“I approach the queen with my bow raised. ‘I have come for the wise man. Give him to me now, or die by my arrow!’”
Our heads flipped towards Michael, who played the role of the queen. He stood, pointing an accusing finger at Ruth Anne. “Do you think I will let my prize go? No! He will be my new oracle. Now leave!” Michael lowered his hands and two dice tumbled from his palms, bouncing across the table.
We leaned forward, inspecting the numbers.
“It’s a critical!” Ruth Anne groaned, swallowing hard. “Am I dead?”
“No. But your bow melts in your hands.”
“Crap! Does it burn?”
He rolled another set of dice. “Take two points of fire damage.”
“Crap again! I haven’t rolled yet.”
“Is there anything else you can do?” Michael asked.
“I’m going to draw my short sword and charge.”
“Wait!” Eve interrupted, her eyes scanning her character sheet. “I have a song for this! It’s called Really Friends!”
“That’s Rally Friends,” Ruth Anne corrected.
“Oh. Whatever. It gives everyone a better chance to hit their targets and to avoid being hit. But I need to sing while you fight.”
“Now she sings,” Ruth Anne said, dropping her head onto the table.
“Remember, as long as you’re singing, you can’t do anything else,” Merry added.
“So, not much changes,” Ruth Anne snickered, her head still down.
Merry put her hands up. “Eve, please use your spell. I’m sure it will be helpful. Ruth Anne, ready your sword.”
Eve folded her hands, cleared her throat, then sang an actual song. It was something about being brave and not fearing the goblins or the mist. It was mesmerizing, yet frightening. We drew in, swept up in Eve’s haunting melody, all of us momentarily forgetting about the game. When she finished, we clapped. “That’s all I can do,” she said, bowing dramatically. “If you get your asses kicked now, it’s your own faults.”
Ruth Anne lifted a sharpened pencil. “Bolstered by the bard’s song, the ranger charges in! Be gone Foul Queen!”
She swung her pencil like a sword.
Michael rolled again. “The queen reaches to her left, and with an evil smile, pushes a button on her throne. The floor before her opens up. Ruth Anne, make a nimbleness check.”
“Ah, crap! All failures. How?”
Our gazes promptly returned to Michael. “You fall forward, stumbling into the hole. You hear things down below. The howls and growls of what sounds like a terrible monster.”
“Yikes!”
“But because of the bard’s rally spell, you manage to catch the side of the pit and you dangle precariously. The queen laughs. Lightning fills the room. What do you girls do?”
“I give the ranger my hand,” Merry says. “I’ll try to pull her up.”
“You manage to catch her hand, but the queen’s eyes fall on you.”
“Maggie,” Merry whispered. “It’s up to you. Do something.”
“Do what? I have light, telekinesis, and bubble wrap! What can I... Oh! I cast a Bubble shield around myself. I’m standing near the priest and the ranger so it should cover them, too.”
Michael narrowed his eyes and performed the mental calculations. “If you stay close, it should help. It won’t save them from falling damage, though. The ranger is still dangling.”
“Oh, I’ll pull her up,” Merry said with determination. “Come on Ruth Anne, help me help you!”
“I’m trying! But I have unusually stubby legs!”
“I haven’t stopped singing,” Eve announced. “Don’t forget the bonus they get from that.”
“Got that calculated,” Michael said, flipping through a book. “The queen hears the bard song and sees the bubble shield. She’s angry. She rises slowly from her throne. Her feet are mere inches from the pit. It’s not the ranger she’s after. She cocks one eyebrow and raises a slim finger at the mage. Blue sparks shoot from her hand and grow into long electrical charges.”
My heart quickened. “My bubble will absorb it, right?”
Michael shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
I chewed on my lip, considering my next move. If I cast another spell, it would break my concentration and the bubble would break. But if the queen went after me, the bubble would also break.
Michael rolled the dice. “You took too long, Mags. The queen unleashes a bolt of blue lightning. It hits the bubble, shattering it. The sorceress raises her arms to shoot another bolt.”
Merry looked at me encouragingly. I had no weapon, no offensive magick at all. Just my wits. “Alright,” I said. “I cast my Light spell into her eyes.”
“Good idea!” Ruth Anne whooped.
“Did the light spell hit?” I asked anxiously.
“Yes.” Michael nodded. “But after only a moment of blindness, the queen laughs, tossing back her head. She reveals a long golden scepter from beneath her cape, directing her anger at the mage once again. ‘Prepare to meet your maker.’”
I had just one spell left, and three subdued sisters. The party was about to end. I stood and locked eyes with Michael, picking up the dice. “I focus on the throne behind the queen, willing it with my telekinetic powers to ram into the back of her legs. Return to the Netherworld, Bitch!”
Merry’s mouth dropped and Ruth Anne grinned. Even Eve stopped singing.
Michael blinked as he deciphered what I was doing. “That throne is nailed to the floor. Roll the dice, Maggie. You’ll need a perfect 20.”
I imagined the number as I shook the die. I pushed away all other thoughts, except for that magick number. I didn’t look as it landed, but I knew. The collective ‘ooh’ from around the table confirmed it.
Michael shook his head. “The queen is struck by her own throne! Her crown tumbles off, falling to the floor. Her body flails as she tumbles into the pit, her fingers grasping for a ledge. But unlike the nimble ranger, she cannot hold. She falls into the deep chasm, to be devoured by the monster she herself created.”
“Woot!” Ruth Anne stood, holding up a hand for me to high-five. “Way to go, Mage... I mean, Mags.”
“My song helped!” Eve chimed in.
“Yes, it certainly did,” Merry agreed. “Now that the queen is gone, we can pull the ranger out of her hole.”
“Good,” Ruth Anne said, wiping her forehead. “Because I think that thing down there is looking for dessert.”
“With all three of you working at it, you quickly pull the ranger up,” Michael confirmed. “The pit seals up behind her.”
We cheered and traded stories, as if it had all really happened. Then we searched the queen’s chamber and divided up the loot, freeing the village wise man in the process. For good measure, I took the crown.
“See what happens when we all work together?” Merry smiled, though it bordered on a smirk. I then realized, the entire game was her idea.
“We are stronger together,” I admitted. “And the game was entertaining. Since we’ve sworn off magick in real life, this could be a fun substitute.”
“Uh, Mags” Eve pointed to the floor. “You may want to check this out.”
We all looked. Montana was still on his stomach, his arms stretched out towards his juice bottle that had rolled off to the side. With every clawing motion, the bottle rotated a tick in his direction. It happened so slowly it was nearly imperceptible, but within a minute the bottle was back in his hand.
He squealed as he flipped onto his side, suckling it like a baby goat.
“Ah, hell.”
“Seems you two got yourself a baby warlock,” Ruth Anne said.
I remembered Ruth Anne’s missing keys, and how our sled had sailed over the boulder, and the fistful of cat hair.
I fell back into my seat.
I couldn’t get rid of magick in my life. Not when it was cooing and giggling at my feet.
FIFTEEN
Travelin’ Man
“ARE YOU
SURE?” I asked Merry. We stood on the front porch of Sister House. The sun was pleasantly warm and a soft breeze lifted the hem of her white skirt and fluttered her hair.
She stood motionless, her right index finger planted firmly into the dimple of her chin. She studied Montana, who was planted atop the porch swing in his carrier. The swing rocked gently, a movement initiated by a strong breeze and retained by my son’s enthusiasm. He grinned with each sweep of the pendulum, his face morphing between fear and exhilaration.
“I’ll be fine.” Merry finally answered. “I’ll miss you guys, but this is important. Besides, Harvest Home is your place now. Bona fide.” She smiled, though her head dipped a little.
We stared quietly at the shadows on the ground––mine long and lean, hers short and femininely rounded. Both shadows donned ponytails––one wild and reckless, the other sleek and tamed.
“My shadow used to be shorter than yours,” I remarked.
“I remember. Seems like yesterday. It all goes by too fast.” She sighed and I knew she wasn’t just referencing our time as kids. She was missing her daughter.
“Hear from June Bug lately?”
Merry’s blue eyes misted. She pressed her back into one of the pillars. “Frank’s calling today. Says it’s important we talk. Maggie, I hope he’s not trying to keep her.”
“We won’t let that happen. He’ll be sorry he was ever born if he doesn’t send my niece back soon. That, I promise.”
Merry snorted, then laughed, her eyes brimming with tears. “I fear for Frank if he crosses you, little sister. Why do you think I was always nice to you?”
“You mean it wasn’t my witty banter and sparkling personality?”
“Oh, that too, for sure.” She wiped her eyes, then lifted Montana from his seat. He pouted momentarily, until he saw her shining face. “We only live a couple miles apart, little guy,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Auntie Merry will see you every day, come rain or sleet or... well, this is Dark Root, so more rain.”
He chirped like a little bird at the news. She kissed him again and handed him to me.
“Thank you,” I said, putting him into my kangaroo sling. “For taking care of us. I can’t repay you. Ever.”
“You’re moving across town, not to the moon. Cut it out.”
I trembled, remembering the moment Merry delivered my son into the world, in the back of her sedan. I was given one life that day, but had lost another. It was only because of my sister’s constant presence that I was able to stay strong enough to care for my son after Shane’s death. Had she not been a reminder of all the good still left in the world, I might’ve surrendered to the darkness that threatened to take me.
I squeezed her shoulder and nodded. “I’m sorry I was a jerk.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t more understanding.”
“I better run,” I said with a tight smile. “Or I’ll never leave.”
Merry’s face paled. She pressed her lips together and sighed. “Maggie, I hadn’t wanted to mention this, but Aunt Dora hasn’t been the same these last few months.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she and Jillian...” she shrugged. “I should let them tell you.”
I locked eyes with her. “She isn’t sick, is she? Or dying?”
“No. No! Nothing like that.” Her shoulders rose then dropped. “She’s just out of sorts lately. Jillian, too. I wanted to give you a heads up.”
“Out of sorts? Because of me?”
She didn’t need to answer. I’d always been close to my aunt and adored Jillian, but I’d kept my distance since the birth. They hadn’t even seen Montana, except for a couple of visitations via Michael.
“I’m an idiot,” I said. “I was so caught up in my own crap, I didn’t think of anyone else’s. How do you all put up with me?”
“We make really strong tea.” Merry laughed and her aura brightened.
I pulled on my alpaca sweater, which now bagged down over my hips. It was too warm to wear, but I was still between sizes, and it hid my midriff perfectly.
“You’ll drop off my stuff?” I asked. “I don’t want to leave it too long. Who knows what Eve will send to the thrift store if given a chance.”
“I’ll bring it. You won’t go naked on my watch.”
“I was practically a nudist at Woodhaven. That seems so long ago, too.”
Merry looked at her feet, blushing. “I had my nudist moments as well, back in the day.”
I raised a curious eyebrow but she didn’t elaborate. I’d save the question for a day in the distant future, when we were old and wrinkled, reminiscing about life and drinking strong brew.
“Aunt Dora invited us for dinner,” Merry said, changing topics. “I’ll bring your boxes then. You know, Michael’s still living in the attic. Are you okay with that?”
One side of my mouth slid into a “whatever” look. “I see him more now than I did when we lived together. But he did say he had a new place lined up.”
“Yeah, he mentioned that to me, too.”
I could tell by the way her energy bristled that she knew more. I would’ve pressed but I was already late. Aunt Dora expected me for high tea. I’d ask Michael about his new place later.
“Okay, I’m off,” I said, giving her a quick hug. “See you on the flip side.”
She clamped her feet together and her fingers rose up to her forehead in a salute. I saluted her back.
I wasn’t sure what I was stepping into. All I knew was that it was time to make amends with everyone. I needed the help of Jillian and Aunt Dora, the wise women of the family. Only they would know how to deal with a budding infant warlock.
Montana and I began our two mile walk towards Harvest Home along the forest path that connected the properties. Along the way a butterfly appeared, landing softly on Montana’s shoulder. It rode there, unmoving, the rest of the way home.
MERRY WARNED ME that Aunt Dora was out of sorts, but nothing could’ve prepared me for what awaited me at Harvest Home.
As the path drew clear of the forest, I was struck dead in my tracks. The earth around the Victorian home had cracked and parched, despite the recent rains, withering the grass to nothingness. There were no flowers in the beds, and the garden was a barren graveyard.
Strangest of all, the trees surrounding the perimeter of the property were bare, as if still stuck in the maw of winter. Dried leaves and rotted fruit dotted the ground. Even the sounds of the forest were stilled, except for an occasional caw from scavenging birds.
The only sign of life on the property came from the two parked cars––Michael’s van and Jillian’s Lexus.
As I beheld the once-pristine Victorian home, all seemed supernaturally quiet. Its shutters were drawn like half-closed eyelids. From a distance, it looked sad, tired, and haunted.
Approaching the house, I was relieved to find the exterior still clean and maintained. Aunt Dora might be out of sorts, but she was no slouch when it came to housekeeping. Apart from the bleak vegetation, it was the energy of the house that troubled me most. It exuded an air of desperation, masked by paint.
Curiously, strange objects dangled from clotheslines draped across each and every window. Small glass balls, like Christmas tree ornaments, were strung from the curtain rods. Most were blue, with peacocks’ eyes painted upon them. Here and there, hand mirrors hung from their handles, face out, reflecting back the sun. And in between the bulbs and mirrors, shoes dangled from their laces––baby shoes, adult shoes, slippers, sandals.
“What the...” I blinked several times.
Had Aunt Dora truly lost her marbles?
I crept up the porch stairs, listening. There was a distant rumbling within, though I couldn’t tell if it was Aunt Dora herself or her old electric mixer.
“Maggie! You made it.” Michael called to me as he came around the side of the house. Montana squealed. “Son!” he proclaimed, dashing up the stairs and prying him from my arms.
“The DNA test hasn’t come back
yet,” I said. “Don’t get too attached.”
Michael grinned. “You’re a heartless woman, Maggie Mae. That’s why I love you.” He took me by the arm and led me around to the back door. “They’re inside, nervous as I’ve ever seen them. I think Dora even burned the tea.”
In all my years, Aunt Dora had never burned the tea.
I shook my head. “You’d think I was the queen,” I said, studying another set of glass balls and shoes swaying from the kitchen window.
“Well, my dear, here you are a queen.” He waved a hand in a regal sweeping motion, extending his fingers towards the door. “Your court awaits. I’ll show Montana his new room. And Mags... go easy on them.”
Michael went in first, waving at the two women sitting around the kitchen table, then disappeared through the archway into the living room. I stayed just outside the doorway, collecting my thoughts. I still felt betrayed, but they were family after all. And deep down, I knew their intentions were noble.
I exhaled and went in.
A string of chicken bones hung on a rope across the threshold. They made a clicking sound as I swatted them aside and closed the screen door behind me. Before I could ask about the bones, four arms enfolded me.
“We’ve missed you so much Magdalene.” Jillian tearfully tightened her embrace.
“My Maggie Girl!” Aunt Dora exclaimed. She wiped her nose on the sleeve of my sweater. “Ya’ve come home!”
I was home.
And suddenly all my anger melted away.
THE AFTERNOON UNFOLDED in a tea party of hugs and tears. Aunt Dora, now several stress-pounds thinner, poured brew and offered an assortment of scones and crumpets. She fussed over me, while refusing to eat any herself.
Jillian sat beside me, nibbling at the corners of her pastry, joking gaily and dabbing her eyes with the corner of her linen napkin. Her hair had grayed near the temples and the lines around her mouth had deepened, as if her lips had been kept in a permanent pucker. There were shadows beneath her eyes, dark crescent moons hanging in a porcelain sky.
We cried, and laughed, and cried again, clinking cups and apologizing in turn, all while giggling at the madness of it all. We were family––our bonds had been forged through good times and hardships, and we vowed that nothing would come between us again.
The Curse of Dark Root: Part Two (Daughters of Dark Root Book 4) Page 12