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

by April Aasheim

  She must have caught wind of it too, because she now carried it with her wherever she went. She even slept with the damned thing. The wand was allegedly from a magical tree and could not be replicated, so she was frugal with its powers, using it selectively on those who came back from the war damaged and maimed.

  Not that his appearance mattered anymore. The tourists were off limits and Sasha never looked at him anymore the way she did other men, no matter how many rejuvenation spells he used. In fact, the only time she noticed him at all was when she needed something, like carving up brown paper lunch sacks into jack-o-lanterns for this frivolous circus.

  “Darling, don’t make a face. It will get stuck that way.” She strolled over to him, letting the feathers of her boa crawl across his shoulders before reeling it in.

  “We are supposed to be hiding out here,” he said. “That’s the reason we put up those stupid domes. And now you’ve invited everyone and their grandmother in for a Halloween party. If I wanted Hollywood, I would have stayed in California.”

  Sasha lowered her boa, her aura flickering red.

  Her anger didn’t bother him anymore, though. He preferred it to her new persona. At least anger was real.

  “Armand, this is the best way to hide. In plain sight! Who would think to look for real witches in a town filled with fantasy ones? Misinformation.” She waved her hand in the air. “The government has been doing it for years.”

  “Some of those old-time, superstitious nut jobs in Linsburg would love to get their hands on us, and now you’re inviting them in.”

  “Let them pick the real witches out of a lineup then.” Sasha waved to showcase the army of pedestrians in witches’ hats who wandered about Main Street. Some carried brooms. Others carried plastic cauldrons slung over their arms in preparation for Trick-or-Treating later in the evening.

  “Besides,” Sasha added, tugging at one of the errant gray curls that slithered down her shoulder. “People need to believe in something. It’s a dark time and if this festival helps, even a little, then it adds light to the world. Besides,” she added with a gleam in her eye. “Their energy can augment ours. If we have everyone focusing, this year’s Samhain spell should hold at least a year.”

  “You’re always working it, aren’t you?”

  “I’m practical.”

  “You’re something, anyway.”

  “Kiss me,” she said, closing the distance between them.

  “What?”

  “I said kiss me.”

  Armand bent towards her but pulled away when he smelled the thick scent of nicotine on her breath. He had stopped smoking a year ago, but Sasha refused to give it up. In fact, she seemed to be smoking his share now, too.

  “You smell like an ashtray. What’s wrong with you lately?”

  “What’s wrong with me?” She stood erect, her eyes sharp. “If you don’t want to kiss me, then don’t. You’re not the only man in Dark Root.” Her eyes slid towards a trio of young men near the book store who were passing a cigarette between them.

  Enflamed with jealousy, Armand grabbed her by her shoulders, leaned her so far backwards that her hair fell from its pins, and kissed her. Hard.

  Sasha blinked, trying to regain her composure.

  “I-uh…” she stammered.

  Armand suppressed a smile. She might be the Empress of Dark Root, but he was still its king. He would not allow her to speak down to him again.

  He released her and her energy softened. When she spoke, her voice was quieter, filled with worry and concern.

  “We need these people here, Armand. We need their vitality. This war may be winding down but there’s something bigger on the horizon.” She stared up towards the sky. “Can’t you feel it?”

  “You mean, we did all this work and the end of the world is still waiting for us?” Armand slammed his hand into the pole. For nearly five years, Sasha had led The Council in all sorts of ritual magic, including naked dances under the moonlight. Now she was telling him this wasn’t even the real battle?

  “Ah, hell. We’re like rats on a wheel. What have we been doing then?”

  “Good work, Armand. We’ve been doing good work.”

  He tightened the strap on his trench coat and pulled his hat down around his ears to keep the chill at bay. In all his time here, he still wasn’t used to the dankness of the region.

  He missed L.A.––the warm weather, the bar scenes, the babes running around in bikinis and not stark, high-collared dresses. California Dreaming. But dreaming was all it was. Sasha had a hold on him, and sometimes he wondered if it was the work of a spell. His feelings for her made absolutely no sense.

  He rubbed the sides of his temples to drown out the shouts of children running from the book store, which currently served as the festival’s haunted house. He looked up. The sky was darkening. Soon it would be night.

  “The world’s never gonna be at peace, Sasha. That’s the nature of humanity.”

  She studied him, her jaw set firm. “You’re a cynic, Armand.”

  “I’m a realist, babe.”

  A striking young woman with black, serpentine curls approached. It was Larinda, Sasha’s cousin who had moved back to Dark Root the year before. Sasha and Larinda had an uneasy relationship, forged through family bonds and rivalry. They were both powerful witches, but while Sasha used her magic for “the betterment of humanity,” Larinda used hers to better herself.

  As the two women spoke, Armand entertained some dark thoughts about Larinda.

  If she had been around for the last naked moonlight dance, it would have been far more interesting. Though he and Sasha had an “open relationship” he had never pursued it. Their physical interactions had steadily decreased over the last two years, but they were still frequent enough to keep him satisfied, both physically and mentally.

  But today, maybe because it was Samhain, there was something about Larinda’s dark aura that aroused him, bringing out primitive desires he hadn’t felt in years. In the past, he had taken women like Larinda to his bed, screwed the memories of every other man right out of their brains, and siphoned off a bit of their life force.

  The good old days of being a warlock.

  When he met Sasha he had stopped all that, charging off her natural aura instead, as well the magick of Dark Root.

  Still…

  He stole a glance at Sasha, to see if she sensed his desire. But while the two women spoke, her eyes were on another man loitering near the cotton candy stand. He was about forty with sharp blue eyes and an easy smile. Armand was struck with jealousy as he wondered whether she took advantage of their open relationship.

  A gust of wind swept down Main Street, carrying off balloons and lifting the hem of Larinda’s red dress, revealing a set of slim legs. Armand licked his lips, wondering what it would be like to taste her body and consume her aura. Would she feel warm and open like Sasha used to feel? Or cold and indifferent like Sasha felt now? Maybe she’d give him an entirely new sensation.

  He surveyed her slender body again, wondering if she could withstand his siphoning.

  He inched forward, tuning into their conversation, directing his sexual energy towards Larinda and hoping Sasha didn’t notice.

  “…You can be in charge of gathering the candles for the lighting ceremony,” Sasha said to her cousin. “But remember, all white, no black.”

  Larinda’s thin red lips curled into a cat-like smile. “All white? Too bad. I found some delicious mulberry ones in New Orleans.”

  “All white,” Sasha repeated.

  “Fine. But since you’ve been mingling with the normies, you’re no fun anymore, my dear cousin.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying,” Armand spoke up.

  Sasha nodded to a little girl in a plastic monster mask, ignoring their comments. “The festival is going well but we still have much to do. Tomorrow is the parade and the floats aren’t ready yet. The cauldron on my wagon isn’t secured. Can you attend to that, Armand?”


  “Do I look like a handy man?”

  “You’re a warlock,” Sasha reminded him. “You’ll figure it out. And when this festival is over, I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Ah, hell. Unless I’ve picked up magical welding abilities, I doubt my talents will come in handy in this particular instance.”

  Larinda laughed out loud as she straightened her dress.

  “I’ll help,” she offered.

  Sasha tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing. “That’s so very sweet of you, cousin, but this is man’s work. Perhaps you can help Joe finish up those pumpkin pies at Delilah’s Deli?”

  “No. I think I’ve found how I’ll be spending my time.” Larinda snaked her arm through Armand’s, escorting him down the street towards the lot where their floats awaited their big moment in the parade. Armand felt Sasha’s eyes following them, and he waved goodbye over his shoulder. For effect, he snapped his fingers and a blast of smoke shot up from the ground, camouflaging the pair as they turned the corner.

  “We really got her boa in a bunch,” Larinda said as they found Sasha’s wagon. “I’m impressed.”

  Armand studied the witch. She was pretty, in a cobra kind of way––sleek, shiny and dangerous. She could be even prettier, he knew, if she wanted to be. Her glamor spells could change her, at least temporarily, into any female form he desired. And he desired them all.

  “Your relationship with Sasha is interesting,” he said, after finishing his appraisal. “I can’t tell whether you two love each other or hate each other.”

  “I could say the same about you and her,” Larinda said.

  She leaned her back against the wagon and lifted one knee up, revealing another hint of her alabaster thigh. She unleashed her aura––purposely, Armand guessed––letting it slither around him, further stirring his arousal. Her energy was so strong, so potent, and so dark.

  She placed a finger to her chin and looked him over. “She’ll never love you.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “It’s not your fault. She loved once before, a boy named Robbie. He died unexpectedly. It nearly destroyed her.”

  His chest constricted. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I want you to know that it’s Sasha who’s broken, not you.”

  Armand digested the news, wondering if what Larinda said was true. Sasha had often said she didn’t have the ability to love. Now, hearing that she had loved someone once, it was almost too much for him.

  “You and I are kindred spirits, Armand,” Larinda continued. “Both stuck here under Sasha’s rule, yet both as strong, if not stronger, than she is. And both desiring so much more than this one-wagon town can offer us.”

  He scrunched his eyes and thought about it. Larinda was a bad seed, as his mother would say. Was she trying to suggest that he was, too? “I’m not stuck. And before you go saying we are kindred spirits, you should know there are many sides to me. You’re just seeing one.”

  “Delightful!” She kicked up a heel and tossed her head back in laughter, then grabbed him by the collar of his trench coat. “And I want to see each and every one of them. No holding back.”

  Armand pressed her body up against the side of Sasha’s wagon-float, soaking in the powerful pulses of her smoky aura. It ran through him, up and down his spine, into his groin. He grew hard.

  “I could take you right here,” he whispered, his teeth finding the side of her neck as his fingers dug into her wrists. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Right here on your cousin’s float.” He found he enjoyed the thought of that.

  “Take me anywhere you want,” she said. Then, in a whisper, “I have something for you. Something you’ve been wanting to get your hands on.”

  He pulled back to see her face. There was no guile there, no hint of deceit.

  Larinda opened her bag and produced a leather-bound book. Sasha’s Spell Book, the one she had yanked away from him on their first day in Dark Root.

  He ran his fingers along the ridges of the embossed letters. “How did you get it?”

  “I have my ways.” She smiled and licked her apple-red lips. “There are secrets in there, Armand. There is so much we can accomplish together! Aren’t you tired of domes and silly wars that have nothing to do with us? Life is made for the living, not the dying. With our combined abilities, this book will make us far more powerful than Sasha.”

  “I’m already more powerful than her,” he answered, pulling slightly away. But he could see in Larinda’s eyes that she had her doubts. He was still a wilder, for the most part, a person born with strong abilities, but who had little control over them.

  He would fix that.

  With trembling fingers, he reached for the book. He had moved to Dark Root to be trained, he told himself. Not to be a part of some freak show. With that book, he wouldn’t need Sasha’s help anymore. He could train himself.

  “Use me as you wish,” Larinda said, her lithe hand sliding over her hips and waist suggestively. “And if, as Sasha believes, the Darkness does come, we will be safe from it.” She lowered her eyes, then lifted them again, whispering in his ear. “We might even be able to control the Dark and all its minions, instead of fearing it. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  Armand looked at the book once more before burying it within the folds of his trench coat. He nodded. He knew that he was closing one door, but also opening another. He didn’t care. He had wasted too much of his life already.

  He wrapped Larinda in his arms and kissed her, pushing his tongue deep into her mouth and tasting her essence. It was liquid and cruel.

  But it was also strong and life-affirming.

  He pushed his body closer, letting his aura overtake hers.

  But not before he thought he saw Dora slip into the alley behind Main Street.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Spooky

  Dark Root, Oregon

  April, 2014

  The Road to Linsburg

  “Maggie, wake up. I need your help finding the hospital. My GPS doesn’t seem to be working.”

  “That would be the Dark Root Triangle,” I yawned, blinking against the gray sunlight pouring in through the van window. “Where are we?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.

  “I’m taking you to see a doctor.”

  “Why?”

  “You fell. Don’t you remember?” Both of his hands gripped the steering wheel. He’d learned to drive about six months earlier, but I guessed he still lacked the faith to let one hand leave the wheel for longer than a moment. I studied his profile, noting his firm jaw, his heavy brow, and his wavy hair that fell nearly to his shoulders.

  “You’re handsome,” I said, the words having more syllables than I intended.

  He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Thanks.”

  “I fell,” I repeated his words. It came back to me and I touched the areas that should be sore. They weren’t. Merry was a marvel. I then licked my parched lips and checked out the surroundings. I recognized the road we were on. We’d be in Linsburg soon.

  “Turn right.” I pointed to a little side road. Michael was reluctant but spun the wheel where I directed. “I still can’t believe you drive,” I said.

  “I can’t believe I do either. I spent years avoiding it, deluding myself, thinking that I was above such menial tasks. But I think the real reason was that I was afraid. Not just afraid of driving, Maggie. Afraid of life. Building that castle in the sky was the only thing that made me less afraid.”

  “I’ve never known you to be afraid of anything.”

  “Good. Then I hid it well.” He dug a pair of cheap sunglasses out of the cup holder and put them on. He was wearing a yellow polo shirt and khaki shorts, a far cry from the crisp white button-downs and jeans he wore at Woodhaven.

  I wrinkled my nose. He caught me.

  “What?”

  “You look like you’re about to go on a cruise.”

  “Thank you. I’ve been shopping. How are you feeling, by the way?”

&nbs
p; “I’m fine. Fine as wine.” I looked around, my hands digging between the seats. “Do you have any wine?”

  “You can’t drink wine, Maggie.”

  “Jesus drank wine,” I said. “And you love Jesus.”

  “Jesus wasn’t pregnant.”

  “Now that would have been a real miracle.” I folded my arms across my chest and frowned. “Did you know the Egyptians also believed the soul lived on forever? But they had to prepare for the journey while they were still alive here on earth. The unprepared would not survive the trip to the Underworld.”

  “And?”

  “I was thinking that maybe your ideas weren’t so farfetched. You weren’t the only one to have them.”

  Michael pounded the horn as a car sped by. “Idiot drivers,” he grumbled. “You should always drive five miles below the speed limit, not five above.”

  “Or in our case fifteen,” I said, looking at the speedometer.

  I smiled, remembering how he had always been a stickler for rules, order and routine. Meditation at dawn, organic food only, prayer at night. Any variation and God would be pissed. “You need to lighten up, Michael.”

  He reached over and placed his hand on my forehead. “You’re not warm. That’s good.”

  “Someday we should invest in a real thermometer.”

  He paused a moment, his eyes squinting as he gazed at the road ahead of us. “So, are you still feeling the effects of Merry’s magic? Your sister has quite the healing ability. Don’t let that get out. She’ll be swamped.”

  “Merry’s Magic. Has a nice ring to it.”

  “Yes, yes it does.” I wasn’t sure, but I thought he smiled.

  I turned towards the window. “I still feel dizzy.”

  “As long as you’re not in pain, we are fine.” He leaned forward, his eyes slits as he peered through the rain-smattered windshield.

  “Your wiper isn’t working.” I pointed to the one on the left. The rubber track was hanging off, creating more of a mess than it helped.

  “I know.”

  “Not safe for a baby.”

  He inhaled through his nose. “I’ll get it fixed. Now help me find the hospital. Are you sure we turned onto the right road?”