“Where are you going?”
“Maggie,” she smiled. “I haven’t told many people, but I will tell you. I'm going to be a grandmother soon! I need to get ready for the birth of my first grandson.” She clicked a button on her computer and it powered off. “I was going to leave a few days ago, but when I got your call, I decided to wait. You are officially my last client.”
“Thank you,” I said gratefully, then added, “...And congratulations!”
“Now, what brings you to my neck of the woods, my dear?”
I told her the entire story of how my sisters and I had captured Gahabrien and put him in a jar. Jillian listened intently, nodding from time to time. I concluded the story by telling her that the being was now being stored at Harvest Home, locked in a closet, and I wasn’t sure where to go from there.
“Oh, Maggie,” she said, her green eyes amused. “You shouldn’t go trapping goblins if you don’t know what to do with them!”
She threw her head back and let out a musical laugh, though I didn’t understand why, because the story didn’t seem funny to me at all.
“Well,” she said, taking a pair of glasses out of her desk drawer and popping them onto her nose. “I get the feeling you’ve weakened it, anyway. Gahabrien never could stand up to a real challenge. How did you know to use glass?”
“Intuition, I guess.”
“He hasn’t given up, of course. But it’s a pretty safe bet that as long as he is inside both your crystal owl and the mason jar, he isn’t going to be going anywhere. But you must relocate him. Someplace where no one might accidentally stumble upon him, okay?”
Jillian reached beneath her blazer and pulled out a cross on a chain. “Take this and put it around the jar before you hide it. It will help to keep him sealed.”
“But why a cross? Especially if he isn’t really a demon?”
“The symbol of the cross predates Christianity. It has been used since the dawn of civilization as a means of keeping the dark at bay.”
“So, it’s powerful?” I took the chain and felt the weight of it in my hand.
“Symbolism, like any form of Magick, is reliant on a collective belief system. So, in this case, yes. Against Gahabrien and lower minions like him, the cross will be very effective.”
I put the chain in my purse. “Thank you.”
“Speaking of symbolism,” Jillian continued, as she studied me. “I find it interesting that you used a glass owl to capture the thing in the first place.”
“It was in my mother’s shop and I took it home. Aunt Dora said it’s my totem.”
Jillian smiled when I spoke my aunt’s name. “Yes. I would never doubt Dora’s abilities to name someone’s totem. She has a strong link to the animal world. Did you know...” Jillian raised the finger with the large diamond on it, twirling it at me. “...That owls were revered in some ancient cultures, as the guardians of the underworld? They helped transport souls from this realm to the next. How fitting that the owl is your totem.”
“I don’t think I like that,” I said, shifting in my chair. Why did every conversation about my magical abilities always turn to dead things? “I was just thinking it was because I was wise.”
“Maggie, some day you will embrace your gifts. For now...” Jillian tilted her head and her green eyes shone prettily in the light. “...You just have to accept them.”
“Thank you...I guess,” I said. “There is something else.”
I removed the picture of Leah from my purse and slid it across the desk, not wanting to touch it any more than I had to.
“Can you get a read on the woman in this photo?” I said. “Her name is Leah. I knew her and I just found out she was working for my mother. I think she’s somehow tied to Mother’s sudden illness.”
I tried to appear calm, but there was a burning in the pit of my stomach as I asked the question. I sat, quietly waiting for Jillian’s verdict.
“You’re not going to like this,” Jillian said, after studying the picture for several minutes.
My heart was racing, wondering what she was about to say. “Go on.”
“She is Larinda’s daughter. And...” Jillian stopped mid-sentence, her eyes flickering off to the side. “...Well, let me just preface it by saying that what you are about to hear is going to be difficult. You and Leah share the same father. So that makes her your...”
“No.” My mouth went dry. I had three sisters, I didn’t need another––especially one like Leah. Psychics weren't always right, and for all I knew, Jillian might be some nut job. I mean, who else laughs about exorcisms?
I shook my head, contemplating getting up and walking out the door without a word.
Jillian nodded sympathetically. “I’m sorry. There is no way to soften this. And the quicker you knew the better. The girl in this photo has a very bad energy. Like rotten milk.”
I sat blinking in my chair, wringing my hands, wishing I had never found the picture. Leah and I couldn’t have the same blood. It was impossible. But I had to ask.
“Jillian, who is my father?” I said.
She pressed her lips together, as if she had said too much, but she answered. “He was a powerful warlock named Armand. He was a member of the original council.”
The pieces were arranging themselves in my head. “He was the warlock who tried to summon a demon?”
“Yes.” Jillian smiled softly and patted my hand. “We lost a great power when he went dark.”
“My mother banished our father from the Council, without even trying to save him?” I couldn't believe it. We had the opportunity to know our father, and our mother had taken that from us. If Armand had gotten the chance to know his daughters, he might have turned out differently.
We might have turned out differently.
“Now, before you go blaming Sasha, there is something you should know.” Jillian leaned in, cupping her hands in mine. “Your mother was trying to protect you...protect all of us. She could see the circle breaking and you girls were the only means she had of protecting it.”
“The spells around Dark Root,” I said, remembering what Aunt Dora had told me.
“That is one circle, yes. And so much hinges on Dark Root staying a stronghold. The world as we know it is changing. Some...” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “...Some would even say it’s ending. The town you live in, is...was...a small point of light in a dark world. And Sasha foresaw it all slipping away, if she lost you to your father...”
“Even if everything you say is true, that still doesn't change the fact she kept us from him.”
I was close to crying. I stood and walked to the bathroom. I splashed water across my face and took a sip by dipping my head and mouth beneath the faucet. Returning, I paced around the chair, not wanting to believe what she was telling me.
“Dear,” Jillian said, rising. “Your father wanted to use your talents to further his own goals. He and Larinda didn’t care anything about the rest of the world. They knew the end was coming, and all they were concerned about was protecting their own. That’s probably why they went and had a baby of their own, hoping for someone with even half of your abilities. But I’m guessing that didn’t work out, or Larinda wouldn’t have gone after you or Miss Sasha.”
“My mother is the most selfish person I’ve ever met,” I said. “She wouldn’t care what happens to the world!”
“Stubborn, yes. Misguided, yes. Selfish, no,” Jillian said, her words warning. “As long as there is light in this world, however small, the end will not come. Do you think that lighting ceremony every October thirty-first was just for show? No. It was a symbol...a sign to The Universe that there were still enough people on this planet willing to band together and fight back whatever dark things are thrown at it. There is power in words, and in numbers.”
Jillian’s tone had grown terse. She caught herself and took a deep breath.
“If Armand and the others remained in the Council,” she added. “Miss Sasha knew that light wouldn't la
st long. Your mother is a good woman, Maggie, just not in the traditional sense.”
“So, why did you leave? Why didn’t you stay and help?”
“I was called to do other things. When spirit knocks, I answer.”
I put my hands in my face and cried. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. Leah was my half-sister and some crazy demon summoner was my father. I wanted to hit something, kick something, scream. I hated Jillian for telling me this. And I hated Aunt Dora and my mother for keeping it from me.
“Maggie,” Jillian said softly, peeling my hands away from my face. “I know this is hard to digest, but you must be strong. As I’ve told you before, your mother is depending on you.”
I sniffled and accepted the Kleenex she offered me. “But why me? Why does everyone keep acting like I can make some sort of difference?”
“Because, Maggie, no matter what you call yourself––witch, wilder, magician, prophetess––you are a woman of great power. As you grow, so will your abilities.”
Jillian lifted a piece of my hair, looped it around her finger, and smiled.
“I don’t want to...I can’t...” I said. If the world really was going to end, maybe Larinda and Armand––my father––had the right idea. Forget everyone else and take care of yourself.
“You are loved, more than you know, Maggie Mae.” Jillian pulled me close then wrapped her arms around me. I wept on her shoulder as she patted my back.
“What can I do?” I asked, still feeling sorry for myself.
“For starters, finish what you’ve begun in Dark Root. And remember, light begets light, dark begets dark. Every action moves you in a direction.”
I nodded and gave her a final hug. “Please call me after you move. I need you.”
“I need you too, Maggie. We all do.”
I left her office in a state of post-traumatic stress.
I was embarrassed for Shane to see me like this and I immediately pulled my hair over my face. He got out of the truck and ran to me, taking me in his arms. I was about to tell him everything that Jillian said, but he shushed me, kissing me on the forehead.
“It’s okay, Maggie. Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”
I wanted to believe him but I couldn’t.
Not only was the circle breaking, the whole world was breaking. And for some crazy reason, everyone thought I could put it back together.
Shane led me to the passenger seat and even let me pick out the music on the way home. But all I wanted to listen to was track thirteen on his Steve Miller Band CD––‘Fly Like an Eagle.’
Twenty-Six: Runnin’ with the Devil
I spent the next two days locked up in Harvest Home, eating ice cream and watching old TV shows with Aunt Dora.
I knew what Jillian had told me was true, that my mother had banished my father and that I had a horrible half-sister somewhere––Leah. I knew that Jillian was also correct about another thing; Saving Dark Root would somehow save my mother. I was angry at my mother and wanted to resist, but I also loved her. Why couldn't my heart ever make up its mind?
As I was having coffee in my bedroom early on the third morning––and feeling quite sorry for myself––I caught sight of a flock of ravens outside my window, gathering on and around the stone table in the garden. I regarded the way they cawed and pumped their wings, aiming their beaks into the sky like arrows seeking out the last slivers of sunlight before the long winter ahead.
“Caw!” they screeched, ignoring the approaching darkness. “Live for today! Live for today!”
I put my coffee cup down.
The birds were right. Pining for a life I couldn’t have wasn’t going to change anything. I had friends and family here who needed me right now.
I took a shower, got dressed, and headed back out into the world.
For the next week, I took to walking the mile-and-a-half path between Harvest Home and Sister House, pouncing on leaves and picking wildflowers along the way. That time alone with just nature and my thoughts rejuvenated me in a way that sleeping all day never could.
“You’re definitely a Fall girl, Maggie,” Shane said one day, as I crunched every leaf on the driveway up to Sister House.
He and Paul had had been patching and repairing the gate, the shutters, and the porch while Merry and Eve attended to the inside of the house. I agreed with him, offering him and Paul sandwiches and iced tea from Aunt Dora’s kitchen. That is how I spent my afternoons: trading jokes, handing out tools, and pointing out the spots that they had missed.
Shane threatened to take the leaf blower after me, if I didn’t mind my manners. I threatened him back with an old Weed Eater. We were at a stalemate.
When each day’s work was done, I would rush for the old swing in the back, where Merry, Eve and I used to take turns as Ruth Anne sailed us into the stratosphere. Now it was my own legs that propelled me forward, and I soared higher and higher, feeling the glint of sun between the long tree boughs touching my face.
Once I soared so high that my legs threatened to go over my head.
I panicked and hurled myself to the ground, crying out as I hit the earth.
Within seconds, Shane was beside me, pulling me up, wiping the dirt from my knees and asking if I was okay. He gave me a ride back to Harvest Home and the two of us sat in the cab of his truck, listening to music and not saying a word.
And it was good.
“I dun know what ta make o’ ya, Miss Maggie,” Aunt Dora said.
It was two days before the festival and we were digging in her garden, picking out the best pumpkins to use for the event.
“...Yer up and den yer down. Yer like a see-saw.”
I lifted a deep orange pumpkin from the ground and carefully cut the vine with the rusty garden scissors she had given me. I dusted it off, then set it in the crate behind us.
“It’s just hard for me to believe that there is darkness in the world, when there are days like this.” I surveyed the patch. We had taken most every pumpkin except for a few small ones.
“Maggie, e’erything runs in cycles,” Aunt Dora said, removing one of her gloves. “Ders good, den ders bad. Ders light, den ders dark. We can plant all da gardens we like, but da winter will come. Dats why we got ta harvest while we can.” She stopped her work to study me, the lines around her eyes deepening. “I guess ye’ll be gone by da time da winter comes?”
Aunt Dora had been like a second mom to me and knew me better than even my real mother.
I was still planning on leaving when the festival was over and Mother was back at home, but not because I hated Dark Root.
I needed to find my father. I needed to find my roots.
“I am going to miss this place,” I admitted, sitting on my knees and looking around the property. The backyard was vast, un-gated. If left untended, it would become part of the forest that surrounded it. Being out here, especially in the company of my aunt, filled me with a contentment I never knew I had.
“It’s goin’ ta be a shame ta see dis place go,” Aunt Dora said, struggling to get to her feet.
It took a while and I resisted the urge to help her up, because I knew she wouldn’t want me to.
“Maybe you could buy it?” I suggested.
Aunt Dora had said that Harvest Home would be put up for sale in the new year. A few people from ‘the city’ had already expressed an interest in purchasing it, when it went to market. I frowned. I couldn’t imagine Harvest Home belonging to some stranger.
“No, dearie. I don’ have dat kin’ a’ money. Besides...” She put a palm to her hip and I knew that it ached. “I’m too ol’ ta be runnin’ dis big ol’ house alone.”
Aunt Dora groaned, shielding her eyes from the setting sun as she headed back inside.
When she was gone, I went to the porch and retrieved the tote bag I had hidden under a bench. Checking to make sure I was still alone, I headed back to the garden, to a spot on the far end that got little sun. I took a spade and dug a deep hole, then removed the mas
on jar from my bag. I placed the jar in the bottom of the hole.
“Rest well, Gahabrien,” I said, tossing Jillian’s cross into the hole as well. I then covered them both with dirt.
It was odd, finally burying him. He was connected to both my childhood and my childhood fears, but pouring that dirt over the top of him wasn’t as liberating as it should have been.
Instead, I just felt...sad.
“Where will you go when it sells?” I said, continuing the conversation with my aunt as I entered through the back door, wiping the dirt from my shoes and tossing the tote bag into the trash bin. There was something baking in the oven and the scent of it made my mouth water.
I washed my hands then set the table the table for two. Shane was on a supply run, Eve and Paul were hanging out and Merry and June Bug were at the hospital.
It was just me and Aunt Dora tonight.
“I s’pose ders a house fer ol’ witches somewhere,” she laughed, putting on her mitts and removing a baking dish from the oven. “Dis turned out better dan I expected.” She placed the pan on a trivet and removed the foil, revealing the most beautiful lasagna I had ever seen.
I took a large piece, promising myself I would start dieting tomorrow.
“I hope whoever buys this place will love it like we do,” I said, adding a helping of sliced garden tomatoes to my plate and covering them in Italian dressing.
“I do, too,” Aunt Dora replied wistfully, dabbing the napkin to her chin. “I’m sorry ya aren’t stayin’. Havin’ ya back has done so much fer me...an’ fer e’eryone.”
I blushed, but knew she was just flattering me. It was the others who had transformed this town. I was just along for the ride.
“Ya could stay an’ help Merry wit yer mother at Sister House,” Aunt Dora said hopefully. “Be a shame ta let all dose rooms be empty.”
“I can’t,” I said, finishing off my first piece of lasagna. It was even better than it smelled. “There are things I need to do.”
“What kin’ o’ things do ya need ta do?” Aunt Dora held a forkful of lasagna to her lips, not opening her mouth.
The Witches of Dark Root Page 29
