We all glanced at my son, who was pushing a Cheerio around his highchair tray with his finger, a goofy grin plastered on his face.
“How about pumpkin?” Merry suggested. “It's both sweet and accurate.”
“But what if it sticks?”
“He won't need a costume for The Haunted Dark Root Festival,” Ruth Anne said pragmatically.
“With those eyes, we could call him Goldie,” Eve offered.
“Locks or Hawn?” I asked.
“How about Rusty?” Ruth Anne asked.
I pursed my lips. “Wasn't that the name of our first dog?”
“Our only dog,” Ruth Anne said, solemnly.
Montana caught us studying him. He giggled so hard that bubbles sprung from his nose. My heart both melted and felt like it wanted to burst at the same time. I retrieved him from the highchair, pressing his cheek into mine. He pinched at my hair with his fingers, drooling all the while.
“Let's just call him Montana,” I said. “The poor kid has enough going against him, already. He doesn't need a bad nickname, too.”
“And you think calling him a state will help?” Ruth Anne asked.
I shut her down with a hard look.
“Fine,” she said, pulling back from the table. “But that kid’s going to need therapy, mark my words.”
“You're probably right,” I agreed.
But not necessarily because of his name.
SEVEN
Proud Mary
I WOKE THE next morning, stiff from the sofa but happy I'd talked to my sisters. If we got rid of magick––all magick––perhaps we'd be rid of the curse. Creating a normal life was the first step in freeing me of my sickness. I felt better already, in fact.
“It's hard to believe there's anything wrong with the world on a day like this,” I said to Montana as I put him in the sling draped across my chest. He wrestled me, kicking and squirming, but I finally won. “Ha, ha,” I teased, sticking out my tongue. He smiled and poked his own tongue out in mimicked response.
Outside, we were greeted by a sky so blue it felt as if I'd stepped into a masterwork painting. Wildflowers bloomed along the sides of the house and in the backyard, and the entire world smelled of honeysuckle and lavender. There was a quiet coolness to the air that nearly required a sweater––a gentle reminder that summer didn't last and soon we'd all be bundled up again.
Strolling around the property with my arms stretched wide, I embraced the sunshine and luxuriated in a new sense of freedom. “There's enough magic in the world without witches,” I said, performing a quick and klutzy spin which sent Montana into a fit of gasps and giggles.
We passed the iron fence enclosing the garden. “You'll play here, one day,” I said, as we pushed through the rusty black gate. “When mommy's all better and not sweating like a cactus rancher, we'll come out here all the time.”
We reached the stone bench and I removed him from his kangaroo pouch. A book lay open on the bench, the cover depicting a half-naked man with a full moon rising above him. One of Merry's romance novels. She’d been devouring them lately, outnumbering even Ruth Anne in her trips to the bookstore. I cast one quick glance at the shirtless model before pulling my gaze away. It was the closest thing I'd had to adult male contact in ages.
“Mommy's a strong, independent woman. Mommy doesn't need a man.” I held my son out so that we faced each other. He cooed, stretching his flailing arms to grab my hair.
“How can someone so dorky-looking be so cute?” I asked.
You're such a dork, Shane.
I had said that so many times, it became a term of endearment.
I sighed deeply, shaking the thought away, and wandered to the swing set. I put Montana on my lap and we swayed, just enough to feel the air touch our cheeks. I was lost in memories of Shane, while my baby daydreamed about his last meal or his next. A rustling sound startled us and I quickly stood up.
Something was rambling in the woods, very close by.
Rabbits? Squirrels? Bears?
Ghosts?
“It's difficult for spirits to make noise,” I assured Montana, whose eyes followed the tree line to Juliana's headstone at the edge of the clearing. His small head craned forward as he balled up his tiny fists.
The rustling continued, followed by the sound of twigs snapping. And then all noise abruptly stopped. “It's just a bird or a snake” I whispered, tightening my hold on my son. I moved in the direction of the noise, as quietly as I could.
We stopped at the far edge of the garden along the iron fence. Juliana's headstone lay in quiet contemplation before us. There was nothing unusual or unsettling about it. In fact, the area emanated a sense of tranquility.
I hadn't seen Juliana's spirit since our last encounter at Dip Stix, before giving birth. Maybe showing me Shane's marriage certificate had finally brought her peace.
But why?
Because she disliked men? It was rumored that her husband died under suspicious circumstances shortly after being caught with another woman. Was my dead grandmother a vigilante spirit who spent her eternity calling out two-timing men?
My chest constricted. “Ghosts only have limited power,” I assured myself.
Except when ghosts return for a specific reason.
I couldn't think about that now. I was starting a new life, sans ghosts and magick. “We are only going to look ahead. We can't look back. It's not good for anyone.”
I returned my gaze to Juliana's tombstone, daring her to rise again.
“Maggie!”
I jumped.
The gate creaked opened behind me and limped shut. Merry appeared, looking radiant in a starched blue sundress and a touch of gloss on her lips. “Gorgeous day,” she acknowledged, joining us. “Whatcha doing?”
“Trying to find my inner peace.”
“Any luck?”
“I'm not sure I ever had any to find.”
Montana reached for his aunt. She gently squeezed his cheek and lifted him from my arms. “The garden is nice,” she said, bouncing my son on her hip. “But I know a place where you can find inner peace... if you're game.”
“You don't mean...?” My eyes widened with hope.
“Yes. I'm inviting you to my hideaway. The perfect place to break curfews and curses.”
“Sounds like my kind of establishment.”
I held on to that moment, knowing it might not come again. Merry was inviting me to her hideaway. Previously, only June Bug had been invited to go before, and possibly Mother in her final days.
Now it was my turn.
“Thank you, Merry.” I smiled as I watched her cover my son's face in kisses. “This means more to me than you know.”
MERRY UNFOLDED A checkered picnic blanket in the small glen. She'd been coming here since girlhood, a small forest juncture where the trees were thick-bodied and welcoming, as if they'd once housed elves. Merry was the shortest of us all, with an upturned nose, plump cheeks, and slightly pointed ears. Even though she was slim, her features were princess soft. She seemed perfectly suited to this fairy tale setting.
She hummed as she draped the blanket over the dewy grass. Several magpies gathered nearby, hoping for food, but we were otherwise alone.
“So this is it,” I said, setting Montana on the blanket. Laying on his stomach, he squealed at the birds, desperately trying to grab them as they hopped nearby. I gave him a rattle and the birds were quickly forgotten.
“Yes. This is where I center myself.”
Merry slunk out of her sundress, revealing a pair of short shorts and a tank top. She secured her hair into an elastic band on the top of her head. Barefooted, she inhaled and stretched. With surprising grace, she swept her arms overhead and bent at the waist, walking her hands forward on the ground.
“Yoga is your secret?” I asked, having seen the position before. It was called a dirty dog, or something similar.
“Partly. I start my mornings with meditation and yoga. It helps to clear the cobwebs.”
> “You come out here to practice? When?”
“Before the sun rises.” She gave me a wry smile as she continued her set. Her fluidity and agility amazed me. She finished several rotations, her cheeks flushed and her brow wet. “What do you think?” she asked, facing me.
“You make it look easy. But what does it do?”
“Yoga connects my mind to my body.”
“But I want to get out of my mind and my body.”
Merry laughed, then repeated her vinyasanas, stopping now and again to comment on a particular pose. “Your turn,” she instructed, at last.
I followed her lead until she had me standing on one leg with my hands pressed together overhead. I stumbled, nearly tripping over Montana. He laughed, thinking my performance was solely for his entertainment.
“I don't think I'm built for yoga,” I said, reclaiming my balance.
She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “We can try karate.”
“Is Michael your teacher?”
“Sensei,” she corrected, getting into a wide fighting stance, her fists raised up protectively. She demonstrated a quick series of kicks and punches. Forward and back, she lunged and retreated, chopping and blocking until she exhausted herself.
“More your speed?” she asked, drying her face with her hands.
“You think that will help my stress?”
“It might.” She smiled. “I imagine I'm punching Frank.” She took a deep breath, exhaling through her nose. “I could never really hurt anyone, though.”
“What if someone tried to hurt June Bug?”
Her hands reformed into fists. “Harming someone is never good karma, Maggie, but if someone tried to hurt June Bug...” Her eyes flickered red.
Suddenly I was afraid to be on Merry's bad side. “You wouldn't have to compromise your beliefs. If anyone harms June Bug, I'll take care of them myself.”
Her face softened and her fists relaxed. “I know you would.”
“Ooh!” Montana cooed.
His head warbled as he reached one hand out, balancing on the other. A dazzling rainbow arched in the distance above the trees.
“Your first rainbow!” I exclaimed. Merry and I stared ahead, viewing the phenomenon through his eyes. By doing this, it was new to us again, too.
“It's the first rainbow I've seen in a long time.” Merry scratched her head. “And there hasn't been rain in over a week.”
The arc faded, leaving only the blue sky in its wake. Once gone, Montana's head hit the blanket and he fell asleep.
“For a moment, I think I actually found my inner peace,” I said.
Merry smiled. “Let's capitalize on the feeling. Join me.”
She sat cross-legged at the edge of the blanket and I sat opposite her, our knees nearly touching. She closed her eyes and rested her hands on her knees, palms up, curling her thumbs to her middle fingers. Her breathing slowed, her chest rising and falling in deliberate waves. A halo of light surrounded her.
I breathed too, mirroring my sister. After several minutes, calmness took hold. I became aware of the smells first––wet summer grass, tree sap, and lemons. Then, the physical sensations––the warm sun, the cool air, the ground beneath me.
The world was alive and so was I. We were part of the same chain.
When I looked again, I spied a white butterfly. It hovered beside Merry before landing gently on her shoulder. Its wings opened and closed with each of her breaths.
“Merry,” I dared whisper. “There's a butterfly on your shoulder.”
“Hmmm?” She opened her eyes with a smile. She lifted her finger and the butterfly fluttered on to it. “Did Ruth Anne ever tell you the legend of the rainbow?”
“No.”
“Some cultures believe that when a rainbow dissolves, it breaks into a million pieces, and the pieces become colorful butterflies that float away.” She lifted her hand slowly to gaze at her new friend. “White butterflies are among the rarest. When one finds you, it brings peace and protection. A good sign, I think. Make a wish Maggie.”
“What?”
“The legend says that if you make a wish on a rainbow butterfly, it will carry your hopes with it on the winds.”
I pressed my lips together. “I wish for strength,” I said. I was embarrassed by my confession, but if it made even the smallest difference in keeping me and my son safe, it was worth it. Once spoken, the butterfly sailed off into the meadow before disappearing altogether.
“Oh, Lion, you've always had the strength.” Merry cocked her head, grinning.
I tucked my wild mane behind my ears and smiled back sheepishly. “I want to call butterflies, too,” I admitted. A renewed strength budded within me, a strength that I realized only came through stillness. “Please, show me what to do.”
“You're already doing it,” Merry said.
“But I need more instruction. Why did you curl your hands like that?”
“To center. It's all about letting everything go and breathing. It's that simple.”
I did as she instructed, trying to shut out my thoughts, but my mind refused to quiet. Instead, it called up images of my father beckoning to me from a fiery door, of Juliana clutching her neck, and of Shane's truck going over the edge. I kept breathing. The next image was of me hunched over the bathroom sink, splashing water on my fevered face. “I can't.”
“Imagine a sphere of white light around you,” Merry said. “The light is warm and wraps you in a bubble.”
I kept breathing, focusing on Merry’s words.
After a time, I saw it in my mind. A light centered on my heart, spreading outward from my body until it filled the glen. “It's so beautiful.” I feared that when I opened my eyes, it would all go away. “Where did it come from?”
“The light came from within you, sister.” Merry pointed at my knee. A white butterfly with long gossamer wings had landed.
“He's yours,” Merry said.
The butterfly quietly regarded me for only a moment, before flying away.
“What's this?” Merry asked, frowning. I followed her gaze. A black feather lay near my son's feet. “Must be one of the magpies,” she said quickly.
I picked it up and twirled it between my fingers. “It's a raven's feather.”
The white light receded, imploding in on me like a detonating bomb.
EIGHT
Daydream Believer
BY SUPPERTIME I was sick again. All the butterflies and rainbows in the world wouldn’t cure me, and the mysterious black feather had fouled my mood. I stumbled through the evening, nodding and smiling like a PTA mom as I went about my duties, noticing how Montana turned away whenever my breasts let down. Maybe he could smell the sickness in my milk.
Once Eve left for Harvest Home, and Merry and Ruth Anne retired to their rooms, I put my son to bed in his bassinet and made up the couch for the night. I’d been sleeping on it for months now. It wasn’t good for my back but I felt protected in the living room, where I could watch the door, and escape with my son if needed.
Lying in the near dark, I listened to Montana’s congested snores followed by his breathless lapses. Just a small summer cold, I kept telling myself, though I checked on him every few minutes anyway. He slept through it all, his fists drawn into his body and his bare toes peeping out from beneath his blanket. I thought of casting a protective bubble around him, but I dared not. Magick attracted magick. I still hadn’t figured out the source of the curse, and I didn’t want to alert anyone––or anything––to our presence.
Staring at the ceiling, I ran my hands along the crystal bracelet I’d inherited from Mother. Soon Montana’s snoring abated and he breathed easily again. The house grew still and my mind was free to race.
Larinda. Armand. Juliana. Shane. Their images rolled through my brain, shuffling randomly forward and back, like four jokers in a deck of playing cards. It was too bad I didn’t have a potion from Eve or a brew from Merry, anything to shut out my thoughts. But I was done with magick. Besides, if I c
onfessed my insomnia, Merry would give up her own sleep to save mine.
I wriggled my fingers, counting. I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since...
Since really before Montana was born.
I did know something that would help. True, there was magick involved...
My fingers crawled beneath the edge of the couch, stopping when they touched the leather case of snow globes. I was supposed to finish them before Montana was born, but he had come early. With the death of Shane and the birth of my healthy son, I was too distraught and preoccupied to want to know anything more about my father or the path he had taken.
But maybe the key to my recovery still lay hidden inside the remaining globes? I slid the case out from under the sofa and opened it. I peered closely. Over half were a murky brown––the ones I had already viewed. The rest lined up like stars in the Milky Way, winking at me enticingly in the moonlight. The next ball in line stood out in particular, glowing brighter than the others. I took it and laid back down.
My eyes returned to the ceiling as my hands massaged the globe.
It was nearly one in the morning. It was the witching hour––the time between midnight and three a.m. when the spirits were restless and the veils between worlds thinned. Journeying between realms was possible at that hour, even for the dead. My father had seemingly mastered such travel, with the aid of the ankh and his use of Larinda.
I lifted the globe. Silver flecks danced in the liquid.
If I dared to look further, what would I see? And how bad could it be?
“What memories do you hold?” I asked in a whisper. “Can you help me?”
My eyelids drooped, and even Montana’s breath ceased to tether me to this plane.
Dark Root, Oregon
Sister House
May, 1976
ARMAND SCRATCHED HIS head as he gazed at the slim young woman coming down the stairs. She was pretty, that was for sure. The kind of pretty you didn’t see in a town like this. A natural beauty. Not like Sasha’s allure, which came and went with her mood, or Larinda, who used a combination of magick and cosmetics to glam herself up. Not that he was complaining. Larinda’s illusions were more than fine, but they cracked when she thought no one was paying attention. And Armand was always paying attention.
The Curse of Dark Root: Part Two (Daughters of Dark Root Book 4) Page 7
