The Curse of Dark Root: Part Two (Daughters of Dark Root Book 4) (21 page)

“Now, Dora,” Jillian said, stroking Montana’s head. “There were good parts to Armand, too. Remember? He was a strong magician, and had things turned out differently...” She stopped speaking abruptly. “I’m just saying, maybe we shouldn’t get rid of all traces of Montana’s grandfather.”

Jillian was right. I
had
seen good in my father through the globe memories, but I knew he had a dark side. He’d stolen Mother’s ankh and used it to travel through the Netherworld. He’d opened portals and set loose a demon, albeit without his knowledge. He’d also seduced and used Larinda to further his spells.

Did that make him evil, though? Or just misguided?

There must be more to the story or Aunt Dora wouldn’t revile him as she did. Perhaps the answer lay inside those memory globes, the ones I now regretted getting rid of.

I was too impulsive in getting rid of all magick. And now that I knew my son had abilities, there was no escaping it, anyway. In fact, I’d have to embrace magick to guide my little wilder onto the right path.

Lest he end up like his grandfather.

If what my aunt always said was true––
never trust a warlock
––I had to rewrite our future history, starting now.

MICHAEL HAD PAINTED one of the smaller bed chambers a sunny yellow and adorned the walls with sticky cutouts of fairy tale characters. The curtains were a rich dark blue, meant to keep out the early morning sun. A large bookcase was anchored in a corner, and I noted Mother’s spell book crammed between
Alice in Wonderland
and
Watership Down
.

I smiled, glad that my sisters hadn’t actually gotten rid of Mother’s precious book, despite my insistence.

A Winnie the Pooh clock, fifteen minutes behind schedule, tick-tocked over the door, while a sports-themed mobile turned slow circles above his crib. This last addition made me roll my eyes. Before Michael’s conversion to karate, he had never participated in sports, nor watched any on TV. Now, he was pointing out the differences between a baseball bat and a hockey stick to our son, who giggled at every word.

I kissed Montana and left the two of them in the new nursery, taking the baby monitor with me. I had never slept out of sight of my son a single night, and I didn’t intend to start now. Being in a separate room would be difficult, but Michael insisted it would be good for everyone.

I retired to my room, surprised to find Jillian waiting for me in my grandmother’s old rocking chair. The two of us watched through the monitor as Michael sang “Sweet Child o’ Mine” into the crib.

“You have a beautiful baby,” Jillian said. She was wearing satin pajamas and applying lotion to her hands.

“More beautiful than anything I could have imagined,” I agreed dreamily, still watching through the small camera. At last, Michael stopped singing. I dimmed the volume and returned my attention to my old friend.

“I should have come back sooner,” I admitted, climbing into my bed. The quilt smelled like summer rain––the result of either a new spell or a new fabric softener. I pulled the blanket to my chin, happy to be sleeping in my own bed again.

“We all get through things in our own time and way,” Jillian acknowledged. “It wasn’t fair, what Dora and I did. But I hope you know, we thought it was the only way to save you. Perhaps we were wrong.”

I shrugged. Discerning the difference between right and wrong got tougher every day. “You were trying to help me and I appreciate it. I’m still alive so maybe it worked.” I smiled, though I could tell from the look in her eyes she knew I was still sick. “And Montana’s happy and healthy. What more could I ask for?”

Jillian cocked an eyebrow towards the monitor. “You’re sure he’s a warlock?” she asked, her lips forming that pucker as her eyebrows knit together.

“Pretty certain.” I recounted my evidence as she listened intently. “And Eve thinks he hides her makeup,” I added. “But I think she’s just trying to get me to buy her more.”

Jillian wrung her lotion-smoothed hands. “So, he might have telekinesis. That’s a powerful gift, though not uncommon. It runs in your family. Aside from using it to scare people and slam a few doors, it doesn’t seem too troublesome for now. Fortunately, advanced telekinesis is draining and requires a lot of concentration.”

I nodded. If Montana was anything like I was, he would find school dull and look for distractions. Parent-teacher conferences should be interesting, to say the least. But what happens when he becomes an adult? Would he use his abilities to help people, or to rob banks?

“I can’t do this alone,” I admitted. “Especially if he’s a wilder like his mother.”

“I understand. What really worries me,” Jillian continued, leaning forward in the chair, “is that there could be more than telekinesis going on. Maggie... he might be a Planes Walker.”

“How can he be a planes walker when he can’t even walk?”

I smothered my face into a pillow as I thought about the implications. Uncle Joe had given lectures on planes walkers when we were kids. They were rare and powerful, with the ability to slip from one point in time to another in the blink of an eye, without the need of a focus item. Planes walkers traveled to different worlds, slipping through cracks in space that only they could find.

I dug through old memories. I recalled Mother confessing that she’d never encountered a
natural
planes walker, though she suspected some of the Council members were dabbling in teleportation magick. She had warned us on the dangers––getting trapped in a different plane without an exit. Getting lost in the endless tunnels that made up the Netherworld. Getting stuck between worlds.

“Jillian, what am I going to do?” I groaned, batting the pillow away. “Can it be anything else?”

“It is the only thing that makes sense,” she answered, after a moment of thoughtful musing. “He slips into another plane, probably in his sleep. Or, and this is extremely rare but less worrisome, he visualizes what he wants––keys, make up, etc.––then pulls it to him through a crack in this realm. It’s
much
stronger than telekinesis, as you don’t have to be near the desired object for it to work. Maggie, your son could literally be pulling what he wants out of thin air. The only person I’ve ever seen with that kind of natural ability was...”

“My father.”

She nodded. “Being able to bring something from one plane of existence into another takes years of practice, and few ever achieve it.”

“It does?” I quickly hid my naked ring finger.

Jillian squeezed her eyes shut, then reopened them. Her face was flushed and moist, as if the effort was exhausting. “You’re not better, yet. In fact, it’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But please don’t tell anyone.”

“Honey, everyone knows. You can keep a brave face, but we’re all women and witches here. You can’t hide much from either.”

I tugged on my curls, wondering how much to confess. I decided on everything.

“The curse is still here. I’ve been fighting it off, and for a while I thought it was working. But Jillian, every day I’m a little weaker. If it wasn’t for Merry’s healing abilities and tea, who knows where I’d be right now?”

I rubbed my face, unaware that I had grown so warm. Jillian left the rocking chair and cracked open the window behind my bed.

“Are you scared?” she asked, sitting beside me.

“Yes, but not for me. I got rid of everything in Sister House that I thought held magick, hoping the curse would go, too. Or, that if I removed all magick, magick couldn’t find me in return. Stupid, I know.” I looked at her, dumbly.

“You’re inherently magick, Maggie, and your son is, too. It’s as much a part of you as your red hair and temper. You can change and alter these things, but you can’t destroy them.” She tapped my leg softly. “Nor should you. These are special gifts that just might save the world one day.”

“Save the world? I just want to save myself and my family.”

“When we save one person, we save the world.” She folded my hand into hers, massaging it. Her energy was warm and healing, like Merry’s, but with a lot more punch. It snaked through me, relaxing like a glass of wine and a warm bath.

“I do think it was wise to get rid of the items in the house,” Jillian continued. “At least for a while. It’s like trying to find out what you’re allergic to. You start eliminating everything, then adding things slowly back in.”

“Thanks. I still feel pretty silly.”

She stood and dimmed the lamp on my dresser. “You won’t have to worry about too much magick in this house.” She raised her hands to the side. “As you must have seen, we’re tapped.”

“Tapped? As in out?”

Jillian nodded.

“But I just felt your calming magick.”

“That’s inherent, too. I can’t run from that, either. But for spells, rituals––anything that requires drawing from source energy...” She shrugged. “We’re all out.”

“Is that why this place looks so desolate? And why the ground is parched? And the trees bare?”

She gave me a sad smile. “Yes. Dora and I violated our agreement with Larinda when you didn’t finish the globes by the time you gave birth. As punishment, our access to magick was cut off.” She paused, laughing it off. “It doesn’t bother me all that much. I hadn’t cast a spell in years before I returned to Dark Root, anyway. I can still see the future, although it’s not as clear, and I can still get a decent read on people. It’s your aunt I worry about.”

“Poor Aunt Dora!”

“Yes, poor dear. She can still read tea leaves, but that’s about all. Not having her abilities makes her feel vulnerable. Between you and me, I think that’s one of the reasons she lets Michael stay. She likes him alright, but I think she feels safer with a man around, in case something gets in.”

Jillian didn’t say someone. She said
something
. A small word change with a big difference. “I guess there’s safety in numbers.”

She stared at me, or rather at the window behind me, her eyes scanning the endless stars that filled the sky. “Magick wasn’t stripped from us all at once. The land and trees are rich with it––more so in Dark Root than most any other place on earth. Not only that––it’s stored here, with witch and nature working together. Nature gives us magick, and when a witch casts a spell, it’s given back. A spiritual condensation, if you will.

“We quickly drew upon this reservoir to aid you. Dora put up every layer of protection she could muster––over this house, over Sister House, and over the town itself. We fortified the domes and checked for portals, but it wasn’t enough. Maggie, I promise you we did everything we could. But we couldn’t take the curse away.”

“That’s why I thought I was better at first! It was due to the two of you. But will the magick come back to this house?

“Yes, eventually. But it will take some time.”

“I didn’t know. Thank you. I owe you both so much.”

She looked at me with hard eyes. “Your Circle is cracking. We must keep it whole, at all costs.”

I lifted my wrist, studying the crystal band, etched with cracks like a road map. “How?”

“Superglue?” she laughed, bitterly. “I’m sorry, bad joke. We’re in over our heads right now, but we’ll pull through if we stick together.”

“Jillian? Why are there shoes and balls and mirrors draped across our windows?”

“Dora’s taken to the old ways, Maggie. Those balls and shoes are supposed to keep out dark witches and malevolent spirits. It is a tradition carried over from The Burning Times. In those days, peasants hung reflective material around the house to deflect curses, and hung Witch Balls to watch for evil. Shoes, too. It was a dark time in our collective history, one I couldn’t imagine we’d ever repeat, but Dora is desperate.”