The Curse of Dark Root: Part Two (Daughters of Dark Root Book 4) (13 page)

She was so fucking beautiful, it hurt.

If there were angels walking the earth…

He licked his lips. His hands itched. In fact, his whole body itched.

He could almost taste her youth, her magick, her life force.

He allowed himself a brief fantasy of being tangled up naked on that stone floor, pushing into her, pulling from her.

“Ah, hell,” he said, his darker half struggling against his lighter half. How could he possess her if he also needed to keep her free? The dichotomy crumpled him.

Was she sent to destroy him, or to save him?

Either way, was she too late.

“I don’t need to be saved,” he said, dabbing his face with the sleeve of his jacket.

She could keep her white aura and her beauty and her peace. He enjoyed the dark too much. Danced with it, in fact.

He stepped away from the structure. He would return to Sasha and her drama and apathy. Return to Larinda and her icy coldness that could stop a man’s heart. He’d return to his shadows.

His fate was sealed.

He turned, ready to leave, when Jillian called to him.

“Armand. Come in. I’ve been waiting for you.”

NINE

Tossin’ and Turnin’

MONTANA SNORTED, WAKING me. After checking on him, I looked at the clock. It wasn’t quite 3:00 a.m. I laid back down, my head still caught up in the globe memory.

My father had fallen for beautiful, pure Jillian. Even Merry's aura didn't match the effervescent glow of Jillian's youth. He was drawn to her like a spirit searching for a tunnel of light. I sensed things were about to get messy with the Council.

Mother wasn't a jealous woman, but she was territorial. She might have looked the other way with Larinda. In fact, she might have even encouraged the relationship if she had neither the time nor taste for physical interludes herself. But Jillian wasn't Larinda. Jillian was Mother's protégé, and her vanity would suffer if Armand openly favored the younger witch.

I shook the globe in my hands, hoping to start it up again. The glitter dust danced inside the ball, then simply fluttered lifelessly to the bottom. I put the spent globe back in the case and pondered the memory.

I imagined Miss Sasha, her arms crossed tight and her lip lines deepening as she passed judgment. If there had been an indiscretion between the two, she would blame Armand, of course. In her mind, warlocks seek out witches like a drug addict seeks out his next fix.

And maybe that was the real reason the Council split apart.

It was too much to think about and I slid the case back under the couch. I cursed under my breath, knowing sleep would be near impossible now––and sleep was a need more pressing than the past.

I peeked at my son once more, then settled myself into a comfortable position. But the silence let me think, and none of my thoughts were good.

Perhaps some white noise would help?

Knowing there was a fan in the basement, I quietly retrieved a flashlight from Merry's emergency kit and headed for the cellar. I braced myself against the splintery wooden handrail as I picked my way down steps that were constructed long before building codes. The stairs groaned as if I infringed upon their own sleep.

An unexpected sound froze me in place. A harried wave of the flashlight revealed a fuzzy, rat sized creature with yellow eyes staring at me from the landing.

“Shoo!” I hissed, with more bravado than I felt. It skittered back into the darkness, probably looking for his friends.

“All for a fan,” I grumbled, as my bare feet touched the cold cement floor. The cellar smelled like wet cats, mildewed mops, and rat pellets. I cast the light around the room. Cardboard boxes falling apart at the seams were stacked three deep, and chests and trunks from another age were scattered about. I moved further inside, plunging the light between bins and boxes, over mountains of twined newspaper and around electrical wires. I marveled that our house hadn't burst into flames long ago and resolved to put Michael to work on this mess first thing in the morning.

I was ready to give up my quest when I caught the glint of a dusty fan blade. As I stepped forward, the rat creature or one of his roommates dashed across my foot. I yelped, dropping my flashlight.

It clunked to the ground, killing the beam. I bent to pick it up and inadvertently kicked it, sending it rolling away.

“Ah, hell!” My voice boomed like a cannon in a tomb.

I used a box for balance as I felt for the flashlight with my toe. I found it just as another rodent brushed past my ankle. That was it––I didn't need a fan this bad.

Swiftly moving towards the stairs, I stepped on something cold and furry and stiff. It laid motionless, and was much larger than a rodent.

I squinted in the dark. It could be anything: a dead animal, a severed head. “Maggie-Cat?” I asked fearfully.

Bending over to inspect it, I was certain I saw tufts of human hair. Was it a face staring up at me?

I drew up the image of Juliana Benbridge, clutching at her neck.

Oh, god!

I raced up the stairs. At the top, I tapped the flashlight against my palm, returning it to life, then aimed it at the... thing.

It was a head.

A mop head.

I slumped against the doorway, overcome by relieved laughter.

“You're losing it, Maggie,” I said to myself, returning to the living room without a fan.

“Montana,” I whispered. He was as quiet as the mop head. “You're going to laugh at your mommy so hard,” I said, bending over his bassinet. “Or at least you would if you could understand.”

I lifted his blanket, deciding to let him sleep with me. His presence would settle my restless mind.

But when I reached into his bassinet, he was gone.

TEN

Born Under a Bad Sign

“MONTANA? MONTANA?!”

I ransacked his bassinet, churning through blankets and pillows. The moon streaming through the window cast an unearthly glow on the crib, mocking me as I crazily tore apart his bed.

Where was my baby?!

I turned on a lamp, whimpering as I uncovered nothing but a damp sheet. “Montana!” I howled, scrambling around the room.

This couldn't be happening! We were supposed to be safe here!

I scoured the living room, knocking the lamp and an end table over in the process. Everything in the house could break, for all I cared.

Merry and Ruth Anne appeared in their pajamas, rubbing their eyes.

I pointed to the empty crib. “Montana's gone! Do you have him?” They shook their heads. “I don't know where he is. I have no idea where my son is!”

Hysteria consumed me as I continued overturning the room, searching for a clue. “I was looking for a fan in the basement,” I stammered.

I rushed back down to the cellar, stumbling down the stairs. Merry was right behind me, my flashlight in hand. “Maybe I took him with me and left him down here?” I said, kicking the mop head. “I was so tired, I could have.”

“Montana!” I called out again, knocking into boxes and scattering them across the floor. “Please...”

Merry assaulted me with questions. Where did I see him last? Did I check to see if the door was locked? Had I gone anywhere else?

“In his crib. I haven't checked the door. I didn't go anywhere else.” But it wasn't true. I had gone somewhere else––into the globe memory. It was too strange a coincidence to ignore. I turned on her, like a hungry dog. “I told you there is too much magick in this house! And now look what's happened!”

“Calm down, Maggie,” Merry said, following me back to the living room.

Ruth Anne emerged from the kitchen. “Nothing there.”

Merry pointed to the door. “Ruth Anne, check the locks and I’ll check upstairs. Maggie, continue searching this floor. If we don't find him in a few minutes, we'll call Michael and the police.”

I had known fear before, but never like this. I imagined every bad thing that could happen, all happening to my son. In my mind, he was alone and dark and cold, wondering why I wasn't there to protect him. “Montana!” I called again desperately, listening for a coo or a cry in response.

“Mags!” Ruth Anne hollered from the front door. “It's unlocked.”

“M-m-maybe Michael?” I sputtered. I reached for my phone but Ruth Anne held out a hand.

“Let's give it a minute, Mags. We don't want to freak him out, too.”

“So, you don't think Michael has him?”

“I don't know,” she admitted, turning on the porch light and stepping outside. “There's no one out here, but it smells like... what is that?” She chewed on her bottom lip, deliberating the answer. “I think that smell is chocolate, and maybe roses.”

My sister’s face grew troubled and I knew exactly why. Spirits often left scents that reminded them of their time on earth.

“Mother?” I called. “Juliana?”

I ran outside, into the night. The woods opened up around me, like gangsters guarding their turf. Did they hide my baby? A breeze floated by, ruffling my nightgown. The feint smell of chocolate and roses did indeed hang in the air.

I scanned the yard, searching for signs of the dead. Cupping my hands, I called out, “If anyone has unfinished business with me, I'm here! Bring back my son now!”

Ruth Anne and Merry joined me, wrapping their arms around me and pulling me back inside. “I looked everywhere upstairs.” Merry reported, her voice shaking. “Even the nursery.”

The nursery.

We had removed a demon from that room, but perhaps my father's portal hadn't been properly sealed. Maybe Montana had been sucked inside. I freed myself from my sister’s arms. If the portal took my baby, it would have to take me, too.

I raced up the stairs, two and three at a time. The lights in the wall sconces burst behind me, raining tiny shards of glass in my wake.

“Montana?” I whispered, entering the dark nursery where the demon Gahabrien once dwelled.

The room was dark and cool. There was a gap between the drapes, creating enough light to see the books and toys; some were new, some left over from our childhood. A porcelain clown doll taunted me from a high shelf, smiling as if he knew a secret.

I pulled open the curtains and searched the room. Then, I fearfully turned my eyes to the closet door. Long ago, Larinda and Armand opened a vortex inside to travel between planes. I recalled the globe memories of my father speaking of time travel, dark tunnels, and even darker endeavors.