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

by April Aasheim

  I noted how the waning sun lit up Sister House. Seeing the Victorian home in springtime gave me new appreciation for the structure. It was not only large, but solid, filled with memories. Many souls had visited here, and not all of them living.

  I wondered if my own memories would be captured here, too.

  I meandered my way over to Juliana’s headstone. Until recently, I had thought of her only as myth. But now I felt a connection to her and I wished I knew more. But isn’t that the way with life? We only turn to history when it’s convenient. It was possible that my grandmother was responsible for the curse, and if so, I wanted to know why.

  I traced her crudely carved name in the stone with my fingertips, glancing to my left and right, hoping to catch sight of her. But her spirit was restless and not bound to one location. Unusual for a ghost. Had she crossed over and come back? Why?

  Perhaps there was a door for her on the other side, as I had seen. Perhaps she had elected to stay here, rather than enter that door. And perhaps the darkness inside of me was handed down not only from my father, but from my grandmother as well.

  If so, I was screwed.

  I heard a soft meow in the tall grass and I moved towards it, my hands slashing through weeds as I called out. “Here, kitty, kitty. Here, Maggie Cat. It’s okay.”

  I spied an orange ball of fur in the grass and I reached down to grab it before it startled away.

  But it was not our Cat.

  It was a hand, bloodless and skeletal, shooting up from the earth. Before I could even cry out five crooked fingers latched around mine, pulling me down into the dirt. I braced myself with my other hand and dug my heels into the ground, fighting back, but the hand would not let go.

  “What do you want, Juliana?”

  Her grip only tightened, her gnarled fingers digging into my wrist. The dead were surprisingly strong.

  I managed to slip back, just a little. “Please! I’ll help you. But I need to know what you want.”

  She let go and I scrambled backwards, ready to run.

  As I lifted my gaze I saw a woman standing before me––a lovely young woman with dark hair that fell to her waist and sharp, blue-black eyes. Her face was the color of ivory.

  “Juliana?”

  She blinked, as if trying to understand my words. Then, opening her mouth she exhaled a hollow, haunting note––a long, wretched moan, more chilling than her touch.

  “Juliana, are you the one who cursed me?”

  Without warning, the lovely woman crumbled into the hunched old crone I had seen before, twisted and stooped. This time, when she opened her mouth, a blood-curdling, accusing wail sounded from her parched lips.

  All the while, she clutched at her neck, as if choking.

  I reached forward to help as she gasped for breath, but her image disintegrated before I could touch her, leaving only that miserable sound floating on the wind.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Don’t You Love Her Madly

  Dark Root

  Early Spring, 1974

  Harvest Home

  Sasha stood at the head of the dining room table with a lifted chin and lowered eyes, her white, pointed hat perfectly balanced atop her immaculate hair. Around her stood various members of The Council. Most of them, Armand knew: Dora, Larinda, Joe, Leonard and Rosa. There were others too, visitors jockeying for a position on the board.

  All women, Armand observed, and not a babe in the bunch. Lettie might have been alright if she lost a few of the years from her face.

  Armand glanced at the case beside Sasha, wondering if her wand was inside.

  Sasha waited until she had everyone’s undivided attention, then spoke. “That concludes this evening’s meeting. Thank you all for your time. I invite you back for the Spring Equinox Festival next month.” She looked at each of the newcomers in turn. “And although attendance is not required to be considered for a position, it is highly recommended.”

  “She means you better come,” Armand said, smiling as he leaned forward, his cowboy hat pulled so far down that his eyes were hardly visible. Good thing, too. He sensed Sasha’s displeasure at his joke and didn’t want to see it in her eyes.

  As the others said their goodbyes, Larinda stopped him in the doorway, her dark aura swirling around him, filling him with that familiar desire.

  He’d been seeing her since their meeting at The Haunted Dark Root Festival, and looked forward to their evenings and nights stolen away together when Sasha was too busy with Council business to notice. Larinda was a good sport, letting him do with her as he wished, even using her magic to transform herself into images he could appreciate. There was one notable exception, however. Larinda would never, under any circumstances, take on the guise of her cousin Sasha, no matter how many times Armand asked.

  In return he promised her things––power, loyalty, a child. Though he could give her none of these now, and he was very clear about that, she enjoyed thinking about them. She was building her magical hope chest for the future.

  “Learn as much as you can,” she said. “And take all of Sasha’s trinkets you can manage. Stockpile them. Someday we’ll leave and take it all with us. Then we won’t be under Sasha’s rule and we can do anything we like.”

  He nodded, feeling close to Larinda in those moments. It wasn’t love––but it was something. She felt as trapped as he did, though they were trapped for different reasons.

  Armand remained because deep-down, he did feel love for the woman who couldn’t love him back. And hell, she was the only woman he had ever respected, not counting his mother.

  Armand could only guess Larinda’s reasons for staying, as she’d never told him outright. She had spent her entire life in Dark Root, except for some extensive traveling and a few years in New Orleans. He didn’t think she had it in her to leave permanently...at least, not on her own. Whether it was the town she would miss, or its rich magick, Armand wasn’t inclined to ask. He didn’t want to know what went on inside her mind. He was afraid of her––not her beauty or her power, but her soul. Even in the throes of passion there was a coldness to her that Armand couldn’t quite shake. It was as if…

  He swallowed.

  It was as if she were dead.

  “Did you hear me?” she asked, adjusting the collar on his new snap-down shirt.

  “Tonight?” He cycled through the words she had spewed out while he’d been lost in his thoughts.

  “Yes. I found this great place in the woods…”

  “Ah, hell. Not the fucking woods again. I get burrs in my ass every time we go there.”

  “Then I’ll be on the bottom.”

  “No deal, darling. I want to see as much of you as possible. Maybe you can do that Cher thing again?”

  Larinda blushed maidenly, though Armand knew it was a ruse. She was no more innocent than he was, which was why he liked her. A bad girl was just what he needed to get his mind off the good ones.

  “You need to get your own place,” she whispered.

  “So do you.”

  She pouted and Armand forced himself not to grimace. Demureness didn’t suit her.

  “Joe’s café?” she asked. “We can pry open the back window and…”

  “No.” Armand shook his head and looked over to ensure that Sasha was still busy. She was saying goodbye to the last of her guests as Rosa cleared away the coffee cups in the living room.

  “Why not?” She crawled her fingers up his chest, working her pinky between two snaps so that she could feel his bare skin. “It’s been almost a week. You don’t want me to get bored, do you?”

  “I don’t want to meet at Joe’s. He’s been working some kind of voodoo magic in there or something. Every time I go in there, my skin crawls. Bad juju.”

  Armand bit down on his lip, thinking of his last visit to Delilah’s Deli. There was a staleness to the place, followed by a sensation that made him both nauseous and hot. It was as if Joe was hiding something in there and had put up a shielding spell. Most likely, o
ne last barrier to keep Leonard safe from government eyes looking for draft dodgers.

  “Sasha’s shop,” he finally said.

  “Delicious!” Larinda clapped her pale hands together, her tight ringlets bouncing around her face. It would have been sexy had there been any softness about her. At best, the effect was interesting.

  “Kiss me,” she demanded, staring into his eyes with her own dull-blue orbs. His eyes slid from one room to another, and, finding no one, quickly pecked Larinda on the lips. She never drank but she always tasted like wine.

  “Is that all I get? You wouldn’t want me to feel neglected, would you? Who knows what I might do if I started to feel neglected?”

  “Shush,” he ordered as Dora passed by on her way into the kitchen. That troll was everywhere, seeing everything. He still didn’t know if she had caught him with Larinda that day at the festival. She was well shielded and her aura virtually unreadable, except for the perpetually orange hue about her that signaled anger. While she had shown a bit of kindness to him in Spain, that kindness ended the day Sasha brought him to Dark Root. Her distrust for him was deep, for all warlocks in general, with the exception of Joe. At some point, Armand thought, some warlock must have really pissed her off.

  “There will be more later, I promise.” He put a finger to Larinda’s lips. “Now get going. I’ll be there in one hour.”

  “Got it.” She gave him a wink and a quick pat on the ass before leaving, stopping briefly to chat with Sasha at the door. The two spoke politely but Armand saw that their energy fields refused to overlap, which was odd for two family members no matter what their relationship. There was a rift between them that never seemed to heal.

  Looking at his Timex––a souvenir left behind from a customer at the magick shop––he noted that it was nearly 10:00. Sasha would want to head home soon, to work on her spells, incantations, and charms. Armand felt a longing in both his chest and his groin as he thought about her retiring to her bedroom alone. They still made love of course, but the time between sessions grew longer and longer, until weeks passed and he had to beg like a dog to climb into bed with her. She would acquiesce, but treated it as if it were one of her many duties instead of a shared, pleasurable experience.

  Armand hated begging Sasha, but he needed her. He needed her to erase the bad stuff inside of him with her goodness. And he had a lot of bad, some of it handed to him––like the memory of watching his mother succumb to her cancer––and some of it he put on himself, like the women and the drugs and his surrender to Larinda.

  Sasha had become his unknowing confessional, and when he had her, he felt absolved of his every deed. At least for a while. And when they did make love, she treated him as if she were serving penance for her own misdeeds. It was a bad match, Armand knew, but he’d take whatever he could get, hoping that someday that invisible cord that bound him to her would disappear.

  The guests had all cleared out, even Larinda. Armand lingered, wiping down the table, putting away books, joking about all the cookies the guests had eaten. All the while, Sasha and Dora attended to the dishes. He would walk them back to Sister House and then take off, claiming he needed the fresh spring air to clear his mind.

  They said goodnight to Rosa and began their journey back home. Sasha walked in front, leading the procession, while Dora and Armand strolled behind. He rarely talked to Dora, knowing she had never approved of him coming to Dark Root in the first place nor his high status on The Council. But he thought it better to make small talk with her than to keep a conversation going with Sasha, who might read his real intentions for the evening.

  He pointed out various trees along the way, hoping to impress the woman who had a keen eye for natural herbs and medicines, when she suddenly stopped.

  “You okay?” he asked, glancing forward to see Sasha continuing on without them.

  “Ya have a good thing with Sasha, an’ here ya are blowin’ it by messin’ with the trash!”

  “I, uh…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Dora narrowed her eyes and the cleft in her chin deepened. “Ya know exactly what I’m talking about.” She raised a finger to his face. “Do ya know what that woman has done?”

  “That woman?”

  “Larinda!” Dora said the word then spat on the ground. “When Juliana was dyin’ and we were in England, Larinda never bothered ta write so much as a postcard ta let us know. Consumption took her slowly, over the course of many months, and she never got to say her goodbyes. Sasha may have moved past that, but I haven’t.” She pointed at him and stepped close. “If ya keep messin’ with her…”

  Armand pushed Dora’s finger out of his face. “I’m a man with needs, Dora, and Sasha has turned me out of her bedroom for the most part.”

  Dora stared at him but didn’t respond.

  “And we have an open relationship, in case you didn’t know. And that was Sasha’s idea.”

  “Open doesn’t mean family.”

  “What’s the matter? You upset because I didn’t pick you instead? Oh, that’s right. You’re not family. Not really, are you?” He stopped speaking, giving her a satisfied stare.

  She stared back, unblinking. “Yer an arrogant man, Armand, and that will be yer downfall.”

  He looked at the path before them again, at Sasha’s diminishing figure as she walked under the crescent moon. “Just because you are happy in this jungle, don’t expect everyone else to be okay with it.”

  “Ya should leave then. It would be better fer everyone.”

  Armand rubbed his thumbs and forefingers together, knowing there would be trouble if Sasha heard about their talk. What he needed now was damage control. He wiped his brow and tried to look repentant. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Family comes first. I’ll cool it with Larinda. Will that be better?”

  Dora lowered her bushy eyebrows. It was clear she did not believe him but she gave an affirmative nod. “Aye. I don’ wan ta be seein’ any o’ that again.”

  “Trust me. You won’t see us together again. That, I can promise.”

  Dora turned away, staring into the deep forest around them. There was no physical beauty to her, and no amount of magic would help that. But there was something that even Armand had to admire about her––her loyalty.

  When she finally spoke, her voice had softened. “My brother, Robbie, loved Sasha, and that makes her family ta me. If the war hadn’t come…” She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with the tips of her stubby fingers. “If ya ever try an’ hurt her, or any o’ her brood, ya’ll have Hell to pay.”

  Armand laughed and pushed his hands into his pockets. “Well, lucky for me I’m working on that.”

  Dora gave him an odd look but didn’t pursue it. Then, taking strides as long as her squat legs could carry her, she hurried down the path after Sasha.

  Armand briefly worried she would tell Sasha of their conversation, then dismissed it. Dora might not be Sasha’s “real” sister, but she loved her like one. And she would never do or say anything that would hurt her, even if that meant keeping his transgressions with Larinda to herself.

  He rubbed the sides of his temples, wondering for the billionth time what it was he was doing here. There was a whole world out there, and with his abilities and training, he could rule it.

  But he still couldn’t leave. There was a force that kept him here more powerful than his desire to rule.

  And it was called obsession.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Gotta Get A Hold of Myself

  Dark Root, Oregon

  April, 2014

  Sister House

  “How’s your back?”

  Merry’s pink cheeks and blue eyes greeted me as I sat up on the Victorian sofa. A snow globe winked at me from the end table. I stuffed it beneath a throw pillow while Merry laced up her tennis shoes. Her blond hair was tied into a high ponytail, cheerleader style, and she wore a form-fitting T-shirt and some cut off denim shorts. I wondered about her wardrobe choice. Merry usually wore c
lassic clothes straight from a catalogue, but her look today was ultra-casual, lending her a youthful appearance.

  “So, you doing okay?” she asked as she opened the curtains, letting in the first rays of the morning sun.

  “I feel some stiffness in my knees and lower back, but I think I’ll survive.”

  She laughed––a grown up’s laugh, not a schoolgirl’s giggle, which was oddly comforting. “That couch is probably not the best place for a pregnant lady to spend the night,” she said, handing me a cup of hot water with honey. “I thought about waking you but you were sleeping so deeply I didn’t have the heart.”

  “I didn’t mean to sleep out here. It just kinda happened.”

  I didn’t mention that I had stayed up late waiting for her or Ruth Anne to come home, and when they didn’t, I decided to bunk downstairs. If I was going to see Juliana while I slept, I’d rather be near the front door and not trapped in an upstairs bedroom.

  “You look nice,” I added, trying to make conversation as she adjusted her calf-length tube socks. “Reminds me of when you were in high school.”

  She blushed and pulled on the ends of her ponytail. “Thanks. I’m going on a picnic with Michael. I wasn’t sure what to wear.”

  “Oh?” I nearly spilled my hot water. “You two are spending a lot of time together. What gives?”

  She smiled, mostly to herself. “I admit, I didn’t like him in the past...after turning me away in Kansas when I had come to see you, and then showing up last year and insisting you marry him. But something changed. Maybe I just realized that he and I have a lot in common.”

  “Like what?”