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Also by
Dolores Stewart Riccio
THE DIVINE CIRCLE OF
LADIES MAKING MISCHIEF
CHARMED CIRCLE
CIRCLE OF FIVE
LADIES COURTING TROUBLE
DOLORES STEWART RICCIO
KENSINGTON BOOKS
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
To Nancy Erikson and her girls—
“We’ll take a cup of kindness yet
For auld lang syne…”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
With warmest thanks to some very special people…
To my wonderful husband, Rick, who has encouraged and counseled me in all my writing through the years.
To my daughter, Lucy, for sharing her computer wisdom, and other special knowledge, and to my son, Charlie, for his own unique contribution to my world.
To all the dear friends and family who have formed my ideal of friendship over the years.
To my editor at Kensington, Audrey LaFehr, whose continued guidance and enthusiasm have meant so much, and to copy editor, Margaret Jarpey, for her care, thoroughness, and kind words.
Bright Blessings to all!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Epilogue
Chapter One
“Double, double, toil and trouble…” Phillipa grinned wickedly as she lay down the tenth card from the Rider-Waite deck, last of the layout; it was called The Moon. “I wouldn’t take on any new crusades if I were you, Cass. From start to finish, this reading counsels you to watch your step.” She leaned over the layout, dark wings of her hair falling forward, her expression disapproving, like a garage mechanic sizing up a faulty carburetor.
A bunch of swords and wands in my cards, so what? I was beginning to be sorry that I’d asked her to read the tarot for me. Three phases of the moon looking down upon a howling wolf and a smiling dog—what was so bad about that?
“It’s a card of hidden foes and unforeseen perils. The wolf, now—that’s a symbol of untamed creation. The dog, on the other hand, adapts to mankind insofar as it suits his own interests, sort of like your dog, Scruffy. And see this rugged path through hostile country? Not to mention this crayfish popping out from the pool of the Cosmic Mind.” Phillipa’s blunt fingernail pointed to various pictorial elements. “What did you tell me you were doing this Samhain? I mean, apart from our own circle ceremony.”
“Church. I’ve been invited to give a talk at the Garden of Gethsemane Ladies’ League on the origins of Halloween in our Samhain. I really loathe giving speeches, but I feel I ought to represent Wicca in a favorable light whenever I have the chance.”
“‘Fire burn, and cauldron bubble,’” my hostess intoned, giving a quick stir to the pot of pear and mango chutney simmering on her Viking range, wafting the spicy aroma throughout the room. I thought there must be extra calories in the very air of Phillipa’s state-of-the-art kitchen. Not to mention the “Fall Fruit Breads” we were sampling with our tea, the theme of her next bimonthly cable cooking show, Kitchen Magic. As Colette wrote, and Phillipa was fond of quoting on and off the air, “‘If you aren’t up to a little magic, you shouldn’t waste your time trying to cook.’”
Phillipa returned to the long marble table and gave my cards another gloomy look before gathering them up. “Five of wands, seven of swords. Maybe the Gethsemane Ladies are planning an exorcism or something. Rid you of the cursed demons that possess you, my dear.”
“Not at all,” I said. “The Reverend Peacedale couldn’t be more ecumenical-minded. I suspect he’s quite interested in the mystic experience per se. My clairvoyant episodes, I mean. And he understands that the ancient nature religions predate the advent of Satan and therefore have nothing devilish about them.”
“Well, don’t say you weren’t warned.”
Which is what I thought about later, while having my stomach pumped out at Jordan Hospital. The Ladies’ League Hospitality Hour had been as disastrous as my lugubrious friend possibly could have predicted. Only the strong hands of my bridegroom, Joe Ulysses, holding me back by one shoulder, and those of a robust nurse on the other side had kept me from pulling the gagging, scratching tube out of my throat and to hell with it. Probably one of the worst hours of my life. I really was tempted to call up a few impish entities I’d read about to avenge my misery, but I am pledged to work on the white side of Wicca.
I wasn’t the only one enduring the unendurable.
