The Witches of Dark Root: Daughters of Dark Root: Book One (The Daughters of Dark Root) (23 page)

I repeated it in my brain, until my lips followed suit and I was verbally speaking the incantation. The form beside me vanished and I was free.

Words have power.

I flew from my bed, yanked open the door, and ran into the hallway.

Mercifully, there were several night lights in the corridor. The clock at the end of the hall announced that it was 12:15 AM. I wasn’t going back to that room. Not yet. Not until the witching hour had come and gone.

Dazed, I stumbled down the stairs, into the living room. Turning on lights as I went, I made my way to the kitchen. I was startled to see Paul at the table, reading a book. He looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

He dropped his book like he had been caught doing something wrong. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be roaming around your house at night. I couldn’t sleep.”

I smiled and waved my hand. “It’s not my house and you didn’t wake me.”

He stood, pulled out the chair next to his, and offered it to me. My hands were shaking as he poured me a cup of coffee. I almost confessed to him why I was here but it sounded too ridiculous, even for me. I took a sip of the coffee and felt immediately calmed.

“This is amazing,” I said, drinking more. I intended to stay awake, at least for the next few hours. This would help.

“This is one thing I really missed about the Pacific Northwest when I was in New York...the coffee. The stuff here is not as good as the stuff you find in Seattle, but it’s a hell of a lot better than what they serve on the East Coast.”

“I grew up in the Pacific Northwest, too, and this coffee doesn’t taste like any I’ve had.”

“The secret,” he said, leaning in and whispering. “Is to add in a squirt of chocolate syrup and a pinch of nutmeg. I’m kind of a junk food fiend, and I get it however I can.”

I laughed and raised my mug. “Cheers, then. To junk food. May it serve us well.”

We clinked cups, then sat in silence. I listened to the clock in the other room tick down the minutes. He rose and took our cups, rinsing them in the sink.

“Going to bed, then?” I asked hopefully. I didn’t want him to see me waiting for the monsters in my closet to disappear; I felt foolish enough, as it was.

“Not quite,” he said, casually walking towards the piano in the corner of the dining room. “I hear you play.”

It was a statement, not a question. He sat down on the bench and very lightly hit a key. When I didn’t respond, he hit another key, louder this time.

“Shhh,” I said, rushing towards him. “You’re going to get us into trouble.”

“With who?” he asked, looking around. “Your Aunt Dora is almost deaf, and once Eve finally crashes there’s not much that can wake her. The only things that can hear us down here are the rats and the ghosts, and I’m sure neither would object to some Paul McCartney.” He ran his fingers along the keys, tapping out snippets of ‘Let it Be,’ and ‘Band on the Run.’
 

“All we need,” he said, patting the seat next to him. “...Is love.”

I had to laugh, though it was an absurd joke.

But the absurdity of the whole situation––hiding from a ghost, sitting at the piano in the middle of the night, and having a conversation with a man who, up until now, hadn't said more than ten words to me––made the whole thing hysterical.
 

My laugh turned into a chortle and before I knew it, I was doubled over the piano with tears streaming down my eyes repeating, “...All you need is love.”

“I’d like to think I was that funny,” he said, when I had finally calmed down. “But I think you are suffering from a bit of exhaustion. You should probably go to bed.”

I shook my head no. That thing was probably still up there, waiting for me. For all I knew, it was in my bed, fluffing the pillows.

“I’m fine here, for now.” I stretched my fingers to take a turn at the piano. It had been years since I had played. I had never fooled myself into thinking I was any good, but it didn’t matter. It always felt good. Like very loud therapy.

I serenaded him with a crude version of a Steve Miller Band classic, ‘Come On and Dance.’ It was one of my mother’s favorites and she had me play it at all our birthday parties. I couldn’t remember all the notes but I think I hit most of them.

“Not bad,” he said. “Do you know any others?”

“Um...see if you can guess what this one is.” I played him another.
 

Admittedly, I totally screwed up the chorus but I think I nailed the bridge.

He scratched his head and I could see his brain working.

“Well?” I said, smiling semi-victoriously. It was a win but only because I couldn't play it right. Still, I’d take it. “Give up?”
 

At last, a smile of recognition crossed his face. “‘Your Song!’ By the great Elton John. Enjoying a mild resurrection now, thanks to the movie,
Moulin Rouge
.”

“Moulin what?”

Paul shook his head dismissively and began playing ‘Your Song’
from memory
,
much better than I had done. I watched for a minute, then joined in, his fingers moving gracefully along the keys while mine hunted and pecked for the right notes. When we hit the chorus we sang the words together. I remembered those too, surprisingly, all about how it is the listener’s song, how wonderful life is, how the song’s ending means they’re now in the world. I’d never really thought about the words before, but they struck me as sort of nice.

When we finished, I squealed. This was the most fun I’d had in a long time.

“You’re a surprising woman, Maggie Mae.” He leaned back and folded his hands behind his head and stretched out his legs beneath the piano. “I’m surprised you know all these oldies. A lot of young people don’t.”

“You make it sound like you are a hundred years old,” I said. “And my mother loved the 70’s. Said they stopped making decent music once video came out. Maybe she was right.”

“Well, the 70’s was the decade of the story-telling artists. It’s too bad that so many songs nowadays rely on images, rather than lyrics. Where are the Claptons and Joels of this generation?” Paul sighed, shaking his head, then lowered his voice. “And of course I’m not a hundred,” he continued, a shadow falling across his face. “I just feel like it sometimes. My mom says I’m a bit of an old soul.” He shrugged his shoulders then let it go. “Anyway, I wouldn’t quit your day job, but that was pretty darn good.”

“What day job?” I asked, wiping the sweat off my forehead. “Maybe we should tackle The Eagles now? How about a little ‘Desperado’?”

“How are you at singing harmony?” he asked.

I was about to answer him when a loud bump on the staircase caught my attention. We turned our heads to see Eve descending the stairs. Normally, Eve moved as stealthily as a cat.

She must have wanted to be heard.

“Looks like I’m missing the party,” she said, her lips stretching across her face. She moved towards us, her hips swaying from side to side. Eve didn’t walk, she slithered, and it was hypnotic...at least for me.

Paul was too busy scouring the old songbook on the piano to notice.

“I thought I heard something about The Eagles,” she said, leaning seductively against the piano, offering a full view down her loose T-shirt. “Sounds like you two could use a little backup.”

“Dammit,” Paul said. “No Eagles in this
Popular Party Tunes
songbook. Let’s try something else.” He turned the pages and pointed to ‘Luck Be a Lady Tonight,’ a song I didn’t know. I listened while he played it and Eve crooned along with him, flopping down on his lap and opening her arms wide on the final line.

When it was over, she stood and curtsied, and Paul clapped appropriately before turning back to me. “I can teach you that one. You will pick it up in no time.”

Eve stood behind him, arms crossed, waiting for my response.

I shrugged like I didn’t care if I learned it or not.

“Well, I better head to bed,” Paul said. “I may be taking off for Seattle in the morning and I don’t want to stay up too late. Good night, ladies.”

“In the morning?” I asked, alarmed.

I was still hoping to hitch a ride with him, but I couldn’t leave just yet. There was Merry, and June Bug and Mother and a dozen other things I needed to get closure on, first. I had to stall him for a few days. “You aren’t ready to go, are you? We need you.”

“You do?” Paul and Eve asked simultaneously.

The wheels in my brain were turning. I had to think fast. “Yes. I mean the town needs you. To get The Haunted Dark Root Festival up and running. We could use someone like you to help with all sorts of things, including music.”

“I thought you weren’t interested in that,” Eve said, one eyebrow arched.

“Oh, well, you know...if its important to the community its important to me.”

“Since when?”

“Since I got back and saw what’s happened to Dark Root.” I spread my hands.

Eve lifted her chin and tilted her head to the side, trying to decide whether or not she believed me. She looked towards Paul who was hunched over the piano in thought. Whether she believed me or not, she decided to use it to her advantage.

“Maggie’s right, we do need you,” she cooed, placing a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Maybe you could hang for a few days? Maybe a week. Aunt Dora says you can sleep in the attic for as long as you like. Keeps the rats from wandering down here.” She smiled playfully.

Paul scratched his chin. “I don’t know. I already told you, small town festivals aren’t my thing.” He lifted his hands overhead to stretch and I noticed the muscles in his abdomen as his shirt came up. I turned quickly before either of them caught me staring.

“Oh, please. Just for a week or two? It could be fun. Dark Root needs you.” Eve beamed at him with big, innocent, doe eyes. “I need you.”

“What else is new?” he laughed. He lowered his eyes and played the first few notes of ‘Your Song’ on the piano. “What about you, Maggie? Do you need me?”

My heart raced a little and I stammered, unable to answer.

“Well?” Eve smirked. I felt like a mouse, being watched by a cat with very sharp claws. “Do you need him, Maggie?”

“I, uh...”

“Of course she does,” my sister answered for me. “We all do. Please stay, Paul. Do it for Dark Root.”

Paul wiped his hands on his jeans and thought for a moment. “I guess staying a few more days wouldn’t hurt anything. It’s not like I have anything to go back to.” His eyes found me. “Or anyone.” With that, he turned and made his way up the staircase, leaving Eve and I staring after him. “Good night, ladies. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” He waved his hand in the air.

When he was gone, I felt the energy around Eve turn as hot as fire poker.

“He’s not into redheads,” Eve said, flipping her hair as she ascended the stairs after him. “If he showed any interest at all, it was only to get me jealous.”

“Who said I cared?”

“We all want what we can’t have, Maggie. And you can’t have him.”

Eve turned and her perfect bottom swayed confidently behind her.

Twelve: Born to Run

“I’m glad you decided to stay,” Shane said, one hand resting easily on the steering wheel, the other arm hanging out his window. Small raindrops splattered across the windshield and he flipped the wipers on periodically to clear them away.

I checked the sky, noticing the clouds that were gathering.

Some things may have changed while I was gone but the weather remained a constant––overcast and dreary, with a chance of gloom.

“I’m not staying for long.” I fiddled with my seatbelt, releasing it from its snap. It was pressing against my belly and I needed to pee.

Shane gave me a quick glance, but said nothing.

We didn’t have a police station in Dark Root; we barely had a fire department. There was not much chance of getting pulled over for a seat belt infraction.

“I appreciate your help in getting me the ticket,” I continued.

We had spent the morning on the internet and Shane showed me how to purchase a bus pass that would take me from anywhere in the country to anywhere in the country for less than three hundred bucks. I hated parting with the money, not sure how I would get more, but a ticket meant freedom. And choice. I wasn’t stuck here, though I still hoped to make the first leg of my journey with Paul to Seattle, then figure out the rest later.