The Curse of Dark Root: Part Two (Daughters of Dark Root Book 4) (2 page)

“Master, huh? You've never called me that before. I like it.” He stands and snaps his fingers. His throne disappears. He moves towards the watercolor painting, staring at it with detached curiosity. The portrait expands outward, growing taller and wider, until Larinda is unable to make out any details.

“Once upon a time we planned to rule in this castle together,” she reminds him. “You filled it with treasures and promises. Now, I'm alone, trapped for all eternity. Unless you release me.”

He turns, his green eyes surging electric red. “I warned you when you came into my bed that you could lose your soul! You gave yourself willingly.”

“My soul but not my life! And what of your promise? Have you forgotten that?”

“My promise?” The chandelier above shakes, snuffing several candles. “What about your promise to me? The domes should have already come down. The second ankh should have been found and the whole Council dismantled once and for all! Instead, the Council has reformed...

“You've had time!” he shouts, stepping forward.

The chamber echoes with his roar.

“...In fact, I've given you all the time in the world!” A large hourglass appears in his hand, the sands quickly draining. He closes his fist and the hourglass dissolves. “And yet, you summon me here and offer me nothing.”

The pillars shake, loosening more dust, and the floor around Armand's feet trembles, cracking the tile.

Larinda curls her hands under the armrests, her nails digging into the mahogany. “Time! What good is time here? This whole castle––this whole world––mocks me with time.”

Agitated, she stands. She wants to yell, to make him see the error of his ways, but she knows that diplomacy is needed, and perhaps some ego stroking as well. “But none of that is important now. Listen, Armand. The deal I made with Dora and Jillian––there is more!”

He stares, his long unwashed hair clinging to the sides of his face. “What is this deal?”

“Maggie has a son now!” Larinda announces, her voice strengthening with her new leverage. She steps confidentially towards him. “A son, Armand! Your oath can be fulfilled!”

He runs his thumb along his fingers, licking his lips. The ground stops trembling and the tiles reform. “So, she had the little bastard, huh?”

“Yes. I sense he's strong, too.” She pauses for effect. “Perhaps the strongest of us all.”

“Well, where is he?”

“I will have the boy shortly. I've bargained for, and won, his first six years.”

“That old bat, Dora, will never allow that. Nor will Jillian.”

His voice softens when he speaks Jillian's name, and Larinda coughs into the crook of her arm to hide her bitterness.

Calmly, she says, “They have no choice.” She removes a mirror from an antique desk and shows it to Armand. An image of Dora and Jillian, both of them tired and thin, appears in the glass. Their auras are dim, almost extinguished. “They are just two old women now.”

Armand shrugs. “I don't know, babe,” he says, using a term he last spoke when he was far more human. “They’re resourceful old fools, even without magick. How will you get past them?”

“Leave that to me.” She advances with light, graceful feet that hardly touch the floor, wrapping her slender arms around his waist and nuzzling her pointed chin into his shoulder. “I'll present you with your grandson, and then you'll release me.”

Armand lifts one of her black curls, tugging on it until it straightens. “You smell good. Familiar. I've missed that.” He kisses her lips and Larinda feels the cord between them strengthen. They had been close once. They could be again.

“What do you say?” she asks, looking at him with milky-blue eyes.

He stiffens. “You know what my plans are for the boy, correct?”

She nods, slowly. She knows of his deal with The Dark One: A male heir to be offered in return for unlimited power, riches, and health, even as the Darkness takes hold of the rest of the world. But time was running out. Armand had already received partial payment, and if he could not deliver before the end of his life span, eternity for him would be most unpleasant. “The boy is a small sacrifice, but a necessary one,” she agrees.

“You bring my grandson to this castle, and I'll see that you are free to return to the real world.”

“And what of your other promise? Will you recommit?”

“Ah, hell! The marriage thing again?” He runs his hands through his thinning hair. “Does that even apply now?”

“Yes. You know how much I want that. We can rule together, Armand. Once we turn over Montana, we'll be unstoppable.”

“Montana?”

“The name of your grandson.” Larinda smiles, pleased that she has knowledge he doesn't. “I personally would've gone for something simpler, but you know these modern mothers.”

Armand inhales deeply and releases it. “I don't know, babe. I'm not a marrying man. I told you before.”

“You told me only after we were engaged.”

“You let me use your body without first fulfilling my oath. That's on you.”

“But I have a new bargaining chip now, and I will not turn it over so easily this time, despite your many charms.”

Armand grits his teeth, his face reddening. He smiles but his eyes are clouded. “You bring him to me, and I'll see.”

“That's not good enough!” A single tear slides down her cheek. She hates that he sees it and quickly wipes it away. “I forgave you for abandoning me and Leah––the daughter you never visit, by the way.”

“Why would I visit that creature? She's weak and homely. And you promised me a son!”

“Listen, Armand, that is the past. If I secure the child and you don't release me from this prison, and marry me, you will have Hell to pay.”

He sighs and spreads his arms. “Too late, babe. I already do.”

Outside, lightning cracks the sky, illuminating the thirteen windows of the main hall. Armand stares at Larinda with renewed interest. “Did you do that? You've gotten more powerful.”

He licks his lips and Larinda senses his arousal. She is not responsible for the lightning, but says nothing. Let him think she can command the heavens.

“It's settled. I will deliver the boy and we will finally fulfill our destiny together. We'll rule side by side and thrive when the Darkness comes.” She lifts a hand, palm facing out.

Armand studies her outstretched hand, warily going through the checks and balances in his head. At last, he makes his decision. He thrusts his own palm into hers, and she feels their united energy swirl around them, coalescing into a single point––the space between their hands.

“So mote it be,” she says with a smile.

“So mote it be.”

With that, he vanishes, returning to the endless tunnels he loves to travel, or perhaps to his home in L.A., where it is rumored he has concubines and drugs and hundreds of followers who do his bidding.

And she is left alone, again.

Larinda falls back into her throne. She replays the events of the past in her mind, always coming back to the moment when Armand took the last of her life force shortly after the birth of their daughter. He'd left her barely alive, trapping her between two realms––the corporeal and the incorporeal––allowing her only short visits to the real world, like a whale coming up for air.

But he could give it all back to her.

“If only I'd had a son in the first place, Armand would have stayed. Stupid, stupid little girl.”

Outside the castle, the storm rolls on.

Within the stone walls, the dark witch falls asleep, unaware that her daughter, Leah, has witnessed everything from the shadows of one of the long corridors that comprise Larinda’s eternal prison.

ONE

Mr. Tambourine Man

The Dark Root Woods

July, 2014

I STOOD NEAR the yew tree where Shane once carved our initials. My sisters––Ruth Anne, Merry, and Eve––gathered with me in the deep woods, donning sundresses and wide-brimmed hats, or in Ruth Anne's case, camouflage shorts and a dubiously clean T-shirt.

The burial plot was small, no larger than a doll's bed, but big enough for my needs.

I stared at the pit, wondering how I could commit something so precious to the earth below.

It had been three months since Shane disappeared. His truck had been found in a river, and I’d had three months to convince myself that he was not just missing.

He was gone. Forever.

It was supposed to be time for me to move on.

“Maggie,” Merry whispered. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

She stepped forward, concern in her wide blue eyes. Her fingers gently grazed the top of my wrist.

“She needs closure,” Eve said from behind us. “She can't move forward until the circle is complete.”

Circles. Everything came back to circles.

The circle of family. The circle of life. And today, the small golden circle that still graced my ring finger. I stared at the band, remembering how Shane had given it to me in the dream world as we made plans for our future together in the real one.

But that's all our plans ever amounted to––dreams.

It was time for some hard reality.

I gave Merry a stiff nod as I slid the ring from my finger. “Yes, I'm sure.” I felt the cool band drop into the palm of my hand.

“Goodbye Shane,” I whispered, touching the ring to my lips.

I released my grasp and let the ring roll from my fingertips into the open hole. It landed with the softest of sounds, but it seemed like the whole world should have heard it.

I kicked at the loose dirt around the edge of the plot with the toe of my sandal, covering the golden band with damp earth. When it was done, I took a deep breath and held it while my sisters edged in closer, waiting for my tears to start up again. But I had cried too many tears over the last few months, and I wasn’t sure I would ever cry again.

“What stage is this?” Eve asked, checking her phone for the time.

“Let's see...” Ruth Anne lifted a hand and began counting. “There's denial...”

“Check,” Eve said.

“Anger.”

“Double check!”

“Bargaining? Mags, did you bargain at all?”

I ignored them both, my eyes never leaving the burial plot. In truth, I had been bargaining every day, begging whatever powers were in charge for one last time together. I'd be nicer. I'd keep my cool. I'd work on my jealousy. Anything, to have Shane back.

“If she's done bargaining,” Ruth Anne continued, her tone as clinical as a doctor’s checking off a list of symptoms. “There's depression, and finally acceptance.”

“She's been depressed the whole time,” Eve announced. “I sure hope this is the acceptance stage. She's become a drag.”

“We need to support Maggie,” Merry said, her voice both kind and firm. “Grieving is a process, Evie. Despite what Ruth Anne would tell you, it's not done in five easy steps.”

Eve blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Yeah, I know. I watch daytime TV. But how much time? It’s been a full season, which is how long it takes on a show.”

“This isn't TV. It can take months, maybe years.” Merry swallowed, looking at me with pity. “But Maggie's strong. She'll get through this. Faster than most, I think.”