The Witches of Dark Root

by April Aasheim [paranormal]

  “Then you should have built her a bed.” I gathered up my pile of red napkins that lie in a swan-less heap and stormed into the kitchen. Ever since Eve had been helping Shane with his restaurant, he had been hovering over her like she was the prized pig at the county fair. I just couldn’t watch.

  “Need help?” I asked Paul who was busy counting silverware.

  I watched as he counted out knives in stacks of four, and then placed them in the drawer. Next he moved on to the spoons.

  “One, two, three, four, drawer...” Only when he had finished his task did he answer me. “Sorry, I like everything to be even. I’m a bit obsessive-compulsive.”

  “An OCD musician? Didn’t know they went well together.”

  “On the contrary. Some of the greatest musicians must have been a bit obsessive-compulsive as well. You don’t write songs like ‘Stairway to Heaven’ unless you are a perfectionist.”

  “Or on drugs,” I added.

  He smiled but didn’t comment. We had discussed this before. Though Paul admitted that some musicians used recreational drugs, he didn’t believe it enhanced their artistic abilities. True art, he claimed, came from nothing but talent and hard work.

  “Hey guys.” Eve poked her head into the kitchen. “Shane and I are going to Mom’s shop for some candles. I’m thinking tea lights will really add to the atmosphere here.” She smiled at Paul, deepening her dimples, but he didn’t notice. He had moved on to counting forks. “Okay then,” she said, giving him one last chance to object. “If we don’t come back right away...”

  She let the words trail off as Paul waved her dismissively goodbye.

  “If you still want to help,” Paul said, nodding towards a tray of stainless steel utensils on the counter. “...You can hang those on those hooks I installed.”

  I took the tray and made my way towards a set of steel beams by the stove. As I picked them up, I couldn’t help but get my fingerprints on them. Paul noticed this and brought me a cloth, keeping one for himself.

  “Eve says I’m a pain in the kitchen,” he said, carefully removing my fingerprints from a long metal spoon. “I guess she’s right. But it’s one of the few places I feel like I’m in my element.”

  “Oh?” I was more than a little curious about the nature of his relationship with my sister. The way Eve talked, she and Paul were practically soul mates, but his actions towards her, at least in my presence, suggested otherwise.

  “Whenever she called for an order and I took too long making sure everything was arranged just right, she would complain. Didn’t seem to appreciate my dedication to the craft. Not that any of the Hooters’ clientele are looking at the plates,” Paul chuckled, stepping back to view his masterpiece of hanging spatulas. Satisfied, he put the cloth away and headed into the dining room with me following. “...I’m hoping I get a better gig in Seattle. I wasn’t cut out to deep fry hot wings for men who are more interested in the waitresses than the food.”

  “You two worked at Hooters?” My sister had left out this little tidbit of her glamorous New York life.

  “Yes, but Eve looked much better in her uniform.” Paul pushed out his chest, batted his eyelashes, and puckered his lips.

  So, Little Miss Off-Broadway was really slinging wings at Hooters! This was getting good! I pretended to busy myself with wiping down the salt and paper shakers as Paul moved towards the stage. He picked up his guitar and sat on one of the stools Shane had purchased for the live entertainers.

  “I thought you and Eve met in an audition,” I said casually.

  “Nope. We went on a few auditions but nothing really came of it. Most of my time in front of a New York audience occurred during open mic nights at local coffee houses.” He strummed a few notes, playing a tune I tried to place, then stopped before I could bring it to full recall. “I realized it was time to cut my losses and move on.”

  “What about Eve? Didn’t she have any success?” I wasn’t even trying to hide my inquisition anymore.

  Paul looked at me, his expression matter-of-fact. “Eve’s a pretty girl with a decent voice and a nice set of legs, but New York will eat you alive.” He paused for a moment to tune his guitar. “Everyone who goes there wants to be a star. I don’t think either of us was prepared for the sheer number of people all vying for the same few parts. We were small fish in a pond the size of Lake Michigan.”

  He played a few notes from a Santana song, cocking his ear towards the guitar to listen for clarity. Satisfied, he continued talking.

  “...I’m glad I can fall back on cooking, something I’ve always loved to do. Music is great, but at this stage in my life, it’s just a hobby.”

  I was shocked as I listened to his confession. The picture he painted of their life in New York did not match up to what Eve had been telling me. She had been acting as if she were doing us all a giant favor by dropping her ‘real’ life to come help out for a few weeks. I couldn’t wait to tell her that I knew her secret.

  “Sing with me,” he said, patting the seat beside him and breaking me out of the daydream where I was outing Eve in front of Shane.

  “Me? No. You don’t want to unleash this voice on anyone.” I put the salt shaker I down and looked out the window. Shane and Eve’s silhouettes were visible as they moved around Mother’s shop. Then they disappeared into the back room.

  “Au contraire. You have a great voice. Its husky and full of soul. Do you know ‘House of the Rising Sun’?”

  That was one of Michael’s favorites. And my mother’s. I nodded as I made my way towards the stage. Paul played the first few notes and then began to sing. Hesitantly I joined in. In a few minutes, I was lost––lost in the sound of the guitar behind me, lost in Paul’s voice intertwining with my own, lost in the lyrics of the song, which reached me from somewhere far away. I sang about a house in New Orleans, and my mother being a tailor and my father a gambling man. I could feel my body swaying, as I sang closed-eyed into the microphone.

  We came to the musical interlude where it was just him playing.

  I opened my eyes again, watching his fingers strum across the strings of the guitar. It was beautiful and effortless. I caught my breath, spellbound.

  “That was amazing!” I said when he had finished. “It’s like magic.”

  The right side of his lip turned up as he considered this. “Music is a form of magic, I suppose,” Paul said. “It can take you back in time, change your mood...and some even claim, calm the savage beast.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, my heart beating as I thought about the way his fingers danced across the instrument. “I can see why Eve...”

  He looked at me, his face red and wet. Dabbing his brow with a bandanna from his back pocket he asked, “Why Eve, what?”

  “I don’t remember,” I lied.

  Setting his guitar on the stool, he inched towards me.

  He reached out his hands, our fingertips touching before interlocking. He was close enough that I could hear him breathing. Soon my breaths matched his and we stood, inhaling and exhaling in perfect unison.

  He lowered his face close to mine, his warm breath creeping over the back of my neck, sending shivers up my spine. I let out a small moan. He lifted a strand of my hair and twirled it around his finger, drawing me into him. Our mouths were close. I could almost taste the salt on his lips.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, moving one hand down to the small of my back. “Your body, your spirit, your mind. You have a fire about you and it’s sexy.”

  I had never thought of myself as sexy, but if he did, that was okay by me. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back...

  “Look what we found!”

  Eve burst through the front door and Paul dropped his hands, taking a giant step back. Eve was holding up two flashlights, one orange and one black. If she had seen how close Paul and I had been standing, she didn’t let it show.

  “For some strange reason, Mom’s shop was out of candles, but she had plenty of flashlights,” she said. “Lik
e, hundreds of them.”

  Shane followed Eve inside, carrying an armful of cardboard boxes. “Yep. And here I thought witches used candles, not flashlights.”

  “Maybe she’s a modern witch?” Paul said, busying himself again with tuning his guitar.

  “Oh, Paul. You’re so funny. Isn’t he, Maggie?” Eve eyed me and I shifted uncomfortably. “...Well, the flashlights won’t help with the atmosphere in here,” Eve continued, looking around. “But I thought they might be nice to put in the goodie bags at the festival. They already have the emblem on them...”

  Eve held up a flashlight, pointing at a picture on the handle, a white outline of a witch riding a broom against a full moon.

  “I have a few candles in the very back,” Shane said. “It’s enough to get us through our maiden fondue voyage. We can place an order for more and in a few days we can head over to Linsburg to see what kind of supply they have. If you want to ride along, that is?”

  “I’d love to,” Eve gushed.

  “Oh,” Shane called out from the back room. “Sorry, I meant Maggie. We had such a good time on our last outing I thought she might enjoy another.”

  I could feel the eyes of both Eve and Paul on me.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Eve said, when I didn’t respond.

  “I, uh...” This should be my new catch phrase, I thought.

  “I don’t have time to go to Linsburg anyways,” Eve said, her voice light. “I’ve got to finish getting the shop in order. Finally got electricity in there and Aunt Dora found her old set of keys. By the time the festival comes, it’s going to be the crown jewel of Main Street.”

  “And,” Eve continued, moving towards Paul and looping an arm through his. “It gives me and this guy some time to practice our songs. I’ve been working on our Halloween Playlist. ‘Black Magic Woman’. ‘Witchy Woman’...” Her eyes flickered towards me. “...’Evil Woman’.”

  “‘Monster Mash’?” Shane asked hopefully.

  “Sure, why not? Really stretch my vocal talents.”

  “Okay,” I said, trying not to look at Eve’s arm that had somehow draped itself around Paul’s waist. “Merry and June Bug should be here shortly. Let’s set up.”

  Eve and I spent the next hour lighting candles, setting tables, and draping vines of fake ivy interlaced with white Christmas lights across curtain rods and shelves. Meanwhile, Paul and Shane went about their duties in the kitchen, bickering about which spices to use for the various cheese, wine, and chocolate fondues. After several taste tests, they settled on a French theme for the evening, then returned to chopping, slicing and stirring themselves into a Zen-like frenzy.

  Paul had become a regular fixture in the Dip Stix kitchen by then, and he and Shane had begun a friendly rivalry of who could out-sauce who. Eve and I were both amused by their battle for the title of Kitchen King, teasing them about acting like two little old ladies.

  I was running a strand of Christmas lights over the archway leading into the kitchen, when I noticed Paul removing his apron. His gray t-shirt clung to his thin body and I caught my breath, recalling our time alone together earlier. I chugged my entire glass of wine, and called for more. Shane appeared obediently, filled my glass, and then disappeared back into the kitchen.

  “Not sure why we have to get the entire restaurant ready for tonight,” I complained as I unwound yet another string of white lights. “It’s just Merry and June Bug.”

  Eve glided from one table to the next, laying out silverware and adding fresh flowers to the crystal vases. There was a certain Magick about her when she worked towards making something beautiful, and I couldn't tell if it was witchery or just her gift as a woman.

  “Shane wants to get a feel for the whole ambiance before we officially open to the public,” she said, straightening one of the new paintings on the wall.

  The sound of excited chatter outside the front door let us know our guests had arrived.

  “They’re here!” Eve called into the kitchen, removing her apron and placing it beneath the hostess stand.

  Shane entered the dining area and placed his Ipod into a dock behind a potted plant in the corner. Prerecorded music of Paul playing an acoustic guitar soon echoed through the room. He then dimmed the overhead lamps, letting the candles and Christmas lights take over the task of illuminating the room.

  The effect was beautiful––I glanced at Paul––and romantic.

  “Places,” Shane said, and Eve and I moved towards the only booth in the restaurant, a voluminous red one tucked away into the far back corner. We sat, wide eyed and smiling, waiting for our guests to come in.

  At last, the door opened and two blond heads emerged wearing matching, crocheted pink beanies.

  “Ooh!” June Bug said, removing her jacket and hanging it on the coat rack by the door. “It’s beautiful in here!”

  I smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as I waited for Merry’s reaction.

  “It really is,” she said, offering Shane a grateful smile as she hung up her own coat and removed the beanies from both of their heads.

  Shane took their arms and escorted them towards our table. “Ladies, this way.”

  “Aunt Maggie and Aunt Eve!” June Bug whooped like she hadn't seen us in months instead of hours. Eve and I scooted towards the center of the booth, allowing Merry and June Bug to settle in on either side of us like bookends.

  “You two must have helped out,” Merry said, nodding approvingly as she surveyed the café. “...I’m sure the boys didn’t do this all on their own.”

  “Maybe a little,” I admitted, feeling suddenly shy.

  June Bug wound her arms around my waist, giving me a big squeeze.

  “A little?” Eve scoffed. “We basically took over the place.”

  “The first course will be ready in just a few minutes,” Shane said. “Sorry, paprika mix-up. Can I pour you some wine?”

  Eve and I lifted our emptied glasses and Merry said that water would be fine for now. We listened to the music for a moment, sipping our drinks and swaying in the booths, taking in the ambiance of the place.

  “Wanna dance, honey?” Merry said, leaning across the table to ask June Bug, who nodded at the invitation.

  The two were up seconds later, waltzing in and out of the tables, Merry twirling and dipping her laughing daughter. I hadn't seen my older sister this relaxed in a long time and I felt happy knowing that I had been a part of it.

  “Let’s dance,” Eve said, and I turned to see that she had slid out of the booth and was herding Paul––who had three empty wine glasses in his hand––towards a free spot near the stage. She took the lead and Paul obliged. I felt a fire in the pit of my stomach as they joked about something I couldn’t hear.

  “I guess that leaves us two wallflowers,” Shane said, placing another bottle on the table. “Shall we?”

  I didn’t want to dance, but I didn’t want to sit here alone either. I drank my newly-filled glass in one long swill and stood up, smiling widely.

  “Sure, why the hell not?”

  Shane routed me towards a spot near the center of the room, spinning me beneath his arm then pulling me near. I was dizzy and I couldn’t tell if it was because of the wine or the dancing. I peeked over the top of his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of what Eve and Paul were doing. They were locked in each other’s arms, dancing close, and Eve kept throwing her head back to laugh as if he were the funniest man on earth.

  “You like him, don’t you?”

  I looked back at Shane, surprised by the directness of his question. His face was soft and serious.

  “It’s okay,” Shane said. “He’s a good-looking guy. If I were a pretty young woman I’d probably like him, too.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Maybe you have a little of your Uncle Joe in you,” I teased.

  “I don’t know about that,” he said, pulling me tighter. “But a man can tell when he’s got competition.”

  Competition?

  I sudde
nly felt bad for him. He had been mooning after Eve these last few days and she was too busy chasing Paul to notice.

  I stood on tiptoes and whispered, “We could work together. Pull them apart.”

  “Maggie, neither one of us would want that. And you wouldn’t want the win. Not unless it was fair, right?”

  He smelled good and I moved in closer to inhale him. I hadn’t smelled a man in a long time and I was missing the scent. Even so, Shane confused me. Why was he always so concerned with rules and etiquette? Why didn’t he ever just take what he wanted? I knew my experience with men was limited, but I had heard enough about them to know that they were all cave men at heart.

  “Why are you so nice, Shane Doler?” I smiled at him, surprised by my own candor. But it was an honest question, even if it was wine-induced. He was too nice for me––too nice for any of us, except maybe Merry.

  In truth, he shouldn't give us the time of day.

  “Well,” he said, releasing me with one hand so that he could scratch his jaw as he thought. “I wasn’t always nice. It was something I had to work at.”

  “Really?” I said as he spun me. “I thought people were either born good or bad and that was that.”

  “First off,” he said, smirking down at me when I was back in his arms. “I don’t think there is good or bad when it comes to people. They just make choices and the choices can be good or bad. But, at any minute...” He stopped dancing, grabbed my shoulders, and peered intently into my eyes. “...At any minute, the coin can flip and what was bad can be good and what was good can be bad.”

  I sighed. “Boring! Spare me the philosophical lectures, okay? I just want to know why you are nice.”

  “My father, he uh, well...” Shane started choking and he turned his head to the side. The song on the Ipod ended and another began. Shane resumed dancing, not as smooth this time, more of a sway than a dance. “...My father was not what you would call a good man. He had problems with drinking, women, slapping...”

  Shane’s fingers dug into my back then released.