The Curse of Dark Root: Part Two (Daughters of Dark Root Book 4) (27 page)

Time had no meaning, really. It could happen tonight, or in ten thousand nights. But it would happen––of that, he was very certain. No amount of spells or ceremonies would hold it back.

And he planned to be prepared.

“Even if this were true…” Armand reached into his pocket, searching for a smoke. He was back down to half-a-pack a day now, or up to half-a-pack, depending on who you talked to. He found one and put it in the side of his mouth, unlit. “Even if there is another great war and this whole apocalyptic scenario comes to pass, what makes you think we, the thirteen of us, can do anything to stop it?”

“Faith, Armand. That’s all we have.”

He chewed on the cigarette with his back teeth, mashing it up in his mouth. “Then it’s Heaven’s war, not ours.”

Or maybe Hell’s, he thought to himself.

He inhaled as if the cigarette were lit. Poking her in the chest, he added, “But I do agree with you on one thing––we should prepare for it. Stockpile food, magickal items, spells, components. Because when it comes, there’s nothing we can do about it except choose our side wisely.”

He snapped his fingers and his index finger shone with the light of a blue flame. He touched it to the tip of his cigarette and inhaled.

Better,
he thought, feeling his agitation lessen.

“You need to make up your mind,” Sasha warned. “You can’t keep changing sides on a whim.”

“I don’t change them on a whim,” he said, taking another toke and blowing the smoke through the damaged window. “I play the odds. And our odds here... they don’t look good, honey.”

Sasha took a step back, out of his reach. “You’re the devil, Armand.”

“Not yet. But maybe if I play my cards right.” He winked through the smoke circle escaping his lips. “Happy effin’ birthday to me, right?” He shook his head, laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

He had a thought––it was his birthday, not hers. He didn’t have to go to Sasha’s stupid party. There were more interesting things he could be doing tonight, with other, more interesting people.

“I’m leaving,” he announced decisively.

“Just give me a minute to check my makeup and I’ll go, too.” Sasha reached for her clutch on the coffee table. “I don’t want anyone to see me with swollen eyes.”

Armand shook his head. “No. I mean I’m really going.”

“Going? You mean... back to Los Angeles!?”

“Not yet, but maybe soon. For now, just out of this house. I can’t be here anymore. This mansion has somehow become too small for the both of us.”

“You can’t leave!” Sasha exclaimed, dropping her clutch and blocking the door with her body. “What will people say?”

“They’ll say you’ve lost your mind, and your leash on me.”

She stamped her foot. “Armand, no! I forbid it!”

“You’re a powerful, woman, Sasha. And I actually cared for you once. But I can’t do this anymore. What we had wasn’t love. I know that now.”

“Where will you go then? Larinda’s?” Sasha narrowed her eyes in warning. “You’re going to screw her to death one day, Armand. Mark my words! I know you siphon off of her. She gets frailer every time I see her.”

“Why do you care where I go or who I screw? Do you think I don’t know about your lovers?”

“I’m not moving in with any of them.”

Armand ground his teeth. “And I’m not going to Larinda’s.”

The witch’s face paled. With hesitation, she asked, “Are you going to Jillian’s?”

Armand took a deep breath, pausing. “No.”

“I see.” Sasha backed away, stopping in front of a bookshelf. She lifted a photo of her and Jillian together, holding it up for him to see. “Please don’t corrupt that young woman, Armand. She has too much Light.”

He let out a guttural laugh. “Then maybe she can save me.”

Sasha regarded him with cool eyes. “You have to save yourself.”

Armand drew the last hit from his cigarette, then flicked it out the window. He walked to the door with a weary sigh, and opened it wide. “You shouldn’t bait me, Sasha. I’m stronger than you. Maybe I wasn’t before, but I am now. You’ll regret treating me like your manservant one day.”

“I’m not baiting you! And don’t underestimate me! Aging might be bad for warlocks, but it does wonders for witches.” She returned the photo to the shelf and reached for something else. Her wand. With a sly smile, she ran it along the length of her body. The silver threads in her hair deepened to a rich brown, and the lines on her forehead smoothed.

The bitch.

“Believe it or not, Sasha, there are more powerful beings in this world than you. And I’m now on a first-name basis with a few of them.”

He pointed at the two halves of the broken tree limb on the ground, one with each hand.

 
They burst, each splintering into a dozen bits.

He opened the door and left, for good.

TWENTY

Blowin’ in the Wind

I STIRRED MY coffee with my finger, blowing on it though the coffee was already cool from sitting out on the garden table. Still, an early morning like this called for such rituals. Montana smiled happily from his baby swing beside me, thrusting out his arms and legs, and resembling a strawberry-tipped star as he whizzed by.

Jillian sat across from me, working a crossword puzzle. I added a sugar cube to my coffee and casually opened a conversation. “Jillian, you lived in the apartment above Uncle Joe’s diner when you were on the Council, right?”

She tucked her pen behind her ear and regarded me with a pragmatic stare. The shadows around her eyes told me she had slept very little. Still, she kept up her spirits, camouflaging her exhaustion with concealer and a swipe of mascara. “I may have lost some of my abilities, Maggie, but I can tell there’s more to your inquiry than just polite small talk.”

 
“You caught me,” I laughed, finishing off my coffee. I was tired myself. I leaned forward so that Aunt Dora, who was diligently burying more urine vases across the yard, didn’t hear us. “In the globe, Sasha asked Armand if he was going to live with you after he threatened to leave.”

“Yes, I remember that night... I think. Armand stopped by after he and Sasha had a spat. He hinted about staying with me.”

“You said no?”

She smiled at the memory, her lips drawn and thoughtful, but her eyes far away. “I didn’t say no. He showed up on my doorstep the night of his birthday. It was raining, as usual, and when I let him in he went on and on about how awful Sasha was. I told him to stop, of course. That was practically heresy around here.” She stopped speaking as her eyes slid towards my aunt. “I mean, Armand could say those things, but if Sasha knew I’d listened...” Jillian shivered and her voice trailed off.

“Where did he go, then?”

“Maggie, I’m only able to confirm what you already know. I’m sorry.”

I tapped the sides of my cup. “So, what do I know?”

“You probably know by now that Armand was capable of love, correct?”

I nodded slowly. “I think so. He loved Mother for a while, and maybe Larinda.” I paused, looking Jillian square in the eye. “And you.”

Jillian’s response was silence. When at last she spoke, I could tell she was picking her words carefully. “Yes. Armand loved Larinda in his way. She agreed with his darker side, allowing him to do as he pleased without repercussion. But
her
darkness also scared him. Perhaps it reminded him––”

“–––too much of himself,” I finished.

“Yes. As for Sasha, she was his first love, I think. He worshiped her and her abilities, and he respected her headstrong ways. Even though he didn’t always agree with her cause.” She spread her palms across the garden table. “But Sasha... well, you knew her even better than I did.”

I nodded. I didn’t know everything but I knew enough. Mother had never reciprocated his respect.

“She was his teacher,” Jillian continued, nodding to herself. “And his mentor. But even though they were equals on some levels, they were worlds apart in their ideals.”

“Yes.” I sucked in a breath, casting a quick glance at my son. The swing had had stopped and he was now watching a ladybug on his tray. I turned back to Jillian. “He loved you, too. Didn’t he? Maybe most of all.”

Jillian’s shoulders raised then lowered, her pause both nostalgic and beaten.

“Did you love him, too?”

She smiled, looking for a moment like the young woman from my dream globes. “Yes.”

“So why weren’t you two together? Mother be damned! You could have saved him, Jillian. I know it!”

Jillian’s sigh was heavy. She traced the rim of her mug with her thumb, blinking away her tears. “Life is complicated, Maggie. Even more so in Dark Root. Armand loved me, but his love was twisted. He saw me not as a woman, but as something...”

She pulled her hand from the mug abruptly, as if it had suddenly turned hot. “Something untouchable. Classic Madonna-whore complex. Sorry to be vulgar, but that’s what your father was dealing with. He had his good girls and his bad girls and he kept them separate––in his head, in his heart, and in his pants.” She grimaced, shaking it off. “With women, there were no gray areas for your father. Only black and white.”

“Typical man!” I commiserated. “Michael used to be the same way.”

“People change, as you’ve seen with Michael.”

“But Armand didn’t, did he?”

“No. He could only love me from a distance.” She smiled brightly, reclaiming her cup. “But from that distance, friendship grew. I probably knew more about his inner workings than even Sasha.”

“Then you should have fought for him!”

“Sometimes things work out exactly the way they are supposed to, even if it breaks our hearts. Besides, I respected Sasha too much. When I lost my own mother, she filled the role. She found me, trained me, and made me feel normal for once.”

“Ya needin’ more coffee?” Aunt Dora stood with a groan, trundling towards our table without the aid of her cane. Her hands and knees were mud-stained and her face was as lined as a garden gnome’s. Fatigue was catching up to her, too.

“I’m good,” I said, covering the cup with my hands.

She furrowed her bushy brows, then headed inside to clean up.

“She’s a trooper,” Jillian said. “That woman’s seen more wars and tragedies than anyone should in one lifetime, yet she soldiers on. I always loved her. When I lived here before, she became my honorary aunt, too.” Jillian squeezed my hand. “Family is made, Maggie. Never forget it. And though I left Dark Root decades ago, this town was always family to me.”

“I know what you mean.”

The mechanical ratcheting sound of Montana’s swing started up again, and the swing slowly began oscillating back and forth. My son let out a triumphant whoop. Jillian and I exchanged glances, our eyes wide as we each held back a laugh.

“I suppose I should be happy he’s self-sufficient,” I said. “It’s a good trait for a kid of mine to have.”

“You’re certainly going to have your hands full with a baby magician,” she said.

“That’s one of the many reasons I need you in my life. I’m pretty lost with this parenthood thing. And a baby who can do what he does...” I shook my head. “Maybe he’ll outgrow it?”