“The ghost is clear,” I called, grinning down at Shane. I edged to the side, giving him just enough room to join me.
“How did I miss this?” he asked, looking around. He’d brought another flashlight and our beams crossed as we inspected our find.
“It wasn’t meant to be discovered,” I answered, feeling the powerful residual energy of a spell, surprised when I sensed it wasn’t Mother’s work. This one held a trace of masculinity, though it wasn’t my father’s work, either.
I’ve been working on a spell that can hide a man in the apartment above my diner for forty years, if it comes to that.
Uncle Joe had said those words in a globe memory. Was this part of his spell that hid Leonard from the draft board? The tight quarters would have made for an uncomfortable stay, but luckily for Leonard, it had never come to that, thanks to his protection by the Council.
Mother must have taken advantage of Joe’s spell, however, and used it to hoard away her good stuff, stockpiling it for later.
“Whoa! Is that a real Picasso?” Shane pointed to a small portrait in the cubist style, wedged between a porcelain vase and an antique globe.
“I see some of Mother’s old furs, too. And her collection of Sunday hats!”
“This must’ve been the Council’s private collection,” Shane speculated. “Kept here to safeguard it from thieves.”
“Or from one particular thief.”
Through the globes, I’d learned my father had a penchant for taking things that didn’t belong to him. I assumed he generated the portal into Dip Stix to get to Jillian, but maybe he was trying to find something hidden here. Whatever it was, it must have been something very important.
“I’ll bet my father was searching for this place.”
“He must not have found it,” Shane said. “That hidden panel hasn’t been touched in decades. Maybe he never found this place, but sensed it was here?”
“That’s my guess. He was strong, but he probably couldn’t penetrate Joe’s spell, especially if it was layered with one of Mother’s.” I sniffed the air, finding a scent of roses––Mother’s calling card.
“There’s something up here that Juliana Benbridge wants us to find. What could it be?” I floated my hands over every object in my vicinity, searching for any special energy. But there was so much overlapping spell work that everything blurred.
I sighed. “It will take us forever to sort through all of this. We should bring Merry. She’s much better at reading objects than I am.”
Shane lifted an open velvet box cradling an old gold ring with sparkling gems. I had no idea if it was an expensive piece of jewelry or costume, as Mother wore both with equal rapture. He closed his hands around it, as if considering taking it, then returned it to its place. A wide smile radiated from his face as he spotted a signed photo of Elvis wearing his white jump suit.
“This must have been Uncle Joe’s,” he said, his voice wistful. “I’m hanging it up, when we get Dip Stix back in order.”
“That’s a great idea.” I tapped the flashlight against my thigh as a thought formed. “What about adding some photos and knickknacks from the past on the walls of your restaurant? A tribute to old Dark Root and your uncle, but modernized.”
“You’re a genius, Maggie Mae. The tourists will dig it. Let’s keep it classy, though––one bloated picture of Elvis is enough.”
He smiled and I smiled back, our eyes meeting like two junior high kids playing seven minutes in heaven.
“It is cozy in here,” I noted, scooting closer.
“Except for the whole ghost thing.” We looked around, wondering if Juliana was still here. I didn’t feel her. Maybe showing us this attic was all she wanted. “I think my grandmother was worried these things would be forgotten. Maybe she helped guard them from that fire, too.”
“Yeah, Juliana plus the protection spells.”
It was a sweet notion, my grandmother helping us from the grave. Maybe that’s why she appeared in Montana’s room, as well. I held on to that comforting thought.
I began lowering myself out of the tiny attic, when my hand bumped against something unusually cold. I looked down to see a small wooden jewelry box emblazoned with the initials J.B.
I lifted it up, immediately knowing what my grandmother was trying to show me all along.
THIRTY-TWO
What Becomes of the Broken Hearted
I RETURNED TO the woods where I’d buried my ring.
I had learned that while I could try to hide from my past, there was no escaping it. The past always returned whether we buried it in the forest or at the far edge of the garden. Or even just in our hearts. The past and the future were always connected, always working in tandem towards our ultimate fate.
I dug up the small mound at the base of our tree, where Merry’s asphodel still bloomed, but the ring was gone. Inexcusably gone. I searched the ground around the tree, frantically kicking over rocks and digging in the dirt by hand. I found no clue.
Was this an omen?
“Oh, Shane,” I whispered, my face caked in mud and tears as I wondered what had become of it. Had it decomposed, like the dead? Or did it find its way back to the dream world from where it originated?
The ring didn’t matter, I tried to tell myself. We had created one ring, we could create another. Disheartened, I took my time walking home, reminding myself it was just an object. A symbol.
Symbols have power.
But so did forgiveness. Especially self-forgiveness.
Wandering through the deep woods, I concentrated on the sounds and scents around me, pushing away the troubles gnawing at me. Birds chattered, chipmunks scurried, a stream trickled somewhere in the near distance. Nature was alive––and nature was the place where real magick was born.
I extended my arms, pulling energy from the earth and the trees and the flowers, pulling from the distant stream and even more from the sky above. It was all so much older than me. Sagacious and more powerful. As the earth’s energy filled me up, I began to understood my limitations. When all was said and done, I was just a wilder––a conduit for power, but not the source of power itself. Many things were beyond my control, including the missing ring.
After some time, I came upon Jillian’s stone ruins.
I hadn’t planned to come here, but I wasn’t surprised that this was where I ended up. The small glen was peaceful, and I took my spot in the center of the building, sitting alone in a comforting sunbeam. Winter made us wise but summer nourished us. I drank in the sunlight, knowing instinctively I’d need it for whatever was still to come.
I closed my eyes, tuning into the world again––not just the space immediately around me, but everything that lay beyond. In my meditation, I saw myself several years older. My sisters stood on one side of me, Shane and Montana on the other. Our hands were all linked, and I felt a deep happiness amongst us as we stared into a boundless horizon of corals and pinks.
But between us and the horizon lay a great chasm, a deep and wide rift filled with darkness, fear... and even loss.
Someone would not make it across the chasm.
It was the wheel, or will, of fate.
I opened my eyes. Was my curse the chasm? Or was there something more?
I smelled honeysuckle and felt a tickle on my cheek. A large white butterfly flitted around me. “Hi there,” I whispered. It settled on my knee, softly fluttering its wings.
A strange new scent infused the room. Wet earth and decay.
“Hello, Larinda,” I said, without pulling my eyes from the butterfly.
She appeared in the doorway, an image of black coiled ringlets and ruby red lips. She stared at me from the threshold, smiling cryptically.
“Again?” I asked. “You didn’t learn your lesson the first time?”
Larinda’s hand flew to her chest in mock surprise. “Why Maggie, is that the way you greet your guests? Your mother should have taught you better.”
“Leave,” I ordered, still in th
e lotus position, my middle fingers pressing hard into my thumbs. I turned my head, staring straight into her milky eyes. She had frightened me before, with her pale coloring and dark ways, but that was the past. Now I felt no fear, only pity.
I was the daughter of the greatest witch and most powerful warlock Dark Root had ever known. Larinda was something that went bump in the night––no more fearsome than any of the other apparitions I’d encountered. She had power, but not over me.
Larinda lifted one slippered foot and placed it gingerly inside. She paused, there, anticipating.
The floor began to tremble. She smiled, her taut lips the color of blood. “You do still fear me! Delicious.”
“I’m angry,” I said calmly. “Angry that you would invite yourself into my space without permission. I thought even dark witches had codes.” I stood up and the butterfly left me, landing on the windowsill. My fingers twitched, though I ignored my impulses. I had Shane and my son, and very soon, I would have my health. I wouldn’t let her get to me.
“You can’t defeat me,” Larinda said. “You’re just a wilder. I’m your elder and I have control.”
“Not here,” I replied. “This isn’t your plane. You walk among the dead.”
Her fingers dug into the doorframe. “I am not dead!” she hissed, and I tasted the venom in her voice.
“Maybe so, but you’re not alive either.” I advanced a step towards her. “You wanted me to know the truth about the past? Well, I’ve seen it. I’ve witnessed the way you let my father siphon away your life, all the while holding you in contempt. You were nothing to him. Now you are lost to the Netherworld, trapped there. I see it all clearly now.”
“He’s coming back!” she screeched, still bracing herself in the doorway, writhing like a woman possessed.
“He’s never coming back for you, Larinda. My father is a liar. Your fate is sealed.”
She fought to regain control over herself. “If I were trapped as you say, how could I appear here?” She took a confident step forward. I smelled the clay and the rot on her breath, and something sweet as well. “Dora and Jillian sucked too much out of Dark Root. The veil grows thin.”
“Then you should leave while there’s enough magick left to ferry you home.” I pointed through the doorway at a boulder, flipping it over. And then another.
“Rolling rocks?” she laughed. “Get tough with me, wilder. Get angry. Make me go away.” She smiled, a school mistress toying with her student.
“Don’t push me, Larinda. If I find out you are the one responsible for this curse, I will kill you. I will venture into your plane, hunt you down, and ensure your final fate.” I lowered my chin. “I hope I’ve made myself clear.”
“Me, responsible for the curse? Heavens no. I tried to help, remember?”
“By bartering for my son, and swindling away Aunt Dora’s and Jillian’s ability to use magick? Yes, I remember.”
“The latter,” she said, displaying her palms. “Was a happy side effect.” Her eyes fell to my wrist. “Tsk, tsk. Your Circle is breaking, Maggie. Your protection wears thin.”
I chanced a peek at Mother’s bracelet. The cracks had lengthened. Soon, it would break apart. “I don’t need this,” I said.
Larinda tilted her head. “I think you do.”
“Leave,” I ordered again. The white butterfly flitted around her and she swatted it away.
“We are at a stalemate,” she said.
“There’s nothing for you here, Larinda. I don’t want you. My father didn’t want you.”
She cringed, as if slapped in the face.
“My mother, your own cousin, couldn’t stand to look at you.”
Larinda’s chin jutted forward and her eyes narrowed. She shook, enraged. “You think you know everything? You know nothing!” she spat. “Jillian and Dora may be forbidden to speak the truth, but I have no such bonds. Sasha did it. The woman you call Mother!”
“You’re a liar,” I said holding back my own anger.
She waggled her finger. “Sometimes yes, but this time no.”
“My own mother would never put a curse on me!”
“Sasha would.” Larinda smiled but it was quickly wiped away by my advance.
The ground beneath her quaked, and she stumbled for balance. “Leave!” I commanded, one last time. “Or I swear I’ll finish what my father started.”
“Make me.”
Exhaling, I pushed everything out, throwing Larinda like a child’s toy through the doorway and into the grass behind her. As she floundered on the ground, a boulder raised up, balancing itself over her frail body, ready to crush her.
“I can end this all now,” I said.
She looked at me with defiant eyes, her arm outstretched. “Then do it!”
As I prepared to finish her, the white butterfly reappeared, balancing delicately on the hovering rock.
I knew that if I did this deed, I would not only finish what my father began, I would become him, as well.
The stone dropped heavy to the ground beside her, and the butterfly floated away.
Larinda looked up at me uncertainly, then scrambled to her feet. Two large ravens flew from the trees, perching on her shoulders. “You’re a fool, Magdalene! You had your chance. You won’t have another.” She raised her arms, covering her face. Dark smoke swirled around her. When it cleared, she was gone.
The ground ceased rumbling. The world returned to calm.
I clutched my chest, catching my breath.
Should I have killed her?
I am Maggie Maddock, I reminded myself.
I will not walk the path of my father. I will forge my own.
No one would choose my way, but me.
My anger subsided, drifting away like the white butterfly.
But when I looked down at the crystal bracelet, I noticed the cracks had deepened further.
THIRTY-THREE
A Wonderful World
HARVEST HOME WAS buzzing with activity when I arrived. Jillian cleaned the windows. Merry swept the porch. Michael tossed empty boxes down from the attic. Aunt Dora watered her parched garden. All the while, “It’s Raining Men” blasted from the upstairs window. I found Eve at her vanity, applying mascara.
“What’s going on?” I asked my younger sister. “Are we doing a late spring cleaning?”
She spun around on her swivel stool, her eyes alight and a dusting of glitter across her cheekbones. She stood, grabbing me by the shoulders. “Paul’s coming!”
“It’s ‘The British are coming!’ Paul Revere was just the messenger.”
“Don’t tease me!” She shook me again, her feet paddling in place. “My Paul is coming. He’ll be here any minute. I ordered everyone to get the house ready.”
“While you primp?”
She smiled, then returned to her grooming. I had to give her credit––she got everyone to do her bidding through charm or force of will, no magick required.
I went to my room and found Shane just arriving, wiping his face with a towel. His clothes were covered in smoky soot. “What’s all the ruckus?” he asked as the song ended only to have The Weather Girls start right back up again.
“Paul’s coming home. This is his welcoming party.”
“I didn’t get nearly this reception, and I died!”
“You got other things.” I kissed the only spot on his cheek that was clean.
Jillian walked by with an armful of toilet paper, heading towards the restroom, while Michael brushed past us in the opposite direction, dragging a life-sized porcelain doll with a cracked face.
“We should follow him,” I whispered. “And see what he does with that doll.”
“As long as he’s not doing it to you, I don’t care.” Shane went to take my hands, saw that his were filthy, and retracted.
I pulled him to me anyway. “I missed you this afternoon.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. Now come in my room. I want to show you something.”
We stepped insid
e, closing the door behind us. Shane stripped down to his jeans and sat on the rocker. “Maggie, you’re going to make an old man of me if we keep this up. But when I die, that would be a great way to go.”
“We have some lost time to make up for.” I smiled innocently. I had the final globe to view that evening and I wanted to savor my happiness while it lasted. I sensed that whatever was in store for me in that captured memory, it would change me forever. But it was worth it, if there was even the slightest chance of getting rid of this curse.
“We have to live for the moment,” I said, hovering near his lips.
“I agree, but are you sure you don’t want me to shower first?”
Merry cracked open the door. She blushed, looking down at her feet. “I’m sorry. Aunt Dora wants everyone gathered for dinner in thirty minutes. Thought I’d give you a heads up.”
Shane nodded courteously and I waved her goodbye. She shut the door and scurried off. “We need to get Dip Stix cleaned up,” I said. “Or we’ll never have any privacy.”
“Didn’t you live in a commune, Maggie? I can’t imagine there was much privacy there.”
“It’s different with family.”
There was a faraway look in Shane’s eyes. He’d lost his own family, and his son wasn’t with him.
“I’m your family now,” I said.
He stroked my cheek. “And you’re more than enough for any man. In fact, if I was a sharing man...” His eyes slid up towards the attic above.
“Not funny,” I said. “Now go to take a shower. I’ll see you downstairs in thirty.”
I spent the time before dinner playing with Montana in the nursery, replaying the events of the day. I’d seen both my dead grandmother and my father’s half-dead mistress. And though I was happier than I ever remembered being, I was still troubled and tired.
I pointed to a full moon in a picture book, pronouncing the word “MOON” to my son. In so doing, my mind wandered to the last unrevealed globe. And Larinda’s ominous words.
The Curse of Dark Root: Part Two (Daughters of Dark Root Book 4) Page 27