The Curse of Dark Root: Part Two (Daughters of Dark Root Book 4) (12 page)

“The light came from within you, sister.” Merry pointed at my knee. A white butterfly with long gossamer wings had landed.

“He's yours,” Merry said.

The butterfly quietly regarded me for only a moment, before flying away.

“What's this?” Merry asked, frowning. I followed her gaze. A black feather lay near my son's feet. “Must be one of the magpies,” she said quickly.

I picked it up and twirled it between my fingers. “It's a raven's feather.”

The white light receded, imploding in on me like a detonating bomb.

EIGHT

Daydream Believer

BY SUPPERTIME I was sick again. All the butterflies and rainbows in the world wouldn’t cure me, and the mysterious black feather had fouled my mood. I stumbled through the evening, nodding and smiling like a PTA mom as I went about my duties, noticing how Montana turned away whenever my breasts let down. Maybe he could smell the sickness in my milk.

Once Eve left for Harvest Home, and Merry and Ruth Anne retired to their rooms, I put my son to bed in his bassinet and made up the couch for the night. I’d been sleeping on it for months now. It wasn’t good for my back but I felt protected in the living room, where I could watch the door, and escape with my son if needed.

Lying in the near dark, I listened to Montana’s congested snores followed by his breathless lapses. Just a small summer cold, I kept telling myself, though I checked on him every few minutes anyway. He slept through it all, his fists drawn into his body and his bare toes peeping out from beneath his blanket. I thought of casting a protective bubble around him, but I dared not. Magick attracted magick. I still hadn’t figured out the source of the curse, and I didn’t want to alert anyone––or anything––to our presence.

Staring at the ceiling, I ran my hands along the crystal bracelet I’d inherited from Mother. Soon Montana’s snoring abated and he breathed easily again. The house grew still and my mind was free to race.

Larinda. Armand. Juliana. Shane. Their images rolled through my brain, shuffling randomly forward and back, like four jokers in a deck of playing cards. It was too bad I didn’t have a potion from Eve or a brew from Merry, anything to shut out my thoughts. But I was done with magick. Besides, if I confessed my insomnia, Merry would give up her own sleep to save mine.

I wriggled my fingers, counting. I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since...

Since really before Montana was born.

I did know something that would help. True, there was magick involved...

My fingers crawled beneath the edge of the couch, stopping when they touched the leather case of snow globes. I was supposed to finish them before Montana was born, but he had come early. With the death of Shane and the birth of my healthy son, I was too distraught and preoccupied to want to know anything more about my father or the path he had taken.

But maybe the key to my recovery still lay hidden inside the remaining globes? I slid the case out from under the sofa and opened it. I peered closely. Over half were a murky brown––the ones I had already viewed. The rest lined up like stars in the Milky Way, winking at me enticingly in the moonlight. The next ball in line stood out in particular, glowing brighter than the others. I took it and laid back down.

My eyes returned to the ceiling as my hands massaged the globe.

It was nearly one in the morning. It was the witching hour––the time between midnight and three a.m. when the spirits were restless and the veils between worlds thinned. Journeying between realms was possible at that hour, even for the dead. My father had seemingly mastered such travel, with the aid of the ankh and his use of Larinda.

I lifted the globe. Silver flecks danced in the liquid.

If I dared to look further, what would I see? And how bad could it be?

“
What memories do you hold?
”
I asked in a whisper.
“
Can you help me?”

My eyelids drooped, and even Montana’s breath ceased to tether me to this plane.

Dark Root, Oregon

Sister House

May, 1976

ARMAND SCRATCHED HIS head as he gazed at the slim young woman coming down the stairs. She was pretty, that was for sure. The kind of pretty you didn’t see in a town like this. A natural beauty. Not like Sasha’s allure, which came and went with her mood, or Larinda, who used a combination of magick and cosmetics to glam herself up. Not that he was complaining. Larinda’s illusions were more than fine, but they cracked when she thought no one was paying attention. And Armand was always paying attention.

But Jillian… there was something very special about this new one. He even liked her name.

Getting her alone turned out to be the challenge. Sasha took Jillian under her wing, hovering like an overprotective mother. The two huddled together for long hours in Miss Sasha’s Magick Shoppe, learning the fundamentals of spell-crafting and astrology. Then they spent their evenings placing protective domes that no one could see. Jillian took it all in stride, the light around her never waning.

She must get tired of living under a microscope, Armand figured, because Jillian often sought refuge in the woods. She’d leave on mornings when Sasha had other business to attend to, returning later with an aura of serenity.

Where did she go, he wondered? And what did she do?

She didn’t live in the woods. She had an apartment above Delilah’s Deli, renting a room from Joe Garris. Even so, she spent so much time at Sister House that it was practically her second home.

Having her so close made it all the more frustrating. Her aura drove him mad. It was a light in a house that hadn’t seen light in a long while. It aroused something inside of him, something primal and dark, but also very, very good.

Lust?

Yes. But more. He wanted her. He needed her. He needed to be inside of her, to taste her soul. And maybe even syphon from it…

No!

He wouldn’t take from her. Jillian with her sunny smile, her bright eyes, her chestnut hair, and her glowing aura. She reminded Armand of when he first met Sasha, who had been young and sweet and pretty, then. Smart too, never allowing anything to get past her. But unlike Sasha, Jillian was still strong, her heart unhardened. She shined. If he took from her, it would change her. And as much as Armand wanted to push himself so far into her that he’d forget everything bad that ever happened in his life, he needed her light more. It was her light that was keeping him from straying deeper into the dark.

Besides, he told himself, there were other women to take from.

Larinda willingly laid down for him. She was a good fuel source, even if the experience was no longer pleasant. Her aura was cold and dark, and even her touch felt alien. But if he could think about other things, or people, he could siphon off enough of her life force to attempt spells he could never do alone.

And, if he wanted to actually enjoy sex, there were the tourists. But that was a lot of work. Sasha was good in the sack, when it suited her, but she could be downright frigid when it didn’t. At any rate, sex with Sasha had become exceptionally rare, as she retreated deeper into her rituals and dreams of a future that only she could foresee.

“Goodbye, Armand,” Jillian said, smiling, bringing him back from his thoughts. She grabbed her sweater from the coat rack and opened the front door.

He raised a bored eyebrow and a mug of coffee, not speaking. His silence didn’t seem to surprise her. In the six months she’d been in Dark Root, he’d hardly said a word to her.

He feared what would happen if they got too close, but kept close tabs on her, nonetheless.

He watched her leave through the front window. She was bundled in her soft beige sweater and a pink crocheted beanie, one she made in the Council’s knitting circle. He pressed his fingers to the glass as Jillian strolled down the long driveway. She glanced over her shoulder once, as if she could feel his eyes on her, then disappeared into the forest.

Once she was out of his sight, he quickly put on his cowboy boots and hat. Then he grabbed his suede jacket from the closet, tucked between two fur coats.

“She’ll be back soon,” Sasha said, descending the stairs.

“Hey, babe,” he said, giving her a peck on the cheek. “Didn’t see you there. Who’ll be back soon?”

“Jillian. She went out to collect herbs.”

“Ah, gotcha. Well, I’m just heading out for a walk, myself. I’m playing with a new manifestation spell, but I need to work out the kinks. I think the morning air will do me good.”

Sasha’s eyes slid towards him, the corner of her mouth tugging down. “Spells, Armand? It’s good to see you working again. I confess, I’ve been worried about your lack of enthusiasm towards the greater good lately.”

He laughed uneasily. He hardly cast anymore. He didn’t need to. He was a master of magick, a true magician. But he intended on keeping his unparalleled command of the art a secret.

“Gotta keep in practice,” he said with a shrug.

He nodded a goodbye and left the house, purposely taking a different path than Jillian’s.

After ten minutes of meandering, he backtracked to the spot where Jillian disappeared. It was a narrow path, mostly covered in underbrush. It stopped and stalled several times, forking in multiple directions. He followed her footsteps, and when those weren’t visible, he followed the trail of translucent white light that leaked from her aura. Soon, he came upon a stone building––or at least the crumbling ruins of one. It was the size of a large garden shed. The glass was missing from the windows and the door had long since rotted away. It felt very old… and very foreign.

Where had this come from? He’d been through these woods many times and had never come across this structure before.

Armand surveyed the limitless greenery surrounding him. The area was still wild. It wouldn’t be unheard of to encounter things in these woods, including faeries or even Big Foot himself. He returned his attention to the ruins, trying to discern what its original purpose had been. A home? A church?

Whatever it was, he knew Jillian was inside. The entire building seemed to pulse, as if it had a heartbeat. The sun was brighter here, washing the structure in a celestial glow.

Her sanctuary, he realized.

Armand crept to the back of the building, then circled towards the front, peering in through the corner of a window.

Jillian sat on the bare stone floor, her legs crossed and her hands in her lap. She stared forward, a peaceful smile on her face. Her long hair fanned out behind her. The single room had been meticulously swept clean, and was empty of everything except a painting easel.