The Curse of Dark Root: Part Two (Daughters of Dark Root Book 4) (25 page)

“Heard who?”

“Shane. The other night, and then again tonight. His voice woke me up, and that’s when I saw Juliana in the monitor.”

“You sure that wasn’t Juliana’s voice? Or maybe Shane possessing Juliana?”

“Eve!” I reached into my bra and produced the asphodel petal. “I heard him the first time in the bath. When I got out, this was there.”

She leaned away from the petal, as if touching it would poison her. “That’s freaky! Even for around here.” The corners of her mouth turned down in contemplation. “So now we have two ghosts in this house? But we only have enough dead cat whiskers for one! That’s it, I’m out.”

“You think Shane’s haunting me, too?”

“It’s either that or you’re delusional, which we shouldn’t rule out.”

“But it’s been months! He should have crossed over.”

“Maybe he’s tormented.” Eve looked down at her hands, twisting one of her many rings. “Mother’s spell book says that spirits will stick around for a lot of reasons––because they have unfinished business on earth, because they got lost trying to find the light, or because they don’t know they’re dead.” She looked up, her eyes meeting mine. “Or, because they are bound to someone here on this plane.”

Bound to someone.

“Merry said the asphodel binds us.”

Eve looked at the petal, which I had just set on the table. “Maybe it’s time to let go of that, too.”

“I-I don’t want him to go, though.”

Eve’s face was somber. “I can’t say that I blame you. I’d want Paul to stick around, too.” Her eyes looked past me. “In fact, I’d probably do everything in that spell book to make sure he stayed. But that’s just me.”

We both looked into our cups.

For a moment, I was tempted to retrieve Mother’s book and study it in silence. I had raised one man from the dead before, and perhaps I could raise another.

But that would require a body, which I didn’t have.

And deep down, I wouldn’t want that for Shane. I wanted to remember him as he was. Even if he was a ghost.

WITHIN A FEW days of Juliana’s late night visit, Montana got sick. He went through bouts of fever and chills. He slept more than normal and even refused his bottle.

In response, Eve and I cast spells to keep the spirits away, salted the house, and added to the lines of hanging shoes and witch balls. There were no more ghost sightings, but nothing stopped Montana’s relentless fussiness.

“He’s just teething,” I insisted. The curse was mine alone, not his. But on his third night of tears, I agreed to go with Michael to a pediatrician. I quietly hoped for a medical reason, instead of a supernatural one.

The Linsburg doctor found nothing wrong. In fact, Montana was all smiles as soon as we left the boundaries of Dark Root. For all intents and purposes, I had a perfectly normal four-month old. “He’s gaining weight right on cue,” the doctor informed us. He handed me two pamphlets––one on teething and one on colic, then sent us on our way.

“What if it’s not Juliana or the hex that’s causing this?” Michael asked on the ride home.

“What do you mean? What else could it be?”

“You were fine after giving birth, but you got sick again once you lost the ring.”

I looked at my hand, trying to decipher what he was getting at. “Go on.”

“You say you hear Shane’s voice, correct?”

I glanced back at Montana, sleeping in his car seat, then glared at Michael. “Are you implying that Shane’s spirit is making us sick?”

“As I’ve said before, not every spirit is who they pretend to be. Just like the living.” He strummed his hands across the steering wheel.

“You never listened to me before about spirits. You didn’t even believe me about ghosts when we were together. Now you’re a damned expert?”

“I’ve learned a lot this year. We both have.”

I glowered at him. “I was under Jillian and Dora’s protection after he was born. That’s why I seemed better.”

“Then that must be it,” he said, putting his foot on the gas.

But I knew he had his doubts.

Now, we both did.

EIGHTEEN

Hit the Road Jack

WHERE YA OFF ta, Sugarplum?” Aunt Dora plunged the small spade into a patch of dry earth near the back door.

Jillian hovered nearby, a shawl draped around her thin shoulders. Though it was 80 degrees outside, she cradled a mug of hot tea between her palms. She looked older somehow this morning, her emerald eyes dulled to an apple green. She smiled faintly. “Maggie, would you tell Dora she can pee in all the bottles she can find, but it’s not going to stop a determined witch from getting inside.”

“You’re peeing in bottles now?” I asked, my jaw dropping. I transferred Montana from one hip to the other, watching as she lowered a clay vase into a fresh hole. “Why?”

“Ya tell Jillian, it’s not just urine in these bottles! There’s hair an’ nails, too! We need ta bury more under the front door.” She pointed to a small pile of clay jugs near the edge of the garden.

Jillian rolled her eyes. “Tell Dora that Old World stuff is just superstition. It won’t remove a curse any more than hanging these balls and shoes up all over the house will.”

“Tell Jillian, they couldn’t hurt!” Aunt Dora grumbled and repositioned herself as she dug a deeper hole. “An’ if a dark witch does try an’ enter, she’ll trap herself inside.”

“Tell Dora––”

“I’m going for a walk,” I said, cutting them both off. “You’ll have to work this out between you.”

“I’ll walk you to the front of the house,” Jillian offered.

I nodded, curious, as she escorted me to the porch.

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this, but I’m going to anyway. Stay on your guard, Maggie. Dora’s methods might be silly but her worry is real.” The muted look in her eyes vanished, replaced by one of determination. “I’m doing research. We’ll figure this out soon. Until then, stay strong for you and your son, okay?” She tickled Montana’s chin and he drooled on her finger. “And Maggie, I just want you to know, I approve of where you’re going. Peace brings true strength. Don’t feel guilty, okay?”

“Uh-okay,” I stammered, surprised. How often I forgot that secrets weren’t secrets in a house full of psychics. She touched my arm before rejoining Aunt Dora in the back yard.

Montana and I quickly made our way down the path to the ruins. While the area around Harvest Home had been drained of magick, the glade remained pure and untouched. The scent of honeysuckle and dew hung in the air, and this time there were birds chirping excitedly, as if they’d been expecting us. A butterfly flew from a bed of wildflowers, circled us twice, then disappeared into the woods.

Montana was all smiles as we crossed the grassy clearing. “What do you think?” I asked as we entered the squat stone building. Half the room was draped in sunlight, and the other half shadowed. I set a blanket in the center of the floor and sat down with my son in my lap. He lifted his face to the sunshine while he kicked his feet in the shadows.

“Not bad, huh?” I asked, offering him a bottle. His appetite had vastly improved in the last 24 hours, and he snorted as he gobbled it down. Once finished, he fell asleep and I laid him on the blanket beside me. I probably should have left him at home, but I wasn’t letting him out of my sight now, even for an hour.

I closed my eyes and twisted myself into a pretzel position, setting my hands on top of my knees. Breathing in through my nose, exhaling through my mouth. Except for an occasional birdsong and Montana’s congested snore, the world melted away.

Fully relaxed, I drew up the image of a crystalline bubble forming around us, pulling from the energy of the glade. The bubble wobbled at first, fidgeting as though it might pop.

“Steady,” I said, solidifying its shell with my mind. It thickened and hardened. Nothing terrible could get to us inside of our protective sphere.

A chartreuse butterfly appeared in a window, dancing as if carried by the wind. But the air was still and the dance was just for me.

I held out my finger and it fluttered inside, but refused to cross the threshold were shadow met light.

In my frustration the bubble trembled, threatening to break. “Come to me,” I said out loud.

It didn’t.

“Come here!” I commanded.

This time its wings slowed, as if in silent consideration. I focused my will on the creature, but it flew away and I did not see it again.

“Ah, hell.”

“You’re so much like your father.” A woman’s lyrical voice called to me from outside. “But you still shouldn’t curse around a baby.” In a haze of yellow light, Larinda’s statuesque body materialized in the doorway.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, placing a protective arm over my son as I refreshed the walls of my weakening bubble.

“I’ve come to congratulate the new mother!” Her thin red lips curled into a contemptuous smile. She inspected my shield and laughed. “Perhaps I should have brought a pin.”

“I’m sure you have a whole collection of voodoo dolls you can steal from,” I said, losing the peace I’d cultivated. The ground began quaking, as did the walls.

Larinda shook her head and smoothed her black gown. “Jillian worked so hard on this little building. It would be a shame if you destroyed it.
Wilder.
But then again, this is not the first thing of Jillian’s you destroyed.”

I stood, ready to unleash on her. “Get out!”

The walls rumbled. Dust fell from what remained of the wooden ceiling. Montana stirred on the ground.

“I’ll kill you, if I have to,” I hissed, advancing a step.

A raven landed on a windowsill behind me, daring me with its beady eyes to step away from my son. I looked between the bird and Larinda, hesitating.

“Kill me?” Larinda’s hand went to her chest and she laughed as if it were the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “You’re too late for that, dear one, but it is fun to see you all worked up.”

She pointed at a crumbling slat of wood above us, rattling it loose. It fell. I quickly harnessed the energy of the room, redirecting the board. It launched towards Larinda, forcing her to sidestep out of the doorway. It sailed into the grass.

“The next one won’t miss,” I promised.

“Care to make a wager on that? I’ve had the most amazing luck with bets lately.”

I lunged at her, breaking my bubble. She stepped back, trying to draw me outside.