The Curse of Dark Root: Part Two (Daughters of Dark Root Book 4) (34 page)

“Calm down, Maggie. You’re being dramatic.”

I balled my fists. Michael grabbed a broom handle from a weapon’s rack and tossed it my way. I caught it cleanly. “I don’t need this to kick your ass,” I said.

“I think you do.”

I swung it like a baseball hat. He leapt back, again and again, just beyond my reach.

“Both hands, Maggie,” he said, pantomiming a low-cutting swing. Instead, I swung wildly with one hand overhead.

He ducked under it. “It’s a staff. But like a broom, you have to use both hands!”

I ignored him and swung again. He jumped back, and I leapt forward. Again and again––attack, deflect, attack, retreat. The more he dodged, the angrier I grew. The overhead lights whipped off and on and a large punching bag broke free from its cable suspension, narrowly missing him.

“You need a teacher, Maggie. And not a magick teacher. You need someone who can teach you to protect yourself and to learn discipline. How are you going to keep our son safe when you’re so reckless?”

The weapon’s rack tipped away from the wall and crashed to the ground, just behind him. Michael jumped forward. I felt him in my brain, probing me. I fought him off. He’d gotten into my head too many times in my life.

A wave of defiant energy burst from me, sending Michael reeling to the ground. “Like that?”

He touched his jaw, then stood, shaking it off. “Never do that to me again. Understand?”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Someone has to. Anyways, that’s what you want. More than anything, you want a man who is stronger than you.”
I love you, Maggie,
he said in my mind.

“Stop it,” I said, aloud.

Tell me you love me, too.

“I can’t!”

Why?

“Because I love Shane!”

I stepped back, holding the staff firmly in front of me. I had little experience with weapons, but I had plenty of experience with brooms. I swung, aiming for his chest. He easily deflected it with the flat part of his hand, pushing it away. Next, I jabbed at his feet. He nimbly leapt over it, beckoning for me to continue.

“You’re a frickin’ ninja, now?”

“I’m good but I’m no ninja. You just lack control.”

I was nearly out of breath and feeling dizzy, more so than I should have been. This damned curse.

“Want to call it a day?” he asked.

“Nope.” I continued my assault, losing strength with every swing as Michael gracefully evaded them all. His expression went from amusement to boredom. Eventually I had to lean against the ballet bar on the mirrored wall for support. The room spun and I began to see things––not spirits or ghosts, but swirls of color covering the windows. I wiped the sweat from my eyes and smiled.

The butterflies had come!

Their colorful bodies eclipsed the entire barn.

Michael’s jaw dropped.

I relaxed my body, tuning into the butterflies, feeling their weightlessness as they spun through the air.

Michael stared at me and stepped back. “You’re glowing,” he said.

I walked towards him with purpose. I swung the staff lightly, clipping his shoulder.

He was surprised but unhurt. “Uh, I think you’ve had enough today, my dear.”

I swung again, a fluid helicopter motion over my head, embracing the kinetic force as the staff whirred through the air. It connected hard, hitting him solidly on the other shoulder.

He staggered backwards as a smile wrenched at his lips. “Ah... you found your chi...”

“My what?”

“Your vitality. It’s the life force found in everyone and every object.”

I twirled the staff like a baton. It felt natural in my hands. As the weapon spun, nearly imperceptible ribbons of color trailed behind. I grinned, ready to take him on.

Michael grabbed another staff from the fallen weapons rack. He faced me and bowed. I bowed too, our eyes locked.

He moved sideways, rotating around me, the stick held out before him. I mirrored his actions. We circled one another, like two panthers in the jungle.

He came at me first, knocking his staff into mine. I stumbled backwards but kept my footing. “You have a strong vitality,” he said as we continued our gladiatorial circle. “That’s what called me to you in the first place.”

“You wanted to siphon off my... chi?” I raised my staff, thrusting it down straight overhead. When my stick hit his, he crumpled to the ground. “Stay away from me, warlock!” I warned.

“You weren’t saying that to me the other night.” He regained his feet and struck back, missing me.

“No, I just called you by another man’s name.”

He jabbed at my shoulder and I easily evaded, thrusting my staff into his chest.

He fell to his knees again, grabbing the end of my weapon. “Good, Maggie. It’s like magick. Let it flow.”

“But you hate magick.”

He stood, though his legs were now wobbly. “That’s because I’m afraid you’ll use it to hurt someone... like your father did.”

My staff went limp in my hands. “What do you know about my father?”

“I saw him give a sermon in Los Angeles when I was a kid. He spoke about life force and the ability to harness it from others. I was fascinated by the concept of tapping this unseen power. I read every pamphlet he put out, but as I got older I began to realize his message was tainted. Then he just disappeared.”

“You never told me any of this! Is that why you came to Dark Root?” I dropped the staff and slumped to the mat, my head in my hands.

“Years later, as I was starting my own church, it was rumored that he had a powerful daughter. I wanted very badly to meet her. I never intended to fall in love.”

I didn’t know what to do with his confession, or the emotions that flooded me. I had always thought his arrival in Dark Root was a coincidence. But now I understood that there was a calculated layer of hidden intent behind it.

I looked out the window. The butterflies were gone.

I didn’t need them. Not for this.

I stood again, without the staff, looking Michael in the eye. “I am Maggie Maddock, Daughter of Dark Root, Heir to the Council Throne. No warlock is a match for me. Not you. Not my father. And none to come.” I touched his shoulder, feeling the spark between my finger and his skin. He dropped to the ground, his teeth clenched and one arm cradling the other.

“Is my chi flowing well enough for you?” I asked coldly.

“Maggie, what are you doing?” His face reddened. He rolled back and forth on the mat, as if his body were on fire.

I crouched down low, speaking into his ear. “We can’t move forward until our pain is matched.”

With that, I released him.

He sat up on his elbows, one hand massaging the shoulder where I had touched him. “You’re crazy, you know that? What the hell did you do to me? It felt like having a tooth drilled without Novocain.”

“Oh, is that what it feels like?” I offered him a hand up. “Be glad I didn’t use my death touch.”

Michael grasped my hand. “If giving you credit for not killing me will keep you from killing me, I’m happy to do it. It was noted and appreciated.”

Instead of rising to his feet, Michael pulled me down on top of him. He fell onto his back, wrapping his arms around my lower back. Sweat dripped from my face onto his. We were both covered in perspiration, with reddened faces and hair plastered to our skin.

But a weight had been lifted, both by Michael’s confession and my subsequent retaliation. Scores were settled. At least for now.

He smiled as his hands traced my hips. I smiled, too. He loosened a strand of hair from my temple and pushed it behind my ear. We quietly gazed at one another, with a sense of both familiarity and newness.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” he said, propping one hand beneath his head. “I meant to.”

I lifted up to my elbows. “Why didn’t you?”

“I was afraid that if you knew, you’d hate me.”

“And I do.”

“I know. There’s so much I wish I could undo. Trying to find the courage to let you know was like pulling a bad tooth.”

“What’s with all the dental references?” I asked, now stroking his chin.

“I have a root canal scheduled next week.”

My hand moved from his chin to his chest, tracing circles over his shirt. His smell reminded me of our days building Woodhaven, the youthful days when we were still discovering each other and ourselves.

He lifted my chin with the tip of his finger. “If you want to move forward, you have to let go of the past. The only thing that matters is this very moment.”

I looked at the finger where I’d once worn Shane’s ring. The band had been real. Everything we had together was real.

But it was part of the past.

I laid my head on Michael’s chest, allowing my mind to wander through memories of Shane one final time. I wished things had turned out differently, but as Michael said, it was time to move forward. Not just for me, but for Montana. My son deserved a mother who was fully present. And though the pain was still great, cutting through my chest like a chainsaw blade, I made a private oath:

I’m releasing you, Shane. You don’t have to stay with me anymore. It hurts so much, saying goodbye, but I want you to be happy. And I want to be happy, too.

I looked down. Michael’s chest was soaked, but not with perspiration. With my tears. I didn’t even know I’d been crying.

“I have some good news,” he said, gently stroking my hair.

“Yeah?”

“You cried and there wasn’t any rain. Maybe I’ll award you your first belt.”

I laughed, and cried, then laughed again.

I was free. Still grieving, but free.

And so was Shane.

Michael pulled my head close to his. I could almost taste the salt on his lips. “Love doesn’t die. It is eternal. You feel that, right?”

“Yes.” If Shane and I were truly Twin Souls, we were bound together and would meet again. A lifetime wasn’t that long. It was heavy, but not long.

I am Maggie Maddock. Daughter of Dark Root. Heir to The Council throne. And no warlock will ever hurt me again, because I will never again give my heart away completely.

“Kiss me,” Michael whispered.

“We can’t.”

“Why not? I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone except Montana, and that’s because he’s a part of both of us.”

I laid my head down again, listening to his beating heart. I knew Michael would have me, even knowing he’d only have part of me. But we had a son together. Maybe that was enough?

I took his hand and entwined it with mine, pressing his fingers to my lips.

Maggie…

“What?”

Michael looked at me. “I didn’t say anything.”

Maggie…

I sat upright. There was no mistaking it.

It was Shane’s voice, carried by the wind.

But I let him go!

Was his spirit saying its final goodbye? Or was he angry I was moving on?

“What’s wrong?” Michael asked.

I stood, pulling down my shirt. “It’s Shane,” I said.

Michael bounded to his feet, cocking an ear. By the look on his face, I knew he heard something, too. He ran towards the windows and I followed. An unfamiliar truck pulled into the lot.

“Fuck!” Michael shouted, rushing towards the door.

Merry rushed in through the curtain, cradling my sleeping son in her arms. Her face was ashen and her eyes wide. “He’s back,” she gasped.

I ran out the door, following Michael.

 
“Shane!” I called from the doorway, too afraid to hope.

The gray truck came to a stop. Sitting at the steering wheel, wearing a disheveled cowboy hat and a weary smile, was my Shane!