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

by April Aasheim

  “Weren’t what? Like the three of you?”

  “Um, yes.” I looked sheepishly at my hands, wondering how I’d salvage this. I wasn’t used to arguing with Ruth Anne. We were usually allies, especially on our disdain of having to live our entire lives as “witches.” I rubbed the side of my temple, trying to re-articulate what I meant. “I’m just envious that you don’t have to deal with this sort of thing.”

  Ruth Anne lifted her pointy chin, giving me a long stare from behind her square glasses. “Who says I don’t?”

  She turned away from us and plodded up the staircase, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

  “Touchy,” Eve eventually said, breaking the silence. “We expect a certain level of volatility from you, Maggie, but I have no idea what got Ruth Anne’s commando panties in a bunch.”

  “She’s coming down to apologize right now,” Merry said.

  I looked up the staircase. “Ruth Anne doesn’t apologize. She broods and then she snacks.”

  Seconds later, Ruth Anne’s door opened and she marched down the stairs, crumbs at the corners of her mouth. She threw herself onto the sofa and kicked her feet onto the coffee table. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I hate being the black sheep of the family. It’s just that when I’m here in Dark Root I feel so boring. At least out in the world, I was the weird one. I kind of liked it.”

  “If it’s any consolation, you’re still weird to me,” I grinned.

  “And me,” Merry added.

  Eve raised her hand. “Make that three of us.”

  “Ah, shucks.” Ruth Anne smiled as she crossed one leg over the other. “You make a girl feel special.”

  I crinkled my brow. How could brilliant Ruth Anne feel anything less than special, even for a moment? We all looked up to her. I was about to tell her so when Merry raised a finger and shushed us all.

  “Do you feel that?” she asked. “There’s a sudden chill to the air.”

  The coldness caught me too, an icy tendril that snaked its way up and around my body.

  Ruth Anne stood, putting her hands out before her. She walked the length of the living room and back again. “It’s a cold spot, centered on us.” She grinned widely. “We have activity.”

  “That can’t be.” Eve inched her way towards us. “We closed the circle. Nothing can get in.”

  “But this is Juliana’s home,” I reminded her. “She didn’t have to get in. She was already here.”

  “I don’t think this spirit is our grandmother,” Merry said. “There’s a masculine energy to it.”

  I drew my wand from my tote and held it before me. The gem blinked, coming to life. “It’s my fault. Jillian thinks I may have brought things back with me from the Netherworld.”

  Eve’s eyes watched the flickering wand. “Leave it to Maggie to pick up crazy men, even in the afterlife.”

  “It’s nothing the four of us can’t handle,” Merry said, rolling up her shirt sleeves. “I’ll get the sage.”

  SIXTEEN

  Sunshine of Your Love

  Dark Root Oregon

  Summer Solstice, 1969

  “Come sit by me.”

  Armand stretched his long legs and patted the soft grass beside him. There was a breeze in the air and the smell of pine was so thick he was almost nostalgic for Christmas. He took a sip of his beer and leaned his head back, letting the warm sun kiss the hollow of his neck. They made it through another long cold winter and he wanted to enjoy every moment of summer while it lasted.

  Sasha lifted the hem of her skirt and plodded bare-footed over to him. She fell into his lap, nearly spilling his drink. He smiled and kissed the top of her head as she nestled against his chest.

  “I don’t want summer to end,” he said, crushing the empty beer can with his hand before tossing it down the hill. “This is the only time of year I’m not California dreaming.”

  “Some people believe that our suffering is due to our inability to accept change,” Sasha explained as her eyes followed a drifting cloud that morphed from a rabbit to a turtle to a snake.

  “Some people? Hmmm. Like you?” He coiled one of her curls around his finger, breathing in her scent of lavender and roses. She made her own shampoo and her hair smelled like summertime all year round.

  “Want to see something?” she asked, her lips forming a tight smile. Before he could respond, she squeezed her eyes shut then opened them. She raised her right arm, pointing it straight ahead, and the entire field of grass and dandelions began to sway, first to the left, then to the right. Back and forth, moving to her will. A thousand dandelion seeds floated into the air.

  “A magical symphony.” Armand sighed languidly. He swatted at a stray dandelion tuft near his mouth and laughed. The scene was absurd and beautiful. Just like Sasha.

  “You told me never to squander magick,” he reminded her when the symphony was complete and she fell back against his chest. Her energy had diminished but her aura flared brightly.

  “That wasn’t squandering. That was art.”

  “You know, I never thought I’d say this, but while you’re tossing art around, can you make it rain? Just a little.” Armand rubbed his nose. “I think I’m allergic.”

  Sasha gave him a sly look. “I said I could stop the rain, not make it. Only focused groups of very talented people working together can do that. It would take quite the powerful witch to make it rain on her own.”

  “Or warlock.”

  “Since we’re speaking hypothetically, I’ll agree. Or warlock.”

  They laid down, Armand’s back against the ground, and Sasha pressed into his chest. He had never known happiness before, only restlessness and uncertainty. But if every day were like today, with the sunshine and the clouds and even the pollen, and Sasha in her sweetest mood, he could be happy. Even in Dark Root.

  “We have the ritual tonight,” she reminded him, tapping his chest.

  “Yeah.”

  “To honor the balance of life. Day and night. The Earth and the Heavens. The eternal power struggle between Light and Dark.” She looked up at him with soft, doe-eyes. “And for now, at least, the Light wins.”

  “For now,” he sighed.

  Sasha had been looking forward to their midsummer ritual for the last few months and had gone over it with him so many times he was utterly bored of it. It would start with an invocation and end with a bonfire. Of course, Dora would be there with her disapproving eye, watching over everything he did, correcting him when he stumbled over his spell, and chastising him for putting too much masculine energy into the ritual.

  “You know the words, right?” Sasha pressed.

  “I have five lines. I think I’ve got them covered.”

  “And you’ll wear your robe? And no stupid cowboy hat?”

  Armand stole a glance at his hat beside him. “Sorry old boy,” he said. “My dance card is full tonight.”

  Sasha laughed, crawling up his chest so that they were eye to eye. Armand caught sight of the ankh dangling from her neck and resisted the urge to touch it. Six more months and his two years would be fulfilled. It would be his soon.

  “This is fun, huh?” she asked. “I mean, this is your job. How amazing is that?”

  “Since I’ve never had a job I can’t answer.”

  A fog covered Sasha’s face. “Not true. I seem to recall your old line of work.”

  Armand’s eyes slid to the right.

  She was referring to the fact that he made his living, if you could call it that, off the charity of his numerous lovers. It had gotten him out of a few bad jams, but put him in many more. Now, he supposed, he was doing it again with Sasha, but at least this time he was pulling his own weight.

  “Okay, so tonight we perform the Solstice Ritual. Then what? Are we off duty again until the next solstice or equinox or UFO abduction?”

  “You’re too funny to be a warlock.”

  “You’re too beautiful to be a witch.”

  Taking her hand, he felt a mild tremor rumble through him
. In these delicate moments, he longed for her to belong to him. Completely.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  Her body tensed and he wished he could take it back. “Armand…”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “You know I love you too, but…”

  He sat upright, knocking her off him and wiping the grass from his jeans. “I know. You love me but you’re not in love with me. I’m your disciple. I got it.” He reached for his hat and stood up, starting down the hill towards town. “I’m sorry I said it.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” she said, catching up to him. “Love will save us all.”

  “Or destroy us. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a ritual to prepare for.”

  Dark Root, Oregon

  March, 2014

  Harvest Home

  I was sick with fever, covered in my own sweat, my hair matted against my face. The globe-induced dream melted away as the fever raged across my body. I tried to swallow but my mouth was dry.

  What was happening?

  Without thought I reached for my phone, dialing Shane’s number. It went straight to voicemail. I tried again. When I hit the redial button for the third time, my bedroom door flew open and Michael appeared, a shroud of hazy yellow light around him.

  “What are you doing in here?” I demanded, but it came out as a croak.

  “You’re sick.” He turned on the light, even though the morning sunlight was already streaming in through the window.

  “I’m fine,” I lied.

  He touched my head. “You’re burning up.” He yanked the blankets from me and tossed the bedding in a pile on the floor. “Let me take off your nightgown.’

  “No!” But I didn’t fight him as he pulled it from me, leaving me near naked and shivering. “I’m cold now,” I said, my teeth chattering. “No, wait. I’m hot. Michael, what’s wrong with me?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, taking my hands. “We should get you to the hospital.”

  “No. I’ll be fine. I think it’s just pregnancy hormones.”

  He looked dubiously at me. “Fine. But I’m going to stay in here and watch over you.”

  I rolled onto my side. “I need some aspirin.”

  “No aspirin. We need to think of our baby.”

  I turned my head, sobbing into my pillow.

  He came and sat beside me. “I’ve already let Jillian and Dora know. They are brewing tea.”

  I inched myself away from him, wiping my nose across the pillow. “Tea? Why do we fix everything with tea?” I kicked my feet in frustration. “I may be dying and they want to give me tea.”

  The color drained from Michael’s face and I immediately regretted my words. He pulled a damp strand of hair from my cheek. “We all have ways of coping with stuff. Support groups, faith, tea.”

  I continued to cry and he continued to console me. My stomach roiled and the fever was thick. But that wasn’t why I cried. How could I tell Michael that the reason for my distress was because the man I loved had left me, while the man I had hoped to never see again was right here, trying to make things better for me, all the while speaking of our baby?

  I pushed him aside and leaned over the edge of the bed, vomiting on the floor.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Hope I didn’t splash you.”

  “Just breathe, Maggie. Merry’s on her way over, too. You’ve got all of us looking out for you.”

  Michael stood and lifted a finger, indicating that he would be right back. When he returned, he handed me a paper cup filled with water and a large towel. “Drink up,” he said. “I’m sure Dora and Jillian will be up soon to take over. I’ll clean up the mess.”

  I nodded, feeling better now that my stomach had emptied.

  I finished my water and handed back the empty cup.

  “You’re watching over me and Shane’s watching over his ex-girlfriend,” I smiled bitterly. “Talk about irony.”

  “Sometimes you don’t know what you have until it’s almost too late.”

  Almost?

  Michael left the room again, this time returning with a wet washcloth. He placed it over my head. “But I promise you this, Maggie Mae. I’ll never leave you or our baby again.” His eyes rested on something on the floor. I craned my neck to see that it was the globe from last night. It must have rolled out of my hand once I fell asleep. His energy tensed up around him.

  “But I’ve had quite enough of this reliance on magic to cure you,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “We are getting you real help, with or without Dora’s blessing.”

  “Okay.” I turned the washcloth over, now hot from my fevered head. “Real help. It’s on my list.”

  I closed my eyes and gave in again to another long sleep.

  It was dark when I woke next, but judging by the trays of juices, crackers and soups on the floor, I knew I hadn’t been alone.

  A shadowy form looked up from the chair, frightening the breath out of me. Once my eyes adjusted, I saw that it was Michael. I clutched my chest in relief.

  “You scared the bloody hell out of me,” I whispered, not wanting to wake anyone up.

  “I could say the same for you.”

  I felt my head. It was cool and damp. The fever had broken. The sheet covering me was clean, smelling freshly laundered, and a lighter quilt had replaced the heavier one. I sat up against the headboard, dazed.

  “Where’s my phone?” I asked. Michael nodded to my dresser. Looking through my history, I was annoyed to see that Shane still hadn’t contacted me. I threw the phone across the room, where it thankfully rebounded off a pile of sheets near Michael’s feet. He looked at me, then slowly shook his head.

  I gathered myself––and my phone––and made my way to the bathroom, with Michael in tow. He stood guard outside the door as I cleaned myself up.

  “I don’t like defending Mr. Doler,” he said, following me back to my bedroom. “But if his friend is dying, he is doing the honorable thing.”

  “Screw you,” I hissed, trying not to disturb Eve as we passed her room. “How can you side with him? How is her life more important than mine?”

  “Because you have the love and support of your entire family. Maybe this woman doesn’t have anyone but Shane?”

  I glowered a moment as I braced my hands against the door frame, fighting back another round of dizziness. “He could at least text me. I don’t even know if he’s alive. There’s no honor in making me worry like that.”

  “Are you sure that’s why you’re so concerned? Because of Shane’s safety?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Do I?” Michael took my shoulders and guided me back to my bed. He opened the curtains, letting moonlight flood the room. The sound of the breeze moving through the leaves was comforting and I tilted my head so that I could hear it better.

  “He’s a man and he’s dealing with something,” Michael continued, unsolicited. “When he’s done, he’ll be back. That’s the way we are.”

  I pulled the sheet up to my chin. “I’m well aware of the way men deal with things, then return home once they’ve had their fun.”

  Michael pushed his head into the palm of his right hand. “For fucks’ sake, Maggie. Can you please let that go? I’ve been punished, okay? I lost you. I lost my family…” His voice cracked.

  “I know it wasn’t entirely your fault,” I admitted after a long pause. “I just have this crazy need to hurt you as much as you hurt me.”

  “And you’ve succeeded.”

  “I’m sorry. Can we blame it on my pregnancy?”

  “If that makes you feel better.”

  “It does.”

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small glass object, which he plugged into the wall near the rocking chair. The room was suddenly bathed in a soft pink glow. “I remember how you couldn’t sleep in the dark. You’ve come a long way, but I thought this still might offer you some comfort.”

  “Thank you.” I
smiled, appreciatively. “It couldn’t hurt.”

  “I have to talk to you,” he said, sitting back down in the rocking chair, his weight leaning forward.

  “Now?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it non-stop since I came to Dark Root. Please?”

  “Michael, I’m so tired.”

  “I know, but hear me out.”

  “Fine.” I took the glass of water from my dresser and sipped on it as he spoke.

  “I’m thinking of moving here. For good.”

  I nearly spit out the water.

  “I was deluding myself these last few years, thinking God was talking to me.”

  I appraised him with narrowed eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “You deserved better. I couldn’t give it to you then, but I can start to make up for it now.”

  “Michael…”

  “Let me finish.” He reached out, stopping me. “I found a house for sale about five miles outside of town. I can be close for you and the baby.”

  I scanned the outline of the door on the far wall. “I forgave you, Michael. I’m older and wiser and I realize people make mistakes. You don’t have to lose your faith or move here to make things right.”

  “I haven’t lost my faith, just my egocentric view that I’m somehow special because I have these…” He looked at his lifted hands, then sighed. “As for moving here, it’s the logical thing to do. You won’t have to be saddled by a baby all of the time, assuming you…”

  His jaw tightened and he gripped the handrails of the chair.

  “Assuming I survive whatever plague has been put on me?”

  “A fair assessment.”

  “And if I don’t? What if neither me nor the baby survives?”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “We have no idea what I’m dealing with.”

  “Then I’ll be close to where you’ve spent your life.”

  “You’re pathetic,” I joked.

  He drummed his fingers across the arm rail, nodding to himself. “I’ve just rediscovered my priorities.” He stood and refilled my water from a pitcher on the dresser, handing me the cup. “Now, drink up and get back to sleep.”