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

by Aasheim, April

  Sasha did it. The woman you call Mother!

  I knew Larinda to be a liar, but there was something in the tone of her voice that led me to believe her.

  Why would Sasha do that to me? She’d always said I had more power than any of them, including her, but that I’d squandered it. Was the curse my punishment?

  Montana smacked his lips and I got his bottle, feeding him in the beanbag chair. He felt a little warm, so I reminded myself to call the doctor for an appointment first thing in the morning. “I know how you feel, honey. Mommy doesn’t feel so good either.”

  As he drifted off to sleep in my arms, more of Larinda’s cruel words returned.

  The woman you call mother.

  “Stop it,” I told myself. As Aunt Dora liked to say, Larinda was nothing but darkness and lies.

  I put Montana to bed and cast a bubble around his crib, then went to join the others downstairs. The sounds of family and friends made me smile. I sniffed the air––Fried chicken. grilled corn on the cob, homemade bread. And pie, of course. My stomach growled approvingly.

  The others were already seated around the dining table. Their faces were all smiles as they exchanged gossip and jokes, passing a basket of buttered rolls. Paul was there too, sitting beside Eve, his dark blond hair slicked up in a pompadour while he stabbed at his potatoes. Michael sat next to Merry, both with raised fists, replaying an earlier sparring match. Aunt Dora and Jillian nested beside one another, trading recipes and inquiring about the health of some of Dark Root’s older residents. Ruth Anne’s face was buried in a book.

  Only Shane turned my way, his eyes sparkling, his smile warm. My heart leapt. He was clean and indescribably handsome. He stood up and pulled out my chair, Mother’s chair, and I took my seat the head of the table. A glass of wine sat before me. I cleared my throat.

  “A toast, please,” I said.

  The chatter stopped and everyone turned in my direction. Paul’s eyes caught mine and we held a moment, both taken back to a shared an intimacy, a near lifetime ago. We smiled, knowing things had worked out exactly as they were meant to.

  “To Family,” I said, standing. “The good. The bad. And the crazy.”

  “Here, here!” Everyone chimed in, laughing as we clinked glasses.

  “We always have each other’s backs.” I glanced at Paul and Shane. “...And we always come home.” I then looked in turn at my sisters, my aunt, Michael, and my good friend Jillian. “Thank you all for getting me through this year. I promise to rid myself of this curse and get back to normal. Then you can all find something else to worry about for a while.”

  “You’ve never been normal, Mags,” Ruth Anne said with a grin. The others laughed and nodded in agreement.

  We feasted that night, perhaps intuitively knowing that dinners like this would become rare in the near future. There was a curious energy in the air––one that foretold of change.

  But I would deal with the future when it came.

  I drank a lot of wine that meal, knowing that the wheel of fate was about to spin again.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Midnight Confessions

  Dark Root, Oregon

  July, 1987

  Sister House

  “HOLY HELL, THEY’RE taking a long time!” Armand lit a cigarette and paced the living room, his trench coat flaring out behind him as his boots drummed across the floor. Dora watched with a sour look from the sofa, her two small charges bookending her. Ruth Anne studied him curiously, while Merry hid her face behind her pale blonde hair.

  He looked at his watch and frowned. “Hasn’t anyone heard from them?” he demanded, turning to the Council members gathered in the dining room. Joe and Leonard shook their heads as they carried food past him from the kitchen, while the women quietly gossiped at the table, ignoring him. Armand finished his cigarette and started another, disregarding Dora’s accusing scowl.

  “Thought ya quit,” she growled.

  He stopped pacing and stared at the squat woman and her keen, trollish eyes. “I quit last week. This week I started.”

  “Half-assed, like everything ya do.” She caught herself cussing and placed her hands over the girl’s outer ears. Merry stayed covered but Ruth Anne burrowed out.

  “Do you have anything nice to say? Ever?”

  “Not when it comes ta warlocks.”

  “You treat those two pretty boys in there much better than you treat me, Dora.”

  “That’s because they earned my respect. Ya haven’t!”

  “Ah, hell. You’ve known me nearly twenty years and you don’t have a kind word for me, huh?”

  Dora looked him up and down, then gave a quick shake of the head. “Ya smell better than ya used to.”

  The two girls giggled beside her.

  “Auntie Dora, where is mommy?” Merry asked.

  “That’s what I keep asking,” Armand said, pointing the cigarette butt in her direction. “At last, someone here with some common sense.”

  “Birdie, ya knew where your mama went.”

  “To have my little sister?” Merry asked, all blue eyes and wonder.

  “Aye. She’ll be back as soon as she can, but these things take time.”

  “And of course, your mother had to travel halfway around the world to do it. Just like Sasha.” Armand took an extra-long inhale and checked his watch again. She would be late for her own funeral––he could guarantee it.

  “Can I name the baby?” Merry asked excitedly.

  “I think yer mother already named her Maggie. But I have dolls that still don’t have names, if ya got a good one.”

  Merry nodded amicably as Ruth Anne rolled her eyes.

  Armand watched their childish interactions with mild amusement. He liked girls, and not just because they grew up to be chicks. He admired their candor and their charm and their subterfuge. They played games with your head, even when young. They were much more interesting than little boys, who solved their problems with their fists. Then again, he’d never been like the other boys. He’d rather solve his problems from the fringe.

  He eyed Merry a moment. Nah. He needed a boy, not a girl. And he needed the child to be a blood heir.

  He looked out the window for the umpteenth time, cursing under his breath.

  “Don’ know why yer so excited,” Dora called to him, her face a succession of downturned lines. “It’s not yer baby.”

  “I’ll make that call when I see it.”

  “Sasha should ne’er have called ya back, Armand. The Council has been in chaos since ya returned.”

  “Hell, lady. I didn’t ask her to exile Jillian or to go running off on her own for a year. That’s why the Council’s falling apart. I served my time. I stayed!”

  He patted himself down, searching for another cigarette. Damn. An entire pack gone in the course of one evening. Sasha had better use her wand on him for all he put up with, and not just a quick once over, either. A long shower beneath it to fix his liver and lungs.

  But before anything else, he needed to see that child. He needed to know it wasn’t his.

  He recalled that evening with Sasha almost a year ago. It wasn’t long after he returned from L.A. and agreed to rejoin the Council. He told her he was coming back because of the wand, but there was more––he needed progeny.

  Sasha had hinted at having his baby for years, but like her other promises, she never saw it through. He knew that a child born of his and Sasha’s DNA would surely be enough to settle his debt.

  And so he took matters into his own hands. You didn’t wait for history to make up its mind––you changed history yourself.

  He’d crafted a fertility spell and seduced Sasha into bed with a taste of her own sedative tea. She got tipsy and flirty, and before she knew it they were entangled beneath the sheets.

  But the next morning Sasha was quick to announce, “I’m sorry to report that your spell didn’t take, Armand. And even if it did, it would be of no benefit to you. I’ve cast my own spell.”

&nbs
p; “What-what the hell you talking about?” he asked.

  “Perhaps spell isn’t the right word. Curse may be better.”

  He feigned disinterest, waving her away. “You’re insane, woman, but at least you’re good in the sack.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  He let that roll over him, refusing to flinch. “So what is this curse? My penis going to fall off or something?”

  “If your man parts fall off it will be your own doing, not mine.”

  “Then what is it?”

  She left the room and returned minutes later, fully dressed. “Even if you could impregnate me, which you didn’t, you’ll have only daughters, Armand.” She fastened a stray curl with a bobby pin. “Now that I think about it, ‘curse’ isn’t the right word either. I’d call it a blessing.”

  Armand was stunned.

  How had she found out about his fertility spell, and his deal with The Dark One? Before he could even question her, she slammed the door and left him stewing on her bed.

  He waited for her the entire day, drinking all the wine he could find in the house. When she hadn’t returned by nightfall, he wandered into town. There he found Jillian still awake at Joe’s café. She let him into her apartment and they shared small talk and more wine. Then they shared memories and longings, and soon her bed. He stayed there with Jillian for several nights––some of the best of his life, until Sasha caught them together.

  The shameful look on Jillian’s face at being discovered was too painful to recall. She cried, begging Sasha for forgiveness. Armand tried to explain that it was not Jillian’s fault, that he’d used magick to seduce her, but Sasha would hear none of it.

  Jillian disappeared in the middle of the night. Soon after, Sasha disappeared as well. She sent post cards from exotic locations around the world, reminding the Council to keep up the domes. Dora stayed behind with the girls, watching them and Sister House like the old bulldog she was.

  During that year, Larinda returned, begging Armand to marry her. Dora became even more of a pain in the ass. The rest of the Council grew aimless and restless without Sasha’s guidance. Apathy prevailed.

  They all waited for Sasha to come home.

  Then, a month ago they received a letter: Sasha had a baby girl. Motherhood had made her repentant and she was returning home, bringing Jillian with her.

  Armand was convinced the child was his, though the letter claimed the father was some jackass from Ireland.

  Now, as he paced this mausoleum of a house, chain smoking until his lungs burned, he could do nothing but wait impatiently until they arrived.

  “She’s here!” Merry jump from the couch, racing for the door. Sure enough, a taxi pulled into the lot and Sasha stepped out of it, clutching a pink-swaddled infant in her arms. Armand stepped out on the porch, kissing Sasha on the cheek. He inspected her new addition to the family.

  The baby, Maggie, had red hair. Just like his.

  “Congratulations,” he said, his voice brittle.

  Sasha looked at him with cold indifference. “Thank you.” She was dressed in a sparkly gown and high-heeled shoes, as if off to a party.

  “You’re sure it’s not mine, huh?” He squinted as he studied the baby’s face. He couldn’t get a read on the child’s energy.

  But she had green eyes. Just like his.

  “As I’ve said before, your fertility spell did not take. Maggie is two months old now. Do the math.”

  “Only off by a month,” he said warily.

  “A month is quite enough time to find and bed another, Armand, as you can surely attest.”

  Miss Lettie ambled onto the porch. “Where’s Jillian?” she asked.

  “She’ll be returning shortly. She went for her things first.” Sasha turned towards Armand, staring into his eyes. “All past misconduct has been ‘forgiven.’”

  Sasha entered the house with her baby and they were quickly swarmed by the Council, all making a grand fuss over the newest family member. Armand pushed towards the center, wanting a closer look in the light. The child’s coloring was the same as his, but her features were her own. Still, there was something about her.

  Her aura shone so brightly, he almost had to squint against it.

  He pushed his tongue to the top of his mouth. If Maggie was his daughter, she might still be fit to trade, girl or not. There was no doubt she would grow up to be very powerful, regardless of gender. He just needed to determine paternity, then make a few inquiries.

  Armand continued scrutinizing the baby, noting the softness of her lips, the sharpness of her green eyes, the vibrancy of her aura. The girl almost reminded him of...

  He snatched the baby away from Lettie, quickly unbinding her from her blanket, inspecting her bare legs and knees.

  “Armand!” Sasha cried out. “Leave my child alone!”

  “One sec, babe.” He twisted Maggie onto her side, scouring her for marks.

  Witch marks.

  In particular, one shaped like a butterfly.

  But the baby’s skin was clear, except for a smattering of freckles across her nose.

  “My mistake,” he said, handing over the child and backing away.

  He felt suddenly sick and stepped outside.

  There would be no inquiries tonight. He’d have to find another way to pay his debt. He wondered if Sasha had told the truth about cursing him––about him only having daughters. “I guess I can test it out with Larinda,” he muttered to himself.

  In a fog, he walked into the woods, and didn’t come out for three days.

  AS THE GLOBE dream dissolved, my eyes popped open. Of all the memories I’d visited, this was the most personal, the most disturbing.

  I tiptoed from the room, leaving Shane sleeping in my bed. Michael passed me in the hall, carrying a diaper bag. “Getting Montana ready for his doctor appointment,” he said.

  “Thank you.” I gave him a grateful smile before locking myself in the bathroom. I quickly stripped off my clothes and scanned my reflection in the mirror, front to back, searching.

  Searching for the same mark my father sought to find.

  I swallowed.

  But there was nothing to be found. No magical trace that would indicate my lineage.

  Relieved, I dressed and stumbled out of the bathroom, still thinking over the dream.

  Mother had managed to convince Armand I wasn’t his, at least initially. She must have really hated him. Or feared him.

  I recalled his thoughts on repaying his debt, and his musings on if a girl would suffice. If Mother had guessed his full intentions, it was no wonder she hid us!

  My head hurt worse than usual and the remnants of last night’s fever hung around like an unwelcome guest. The final globe had not released me from the curse. I was still weakened and vulnerable, and still didn’t have any real answers.

  I’d seen what was in my father’s heart. Knowing that he could be out there in the world somewhere strengthened my resolve to protect my son––Armand’s only male heir.

  But I would not let him get to us. I would reclaim myself, becoming the most powerful witch that ever walked. Not even Armand would mess with me. Curse or no curse, nothing would get to Montana.

  I shut out all worries of failure as I returned to my bedroom. But as I passed Eve’s open door, I stopped.

  My eyes flickered to the vial of blue oil on her vanity. And the vial of crimson oil beside it.

  Magickal Vanishing Oil, and... Magickal Reappearing Oil.

  I slipped inside Eve’s empty room, locking the door and undressing again. I dabbed the reappearing oil where witch’s marks were usually located: wrists, ankles, hips, behind the ears and knees. I turned and twisted in my sister’s full length mirror, testing for any suspicious markings. Nothing changed.

  I was about to give up when I felt the skin on my lower thigh tingle, sending cool shivers up my leg. I trembled while I waited. Then, slowly, a dime sized mark showed itself to me.

  A butterfly.

 
“Oh, God.” I stumbled backwards, thumping into the railing of Eve’s bed.

  Mother hadn’t gotten pregnant by Armand’s fertility spell.

  But Jillian had.

  I could hardly catch my breath. I leaned forward, hyperventilating.

  I’d been hidden in plain sight.

  The woman I’d thought was my mother my entire life didn’t share my blood. And the woman who I thought was my friend had given birth to me.

  I cried into my hands. Nothing made sense, but at the same time everything made sense.

  Maybe I’d known it all along.

  Jillian wasn’t strong enough to protect me from Armand. But Sasha was.

  I SAT ACROSS from Jillian on the bare stone floor, staring into her clover green eyes. Neither of us spoke. The air outside the solitary shelter in the glen was calm and serene. A white butterfly flitted in, perching on the windowsill, just as before.

  Jillian’s eyes were soulful, her mouth an unreadable straight line, her energy measured and controlled. “I’m sorry you found out this way,” she said simply.

  Her narrow shoulders fell and her mouth followed. She waited for me, waited to see how things had changed between us.

  “I’m sorry I missed having you as my mother,” I said back. A tear slid down my cheek, and then another. I didn’t wipe them away. This was an honest moment between us, one of the few we’d ever exchanged.

  Jillian began crying too. Her tears kept coming until her face was damp. “Maggie, you don’t know how hard it was. But I couldn’t give you the life you needed. I couldn’t give you a safe life.

  “Once we learned that Armand promised his male first heir to the...” She shivered and looked quickly away. “I didn’t know then, when we were together. I promise I didn’t know.” She dabbed at her eyes and sucked in a breath. “You weren’t a boy, but we couldn’t risk it. I didn’t have Sasha’s bracelet, and at the time my abilities weren’t as honed. I was no match for your father in my youth. I thought it through a million times. It was the only way.”

  “You could have taken me and we could have hidden together,” I began. My mind reeled with the possibilities.