The Curse of Dark Root: Part One (Daughters of Dark Root Book 3)

by April Aasheim

  She nodded, the fine lines around her mouth deepening. “You’ve been through a lot. Add to that the fact you are about to become a mother, it would make anyone a little cuckoo.”

  She handed me a new tissue and I blew my nose, then stuffed it into my pocket for later. “I’m a mess.”

  “Maggie, you must never mistake emotion for weakness. In my experience, those who properly express their feelings are generally the strongest.”

  “I’ll try to remember that. Are you here long?” I glanced out the window. The sun had already set. Perhaps she’d spend the night.

  “If you’ll have me, I thought I’d stay until the baby is born.”

  “You will? Yes, please!”

  I felt such a strong connection to Jillian. Maybe it was because we’d both felt like outsiders in Dark Root once upon a time. To know that she’d be staying an entire month was the best news I’d heard since waking.

  “You cut your hair,” I observed. It was shoulder length and waved around her ears.

  “A trim. You like?” She patted her coiffure and I spotted several silver strands that had not been there before.

  “You look good,” I said, truthfully. “But you always look good.”

  She gave me a queer smile. “Thank you, Maggie. Now let’s cut the small talk, okay?”

  “You caught me,” I said, using one of her phrases. “I don’t want to worry you with my problems.”

  She patted my knee. “You can’t keep your troubles from me, even if you tried.”

  I blushed. Jillian was a psychic-medium, with the ability to not only see the future but to communicate with the dead. She had ways of finding things out and it was futile to hide my concerns. I was almost afraid to ask the obvious question.

  “Do you know what happened to me?”

  Her eyes drifted to the side. “There are some things that are barred from me, Maggie, and this is one of them. What matters now is that we keep your illness at bay long enough for you to deliver the baby.”

  “What happens once it’s born?”

  “You’ll move into the next stage of your spiritual development: Motherhood. Your abilities will amplify, possibly doubling, and you may be able to fight the curse off, with our help.”

  “May?”

  “Yes. May.”

  “I’m scared,” I admitted, checking the room to ensure that we were still alone. Merry worried enough for the both of us, and Ruth Anne would reduce my fears to a list of reasons why I should and shouldn’t be afraid. That left Aunt Dora, who was in questionable health, and Michael, whom I didn’t trust to clean my broom let alone confide in.

  Jillian was the only one I could share my fears with.

  “When I was in the… Netherworld,” I began, tentatively. “I was so alone. There was no hope there, Jillian, only darkness, and I’m terrified to go back.”

  “Oh, Maggie. That sounds dreadful.”

  I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “There’s more…” In words that hardly qualified as a whisper, I said, “There was something in there with me. A door.”

  She edged forward. “Go on.”

  “It opened up to a room. It was hot inside, and filled with smoke. And there was someone in there.”

  “Armand.”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  She smiled mysteriously. It was the same way she knew many things. She was a witch.

  “I think it was a door to Hell,” I continued. “And my father was calling me from the inside. We have the same eyes.”

  Jillian stared for a long moment, her jaw clenched and fingers curled into hooks. She took my hands again and jiggled my wrists. “Listen to me, Maggie. That was not real, okay? And furthermore, just because you have your father’s eyes, you are not your father, nor do you share his fate. Whatever trickery was involved, it was only that––trickery. Do you understand?”

  “But it seemed so real. I smelled smoke and felt the heat of the flames. I heard him call my name.”

  She sat up straight. “Even so, I need you to stay calm and focused now. Your aunt and I have taken some precautions to ensure your safety. You won’t be going back.”

  “But––”

  “Enough!”

  I could have sworn I felt the chair jolt as she spoke. I had never seen her lose her composure and it worried me. “Jillian?”

  She looked over her shoulder, as if someone was watching, then back at me. “We have to focus on the positive right now, Maggie, and that means controlling what we can control. Lots of rest, exercise, sunshine, and your Aunt Dora’s tea, even the bitter brews.”

  I nodded. “Okay. I’ll do as I’m told.”

  “Good girl. And you must avoid stress at all costs. Understand?”

  Michael passed by, winking as he carried a tray of dinner rolls into the dining room.

  “Stress seems to follow me.”

  “Then change your reaction to it.”

  “Easy for you to say. You don’t have Michael haunting you.”

  Jillian folded her hands into her lap. “Remember, I’m a mother myself. I know how hard it can be to deal with exes.”

  “I keep forgetting you’re a mom. You’re too fabulous to be a mom!”

  She beamed at the compliment and patted her hair jokingly. “You’re pretty fabulous yourself.” She raised an eyebrow. “Not to change the subject, but I saw your young man earlier today at Dip Stix. It’s terrible what happened with the fire.”

  “Did you pick up anything on how it started?”

  “Unfortunately, no. It is an old building. Sometimes these things happen.”

  I was about to press for more when Ruth Anne appeared. Her shoes were off, revealing two mismatched socks, a dark one that stretched up to her calf and a white one that loosely clung to her foot. “Who’s hungry?”

  “We’ll talk more later,” Jillian promised, smoothing her slacks before rising. “Tonight we celebrate your recovery and enjoy this time with family and friends.”

  The table was set with crystal and silver, old china and new placemats. In the center was a large ham, dotted with cloves and dripping with glaze. Surrounding the main course were heaping bowls of mashed potatoes, corn, salad, rolls, and several more pies. My stomach voiced its pleasure so loudly that everyone laughed.

  “Take it slow,” Jillian said, as I settled into the chair beside her.

  “I love the idea of a family meal.”

  Merry lit five white candles interspersed around the table. Ruth Anne helped Aunt Dora into her chair across from me, then took the spot beside her. Once seated, our collective gazes turned towards the head of the table where Mother always presided. This was our first gathering without her. I was about to say something in her honor when Michael plopped into that very chair.

  “That’s Mother’s spot,” I informed him.

  He looked around. “She’s not here, Maggie.”

  My blood boiled. “No, she’s not here, Michael, but it’s still her chair. It will always be her chair.”

  Michael glanced at the frozen faces around the table, then rose to his feet. “I understand.” He moved one space to the right, next to Merry. “But remember,” he said, unfolding his napkin and looking me in the eye. “Life is for the living.”

  The candle nearest him went out.

  “Maggie…” Jillian whispered. “Remember your stress level.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, never dropping my gaze from Michael’s. “No stress at all.”

  Merry relit the candle and Michael finally looked away, feigning interest in a painting on the wall. Ruth Anne explained the painting’s origin as the rest of us grabbed for bowls and silverware.

  When our plates were filled, Michael cleared his throat and tapped his water glass with a spoon.

  “Do you mind if I say grace first?”

  The others looked at me in unison. “We’re not a grace type of family,” I said.

  “I’ve seen you say grace before.”

  “Only because it was e
xpected of me under your rule.”

  “My rule? My…my rule?” He dropped his spoon and it went clanging to the floor.

  “Tyranny then.”

  Ruth Anne lifted a finger. “I think what Maggie means to say is that we’re more of an ‘eat fast so you can get the last piece of pizza’ type of family.”

  “I see.” Michael drew in a long sip of water then placed his glass down in precisely the same spot he had plucked it from. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have presumed…”

  Merry folded her hands. “I, for one, think it would be lovely to say grace around this table. At least once.”

  “You do?” I asked.

  “Yes. When I lived in Kansas I went to church regularly, then Frank insisted I stop because he didn’t want me filling our daughter’s head with what he called ‘superstitious nonsense.’ That went for witchcraft too, of course. Frank hated when anyone paid reverence to anything that wasn’t Frank.”

  I blinked. “I never knew you went to church.”

  “I was alone in a new place and it helped me to feel less lonely.” She leaned forward on her elbows, her hands still clasped. “And it gave me hope. Hope that there was something larger than us, watching over us. It was nice.”

  Michael covered her hands with one of his. “It’s a beautiful idea, isn’t it, Merry?”

  “Yes.”

  They looked at one another, and a silence followed.

  Jillian broke the lull by raising her cup. “To love and faith, wherever we find it.” We lifted our glasses and clanked them together. “And I think grace would be nice too, Michael.”

  Michael bowed his head to Jillian gratefully, and with an expression I’d never seen on him before. Humility?

  We closed our eyes and joined hands as Michael spoke. “Bless this meal and thank you for the fine fellowship this evening. We ask that you look over all of us, especially Maggie. In Spirit’s name. Amen.”

  We ate, talking mostly of gardens and springtime, except for Michael and Merry who were engaged in their own quiet conversation. Jillian caught me staring and whispered, “Leave it alone. It’s not worth it.”

  “I know.” I pushed a stray pea around on my plate. “It just doesn’t seem fair that I’ve made a life for myself here and now he shows up, charming all the villagers like Sir Galahad.”

  “The world isn’t a fair place, Maggie. I thought you’d learned that by now.”

  I smiled. My beautiful Jillian was as cynical as I was. I took her hand beneath the table, feeling the bond between us deepen.

  The tension melted as the evening progressed. I ate so quickly that even Ruth Anne had trouble keeping up with me. I expected a barrage of questions on how I felt but all eyes ended up on Michael, who began entertaining everyone with his tales of karate heroics.

  “I’m nearly forty,” he proclaimed, sliding his chair backwards as he thumped his chest. “So when this Asian kid steps onto the mat with me––he couldn’t have been more than twenty-two, twenty-three tops, and he’s coming from some high ranked dojo in the Bay area––I got nervous.”

  Michael stood, getting into a low knee bend with his hands up near his face.

  “So, we’re sparring…” He shuffled back. “And I score a point, then he scores a point. We’re going back and forth and he surprises me with a chop followed by a flying round kick. I can hear the kid’s foot whizzing by, inches from my head, and I sidestep the blow. Just as he’s about to land, I do a side kick to his chest, followed by a back fist. I finish him off with a leg sweep.” Michael’s leg went out in a wide fluid arc across the hardwood floor.

  Ruth Anne stopped chewing. “Isn’t leg sweeping illegal? It is in the movies.”

  “This is full contact martial arts, Ruth Anne, not that fluff you see on TV. And not for the faint of heart.” He held up his right hand. “Darn near broke my wrist, but I was glad to see I can still compete with the younger guys when I need to.”

  He winked and smiled directly at me.

  “My hero,” I said.

  Merry rose to clear the table but Michael stopped her. “Allow me.”

  “We can both do it.” My sister followed him out of the dining room with a gravy boat in one hand and an empty ham tray in the other.

  “I’m going to throw up in my mouth if they keep that up,” Ruth Anne said.

  “You and me both.”

  Aunt Dora, who had been quietly listening for most of the evening, removed the napkin from her lap. “There’ll be no throwin’ up,” she said. Then, turning to Jillian, she said, “I think it’s time.”

  “Yes,” Jillian agreed, the vertical lines between her brows deepening. “Let’s go up to Maggie’s room where we have more privacy.”

  Jillian helped me to my feet while Ruth Anne assisted Aunt Dora. At the top of the stairs Ruth Anne whispered “good luck” into my ear before retreating. We passed several themed rooms that had once been used by paying guests, but which now housed family and friends. One of the rooms, the Huntsman, would soon be turned into the nursery.

  Entering my bedroom, I was surprised to find an antique rocking chair in the corner near the closet, and that my old comforter had been replaced with a new one in a cheerful rosy shade. An array of freshly-picked flowers welcomed me from my dresser and the heavy draperies that framed the window had been tied back.

  I smiled at my aunt, who was undoubtedly responsible for the mini makeover.

  “It’s so good to be home,” I said, bouncing on the edge of my bed and kicking off my shoes. I breathed in the scent of freshly-burnt sage, which must have been Jillian’s work.

  “The rocking chair belonged to yer grandmother,” Aunt Dora said. “I’m glad it found a new home.”

  It looked all of its hundred years but held firm as Aunt Dora wriggled her ample posterior between the wooden armrests. She planted her slippered feet on the floor and lifted the hem of her housedress, revealing compression bands around her calves.

  Jillian closed the bedroom door then seated herself next to me on the bed. I pressed the palms of my hands together, waiting. At last, Jillian spoke.

  “There are things you need to know, Maggie. Things that have been kept from you for a very long time.”

  “What things?” I asked, looking from one concerned face to the other.

  Jillian pushed back a stray curl that had fallen into one of her eyes. “We are unable to speak or even write about it. Sasha bound us with a spell. But there are other ways to convey information.”

  “Like Pictionary?” I asked, smiling to alleviate the tension.

  Aunt Dora leaned forward in the chair. “She barred us from any direct means o’ transferring knowledge. That includes pictures and drawings, too.”

  “Then how?”

  “A fortunate accident.” Jillian reached beneath a pillow near the headboard and produced a leather instrument case. She opened it to reveal a set of crystal balls nestled within individual, velvet-lined compartments. Each ball was the size of a fist and sat atop a small, engraved pedestal. Looking closer, I saw that these were not crystal balls, but snow globes. Jillian drew out the first globe and handed it to me.

  I stared in wonder. “Can they foretell the future?”

  “No. Something more miraculous. Dora, will you explain?”

  My aunt’s eyebrows merged and she nodded slowly, stamping the end of her cane into the floor. “They are visions from the past. Each one contains a memory.”

  “Whose memories? And what does this have to do with me?”

  Jillian took the globe, returning it to its proper slot in the case. “The first question you’ll need to discover on your own. As for your second––”

  “We made a deal with a devil,” Aunt Dora said, rising from the chair.

  “What are you talking about? A deal? With who?” When they didn’t speak I swallowed, suddenly afraid.

  “Larinda,” Jillian answered.

  “You made a deal with Larinda?” I asked, incredulous. “Why?”

  �
��Dora and I weren’t able to fight the curse on you alone. We needed someone with considerable abilities to invoke The Power of Three. She was our only choice.”

  “But I’m awake now. We can use my energy…”

  Jillian shook her head. “No, Maggie. You’re here only because of Larinda’s assistance. Were she to retract it, even for a minute…” Her voice trailed off.

  “But how can you be sure she wasn’t responsible for the curse in the first place?”

  “We can’t, but that’s not important right now.”

  “Oh, I think it’s very important. And when I find out who did this to me and my baby…” The bed trembled. I took long deep breaths until the quaking subsided. “If we know who put this spell on me,” I said more calmly. “We can force them to break it.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Jillian explained. “Only some curses are cast by witches. There are also curses handed down through lineage, and curses cast on objects, and curses that are geographical. We have no idea where to begin to find who or what is responsible. It could be a new spell or an old hex...as old as time itself.”

  I fell backwards on my bed. “Oh, great. But why me?” Neither woman spoke. “So what’s our plan?”

  Jillian clasped her hands together. “You have one month before the baby is born. During that time you must learn the secrets of the globes, though you can only absorb one at a time.”

  “Absorb?” I raised myself back to sitting.

  “Through your dreams. Each globe must be viewed in order, and you must view them all.”

  “I don’t want these memories!” My heart raced. Whatever images the globes contained couldn’t be good, or else they wouldn’t have been so carefully preserved and kept secret.

  Aunt Dora studied me. There was a gentleness in her steel trap eyes. “My Maggie. Ya are now the head o’ The Council. Its yer right and duty ta see what needs ta be seen.”

  “What will I see?” I asked. “Please tell me.”

  “What you need to know.” Jillian turned her attention to the window, looking into the abyss of a Dark Root night.

  “What if I refuse?”

  “I can only tell you that Larinda will stop lending her assistance and you may be sent back into the Netherworld.”