The Witches of Dark Root: Daughters of Dark Root: Book One (The Daughters of Dark Root) (35 page)

I looked over the top of my phone at the wall across from me, at a picture of a purple flower in a vast field. “No,” I said. “This isn’t how any of us thought it would end.”

We said our goodbyes and I hung up the phone.

I let the realization that Woodhaven was no more sink in. I was filled with sadness, like I had just read the last page of a very long book. Only this time, there was no rereading that story whenever I wanted to go back.

I shook off the melancholy and focused on what Jason had told me.

Michael had taken the van and was on his way to Dark Root. I knew I should be alarmed, but I wasn’t. It was Michael and I knew him better than I had known most anyone in my life. Surely he wouldn’t act crazy around me. I fell back into my pillows and shut my eyes, wondering what I should do.

Images of Michael’s face––young and perfect on that day we first met––amassed in my brain. I wanted to go back to that time when he came into our store on Main Street, back when I didn’t have to worry about anyone but myself.

Back when someone had come to take me away from all my troubles.

Maybe I could.

Nineteen: House of the Rising Sun

Sister House, Dark Root, Oregon

October 31st, 1998

Miss Sasha raced through the house, practically coming out of her slippers. Her hair was still in curlers and several of those curlers had come undone, dropping to the floor as she ran. Coming across her daughters in the living room, she suddenly stopped.

“You girls have made me late!”

“It wasn’t our fault.” Merry tried to be diplomatic. She had been explaining to their mother all morning that the power had gone off in the house and that the alarm clocks hadn’t worked.
 

“Maybe you should have used your witchcraft,” Maggie said, defiantly crossing her arms. Merry gave Maggie a look, pleading with her to be quiet, but Maggie was done being quiet. “What good is having Magick, if you don’t use it?”

“You.” Their mother barreled towards the trio, pointing one long finger in Merry’s face and ignoring Maggie. “...Are the oldest and responsible for your sisters. No excuses.”

Merry’s bottom lip began to tremble. She wasn’t used to warring with her mother, but she stood her ground nonetheless.

“I’m not their mother. You are. If Ruth Anne were here...”

There was no spell in the girls’ arsenal as powerful as the name of their missing sister. In the blink of an eye, Miss Sasha transformed from formidable monster to feeble mouse. She buried her face in her hands and slumped into a chair, sobbing.

Maggie and Eve looked at Merry with a combination of horror and respect. She had invoked the power of Ruth Anne’s name and it had worked.

But Merry immediately regretted it. “Mama, I’m sorry,” she said, rushing towards her mother. She folded her arms around her and they wept together.
 

Maggie checked the window, wondering what was taking Aunt Dora so long. She was supposed to have picked them up for the Haunted Dark Root Festival ten minutes ago.

“We’ve been studying.” Merry attempted to pacify her mother as she slid into her lap. “Eve’s been working on her enchantment spells and got a pig to follow her all the way home from the fields!”

Miss Sasha wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and offered up a weak smile.

“I think I’m getting the love spells down, too,” Eve added. She moved behind her mother and began removing the rollers from her hair, letting the loose spirals slither down her back.

“You haven’t been playing matchmaker again, have you?” Their mother raised mascara stained eyes to Eve.

“No, Mom,” said Eve, combing through her mother’s hair with her fingers, setting each curl in place.

“Your Aunt Dora could use some help in that department,” Miss Sasha snorted. “Maybe you could fix her up with that pig that followed you?”

The three laughed as Maggie watched on, feeling like an outsider.

“What about you?” Miss Sasha directed her attention towards Maggie. “Have you been practicing too?”

Maggie lifted her shoulders then let them drop. She wanted to tell her mother that no, she hadn’t been practicing her ‘witchery’ and that it was all stupid anyways, but Merry’s eyes were round and begging. Since Ruth Anne had disappeared over a year ago their mother was a constant pendulum of craziness and neediness, leaving the eldest remaining daughter to play peacemaker. Maggie acquiesced––for Merry’s sake.

“I practiced a little,” she said.

Miss Sasha stood, shaking off her other daughters. “A little? A little?” Her blue eyes narrowed. “How are you going to take over the coven, if you just practice a little?”

Merry stepped forward but Maggie halted her with a hand.
 

Very calmly, Maggie answered, “Maybe I don’t want to run your coven. Maybe I want to be something else.”

“What?” Miss Sasha said. “Maggie, you are primed to take the center seat of the Council one day. You have to practice. Everything hinges on it.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be a witch. I’m leaving, just like Ruth Anne did.” There was a small part of Maggie’s heart that broke when she spoke these words, but she couldn’t help it. If her mother really loved them, she’d let them be free to do what they wanted. She had already chased one daughter away. Did she want the others to follow?

“You’re only twelve. You don’t know what you want.”

“I may be young but I know I don’t want to become like you.”

“You little ingrate! After all I’ve done for you!”

“You can’t decide our lives for us,” Maggie said, lowering her voice. “You have to accept that.”

Miss Sasha stared, open-mouthed. Finally, she collected herself and rose to her full height, still six inches taller than Maggie. “You are not my daughter.” She turned her head to look at Eve and Merry. “None of you are my daughters.” Her mouth formed a snarl.

“Mama!” Merry ran towards her. “You don’t mean that. You’re just sick.”

“I do too,” Miss Sasha said. “I gave up everything for you all, and this is how you repay me.”

“We need to take you to the doctor, Mama,” Merry cried. “You’re not well.”

Miss Sasha covered her ears and looked right, then left. “The circle is breaking, crumbling all around us. Can’t you see that?”

“I’m calling the doctor now,” Merry said, reaching for the rotary phone on a nearby end table.

“No! No more doctors!” Miss Sasha grabbed Merry’s arm and threw her to the ground. She stood over her, hand raised, ready to strike and Merry covered her head.

“Mother, stop!” Maggie’s voice exploded as every light in the house went out, like a bolt of thunder had crashed down upon their home. There was only silence as everyone stared at Maggie, standing calmly in the center of the living room.

“...If you ever try to touch her again, you’ll be sorry.” Maggie reached down, pulling Merry to her feet.

Miss Sasha fell to the floor in a sobbing heap. After several minutes she looked up at Maggie with tear-stained eyes. “Maggie. You have too much of your father in you. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve raised the devil.”

Dip Stix Cafe, Dark Root, Oregon

October, 2013

“Any news on your mother?”
 

Shane’s words jolted me from the memory. It wasn’t enough that my childhood haunted my dreams; it was now infiltrating my daytime thoughts, as well.
 

“Maggie?” Shane said, waving a cloth in front of my eyes. I pushed it away.

“No word,” I finally answered.

I wasn't in the mood to discuss my mother right now, a habit carried over from childhood. Once Miss Sasha started having her
episodes
, Merry had sworn us all to secrecy. Most of our early teenaged years were spent sequestered in Sister House, caring for our mentally fragile mother who could slip in and out of tantrums as easily as a toddler.

I chewed on my bottom lip as I watched Shane polish the sleek new tables that had come in on the delivery truck that morning. He seemed happy as he arranged them into symmetrical lines. Though I was wallowing in my own funk, I didn’t want that to rub off on him. I put on my happy face.
 

“I have to admit this place is looking great,” I said. “Eve’s input is certainly helping.”

He bobbed his head and surveyed the room.

New plantation blinds and awnings replaced the dingy, checkered curtains that had hung there since the diner’s opening in the 1970’s. A fresh coat of tan paint covered the walls, giving the room a more modern feel. And the Elvis memorabilia––much to Paul’s chagrin––was all sold on
Ebay,
replaced
by a few abstract paintings created by regional artists. The greatest change, however, was in the cookware. Most of the stock pots and cast iron frying pans had been upgraded to electric, stainless-steel fondue pots and matching skewers.
 

The cafe had become a Café.

“It’s coming along,” Shane agreed. “I only wish Uncle Joe were here to see this.”

“I’m sure he’s here in spirit.” I inspected the red cloth napkin that I had folded into the shape of a swan. It had taken me the last thirty minutes to figure out how to make the wings. I placed it on my palm. “What do you think?”

“Looks great, if we are going for a T-Rex motif,” Eve said, floating in from the kitchen wearing bell-bottom jeans, a white peasant blouse, and a red apron. She looked as if she were either getting ready for the Fourth of July or to board a ship full of sailors. “The kitchen is set up,” she announced, motioning towards the next room.

“Nice job,” Shane said, as we inspected her work.

Everything looked very organized. There were cork boards with dangling utensils, labeled canisters on the new shelving units, and copper pots hanging from an overhead rack. I crumpled up my swan napkin and tossed it on one of the tables.

“Nice job, yourself.” Eve nodded towards the small, wooden stage on the far right dining room wall that he and Paul had spent the morning putting together.

There were so many changes to the restaurant that I wondered when Shane slept, but he seemed to thrive under the pressure. The closer we got to re-opening Haunted Dark Root, the harder he worked, always with a dopey smile on his face.

“Well,” Shane said following Eve’s eyes to the platform. “I had to give you a stage worthy of your talents.”

“Then you should have built her a bed.” I gathered up my pile of red napkins that lie in a swan-less heap and stormed into the kitchen. Ever since Eve had been helping Shane with his restaurant, he had been hovering over her like she was the prized pig at the county fair. I just couldn’t watch.

“Need help?” I asked Paul who was busy counting silverware.

I watched as he counted out knives in stacks of four, and then placed them in the drawer. Next he moved on to the spoons.
 

“One, two, three, four, drawer...” Only when he had finished his task did he answer me. “Sorry, I like everything to be even. I’m a bit obsessive-compulsive.”