The Curse of Dark Root: Part Two (Daughters of Dark Root Book 4)

by Aasheim, April

  Ruth Anne carefully extracted her keys from the sleeping baby and shook her head. “You all need to stop screwing with me, or you'll be on your own for dinner.” With that, she left, slamming the door behind her.

  Montana didn't wake. Luckily, he could sleep through a thunderstorm. I knew this, firsthand.

  AS I WRESTLED the plastic sled from the dilapidated storage shed we lovingly referred to as “Spiderville,” I began to question my sanity.

  “It’s closure,” I told Montana, but it was nothing of the kind. I wasn't closing my heart on Shane Doler by taking this pilgrimage; I was inviting his spirit in.

  Carrying my son in one arm, I pulled the sled up Settler's Hill with the other. Halfway up the slope, a jar of Montana's peas fell from my bag and rolled back down. Montana seemed delighted, chortling as the jar disappeared from view.

  “Don't get too excited,” I said, as I stopped to zip the bag and catch my breath. “Mommy has twenty more jars back home.”

  It was a tough hike, laden with both baby and sled, and the day was unseasonably warm. The knoll had taken a beating during the rains, and the ground was riddled by small divots and slides. Every step was laborious, but I told myself this was penance––penance for not telling Shane how much I loved him while he was still here. Penance for yelling at him the last time we were together. Penance for my anger and jealousy. Penance for not saying goodbye.

  I couldn't literally travel back in time to right these things, but symbolically I could.

  At last, we reached the top of the hill.

  The sky was a crisp blue ribbon––an endless expanse of hope that kept the downhearted chugging along. Winter was a better time for grief, when everything died along with you.

  “Your first sled ride, Montana,” I said, looking around. “What do you think?”

  He kicked and squealed in response. I positioned the sled behind a large rock so it wouldn't set sail without us. I placed the baby bag down at the front end.

  “Almost ready,” I said, looking into my son’s eyes. “First, let me tell you about a man I once knew named Shane Doler. He was a bit of a dork with a terrible case of hat hair, but underneath that mop he was a really good guy. The best, in fact.

  “He had gray eyes,” I added. “Not like your daddy's, softer.”

  I breathed in the scents of summer grass and wildflowers, exhaling deeply before continuing.

  “He saw people––who we were, and who we were meant to be. He saw the best in all of us, made us believe in ourselves again, and in this town.” I sighed as memories flooded me. Even the bad ones had meaning now. “He could find things. Anything! Trees. Witches. Me. He was the great love of my life.” I kissed the top of Montana's head. “Until you came along, kiddo.”

  Montana regarded me, his face sunshine and smiles, but behind the smile there was something else––an archaic wisdom in my infant's eyes. He almost seemed to understand. I retrieved the photo of Shane from my skirt pocket and held it up for him. Montana titled his head and studied the photo with me. “He'll always be in our hearts, but I still miss him.”

  Montana placed his hand on my cheek.

  “Mommy's fine,” I soothed him, glancing at my bare ring finger and feeling that familiar sense of longing and loss. “Let's do this.”

  I squatted onto the back of the sled, positioning Montana in my lap, wedging the diaper bag in front of us both. I hadn't sledded much, and never in the summer, but I felt confident I could handle one quick trip down a hill in the middle of July. If Shane could do it at eight, surely I could at twenty-eight. I gripped one of the handles and placed my other arm around my son as I scouted our surroundings. Our right opened to a rolling field, and to our left the woods crept in, dark and beckoning. In front of us lay a long grassy slope, still moist from the rain, but mostly clear and without obstacles.

  “For Shane,” I whispered, and returned the photo to my pocket. I gave the rock that held our sled in place a jab with my toe, then used my free hand to push us forward. With one quick thrust we launched downhill, the wet grass moving us much quicker than I anticipated. I wrapped both arms around Montana, leaning backwards as we picked up speed. He laughed, reveling in his newfound freedom as we bounced along.

  We sped forward and I felt connected to Shane in a whole new way. I imagined him racing down this very hill, thinking of his mother. I saw Ruth Anne cheering from the top as Aunt Dora waited at the bottom with a basket of sandwiches.

  I wasn't there then... but I was here now.

  I kissed Montana's cheek as the world whizzed by.

  A loud cracking sound, like breaking branches, erupted from the woods to our left. I swiveled my head to see a large black bird perched on a thick tree limb, its dark eyes watching me with chilling intensity.

  I tightened my grip on my son.

  Other entities emerged from the shadows of the trees: a dark-haired woman in a long red dress smiled at me. An old woman stood beside her, dangling a chain. And a man appeared, slim and quick, running alongside me, darting in and out of trees, keeping pace.

  He wore a cowboy hat.

  I drew my knees into Montana's sides as I craned my neck to keep looking. The images blurred and fragmented like the last scene of a movie.

  “Dad?” My voice trembled. “Shane?”

  I leaned to the side, in an effort to see him more clearly before he dissolved.

  Montana let loose a high-pitched squeal.

  I snapped my gaze forward again. A mossy rock, the size of a tree trunk, jutted out from the earth directly in front of us.

  We were going too fast to stop.

  I gathered the magick around me, pulling it up from the earth, using that energy to guide us out of the way. I summoned everything I had.

  The sled shifted slightly to the right, but not enough. We were still going to hit.

  “Oh, God! Oh, God!”

  I kept my focus, all the while bracing for impact. The sled budged a little more.

  Suddenly, I felt an assist to my powers, like a soft wave that carries a boat to the shore. The sled became lighter, almost weightless.

  We didn't skirt the rock––we sailed over it, clearing it by at least a foot, landing softly on the other side.

  When we finally skidded to a stop, I scrambled from the plastic sled and pulled Montana into my chest, kissing his head and apologizing. “I'm so sorry. That was so stupid of mommy. I'm sorry.”

  Montana touched my cheek again, his gold-green eyes looking at me in what seemed to be silent understanding.

  My heart nearly burst out of love.

  I had a lot to learn about being a parent.

  Once my nerves settled, I put Montana in his baby sling, grabbed his bag, and pulled the sled quietly back to Sister House.

  Something had intervened to save us. Or someone.

  But what? Or who? Shane?

  Had he risen from the dead to haunt me and be our protector?

  If I had any notion before of letting him go, it was gone now.

  I intended to keep Shane with me, until it was time for me to join him.

  FOUR

  Time of the Season

  “YOU BELIEVE IN ghosts, right?” I asked my eldest sister as we barreled down the country road in her Jeep. Music blasted from the radio and Ruth Anne let the song play out before responding.

  “Sorry, we don't get reception out here very often,” she apologized. “But to answer your question as to whether or not I believe in ghosts––Duh! Why do you think I'm doing all of this?”

  I rolled down my window. The wind caught my hair, sending a mass of red curls into my face. Even so, the air felt good after being sequestered in the house all day with a teething infant and a headache that required two pots of Merry’s tea to cure. “Do you think spirits watch over us? Maybe even protect us?”

  Ruth Anne scratched her head with both hands, steering with her knees. “Ah, geez Maggie. Don't you ever have an easy question? I don't know. Maybe.” She looked at me out of t
he corner of her eye as her hands returned to the wheel. “Why? Did something happen?”

  My body stiffened as I considered how much to reveal.

  Yesterday, I was certain Shane had saved us from colliding with that rock. But now, in the light of a new day, things were muddier. Maybe the rock wasn't as close as I thought. Or perhaps we hit a puddle which vaulted us into the air. I believed in spirits, but sometimes things that went bump in the night were just things that went bump in the night.

  Even if I could explain away the sled, I couldn't deny the apparitions at the edge of the forest, and the man running beside me wearing a cowboy hat. That particular vision kept me up all night, and I couldn't shake it.

  I popped an aspirin from my purse, wishing I had brought some of Merry's tea along.

  “It's a nice thought,” Ruth Anne said after several minutes of reflection. “That when your loved ones cross over, they stick around to make sure you're okay.” She turned to face me, her eyes glimmering. “That's why I do what I do, Mags. I want to prove that spirits exist. And not just some spirits. All spirits. That we have souls that transcend bodies and space and time.” She paused, drumming her fingers intently against the wheel, her face resolute. “I need to.”

  I inhaled and nodded. Consumed by my own misfortune, I had forgotten Ruth Anne lost someone too, a woman she once loved. She had her reasons for hoping the dead returned––just as I did.

  “How long will this take?” I asked, my breasts starting to tingle. “Montana will need to eat soon.”

  She waggled her hand in a “don't worry about it” motion. “You pumped before we left. He'll be fine. And Jupiter knows he's got peas for days. I swear, little Monty is going to grow up to be the Jolly Green Giant if you don't feed him something else.”

  “I want him to be healthy. The doctor said to let him have one type of food for several weeks before introducing him to the next.”

  “Yeah? Well, I'll wait till you feed him something clear before I resume my diaper duty.”

  I frowned. “He only wants to nurse when he's starving. I'm worried.”

  Ruth Anne gave me a sympathetic look. “He's just growing, Mags. Trust me, he'll return to the boob one day, just maybe not yours.”

  “Thanks for that image.”

  “You’re welcome.” She tapped my knee repeatedly with the tip of her finger. “Seriously, it's good for you to get out of the house, and most especially Dark Root. A trip abroad will give you new perspective.”

  “Since when did the outskirts of Linsburg become exotic travel?”

  “Oh, this will be exotic, Mags, trust me.”

  She stepped on the gas as she turned onto a back road, driving a few miles without speaking before abruptly veering off our path. We bumped down a neglected dirt road. Ruth Anne smiled as we hit each rut, like a kid on a carnival ride. It worsened my headache so I focused on the landscape instead.

  The trees were different out here. Not the tall aspens and towering firs that claimed Dark Root, but wide pines that grew squatter the further we went.

  Maybe Ruth Anne was right to bring me along. If I'd stayed home, I'd be lying in front of the TV, eating vegan cookies and guzzling Diet Coke while waiting for Montana to wake up from his nap. And I’d be caught up in missing Shane and worrying about the mysterious curse I still couldn’t shake.

  “Thanks for taking me,” I said.

  “It'll be fun, I promise.” She wore a strange new grin and her eyes gleamed wildly. The wind fluffed her short hair around her face, making her look like an excited puffer bird.

  I still had no idea where we were going. I glanced to the empty back seat, wondering how Montana was doing. I'd reluctantly left him in Eve's care, and knowing her, my son would be clean when I returned, but would probably also have a crippling new aversion to germs, large pores, and people who wear socks with sandals.

  “I miss my baby,” I said as we slowed down.

  “If you don't get some adventure in your life, you're going to end up like Aunt Dora.”

  “This whole year has been an adventure,” I reminded her. Still, I tried to imagine myself forty years older, wearing a checkered apron and baking pies. “Aunt Dora's life doesn't seem so bad. She's got her garden and the TV.”

  “And bad knees and bursitis.”

  “That's because she's old, not because she led a boring life. I'll bet she was a wild woman in her day.”

  Ruth Anne, shrugged. “It's hard to say. We don't know much about her history.” She paused, slowly licking lips. “Except that she isn't our biological aunt, but I love her as if she is.”

  I sucked in my breath. Ruth Anne knew about Aunt Dora. It made sense. She probably remembered the Council's final years. What else did she know?

  Before I could quiz her, she slammed on the breaks, launching me violently forward. I lurched against my belt. “What the hell?” I demanded.

  “Sorry 'bout that,” she said, backing the vehicle up. “I was expecting the arrow, but not one so small.”

  “Arrow?” I looked around. There was nothing but trees. “Where?”

  She pulled to the side of the road and motioned to a stumpy pine. A small white arrow had been crudely painted on it, indicating a concealed path into the woods. “Honey, we're home.”

  We climbed out and unloaded several items of gear, which Ruth Anne stuffed inside her backpack. She handed me two bottles of water. “Here, Eeyore, take these.”

  “I wish everyone would stop referencing my sadness,” I said, taking the water. “No one understands.”

  Ruth Anne lowered her eyes and slammed the car door. “Some of us do, Mags. You're not the only who has suffered in life.”

  “I'm sorry,” I said, leaping over a puddle to catch up.

  She followed the path, which led to another arrow, which opened into an even narrower path between a clump of trees. Her hands gripped the straps of her backpack as she expertly dodged the twisted limbs and undergrowth.

  “Hey! Don't ignore me. I said I was sorry.” I grabbed her arm. “You know me––I open my mouth without thinking.”

  “You're right about that.”

  “It's just so hard, Ruth Anne. I've never had to do anything like this. And now I have a baby to take care of––which is great––but all I really want to do is to crawl into a dark cave and burrow there forever.”

  She took off her glasses, her brown eyes misting. “I do know how you feel, but we can't give up. If we want to honor the dead, we need to keep living. If not for ourselves, then for them.”

  I grabbed her and hugged her.

  “It's alright.” She returned her glasses to her face as she pulled away. “I know you didn't mean anything by it. And it's not like I talk about it, much.”

  “Or ever.”

  “Or ever,” she agreed.

  We finished our walk in silence, trekking along the overgrown road, following sporadic arrows like a map through Wonderland. Ruth Anne's back bowed, and it wasn't because of her heavy backpack.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked as our steps aligned, walking on leaves too wet to crunch beneath our feet.

  “You really want to talk about me?” she asked, missing a step and nearly stumbling on a stone.

  “Yes. Please.”

  Ruth Anne wiped her nose with the back of her arm, grumbled about catching a cold. “What do you want to know?”

  “Her name?”

  The tightness of her expression dissolved and the corners of her mouth turned up in a secret smile. “Violet. Her name was Violet.” Ruth Anne contemplated the line of the trees ahead of us, her body present but her mind somewhere else. “She was beautiful. Dark skin. Dark eyes. Black and silver hair that looked like nighttime in the desert.”

  “How did you meet her?”

  She leaned against a tree, setting her pack by her feet. “My car broke down somewhere outside of Jackson, Mississippi. I was cursing and kicking my tire when a beautiful woman in a beat-up pickup offers me a ride, and takes me
to her town.” Ruth Anne let out a hearty laugh as she reminisced. “The 'town' turned out to be a village in the swamplands, a mostly black community where everybody seemed to be related to everyone else. They had the strangest dialects, and they shared everything: Food, shelter, men.

  “I was fascinated by this place, maybe because I missed home. By this time, my dad had died and I was on my own. So I stayed the night, and then the next. A couple of days turned into weeks and then months. I was there nearly a year. They didn't have calendars––they didn't have much of anything, honestly. But they had each other.”

  Ruth Anne paused, taking a moment to find the next arrow. I pointed to one partially covered with brush. She grabbed her backpack and followed it, with me tagging along behind. The hike left me unusually winded and light headed, but I was determined to keep up.

  “They were witches,” she continued. “But different from Sasha and the Council. They practiced ritual magick for health and luck, and there were rumors of conjuring and summoning, too.” She shook her head. “Violet's mother was the leader and Violet was studying to replace her. Because she made trips to town for supplies and could read, she'd learned a few things. Healing mostly. Before Violet introduced them to Band-Aids and antibiotics, they'd relied solely on herbs, chicken bones, and leeches for their cures. But Violet convinced her mother there was a place for the present as well as the past in their community. My girl was a maverick and everyone loved her.”

  “I wish I had met her.”

  “Me too. In many ways, it all seemed very familiar to me. Different witches, different geography, same story. For a long time, I told myself that was the reason I stayed. And then one day, I realized I loved her.”

  “Did she love you back?”

  “I think so. She said it once. And I felt it…” She pounded her chest with her closed fist. “Here.”

  We reached a spot in the woods, where the trees circled a large old house, now covered in lichen and vines. The windows were missing, boarded up, or broken. A wide porch on the front of the house showcased where grand double doors once stood. Decaying pillars held up the remains of a decaying balcony. The home seemed straight out of the Antebellum South, only smaller.