I paused, wondering if I should tell her the truth.
“Auntie,” I said slowly, knowing this was a delicate subject. “I know my father is Armand from the original Council.”
Aunt Dora sat up straight as a board, dropping her napkin into her lap. “And?”
“I am going to find him.”
Aunt Dora pushed herself away from the table so violently her plate crashed to the floor, causing tiny shards of ivory mixed with lasagna to spill across the linoleum. Her normally soft eyes flashed red with anger.
“Find him? After what he did?” Aunt Dora’s hands balled into fists. She picked up her cup and threw it across the room, where it broke into a hundred pieces.
I sat in my chair, afraid to look up or down.
“He didn’t really do anything,” I began defensively. “True, he tried to summon, but from what I understand––”
“Dat’s da problem. Ya don’ understand anything!” Aunt Dora snapped. “Dat man ne’er cared about anybody but himself!” Her eyes were fixed on me, her gaze cold. At last, she turned and walked into the living room, her feet crunching on the porcelain from her coffee cup as she left.
“Mark my words, Maggie,” she muttered angrily. “He won’ care about ya. Only yer powers...”
I had never been chastised by my aunt in my life, and I sat there dumbly, unsure of what to do. Finally, I took a wad of dish cloths from a kitchen drawer and got to work cleaning up the mess. It took me an hour, but I was going purposefully slow, waiting for Aunt Dora to fall asleep in her recliner before tip-toeing past her, and into my room.
As I opened the door I sensed a presence inside.
I caught a glimpse of it in my peripheral, a small dark shape lurking in the corner. I walked past it and flung myself into bed, not bothering to switch on the light.
“Please go away,” I said to it, exhausted. “If you want to play tomorrow, that’s fine. But I can’t do this tonight.”
I felt a lightness in the room as my mind faded to black.
“A week ago, you’re telling me you’re thinking about staying, now you want to leave again?” Shane was bent over, wrestling with the legs of a fold out card table he was trying to set up in front of Mother’s store.
Tomorrow was Halloween, the official opening of Haunted Dark Root, and Shane insisted we give early visitors a taste of what was to come. Apparently, this included Eve and I giving free ten minute Tarot Card readings on Main Street.
Eve had finished her shift. She was a natural, telling people exactly what they wanted to hear. ‘Of course you are going to get that raise...’ ‘You just need to put a little vanilla behind your ear, then he will come running after you...’
She then sent them on their way, giddy and excited, and vowing to come back the following day for the main event. I wasn’t sure I could follow that act.
“I need to find my father,” I said, as I carried a chair from Mother’s shop onto the sidewalk.
Shane had arranged my stand so that I would be in clear view of pedestrians, without blocking the walkway. I removed a new deck of tarot cards, shuffled them, and placed them face down on the table.
“I won’t be gone forever,” I added.
“But, isn’t he dangerous? Are you sure that going after him is a good idea?”
Shane stood over me, dressed in tight jeans, boots, a button-down, plaid shirt, and his now-famous cowboy hat. I half-expected to see a lasso or a bull whip in his free hand. Whenever someone passed by he tipped his hat and smiled, pointing out all the fine amenities that Dark Root had to offer.
I had to hand it to him; he was a natural at public relations.
“I appreciate the concern but I’ll be fine,” I said.
“I’m not gonna try and stop you. If I had a chance to see my father, I’d take it.” Shane took a drink of water from the Dixie cup on my table. “I just want you to be aware how much you’ve done for this town.”
“Me?” I said, noticing that a group was already beginning to assemble at my table for their free readings.
I had never done a Tarot Card reading in my life, but I had seen my mother do enough of them to at least fake it.
“I’ve done practically nothing,” I protested. “It’s you guys who have made the difference.”
“Are you kidding me?” Shane removed his hat and ran his fingers through his floppy brown hair. He returned the hat to his head. “People don’t come here to see me. They come for this. They come...” he added, reaching into a large paper sack and pulling out a shiny, black, witch’s hat. I shook my head violently as he placed it on me, pulling it down around my ears. “...To see Maggie Maddock and The Witches of Dark Root.”
Shane looked to the crowd, raising his hands and encouraging them to applaud for me. I shot him a look that said he was in big trouble later.
“He’s right,” Eve said, looking up and down the street for the delivery man who was supposed to bring the candles for the lighting ceremony. “They come to see the women.”
Shane propped a sign against my table that read FREE and the crowd grew larger.
I sighed, realizing I was going to be trapped here all afternoon.
“Are you done?” I asked. “Looks like I have work to do.”
“Not yet,” he said. Shane stepped back into the store and returned with an old-fashioned broom. He set it next to my table, framed the picture with his hands, and nodded approvingly. “...Now we’re done.” He dusted the corner of the table with his fingers and whispered, “Just think about staying. It would mean a lot to...us.”
Then he crossed the street and headed for Dip Stix, maneuvering through the steady stream of pedestrian traffic.
“So,” a voice at the front of the line said. “Are you going to read my cards, or what?”
I nodded absently, pointing to an empty chair across from me. I shuffled the deck until my hands tingled, my sign that it was time to stop.
“Tell me what you would like to know,” I said, laying the cards out in a line, face down on the table. “Then pick three: one for your past, one for your present, and one for your future.”
“I want to know how your mother’s doing.”
The voice was low, taunting and sarcastic.
I raised my eyes, peeking out from under the long brim of the witch’s hat.
Leah.
The world spun and I searched the street and the nearby windows for Eve or Shane. Neither were in sight. I clenched the edge of the table with my hands, steadying myself.
Leah regarded me coolly, that same smug look I remembered pasted on her pinched face.
I took a deep breath, fighting back the urge to reach across the table and grab her. There were families watching with small children. I couldn’t lose it now, no matter what she deserved.
“What are you doing here?” I said.
Leah smirked, her glasses threatening to slide off her stub of a nose. “Oh, I was out and about,” she smiled sweetly. “I thought I’d pay a call on some old friends.”
“I'm not your friend.” I could feel my lips twist into a snarl.
“Give me my reading or I’m complaining to management.” Leah flipped over her first card: The Hermit.
“Too bad there’s not a weasel card,” I said, refusing to be rattled. The table shivered, betraying my calm face. “You’d better go. You saw what happened the last time I lost my temper...”
Leah tilted her head back to laugh, placing a hand on her chest.
“The candle trick?” she said scornfully. “Please. Level Two Magick, at best. You’re nothing more than a neophyte when it comes to casting. My daddy could do that in his sleep.” Leah licked her lips, flipping over the second card: The Devil. “Oh, I meant our daddy. He was a pretty neat guy. Too bad you never got to know him.”
My fingers dug into the table. “That’s about to change,” I said, flipping over the last card: Death. I pushed the card in her direction. “...I'm going to find him.”
“Good luck with that.�
�� Leah picked up the card, raised an eyebrow, then tore it in two. “He died a few years ago. Or hadn’t you heard? I guess your psychic friend doesn’t know everything, does she?”
“Jillian?” My eyes widened. “How do you know about her?”
Leah leaned back in her chair, that smug smile back on her face. “I know many things, Magdalene.”
“You’re a liar,” I snapped, my eyes darting around to see who was watching...and listening. My father wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. Not before I got to meet him. “My father sent you to Woodhaven to find me. That’s why you were there,” I said.
Leah snorted. “What an active imagination you have. You still think everything is about you. Woodhaven. Dark Root. Michael. Daddy.” Leah removed her glasses, wiping them with the hem of her shirt before she put them back on. “Daddy’s dead. And your mother may be joining him shortly.”
I’d had enough.
I stood, knocking my chair back. I reached for her then noticed a little girl about June Bug’s age watching me.
“Reading’s over,” I said instead, squeezing my hands into fists. “And if you ever come near my mother, or anyone else in my family again, you will be sorry.”
Leah rose, placing her hands on the table as she leaned forward, her mouth inches from my ear. “Daddy didn’t send me. My mother did. Your family is in possession of an artifact that belongs to us...”
“Artifact?” I said, genuinely baffled that time. “What artifact?”
Leah paused, as if deciding how much to tell me. A smile cracked her thin lips.
“I tried to break the old hag first,” she said. “But she was more stubborn then I realized. I almost got her to confess to its whereabouts, but she was stronger than the tea I gave her. She just kept saying your name. So...” Leah tilted her head to the side “...I went after you, instead.”
“I knew it!” I snapped. “You are the reason she got sick! What else did you use besides the jimson weed?” I put my hands over hers, digging my nails into her flesh.
Leah flinched, but didn’t pull away.
“Enchantments are my specialty.”
I looked around me again for Shane or Eve. Still no sight of either of them. I moved my fingers from Leah’s hands to her wrists, squeezing them tightly, holding her captive.
“What sort of enchantment did you use? And what’s the elixir?”
“A little something I learned from your mother’s book.” Leah smiled like a cat who had finally caught its mouse.
At first, I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but then I understood.
“The missing pages in Mother’s book. You took the spell and the anti-spell!”
“I learned so much from that little book.” Leah’s eyes sparkled, zeroing in on the crystal around my neck. “I learned about love. That was fun. Watching that pathetic little man of yours run around like a chicken with his head cut off, doing my bidding...”
She licked her lips, then sighed dramatically.
“...I never counted on you leaving,” she said. “I honestly thought you’d stick around, put up a fight, and then give me what I was looking for in trade for your...boyfriend. And he was, shall we say, useful to me for a while.”
Leah pulled her hands free, letting her words sink in.
My heart stopped as I put it all together.
She had been able to cast a spell on Michael just as easily as Eve had. Without thinking, I swung my hand back and slapped her, sending her head jerking in the opposite direction. I heard someone in the crowd gasp, but I didn’t care. I was beyond caring.
“I suggest you stop,” Leah growled, taking a step back beyond my reach. “Wilder.”
“Or what?” I asked, ready to charge her.
“Or else, you will never get the anti-spell.” Leah smiled, her ferret eyes gleaming, knowing that she had me cornered. “I’ll return tomorrow and trade you the artifact for the anti-spell.”
She placed a dollar on the table and backed away.
I could chase her, I thought.
Beat her to a pulp and demand the page back from my mother’s spell book. But my plan could backfire and I might never get the anti-spell. Besides, there were families everywhere and we had worked too hard for me to blow it now. I would just have to play along.
“What is this artifact I’m supposed to bring?” I called to her.
“The circle,” she said. “I will find you tomorrow night, before the lighting ceremony.”
Leah slipped into the crowd then, disappearing.
A plump woman with gray hair took her seat at the table. “Great performance!” she beamed. “It all seemed so real!”
“Thank you,” I said, absently. “All part of the show.”
Twenty-Seven: American Pie
Dark Root, Oregon
November 1, 2002
The sun whittled its way through the branches and shone like a spotlight on the worn out path that Maggie and her family walked along. The first of November marked the passing of the Light Half of the year and the beginning of the Dark Half. It was tradition for Miss Sasha and her daughters to make one final pilgrimage into the woods on this day to take stock of what they had learned and plan for the winter to come.
When the girls were young, it was a fun event, almost like a camping excursion. There would be stories told and even marshmallows roasted as they huddled around the fire and listened to the wildlife.
But the girls were growing up now and the feeling was different. It had been several years since Ruth Anne had left and now Merry was saying she was going too, as soon as she turned eighteen. Even the steady crunch of brown leaves beneath Maggie’s feet couldn’t lighten her mood. There was a cavity in her head and heart that no amount of her mother’s banter could fill.
Maggie bent down to retrieve a leaf, so brown it was almost black. She crumbled it in her palm, letting the small bits sift through the cracks in her fingers. A wind blew, catching the fragments and sending them spiraling back into the woods. An owl hooted from one of the newly bare branches but Maggie didn’t jump.
She wasn’t scared anymore. Not of owls, or witchery. The only things she really feared were the dark and the feeling of loss, and she vowed to steer clear of both of them.
“Right here, girls,” her mother said, removing her black pointy hat.
She only wore the costume on two occasions, during Halloween and the day after, when they gathered as a family for communion. The girls had once joined their mother in dressing up, as well, but this year they trudged along in worn blue jeans and sweaters that had seen better days.
Maggie took a seat on the gray rock her mother had designated as her spot, situating herself so that the sharp angles of the stone didn’t cut her skin. Merry and Eve took seats next to her and the three faced their mother with somber eyes while their long hair whipped out around them. Merry eventually tucked the ends of her hair under her bottom, but Eve and Maggie let theirs fly.
Miss Sasha didn’t seem to notice how miserable the girls were, or if she did, she pretended not to. Instead she reached into a paper sack and passed around finger sandwiches, keeping one for herself. A cloud moved in front of the sun and she peered at the sky, a look that said she knew time here with her daughters was growing short.
“What was your favorite part of the festival?” she asked Merry as she removed the wrapping from her sandwich.
In the old days, Merry would say the candy apples or the haunted houses or something equally spooky and fun. This year Merry shrugged and said nothing.
“Eve?” Miss Sasha shifted her gaze to her youngest daughter.
“When it was all over,” Eve replied, cracking a near smile.
Their mother was undaunted and continued on to Maggie.
“I liked our float this year. It was nice.”
Maggie could feel her sisters’ stares turn to her.
Their ‘float’ was a ramshackle cart, haphazardly decorated with marigolds and leaves. It was the saddest float the girls had e
ver seen and Maggie had heard people laugh as it rolled through town. But Miss Sasha still sat at the head of it, waving her arms and smiling to the small assembly of people who had come.
Mother was losing not only her Magick, Maggie realized, but also her mind. And though Maggie was angry with her mother for many reasons, she couldn’t stand to see the one quality in her mother she had always admired slip away––pride.
“The decorations were nice, too,” she added for good measure.
“That’s marvelous, Maggie. And thank you. I worked very hard this year.” Miss Sasha paused, licking her lips. “Maybe we could work together on one next year. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Maggie swallowed, wanting to cry. By next year, Merry would be gone.
“I don’t think I want to be involved in the festival anymore.” Maggie looked at her lap, surprised by her words. She was used to arguing with her mother, but this plain truthful confession made her feel very exposed.
“I'm not sure what you mean, dear,” her mother said, taking another bite of her sandwich.
Maggie couldn’t tell if she was genuinely confused or just playing one of her games.
“Our sister left,” Maggie said, careful not to mention Ruth Anne’s name. “Aunt Dora hardly comes around anymore. And now Merry’s leaving. The festival gets fewer visitors every year. We aren’t The Witches of Dark Root anymore. We are just...” Maggie choked, trying to get out the last embarrassing word. “...jokes.”
“I didn’t raise you like that,” her mother snapped, her voice as cutting as the winds.
“None of this is real.” Maggie shook her head, hoping to catch her mother in one of her few lucid moments. “Witchery isn’t real.”
“You can’t mean that!” Miss Sasha said. “After all you’ve seen?”
“Even if I did think that it was real, what use is it?” Maggie said. “I want a normal life, with a normal family.” She bowed her head, burying her face in her hands. Surely, her mother had to understand. She bit her lip so that she wouldn’t cry, then faced her mother again.
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