“Yes, yes,” Merry agreed absently, though she had little idea what she was agreeing to. She knew that if she wanted to keep in her Aunt’s good graces, it wasn’t the time to argue with her, or even to ask questions.
“Girls!” Aunt Dora hollered through the alcove that separated the quaint kitchen from the main room. “The first pie has cooled!”
Almost immediately, Ruth Anne showed up and snatched the apple pie, fending off Maggie on her way back to the living room.
“That’ll tide ‘em o’er till dinner,” Aunt Dora stated firmly and to no one in particular, as she looked at the deep copper pot on the stove that simmered with potato soup.
“I wish I could help our mother,” Merry said, drawing hearts in the flour with her pinky finger. “We even decorated the house for the holidays. Then she said Christmas was cancelled!”
“She did, huh?”
“Yes. I don’t know what to do. She gets this way every December, but this year’s the worst and I think she’s serious.”
Aunt Dora nodded, wiping her white hands on the blue-checked apron that matched the curtains hanging over the stove. “She didn’t used ta be like that, but ever since …”
Merry lifted her head. “Ever since what?”
“Ah, ne’ermind that.” Her aunt waved her hand, sending more flour into the air. “Was a time ago. But I thought havin’ ya girls would help, seein’ as how ya and Evie were born around Christmas. But no, I think it just made it worse.”
Merry folded her hands thoughtfully in front of her. “We made it worse?”
“I got a big mouth. An’ that wasn’t what I meant. Let’s just say she’s always had a hard time with Christmas. And as she’s getting’ older, I think she’s startin’ ta see how it could all end.”
Chewing on her lip, Merry puzzled over her aunt’s words.
She would have questioned her more but Starlight’s head popped out of the basket in the corner of the kitchen, where he had been sleeping beneath a dish towel since their arrival. He hooted to get her attention and Merry laughed.
“Ya got an owl!” Aunt Dora dropped her rolling pin to inspect her surprise guest. “Oh, isn’t he pretty? Owls are great familiars. He’ll make ya as smart as Ruth Anne.” She winked and put her balled fists into her wide hips, shaking her head as if she’d never seen such a thing.
“So it is a boy! How can you tell?”
Aunt Dora let out a hearty laugh, followed by a choking cough. “This one’s a warlock if I e’er saw one! Sasha lettin’ ya keep it?”
“Mama doesn’t know. Please don’t say anything. He’s sick. That’s the reason I wanted to talk to you.”
“Sick?” Aunt Dora’s excessive gray brows folded down over her sharp blue eyes as she made her way to Starlight.
He cowered into the corner of the basket, but then seemed to understand that she was a friend. Swiveling his head, he blinked slowly at Merry, then hopped into Aunt Dora’s outstretched hands
“Let’s have a looksee,” she said, setting the owl on the table. With one hand cupped softly behind his back, she lifted his wings and looked him over.
“What’s wrong with him?” Merry asked anxiously.
“He’s sick. Ya were right about that. Nothin’ like I seen before, either.”
“Is it a curse?”
“I don’t think so. Not one from this realm anyway. But it does feel…” She scratched her chin. “…foreign.”
Merry took a deep breath. “Can you fix him, Aunt Dora? There’s no one else.”
Aunt Dora squared her broad shoulders. “Yer mother could, had she the inclination or the mental capacity. Larinda could, but…”
“Larinda? The witch Mama banished?”
“Aye. Her cousin.”
“But she’s not a healer!”
“All strong witches have one toe in the healin’ arts, and she was one o’ the strongest I knew.”
“Then maybe...” Merry’s mind wandered, remembering her encounter the day before. Perhaps Larinda had come to assist rather than the harm the owl.
“Larinda’s gone, Luv. Banished. Or worse. Even so, ya wouldn’t want to deal with the likes o’ her. She might help ya at first, but there will be a cost. There’s always a cost.”
Aunt Dora went to her old gas stove and fired up the burner under a tea kettle.
Next, she rummaged through her cupboards, using a footstool to reach the higher shelves, and produced stems and leaves of various kinds. She pulled at some of the ingredients and twined others, dropping them into a small silver bowl on the counter. Looking again at Starlight, she grabbed several more sprigs and crumbled them between her fingers.
“Frankincense for health and sandalwood for relaxation,” she muttered, adding them to the bowl.
She sprinkled a little of her mixture onto a saucer and poured hot water over it from the tea kettle now whistling atop the stove. Finally, she blew on the liquid, then stirred it three times before clanking the spoon against the saucer and announcing, “It’s done.” Looking at Merry, she asked, “What have ya been feedin’ him?”
Merry blushed. “I found some old baby food Mama had canned for Eve in the basement.”
“Tsk, tsk. Owls are meat eaters. Hunters. They needs mice. Maybe that’s why he’s sick.” She surveyed Starlight again. “Although I can’t speak fer this one. He seems gentler.”
“I’ve given him bugs too, but it’s so gross.” Merry shivered, trying to hold back the memory of the beetle she fed him earlier that day.
“Well, let’s see what we can do with what we got.”
Merry cooled Aunt Dora’s brew with her breath, adding in some extra healing wishes, then dipped her finger into the bowl and placed the drop to Starlight’s beak. He tilted his beak and lapped it up. She repeated the process and soon the owl’s eyes were wider and clearer. His dark aura brightened as well.
“You did it!” Merry said, grinning at her aunt.
“It won’t hold fer long,” Aunt Dora warned. “But it will give him time and maybe that’s all he needs. Make this fer him e’ery four hours. An’ stop feedin’ him baby food! Crickets, beetles, and moths only!” She gathered up the remaining herbs and put them in a mesh cloth. She tied it with silk ribbon, and handed it over to Merry. “Wish I could help ya more, luv, but I don’t have yer talent for healin’ animals. Keep practicin’. Someday you’ll be able to mend anything with four legs or two wings.”
“I hope so.” Merry gave her aunt a kiss on the cheek, bundled her owl up in the basket, and called for her sisters to return home.
BY THE TIME they left Harvest Home, buried under boxes of pies and containers of soup, it had darkened considerably and the temperature had dropped by at least ten degrees. The wind continued its assault, calling out like wild dogs as the girls tramped home.
Merry let the others run ahead while she meandered behind, so as not to jostle her sleeping familiar. Starlight seemed to be doing better, his breathing a steady hum of peaceful tranquility as she strolled along, and she wanted him to rest while Aunt Dora’s tea took effect.
The moon was barely visible beneath the sheet of gray clouds that covered the night sky, but Merry didn’t pull out her flashlight. She, like her sisters, knew her way home by heart. Besides, her mother and aunt had enchanted the path many times, creating a bridge from Harvest Home to Sister House, protected by magick. Nothing evil would dare to venture onto this road.
But ahead and to her right, she spotted the yellow light she’d seen earlier, in the direction of her private forest sanctuary. Soaring wafts of smoke rose into the air, joining with the cloud cover. This time, the smoke and light was accompanied by a sound––a crackling noise, like a campfire. No––a hearth fire.
Starlight fluttered inside her jacket and she unfastened the top button to allow his head to peek out. When he detected the fire he hooted, long and slow, and the sound disappeared into the woods. He widened his eyes, his head facing the smoke.
“You want to investigate?”
Merry asked, stepping cautiously off the path.
Dried leaves buried beneath ice crystals crunched under her boots, breaking the silence of the otherwise still night. She edged deeper into the woods, leaving her sisters behind, as crooked branches attempted to block her way. She pushed them back and pressed on, listening to the sounds around her. A curious scurrying caused her to jump, and she reminded herself that the creatures here were probably more afraid of her than she was of them.
Soon she was able to make out a small construction etched out in a glade––a tumbledown cabin, not ten feet wide, with a lit window and smoke billowing from its chimney. She had been in this part of the forest many times and had never seen the glade nor the cabin, and she stopped to take it in.
The cabin door creaked open and a tall, lithe woman with black, snakelike curls and red punishing lips appeared in the frame. The whites of her eyes appeared yellow from the haze of the firelight inside.
“Merry,” said the woman. “Come inside. I’ve been waiting for you.”
SEVEN
LARINDA’S DRESS WAS as severe and caustic as her smile. A high-necked, button-down, vintage gown, dark and shiny as a black cat’s fur, it was the sort of dress Merry had seen in old photos and movies, but never on a real person.
Larinda noticed Merry’s puzzlement, and the next moment she was re-adorned in a red gown with slits all the way up to her thighs.
“Better?” she asked with a smile, motioning for Merry to take a seat at a tree stump that also served as a table. Except for the stump and an iron cauldron boiling above the fireplace, the cabin was empty, lacking even a stray leaf on the packed earthen floor.
“Now, what brings you here?” Larinda said, sitting primly on the ground opposite Merry, and folding her hands across her exposed thighs.
“You summoned me here, didn’t you?”
“Oh, I did, didn’t I? But that was only because you needed me. That’s the way magick works, Merry. You’ll know that one day when you’re a full grown witch.”
Merry thought a moment, both confused and comforted by the logic. If serendipity were at work, then she wasn’t really to blame for being in Larinda’s cabin.
“My owl’s sick,” she said simply, releasing Starlight from under her coat. The owl toddled uncertainly onto the stump, lifting both wings wide, but made no move to get away.
Larinda smiled with great amusement, clapping her hands. “And you came to me! How marvelous. But…” she said, conspiratorially. “What about your mother?”
“Mama’s sick, too.” Merry hated telling of her mother’s condition, but she didn’t want to lie. “Aunt Dora told me that maybe you could help.” She looked down at Starlight. “Though I don’t think she expected me to see you.”
“Dora! That old bag of meat bones! Well, I suppose I should be flattered, considering the source. She never did like me.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I think it’s perhaps because Sasha favored me. You know how jealous old woman get.”
Merry didn’t know, but nodded politely all the same. “Larinda,” she said, as two saucers and teacups magically appeared before the pair. “Can you help my owl?”
“Can I help your owl?” Larinda’s eyes blinked as she surveyed the bird hopping between the cups. “He’s not local, is he?” She lifted one wing and then the other, just as Aunt Dora had done. “I see your aunt’s tea is thwarting off some of the ill effects, making it difficult to get a full read on him. But…” she said, standing and brightening, the carpet of red gown falling to the floor. “I think I can help. However, I do have a small request in return.”
Merry pressed her lips together, daring not to ask. She didn’t have to.
“You say your mother is also sick? If you could bring me her wand, I could help the owl and your mother! Two birds with one…stick.”
“How?”
“Your mother’s wand is renowned for healing, but she keeps it well-guarded. She’s always going on about it running out of charges. Humph.”
“It won’t run out?”
“Dear, it’s magick. Magick doesn’t run out, especially in Dark Root.”
“Oh.”
“So, if you bring it to me, I’ll use it on…” She waved her hands towards Starlight. “…that thing, and then I’ll use it on your mother. All I ask in return is that I keep the wand after.”
“Keep the wand? Mama’s wand? No.” Merry shook her head violently. “She wouldn’t want that.”
“It’s a healing wand,” Larinda said, smiling so tightly Merry wondered that the woman’s face didn’t crack. “And your mother isn’t using it to heal anything, not as far as I can tell. I’ll give you another to put in its place. She would never have to know. Witch’s honor.”
Merry stood, taking Starlight into her hands. “I still don’t think––”
“Little girl, what trouble could I get into with a healing wand?”
“I guess none. But Mama wouldn’t like it.”
“And she wouldn’t like knowing you are here, either. Some secrets, we keep to ourselves.” Larinda lowered her brows. They met, knitting into two severe arches over her milky eyes. “And remember, if either your owl or your mother gets sicker, there’s no one else to help them. I can save them both, if only you’ll help me. You have until midnight tomorrow to decide.”
She turned her back to Merry and with a snap of her fingers the fire extinguished itself. With another snap, everything else disappeared: the table, the cabin, the tea set, even Larinda herself.
Standing in the woods in the middle of the night, Merry almost wondered if she had imagined it all. But she’d seen too many things in her short life to doubt anymore.
She placed the owl back inside her coat pocket and he fell asleep, leaving Merry to think about what to do.
As she wandered back to the main road, the clouds parted, allowing a glimmer of moonlight to shine onto the snow-covered path. Someone had drawn a symbol into the snow - a clock with both hands pointing towards the number twelve.
EIGHT
“YOUR OWL’S NOT doing so good,” Ruth Anne said, giving Merry a firm shake to wake her up the next morning. “He’s upchucking in the living room. Lucky for you, Miss Sasha went to town already. Better clean it up.”
Merry pushed her feet into her fuzzy slippers and plodded downstairs to the living room to find Starlight spitting up mushy food bits into the bath towel he was standing on. “Poor baby,” she said, smoothing his head. “Ruth Anne, can you get me some of those herbs from that jar on my dresser, and pour them into a saucer of hot water?”
Ruth Anne shifted her weight from one foot to the other but turned back towards the staircase, complaining all the while.
“Why are all the lights off?” Merry asked when Ruth Anne returned, noticing that the only light came from the encroaching sun through the windows.
“Oh, Maggie got mad when Miss Sasha told her she had to go with her to the shop today.”
“So she burnt out all the lights? That’s only going to make Mama try harder to purge the wilder from her.”
“If you believe in that sort of thing. Could just be old circuitry.”
After several minutes, Ruth Anne returned, handing over a saucer of steaming broth. Once again, Merry blew on it, then nursed Starlight with the tip of her finger. The owl stopped gagging after several drops, though his aura was still dim.
It was clear that the tea alone was not going to save him.
“Ruth Anne,” Merry asked, her eyes never leaving Starlight. “Have you seen Mama’s wand lately? She used to carry it around all the time, but I haven’t seen it in months.”
“Sure. It’s in the laundry room. I think she’s been using it to kill spiders.”
“Ruth Anne!”
“I swear I’m not joking this time.” Ruth Anne gave her a curious look. “Why do you ask?”
Merry shrugged and her sister didn’t pursue it.
BY MID-AFTERNOON, Starlight was sick again. His feathers we
re now the color of old bath water and he seemed thinner. His eyes were soft and accepting, but his wings drooped lower than they should. But it was the sound that bothered Merry most––the harsh rattling in his chest.
She petted him softly, speaking reassuring words to him, channeling doses of her life energy into him. It revitalized him momentarily each time, but was gone nearly as quickly as he’d accepted it. As an empath, Merry could tell when a creature or a person experienced pain, and could feel that pain herself to an extent. Watching Starlight, and feeling the hurt he endured, was almost too much for her.
“I’ll be right back,” she told Ruth Anne, heading to her room.
She passed the sewing room and her mother’s bedroom, and crept inside the large closet they dubbed the laundry room. An archaic washer and dryer stood vigil near the back, guarded by a yellowed plastic sink that no longer worked. Three laundry baskets stood in a row before the appliances, each awaiting their turn at the machine.
“So here’s where my shirt went!” she said, pulling a green blouse from the top of one clothes pile. She was about to search for more of her missing garments when she spotted her mother’s sleek willow wand in the corner, the jade gem fastened to the end and glistening.
“Forgive me, Mama.” She reached for the wand, and it sent a small shock through her body. The wand’s energy was frenetic, but quickly smoothed once it became accustomed to her touch.
She could get it to Larinda, right at dusk, if she were careful.
“You’re a healing wand,” Merry reasoned aloud. “Healing is always good, no matter who’s doing it. What harm can you do?”
In response, the stick vibrated in her hand.
“If I do give you to Larinda,” she continued. “And she does use you for only good things like making Starlight and Mama better, Mama won’t have a wand anymore––and a witch only gets one wand.”
A Dark Root Christmas_Merry's Gift Page 5
