The Witches of Dark Root: Daughters of Dark Root: Book One (The Daughters of Dark Root) (6 page)

“Amen,” said a woman. “Preach it!”

Michael continued speaking as he wandered through the aisles.

“You cannot keep having sex with women you feel nothing for. In fact...” Michael turned, his eyes resting on a stranger. “...You need to change
everything
about your life, if you hope to sit with me one day. Enlightenment comes only with sacrifice.”

Michael straightened, lifting his chin, showing his full height.
 

“All of you
must
make changes. The day of reckoning is coming, and if you don’t get right now, you are surely damned. God sent me to help with your transformations. I will show you what to do...”

For the next thirty minutes, Michael spoke about God, spiritual evolution and reincarnation.
 

My hands stopped shaking. His channeling was done.

My mind drifted back, lost in memories of how it used to be when I first met Michael. He was amazing then, so filled with passion and life. His charisma was contagious. Seeing his performance tonight reminded me of those days.

A pinch on my right thigh brought me back.

Jason nudged me, his eyes darting from me to Michael.
Was I up already?
I licked the front of my teeth and stood, almost tripping over the legs of my chair in the process.

This part of the ceremony always made me nervous.

Making miracles wasn’t easy, especially miracles on demand, and I was never sure what would happen. A light might flicker or even go out, an unexpected noise might startle the audience, or if I was really lucky, a chair might tip over. Once our little grange hall had been hit by lightning, but I was premenstrual that night.
 

You just never knew.

“I feel,” I said, scratching my head and glancing around the room. “...A miracle coming!”

Normally, I would have cleared my mind and focused my energy into a specific location before it was my turn, but I had been so caught up in my memories of Michael, that I had forgotten to prepare. The only things I felt coming on now were a migraine and an anxiety attack.
 

I could sense Leah’s eyes on me. She had heard about the ‘Great Maggie Magic,’ but had never seen me in action.

My palms grew sweaty and I wiped them onto my skirt. I straightened, pushing my shoulders back and tilting my chin upwards, hoping to portray a look of confidence.
 

“There,” I said, pointing to a random spot in the room. “A miracle will happen there.”

I waited, like everyone else, hoping against hope that whoever was in charge out there loved me enough to show itself, or at the very least send out a minion.

I bit my bottom lip.
Come on. Come on.

Leah’s eyes gleamed, like a rat looking out of her hole.

I swallowed, though I knew my mouth was dry. I knew that I was a poor excuse for a disciple and I promised to pay that penance later. For now, I needed a miracle. I squeezed my eyes shut and asked for help.

Please, please, please
.
God. Universe. Allah. Intelligent Alien Race. Please.

Nothing happened.
 

Though my eyes were closed, I could feel everyone watching me, including Michael. Just an hour ago I had been so angry I didn’t want to talk to him, and now all I could think about was how I didn’t want to disappoint him. Maybe I shouldn’t have specified the exact location of the miracle. I wondered if I could redirect it to the tract lighting.

There was a shriek to my right.

I opened my eyes, turning to see Leah, her hands in the air. “He talked to me!”
 

I blinked, confused. Was this a new part of the show?
 

Leah placed one hand on her forehead and pointed upwards with the other. “God spoke to me! He wants you to know that there is still time for your salvation...”

My face burned.

This was an act. It had to be. God didn’t speak to weasels.

I was about to say so, out loud, when a loud
Boom,
like a clap of thunder, emanated from the spot above Leah’s head. All eyes looked up, startled. Even the Council Members seemed confused. There was excited talk from around the table, as a few of our elders and some of the visitors left the building to check the immediate surroundings, including a quick glance at the roof. They returned, shaking their heads.

Leah’s thin lips formed into a taut smile. She fanned herself, and then flung her body into her chair, as if the whole thing was just too much for her.

“The voice of God,” she said, lifting her head as Michael rushed to attend her.
 

“A testament to the faith of a true believer,” Michael nodded approvingly.

Leah appeared to blush and look down at her lap. Michael praised God for making his presence known, and spoke at length on the powers of faith. Jason patted my leg but I shrugged him off. I didn’t need his charity sympathy right now. I wanted to be alone.

We completed the service, everyone asking questions of Michael and Leah while I sat closed-mouthed and stewing. When it was over, Leah was surrounded by newfound admirers. Hoax or not, she was the star of tonight’s show.
 

She said ‘God’ was going to help her lead others into the light.

No one noticed as I slipped out of my seat, along the back wall, and out the rear door. The walk to the main house was a dark, lonely one. I took a final glance back, watching silhouettes celebrate in the windows, as I slunk towards my bedroom.
 

Three: Hotel California

Woodhaven wasn’t our first home.

We had taken other stabs at residential permanency in places like Nevada, New Mexico, and Kansas, but none of these locations worked out. Nevada was too expensive, New Mexico was too hot, and Kansas was too Kansas.

But the Woodhaven Compound was just right. It sat nestled in the heart of Humboldt County where the California climate was mild and the citizens tolerant.

At first, no one understood my fascination with the house and the accompanying grange hall. We had seen the property several times as we journeyed along the lonely highway that connected Northern California with Southern Oregon, and I convinced Michael to use it as a squat. I took this opportunity to wander its endless halls and corridors while the rest of the group slept huddled in the living room.

It was a dilapidated, sad sack of a building, large and rectangular with rooms added on willy-nilly. The ceilings sagged and the carpet was soiled so badly that it was impossible to make out its original color. But I fell in love with it, boarded windows and all. Though it wasn’t as beautiful as the Victorian houses I had grown up with in Dark Root, its vastness reminded me of home. And, though I would never admit this to Michael, since
the enlightened soul holds no attachments,
what I really longed for was a home
.

By the time we discovered the house, with our travel-weary band of refugees, we had been on the road for two years, and porta-potties had long ago lost their charm. I set my mind to getting it. Michael resisted at first, thinking the desert might be better-suited for our tribe, but I wore him down, and once he was in, he was in.

It was easier, he said, to buy the house than to war with Maggie.

Michael rallied the troops and we became worker ants, pawning our possessions, taking on odd jobs and selling flowers to raise the cash needed to buy the property. It took us almost a year, but it was finally ours––the place that would give us stability
and
credibility.
 

The house was christened with champagne from Trader Joe’s and I named it ‘Woodhaven,’ a tradition carried over from my time in Dark Root, where all homes were said to be alive and should thus be named. And though Michael doesn’t believe in marriage, he presented me with a silver ring and carried me over the threshold to commemorate the event.

We all changed during that first year in our new home.

Before Woodhaven, we had been a group of philosophers who would rather talk about the end of the world than wash a dirty dish, but Woodhaven demanded our sweat. We worked together to hammer, nail, strip, and saw the place into something beautiful. Bonds were formed under the strains of physical labor, followed by late night, bullshitting sessions. Step by step, stone by stone, we moved from a mild wilderness into a mini-civilization.

Through Woodhaven, we were a family at last.

And now, after all this time and work, I was in danger of losing it all.

Back inside I drew a bath, hoping to drown Leah out of my mind, but lying in warm water, chin deep in bubbles, I could still hear the hullabaloo outside. It was dying now. Excited chatter began to be replaced by quiet conversations and closing doors as people found their way inside the main house.
 

All this commotion for one boom?
You would have thought that she had turned water into wine the way everyone was carrying on. It was as if the compound were under a spell.

My stomach worked itself into a knot.
 

Everything was changing so quickly and suddenly. One moment I was queen of this castle, the next a stranger. I closed my eyes, sucking in deep breaths, but all I kept seeing were Leah’s beady eyes and Michael looking at her the way he used to look at me.
 

I tightened my fists, squishing sudsy water through my fingers.
Clarity. Grant me clarity.
I breathed in again, slowly this time, allowing the fragrance of the Lavender-Vanilla candle to bypass all the jumble of my emotions, to that calming station in my brain.
 

At last, my mind began to clear and Leah’s face melted like wax.

I noticed the limbs of my body growing heavy, submitting to the water. I was tired. God, I was tired. I allowed my head to roll to the side as I focused on the nothingness, a cool dark void where problems didn’t exist. But before I could fully settle into that world, a nagging parade of thoughts clawed their way back into my consciousness.

I was losing Michael. I was losing Woodhaven. I was losing my family. I was losing my home.

My eyes flew open.

The image of Leah returned. Leah patting Michael’s arm, laughing at his jokes. She meant to take him from me. But she wasn’t going to win. Not on my watch.

I was going to fight.

I sat up, my chin set with a new resolve.

It was true, in the past year I hadn’t been as involved in running this place as I should have been, and my miracles were sub-par, even on the good days. And, truth be told, after that last big prophecy when nothing happened, I had lost a little respect for Michael, and though I never said anything, he must have sensed it.

But I could change things. I could help him rebuild. Michael was still mine. Woodhaven was still ours. The terrible stomach knot unfurled itself.

“Mags!” Michael burst into the bathroom, his face flushed with excitement.

“Hi,” I said almost shyly, wringing the water from my hair. I climbed out of the bath, sucking in my gut as I reached for a towel. I was still embarrassed about slinking out of the grange hall like that, but tomorrow was another day and I was going to make some changes. I was going to clean house. “I’m so glad you’re here. I missed you.”

I reached over to kiss him and he offered me his cheek.

“Sorry hon, you’re wet.”

I used the corner of the towel to dab the water from my face. “Good night, huh?” I said with a broad smile, attempting to mirror his excitement.

“The best!” He rubbed his hands together and I escorted him into our bedroom. He buzzed around the room, inspecting things as if seeing them for the first time. He stopped to pick up a photo of us taken by a sign that read, “Welcome to Wichita.” He looked at it for a moment, then placed it back on the shelf before moving on to one of my women’s magazines. He flipped quickly through the pages then dropped it onto the bed.

“Three new members! Three!” he said.

“Three? That’s amazing! Congratulations.” I secured the towel around my chest as Michael continued pacing. He zipped from one side of the room to the other, wringing his fingers in that way he did when he was making plans. He hadn’t taken his shoes off, and he was leaving mud tracks on our floor. I half-expected him to grab a towel to clean it up, but he didn’t seem to notice.