle Sal shifted his wad of snuff from one stubbled cheek to the other and adjusted the straps on his waders. Silver-black hair swooped from his orange trucker cap like wings. His lanky form invaded her small doorway with the slouching angles of a scarecrow. “What for?”
Moira twisted her wavy mass of dark auburn hair into a bun which she secured with the well-gnawed pencil from her night stand. A breeze whispered across her damp neck like a lover’s sigh. “Don’t know yet.”
“Packin’ a bag for nowhere. Well, that sounds like a fool thing to do.” Sal reached down to Moira’s pillow and tried to pet the little pig. It gave an indignant squeal and climbed back into the suitcase.
“Oh, I don’t think so, mister.” Moira scooped up her pet with one hand and kissed the downy spot between his ears before setting him in her sock drawer. The lack of fur gave his pink skin an almost human warmth. “Momma’s trying to pack, Cheeto. Besides, you know you’re coming with me.”
“He’s coming with you where?” The brown gob of Sal’s spit sailed through the open window by Moira’s bed and married with the mossy sludge below.
“Already told you. I don’t know yet.” A stack of tank tops and tight T-shirts joined the panties. Several pairs of worn cut-offs kept them company.
“You ain’t gonna get very far with a plan like that.”
Moira snorted. “Last I heard, you and plans were scarcely acquainted.”
“Now that ain’t true a’tall. I was plannin’ on taking the General Custer out on the water this afternoon. I was plannin’ on taking my favorite niece with me. And I was plannin’ on heading to the HooDoo Shack to sink a few when I got back.”
“You were plannin’ on making me stir you up a net full of crawfish so you have money to get shit-faced with Red, Mookey, and Little Earl.” Moira squelched the bubble of affection that rose at the mention of her unofficial uncles. Unofficial kin was the only kind Moira had.