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

by April Aasheim

  Eve blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Maggie, don’t you get it. There’s something bad here. Very bad.”

  Ruth Anne’s EMF started up again, this time in a series of frantic bells and chimes. She followed it from one corner of the dining room to the other, tripping over chair legs as she went. I took out my wand, pointing it like a divining rod as the gem sparkled one moment and blinked out the next.

  The temperature dropped and the room felt suddenly confining, as if the air was being sucked away.

  “So much activity. I wish we had Merry here,” I said. “She’d get a better read on it.”

  “I’m definitely picking up something,” Ruth Anne said, looking at her reader. “And if they are spirits, they are very restless.”

  Eve left the café and quickly returned with a handful of pillar candles from Mother’s shop, which she lit and placed around the room. She followed up with a broom to sweep away the negativity, and a sage stick for good measure.

  Ruth Anne and I continued to play hot-and-cold with the spirit-box and the wand, chasing the beeps and lights but not finding their source.

  “Why are we being pulled in different directions?” I asked.

  She scratched her head. “Multiple entities?”

  At once, both the wand and the EMF reader ceased reacting, and all was silent.

  I tapped my wand. “What happened?”

  “I guess the spirits went to bed.”

  We waited several minutes to see if the activity would recommence, but nothing more occurred. Resolutely, we moved the tables and chairs out of the center of the room, sweeping up soot with Eve’s broom as we went. It was a futile task, but within a half hour we had cleared away enough floor to draw our chalk circle.

  Eve held out her blackened hands. “Evil spirits be damned. I’m going to start working on a cleaning spell tomorrow.”

  “If there were such a spell, Sasha would have found it,” Ruth Anne said. “You know how much she hated housework.”

  While they went about their tasks, I drew Mother’s spell book from my tote bag and found the page Ruth Anne had bookmarked: Summoning Circles.

  I looked at the space we had cleared.

  “Okay, I think we have enough room to draw the chalk circle. We’ll need three rings.” I tapped my foot on the ground, indicating the center. “The inner ring will contain the summoned spirit. It is very important that the soul remain inside of it. The middle ring is where we place three of Shane’s personal items. And the outer ring is where we draw these symbols, which will act as a barrier between the planes.” I pulled out the book on arcane symbols I had taken from Mother’s shop the night before, and held open the page on protection glyphs.

  “Easy Peasy,” Ruth Anne declared, though her tone said she had her doubts.

  Eve pulled down the blinds and the darkness deepened. “Are you sure you want to do this, Maggie?”

  “Yes. You said tonight was our best chance because of the moon.”

  “I know, but…” she looked around, uneasily. “There’s so much spirit activity here. By opening this portal, we may attract more.”

  “Don’t get cold feet on me, Eve. I need you. And I’ve waited long enough. I’m scared to death, too. But I need to know that Shane’s okay. I’ve modified the spell because I’m worried that passing through the vortex would harm him. We’ll just summon up an image of his current state of being.”

  “Spying.” Eve nodded approvingly. “I understand. Maybe we can do one for Paul next.”

  “It’s not spying,” I countered. “It’s scrying...on a larger scale.”

  “I have to agree with Eve,” Ruth Anne said as she drew the large outer ring of the circle. “When someone doesn’t know they’re being watched, it’s called spying.”

  “I wouldn’t have to scry if he’d pick up his damned phone.” The overhead light momentarily flickered on, then off again just as quickly. I tightened my fists as I felt my sister’s eyes on me. “Okay. It’s spying, but for a good cause.” I lifted my hands, palms up. “I don’t know what has happened to Shane but I can’t go on imagining.”

  My sisters exchanged sympathetic glances.

  “Fair enough,” Ruth Anne said, setting her chalk down and wiping her hands on the underside of a tablecloth. “Let’s do this.”

  Eve nodded. “We’ve faced baddies before. If they show up, we’ll do it again. Now, let’s each find one personal item that belonged to Shane before it gets so dark we can’t see our own faces.”

  “Belongs,” I corrected.

  “Huh?”

  “Not belonged, as in the past. Belongs. As in Shane is still alive and will be coming back for it.”

  Eve rolled her eyes. “Okay. We each find something that belongs to Shane.” She pointed upstairs. “Maggie, you check his room. I’ll check the kitchen, and Ruth Anne you search the dining room. Between the three of us we might find something that still has his energy and isn’t entirely covered in soot.”

  We did as directed, though I wasn’t keen on going up to Shane’s room alone. I hadn’t set foot in there since encountering him there with Irene last year.

  Irene, the same woman he had left me to attend to. My heart fell at the thought.

  “Suck it up, Buttercup,” I told myself.

  Armed with nothing more than my wand, I ascended the narrow staircase that led to his attic apartment. I felt a little guilty about invading his personal space but shrugged it off. Spying on him through witchcraft was probably a far worse offense.

  “It’s necessary,” I reminded myself. For all I knew, Shane could be in trouble and needed me. His whispered message on my cellphone yesterday only heightened my worries.

  At any rate, I had to know. If he had left me and wasn’t coming back, I could eventually accept that. I loved him, and I loved him enough to let him go, if that’s what the fates would have.

  I stopped mid-staircase, deciding I should try one last time to reach him before conducting the risky ritual. I pulled out my cellphone and dialed his number. Once again, there was no response.

  “Ah, hell!” I banged my head into the wall.

  I took another step and felt the air around me grow several degrees colder. Instinctively, I grabbed the banister just as a gauzy human form passed me on the staircase. Goosebumps rose on my arms.

  Still holding onto the railing, I watched as the specter continued its ascent towards Shane’s bedroom door. I gathered my wits and followed as close as I dared, terrified of the form, but more terrified of losing it.

  My wand flared again, in sharp, steady, soundless beats. The ghostly form in front of me disappeared into the shadows. When I thought I had lost it completely, it turned its head, two red eyes looking back at me.

  A dreadful realization hit me––the spirit wasn’t hiding from me, it was leading me.

  As it reached Shane’s door, it turned to me again, this time as a fully-formed woman with an aged face and long hair that slithered around on her head like worms.

  “Juliana?” I asked, almost upon her.

  She put a withered finger to her cracked lips, before passing seamlessly through the door.

  I turned the doorknob but the door wouldn’t budge. I pushed and something pushed back. I pressed my free hand to the wood panel, beating on it with the heel of my palm. “Juliana?” I called out. When that didn’t work, “Shane?”

  The door gave and I stumbled inside, catching myself before I fell.

  The apartment was nearly pitch black and I felt the hollowness that often occurs when a space has been unoccupied for some time.

  There was a rustling noise in the far corner of the room––like rats shredding paper.

  Juliana’s ghost was no longer in sight, but even so, I sensed I was not alone. I stood in the doorway, waiting for my eyes to adjust before entering. Eventually, I was able to make out the shape of a bed and a dresser and a desk. I held my wand up so that I could see details––a picture on his nightstand, a portrait on the wall, a book to
ssed onto the floor. I inched forward, using the wand as a torch, until I was toe-to-toe with his bed.

  Setting the wand down, I reached into my pocket and produced one of the white candles meant for the ritual. I lit it. The flickering light sent shadows scurrying across the walls. It was not much, but at least I could see.

  A form lounged on the bed before me, resting on its elbows.

  Soft, young, and feminine. She smiled as our eyes met.

  “What do you want, Juliana?” I asked, careful not to cast too much light upon her. Spirits preferred to reside in the shadow world, and she might flit away again if I did not use caution.

  She blinked and stretched, like a child waking from a nap. Then she pulled herself to sitting and regarded me. I could almost see Mother in her features and––holding my candle tight so that I wouldn’t drop it––my own as well.

  She stood and straightened her billowy skirt, floating before me. Mere inches away from my face, she placed both hands around her neck, as if to choke herself. Her mouth fell open and her eyes drifted upwards. My eyes followed.

  There was a thin, rectangular outline above us, cut into the ceiling. The color of the paint was such that it was probably unnoticeable in daylight, but by flickering candlelight, it stood out against the plaster. A secret door.

  Her form dissolved into mist, then rose like steam, disappearing completely into the crawlspace above.

  “Juliana!” I called, lifting my candle. “Juliana! Come back!” But she was gone.

  “Maggie! Do you need help?” It was Eve.

  “No, I’ll be down soon.”

  I turned, looking for something to boost me up. It was foolish to follow the dead, but Juliana had come to show me something and would not rest until she had shared her secret.

  “Maggie?” It was Ruth Anne this time, halfway up the staircase. “I got his hat.”

  “His hat?” That didn’t make sense. Shane surely would have taken his cowboy hat with him. “Coming!” I said, deciding to keep Juliana’s visitation to myself. So far, she had only come to me. Whatever she wanted to reveal was between us.

  I glanced at the hidden compartment overhead, then back at the bed where my wand still rested. Scooping it up, I promised to return once the ritual was done. As I moved to leave, the light from my candle caught a flicker of gold glimmering from beneath Shane’s bed. I inched forward, the item beckoned like a coin beneath a sleeping dragon.

  “Maggie, we need to hurry.” Ruth Anne called to me again. “Eve’s freaking out down here.”

  “One sec,” I shouted back. “Meet you down there in three minutes.”

  There was a long pause followed by, “Okay.”

  I placed my toe on the object and slid it out. It was weightier than I imagined. Once revealed, I could see that it was a picture frame. I lifted it for inspection.

  Instead of a picture, I was surprised to see a certificate.

  I read the words and my hands went limp, nearly dropping it.

  With trembling fingers I looked again, hoping I was mistaken. But there, in bold printed letters were the words: Marriage Certificate, State of Montana: 2011.

  And beneath that were the names: Shane and Irene Doler.

  THIRTY

  Piece of My Heart

  I stared at the document for several minutes under candlelight, not wanting to believe what I read.

  Shane and Irene…married?

  I checked the date. It was signed in November, nearly three years ago.

  He had told me that he was “involved” with that woman, but he had never mentioned anything about marriage.

  Now it made sense why he wanted––no, needed––to go to her.

  And that was why I hadn’t heard from him. He couldn’t call me when he was with his wife.

  My mind went to a dark place. I imagined Shane setting fire to Dip Stix himself, using it as an excuse to leave. Or to collect insurance money. Then, he could run off and start again with Irene.

  I started hyperventilating as the scenario played itself out in my head.

  But Shane wouldn’t do that! He was a good guy. Wasn’t he?

  My entire understanding of Shane Doler was suddenly falling apart. He hadn’t told me the truth about his relationship with Irene. What else did he lie about?

  “Calm down,” I whispered, even as my hands trembled, barely able to keep hold of both the certificate and the candle at once.

  Maybe Irene really was dying and he was there to comfort her. But why not tell me about the marriage? And why hadn’t he called? On the other hand, if he was gone for good, he wouldn’t have left his belongings behind, especially something like his marriage certificate. He knew my sisters had keys and we’d find it.

  Unless that’s what he wanted us to do.

  But it wasn’t Shane who had led me to his room. It was Juliana.

  Tightening my grip on the certificate, my emotions bounced between anger and fear. The frame grew uncomfortably warm in my hand. I looked again––the glass had cracked in two.

  I removed the paper from the frame and rolled it into a scroll. I was definitely going through with the ritual now. And lucky for me, what could be more personal than a marriage license?

  Storming out of the room, I barreled down the staircase, hardly using the rail for support. My heart thumped so loudly I was certain it could be heard above my footsteps.

  When I reached the dining room, I regarded the ring on my finger––the ring I had brought back from our dream world.

  It was worthless. No more valuable than the dream I had taken it from.

  “Still want to do the ritual?” Eve asked. “I haven’t heard from Merry yet. Maybe we should wait?”

  “Oh, we’re doing the ritual alright, Merry or no. I’m bringing Shane’s ass here. I have my item, so let’s go.”

  “What is it?” Ruth Anne asked as I approached the outer circle where his cowboy hat and a crumpled apron were already arranged.

  I held up the scroll but did not unfurl it, then placed it in the ring. “Certificate of restaurant ownership,” I lied, though the twinkling lights flickered as if to give me away. “Let’s do this.”

  Eve took my white candle and lit two more, placing one near each object. Shane’s hat looked strange in this lighting, darker and misshapen. The apron was also covered in soot. The only thing that remained clean and whole were his wedding vows.

  “Maggie, do you remember the spell?” Eve asked, taking her place in the outer ring.

  Ruth Anne and I did likewise, spacing ourselves evenly within the circle. I nodded. Spells were delicate things. One wrong word, one changed syllable, or errant nuance and things could go awry. It was important to keep a neutral state of mind when doing spell work, and to clear your head before each incantation.

  I tried to empty my brain but the image of Shane and his “wife” kept creeping in. The candle flame nearest me rose higher with every tainted thought.

  “Sorry,” I muttered. “I need a moment.”

  I cleared my throat, focused on the center of the circle, and recited the spell in an non-fluctuating tone.

  Three rings bind

  And three rings summon.

  Spirits of the Nether Plane,

  Bring forth souls

  That we once loved

  And then return them back again.

  Oh, fire, water, earth and wind,

  We call to you, appease us now

  Let us look upon the spirit

  Of he who can’t be with us now.

  As the invocation concluded, all three candle flames rose high into the air, extending themselves upwards into thin columns of smoke.

  The world fell away––the walls, the floor, the furnishings––and it seemed we were standing in empty space with nothing beneath our feet. It was vast and endless and I would have marveled had I had more time.

  Just as quickly, the world reformed. The walls were raised, the flooring restored, and the flames returned to normal, flickering in unison,
like the steady beat of a heart.

  I rubbed my ring. “Shane Doler, I summon you forth!”

  I lowered my gaze to the innermost circle, where his form should appear.

  Nothing happened.

  “Try again, Mags,” Ruth Anne said.

  I nodded, repeating the spell, emphasizing the line: bring forth souls that we once loved.

  A mist emerged, filling the entire inner circle.

  We choked and turned our heads. When it cleared, an opaque image appeared in its place, like a movie being played without a screen or a backdrop.

  Shane’s white pickup materialized. I concentrated and the image deepened. Soon I could make out details: the mud-splattered windshield, the tire rims, the license plate. And finally, the faces of the two passengers––Shane and Irene.

  “Whoa!” Ruth Anne took a half step back, caught herself, and quickly pulled her foot back inside the ring.

  We observed the truck now in motion, racing down a mountainous road. There was a deep canyon along one side with nothing more than an inadequate guardrail between the vehicle and the abyss.

  “Slow down!” Irene ordered Shane, her face white with terror. He paid no attention. His focus was purely on the road ahead of him, his hands tightly gripping the wheel. “Shane, you’re going to get us killed!”

  I sensed his foot hit the gas as the truck hit a tight curve. The landscape whizzed by––a steep cliff on one side, a gaping chasm on the other. The road narrowed but Shane would not remove his foot from the accelerator.

  “No!” she commanded.

  Silently, I joined with her in willing him to stop. But he heard neither of us. Or if he did, he refused to listen.

  Irene covered her face.

  There was the heart-stopping grind of metal on metal… and then nothing more.

  The scene dissolved.

  I held the sides of my head, fighting nausea. The twinkle lights around us had flickered out, leaving only candlelight. “Was that real?”

  “I don’t know,” Ruth Anne admitted.

  “Do you think Shane is…?” I couldn’t get the words out.