The Witches of Dark Root: Daughters of Dark Root: Book One (The Daughters of Dark Root) (14 page)

“Do you know where Harvest Home is?” I asked.
 

Of course he had to know. Harvest Home was the largest house in Dark Root, and the only Bed and Breakfast in the area. At least it was seven years ago.

He nodded. “I kinda guessed you weren’t going straight to your ma’s. At least not until...”
 

He let his words trail off.

“...I have a few drinks,” I finished for him.

He laughed at my joke, and I was glad. I knew that I had frustrated him on our ride and I was grateful for how he had saved me. I had a few triggers, namely magic and my mother, and he had pushed them. But I knew he hadn’t meant to upset me.

“Bring back memories?” He relaxed as we headed onto Main Street. It was dark and hard to see, but I could feel that something wasn’t right. The shops didn’t look the same. I was going to ask him about that, but decided I could only take so much news in one sitting.
 

As we approached the intersection where Miss Sasha’s Magick Shoppe sat, I looked down.
 

Shane had said Mother closed the shop, and I couldn’t bear to look at it.

Shane relieved my guilt by pointing to the cafe across the street, where Delilah’s Deli used to sit.
 

“There’s my shop,” he said. I could hear the pride in his voice. “...And my home. I have an apartment directly above it, in the attic.”

Dip Stix Cafe sat quiet and unassuming, with only a hand-painted sign in front to let anyone know it existed at all.

I laughed, unable to help myself. “I’ve got to ask. Why did you name it Dip Stix?”

His eyes glowed mischievously in the dark. “That, my dear, is a secret. You will just have to come by and see for yourself.”

I smiled. His enthusiasm was endearing, if a little dorky.

I squinted my eyes to get a better look. The building was the same, but the paint looked fresh and there were new, striped awnings over the windows and door. A welcome sight in rainy Oregon.
 

“Business good?” I asked, genuinely interested.

Shane’s eyes took on a faraway look as he drove forward, leaving Main Street. “Could be better.” He shrugged. “But I have the feeling my luck is about to change.” He gave me a sideways look. “Next stop, Harvest Home.”

He turned left onto a long, winding road.

“It will be a kick to have the gang together again,” he said, bobbing his head. “I hope you do decide to stay. At least for awhile.”

The road took a sharp right turn, and Shane followed it, turning smoothly. He must have driven this a few times. At the end of the road sat Harvest Home, the crown jewel of our town. It was supposedly built by Juliana Benbridge’s sister, Corelia, in the early 1900’s and still retained most of its original charms.

“My lady,” he said, gesturing out the window as we pulled into the full view of the house.
 

Even in the dark, I could tell it was just as magnificent as I remembered. Painted an ocean blue that never seemed to fade, trimmed with white shingles and shudders, complete with a brick chimney and wraparound porch, it was a storybook house. It looked as pristine and out of place in Dark Root as I felt. Which made me love it all the more.

“Thanks,” I said, wondering if he could sense the anxiety building inside of me.
 

I leaned forward, trying to peer through the windshield. It was late and everyone inside was probably sleeping. There were two cars in the driveway, a black Explorer and a maroon sedan. I wasn’t sure which one was Merry’s.
 

“Maybe I should come back in the morning,” I said, though I had no idea where I would spend the night. Dark Root didn’t have any motels.

“You should call someone,” Shane said.

It was funny how easily I could forget about the benefits of technology after living in near seclusion for the last few years.

I was about to call Merry, when the front door opened and a figure emerged. Short, curvy, and bouncy. Merry.
 

She ran to me, giggling, pale hair flapping behind her like a curtain in the breeze. The flowers that lined the path perked up and the limbs of the trees bowed as she made her way down the cobblestone path. I thought about running to her, embracing her and spinning her around.

But I didn’t. Instead, I stood at the car and waited for her to come to me.

“Maggie! Oh, Maggie, I missed you. I was so worried. We went to the bus station but you didn’t come out when you were supposed to. Didn’t you get my messages?”
 

I turned on my phone. Four new messages flashed across the screen.

“Sorry,” I said, with a light shrug. “I like to be fashionably late.”
 

“You are our mother’s daughter,” Merry said, grinning.

She took my hands, swinging them like she used to, when we played clapping games as children. Her hands were warm and I could feel that familiar tingle creep through my fingers, up my limbs, and course through my entire body. She was feeding me energy and probably taking in some of my exhaustion, as well.

I pulled my hands away before I poisoned her.

“This is Shane. He gave me a ride.” I gave him a look that he hopefully caught. I didn’t want anyone to know about the incident at the bar.

Shane extended a hand and Merry shook it gently. I watched with interest as he was jolted with her spark. I could almost see him glow.

“Pleasure’s mine,” he said, placing his other hand over the top of hers.

I resisted the urge to jump in. I had learned to stop saving my sister from vampires years ago. She didn’t need me then. She certainly didn’t need me now.

“We’ve met, Shane,” she said, squeezing his hands. “When we were kids. You played with Eve.”

“The geeky boy,” I added.

Merry shot me a disapproving look and I flushed. Here I was, in her presence a mere three minutes, and already I was incurring things I would need to repent for.

“I remember you, too, Merry.” Shane put his hands in his front pocket, then he turned to me. “You gonna be okay?”

He was looking for permission to go, so I let him off the hook.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, then. I’m off, ladies.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “Dip Stix opens at nine in the morning, if you want to come by. I make a mean biscuits and gravy. Bring the whole family, of course.” He turned, sauntering off to his vehicle.

“Cute.” Merry said, as we watched him drive away. Her pale pink nightgown fluttered around her, though there was not a hint of wind. “Is he yours?”

I laughed. “Nope. Not even a little. I’ve sworn off men. All they do is break your heart and eat your junk food.”

Merry looped her arm through mine and we practically skipped towards the house.

I had told Shane that there was no magic in Dark Root, but I was wrong. As long as Merry was here, there was magic. In my sister’s presence, I was a kid again and I could believe in anything. My shield was falling, and by the time we got to the door, I was smiling so broadly my face hurt. I hadn’t smiled like that in years.

“We going to wake Miss Rosa?” I asked, cautiously peeping in.

Miss Rosa, one of Mother’s oldest friends and the owner of Harvest Home, had let us play here when we were children, but didn’t like noise after ‘certain hours.’ Though I was glad to be here, I did wonder why Merry had chosen to stay here, instead of our own house or one of the motels in a neighboring town.

Most likely, it was as nostalgic for her as it was for me.

“Oh, Maggie, I thought you knew.” Merry paused in the doorframe as the light from the stairwell cast a halo over her delicate face. “Miss Rosa is in a nursing home. The doctors don’t give her long to live. Aunt Dora is looking after the place until they find a buyer. This might be the last chance we have to see Harvest Home before it’s sold to a stranger.”

Harvest Home sold? To a stranger?
 

The thought of Harvest Home being owned by someone other than Miss Rosa made me sick. Merry sensed my dismay and brightened.
 

“The good news is,” she said, squeezing my hand. “We get to stay here for a few weeks, while we get Mom’s place situated. One last trip down memory lane.”

I nodded, not sharing in her enthusiasm.

Things were changing, and I didn’t like it. I frowned, stepping into the house and closing the door behind me. Once inside, I looked around. It wasn’t as dark as I had anticipated. Night-lights, lamps, and even an old candelabra helped to illuminate the main floor.
 

That was a relief. By day, Harvest Home was lovely.

By night, it was almost spooky.

The living room was huge, but not as large as I remembered. Maybe because my standards of
large
had changed since Woodhaven...or because childhood memories had a way of expanding places and people into giants in your mind.

But it was still pretty darn big.

To the right of the entrance was a set of ornate, red-velvet sofas that faced one another, accented by end tables covered in doilies and fake flowers in glass vases. A sleek, wooden, coffee table with lion’s feet had been placed stoically between the sofas, speckled with glass coasters and a stack of Ladies’ Home Journals. Built-in shelves covered the walls, stuffed with old books and the strange knick-knacks we had ogled as children, but were never allowed to touch. Miss Rosa claimed that most were antiques, some older than the house itself.

To the left, in a partially walled-off side room, was an elegant dining room table surrounded by thirteen high-backed chairs.

Three empty candelabras sat on the table and I remembered how they had once housed tall candles of various colors: reds, whites, violets, and blues. Merry and I had taken a few purple candles once and tried to conduct a fake séance.

Miss Rosa quickly reported our doings to our mother and we were forbidden from going to Harvest Home for an entire month.

“There are things out there,”
our mother chastised us
. “...That you children do not understand.”

Merry tapped my shoulder and pointed to a grand piano in the corner of the dining area.

I had been allowed to accompany Uncle Joe on the piano during holidays and special events, and though I knew I wasn’t as good as he was, he always made a big deal about my talent. I felt a pang in my heart as I realized I would never play alongside him again.

“You still play?” Merry asked.

I shook my head. I had planned on playing at her wedding, but then she eloped.

There didn't seem to be much point after that.

The one new item in the room was a large, flat-screen TV. Two over-sized chairs were aimed in its direction, proof that Aunt Dora really did occupy this space now.
 

I could smell something delicious coming from the kitchen and my stomach growled in response.
 

Merry laughed, throwing her head back. “I saved you something from dinner. Come see.”
 

She motioned for me to follow her into the kitchen, and I sat myself down at the small, round table. Merry removed a plate wrapped in foil from the oven. She pulled back the wrap to reveal two drumsticks covered in crumbs and fried in oil.
 

I was practically salivating. I hadn’t had Aunt Dora’s fried chicken since I was a kid. I picked up a leg, raised it in her honor, and took a big bite.

“With cooking like this, I can’t believe our Aunt never married,” I said.

Merry leaned over the table, propped up on elbows, and watched me finish every last bite. When I was done she gave me a warm smile.
 

“Good girl,” she said, handing me a napkin.

“Want to talk now?” I asked, pushing the empty plate away. I was still in the dark about what had happened to our mother, and though I wasn’t relishing this conversation, I knew it had to come.

“Not now,” she said, lowering her eyes. “Let’s rest up first and we can have a family conversation tomorrow. It’s better that way.” She came to me, practically pulling my limp body from the chair, and pushed me up the stairs.