The Witches of Dark Root: Daughters of Dark Root: Book One (The Daughters of Dark Root) (42 page)

One by one, the candles in the room went out.

Then all was quiet.

We held our breaths and waited.

Finally, Merry exhaled. “We did it,” she said.

“I think so,” Eve agreed.

I could make out the smooth features of Eve’s face by the moonlight that filtered through the glassless window.

“...That was too easy,” she said. “Almost anti-climactic. I think we can turn on some lights now.” Eve stepped out of the pentagram and scanned the room.

“Where do you think it went?” I asked, not as convinced that it was gone as my sisters seemed to be.

“Back home for good.” Merry bent over to pick up a broom. “We will have to have another ritual, one to close up the portal, but for now...”

Our momentary peace was interrupted by thumping sounds near the dining room. We turned to see Mother’s books flying off the shelves, streaming like missiles straight for us.

“It’s not over!” Eve yelled. She stood just outside the circle, and I saw her duck a large, hardcover book. “Now what?”

There is power in numbers.

The words came back to me. “Quick, Eve, go get Paul!”

She stood frozen for a moment, then ran outside.
 

“Maybe we should get Aunt Dora?” Merry said.

The books had gotten through the first layer of protection––the brooms––and were dropping just outside the pentagram’s spokes.

“Not enough time,” I said, hoping that four of us would be enough.

Eve and Paul burst through the door. “Holy shit,” Paul said, covering his head as the books continued to fly around the room. “This is really happening.”

“Quick. Into the pentagram. I have an idea.” I showed them the glass owl and had them form a circle around me. “Hold hands and don’t let go,” I whispered. “I’m going to try and capture it.”

“Are you out of your frickin’ mind?” Eve’s eyes widened. “Is that in the book?”

“No. But I have a feeling.”

Merry nodded, giving me the okay. I swallowed as another book whizzed by.

I raised the owl overhead, cupped between my hands. I could feel its energy course through my body. It wasn’t glass, I realized. It was crystal.

“Totem owl,” I said. “I call upon you to aid in my protection...”

“Maggie, your hands are glowing!” Eve exclaimed.

I looked up at the owl. A vibrant yellow light emanated from my fingertips. I interlocked my fingers around the owl, hoping to snuff out the light before Gahabrien noticed.

“I’m here,” I shouted. “And I give up! You can have me. You don’t have to go back to that dying world of yours...”

Paul looked up, vehemently shaking his head. Eve tightened her hand on his, letting him know it was okay.

The moon fell behind a cloud, throwing us into near darkness. I could sense Gahabrien’s energy; he was close by, feeling out the room with invisible tentacles, as if making a decision.

“C’mon,” I said, enticingly. “I’m giving myself to you. You can live inside me forever.”

“Are you crazy?” Paul dropped my sister’s hands and shook me by the shoulders.

“Trust me,” I whispered.

He clenched his jaw but rejoined the circle.

“Last chance,” I called out again. “After tonight, I’m never coming back into this house. Take it or leave it.”

The books that had been swirling around us suddenly toppled to the floor. A loud boom sounded through the room, shaking the walls. I felt a bolt of electricity hit me, starting at my feet and coursing its way upward. My whole body reverberated, twitching and jerking as I struggled to hold onto the owl.

Gahabrien was inside me, filling me with his vile energy.

Spittle formed at the corners of my mouth and I wanted to howl, tear, and bite like a rabid dog. I gnashed my head left then right, nipping at my companions, barking out their names.

“Maggie,” one of them called to me. I turned my head and growled.

Still, there was a voice inside me that remained my own. My fingers twitched but I willed them to tighten their grip around the figurine.

But Gahabrien’s will was overpowering my own. I felt myself slipping...

I turned my head, catching the light of Eve’s eyes.

“I love you,” she mouthed.

My eyebrows softened.

Deep, deep down, beyond my own guard and in that place that Gahabrien could never touch, I knew I loved her, too.

With what remained of my strength, I pushed his energy upwards, through my belly, my heart, my neck, channeling it up through the crown of my head. In those moments, sick and twisted thoughts popped into my brain. I fought my way through them and continued pushing, up through my arms, into my hands, and finally, into the owl.

Crack!

The figurine burned my hands and I dropped it. It fell to the floor, bounced, but didn’t break.

“Quick!” I said, bent over and near to heaving. “Get something to cage this thing! Something glass!”

Eve looked around the living room. Her eyes found one of June Bug’s collection jars. She grabbed it, slamming it over the top of the owl. Merry retrieved its lid, quickly flipped the canister, and screwed it on. The jar vibrated in her hands and she carried it to the kitchen table.

We gathered around, watching as the crystal owl changed from clear to a murky brown.

“Good job putting a lid on that thing,” I said to Merry, feeling my strength return.

“I’ve had lots of practice capturing icky things.” Merry smiled, her damp hair clinging to her face. She looked wobbly and I helped seat her in a chair.

Eve, for her part, appeared as composed as ever as she picked up books and placed them back onto shelves. Paul stood in the middle of the living room, his mouth trying to form words, but never quite finding them.

I winked at him.

“That was un-fucking-believable,” he finally managed.

“Yeah, it was,” Eve said. “What a night.”

We spent the next half hour casting protection spells around the house.

Paul followed us, scratching his head and muttering things like, “trippy” and “bitchin’.”

When we had finished, we fed the cats, changed their litter boxes, packed up our belongings, and headed out to his Explorer.

“I don’t know about you girls, but I’ve got one hell of a headache,” Merry said, sliding into the backseat. “I may never drink again.”

“But look at what good work we do on the hooch,” I said, staring up into the sky. The sun was rising and I yawned in protest, wondering if Aunt Dora would let me sleep the entire day through.

“You were amazing,” Paul said, opening the passenger door for me. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

 
“Me?” I said, wiping a wisp of hair from my face. “No, it was Eve who carried that show. She put the salt around the house, figured out Gahabrien’s name, and kept up morale. Without her, we would have been screwed.”

“Yeah?” he asked, looking at my sister with newfound respect.

“Yeah. Eve, sit in the front and tell Paul all about it. I’ll ride in the back with Merry and the owl.”

Eve gave me an almost imperceptible smile, straightened herself, then settled in next to Paul. “Well...” she began. “When we first went inside, no one knew what to expect...”
 

Her eyes lit up and she launched into her tale, regaling him with her heroics the entire ride home. I could see the curl of Paul’s hair at the nape of his neck. I could smell his scent, a mixture of paprika and sage. I could I could hear him laughing as Eve recanted our adventure. But I couldn't touch him. He wasn't mine. He belonged to Eve.

He had always belonged to Eve.

My heart broke a little, just like Mother’s circle.

“That was kind of you,” Merry said, laying her head on my lap.

“That’s what I’m known for,” I said, smoothing her hair. “My kindness.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Merry smiled, then closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Twenty-Three: Changes

It’s amazing what a good exorcism will do for the soul.

The next two weeks were some of the clearest, happiest days of my life. I can’t say if it’s because I had finally let go of Michael, had discovered a newfound kinship with Eve, spent more time with Merry, or because the rains had temporarily subsided.

Or, quite possibly, it was because the entity that had haunted me since childhood was now encased in a clear glass owl.

Whatever the reason, I relished those long October days, bundling up in scarves and hats to combat the wind that whistled down Main Street as I sipped cappuccinos with Shane on the patio of Dip Stix
Café.
For the first time in my life, I felt like I was part of a family.

I wasn’t the only one who was filled with this sense of renewal.

My friends and I strutted around town like primitive hunters who had landed their first mammoth. We walked up and down Main Street, handing out fliers, hanging up posters, and convincing the old-timers that Dark Root’s glory days were still ahead.

“It’s over,” some would say, shaking their heads.

“No, it’s just the beginning!” I was seeing this clearly now.

We explained our plan to modernize the festival for the younger crowd––new colors, new decorations, current music––while bringing back some of the traditions that made Dark Root famous for the nostalgic––the parade, the lighting ceremony. We
could
save this town. As long as there were people who loved this community, anything was possible.

One by one, the townspeople fell to our enthusiasm.

Shop owners restocked supplies, painted their walls, and kept their businesses open into the evening. We convinced the mayor to add orange bulbs to the streetlights, line the shop windows with bright twinkle lights, and hand out lunch sacks cut in the shapes of jack-o-lanterns to be used as luminaries down the sidewalk. Shane and Paul built a large stage just north of Main Street, where a band could play. And I spent hours learning how to use the internet, advertising our event to nearby communities and colleges.

In the days leading up to the festival, Dark Root came alive.

It wasn’t the same old town I remembered. It was better.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing it,” Eve said, as we worked side-by-side in our mother’s store.

We had created magic inside this shop, too. It no longer looked like a movie set from a 1970’s horror flick, it was now a
hip
establishment––both modern and mystical. We still sold the witchy items––talismans, herbs, and candles––but we also stocked hookahs, CDs, lava lamps and jewelry. Eve had set up a station where she offered henna art, a sort of temporary tattoo that many of the younger girls liked. She painted intricate patterns on the arms and legs of our customers, surprising me with her talent.

“I’m proud of you,” I said one morning, as we were getting ready to open the shop.