The Curse of Dark Root: Part One (Daughters of Dark Root Book 3)

by April Aasheim

  “But sleep is boring,” I yawned. “And I’ve been doing too much of it.”

  He touched my head. “But necessary. Your fever is gone for the time being, thanks to those kitchen witches. Want your next globe?”

  I gave him a quizzical look. Did he hear Aunt Dora and Jillian talking?

  He removed the next globe, holding it out to me. I didn’t want to see any more of the past. It was confusing and wasn’t helping me at all. Besides, I was beginning to see Armand––my father––as a real person. Demonizing him was easier when I didn’t know his history.

  And what I really wanted––and what I couldn’t say––was for Shane to come to me in my dreams. But even without the globe, I didn’t think it would happen. Whenever I tuned into his energy, I came up against a blank wall.

  I extended my hand. “Might as well.”

  “To be clear, you know I don’t approve of this.”

  “Then why are you giving it to me?”

  “If Dora and Jillian think this is going to help you, I’m willing to try, too.” He handed it over and I felt the power of its magic in my hands.

  “I’ll be in the rocking chair,” he said. “All night.”

  “Thank you,” I said, meaning it.

  I gave the globe a little shake and watched the snowflakes swirl, wondering what waited for me in this next stored memory.

  The snowflakes gradually settled to the bottom bringing my eyelids with them.

  A man I recognized as Joe Garris, Shane’s dead uncle, took form.

  SEVENTEEN

  The Times They Are A Changing

  Dark Root, Oregon

  March, 1970

  Joe Garris’ Home

  “I tell you, it isn’t fair!” Joe Garris marched across his library, his heavy steps bending the fibers of the shag carpeting in one direction, only to be bent back on his return trip. Armand watched him from the corner of the room, only half-interested as he stole sips of brandy straight from the bar decanter and rummaged through a stack of arcane books on the occult.

  Joe’s face grew redder with every step, until he finally stopped in the center of the room and threw his hands into the air.

  “Sasha, you said we’d be protected here!”

  Sasha continued her needlepoint as she sat primly on the swivel club chair, twisting the seat back and forth to keep up with Joe’s frenzied march. Finally, she spoke. “I said you would be protected here, Joe, not your… ahem, business associate.”

  Joe squeezed his fists together, hammering them into the sides of his thighs. “Leonard is my family, Sasha. We came here together, live together, and opened Delilah’s Deli together. If you can’t offer us suitable protection, we will go somewhere that can.”

  “Like Canada?” A dimple punctured her cheek, just as her needle punctured her cloth.

  “Canada, yes. Or a cave if we have to. I’ve been working on a spell that can hide a man in the apartment above my diner for forty years if it comes to that.”

  “Forty years? Whatever will you do with him then?”

  Joe’s face turned one shade redder. “Forty years hidden is better than one minute dead.” He dabbed at his face with the corner of the handkerchief he kept in his blazer pocket. “I’m looking to you, Sasha. You’re Council Leader.”

  Sasha lifted her shoulders and let them drop. Her sepia hair matched her sepia dress, though the dress was not yet showing any threads of gray. “Joe, you should’ve been more honest with me and told me how young he was. Then, perhaps, I could have done something.”

  “To hell with age!” Joe’s fists crashed down on one of the many shelves that made up his massive library. Several books fell over. Uncharacteristically, Joe did not return them to their proper positions. He sucked in a deep breath, releasing it through his nose.

  “Age doesn’t mean anything here, Sasha. You know that. Not with your…” He wiggled a finger in the air.

  “My wand is of no consequence in this matter.” Sasha gathered up her voluminous skirt as she stood. “And you know as well as I do that the wand is for healing.”

  “Healing? Is that what you call it?”

  She lowered her fake eyelashes, fluttering them several times. “Aging is a disease, and the wand can reverse its effects. But that would only make Leonard younger, not older, and I doubt that would help.”

  “I’d turn him into a goddamned baby before I let him be shipped off to Vietnam!”

  Armand looked up from the astrology book and regarded the two. Though Sasha and Joe were old friends and prone to arguments, there was something different about this one. Their auras crackled around them as if either could explode at any moment.

  Joe raised his eyebrows, even as he continued to look down. “He can’t go to war. He’s been too sheltered. Sasha, he’s all I’ve got.”

  There was a long, uncomfortable silence as the two faced off.

  Armand raised the book in his hand. “Says here Scorpios are secretive.” He shook his head and smiled. “You think I’m secretive?” When they both turned angry eyes on him, he added, “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “It’s quite alright,” Sasha said coolly. “You are on The Council, Armand. You should be involved in this, too.” She strode across the length of the library, her chin high and her eyes intent. “It seems Leonard’s birthdate has been called. He is up for draft.”

  “Ah, hell,” Armand said, pretending he was just tuning in. “Tough break, man.” Then, turning to Sasha, “I thought we were protected in Dark Root.”

  “I thought so too,” Joe said. “At least that’s what your girlfriend told me when she convinced me to move here.”

  “As I’ve been reminded many times, she’s not my girlfriend. She’s my teacher.”

  “We are The Council,” Sasha interrupted. “We are protected. But Leonard is no warlock. Therefore, he is not immune.”

  “He could be,” Armand said. “There’s books all over this place on working with Magick. That must mean it’s not always an innate trait, right?”

  Sasha put a finger to her chin. “Well, right, but…”

  “But nothing!” Joe said. “We’ll train him and put him on The Council, too. I’ll teach him myself. That’s what you brought me on for, wasn’t it? To be a teacher?”

  Sasha lit a cigarette. She took a long drag then released it from the side of her mouth. “I brought you on to train those who already had promise. We are building the next generation here, those who will hold back the Dark after we are gone.” She waved her cigarette theatrically in the air. “We can’t be wasting our time and abilities on the untalented.”

  “He’s smart,” Joe said. “And he’s been watching me. He’ll catch on.” His lined face softened. “Sasha, he’s only twenty-two. That’s too young to die.”

  The clock ticked loudly, as if it were a heartbeat reckoning whether or not it should continue to beat. At last, Sasha lifted her chin, resolve pasted on her face even as her white-yellow aura flickered uncertainly. “Not everyone who goes to Vietnam dies. We can send him off with a protection amulet. I will fashion it myself.”

  “Damn it! For all your talk of taking care of humanity, you have little regard for the actual person.” Joe flung himself into a high-backed chair and thrust his face into his hands.

  Armand stood, addressing Sasha. “Three of my friends in L.A. were drafted. Two of them are dead now. Leonard’s going to need more than an amulet to survive a land mine.”

  Joe looked up, his face the color of ash.

  Sasha blinked several times, her head swiveling between Joe and Armand. Looking upwards at the popcorn-textured ceiling, she exhaled the last of her cigarette, then stamped the butt into a crystal ashtray.

  “I suppose there is something we can do.”

  “There is?” Joe’s eyes widened.

  “We will put up an additional dome that will block the ‘real’ world from receiving signals from us, rendering us basically untraceable.”

  She marched across
the library, her stiff skirts swishing as she moved. She scanned the contents of a shelf, her fingers finally settling on a thick, leather-bound tome. “We need seven to do this,” she said. “With us three, plus Dora and Larinda, we only have five.”

  “Leonard can help,” Joe said. “I’ll have him ready before the next full moon.”

  “Very well.” Sasha looked to Armand. “You’ll have to pull more than your weight of the masculine energy needed for this spell, for obvious reasons.”

  “I always do.”

  Sasha stared out the window that overlooked the burgeoning town. Armand joined her. Houses were popping up in Dark Root, half a dozen this year. The town had nearly tripled in size since Armand had arrived. Most were entrepreneurs who wanted to get a piece of the re-emerging town.

  “We still need one more,” she said.

  “There’s Rosa,” Armand suggested.

  “She is too old.”

  “But we already use Harvest Home for some of our meetings,” Joe quickly added. “And she has the gift of second sight, even if it’s not always accurate.”

  “I’d say.” Sasha patted her hair, which was done up in a loose bun. “She said this war would be over by now. My houseplant could have made a better prediction.” Sighing deeply, she tapped her fingers against the window pane. “Very well. Rosa will receive an invitation to join The Council. She knew Mother and I’m sure Juliana would be pleased. I will have to use my wand on her.”

  “Yes,” Joe agreed, nodding eagerly.

  Upstairs, there was a shuffling noise which Armand guessed to be Leonard himself, getting ready for bed.

  “I don’t have to tell you that I’m a proud man, Sasha,” Joe continued. “I don’t say thank you very often, but…”

  Sasha waved her hand dismissively. “Thank me when it works. Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m going home. I feel a headache coming on.”

  “I’ve got a cure for that.” Armand winked but Sasha ignored him and left the two men in Joe’s library.

  “Sasha must really care for you,” Armand said, feeling a hint of unfounded jealousy. “It’s unlike her to cave.”

  Joe gave Armand a grateful smile before his eyes suddenly widened. “You have the ankh?”

  Armand looked down and realized the pendant had accidentally untucked from inside his shirt. He clasped the ankh and quickly slipped it back inside his shirt. He had been foolish to put it on so brazenly, but after finally getting it that very morning he hadn’t been able to resist wearing it. He’d do a better job of hiding it from here on out.

  “Um, yes. A gift from Sasha. But don’t say anything, man. She asked me to keep it on the down-low.”

  Joe glanced around the room, listening to confirm that they were alone. Satisfied, he leaned in closer. “Sasha’s a good woman, but deep down, she doesn’t give a damn about you or me or Leonard. She may offer you gifts but remember, it’s her precious cause that drives her. Not lust. Not love. Not friendship. As long as you’re aware of that, you’ll be okay.”

  “Got it, man, and thanks.” Armand gathered his cowboy hat to leave. When Joe turned away, Armand pocketed the book on Astrology, and snatched one on demon summoning and time-travel as well, tucking them into the inner pockets of his trench coat.

  Once outside, he felt the cool night air on his face.

  Joe was wrong about Sasha. She did care. Maybe she didn’t love him, but she could never love anyone.

  He touched the pendant once more, feeling its immeasurable power as he made his way back to Sister House through the dark.

  He had stayed the two years he promised Sasha, but she hadn’t kept her promise. She had hid the ankh, claiming to have lost it. But Armand knew where to find things.

  Perhaps he’d stay a while longer and see what else he could find.

  Dark Root, Oregon

  April, 2014

  Harvest Home

  “Maggie! Ya gave us quite the scare yesterday.”

  Aunt Dora stood in the kitchen with her hands on her broad hips as Jillian escorted me inside the room. I tottered in, but that was due to hunger and not the curse, having purged my stomach no less than three times in the last day.

  “Sorry about that,” I said, with a weary smile. “I feel better now. Maybe it was a 24-hour curse.”

  Jillian laughed but Aunt Dora was not amused. “Curses are nothin’ ta make fun ‘o! Larinda’s not doin’ her job. We should summon the old witch back!”

  “There, there, Dora,” Jillian said. “I’m sure Larinda is doing the best she can. Remember, she made the deal.” Jillian’s mouth snapped shut and Aunt Dora looked at the clock on the stove.

  “It’s time you told me more about this deal you made with Larinda,” I said.

  “Nothin ta worry over,” my aunt said firmly, making her way to the sink with the help of her cane.

  “Tell me.” I loosened myself from Jillian’s grip. “It’s about me. I deserve to know. What kind of deal did you make?”

  The two looked at each other.

  “Tell me!” I slammed my hand on the counter. The small appliances on the tiled surface–– the toaster, coffee maker, electric can opener––began trembling. The vibrations increased in magnitude as the seconds passed.

  Finally, Aunt Dora touched the counter and the rumbling ceased. Sighing with resignation, she took a seat at the table and patted the space next to it. I joined her, alarmed by the silence and the lack of color in both their faces.

  “Please,” I urged them. “I need to know.”

  “Might as well tell her,” Aunt Dora said, throwing her hands into the air. “Might make her fight a little harder.”

  Jillian’s eyes scanned the kitchen before settling on a watercolor painting portraying a vase of flowers, now cracked with age.

  “Okay,” she said, with a loud exhale. “But please remember, we did this to save you.”

  I nodded, tucking my hands between my knees to stop them from shaking. “Go on.”

  “In exchange for Larinda’s help in holding back the curse…and to keep you out of that dark place…”

  “The Netherworld?”

  “Yes. In exchange for keeping you out of the Netherworld, we agreed to educate you on the history of Dark Root.”

  “You already told me that.”

  “Yes. But what we didn’t tell you,” Jillian swallowed, searching for the words. “Is that if don’t discover the truth of the past––”

  “Then she won’t help with the labor and I may die. I know this too. I’ve been going through the globes as fast as I can. I’ll get them all done, I promise.”

  Aunt Dora lowered her eyes, staring into her lap.

  “There’s more, isn’t there?” My stomach knotted. I placed my hands on the table and it started shaking, echoing my emotions. I immediately lifted them off and the quaking stopped.

  Jillian looked squarely at me. “In exchange for her help, we promised Larinda…” Her eyes watered. She blinked, regaining her composure. “…that your child would live with her for its first six years if you don’t learn the truth.”

  “What!?” The table jolted, the legs lifting several inches from the floor before crashing back down.

  “Maggie, that’s only if you don’t finish the globes,” Jillian said, her voice gentle but firm. “The knowledge is in them, and when you learn it, the pact will be fulfilled and you and your baby will be safe.”

  “But what if I don’t do it? Or can’t?” I glared at them. “With my baby as collateral, Larinda will do everything in her power to make sure I don’t finish them.”

  “Larinda won’t stop ya,” Aunt Dora said softly. “She is bound by the pact as well.”

  I hardened my jaw, rubbing my thumbs and forefingers together, trying to calm myself. I was furious enough to set the whole house on fire if I didn’t regain some control. I took a deep breath. And then another. At last, I felt composed enough to speak again.

  “You two had no right to use my child in your bargain
with Larinda.”

  “Maggie, we did it to save you,” Jillian tried to explain. “If Larinda hadn’t helped us, you would have been stuck in that awful place. You might not have come back.”

  I put a hand to my head, wondering if I was hot from anger or if the fever was returning. “I was sick after using that last globe. For all we know, Larinda hexed them.

  Aunt Dora shook her head. “She doesn’t know about them. I originally crafted them ta show Sasha the true nature of Armand, but she found out on her own. I’ve kept them safe all these years. No one has seen the memories they hold, not even I. For once the memories are witnessed, they disappear ferever. I wasn’t sure why I kept them, but now I understand.”

  I stood up and walked to the cupboards, opening and shutting them in turn. There were dozens of mason jars inside with labels reading: Sage, Lilac, Lavender, Rose Petals, and so on.

  “Is it too much to ask for some fucking Tylenol in this house?” I slammed the cupboard, ratting the jars inside, and then splashed my face with water from the faucet.

  Aunt Dora started to rise. “I can make ya some tea, if ya…”

  “I don’t want any damned tea! I just want my baby to be okay.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and leaned forward against the counter. The kitchen smelled like apples and bleach. The combined scent was making my stomach turn.

  Jillian’s firm hand rested on my shoulder. “Have some faith in us. Please.”

  “I’m trying. But maybe Michael’s right...maybe I need to go somewhere where there’s a little more logic and a lot less magick.”

  “Yer a witch.” Aunt Dora folded her gnarled hands on the table. “We can’t walk away from magick.”

  “To hell with that,” I said, pushing my fingers into my temples. “I won’t be controlled by magick and I’ll be damned if my baby is. Now if you two will excuse me, I’m going to check on the shop while I’ve got the strength.”

  “Maybe ya should rest instead.”

  I looked at my aunt like she’d just escaped from the looney bin. “I don’t want any more tea, and I don’t want any more rest. I’ll rest when this is over. Who knows? With your help, that might be soon.”