The Curse Of Dark Root: Part One Part 25

"Stay away from me and my baby!" I screamed, tossing her from the van. In my rage, she was as weightless as a rag doll, her body skimming the sidewalk and cras.h.i.+ng into the brick wall behind us. The air around us hummed and the light over a nearby door burst into shards, raining down on the concrete.

"But how? You're not protected here!" Leah's face showed stunned disbelief. She spat at me, clambering to her feet. She lifted a clear locket, defiantly showcasing a snippet of red hair. Mine.

I stepped forward, my arms held high. I felt the limitless vortex of energy surrounding me, nouris.h.i.+ng me, feeding me. I lowered one hand, pointing.

"Maggie! Stop!" Michael stepped in front of her, acting as a s.h.i.+eld.

My whole body trembled. The power coursed through me, needing release. "Michael, move!"

"No, Maggie. You can't do this." He warded me off with both hands while Leah gathered herself behind him.

"Why are you protecting her? Do you know what she's done to me and my family? Let me handle her!"

"You'll have to get through me first."

I hesitated, my hands warbling with pent up energy. In that moment, my eyes seized upon the locket of my hair dangling from her hand...and I let loose.

The locket ripped free of her grip and shot through the air, into my waiting grasp.

"Go!" I commanded, waving her away.

Leah paused uncertainly, then quickly limped off, not looking back.

I examined the pendant dangling in my hand. They had a lock of my hair. Maybe they had other things? Hair. Nails. Personal items. These were what curses were crafted from.

"Why did you stop me?" I demanded, turning to Michael.

"I was afraid you'd kill her." He appeared as shocked as Leah. "How did you do that?"

"It only happens when I'm enraged." I looked at my hands, now beginning to tremble. This wasn't the first time I had unleashed, and I still had no idea how to control it.

I grabbed the van door, to stave off the onset of dizziness.

For the first time I noticed an older man staring at us from the doorway of a nearby shop.

"Witch!" he declared, pointing an accusing finger at me.

Linsburg, in its close proximity to Dark Root, had a long history of vilifying witches, especially among the old timers.

"I seen it! Witch!"

I climbed into the van and quickly shut the door, hitting the lock. I watched through the open window as Michael approached the old man, stepping in close.

"You're keeping company with a Witch," the shopkeeper said. "Your soul is d.a.m.ned."

"Go back inside," Michael cooed, his voice soothing like honey. "You're tired and could use a long nap."

"I-I..." The man scratched his balding head, blinked a few times, and then nodded. "Yes, it's a warm day. I'm just tired." The old man turned and disappeared back into the store.

Michael joined me in the van and started up the engine, letting it idle. We sat there, staring at one another.

"I can't believe what I just saw," Michael said eventually, rolling up his window even though the air inside the van was stifling hot.

I rolled mine up as well. "Well, I can't believe what I just saw. Whatever you just did, that was more than mere persuasion."

"He has a weak mind," Michael said, gripping the steering wheel.

"No. You ordered him to do something and he did it. I thought you were nothing more than a charismatic charlatan, but now I knowyou're a f.u.c.king warlock!"

"Don't call me that."

"You are! How could I have missed it?" No wonder he had sought me out. Every warlock needs a witch.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. He put his foot on the gas, nearly ramming into the car parked in front of us before backing out of the tight s.p.a.ce and jetting down Main Street as fast as the van could take us away.

"I'm not a warlock, Maggie," he said as he drove. "But I do have... abilities."

"Like what?"

"Only what you already know. Convincing people, and some mild mind reading."

"That's how you knew who I was when you met me, wasn't it?"

"Partly. The rest was pure instinct. I had dreamed of you, and followed the cord to Dark Root. The gifts I have are not magical, they are blessings from G.o.d." He paused for a moment, clearly struggling with his thoughts. "But I was never as strong as you were," he continued. "I needed you. I would have done anything at the time to keep Woodhaven going. When I started to fail, I blamed you and turned to Leah instead. It was foolish of me. I see that now."

"But you're stronger now than you were when we were together."

"Healthy living," he said with a tense smile.

More likely, the magick of Dark Root.

We drove in silence and it started raining again. Michael flipped on the broken wipers, smearing the mud around. Giant trees with long, arcing branches partially sheltered us from the drizzle as they pointed the way home.

A nagging thought tickled the peripheral of my brain. Michael was a warlock, and warlocks could be dangerous in their insatiable quest for power. I looked down at my own hands. I was dangerous too.

Our son. Dear G.o.d, what were we unleas.h.i.+ng on the world?

"Take me home," I said. "No, wait. Take me to Sister House. I need to be alone today."

Michael nodded. "Whatever you say, Maggie Magic. Whatever you say."

TWENTY-THREE.

Crimson and Clover Michael dropped me off at Sister House, taking Merry with him when he left. They were headed for a meditation session in the woods. I felt an unwelcome twinge of jealousy as they laughed at a private joke before getting into the van. Merry waved through her open window and blew me a kiss. I forced a smile on my face.

Was Michael working his magic on my sister, hoping to use her abilities to bolster his own? He was a warlock and, according to Mother, that's what warlocks did. But Merry was an empath and could sense people's motives. However, she was also kind and trusted too easily.

All I could hope was that Michael's motives involved friends.h.i.+p and nothing more.

Now that I was alone, I checked my phone, scrolling through text messages and recent calls, hoping that Shane had tried to contact me. I found nothing except for a few missed calls from Jillian.

"Pick up," I said as I dialed his number.

Like before, it went straight to voicemail.

"Maybe his phone's broken? Or he lost it?" I caught myself speaking aloud as I plopped down on the front porch swing. A breeze rushed through, cool and swift, leaving behind the scent of roses and giving my swing a little push. I closed my eyes and leaned back, breathing in the smell of springtime as the wind caressed my cheek. I wondered where Shane Doler had disappeared to and if he missed me like I missed him.

I touched my crystal bracelet, feeling the smooth gla.s.s stone tingle with energy. I emptied my mind, hoping to connect with him. But as I reached out, I felt nothing but a vast emptiness.

Shane had seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth, and there was nothing I could do about it.

"Meow."

"Maggie Cat?"

I opened my eyes and looked around. His meow sounded so clear, so close, yet he was nowhere to be seen and his food bowl was still full.

The garden.

Some of my best memories were there. Hide and seek, picking flowers, tea parties, my last conversations with Mother. Not wanting to be alone in the house, I decided to spend my afternoon there.

Once inside the wrought iron sanctuary, I laid out a towel and sat down. The suns.h.i.+ne had returned and the clouds had cleared. Merry had declared that there wouldn't be another drop for at least a week, and I was gladthe dreariness did nothing for my mood.

I tried once again to clear my mind, not to contact Shane, but to center myself. I crossed my legs and turned my palms upwards towards the clear blue sky. After my encounter with the ghosts and Leah, and the discovery that Michael was a warlock, I needed serenity that didn't come from potions or tea.

But, try as I might, the image of Merry and Michael leaving together kept strolling through my head. I was not jealous, I told myself, but angry. Is this how Mother felt when she learned that Armand was kissing her cousin Larinda? Was that the rift that had separated them? Would it tear Merry and I apart, too?

"Don't be silly," I said to the trees, who listened patiently and without judgement. "Michael and I aren't together. But neither were Sasha and Armand, officially.

"Not my problem," I reminded myself, refocusing my efforts at clarity.

But as I managed to push my sister and my ex-lover from my mind, other images fought for my attention: Shane rescuing me in the parking lot of Fat Chance Bar, Shane rallying to bring Dark Root back from the ruins, Shane showing me our initials he had carved in the tree that had eventually given me my wand.

And then there were the dream memories where our bodies were so close that I could smell his breath before he kissed me. These images, at least, calmed me down. Until my eyes snapped open with the realization that he was gone...

...and may not be coming back.

I dug my elbows into my thighs. Maybe he had decided to stay with Irene? Maybe she was his first and only love, like Robbie had been to my mother?

In that moment, I understood what my father must have felt when he learned that Mother's heart would always belong to another.

I cast my eyes towards the spot where I had found Juliana's headstone after the tea party. Maybe she was a banshee, as Jillian guessed, come to bring tidings of Shane's demise, rather than my own? The thought of him dying was even more painful than of him running away with Irene. Though it broke my heart, I'd rather Shane have left me for another woman than to know he was gone for good.

I allowed the pain for a moment, before shutting it down.

Until I knew what had happened to Shane, I wasn't going to make myself crazy over it. I sat quietly, feeling the world around me. The birdsong and the suns.h.i.+ne. The breeze moved through the surrounding forest, whispering ancient secrets. I tried to listen but the words were forbidden, reserved only for Mother Nature herself and her faerie folk.

I'm not sure how long I sat there. It felt like minutes but when I finally looked up the sun was beginning to set. I used the wrought iron gate to pull myself up, then made my way over to the stone bench where Mother and I had one of our last talks.

"The world isn't fair," she had told me. "Especially for witches."

I ran my hands along the rough edges of the bench, looking for traces of Mother's energy. There was nothing of her here, but that was not unexpected. Stone absorbs, but does not always give back.

With a heavy sigh, I meandered out of the garden, picking a rose and closing the st.u.r.dy gate behind me. I touched my belly softly, marveling that this would be my son's sanctuary, too. I squeezed the stem of the rose between my hands, carefully avoiding the thorns, then sent its petals over the gate, one by onea blessing to protect the next generation who would hopefully spend their childhood in the garden, just as my sisters and I had.

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 gra.s.s and I moved towards it, my hands slas.h.i.+ng through weeds as I called out. "Here, kitty, kitty. Here, Maggie Cat. It's okay."

I spied an orange ball of fur in the gra.s.s 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 mea 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 notea 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.