The Magick of Dark Root (Daughters of Dark Root) (4 page)

“Yeah, well, things change,” I said, setting the muffin down.
 

She nodded in understanding. Mother had been very sick and until a week ago, we had all thought she was going to die. An event like that tends to put things in perspective.
 

My stomach spun. “Aunt Dora, do you have anything for nausea?”

“Aye, an’ I’m surprised ya didn’t ask me before. The craft isn’t all about spells. It’s also about takin’ advantage of what’s around ya.” She removed the lid from a teakettle on the stove and then placed the kettle on the table. Next she measured in a teaspoon of one ingredient and added a sprig of another.

I sniffed the air, trying to recall what they were. “Mint and ginger?”
 

“Yer coming along.” She clapped her hands, sending bits of ginger into the air. She poured two cups and handed one to me. “Let it steep fer a moment then drink up. An’ eat! I won’t have any skinny babies in my house!”

It was futile to argue with Aunt Dora, so I obliged, taking small bites and sipping on my tea. I had to admit that it felt nice to be taken care of, even if it was under duress.

“Aunt Dora,” I said, while she rinsed off a spoon in the sink. “Do you think I’ll make a good mother?”

She quit her task and turned in my direction, her eyes narrowed and sharp.
 

Leaning back against the counter she said, “Maggie, I love ya with all my heart. Ya know that, right?” She reached behind her, pulling a dish towel from the bar on the oven door.

“Yes. I know,” I said, immediately regretting my question. “And you don’t have to answer.”

She lifted a hand to halt me, the towel dangling from her fingers. “Remember when ya were kids? Ya and yer sisters had been given homework by yer Uncle Joe ta grow plants.”

I pressed my lips together, nodding.

I was seven and Uncle Joe had given us each a flower and a week to nurture them. Seven days later we returned with our assignments. Merry’s flower had doubled in size, each petal soft and perfect. Eve’s flower had transformed from a dullish gray to a vibrant pink with a scent so heavy you could smell it across the room. Even Ruth Anne’s flower seemed to be thriving, and she didn’t even believe in magick.
 

In stark contrast, my own flower had actually shrunk, receding into itself like it was trying to hide from me in its pot.
 

I’d handed it to Uncle Joe as Eve shot me a smug look.
 

“I tried,” I explained to him, looking down at my feet. “I used all my powers.”

“Not everything boils down to magick,” he said, examining the plant. “Some things just require love and common sense.”
 

He then handed the plant to Merry who cupped it in her dainty hands, closed her eyes, and blew on it like a birthday candle. She set the pot in a windowsill and within hours the flower perked up. Under Merry’s care, it survived and outlived them all.
 

“Ya have come a long way since then,” Aunt Dora said, her eyes still slits. “But we’re still not sure what yer powers are, only that they are strong. Some say yer father had the
deathtouch
. Maybe ya do, too.”

My eyes widened and my hands shot to my abdomen. “The
deathtouch
? What’s the
deathtouch
and why hasn’t anyone told me about it before?”

She tossed the cloth in the sink and shrugged. “It is as it sounds. Point is, use that noggin of yers girl. Got it?”

I looked down, afraid to meet her eyes as I asked the next question. “Is there anything we can do…about my situation? I wasn’t prepared for being a mother, and now, thinking I might do something horrible to the kid…”
 

Aunt Dora’s eyes flashed, her jaw firm as she spoke. “Maggie, ya made yer bed, so ta speak. Now it’s time ta lie in it.” She straightened her back, and though hardly five-feet-tall, she stood like a giant.

“I just meant…” I started to explain.

“I know what ya meant! Ya see a doctor if ya want that. Ya don’t ask me!”
 

“No, no.” I tried again. “I could never do…
that
. But isn’t there a spell that can make things just…I don’t know, go away?”

“What yer talking about, Maggie, is banishment. One o’ the dark arts like demonology, summoning, and necromancy. Ya don’ want ta start down that road. One bad apple in the family is all we can take.”

The bad apple was my father, Armand, who had left The Council because he wanted to use the group’s collective powers to summon and control demons.
 

“I’m not like my father. You know that.”

She studied me quietly.

“What about turning back time, then?” I continued. “Can we do that?”

Aunt Dora cocked her head, placing a finger in the small dent of her chin. “Even the strongest witch is no match fer time.” Her eyes softened and her shoulders followed. “An’ if ya could, ya’d undo all that’s been done. Would ya really want that?”
 

I shook my head and Aunt Dora exhaled, relieved.

“Well, good then.” She took a plate and joined me at the table. “Now, ya do what every woman does in this situation.”

“What’s that?”

“Ya grow some balls.” She threw her head back in a laugh then took a sip of her tea.

“Your wisdom never ceases to amaze me.” I said, lifting my cup to her.

Aunt Dora reached across the table and took my hands. Mine were cold; hers were warm. “No more pity parties, okay? Not on my watch.”

I agreed, then took the last swig of my drink. The roiling in my stomach had been quelled by her concoction. Checking the clock above the sink, I noticed that it was almost time for Shane to pick me up. But I had one more question for my aunt.
 

“You said that banishment is dark magick. So that means it can be done, right? That this kind of magick does exist?” When I saw the look of alarm on her face, I quickly added, “Not that I would do it. I just want to know what’s out there, now that I’m going to be taking over as Council Leader. Know what I’m up against, so to speak.”

Aunt Dora wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Aye, but yer mother locked those spells up. Didn’t want just anyone reading them. Even if it wasn’t locked, ta cast those spells ya’d need a wand, which ya don’t have, an’ a powerful amulet…”
 

Which I did have.

Our eyes fell to the bank of pink crystal on my wrist.

The Circle. It had once belonged to my mother but had now claimed me. I still wasn’t sure what it did, but I was beginning to get an idea.

Aunt Dora regarded me with pursed lips. She mumbled something up to the heavens, and then reached for her walking cane. The table creaked as she pressed her weight into it, using it for leverage to stand.

“I won’t do anything stupid,” I said.

“Maggie. Ya can’ help doing something stupid. Coming back to Dark Root, having a baby…its increasing yer powers. An’ like I said, we still don’t know all that ya can do.” She leaned on her cane, scrutinizing me with her keen hawk eyes. “An’ with great power comes…”

“Great responsibility?” I finished, knowing the adage.
 

“No. A great big pain in the ass.”
 

Aunt Dora looked past me, into the living room as the music from her favorite television show announced that it was about to begin.
 

“And Maggie,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “There are eyes everywhere in this town, both helpful and not so helpful. Ya can’t do anything without someone findin’ out.” Her eyes fell to the tote bag where I had stashed Mother’s spell book. “That answers all yer questions?”

“Yes,” I said, tucking my hair behind my ear and feeling like I’d just been released from the principal’s office.
 

We said our goodbyes and Aunt Dora trundled into the living room. As I left the house I couldn’t help but wonder who, or what, it was that watched me?

Two

UNTIL I FALL AWAY

The wind whipped across the porch, picking up an assortment of sticks, bugs, and leaves, generating mini-cyclones around my feet as I sat huddled on the front steps waiting for Shane Doler to arrive.
Raindrops the size of marbles plunked against the top of my head, threatening to put me out like a match.
 

I pulled the collar of the alpaca sweater up over my head, but it wasn’t enough to keep me dry.

The land around the house was barren now, except for a few splotches of oatmeal-colored grass, the last remnants of summer. The small animals who’d been hunting for food only a few weeks earlier had all disappeared into their hidey-holes to ride out the coming winter. Even the sturdy maple trees that aligned the property had succumbed to seasons, their branches bare and exposed as they shivered in the wind.
 

The only signs of life were the miles of fir and pine trees that dotted the landscape in every direction, those green, steadfast soldiers who stood vigil over Dark Root all year long.

It will all return,
I reminded myself, as I looked at my bracelet once again.
 

The circle continues.
 

My hands fell to my belly, cradling the small bump that had only now begun to show. Spring would bring life again; there was no stopping time.

I heard a rumbling in the distance and I craned my neck down the long dirt road, searching for Shane’s white pickup truck. It must have been thunder. I considered walking the mile and a half to my mother’s house, but I didn’t want to risk getting caught in one of Dark Root’s famous storms. I stood and paced beneath the balcony to pass the minutes.

Through the bay window, I spotted Aunt Dora lounging in her recliner, knitting what I hoped was a doily and not another baby hat. She hummed as she worked her yarn, glancing up now and then to watch the monolithic TV, the only luxury she had allowed herself in thirty years.
 

I felt a wave of love for the woman who had forfeited a family of her own to help raise me and my sisters. I wished that she was coming with me today, but the arthritis in her hip made even short travels difficult. Perhaps I could bring Mother here to visit, instead, when she had fully recovered.
 

I was a nervous wreck, I knew.

Nervous about seeing my mother, nervous about seeing Shane, nervous about being a mother. My chest tightened, making it difficult to breath, and I reached for the crystal pendant that hung around my neck. A gift from Michael. He claimed it would help calm and center me. It was one of the few things I kept from my days with him.
 

I laughed at the irony as I looked down at my belly.
 

“Michael, what have we done?”
 

I sat again, out of the rain, and closed my eyes, allowing myself to focus on what the baby might look like. Would it have my red hair, green eyes, and pointed chin? Or would it look like Michael, with brown hair, gray eyes, and a serious set to his jaw? Would it have my temper or Michael’s pragmatism? Or some strange combination of both?
 

I settled deeper into my meditation, concentrating on the baby’s face.

The veil around the child’s image lifted and I could …a boy.
 

I was going to have a boy. Large hazel eyes, a thatch of auburn hair, and fingers so small they didn’t seem real. The nurse handed him to me, his tiny hands balled up into fists and his lips smacking as he searched for food. I tucked him into the crook of my arm, supporting his wobbly head. His eyes met mine and we stared at one another in awe and recognition.