The Curse of Dark Root: Part Two (Daughters of Dark Root Book 4) (45 page)

“It’s different with family.”

There was a faraway look in Shane’s eyes. He’d lost his own family, and his son wasn’t with him.

“I’m your family now,” I said.

He stroked my cheek. “And you’re more than enough for any man. In fact, if I was a sharing man...” His eyes slid up towards the attic above.

“Not funny,” I said. “Now go to take a shower. I’ll see you downstairs in thirty.”

I spent the time before dinner playing with Montana in the nursery, replaying the events of the day. I’d seen both my dead grandmother and my father’s half-dead mistress. And though I was happier than I ever remembered being, I was still troubled and tired.

I pointed to a full moon in a picture book, pronouncing the word “MOON” to my son. In so doing, my mind wandered to the last unrevealed globe. And Larinda’s ominous words.

Sasha did it. The woman you call Mother!

I knew Larinda to be a liar, but there was something in the tone of her voice that led me to believe her.

Why would Sasha do that to me? She’d always said I had more power than any of them, including her, but that I’d squandered it. Was the curse my punishment?

Montana smacked his lips and I got his bottle, feeding him in the beanbag chair. He felt a little warm, so I reminded myself to call the doctor for an appointment first thing in the morning. “I know how you feel, honey. Mommy doesn’t feel so good either.”

As he drifted off to sleep in my arms, more of Larinda’s cruel words returned.

The woman you call mother.

“Stop it,” I told myself. As Aunt Dora liked to say, Larinda was nothing but darkness and lies.

I put Montana to bed and cast a bubble around his crib, then went to join the others downstairs. The sounds of family and friends made me smile. I sniffed the air––Fried chicken. grilled corn on the cob, homemade bread. And pie, of course. My stomach growled approvingly.

The others were already seated around the dining table. Their faces were all smiles as they exchanged gossip and jokes, passing a basket of buttered rolls. Paul was there too, sitting beside Eve, his dark blond hair slicked up in a pompadour while he stabbed at his potatoes. Michael sat next to Merry, both with raised fists, replaying an earlier sparring match. Aunt Dora and Jillian nested beside one another, trading recipes and inquiring about the health of some of Dark Root’s older residents. Ruth Anne’s face was buried in a book.

Only Shane turned my way, his eyes sparkling, his smile warm. My heart leapt. He was clean and indescribably handsome. He stood up and pulled out my chair, Mother’s chair, and I took my seat the head of the table. A glass of wine sat before me. I cleared my throat.

“A toast, please,” I said.

The chatter stopped and everyone turned in my direction. Paul’s eyes caught mine and we held a moment, both taken back to a shared an intimacy, a near lifetime ago. We smiled, knowing things had worked out exactly as they were meant to.

“To Family,” I said, standing. “The good. The bad. And the crazy.”

“Here, here!” Everyone chimed in, laughing as we clinked glasses.

“We always have each other’s backs.” I glanced at Paul and Shane. “...And we always come home.” I then looked in turn at my sisters, my aunt, Michael, and my good friend Jillian. “Thank you all for getting me through this year. I promise to rid myself of this curse and get back to normal. Then you can all find something else to worry about for a while.”

“You’ve never been normal, Mags,” Ruth Anne said with a grin. The others laughed and nodded in agreement.

We feasted that night, perhaps intuitively knowing that dinners like this would become rare in the near future. There was a curious energy in the air––one that foretold of change.

But I would deal with the future when it came.

I drank a lot of wine that meal, knowing that the wheel of fate was about to spin again.

THIRTY-FOUR

Midnight Confessions

Dark Root, Oregon

July, 1987

Sister House

“HOLY HELL, THEY’RE taking a long time!” Armand lit a cigarette and paced the living room, his trench coat flaring out behind him as his boots drummed across the floor. Dora watched with a sour look from the sofa, her two small charges bookending her. Ruth Anne studied him curiously, while Merry hid her face behind her pale blonde hair.

He looked at his watch and frowned. “Hasn’t anyone heard from them?” he demanded, turning to the Council members gathered in the dining room. Joe and Leonard shook their heads as they carried food past him from the kitchen, while the women quietly gossiped at the table, ignoring him. Armand finished his cigarette and started another, disregarding Dora’s accusing scowl.

“Thought ya quit,” she growled.

He stopped pacing and stared at the squat woman and her keen, trollish eyes. “I quit last week. This week I started.”

“Half-assed, like everything ya do.” She caught herself cussing and placed her hands over the girl’s outer ears. Merry stayed covered but Ruth Anne burrowed out.

“Do you have anything nice to say? Ever?”

“Not when it comes ta warlocks.”

“You treat those two pretty boys in there much better than you treat me, Dora.”

“That’s because they earned my respect. Ya haven’t!”

“Ah, hell. You’ve known me nearly twenty years and you don’t have a kind word for me, huh?”

Dora looked him up and down, then gave a quick shake of the head. “Ya smell better than ya used to.”

The two girls giggled beside her.

“Auntie Dora, where is mommy?” Merry asked.

“That’s what I keep asking,” Armand said, pointing the cigarette butt in her direction. “At last, someone here with some common sense.”

“Birdie, ya knew where your mama went.”

“To have my little sister?” Merry asked, all blue eyes and wonder.

“Aye. She’ll be back as soon as she can, but these things take time.”

“And of course, your mother had to travel halfway around the world to do it. Just like Sasha.” Armand took an extra-long inhale and checked his watch again. She would be late for her own funeral––he could guarantee it.

“Can I name the baby?” Merry asked excitedly.

“I think yer mother already named her Maggie. But I have dolls that still don’t have names, if ya got a good one.”

Merry nodded amicably as Ruth Anne rolled her eyes.

Armand watched their childish interactions with mild amusement. He liked girls, and not just because they grew up to be chicks. He admired their candor and their charm and their subterfuge. They played games with your head, even when young. They were much more interesting than little boys, who solved their problems with their fists. Then again, he’d never been like the other boys. He’d rather solve his problems from the fringe.

He eyed Merry a moment. Nah. He needed a boy, not a girl. And he needed the child to be a blood heir.

He looked out the window for the umpteenth time, cursing under his breath.

“Don’ know why yer so excited,” Dora called to him, her face a succession of downturned lines. “It’s not yer baby.”

“I’ll make that call when I see it.”

“Sasha should ne’er have called ya back, Armand. The Council has been in chaos since ya returned.”

“Hell, lady. I didn’t ask her to exile Jillian or to go running off on her own for a year. That’s why the Council’s falling apart. I served my time. I stayed!”

He patted himself down, searching for another cigarette. Damn. An entire pack gone in the course of one evening. Sasha had better use her wand on him for all he put up with, and not just a quick once over, either. A long shower beneath it to fix his liver and lungs.

But before anything else, he needed to see that child. He needed to know it wasn’t his.

He recalled that evening with Sasha almost a year ago. It wasn’t long after he returned from L.A. and agreed to rejoin the Council. He told her he was coming back because of the wand, but there was more––he needed progeny.

Sasha had hinted at having his baby for years, but like her other promises, she never saw it through. He knew that a child born of his and Sasha’s DNA would surely be enough to settle his debt.

And so he took matters into his own hands. You didn’t wait for history to make up its mind––you changed history yourself.

He’d crafted a fertility spell and seduced Sasha into bed with a taste of her own sedative tea. She got tipsy and flirty, and before she knew it they were entangled beneath the sheets.

But the next morning Sasha was quick to announce, “I’m sorry to report that your spell didn’t take, Armand. And even if it did, it would be of no benefit to you. I’ve cast my own spell.”

“What-what the hell you talking about?” he asked.

“Perhaps spell isn’t the right word. Curse may be better.”

He feigned disinterest, waving her away. “You’re insane, woman, but at least you’re good in the sack.”

“So I’ve been told.”

He let that roll over him, refusing to flinch. “So what is this curse? My penis going to fall off or something?”

“If your man parts fall off it will be your own doing, not mine.”

“Then what is it?”

She left the room and returned minutes later, fully dressed. “Even if you could impregnate me, which you didn’t, you’ll have only daughters, Armand.” She fastened a stray curl with a bobby pin. “Now that I think about it, ‘curse’ isn’t the right word either. I’d call it a blessing.”

Armand was stunned.

How had she found out about his fertility spell, and his deal with The Dark One? Before he could even question her, she slammed the door and left him stewing on her bed.

He waited for her the entire day, drinking all the wine he could find in the house. When she hadn’t returned by nightfall, he wandered into town. There he found Jillian still awake at Joe’s café. She let him into her apartment and they shared small talk and more wine. Then they shared memories and longings, and soon her bed. He stayed there with Jillian for several nights––some of the best of his life, until Sasha caught them together.

The shameful look on Jillian’s face at being discovered was too painful to recall. She cried, begging Sasha for forgiveness. Armand tried to explain that it was not Jillian’s fault, that he’d used magick to seduce her, but Sasha would hear none of it.

Jillian disappeared in the middle of the night. Soon after, Sasha disappeared as well. She sent post cards from exotic locations around the world, reminding the Council to keep up the domes. Dora stayed behind with the girls, watching them and Sister House like the old bulldog she was.

During that year, Larinda returned, begging Armand to marry her. Dora became even more of a pain in the ass. The rest of the Council grew aimless and restless without Sasha’s guidance. Apathy prevailed.

They all waited for Sasha to come home.

Then, a month ago they received a letter: Sasha had a baby girl. Motherhood had made her repentant and she was returning home, bringing Jillian with her.