In response, the stick vibrated in her hand.
“If I do give you to Larinda,” she continued. “And she does use you for only good things like making Starlight and Mama better, Mama won’t have a wand anymore––and a witch only gets one wand.”
But if I don’t do something soon, Starlight and Mama might get worse.
Merry tightened her grip on the wand, tucking it down into the length of her pajama pant leg, and walked stiffly towards the sewing room.
It was settled.
Tonight she’d hand over the wand to Larinda and she’d worry about the consequences later. For now, she’d hide it with the potted sapling, until it was time to leave. She still had a few more hours to change her mind. She’d look for a sign in the meantime, just in case.
Luckily, Maggie’s destructive wilder magick hadn’t extended to the upstairs and Merry turned on the sewing room light as she entered the room.
She gasped at the image before her. Her sapling had almost tripled in height since last she saw it, nearly grazing the ceiling. It was the most beautiful tree Merry had ever seen. She glided her fingers along one of the incandescent silvery boughs, noticing the flecks of glitter that drifted from the branch, not unlike the glitter on Maggie’s snowflakes.
Only, Merry knew this wasn’t glitter. It was stardust. The tree had come from the stars and retained its royal status, even here on earth.
Staring at the tree, she was struck by a firm realization. Her wish on the star had come true. Christmas was coming, and, in fact, was growing in her sewing room. Even Mama’s heart would melt at the sight of the tree.
And her sisters––they would see it and have hope for the family again.
Except…
She still needed to save Starlight.
She set the owl down and it nested under the lowest boughs, where it fell contentedly to sleep. “We’ll decorate you soon,” she promised the tree. “Please watch over Starlight for me first.”
She’d hand the wand over to Larinda. Then, once Starlight was better and Mama had lost her gloom, she’d present the tree to her family.
Christmas would return.
Unless…
No.
She shook the thought from her head.
Larinda had said the oath: Witch’s Honor. And a witch’s word was the most powerful word that ever existed.
NINE
IT WAS AFTER dusk on the evening of the Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year and the beginning of a new age of magick. Come tomorrow, the sun would slowly reclaim its reign over the earth as the days grew incrementally longer.
The solstice night was also a time for spell-casting and communion.
Merry laced up her thermal boots and bundled up in one of Ruth Anne’s camouflage jackets, tucking the owl and the wand into its deep pockets.
“Where you going?” Maggie asked, standing cross-armed near the door.
“Christmas shopping.”
“Mother said Christmas was cancelled.”
“Since when do you listen to Mama?”
“Since when don’t you listen to her?”
Merry sighed heavily. She couldn’t tell Maggie where she was really going. She would only try to stop her. She hated to lie, but it was for a good cause. “We still have to try, Maggie. We always have to keep trying.”
She gave her younger sister a peck on the cheek, which Maggie wiped off, then slipped out the front door. Once outside, she felt Maggie’s eyes following her. She smiled back over her shoulder brightly, reassuringly, and waved as she trotted off down the porch stairs, wrapping her scarf around her face to hold back the chill.
At least no one came after her. It was one of the few luxuries that came with being the “responsible” child––no one questioned her for long.
As Merry strolled, she watched the sky.
On this special night there was a crack in the veil, a thin meridian that spirits could access to travel from one plane of existence to another. There were surely ghosts out. Or worse. Even as she scanned the night, she also kept watch on the landscape around her, looking for signs––broken branches, hurt animals, leaves that took the shape of dragons. Some indication that she was doing the right thing. Or the wrong thing.
But her travels went without omen as she made her way back to Larinda’s cabin, the night pressing in on her until it was so thick she had to stop in order to breathe. Only the faint heartbeat of her little owl kept her moving forward.
She’d ask Larinda to heal Starlight right away, of course.
There was not an hour, or even a moment, to dilly-dally and she would demand that the witch keep to her oath and fix him. His aura was merely shadow now, no matter how much tea or healing breaths Merry offered him.
“Starlight,” she said out loud, the word becoming a pure stream of gray mist that curled up into the air. “I haven’t known you long, but I love you.” She patted her coat softly and quickened her pace with renewed urgency.
Once Starlight was better, she’d insist that Larinda fix whatever was wrong with their mother. Surely, a witch of her power, and aided by the wand, could chase away whatever was plaguing Mama. And then maybe the two would even reconcile and they could all have Christmas together.
They were family, after all, and it was time to put the past behind them.
The dilapidated cabin was there, reformed, just as it had been the previous evening. Merry approached it with some hesitation, looking over her shoulder to ensure she hadn’t been followed. She had convinced herself that she was doing the right thing, but now felt a nagging sensation in the pit of her gut. She swallowed hard, holding back her growing fear.
As before, the door opened, revealing a slim woman with a tight-fitting dress and dark, snake-like curls that coiled past her shoulders. Though not beautiful, Larinda was an impressive figure, a dark, striking contrast against the wintery moonlit dreamscape. A fattened raven fluttered down from atop the cabin roof and perched on Larinda’s shoulder, giving the witch the alarming illusion of having two heads.
“You’re a sensible girl. I knew it.” Larinda clapped her hands together, leaving them shut, then stepped aside so that Merry could enter.
The cabin had a different odor to it this time––dust and must and a staleness Merry equated with worn socks. She stepped inside, standing very close to the doorway, ready to run if necessary. After a long pause, she pulled the owl from her jacket and set him on the tree stump table. Starlight glanced at his surroundings, hopping back towards Merry with a shallow whoop.
“Shhh…” Larinda pressed her finger to her lips and the owl immediately quieted.
“Here’s the wand,” Merry said, holding up the willow branch but not relinquishing it. “Heal Starlight first, and then Mama. Then, I guess, it’s all yours.”
Larinda’s powder-white hands reached out, clenching her prize. Merry held tight, but was jolted by a cruel bolt of electricity.
“Ow!” she cried, letting it loose.
The elder witch took the wand and held it up to the firelight, her eyes widening as the tip sparkled like a pot of leprechaun’s gold. “Finally! I’ve waited far too long for this!”
She lifted her arms and the gem caught a beam of moonlight through the window, sending multicolored prisms across the stark cabin walls.
“The owl.” Merry nodded towards Starlight.
Larinda paid her no heed. She waved the wand in small circles, her eyes following the iridescent tracers around the room.
“Larinda,” Merry said firmly. “Please heal Starlight. He’s sick and he’ll die within hours if you don’t.”
Indeed, Starlight’s chest heaved, as if every breath he took was sheer work.
The witch spun towards Merry, her white teeth gleaming, one after the next. “And waste a precious charge?”
“You said charges don’t run out.”
“Even if I did heal that creature, he’d be sick again in no time.” She drew the wand back into her chest. “Isn’t that right
, precious?” she asked the raven still squatting on her shoulder, who responded with a pump of his wings and a loud caw.
“You promised!” Merry said. “And when a witch gives her word, the bond can’t be broken!”
“I haven’t been bound by my honor in a very long time, my dear. Didn’t your mother tell you? Or is she too involved in her bon-bons and love spells lately? In my world, nothing sticks.”
Larinda advanced, pointing her newly acquired wand in Merry’s direction. Merry lifted an arm, to shield herself. It was a healing wand––but there was more, too. Powerful magick infused by Miss Sasha herself. The gem sparkled, as if readying to ignite.
“Maybe you’ll join me in my world,” Larinda said, circling the wand near Merry’s face. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”
With startling swiftness, Starlight leapt from the stump. Spreading his wings, he flew at the raven, talons first. The black bird tumbled from his perch even before the owl reached him, falling to the earthen floor and dissolving into a poof of dust.
Larinda cried out as Starlight’s talons hooked into her shoulders next, drawing blood. The wand fell from her hand as she scrambled to push the owl away. Undaunted, Starlight flapped his tiny wings and aimed for her eyes with his beak and his claws, screeching all the while. Larinda stumbled back, reaching for the wand on the floor as she fell, but it was too late. The cabin illusion failed, shattering into confetti, leaving only the forest around them.
Merry snatched up the wand and with two hands, pointed it at a pine bough now drooping above Larinda’s head. The bough curled like a serpent around Larinda’s arm, locking her down.
“Come on, Starlight!” Quickly, Merry grabbed the bird and tucked him into her pocket as she raced from the glen.
“Merry! Come back!”
Her heart pounded in her throat as Larinda called out to her. The spell would break soon and she had to return to the enchanted path while she could.
She hardly breathed as she ran, knowing Larinda would overwhelm her once she escaped. As she raced home, her teeth chattered so fiercely she nearly bit her tongue. It was only when she saw the porch lights glowing from Sister House that she slowed enough to catch her breath.
“You saved me, Starlight. Thank you!” she said, drawing the owl from her pocket as she reached the edge of the yard.
The bird quivered in her hands, his breathing sharp and labored.
“I’m so sorry. I thought I could save you but…” She choked on the last word. Larinda was her last and only chance. Now it was too late to save her new friend. And maybe her mother, too.
The moon was rising and she felt the magick of the solstice night thickening.
She noticed an unusual star in the sky, a pinprick of silver light that stood out among the others. It widened as she contemplated it, until it was nearly the size of the moon. She watched as its silver white light spread across the sky, brightening the night to the color of dawn, before folding back in on itself and collapsing into the heavens.
Another wishing star––this one infused by the magick of the Winter Solstice!
She could make another wish. But she would have to give up her old one.
Merry kissed the top of Starlight’s head. “My new wish will save you,” she said. “I’m not sure how, but I know it will.”
TEN
AN HOUR LATER, Miss Sasha stared into the forest night, her once sharp blue eyes dulled by time and apathy. Her hands were folded into her lap as she pumped with the soles of her feet to get the porch swing moving.
Merry studied her mother, sitting beside her. She was an old woman and a young woman, locked into one body.
She removed the wand from her pocket and handed it over.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” she said, hanging her head.
Without looking at the wand, Miss Sasha’s face relaxed, just a little.
“That isn’t my wand, you know?” She tapped the stick across her thighs. “It’s got a little magick in it, but it’s just a decoy. It wouldn’t have helped Larinda. But I’m glad to see you brought it back. Shows character.”
“How did you know?” Merry asked, still unable to look her in the eye.
“Magic. Maternal instinct.” She shrugged. “It’s all the same.” She reached over, gently taking her daughter’s hand. There was love there. Merry felt it. Strong and deep and pure. It was just…buried somehow.
“I knew you had it,” Miss Sasha continued. “I just didn’t know why you needed it.”
Merry removed the owl from her pocket and presented the sleeping bird to her mother. “This is Starlight. And I think he’s dying.”
Miss Sasha lowered her gaze to get a better look. Merry sensed her mother’s energy, coursing through the animal, probing him. She touched his wing lightly and he opened his mouth, as if to speak, but nothing came out and his eyes remained shut.
“You’re right, he is sick,” Miss Sasha said, nodding affirmatively. There was deeper color to her irises now, a blue sheen of life that spread like water into a previously empty chalice. “I’m sorry, I can’t help him.” She sighed, spreading her hands as her mouth dipped into a frown. “He’s a nice bird. Where did you get him?”
Merry’s lips quivered. She didn’t want to tell. For many reasons.
“A star fell,” she began, looking up at the sky as if to pinpoint the location from where it came. “And a bit of stardust grew into a tree. And near the tree I found the owl. I took him home. I know I wasn’t supposed to.”
Miss Sasha bunched up her face, and her expression unexpectedly more youthful.
“You say a star fell?” she asked, still holding Starlight as she stood up. “And you found a tree, and this baby owl, in that location?”
Merry nodded.
Miss Sasha looked at the bird again, stroking his cheek. “There is a legend I have heard…maybe from Ireland…or maybe from the Navajo.” She shook her head to show that it made no difference. “The legend says that when a star dies, it sends fragments across the universe in hopes that something of its old world will live on. That is the reason people see impossible beasts like sea monsters and unicorns. They are remnants of a dead world, sent to live on in a new world, and when they vanish in their new environment, they are gone forever.
“But sometimes...” She held the owl out, his sleeping face illuminated by the porch light. “...Creatures from one world are compatible with the other. In that happenstance, they can thrive in their new environment, so long as they are not cut off from their original star seed.”
She paced the porch, gently rocking Starlight in her hands, reminding Merry of the mother she remembered.
“My dear, I believe your owl is not of this earth and will die unless he is reunited with his star seed again. The tree you found may be the answer and maybe they can live on here. But the chances of one surviving without the other are slim.”
“I have the tree!” Merry blurted out. “Upstairs! In the sewing room.”
“You have the tree?”
Merry shook her head. “Yes. I-I wanted it to be a surprise. I was going to decorate it for Christmas. I thought that would make you want to celebrate again. I know I should have told you but…” Her shoulders fell in shame.
Miss Sasha’s eyes twinkled warmly as she rested her hand on the top of Merry’s head.
“This…” she said, nudging her chin towards the owl. “Gives me purpose. And a witch, as much as anyone, needs purpose. Let’s get Starlight to his tree. But first, we must return the tree to the spot where you found it, for that is where its magick is drawn.”
They went inside, past the others watching TV in the living room, and up the stairs. Miss Sasha gasped when she opened the door to the towering tree growing inside her sewing room.
“It’s so big! How will we get it back to the forest?” Merry asked.
Her mother twirled her decoy wand in her hand. “With a little magick.”
“CHOP, CHOP, GIRLS, this is a special night, and we must not waste it!”
Miss Sasha was in rare form, orchestrating the magickal assembly line with the precision and attention to detail of a master chef.
“...A stone no bigger than your hand. A ball of twine. A cat’s whisker...no, wait. They changed that, I think.” She looked through an old hand-scrawled note. “A cat’s whisper? Now where do they expect us to find one of those?”
Ruth Anne read from a book behind her. “Familiar-Mart?”
“I know! I know!” Eve dug through her toy box and produced a set of cat ears on a headband. She placed them on her head and pranced over to her mother’s workstation and meowed lowly across the bowl, adding a purr for dramatic effect.
“I think that’ll do it,” Miss Sasha said. “Maggie! Get over here. Stand above the bowl and focus.”
“Why does Maggie get to focus?” Eve demanded, breaking her feline character.
“Because she’s the one who needs to practice the most.”
Maggie rolled her green eyes but acquiesced, staring into the glass bowl on the kitchen table. After several long breaths without blinking, Maggie tottered backwards. The mixture roiled, sending a heady spray of mist into the air. Merry worried that the smoky experience from the shop would repeat, but it seemed her mother had it all under control.
“And now the magick words,” Miss Sasha announced, after stirring the sludge with a sprig of holly.
“Words aren’t magick,” Ruth Anne said.
“Everything is magick,” Miss Sasha replied. “It’s the belief in magick that’s missing lately.”
The sisters stepped back. Their mother rarely performed actual spell work anymore and even Ruth Anne paid attention as Miss Sasha’s hands nimbly spiraled over the bowl like they were wringing out a wet towel.
“Light as a feather, you shall be, when I invoke the power of three!”
She cast her hand over the bowl quickly, as if she was fishing, stopping just short of plunging her fingers within. The girls craned their necks forward to see the transformation, but nothing had changed.
“It was supposed to pop,” Miss Sasha frowned, looking at the girls. “Or at the very least, sizzle.”
A Dark Root Christmas: Merry's Gift: A Daughters of Dark Root Companion Novella Page 6