Witch Clan: Matriarchs, John Stormm [great reads txt] 📗

light Johnny up, even on his worst days. He didn’t have many of those, but when he did, it was hard to believe that a single glance from a two year old could make most adults do an about face and march in a different direction looking for something they'd forgotten needed doing. If he didn’t like them, he wouldn't speak. He watched their eyes without so much as a blink until they left. This had a spooky effect on some. There would be no winning him over.
The stray animals in the neighborhood seemed to think of themselves as his personal petting zoo. The child had no notion to be afraid of even the largest mutt. Emma tried to shoo away a large stray from approaching the baby, when it bared its fangs and growled at her.

“No, no. My Gramma,” Little Johnny scolded him, and the big dog lowered its tail and head to submit while Johnny patted its head.

She knew how to charm animals, but to Johnny it came naturally. This was the sign of an adept, an almost unconscious use of spellcraft that most witches would have to work at. Her mother would have been so proud of him.

When she and her grandson arrived at the cleaners, Lorry was at her desk in front having an animated discussion with a handsome young man who was picking up some shirts.

“We’ve brought lunch,” Emma announced, “and old Ian gave me some money to pick up his suit on the way back.” She handed Lorry his ticket.

“Good. I’m famished. Mom, this is my friend Dave,” Lorry said, indicating the dark haired young man with the shirts.
Johnny just smiled and stared quietly at the stranger. For once, he didn’t seem to immediately like or dislike someone he had just met. Emma found this curious.

“Hello, ma’am,” Dave said, dark eyes smiling. “This must be little Johnny. I’ve heard so much about. I’m sorry about the loss of your son-in-law.”

“Son-in-law?” asked Emma. “Oh, the boy’s father. I think the summer sun has absconded with my wits today.”

“Lorry was telling me about him,” Dave went on. “I had a friend, who was drafted and ended up getting shot down in Korea. It must be terribly hard, raising a baby alone these days.”

“We manage.” Emma smiled at her daughter. “We look out for each other. Lorry is as able a woman, as you will likely ever meet.”

“I’m sure she is.” Dave smiled. “Lorry, I’ll be by for those slacks and shirts on Thursday. Thank you for getting that stain out. It was my favorite shirt. Maybe sometime I can treat you to dinner, seeing how your mother and another young man have your lunches covered?”

“That would be nice.” Lorry smiled. “Maybe we’ll do that.”
Emma nodded her approval and handed Lorry her thermos of soup and a bag with a couple biscuits. Little Johnny quietly watched Dave leave the store and cross the street.

“He’s a ‘looker,’ that one,” Emma commented, “and a sharp dresser too. Having a ready made family doesn’t seem to put him off either. The story of Johnny’s dad getting killed in Korea was a nice, simple touch. It clears a lot of ‘complications.’ I’ll remember that one.”

“It seems to be the kind of explanation that satisfies people,” Lorry confided, picking up her son. “They don’t pry too much after that. I have my boy, and my job, and my respect. What more could I ask for?”

“Maybe a handsome older brother for your poor, old, widowed mother?” she asked, and they both laughed.




* * *

Emma watched the handyman sawing the lumber to fix the porch railing. Willard was an old bachelor in the carpenter’s union, who lived in an apartment over the Arrow Food Market on North Street. Everyone knew he was sweet on her, and he would offer to do repairs in exchange for home cooked meals. He had a sweet tooth and was sitting on her front porch and sharing some chocolate milk with Johnny. Johnny was almost three years old at this point, and quite the chatterbox when the mood hit him. He seemed to like the old carpenter, and Emma thought the man had as good a heart as one could expect to find in another human being. She was considering his hints at a deeper relationship as he and Johnny chatted over their chocolate.

“You’ve got nobody to play with?” Willard asked.

“I got big brother George,” Johnny explained. “He’s seventeen and works at the post office. He’s teaching me how to fight dragons.”

“He must be really big--” Willard chuckled in his gruff voice-- “to fight dragons like that. How come I’ve never met him?”

“’Cause he’s indaviz, innaviz, ah,.. people don’t see him too good,” said Johnny.

“Oh! So he’s an imaginary brother George?” Willard implied.

Johnny nodded as he gulped his chocolate.

Emma smiled at the two on the porch. Johnny’s favorite play area was her summer kitchen, with her big sink, pantry and herbs drying on hooks from the low ceiling. Johnny often took his meals in there, and always insisted a place be set for Brother George. If it wasn’t George, then it was leaving a saucer of milk for the faeries he claimed flew in from her garden. She was certain the milk was being consumed by the stray cats in the neighborhood. It was no problem. They kept the rat and mouse population at bay and her garden flourished wonderfully. The only downside. Occasionally items disappeared from the house and then turn up in odd places. She was fairly certain that this was indeed faeries of one sort or another, as the boy could not reach some of these places.

“Pixie dust,” she exclaimed. “Johnny, your faery friends are hiding things on Grandma again.”

Johnny laughed and scolded his imaginary friends and then pointed to where the items in question were hidden. Once she got used to the idea that this was not a normal boy even the strangeness took on its own normal routine. With her grandson, Emma learned as much as she taught.

* * *

It was fast approaching Lughnasadh, the Midsummer Festival, as well as Johnny’s third birthday, and the women’s circle was to meet at Emma’s house as she was the matriarch of the time. Johnny met his aunts. He was friendly enough, but they treated him as if he might be a poisonous reptile. Emma figured that as his guardian and primary teacher, she would allow him to sit quietly at her side during much of the talks. This would give him exposure to the clan, and they to him. Perhaps they would learn this well behaved boy was not so much an abomination as they first thought. Some notions didn’t fade so easily, but she had to try.

“Mom, should this boy be here now?” Mary asked pointedly. “This has always been a women’s circle. Even our husbands don’t interfere.”

“Like it or not,” Emma replied tartly to her daughters, “he’s family and he’s adept. He’s my grandson, and your nephew, and I will teach him properly as wisdom should be every bit his heritage as yours. It should be more so for his darker inclinations to set him straight. As you can see, he doesn’t behave like a monster, and most normal three year olds would be a distraction at this point.”

Johnny sat quietly watching back and forth at the ladies talking. He was content to listen to the exchange of home remedies, potions, spells, and then came the occasional gossip concerning who might be flying who’s broomstick.

It was nap time for Johnny. As Emma tucked the boy in his bed in the adjacent room, the ladies brought out the gazing bowl to see what might be manifest from one plane of existence to this one. They took their time, centering themselves and gathering their concentration to a single point. Being well practiced at this, the Otherworld opened easily for them. The newest scientific fad, called ‘television’ would be hard put to replace what they found here. The possible exception, being yet another fad called ‘soap operas.’ They found themselves gazing at a sylvan setting by a wooded stream.

Emma almost gasped at the white oak and the rectangular rock by the northward flowing stream. It was a place she and her mother had visited only a few years ago, but the sisters didn’t know that. As they watched, a silvery armored angel with a glowing sword slashed mightily at the air to the delighted laughter of a toddler who was, likewise, slashing at a menacing looking log with a oaken switch. The child’s back was to them and he was leaping in and out of the bushes.

“That’s definitely angelic,” said Margaret. “perhaps St. Michael?”

“But who’s the babe?” asked Evelyn.

“Not Michael, but George,” said Emma. “and Mary, check on the baby, please.” She had seen the angel before and knowing the nature of her grandson, she had a hunch.

“I don’t hear any crying or anything,” Mary replied.

“Just look in, please?” she insisted, as Mary crossed the room to peer into the boy’s room. By this time, the sisters got a better view of the toddler playing on the banks of the brook. It was Johnny who giggled and waved to them.

“The baby’s gone!” Mary shouted, startling them