Matriarchal Mayhem by John Stormm (great books for teens TXT) 📕

“Dad, I want to take this to another level,” Mel said. “But I’m not clear as to how.”

“I know what you mean,” her father agreed. “I’ve been thinking I had better get to writing those books I’ve been itching to write for so long. I signed up for a writers course. I’m toying with some short stories in the occult fiction genre. I think I can share some craft and entertain in one fell swoop.”

“It’s about time, Daddums, publishing sounds good,” Mel said thoughtfully. “Even a witch clan website might be an idea. How does ’Witch Clan Dot Com’ sound to you?”

“Wouldn’t it better be a Dot ‘Org,’” her father countered, “as it deals primarily as a cultural education setting?”

“I think ‘Dot Com’ is for us,” Mel asserted. “Your stories entertain and give people something to think about, and the website can give them even more. We can also keep your readers updated for the where and when of new stories or lectures. So the commercial designation is appropriate. We‘ll reach even more people that way. Most will just want a good story, and not even realize what they are learning, but when somebody says ‘witch‘, they‘ll think of people like us, and not some green faced hag in ruby slippers, which combats an impossible stereotype for us.”

Mel and her father wrote a series of informative articles to begin the website with, and digitized pictures and charts detailed various lessons. Her father was already well into sending out short stories to various publications and contests. His first book of short stories on his family’s theme was already in bookstores. Upon completion of the website, it began taking hits almost immediately by people using search engines to obtain material on witches and witchcraft. It was about this time that Mel began getting e-mail from a group of hereditary witches in Ohio. They were primarily interested in her father and his family tree. Mel wasn’t sure if she should be exposing distant family members to the kind of scrutiny she was getting, and her father had long ago severed most ties to his former family members just to keep his own peace of mind. He was a very different kind of man, but he deeply resented those who treated him as though he were some sort of monster. He had his own ideas of who the monsters REALLY were, so he simply dropped all ties. Nobody came looking for him to inquire as to his well being, he wasn’t really missed, and he certainly didn’t miss living constantly under suspicion. She thought it best to contact her father and have him look into these inquiries. He was currently using some vacation time to explore rift areas and not easily reached.

The e-mails got plenteous, and some grew more insistent about family information. Mel took a strict tone at this point. The stories were fiction, and even the more historic versions were fictionalized enough to protect family members from the potential fanatic, religious or otherwise. Her website policy became that if you wanted information on various aspects of the craft and culture, we were willing to share. If you wanted publishing companies and release dates, we were happy to provide information as it became available. If you wanted to pry into private family affairs, you were unwelcome. This caused the worst of these messages to stop. Until she got this one:

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]

Dear Melanie;
We are sorry if we upset you. Some family members recognized enough of our names and history to believe we are related. In your father’s writings, I have seen my great grandmother’s name, grandmother’s name, and my mother’s name, as well as some aunts’, but only their first names. It’s been all too many decades, but I recognize your father’s name and description of him as a child. Allow me to offer a positive I.D. Ella, Emma, and myself, all have the same middle name “Mae”. I too was trained by our grandmother, Emma. Evelyn was my mother, and I am your father’s cousin, Leona Mae. Grandmother called us the “Lioness and the Unicorn.” I’m five years older than your father. Your father never mentioned these in his stories, please pass this on to him to verify my story. As current matriarch of the main body of our clan, I think it’s high time I mended some old fences, and removed some others. I have never thought ill of my cousin, indeed, most of our present family have no knowledge of him at all. My mother passed away a number of years ago, and most of the “old guard” are gone. May we start anew?
Sincerely,
Leona Mae

     Melanie was beside herself. She wasn’t sure how her father might react, but he had, in the past, mentioned his cousin Leona. He never spoke ill of her, but still, fifty plus years was a long time, and he had finally settled down into a state he was comfortable with. It didn’t strike her as a wise idea to pick open old wounds and try to heal them. It wasn’t a wise idea to snub family either, though HE had been the outcast, and not the other way around. There was also the matter of his wife and children being of Cherokee stock. Dad didn’t tolerate any kind of racial discrimination, and when his mother and half sisters expressed a few less than equal views, he cut them off as sharp as a sword stroke. Dad didn’t have any half measures about half breeds, he could only love whole heartedly. There was no telling how old family might react, but she knew her father. She went to her father’s house and taped the e-mail to his computer screen with a note to talk to her as soon as possible. He would understand all the implications.

First thing, Monday morning, her father was knocking at her door, e-mail in hand and a troubled expression on his face.

“What the hell did I open up now?” her father asked. Beating around bushes was not his cup of tea. “I feel like I’m being annexed.”

“That was my first impression,” Mel laughed aloud. “My second thought, was how I was going to be nice about all this, without starting a witch war. Is Leona adept?”

“Ooooh, I don’t like any of this,” the old wizard grimaced. “Leona is not a born adept, but with over a half century in the craft, it hardly makes much difference. She’ll be a formidable witch, by any standards. She was a good choice for matriarch, but you are OUR best choice, Mel. Leona is ALL human, and the family is strictly women in the craft. I haven’t heard a peep about any male cousins in the practice at all. You know I don’t play word games about sexual or racial discrimination, and the kind about MY race is a doozy. I had a helluva time, just prying into exactly what Iroquois tribe, my great grandfather was a chieftain of. They don’t even talk about it anymore. Leona and I being Grandma’s pets, she can vouch for my skill as an adept and my humanity, and they MIGHT buy that, to a point.” He explained himself, “As a male, I’ll still be resented. Now here I sit, with adept, hybrid children who are also not particularly white… it will be a wonder if all our mail doesn’t start coming second through fourth class. You know what I mean? I don‘t think I could stand for that, even a little while.” Her father’s heart was back out on his proverbial sleeve, and Mel could see it already broken and scarred from the life he led. He was doing so nicely, until now.

“Maybe, we should show them an already well established clan,” Mel suggested. “That would require them to make drastic changes to join. Give them something they’ll want to think about for a long time, but allow a loose association in a good will, to distant family sort of way.”

“Keep me informed,” her father chuckled. “I can see you’ve been thinking about this, and I like the way you think. Just don’t underestimate Leona. She’s the best of the best over there. She’s due a good degree of respect.”

“In the ‘food for thought’ department,” Mel quipped, “I’m planning a feast of large proportions.”

“That’s my girl!” her father beamed. Mel began drawing upon every resource available to her, for what was to come.

* * *

     The women’s circle was still meeting regularly, and more were coming all the time. A local group of psychics and practicing New Age witches, had caught wind of it and some meetings would take place in some of their own facilities, where more seating was available. Mel’s father would also give lectures there as well, and at some meetings, even some men would show up for the talks. A certain spirituality was beginning to pervade, though Mel preferred the close to home variety of ladies meetings. As it was nearing Halloween, the psychic’s association was considering renting a “haunted castle” for their psychic’s fair this year, and wondered if the local witch population, might like to go in with them for half the rent, and provide a safe community Halloween party. The old National Guard Armory on Main Street was going to be used for this. It was built like a medieval castle and had a great hall. Presently being vacant, the owner could use a bit of tax help, so the price was right. Melanie was right in the thick of things as the arrangements were being made and the costumes and decorations were being set.

Leona and her clan were still e-mailing regularly, and Mel openly invited them to attend a little clan get together at the “clan hall” on Main Street, to meet with her and the old wizard. It would be for early in the week of the last week of October. This would give Leona plenty of time to be back with her own family by Samhain, for their own festivities. The ladies were excited and proud to have this visit. They felt very much a part of the Storm household and Mel prepared them to greet a very old and honored family. Her brother Jonathan, and Seth as well as some of her father’s advanced martial arts students would attend as well, all to be on their very best behavior. This was a Halloween that no one would forget.

* * *

     Leona Mae, was understated elegance in her long gray dress and white shawl. Her shining ash blond hair hung loosely to her waist, and her clan medallion hanging at her breast. She wore her age very well, as the genetics of her family dictated, and good living allowed. The family resemblance between her and old Storm was remarkable. Not having seen him since he was about nine or ten years old, she would rely on this to recognize him. The chartered airport limo dropped Leona, her daughter Fiona and her two nieces before a medieval castle only a few blocks east of downtown Rochester. At once the doors opened and four young men, elegantly dressed in black, wearing swords slung in ornate baldrics, came to help them in with their luggage. Leona hadn’t packed much, as she was only planning an over night visit and returning to Cleveland the following afternoon. She had noted that they all wore silver Celtic cross medallions, and that as the men bent to pick up the bags, the tallest of the four had mage runes engraved deeply in the