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

by Aasheim, April

  But Jillian… there was something very special about this new one. He even liked her name.

  Getting her alone turned out to be the challenge. Sasha took Jillian under her wing, hovering like an overprotective mother. The two huddled together for long hours in Miss Sasha’s Magick Shoppe, learning the fundamentals of spell-crafting and astrology. Then they spent their evenings placing protective domes that no one could see. Jillian took it all in stride, the light around her never waning.

  She must get tired of living under a microscope, Armand figured, because Jillian often sought refuge in the woods. She’d leave on mornings when Sasha had other business to attend to, returning later with an aura of serenity.

  Where did she go, he wondered? And what did she do?

  She didn’t live in the woods. She had an apartment above Delilah’s Deli, renting a room from Joe Garris. Even so, she spent so much time at Sister House that it was practically her second home.

  Having her so close made it all the more frustrating. Her aura drove him mad. It was a light in a house that hadn’t seen light in a long while. It aroused something inside of him, something primal and dark, but also very, very good.

  Lust?

  Yes. But more. He wanted her. He needed her. He needed to be inside of her, to taste her soul. And maybe even syphon from it…

  No!

  He wouldn’t take from her. Jillian with her sunny smile, her bright eyes, her chestnut hair, and her glowing aura. She reminded Armand of when he first met Sasha, who had been young and sweet and pretty, then. Smart too, never allowing anything to get past her. But unlike Sasha, Jillian was still strong, her heart unhardened. She shined. If he took from her, it would change her. And as much as Armand wanted to push himself so far into her that he’d forget everything bad that ever happened in his life, he needed her light more. It was her light that was keeping him from straying deeper into the dark.

  Besides, he told himself, there were other women to take from.

  Larinda willingly laid down for him. She was a good fuel source, even if the experience was no longer pleasant. Her aura was cold and dark, and even her touch felt alien. But if he could think about other things, or people, he could siphon off enough of her life force to attempt spells he could never do alone.

  And, if he wanted to actually enjoy sex, there were the tourists. But that was a lot of work. Sasha was good in the sack, when it suited her, but she could be downright frigid when it didn’t. At any rate, sex with Sasha had become exceptionally rare, as she retreated deeper into her rituals and dreams of a future that only she could foresee.

  “Goodbye, Armand,” Jillian said, smiling, bringing him back from his thoughts. She grabbed her sweater from the coat rack and opened the front door.

  He raised a bored eyebrow and a mug of coffee, not speaking. His silence didn’t seem to surprise her. In the six months she’d been in Dark Root, he’d hardly said a word to her.

  He feared what would happen if they got too close, but kept close tabs on her, nonetheless.

  He watched her leave through the front window. She was bundled in her soft beige sweater and a pink crocheted beanie, one she made in the Council’s knitting circle. He pressed his fingers to the glass as Jillian strolled down the long driveway. She glanced over her shoulder once, as if she could feel his eyes on her, then disappeared into the forest.

  Once she was out of his sight, he quickly put on his cowboy boots and hat. Then he grabbed his suede jacket from the closet, tucked between two fur coats.

  “She’ll be back soon,” Sasha said, descending the stairs.

  “Hey, babe,” he said, giving her a peck on the cheek. “Didn’t see you there. Who’ll be back soon?”

  “Jillian. She went out to collect herbs.”

  “Ah, gotcha. Well, I’m just heading out for a walk, myself. I’m playing with a new manifestation spell, but I need to work out the kinks. I think the morning air will do me good.”

  Sasha’s eyes slid towards him, the corner of her mouth tugging down. “Spells, Armand? It’s good to see you working again. I confess, I’ve been worried about your lack of enthusiasm towards the greater good lately.”

  He laughed uneasily. He hardly cast anymore. He didn’t need to. He was a master of magick, a true magician. But he intended on keeping his unparalleled command of the art a secret.

  “Gotta keep in practice,” he said with a shrug.

  He nodded a goodbye and left the house, purposely taking a different path than Jillian’s.

  After ten minutes of meandering, he backtracked to the spot where Jillian disappeared. It was a narrow path, mostly covered in underbrush. It stopped and stalled several times, forking in multiple directions. He followed her footsteps, and when those weren’t visible, he followed the trail of translucent white light that leaked from her aura. Soon, he came upon a stone building––or at least the crumbling ruins of one. It was the size of a large garden shed. The glass was missing from the windows and the door had long since rotted away. It felt very old… and very foreign.

  Where had this come from? He’d been through these woods many times and had never come across this structure before.

  Armand surveyed the limitless greenery surrounding him. The area was still wild. It wouldn’t be unheard of to encounter things in these woods, including faeries or even Big Foot himself. He returned his attention to the ruins, trying to discern what its original purpose had been. A home? A church?

  Whatever it was, he knew Jillian was inside. The entire building seemed to pulse, as if it had a heartbeat. The sun was brighter here, washing the structure in a celestial glow.

  Her sanctuary, he realized.

  Armand crept to the back of the building, then circled towards the front, peering in through the corner of a window.

  Jillian sat on the bare stone floor, her legs crossed and her hands in her lap. She stared forward, a peaceful smile on her face. Her long hair fanned out behind her. The single room had been meticulously swept clean, and was empty of everything except a painting easel.

  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, enterin
g 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.

  The energy surrounding the closet came alive. It was almost palpable, and whether it was the door that throbbed or my heart, I couldn't tell. The image of Armand––standing inside a doorway, holding a feather balanced against a human heart––returned to me.

  “Daddy, you son of a bitch,” I said, turning the knob. “If you’re responsible for this, not even the Netherworld will be able to hide you from me.”

  A blast of foul air jetted out from the closet, staggering me backwards. I covered my nose with my arm and stepped inside. I didn't turn on the light. Spirits always preferred the darkness.

  It was a small closet, though it rapidly expanded outwards around me. I found myself standing in the middle of an endless dark void. I recognized this place. The curse had taken me here, trapping me between realms, and now my child had brought me back.

  Small points of glittering light blinked from all directions, like exits on a freeway, competing for my attention. I understood that each light led to another tunnel, each containing another thousand tunnels. If I took the wrong one, I might be trapped forever.

  “Montana!” I called into the nothingness, my breath rolling out like fog.

  One light flickered in response, broadening to the size of my hand. I went to it, sensing the eyes of the dead on me as I passed by. I heard their whispers, their laughs, and their moans.