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

by Aasheim, April

  “Are we done here?” he asked, flashing his most charming smile.

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said, earnestly.

  “How?”

  “I’ll find a spell. I’m sure there’s one in that big book of yours.”

  “That is fine. But Armand, from now on the book must be read only in my shop. No more removing it from the store.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  Sasha eyed him carefully. “It’s delicate and the last of its kind. I need to keep it safe.”

  “So, I have to sit in ‘Old Lady-ville’ with tea and doilies, whenever I want to study!? Fucking great.”

  “Take it or leave it.”

  “Maybe I will take it,” he said, stepping towards her. His face was close enough that he could smell the coffee on her breath. “Maybe I’ll take it far away, in fact.”

  He pushed past her, bumping her shoulder as he made for the door, avoiding Jillian’s eyes.

  “You’d be advised not to take my spell book.” Sasha spoke calmly, though the warning in her voice was crystal clear.

  “I’m leaving,” he said. “Once I get rid of that thing in Joe’s, I’m out of this town. And Sasha––if I wanted anything from you, there’s nothing you could do to stop me from taking it. Nothing.”

  Larinda looked at him with hopeful eyes.

  Fuck, he might as well take her along, too.

  Maybe they’d start a new life together, and forget all about Sasha and her spell book and her precious Dark Root.

  And maybe he’d forget about Jillian, too.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Let it Be

  MY MIND WAS restless as I sat in the ruins of Jillian’s old stone studio. Montana snored in his carrier while I sat on the floor, wiggling my feet in a patch of sun while listening to the sounds of nature around me. My thoughts ricocheted between the near-disaster of almost sleeping with Michael and the horror of my father going dark, bordering on evil.

  In return for power, he promised The Dark One his first male heir.

  Fortunately, he only had daughters as far as I knew. Unless there was another child I didn’t know about. A brother?

  The thought left me sick. There were still more globes. Would they reveal his heinous deed? Or was it something else?

  Of course... grandchildren were also considered heirs.

  I quickly looked down at my son, placing my hand over him protectively, like a driver holding out his arm over the passenger seat when she slams on the breaks. The aura around my hand shone brick red. Nothing was getting to my son. That, I could guarantee. Even if I had to pull from every storm cloud for miles.

  But the truth was, I still had no idea what was to come, both in the remaining globe or in life. Deep down, I knew there was only so much I could control, a feeling that left me cold and unsettled. I shivered, even though the day was warm, fighting through the anger and trying to quell my fears.

  Most unsettling of all was the strange sympathy I felt for my father. He and I were both victims of heartache, in our own ways. Would his path have changed had he been allowed to love Jillian? Or was he truly bad at the core, and she his one respite from the darkness that slowly devoured his soul? Like my father’s hair and death touch, I wondered if I inherited his propensity towards darkness, as well?

  As quickly as I cleared these thoughts from my head, they kept sneaking back in, jabbing at the periphery of my brain, knocking relentlessly until I opened the door. Once I did, images of the people in my life swept in––Armand, smiling, holding his set of scales. Michael followed, his face stricken when I called Shane’s name.

  “Stop!” I said with authority. All visions suddenly ceased.

  I couldn’t let these thoughts control me. I had to let them go.

  I shivered though I wasn’t cold. I tried to cry. There were no tears but the floor quivered perceptively, as if crying on my behalf. I sat with the gentle waves, breathing in and out in harmony, until I felt spent and strangely euphoric. Crying, even without tears, cleansed the soul.

  “Butterflies,” I said softly, a gentle reminder of my mission. I’d come to the stones to get rid of these inner demons, not relive them. I’d been up half the night doing just that. But I needed to focus––I was still sick and the globes were yet unfinished. I needed to heal. Instinctively, I knew that being here was part of that process.

  I pressed the palms of my hands together in the space before my heart, my fingers pointed upwards. “Butterflies,” I said again, with more determination. I glanced around. The floors stopped trembling, but there was nothing more.

  I could command the globes to float, the spirits to leave, and the heavens to open up with rain, but I couldn’t command the butterflies. Everything in the universe wasn’t under my control, nor mine to command. And maybe that was the answer.

  “Butterflies,” I pled, humbly this time. I didn’t pull from anything. I just asked, and let it be.

  A butterfly appeared in the doorway, sunlight filtering through its translucent white wings. It hovered there, waiting. I extended my shaking hand.

  Calm, Maggie, calm.

  I breathed deeper, slower, clearing the remaining cobwebs from my mind. My chest rose and fell with the butterflies’ fluttering wings and the world outside this sanctuary fell away. The sunbeam on the floor expanded. Soon Montana and I were cocooned in a room of light.

  There was beauty in this moment, a quiet realization that the world was a wonderful place, despite its hardships and losses. Even the darkest deeds had a chance to be undone. For the first time in many months, my heart didn’t ache. My brain didn’t overthink. My body didn’t swelter. I was not afraid. I had everything I needed to keep us safe.

  Montana awoke. He smiled as he caught sight of the butterfly, stretching his small arm towards it. Moments later, the doorway was bursting with the flitting wings of hundreds of butterflies, in every color of the rainbow and beyond. They filled the entrance like a display of fireworks filling the empty sky.

  I gasped while Montana giggled wildly beside me.

  Did he summon them, or did I? Or had we called them together?

  The original white butterfly fluttered in alone, touching down onto the tip of Montana’s extended finger. The others joined, encircling us––a swirl of color and dazzling light. We giggled, unable to stop ourselves, swept up in the raw exhilaration of the butterfly dance. Collectively, they swirled to the right and then the left, rising and falling in unison, as if directed by an unseen conductor. The display was the most wondrous magick I had ever witnessed. Overcome by emotion, I took my son’s small hand in mine. If there were miracles, we were bearing witness to one right now.

  Eventually, they began their casual descents, settling over us like a dusting of powdered sugar. I stood up very carefully, cloaked in butterflies as Montana shrilled with delight.

  Smiling, I stepped lightly towards the doorway, basking in the sun, marveling at the world around me. The Council spoke of the coming Dark, but as long as there were butterflies there was hope. These small joyous moments would hold it back. They had to.

  “Go now,” I whispered, pointing towards the tree line.

  One by one they flew away, painting the sky as they arced like a rainbow, disappearing into the lush woods.

  The single white butterfly lingered behind, still perched upon the tip of my son’s finger.

  “Thank you,” I said. It fluttered once, as if nodding, then it too flew away.

  With newfound optimism in my heart, I scooped Montana up and spun him around. We laughed as we dizzied ourselves. The world was dark and uncertain at times, but there was always hope. And though I wasn’t sure what my own future held, or the world’s for that matter, I knew I had my family, my friends, and now the butterflies to see me through.

  I was happy and I understood that wherever Shane was, he was happy for me. We don’t give up because we lose someone. We keep going for them.

  As we reveled in the m
oment, my ears suddenly perked. There was a nearby swishing sound, like rustling leaves.

  Or feathers.

  I stood taller, refusing to be afraid as I awaited another visit from Larinda. She didn’t appear, but a large raven did. It boldly landed on a crumbling window sill, watching me with tar-black eyes.

  “Shoo,” I said, my fingers twitching.

  The bird hopped down from its ledge and ambled towards us, unafraid and brazen.

  “Go!” I commanded, kicking at the bird. The creature nimbly hopped out of the way, cocking its head contemptuously. Unnerved by its boldness, I stomped my foot. “Leave!” The room shook violently at my command.

  The bird’s eyes shifted to a vibrant purple. This was no ordinary raven. It was a magickal creature––a familiar, a minion, or a witch in guise. It stretched its wings wide, doubling in size within the span of a breath. It continued to grow and I lifted my hands, preparing to send the thing back to whatever foul realm it belonged.

  I quickly pulled a piece of chalk from my shorts pocket and drew a protective circle around me and my son. I then tapped my crystal bracelet. “You can’t hurt me and you know it. Now leave before I do something you’ll regret.”

  With a defiant glare, the creature deliberately placed a talon on the chalk line.

  As it breached my spell, I realized this was something more than a simple construct.

  It pumped its wings and cawed, then launched its body forward, claws extended, aiming for my shoulder.

  I covered Montana with one arm as I absorbed the first shredding rips. It tore through my shirtsleeve, leaving an etching of blood along my upper arm. I batted the creature away, sending it barreling into the opposite wall. It hit hard, dropping to the ground.

  The raven’s violet eyes flashed momentarily red as it renewed its attack.

  A blaze of orange appeared in the doorway, followed by a prism of color. The orange blur leapt, snatching down the raven in midair with its teeth and claws. The two creatures wrestled on the ground, tearing and biting, a blitz of teeth and feathers and orange fur. At last, the blackbird was subdued.

  “Maggie-Cat!” I exclaimed.

  My familiar looked up at me, the raven squirming beneath his crushing paws. Outside the windows, hundreds of butterflies streamed through the air. Maggie-Cat blinked slowly, then dragged the bird outside, through the tall grass, and into the woods. The butterflies followed. The last image I got was of the curve of my cat’s tail, and soon, even that slipped away.

  I caught my breath, then kissed my son. I should have been more prepared. But we were safe, thanks to a cat I thought was lost forever. I wondered if the butterflies sent him, and where he went now that he was gone.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Chain of Fools

  AS I CLEARED the forest and headed down the road home, I heard the rumble of a vehicle behind me.

  “Hey beautiful!” a man’s voice called. Michael’s white van pulled up beside us. “What are you two doing out here?” he asked, looking unusually happy.

  “Just killing time,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. I certainly didn’t want Michael to know we’d just been attacked. He would insist on accompanying me everywhere if he knew.

  “Care to kill some of that time with me? I’d like to show you something.”

  “Uh, sure. After the day I’ve had, I’m up for anything.”

  “Anything?” he asked playfully, as I fastened Montana into his car seat. “That’s what I like to hear.”

  Michael took us down an old road, thick with undergrowth and shrubbery. “Off-roading,” he said as we hit a rock, and then another rock. His eyes gleamed like he was a little boy sneaking a peek at his birthday presents before it was party time.

  “I should have taught you to drive sooner,” I said, as one of our tires spun wildly in the mud. “Then you would have gotten these adolescent behaviors out of your system.”

  “These are midlife crisis behaviors,” he said, still grinning.

  “Same difference.”

  We eventually pulled up onto a neglected stretch of pavement. I had memories of traveling this road with Mother and Merry when I was young. We’d visited a farm that sold Mother herbs for her magick shop. The farmhouse was gone but the old barn still stood, now painted the same shade of yellow as the porch swing at Sister House. The plank roof was new and the windows redone. Some crude landscaping around the building was a small sign of the progress to come.

  As we pulled up to the side of the barn, I noticed two separate doors. Above each was a different sign. The one to the left read Mike’s Martial Arts Academy, while the one to the right announced Merry’s Mentionables––Collectibles and Antiques.

  I looked at Michael. “What the heck?”

  “Mi casa,” he said, smiling and bobbing his head. “And by the way, thank you for not cursing in front of my son. It is noted and appreciated.”

  “Whatever.” I read the signs again. “Do you live here now?”

  “I will. Once Montana doesn’t need two doting parents every second of the day, I’ll move into the loft. For now, it’s just my karate studio.”

  “Mike’s Martial Arts, huh? Nice to meet you, Mike.” I chuckled at the irony. Michael had threatened to excommunicate anyone at Woodhaven who referred to him by his abbreviated name, and here he was tagging a business with it.

  “Michael was too formal,” he said, looking slightly wounded by my less than enthusiastic response. “I want people to feel relaxed and welcome here.”

  “Before they beat the hell out of each other, you mean?”

  “Exactly.” He put on his reading glasses––which were on his face more often than not these days.

  “I take it my sister owns the other half?”

  “She rents it, for now. But we might work something out.”

  “I bet you will.”

  He didn’t respond. It was probably better––I’d already used up all my patience for the day.

  “Don’t you have anything better to burn your money on?” I asked. “You’re not even a black belt.”

  “Actually-” Mike opened the dashboard console and produced a scroll. He unwound it before me, like a town crier announcing official news. “As of Thursday, I’m an official black belt. I didn’t want to tell you until I showed you the place. I thought I’d let you make fun of everything in one fell swoop.”

  I studied his certificate. It was signed by someone named Seth. “Did you forge this?”

  “Maggie!”

  I turned it over in my hand. The paper felt thick and authentic, and it bore a watermarked seal. If he forged it, he did a good job. I handed it back and shrugged. “If this is what you want to do with your life, go for it. Although, you could have opened your dojo in another state or even country. I hear Argentina is looking for some quality, Seth-trained karate instructors.”

  I got out of the van and spotted Merry through one of the large windows, her pony tail bobbing as she carried a cardboard box in her arms. She was practically glowing.

  “I’m not sure I like you working so closely with my sister,” I said, as Michael joined me with Montana in his arms.

  “Maggie, don’t be jealous. It squishes your face all up.”

  “I’m just concerned for my sister. I’m familiar with your tendency to disappoint women. In a month, you’ll move out and leave her with the mortgage.”

  “No mortgage,” he beamed with pride. “Bought and paid for.”

  “Oh.” So it was permanent. Michael was staying in Dark Root indefinitely, and Merry would be sharing a workspace with him. Day after day. Year after year. I scowled openly.

  Merry saw us and called to me through the door, her cheeks flush with excitement.

  I pulled on a smile and stepped into Merry’s Mentionables. The place was only partially stocked, and most of the goods looked familiar.

  “Why didn’t I think of selling Mother’s old crap instead of dumping it?” I asked as I gave her a hug.

  “You
like?” she asked, taking me by the arm and guiding me through her half of the barn. Her eyes sparkled and her aura blazed. I’d never seen her so excited. “My own antique store, Maggie! It’s a dream come true.”

  “Yeah, Mike filled me in,” I said. “I’m happy for you, Merry.”

  “I’m happy for me, too! Now I feel like I have something to show for myself in court.” Her face clouded with worry, but only for a moment. “Look at my antique book collection. Ruth Anne’s gonna freak out!”

  She escorted me to a shelf of creepy clowns and dolls, all from the late 1800’s, according to their tags. “Most of these came from Sister House and Harvest Home, but I’ve been getting donations from neighbors, as well. There’s a lot of old stuff in Dark Root! I’ll have a section for Victorian furniture when I can get a truck, and an area for art deco, and a fun retro aisle. This will bring more tourists into town, which is good for all of us!”

  Her enthusiasm for bringing people into Dark Root reminded me of Shane, and despite my misgivings, I had to smile. I wasn’t thrilled about this new development but I’d take it out on Michael later.

  Michael joined us with Montana, and put a hand on her shoulder. “Little Merry is a breath of fresh air. She has so many ideas. I’m proud of her.”

  I looked at his hand touching my sister, wondering if hostile magick ravens also made appearances at karate studios.

  I continued my tour of Merry’s shop alone. The spacious room was thick with residual energy from the items within, and I had to take a step outside to catch my breath. I wondered how my sister tolerated it. She probably performed cleansing rituals throughout the day, or sweated it all out with her teas.

  Stepping back inside, I turned to Michael. “Show me your dojo, Mike. I’d like to see how you squandered our son’s inheritance.”

  “You’ll love it!” Merry said. She slipped a black karate top over her sweat pants and tied on a purple belt, then wrapped her hair into a bun on the crown of her head. “I’m advancing. Michael says I’ll make my next belt in a few months if I keep practicing. Would you like to see my kata? Michael’s been very encouraging.”