Witch Clan: Matriarchs by John Stormm (best pdf ebook reader .TXT) 📕
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- Author: John Stormm
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“Don’t wait up for me!” she called over her shoulder as they sped away.
“I have a very bad feeling about this,” Ella Mae remarked to no one in particular. She had decided she would stay for the night at her daughter’s house. Just in case.
* * *
It was after three in the morning when the rumble of the Harley-Davidson pulling up awoke her. There was shouting and screaming coming from the street in front of the house. Ella Mae bolted up and drew on her cloak and slippers and dashed down the stairs with Emma running behind her. Coming out the front door, she saw Lorry still clinging to Lee from the back of the motorcycle. He cocked his arm and swung back with his elbow, catching Lorry on the side of her head, knocking her cartwheeling off the bike to the sidewalk. Ella Mae’s fists were clenched in rage as she roared at the dark Sidhe. He had dismounted the machine and was advancing upon Lorry’s dazed form.
“I warned you not to hurt any of mine, Lee. All things having their price, it will not go well for you. NEERVALLAT.” she cursed him in the Old Language as her left fist shot out at him with index and pinky fingers extended.
* * *
Emma helped Lorry to her feet, as Lee was knocked backwards over his bike by the force of Ella Mae’s curse. It was as if she had just awakened from a dream and was seeing Lee for the first time. This time, she was not so impressed with what she saw.
Lee was quickly back on his feet and raised his arms to the sky and roared. His eyes flashed with lightning that reflected in the skies overhead and struck the lamp pole he was parked under. Rain began coming down in sheets as he raised his arms again for another bolt.
Emma, bracing Lorry in her right arm, looked over her shoulder and raised her left arm in the same manner as her mother and cursed him the second time.
“Neervallat!” Emma yelled.
Lorry also, looked over her shoulder at her mother’s pointing fingers, as Lee, eyes flashing brightly, was bowled end over end across the street.
“What the hell is that?” Lorry cried hysterically. “Momma, what in hell is going on? Is that Lee? What are you and Grandma doing?”
“We are putting a monster in his proper place, dear,” Emma consoled. “It will be all right in the morning.”
“You’re damned right it will,” Lorry growled and emulated the move she saw her mother and grandmother make towards Lee and shouted, “Neervallat!”
Being thrice cursed by three generations of the same witches, the form that was once Lee, exploded in a shower of sparks as lightning struck out of the stormy night sky. His precious Harley lay on its side at the curb. Ella Mae and Emma helped haul the injured Lorry into the house.
Inside, they collected all the first aid supplies in Emma’s cupboard and started in dressing Lorry’s wounds. Emma’s husband, Edward had limped down the stairs in his bathrobe to hold Lorry’s weeping form close as Ella Mae ministered salves and ointments. In the kitchen, Emma brewed a tea mixture of valerian, verbena and motherwort to mix with a little brandy and soothe everyone’s frazzled nerves.
“I wouldn’t be mistaken, if I had observed that a great deal more than herbal cures and midwifery had just occurred on the street in front of my house,” Edward said pointedly, “now, would I?”
“No dear, you wouldn’t,” Ella Mae replied, “though, I wouldn’t speak much on it, until I had a chance to understand all of what happened myself.”
A kind and patient man, Edward cradled Lorry’s head on his shoulder and looked from his mother-in-law and to his wife, his eyes silently conveying that as much as he loved them all, he intended to eventually hear that explanation.
* * *
In the morning, Lorry’s brother, Johnny, had went out and set the bike aright at the curb. He then ran some errands for his mother and grandmother, including picking up the commissioned silver cross from the jewelers.
Before that night grew old, a local street gang had stolen the motorcycle. Nobody missed it and nobody cared, except for Edward Junior. His friends called him “Sonny,” and he had come into some quick and suspicious cash. Otherwise, no further sign of Lee was forthcoming.
Dark Heritage
Weeks went by. Lorry was healing well, with the exception of a bad case of morning sickness. Winter had set in and she craved fresh strawberries and was driving her younger brother to distraction by sending him all over town in search of strawberries. He brought back frozen strawberries, chocolate covered strawberries, dried strawberries, strawberry preserves, but no fresh strawberries to be found in November.
Just after Thanksgiving, Ella Mae’s husband, Robert was killed in a automobile accident on his way back from a Six Nations council meet. The family was devastated. Robert was a kind and caring individual. He knew her as a Celtic witch woman and was completely accepting of her ways. He had hoped she might even be a Beloved Woman in his own clan for her great wisdom. One of his three daughters would, no doubt, occupy that post one day. It was good medicine, he used to say. She brought him and his tribe great luck. But she wasn’t feeling very certain about that just now.
Ella Mae consoled herself by doing all she could to nurture Lorry, who was looking more than slightly pregnant by this time. She reminded herself that the child within her would be the most powerful adept the family had produced in centuries. There would eventually be no more hiding in shadows. The world could be changed and made brighter.
“Faery heart, burning bright,” She crooned to the unborn child, “eyes beholding deeper light. Spirit brighter than mortal men, spirit born of faery ken. Of the unicorn, thou art the last, a magickal link to ages past. Wisdom beyond such tender years, a heart that is touched by mortal tears. Unicorns and virgins, dressed in white, seen by eyes with faery sight. Dare to withstand the power of night, O’ firstborn child with second sight.”
“That’s a pretty song, Grandma.” Lorry smiled, holding her sizeable tummy. “I think little Linda Marie likes it too.”
“That’s a pretty name you’ve chosen,” she replied. “It means ‘pretty.’ I am very sure she will be as pretty as her mother.”
“Do you really think she will be our next matriarch?” Lorry asked.
“I’m sure of it, all the stars favor it,” she reassured. “She will grow to be a woman of exceptional strength, courage and talent. She will be able to charm the very birds out of the trees with her music, and men will drop whatever they are doing to obey her every word.”
“Wow,” Lorry murmured dreamily, and sang. “Whenever I sleep, I never count sheep, I count all the charms about Linda,” and fell asleep.
It was following Beltane that year when Edward died in his sleep. Emma was heartbroken even though it was not entirely unexpected. In spite of his illness, Edward was a very strong man who treasured the heart of his wife, and she had given him nearly all of it. For weeks after, Emma had taken to drowning her grief in a bottle of wine or brandy. The family understood her sorrow, and no one begrudged her a moment of weakness. Lorry took her father’s death rather hard as well, and Ella Mae did what she could to keep her spirits up for the baby’s sake.
The months and trimesters passed. Ella Mae would spend odd weeks at home to tend her garden and stock her larder with herbs and medicines for the family. Emma could collect herself from her sorrows long enough to be there for Lorry and the baby. It seemed to give her something to live for. When Lorry was ready to be delivered, Johnny drove his little sister to the hospital in his new Studebaker. He paced in the waiting room with his other siblings as his mother was busy preparing the house for their return with the baby. She had given Johnny explicit instructions to come and get her when the delivery was under way.
Ella Mae was notified that night. She would be brought in by Johnny as soon as the situation stabilized with Lorry. It was hard for her to sleep that night. As worn out as she was, she knew she should be there with Lorry. It was all her fault. She should be there…
* * *
Lorry was exhausted from the strength of the contractions. It was a long night and
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