“You found her!”
Jackson looked at me, and then looked sadly back at his wife. Sarah stared through him. She had found the altar, but she hadn’t found him.
I held my wand out before her, without response.
She was lost, traveling in a separate dimension altogether. She looked around warily, her eyes never leaving Jackson's altar while her hands rested on her abdomen. She was young and beautiful, no older than twenty-two. She had never gotten to live out her life, nor had she been allowed to have her child.
How temporary life was, I thought dismally, and all a ruse––the illusion of health and immortality. One moment you had everything, and the next your life was snuffed out like a lit cigar.
Jackson stepped to her side, his eyes imploring me.
“She can't see you, Jackson, or me either. She’s in a separate realm from either of us. There are thousands of planes, and the fact that you found her at all is a sign of how much you love her.”
“Please...” he managed, his voice a wisp.
I moved between them, placing my hand over hers on her belly. She startled but didn't retreat. I lifted my wand and her eyes flickered, as if she'd caught a speck of light in an otherwise dark mirror. “Sarah, my name is Maggie. I've come to help you. Jackson is here in this room with me. He is sorry. He never meant to hurt you. He was angry, but the fire was an accident. He loved you very much and built this altar to honor you.”
She pursed her lips and spoke, though only mist issued forth. She wasn't corporeal enough to make sounds. She was a ghost, like Jackson, but without the resolve to solidify or cross over. She was stuck in a shadow world.
Jackson stepped behind her, draping his arms around her waist and weeping on her shoulder. She gasped, as if sensing him, though she continued her vigil before the small flame.
“I don't think you can reach her. The light will come for her when she's ready.”
He pointed to a dark corner. Suddenly, a glowing blue orb appeared. It started out small, the size of one of my snow globes, suspended in midair. It gradually expanded until it became as large as a door. It was brilliant and I had to look away.
“The light!” I exclaimed. “Go into it, Jackson. There are good things inside.”
He shook his head and touched Sarah's hair. I realized the light had come for him long ago, but he wouldn’t cross over without her. He meant to guide her home.
I took one of Sarah’s hands, squeezing it. It was cold. She narrowed her eyes and cocked her head. I lifted my wand again and stepped closer so that our noses nearly touched. “I'm Maggie. I'm going to help you.”
Sarah blinked slowly and smiled, her eyes moving towards her pregnant stomach. She had a doll's face, perfect and fair, still unmarred by the tragedy of the fire. I became suddenly protective of her. What if the fire had been no accident? What if Jackson was manipulating me so that he could take her to someplace horrible? A place like the one my father tried to take me to?
I looked to Jackson again. His expression was one of love and agony and regret. His was not the face of a killer.
And obviously, Sarah loved him as well, or her spirit wouldn't have followed him here and stayed near his altar.
“Sarah, look!” I pointed towards the blinding blue light. “You need to go inside. Jackson will meet you there.”
The ghost shook her head and raised a finger towards the altar.
“Not that light.” I slowly moved my wand, hoping her eyes would follow, but her gaze never left the flame.
I turned to Jackson. “She can't see her path forward with your flame still burning. That's why she's never found peace. You have been keeping her here.”
He looked at his stone circle and lowered his hands. The flame doused.
His wife tottered, her expression distraught.
“Stop, Sarah!” I commanded. This time, she turned to me, finally hearing my words without the distraction of the shrine. I took her hand again, and she wrapped her fingers around mine. We had bridged the gap between planes. “Here,” I said, leading her over. “It's time. Jackson and your child will meet. Everything will be okay.”
It might have been a lie. I wasn't certain if her child awaited her, but I had hope.
She stood before the blue portal, looking around the room that Jackson had built for her, a replica of the place where they'd once been happy. Then she smiled, tightly but bravely, and stepped forward. I released her hand and watched as she was swallowed by the light.
Jackson took a deep breath. “Thank you,” he exhaled.
“This is your second chance,” I said wistfully. “You get to be with the woman you loved. Take care of her.”
He bobbed his head slowly, then stepped into the light and vanished.
The room stayed bright, long after the light source itself disappeared. I could have followed, I realized.
Maybe Shane is in there, waiting for me?
I remembered the man in the cowboy hat running alongside my sled. Maybe I was tying Shane to this plane, just as Jackson had tied Sarah?
Would I want that?
The terrible truth was, part of me actually did want that very thing.
A beam of yellow light cut the center of the room, and Ruth Anne appeared in the doorway. “All set up downstairs. Lots of activity but nothing concrete.” She looked around the room. The stone circle, the flame, and the blue light were gone. “How's it up here, Maggie?”
“Quiet,” I replied, with a bored shrug. “Not a spirit is stirring, not even a ghost-mouse.”
Ruth Anne sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if spirits don't want to be found.” Her flashlight canvassed the room once again, falling on the area where Jackson had first appeared. She walked over and bent down. “Hmm, an old cigar. It looks ancient.”
“Just another piece of trash left by squatters,” I said, joining her.
“Yeah, I suppose. This one’s so old and brittle it’s almost falling apart. How weird.'” She pulled a plastic baggie from her pocket and placed it inside. Then, sniffing the air, asked, “Do you smell smoke?”
“I don't smell anything,” I lied as we left the room.
SIX
It’s My Party
THE DAYS FOLLOWING my trip to Sycamore Manor were reflective ones. My powers were changing and the boundaries separating my world from the veil had thinned. I also realized how vulnerable I was outside of Dark Root.
I didn't have long to dwell on this. By the weekend I was sick again.
The fever returned, tightening its grip on me. I wavered between hot and cold, blankets and ice packs, delirium and sanity. My stomach turned at the mention of food and I found myself getting drowsy even after a nap.
And Montana outright refused to nurse.
Jillian thought I'd be strong enough to fight off the curse once he was born. Jillian was wrong.
I didn't speak about my condition. Why should I worry the others? Instead, my fear came out sideways––yelling at Merry for running the air conditioner with the windows open, or bickering with Ruth Anne whenever she quoted a “fact.” Eve stayed mostly away from me, claiming she had to work the magick shop or help Aunt Dora with her garden. They chalked my moods up to new motherhood but their patience was wearing thin.
It was on my third ice bath of the day that Merry got suspicious. “You okay?” Merry asked, knocking on the bathroom door.
“Cramps!” I called back.
A long disbelieving pause followed. Merry's footsteps scurried down the hallway.
I dried myself off and turned on the faucet, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I was too thin. Too pale. My normally unruly red hair hung limp around my face. And my aura had developed a muddy brown tinge.
The curse was winning.
I'd tried everything to combat it alone. Magick. Spells. Health food. Walking. Nature. Talismans. Fetishes. Tea. Rabbit’s feet and four leaf clovers. Nothing held back the sickness or restored my health permanently. It came in waves, leaving me feeling fine one moment an
d near collapse the next.
When I finally exited the bathroom, silence waited for me as I descended the stairs. I pulled on a bright smile before joining Eve and Merry in the living room.
“Uh-oh?” Eve said when she saw me. “Maggie’s angry.”
They both studied me from the couch.
“I'm not angry,” I said, lengthening my smile. I walked with as much poise as I could summon towards the kitchen, keeping my shoulders straight and my chin raised like Mother taught us when we were girls. My sisters followed me, concern in their eyes. I opened the pantry and sighed. “Darn. We're out of baby food again.”
“Darn?” Eve repeated, crossing her arms. “You don't say darn, not even when referring to socks.”
“It's upsetting,” I said, calmly rummaging through the next cupboard.
Eve glanced in the pantry and shrugged. “Maggie, there's this thing called a grocery store where you can buy more baby food.”
“That's not the point, Eve.” I grabbed the counter for support as another bout of dizziness took hold. “Michael used all the peas again and should have gotten more. Is that the next thing on his daddy bucket list, to grow and strain his own peas for our baby?”
Eve pursed her lips and tilted her head. A cascade of smooth black hair shimmered across her shoulders. “You're not really mad about the missing peas, are you?”
“Of course, it's about the peas!” I opened the refrigerator and slammed it shut. “What kind of father forgets to buy peas?”
“The worst possible father ever,” Eve answered. “We should get rid of him. I found a new spell that can switch his body with a mule’s, but we'll need to gather a few things.”
“Shhh, Evie,” Merry gently reprimanded her. “Maggie, we have jarred peas from the garden. I can put them in the blender. I can even add a little something extra to help him sleep better. There's this plant that only grows...”
“No!” I slapped my palm into the counter, feeling the sting. “No home jarred peas. And no 'little somethings.' Got it?”
Merry put her clenched hands on her hips, her blue eyes penetrating mine. “You don't want me preparing Montana's food now? Why?”
“Yeah, Maggie,” Eve echoed, opening a sack of rice cakes. “What gives?”
“From now on, I'm the only one who is going to give him his food.” My breasts prickled and almost instantly my shirt was soaked. “See? This is why my son won't take my milk anymore! It’s probably because you two are sneaking him canned peas when I'm not around or giving him sleeping powder so he naps through dinnertime.”
I leaned forward, dunking my face beneath the running kitchen faucet while the others gawked behind me.
“You’re pale,” Merry observed, handing me a towel. “As white as a ghost. I think you're overtired.”
Overtired: a term she used when June Bug got cranky.
“I think you're right, Merry. I am tired. I'm tired of...” I looked around the outdated kitchen, with its outdated wallpaper and appliances that hardly worked, its collection of freakish knickknacks on shelves and rails and crammed wherever else they would fit. We were living in a museum. I opened my arms to showcase the worn room. “Aren't you tired of all of this?”
“No one's making you stay here.” Merry tossed the towel on the counter and stormed out of the kitchen. “As a matter of fact, you have a perfectly good house you refuse to live in.”
I snorted. She knew the reason I stayed away from Harvest Home. The three reasons, in fact: Jillian, Dora, and Michael. I wasn't speaking to Jillian and Dora after the deal they'd made on my behalf, and I tried to see Michael as little as possible for sanity's sake.
“I'm not saying I'm tired of this house...” I said, following her into the living room.
“Then what are you saying?” Merry asked, opening the drapes to let in the evening sun.
“I'm tired of being a witch.”
“How can you call yourself a witch? You're a wilder. You never use proper magick, and when you do...” She stopped, catching herself before she brought up the summoning circle incident.
“I'm still a witch, caster or not. It's no wonder I'm cursed. Normal people don't get cursed. Normal people get the flu and call in sick for two days. Maybe we should try to live normal lives for a change. Don't we owe that to our kids?”
Eve raised both eyebrows. “We're in Dark Root. There's no getting away from magick here.”
“Tell me, Maggie,” Merry tagged on. “How do you propose we find this normalcy?”
“We can start by cleaning out this house. There are weird things and pictures and whatchamacallits everywhere.” I marched around the living room, pointing out photos of mother and her coven, sipping tea in pointed hats out in the garden. I showed them book after book on the art, history, and science of witchcraft. And I presented shrunken heads and looking glasses and bottles labeled with obscure plants and herbs. “All of these things mark us as witches, even if we're the only ones who see them.”
“It's who we are,” Eve said. “We all tried to run from it, but each of us came back. Including you.”
I huffed, ignoring her, the fever working me into a lather. “Another thing––where's our damned cat? Maggie-Cat disappeared months ago. Doesn't that concern you?” I looked around, nearly hysterical.
“Even normal people have cats that that disappear for a while,” Merry argued.
“A while? I’m telling you, it's witchcraft. Maggie-Cat either disappeared because of magick, or ran away because she was afraid of it.”
“He,” Eve corrected.
“What?”
“Maggie-Cat is a he.”
“Thank you for the public service announcement, Eve. If he ever returns, I'll be careful not to hurt his feelings by calling him a her.”
“Look, Maggie,” Eve said, stepping beside Merry. They both faced me, hands on their hips, united. “We’ve put up with your crap for days, but we’re done being your emotional punching bags.”
Merry nodded quickly in agreement. “Yes. We're done.”
I slumped against the back of the couch, wiping the perspiration from my face. They were right. I had been a pain in the ass. “I'm sorry. I'm just so worried.”
“With all of us here, why would you worry?” Eve asked.
I hesitated for a moment. “Because the curse was never broken.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell us?” My sisters demanded in unison.
I shook my head. “It never left. I thought in time it would go away, but I'm feeling weaker now, like someone's slowly letting the air of out me. I don't know what to do.”
Merry hurried into the kitchen and briskly returned with a steaming cup of cinnamon and eucalyptus brew. Some families handled tragedy with counseling––ours handled it with hot tea.
“Chock full of nutrients with no extra magickal ingredients,” she said, winking.
“Thanks.” I breathed in the comforting aroma, feeling the warmth nourish me with each sip. “I should have told you about what was going on, but I didn't want to worry you guys.”
“So, you chose bitchy instead?” Eve asked.
I looked over at my son. He laid curled up in his bassinet, the tip of his thumb tucked into his mouth. “I don't want Montana to be around magick, at least until I figure out the source of this damned curse.”
Merry nodded. “I understand, but Maggie, kids naturally believe in magic. There's Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, and fairies and leprechauns and rainbows.” She shrugged. “Would you really want to take that from him?”
I clenched my jaw. “I don't know. Maybe.”
“Sounds pretty boring to me,” Eve said.
“Me too,” I admitted. “But a little boredom might do us all some good.”
THAT EVENING, MERRY, Eve and I ate a silent dinner while Ruth Anne regaled us with tales from her third visit to Wings and Wrenches. “And just when you think the wings are gone, poof! More!” Her eyes sparkled as she wiped her lips with a restaurant napkin. “They said no
one has ever finished ‘The Cluckin' More Platter’, but I did it in less than an hour. They took my picture and everyone clapped.” She leaned forward, lifting a finger. “Then they brought in the ‘Gobble Till You Wobble’ plate and the whole restaurant grew eerily quiet.”
I stabbed at one of her leftover wings with my fork. “So, to make a long story––”
“––very long,” Merry interjected.
“A very long story short,” I continued. “Many chickens died for your stomach today.”
“They didn't all die,” Ruth Anne said sourly. “Just their flappers.”
Suddenly full, I put my fork down and gave her a tough glare.
“What crawled up your nursing bra?” she asked.
“Maggie is going through magick detox,” Eve explained, dabbing at the barbecue sauce on her cheek. She had no trouble eating Ruth Anne's leftovers.
“What does that mean?” Ruth Anne asked.
“Apparently, our sister is still cursed,” Merry announced, her voice flat.
“Ah, shit. I'm sorry.”
“I don't want to talk about it.”
“No,” Eve agreed. “She just wants to be passive-aggressive about it.”
“Aggressive-aggressive,” Merry corrected.
“So she is trying to get away from magick?” Ruth Anne asked, as if I wasn’t in the room.
“Apparently,” Eve said.
“Good luck with that, but I'm here for you if you need me. I promise not to take you on any more ghost hunts until you're uh, better.” She glanced at Montana in his highchair. “How's the munchkin doing?”
“He's fine as long as he has a bottle. I guess it's a good thing he's taken to canned baby food and formula.” I looked briefly into my lap.
“Don't worry, Mags. Little Monty will be fine. You just take care of you right now.”
“Please stop calling him Monty. Makes him sound like he's part of a British comedy troupe.”
Ruth Anne scratched her head. “How about MJ?”
Merry shivered. “I hear MJ and I think dead pop star. Next?”
The Curse of Dark Root: Part Two (Daughters of Dark Root Book 4) Page 6
