Bewitched Moon: Emergence

By C. R. Stephens

Samantha Luna Thorp, a witchy yoga instructor with a deep connection to the moon, has been having nightmares. Her idyllic life in Madison, Wisconsin has been disrupted by the realization that her boyfriend, Dan, isn't the sweet guy she thought he was. On the night of the August full moon, Sam and her bestie, Ashley, attend a kegger in their hometown. When Dan disappears from the party without a word, the girls accept a ride from a handsome stranger.
In the aftermath of an ugly discovery, Sam embarks on a journey of self-exploration. As she finds herself caught between feelings for two different people, her path to happiness is hindered by her own insecurities and Dan's ongoing harassment. Sam seeks counsel from the two women who raised her—her mom and grandmother—but she refuses to turn to her estranged father, even though he may be the only person on the planet who can truly help her.

Main themes: coming of age, female sexuality and empowerment, friendship, love vs. lust, healthy vs. unhealthy relationships, and modern paganism (moon rituals, herbs, crystals, tarot divination, pagan sabbats.)

Content warnings: explicit language, on-the-page sex, narcissistic emotional abuse, suicide

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667889511

Book preview

BK90075516.jpg

Bewitched Moon: Emergence

Copyright © 2023 by C. R. Stephens

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

For permission requests, contact crstephens.com.

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Print ISBN: 978-1-66788-950-4

eBook ISBN: 978-1-66788-951-1

This book is dedicated with love and admiration, to my mother, and all of the strong, intelligent, and supportive women throughout my life who have inspired me to become a better version of myself.

Contents

1. The Tower

2. The Party

3. Ditched

4. Gaslight

5. Sturgeon Moon

6. Love and Light

7. Understanding

8. Java Beans

9. Wise Women

10. Glowing Lotus

11. Temptation

12. Witch’s New Year

13. The Chariot

14. Rowing My Own Boat

15. Ready For Discovery

16. Texts Work Wonders

17. Cold Moon

18. Samantha Luna

19. Mom’s Veggie Chili

20. Black Moon

21. Unforeseen Ally

22. Murky Past

23. Smoking in the Bathtub

24. Big Mistake

25. Murphy’s

26. Secrets

27. Bright Fire

28. The Union Terrace

29. Flower Moon

30. Her Story

31. Waterfall

32. Finally

33. The Wedding

34. Revelations

Acknowledgements

A Note to My Readers

About the Author

1

The Tower

The ceiling above me creaks under the weight of my neighbor’s footsteps, briefly interrupting the hiss of rushing water from Ashley’s shower.

I am calm, peaceful, and relaxed in mind, body, and spirit. If only that were true. I’ve tried everything I can think of to settle, but no matter what I do, I’m a tangled ball of exposed nerves.

The full moon is in Aquarius tonight, so adding the right crystals to my moon water should deliver the clarity and inner peace I so desperately need.

I close my eyes and stand at the kitchen counter, tumbling two smooth amethysts around in the palm of my hand, hoping to conjure the image of swirling lavender light from total darkness.

This is pointless. My energy has been off for weeks, and it’s about time I admit why. I need to break up with my boyfriend.

Much to my dismay, Dan’s not as perfect as he seemed in the beginning. I should’ve thought twice before getting involved with a Scorpio, perhaps the worst possible partner choice for an Aquarius. I was off my game, obviously influenced by my years-long crush, and Dan’s extravagant displays of affection in the early days of our relationship.

Six months ago, I noticed Dan on State Street. We hadn’t seen each other in five whole years, but his handsome face was imprinted on my hormonal-teen memory. So, yeah, I knew him right away, but he was the one who made initial contact.

The fact that he remembered me was both flattering and surprising. I mean, I was only fifteen the last time we were in the same room—at the law firm that our fathers own. He would’ve been a freshman in college back then, and definitely not interested in dating a brace-faced highschooler.

It was a bone-chilling February day, the kind that makes you want to avoid being outside until spring. Dan and I shivered in front of Sprinkles ice cream shop for a minute or two before he asked me to join him inside for a scoop. I remember laughing. It just seemed so absurd, eating ice cream on a day like that, but of course, I said yes.

We sat near the fireplace, eating dishes of chocolate chip cookie dough, updating each other on the previous five years. Toward the end, he invited me to dinner, even offering to drive me back to Birch Glen afterward. His thoughtfulness impressed me. The rest, as they say, is history.

The first three months we were together were amazing, and he lavished me with sweet words and expensive gifts. When Dan gave me the chain of hearts necklace that I’m wearing, he said, Now our hearts will be joined together forever. For as cheesy and idealistic as that line was, I fell a bit deeper for him when he said it.

Of all the romantic moments I’ve shared with Dan, that’s the one I hold onto the tightest, but I recognize that memories aren’t valid reasons to put up with what is becoming his typical bullshit. By definition, memories are in the past, and I haven’t seen any of that sweet, cheesy guy lately, that’s for sure.

My perfect boyfriend has been slipping away since Memorial Day Weekend, when he helped my bestie, Ashley, and me move into this apartment. It wasn’t the move that changed things, exactly, but rather that Dan and I had sex for the first time just days before.

Prior to that he was so attentive and patient, but I realize now it was part of the game of winning me. I was the challenge, and when the challenge was won, he quit trying.

Since then, Dan’s attention has been dwindling and he frequently points out my flaws, which is super not cool. According to Dan, my butt is the biggest of anyone he has ever dated, I’m flighty, and I talk too much. The most infuriating part is that he peppers in just enough flattery and affection to remind me of the guy I was falling for. But it’s getting old, and I’m done.

At least moving to Madison has been a positive experience for Ashley and me. We’re truly enjoying city life after what feels like an eternity of dreaming. We moved from our childhood homes in the nearby Wisconsin town of Birch Glen. Being in Madison feels good in my bones, further confirmation that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

Don’t get me wrong, Birch Glen is great, and my mom still lives there, but small towns can be rather unforgiving to a twenty-first century witch. Madison is quite the opposite, with its warm, welcoming, and vibrant spirit. Near east-siders, in particular, tend to be more tolerant and accepting of everyone. Plus, Ashley starts her nursing program soon, and I got a sweet job teaching yoga at Glowing Lotus, a studio on the Capitol square.

We chose to live on the isthmus, in the heart of the city, mainly because neither of us owns a car. Luckily, we found the perfect place at precisely the right time.

We chose the first floor of an old house over the gleaming new apartment complexes around town. This place has character and charm, with its dark woodwork, bay window, and built-in bookcases. It also has plenty of natural light, which I can’t live without.

We’re going to a party in less than an hour and Ashley has been getting ready in our miniscule bathroom forever, as usual. I’m ready to go, so I should have plenty of time to finish preparing my moon water before Dan arrives to pick us up.

Tonight’s plans have been in the works for weeks, long before I made up my mind about Dan, so I haven’t mustered up the courage to break up with him yet. I loathe confrontation.

I’m not doing it tonight, because I’d never do it publicly, and I don’t want to ruin my friend Tuck’s party. Finalizing this decision is a relief, though, even if the closure of ending things has to wait a little longer.

I shake out my fingers, trying once more to center myself and expel this negative energy. I grip the purple stones in my right hand and close my eyes. I will remain aware and trust my intuition. I am protected from negativity and my nightmares will end. With love and light, I bind my intentions to the crystals I hold.

I open my eyes and lift my hand to drop in the first stone, accidentally tipping over one of the bottles. It crashes to the floor, spilling the water, the glass shattering, scattering everywhere. Dang it! The energy in this house is so weird tonight, and it’s more than just Dan. Something’s not right. I think it’s – despair – and I can’t seem to shake it.

I carefully tiptoe around the broken shards of glass to the broom closet, watching for the tiniest glimmers reflecting on the kitchen floor, mindful not to cut my bare feet. I slip my toes into my red rubber galoshes. They must look amazing with my dress.

Inhale peace. Exhale tension. I sweep up the mess, repeatedly going over every square inch of the floor until it’s spotless.

I return the galoshes, broom, and dustpan to the closet and go to my altar to draw a tarot card. I need guidance to help me reveal what this janky energy is all about.

I shuffle the cards and splay them out in my hands, selecting the one that calls to me. And there it is, face up on my altar, The Tower. The card of pure chaos.

I don’t like this one bit, but my cards never lie. The Tower represents the sort of energy that’s been crawling under my skin for the last few hours, but it’s still up to the universe to disclose the source. This card could point to any unexpected change, whether good or bad. I only think it’s bad because of the darkness stirring in the pit of my stomach. I’ve got major heebie-jeebies now, but I need to finish my moon water preparation anyway. Dan will be here soon.

Back at the kitchen counter, I drop both stones inside the remaining bottle, pausing for a moment to watch them sink and settle safely on the glass bottom. This water is now imbued with love and light. The sturgeon moon will amplify my intentions of clarity and peace within.

I load the bottle and the rest of my crystals into a basket and take it out the back door into the muggy night. My sun-kissed feet greet the earth, crickets chirp their repetitive song, and mosquitoes buzz in my ear. They’re on the hunt for blood, but thankfully, I’m the only person I know who never gets bitten.

For a two-flat downtown, our place has a decent-sized backyard with an unobscured view of the sky. We technically share this space with our upstairs neighbor, Jillian, but she never leaves the confines of her apartment.

A two-sided wooden privacy fence with peeling white paint and weathered pickets surrounds the semi-private outdoor oasis. There’s exactly enough room for a small portable fire pit, Ashley’s cute garden table and two chairs, my herb garden growing in colorful pots, and my outdoor altar.

The altar inside the apartment moved here with me, but this one is new. My muscles carry the memory of lifting the sandstones, which I stacked, perfectly balanced, to stand waist high. I’m proud of how hard I worked to build this. I drag my fingers over the rough surface, recalling the moment I placed the last stone. I felt invincible that day. I have faith that I’ll find that feeling within myself again, hopefully soon.

At moonrise, I place the sweaty bottle on the right side of the altar, condensation dripping onto the golden stone, forming a ring-shaped puddle. To the left, I arrange my crystals. By morning, the water and crystals will be charged with the sturgeon moon’s powerful energy, which, in theory, should help calm my restless mind.

I turn toward the house with the empty basket hanging over my arm and trip over Jillian’s cat, stumbling a few steps, but luckily not falling. Oops. Sorry, Mr. Chuckles. How strange that he would be out here in the evening. He must’ve snuck out again.

I crouch down and pet the orange tabby behind the ears, prompting him to tilt his head and purr. Mr. Chuckles and I have become pals since Ashley and I moved in because he’s a crafty little escape artist. Jillian will be so worried about him.

I scoop up the cat and carry him up the backstairs, as I’ve done before, gently knocking on Jillian’s door with the pattern she taught me.

Two quick. Two long. Two quick.

Jillian is bashful, but she’s gradually been opening up to me. I’m committed to earning her friendship.

She usually cracks her door open, and I help Mr. Chuckles squeeze inside. But this time, a woman unknown to me swings the door wide open. Oh good. You found the cat.

I pause, taking a few seconds to respond while processing this surprising change in routine. Um. Yes. Hi. I’m Sam. I live downstairs. Is Jillian here? I lean to peek inside the apartment.

I’m sorry to say that Jillian—well—Jillian has died. I’m Ellen. Jillian’s social caseworker. The woman’s half-open eyes are chasms of loss and defeat, and I instantly feel a kinship with her.

Oh, my goodness! That’s awful. Instinctively, I clutch the fuzzy feline to my chest. He meant so much to dear Jillian. My throat tightens and I feel a tear trickle down my cheek. I’m so very sorry to hear this news.

The Tower makes perfect sense now. What a terrible, dreadful, unexpected change. What will happen to Mr. Chuckles?

Jillian’s family lives out of state. They’re planning to clean out her place. I assume they’ll also take the cat. I already left a message for a local boarding facility. He’ll most likely stay there until Jillian’s family claims him.

My heart aches imagining Mr. Chuckles in such a place, and without the person who loved him the most. I’d be happy to take care of him. Jillian loved this cat. She wouldn’t want him to be lonely in a cage. It’s the least I can do, and I feel compelled to contribute.

Ellen’s eyes slide up and to the side, clearly considering my offer. That should work. Let me get you a litter box and some cat food. I was about to leave anyway, so I’ll bring it down on my way out.

I nod weakly. Yes. Okay. That sounds good, I sniffle.

Ellen closes the door and I hug Mr. Chuckles closer, kissing the top of his fluffy head. I’m so sorry about your mommy, buddy.

I descend the rickety steps with caution. I’ve already broken a bottle and tripped over a cat. I’m not eager to add falling down the stairs to the list.

My stomach churns thinking about poor Jillian and the fact that she’s gone forever. I’m going to miss getting to know her. I send a silent prayer to the universe, hoping she’s found peace and rest on her journey.

Once inside our apartment, I close the door gently, set Mr. Chuckles down, and drop off the empty basket on the floor next to my altar, where The Tower stands out like an unwanted, sore thumb. My cards never lie.

Hey, Sam? Can you come here for a sec? Ashley asks from the other room.

The cat follows me to the kitchen. Sure. What’s up?

Ashley peeks her perfectly round face out of the bathroom, revealing her sleek, ink-black bob and warm, porcelain complexion. She notices my teary eyes and her smile fades. Why were you crying? Did Dan do something? Why is Mr. Chuckles inside our apartment?

Oh Ash, Jillian is dead. I offered to take the cat for a few days so he wouldn’t have to be all alone in a shelter. I hope you don’t mind.

Oh my god! Of course not. Ashley stoops down to pet Mr. Chuckles. What happened to her?

I have no idea, but Jillian’s social worker will be here any minute with a litter box and supplies. I think I’ll ask her. I didn’t ask Ellen upstairs because the news was a bit shocking, but I know myself. I’ll wonder about this all night if I don’t at least ask what happened.

Ashley stands up and Mr. Chuckles saunters over to nuzzle against my leg, his whiskers tickling my bare skin.

So, what was it you needed?

Ashley’s puzzled expression says she has no idea what I’m talking about.

Just a minute ago. You asked me to come in here?

Oh! Right! My best friend smiles, lifts her groomed eyebrows, and points to herself. Is this too much?

Because I’m grateful for the lightness of normal conversation, I peruse her ensemble. I would never think to pair lemon with lilac, but Ashley is a Pisces with a knack for fashion. So, who am I to judge?

Hmmm. Let’s see. Do you mean too much for a rural Wisconsin kegger, or too much for New York Fashion Week? Because, in either case, it’s never too much.

Ashley giggles, ruffling my skirt. I always love this dress on you. No one pulls off boho-chic the way you do, Sam. And your hair! These waves are freaking fantastic!

The unintentional, yet awesome result of August humidity, I say, humorously flipping my golden locks over my shoulder.

Ashley walks to the sink. Did you set up your full moon stuff?

Yep. That’s how I came across Mr. Chuckles. Oh, I almost forgot. I broke one of my moon water bottles. It’s disappointing, for sure, but it can be replaced.

That sucks. Ashley pauses for a moment, gulping her water from a mason jar. And you said the cat will only be here for a few days?

Yeah. I think so. I walk over beside Ashley, fill a jar for myself, and lean against the kitchen cabinets to drink it. Hydration is so important.

It might be nice to have a pet for a few days, Ashley says, watching Mr. Chuckles lick his paws.

And it will feel good to do this kindness for Jillian. A metallic rattle emanates from the back screen door. That must be Ellen. I spring to action and open the door, standing aside, making room for her to enter. Please Ellen, come in.

Ellen smiles and steps inside carrying cat litter, a brown paper bag, and a blue plastic tray. I gathered up all the stuff I could find. I also put my business card in the bag, in case you need to reach me.

I close the door behind her, and she passes the unusually heavy paper bag to me. Whoa! Did she put rocks in here?

Ashley joins us by the back door. I’m Ashley, Sam’s roommate. Here. I can take the rest of that stuff.

Ellen passes the litter box and bag of kitty litter to Ashley. I’m Ellen. Thank you both for taking the cat. It’s a relief to know he’ll be in good hands.

Ashley finds a spot for the cat box against the wall near the back door and fills it with litter. The perfumy dust tickles the inside of my nose, prompting me to wiggle it and sneeze.

Ellen follows me to the kitchen, and I hoist the brown paper bag onto the counter. The energy in here has gotten worse, now even bleaker, and gloomier. I need to know more, so I turn toward Ellen. I’m so sorry about Jillian. If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to her?

Ellen sighs, grief displayed plainly on her face. Jillian suffered from chronic pain and mental health issues. I stopped by today because she wasn’t returning my calls. When she didn’t answer the door, I called the landlord, who let me in. But I was too late. Jillian had already taken her own life. The coroner assured me she didn’t suffer. Tears collect in the corners of Ellen’s eyes, which makes me cry too. I can feel how much she cared for Jillian.

Whoa. Suicide. Reality weighs down my heart and I cautiously lift my arms. Would you like a hug? I whimper.

Ellen sniffles, smiling wistfully. Actually, yes. That would be nice. She steps closer and we share a moment, releasing our sorrow together.

Jillian must’ve felt so alone, so helpless, so hopeless. She had such a beautiful light inside of her. Even if she couldn’t see it, I could. I bet Ellen could too. I wish I would’ve known Jillian was in trouble. Maybe I could’ve said or done something.

Ellen steps back and pulls a small package of tissues from her purse, offering one to me and taking one for herself. I should probably be going now. I don’t want to keep you from your Saturday night plans. She pokes the screen on her phone twice and passes the device to me. Please add your contact info, and I’ll call you when Jillian’s family arrives.

Sure. I type in my name and number and return the phone to Ellen. Are you parked out front?

Yes.

You can go out that way. I smile warmly and show Ellen through the apartment, where I open the front door for her.

Thanks, I’ll be in touch.

Bye, Ellen. I truly hope she’s able to find peace tonight.

I return to the kitchen and Ashley has already fed Mr. Chuckles. I overheard. I can’t believe Jillian killed herself, and right above us. She points upward, her eyes wide.

I know. The energy in this house is stuck, and now I know why. I’d stay home and try to clear it, but this party is important to both Ashley and me and having a little fun will be good for us. Jillian is already gone and staying home won’t bring her back. We should honor Jillian’s spirit after the party. I don’t know exactly how, but I’ll figure something out.

That’s a great idea. Ashley checks her sparkly watch. Wasn’t Dan supposed to be here by now? She’s not fond of Dan, for good reason, and she knows he’s often late.

He said eight-thirty. I check the time. Huh. It’s eight forty-six. Too bad we don’t have a car. If we did, we could go to the party on our own schedule.

Do you think he’ll even show?

I have no reason to think he won’t. Except how weird he’s been acting lately. I walk over to our second-hand moss green sofa, which is nearly pristine, a marvel considering we snagged it during Hippie Christmas—what Madisonians call college move-out week, a time when students pile their unwanted furniture and belongings at the curb. I plop down to put on my sandals.

She raises a skeptical eyebrow. Lately? C’mon Sam. Dan is all sorts of wrong for you, and I know you see it too.

I often favor harmony over truth and I’m deeply uncomfortable with conflict, so I’m not psyched about the process of ending things with Dan, only the end result. Also, I’ve never broken up with anyone in my life. You’re totally right, Ash. I’ve already decided to break up with him, but I don’t want to do it tonight.

A car honks outside at eight fifty-three, and I peek through the blinds behind the sofa. Dan’s red Lexus convertible is idling on Mifflin Street with the top down.

Oh, shit, Ash! He’s got the top down! What about your hair?

She bats her eyelashes. Dan is no match for my persuasive nature, dahling, she draws out the last word, emphasizing her point. She can manage herself, that’s for sure.

On our way out the door, we grab our cross-shoulder bags, mine beaded, hers sequined. I let Ashley out first and make sure I shut Mr. Chuckles inside the apartment.

Half of the negative energy that was so strong inside the house instantly dissipates on our front porch. What remains is my recent baseline of anguish about Dan, who’s already putting the convertible top up. He probably knows better than to face the wrath of Ashley. I smile, appreciating his small concession.

On our walk to the car, I decide not to tell Dan about Jillian or Mr. Chuckles. We won’t be together long enough for him to meet the cat anyway.

I open the convertible’s passenger door and pull the front seat forward for Ashley. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Dan rushing to send a text.

I slide onto the passenger seat. Who was that?

Hey babe. Dan leans toward me, expecting a kiss. I pause, not really feeling it, but I don’t want to raise suspicions, so I tilt my head and give him a quick peck on the lips. It’s just work stuff. Don’t worry about it. Dan’s tone is dismissive and condescending.

It kind of pisses me off, but for the sake of a drama-free night, I paste on a smile. Wow, I’m almost queasy from not being true to myself. At least I can always count on my body to keep it real. Did you do anything fun today?

Oh, you know. The usual, he replies flatly, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

Cryptic much? He must be in a mood because he turns up the music, with obvious intent, to