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

by Aasheim, April

  I thought Michael would laugh at me. I know I sounded silly and dramatic.

  Instead, he looked down at his feet. “I understand. God has a plan for you. I hope he still has one for me.”

  “I'm sorry,” I whispered as he disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.

  And I really was.

  SHANE APPEARED SOON after, a towel knotted around his bare waist. I caught my breath as our eyes met, his expression both mischievous and coy. He locked the door, dropping the towel to the floor.

  The sight of his clean, naked body reinvigorated me. “Another shower?” I asked.

  “Nah, just waiting for my clothes to dry. I hope you don't mind if I wait it out in here.”

  “I'd have it no other way.” He laid beside me and I caught his scent of Irish Spring and beer.

  “Feeling any better?” he asked.

  “Better every minute,” I responded, locking into his eyes.

  “Have you ever had anyone else in this bed?” He scooted close, his hand caressing my thigh. “Well?”

  “I'll have to think on that.” I tapped my fingers against his hip, ignoring the spell his body cast on mine. “There may have been a few.”

  “Oh?” Shane brushed the back of his hand along my leg. “Go on.”

  I held up one finger. “Leo.”

  Shane's face soured as he waved his hand, an invitation to move on.

  “And Jillian. Oh, and Montana.”

  He licked his lips, not breaking eye contact. “Michael?”

  “Why, Shane Doler, are you jealous?”

  “Should I be?”

  “I don't know. Should I be jealous you've been with your wife?”

  “Ex-wife. And nothing happened, Maggie.” He traced my lips with his fingers. “Not even a kiss.”

  “Not even a little one?”

  “A peck on the cheek when we parted ways. That's all.”

  I searched his eyes. They were somehow gray again. “I believe you.”

  “Good. I won’t lie to you again. That's not the kind of man I want to be.” He lifted his hand. “Scout’s honor.”

  It wasn't the kind of person I wanted to be either. I rolled back my shoulders, knowing I needed to confess. “Nothing happened with Michael, but there were a few times I felt really... close to him.”

  Shane's finger froze in place on my lips. “What stopped you?”

  “The first time, I called him your name. The second time, you called mine.”

  “Har!” A laugh, gritty yet amused.

  I waited for him to pull away, but he laid still.

  “Please don't be mad. I thought you were dead.” I brushed the hair out of his eyes, urging him to look me.

  After several missed heartbeats, he finally responded, “It's alright. All I care about is that you're all mine now, and that we get you healthy.”

  “I’m one thousand percent yours. One million, trillion percent. One gaz––”

  “Maggie... be quiet.”

  He kissed me, so softly our lips barely touched.

  “Nothing will ever come between us again,” I promised. “Even death.”

  He kissed me deeper. Warmth flooded my body as I surrendered to him.

  I glanced at the leather case on my nightstand.

  The last globe could wait another hour.

  THIRTY

  You Keep Me Hanging On

  Dark Root, Oregon

  August, 1986

  Sister House

  “THANK YOU FOR coming.” Sasha opened the front door of Sister House, surprising Armand by the darkness that greeted him. He removed his beaten hat, squinted uncertainly, and stepped inside.

  The place was haunted, he realized, but not by ghosts. Or even demons.

  It was haunted by Sasha herself.

  Her energy was so dense he coughed as he followed her through the living room, as if wading through layers of smoke. A sharp wave of nostalgia hit him as he recalled his first day in Dark Root, so many years ago. The couple had marched into the house then, reclaiming it while making plans for the future as they tore away sheets cloaking the furniture.

  Sasha had promised him her ankh that day––a promise she never fulfilled. When all was said and done, it was her fault for the way things turned out. The forgotten ankh was just one of the many promises she never kept.

  Armand clapped his hands as he passed a lamp, lighting the room, but not by much. He kicked several small boxes out of the way as he made for the sofa. He fell into it, ignoring the dust geyser that plumed up from the cushions. He thought he’d only been gone a few years, but by the looks of the house–– dusty, cluttered, and dark–– it could have been decades.

  “I like what you’ve done with the place,” he said, crossing his feet and slinging them onto the coffee table. “Homey.”

  Sasha was as stiff and formal as an old school teacher, wearing a high-collared dress with sleeves that reached her hands. “I’m a mother now, Armand. I’ve no time for trivialities like cleaning.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Hey, babe. I’m not judging. It’s just different, that’s all.”

  A little girl with round glasses and straight brown hair emerged from the kitchen, holding Dora’s hand. In her other hand, she carried a book with a cookie balanced on top. Armand inspected her a moment––just to see for himself. A quick scan of her appearance and her energy confirmed that she was not his. He folded his hands behind his head and returned his attention to Sasha, feeling Dora’s evil eye as she and the girl ascended the staircase.

  “Cute kid,” he said.

  “Her name is Ruth Anne, and you remember Dora.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Tea?” Sasha motioned to a tray of cookies and an iron kettle centered on an oddly clean end table.

  Armand sniffed a cookie, then took a bite. It was a bizarre scene, him and “Old Lady Sasha” together again. He wondered briefly if he’d wandered into another dream. The Netherworld could be tricky to navigate, with its multiple planes and altered realities, so walking into someone’s dream wasn’t unheard of. He sat quietly, second-guessing his decision to return, waiting for Sasha to explain herself. When he could no longer tolerate her loud chewing and the incessant tick of the grandfather clock, he broke.

  “Why the hell did you call me here?” he demanded, uncrossing his legs and slamming his boots onto the floor. The tea cup rattled on the table beside him.

  Sasha put down her tea and studied him, her face expressionless. She must need something from him, and badly. When he left Dark Root for L.A., she swore she’d never waste another breath on him. Whatever plagued her now was enough to overcome her tremendous pride.

  She bent forward in her high-backed chair, opening her palms. “I need you to come back. The Council needs you. Your talents are wasted in L.A.”

  “What do you care of my talents? You’ve never respected them before.” He leaned forward, pressing his elbows into his thighs, his hands fused together beneath his chin. “I’ve got a following now. I’ve built a name for myself and I tell you, when the shit hits the fan, I’ll have people behind me.” He sat up, waving his fingers in mimic of her spell casting. “You think you’re safe here?” He sneered, and the sneer turned into a laugh. “You’re ill prepared, Sasha. The old guard is dying. You need people. Supplies. A hideout. And possibly... allies.”

  Sasha lifted her chin. “Those entities you’re allying yourself with are the loan sharks of the Netherworld. Not to be trusted––no matter what they promise. I’m worried about you.”

  Armand turned his head and coughed into the crook of his arm. “Bullshit.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I call bullshit. You’re not worried about my wellbeing. You’re worried about your own. Don’t take me for a fool. Tell me why you need me? And if you’re going to answer with another lecture, tell me now so I can get the hell out of here.”

  She sighed deeply, her chest filling out her pinstriped dress. “The Council is falling apart, Arm
and. Leonard is ill. Rosa is aging. And Dora has her hands full with my girls.”

  “Girls? As in more than one?”

  “I have two daughters––Ruth Anne and Merry.”

  Armand’s eyebrows arched. “Is Merry mine?”

  Sasha laughed, tapping her knee in amusement. “She’s only three. You do the math.”

  “Then who’s the father?”

  “A charming, sensitive man. You wouldn’t know him.”

  Armand flopped back against the sofa. “Unbelievable. Two kids now and not a daddy in sight. Don’t you know some spell that will keep you from getting knocked up? You never had that problem with me.”

  A dimple formed near Sasha’s lined mouth. “Maybe I didn’t want that problem with you.”

  “You’re a real bitch, woman. Did you bring me back to Dark Root just so you could rub it in my face?”

  She smiled secretively, the dim lamplight softening her face. She looked beautiful––even young––and he found himself surprisingly drawn to her. Despite her matronly attire, she was a powerful woman––perhaps the most powerful woman he’d ever been with. His desire to siphon from her, even though she’d never allow it, awakened his hunger. He licked his lips.

  “I never meant to rub my children in your face,” Sasha apologized. She looked almost penitent. “It wasn’t in the cards for us to have children before...”

  She let her words trail off, and Armand knew she was baiting him.

  “Look Sasha, I’m pretty good at reading people, but I still have no f’ing clue what you want from me. The Council’s always been a mess, so there’s more to it than that. Are you going to tell me or shall I wait to be surprised?”

  Her response was quick and to the point. “We need more male energy. I was hasty in getting rid of you, and short-sighted to think we could handle this alone. But Armand, something really big is brewing. The winds of change are coming, and if we don’t intervene this whole damned world could snuff out.”

  “Like this?” He snapped his fingers and all the lights in the room shut off. He snapped them again and they lit up.

  “You’ve gained in power,” Sasha whispered.

  “Yeah?” He smiled, enjoying the look in her eyes and the way her aura flared with excitement. It aroused him even more. “You should see what I can do with fire now. Got a lighter?”

  Sasha shook her head.

  Oh well, her loss. He looked at the tip of his finger, eager to show off, but decided to wait for another time.

  “Leave California, Armand. Move back to Dark Root, just until this possible future shifts. After that, I won’t call you back again. I promise.”

  “Promise, huh?” He laughed as he reached into his jacket pocket and removed a cigarette, then remembered he still didn’t have a lighter. He lifted his index finger and a flame emerged. It was a useful trick, but hurt like a bitch. He took a drag, blowing smoke into Sasha’s face.

  “You really want me to move back to Dark Root? Even after you told me to never set foot in this town again? Sounds like a trap to me.”

  “What did you expect? You were sleeping with my cousin, tampering with my spell book, and opening portals you couldn’t close! That thing you set loose in Joe’s diner took weeks for us to exorcize. It was nearly impossible to close that gateway, and who knows how long it will hold. What else could I do?”

  “So what makes you think I won’t do all that again? And what about…” He didn’t say Jillian’s name, but he didn’t have to. He ran his hands through his hair and looked away.

  “I’ve made some changes.” Sasha went to a shelf and produced her spell book. She handed it over and he sensed its barbed energy. It was covered in layers of protective spells, one on top of the other. He opened it and flipped through the pages. Some entries were missing––specifically those on summoning and banishment and necromancy. The darker arts.

  The longer he held the book, the more he felt its defensive effects. Soon, he was overcome by a sluggishness, making him sick to his stomach. He handed it back, glad he’d memorized anything useful before he’d left. As enchanted as it was now, he had no interest in touching that thing ever again. “That’s your change? You made it so I can’t read the book? How’s that supposed to entice me?”

  Sasha touched her hair, unloosening a curl. That simple act of womanliness ignited a spark inside of him. He had scores of women in LA, all younger and sexier, but none who could pull on him like this.

  “You’ll have to do more than that,” he said, though his eyes never left that long, errant curl.

  She reached beneath her chair and produced a wand. Her lightning wand. The wand that restored health, and beauty... and life.

  He held his face impossibly still, though his right eye betrayed him with a tick. He was a powerful magician. He could move things and summon things. But life magick eluded him; it was out of his realm.

  But with Sasha’s wand...

  “You’ll give this to me?” he asked in disbelief.

  “No,” she said plainly, folding her hands onto her lap. “But I’ll use it on you. Regularly. Every three months. Soon you’ll be slimmer, healthier, and as young as the day I met you.” Her eyes traveled from his middle-aged waistline to the silver threads invading his auburn hair. “You’ll be able to smoke without blackening your lungs, eat without gaining weight, and indulge in your pleasurable activities without getting...” Her eyes wandered below his belt. “Sick. If The Dark does come, you’ll be more prepared to fight it. If it doesn’t, then you’ll have more years to enjoy yourself. What do you say?”

  He almost reminded her that she’d never paid up on her last deal, but he held his tongue as he considered his options. He hated Dark Root, but the temptation of the wand was too great. Suffering through a couple of years here might be worth gaining a few decades of added life. It would also buy him more time to fulfill his oath to his other debtor.

  And Sasha did let slip that the portal in Joe’s diner might be easily accessible.

  “If it sweetens the pot, Larinda is back as well.”

  He waved his hand indifferently. “I’m glad she found her way home. Who knew she expected me to be faithful?”

  “So what do you say, Armand?”

  “I say... what the hell. A few years away from civilization might do me some good.” He pointed a finger at the witch. “But I get the first dose tonight. There’s a suspicious mole I’d like to get rid of.”

  “I’ll use my wand on you when you move back,” Sasha countered. “Then, once on every equinox and solstice.”

  “Don’t you have a normal calendar with normal holidays?”

  She cackled. “You always made me laugh, Armand. I’d forgotten about your sense of humor. As for your accommodations, you may stay here at Sister House, if you like. The nursery is currently occupied but I’ll make up the sewing room.”

  Armand heard the little girls running and screaming as they trampled down the hallway upstairs. “No, thanks. I’ll stay with a friend.”

  “And Armand, Jillian is off limits. Understood?”

  He widened his tired eyes. “Still afraid I’ll corrupt her? Maybe she’ll corrupt me.”

  “Her magick is unbalanced lately. I believe she’s reliving some past trauma from losing her parents. She doesn’t need you toying with her emotions and making it worse.”

  Sasha went to the front door and opened it, leaving Armand to wonder what just happened. In the course of one conversation, he had agreed to move back to Dark Root, and resume his station as Sasha’s lackey. He grabbed his cowboy hat and made for the door. As he passed the witch, he grabbed her, kissing her roughly. When she finally returned the kiss, he let her go.

  Now, he had the edge.

  “Goodbye, Darling,” he said, putting on his hat. “I’ll get my things and be back in a few days.”

  “No lightning wand until you’re here an entire week,” she said, her chest still heaving from their kiss.

  “Roger that.”

&nbs
p; “And Armand...?”

  “Yes?”

  “I only have one wand, and I’m going to watch over it very carefully. There aren’t two of them, unlike say, the ankh necklaces.”

  “Okay...”

  “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. I misplaced my own ankh necklace ages ago. You never found it, did you?”

  “I haven’t seen your necklace since the day you first showed it to me. Now, I better run. I need to go stock up on umbrellas if I’m coming back here. See you soon, babe.”

  He closed the door behind him, already wondering if he’d made the right choice.

  I AWOKE THE next morning soaked in perspiration, the sheet wrapped about me like a mummy’s shroud. I glanced at the baby monitor. Montana was not in his crib. Grabbing my robe, I rushed to the nursery, relieved to find Michael feeding him a bottle. Once my heart rate returned to normal, I kissed my son on his cheek and headed downstairs, feeling Michael’s somber eyes follow me out of the room.

  I found Shane in the kitchen, sitting between Aunt Dora and Jillian, chatting over scones and tea. He was speaking animatedly while the two women hunkered close.

  “That’s incredible!” Jillian exclaimed. Before even seeing me, she added, “Wouldn’t you agree, Maggie?”

  “Yes, an incredible story,” I confirmed, draping my arms around Shane’s shoulders. He turned his head and kissed me and I took a chair at the table.

  “There’s a lot o’ magick in this boy,” Aunt Dora said, her eyes sharp. “He has Joe’s talent, as well as his blood. An’ more besides.”

  “Is that a good thing?” Shane asked, pouring me a cup. “I know your feelings on warlocks, Dora.”

  She grunted as she carefully rose from her chair. “We are raisin’ up a warlock now. It’ll be good fer him ta have solid role models.” She patted Shane’s hand as she carried the empty scone tray to the sink.

  “We saved you a muffin,” Jillian said. She pushed a small plate my way and I dove in, hungrier than I realized. Good sex, a bad curse, and strange dreams had taken a lot out of me. The trio watched me silently as I ate. I caught on that they were waiting for me to say something.