The Magick of Dark Root (Daughters of Dark Root) (11 page)

“The process?” June Bug asked.
 

“Yes. Before a wand and its witch become one, the wood must be stripped of its bark, anointed in a magick oil, and imbued with a gem. The wand must then spend a fortnight beneath its owner’s pillow, absorbing its witch’s character, and bestowing its power upon its owner. Every witch must pick her own wand, and every witch gets only one wand, so choose carefully.”

“But a witch still has powers without the wand, right?” June Bug asked, raising her hand.

“Yes. That’s right. A wand simply heightens her magic and refines her powers. They complement each other. And a wand picked from a tree grown in Dark Root, will be especially powerful.

“It’s important that you think carefully about the type of witch you wish to become. Ruth Anne’s wand is made of maple. This will increase her powers in the realm of knowledge. There are trees that will aid you in glamour…” She looked at Eve. “…And healing.” She looked at Merry. “And, well, maybe temperance.” She looked at me. “But I leave that to your discretion. Choose wisely, ladies. The Solstice approaches and we must rebuild the dome over Dark Root. The dome will be stronger if you each have your wand during the ceremony.”

“I thought we already cast that spell,” I said. “During Haunted Dark Root.”

“That was to keep out the spirits and demons during Samhain, when the veil between worlds is thinnest. The Solstice ritual is meant to prevent practitioners from using the powerful magick residing
within
the sphere of Dark Root for evil purposes. Both spells work in conjunction with one another.”

“By practitioners, do you mean other witches?” Eve asked.

“Yes. Those who wish to wield the magick of Dark Root for the wrong reasons.” Mother put her hand to her chest and cleared her throat. “I’d like to see you all get your wands before I’m gone. Especially you, Magdalene.”

“Where are you going?”
 

“Just focus on the time we have together now.”

Anxiety welled up inside me.
Time together now?

“One more thing,” Mother said. “A witch always protects her wand. Though it will never be as powerful in the hands of another witch, it can still be used––or destroyed––by others.”

“Where is your wand, Grandma?” June Bug asked.

I cocked my head. For all Mother’s talk, I had never seen her use one.

She sighed dreamily, her blue eyes clouding over. “I had a very special wand, my dear. With the power to heal, and some say, grant eternal life.”

“Whoa!” Ruth Anne burst out, then snapped her mouth shut.

“Was it destroyed, Grandma?”

“No dear. It just got…lost. Besides, living forever would be boring, don’t you think?” She smiled, but there was wistfulness in her eyes.
 

Her lips trembled and she announced that our lesson was over. We shuffled out of the bedroom like zombies, our minds full of Mother’s words.

“You don’t really think Mama had a wand like that, do you?” Merry asked as we shut the door behind us.

“If she did, I’d think she’d of already used it on herself,” I said. “Besides, you know Mother and her stories. Magic like that doesn’t exist, even here.”

“I suppose,” Merry agreed thoughtfully. When the others passed us in the hall, she said, “I didn’t want to bring this up, as it seemed irrelevant until today, but do you remember when we were kids? How vibrant and healthy she was?”

“Yes,” I said, recalling the image of my mother, fifty pounds heavier and several decades younger. Her hair was wild and long, still thick as a skein of yarn. Now it was so thin you could practically see through the strands. “She got old, Merry. People get old.”

“She looks decades older than she should. Most of my friend’s parents don’t seem that old.”
 

 
“She may have started having children later than most people do,” I said. “We still don’t know how old she really is.”

“Yes. I guess you’re right.” Merry looked at the floor then up again, her eyes twinkling. “But what if she really has a wand like that? Maybe we could…” She stopped herself and her eyes regained their somber expression. “I’m being silly. It’s just that she is so frail. I give her energy every day, but it’s like trying to charge a bad battery. One day she may not charge at all.”

I touched Merry’s pale cheek. She always had a subtle light around her that illuminated her face. But that light was faded lately.
 

“Don’t wear yourself out, okay? It will all be fine. I promise.”

Merry nodded as we joined the others in the living room.
 

“You girls have fun stick-hunting in the woods,” Ruth Anne said. “I think I’m going to watch Jeopardy reruns on my laptop.”

“You have your knowledge wand. Maybe you should be a contestant?” I teased.

“Heck, I don’t need a wand for that. Just the old noggin.” She tapped her head. “Besides, I’m not sure this is a maple wand. I went out, asked the first tree I saw for a branch, and gave it a cookie in return.” She grinned at the memory. “…And then I went back for my cookie.”

“It’s a maple wand, alright,” Merry said, passing us on the way to the kitchen. “And if your smarty-pants wand really worked, you’d know that.”

June Bug tugged on my shirt. “Grandma wants you again.”

Sure enough, Mother called out from the staircase. “Magdalene, please come back up.”

“Told ya,” June Bug said.

“I’ll save you a spot on the couch,” Ruth Anne said.
 

I entered my mother’s bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, watching as she brushed her long, whisper-white hair in the vanity. I caught her reflection in the mirror, her pale blue eyes, a strip of red splashed across her lips, and small dots of rose blusher on her cheeks, not quite blended in.
 

“Magdalene,” she said, swiveling her chair in my direction. “Do you know why I’ve always been so hard on you?”

“Because I’m not living up to my potential?” I guessed.
 

“No!” Her eyes blazed, the blueness swallowed up by the black pupils. She rolled her chair towards me, using her slippered feet to paddle across the room. She spoke, her breath smelling like gumdrops and coffee. “Because you’re a fence sitter, just like your father!”
 

She pushed herself back a space, crossing her rail-thin arms as she studied my reaction.

“I don’t know what that means,” I confessed. “And why does everyone keep comparing me to my father? Merry and Eve are his daughters, too. Are they nothing like him? And what is so awful about Armand, anyway, that we keep using him as an example of what
not
to be like?”
 

It was a lot to ask at once, but the comparison to a man I didn’t know was starting to weigh on me.
 

Mother took her cane and rapped me on the knee.
 

“Ouch!” I exclaimed. “What was that for?”

“Armand was a powerful warlock, but he was always…crossing the line.” Her eyes settled on the oil painting of the man, the woman, and the horse. “When I first met him, he showed a lot of promise. You could see the energy around him sparkle, the way that water crackles on a river on a sunny day. He was practically blinding.”

She half-closed her eyes, lost in her memories.

I understood what she meant. Michael had that same sort of energy; I noticed it the first time I saw him. I leaned forward to hear more.

“And charm. Boy, that man had charm. Could get any woman to do anything he wanted. Well,” she added wryly. “Almost any woman.

“I came across him during one of my travels. He was younger than me, and a wilder, like you. Unable to control his powers. He was quick to anger and when he did, things happened. Machinery stopped or started. Floors rumbled. People clutched their chests, feeling like they’d had heart attacks…”

“
The deathtouch,
” I thought, my eyes widening.

“…He was dangerous out on his own, so I brought him to Dark Root where he could develop his abilities, to work on refining his powers, so to speak. He was one of the first to join The Council, and the only man.”

Mother tapped her heels to the floor, the cushioning of her slippers thudding softly against the hardwood. “Dora warned me that having a warlock with such power around was dangerous. But if I didn't train him up, someone else would. We couldn’t risk someone darker using his powers for their own gain. There was no other choice.”

Her heels stopped tapping as she looked at me. “With training, he saw what he was capable of. Healing, growing, helping…in some ways he was the best in The Council. I’ve seen him bring back people that were beyond my realm of help. And he didn’t even have a wand.” She pecked her head an inch forward. “Magdalene, remember this: warlocks do not need wands. They need a witch to syphon power from. And he had a handful of them at his disposal.

“But it wasn’t enough for him. His ego was strong and he grew restless, wanting something more. Something beyond Dark Root.”

I felt empathy for my father as I recalled how desperately I, too, had wanted to leave Dark Root, but I kept my face expressionless.

“During that time,” she continued. “We began to hear the prophecies: Nostradamus, Cayce, and your Aunt Dora. All powerful prophets predicting a cataclysmic end to things. There was a range of years, of course. Over a century, maybe longer if we were lucky. But a century, during the course of history, is but a moment. We abandoned our old lives and worked together to fight back the dark as best we could. If we could delay it, we reasoned, maybe we could change it.”

Mother shook her head and slumped her shoulders. “But Armand had other plans. He had grown in power, siphoning magic off the women, and wanted to embrace the darkness to come. There was no stopping it, he’d argued, so why not ally with it? And when he insisted that we use our collective powers to…”

She stopped talking, her voice choking up.

“Summon demons,” I said. I’d heard that story before. “He wanted to summon demons so that when the time came, they would be on his side, and not against him.”

Mother inhaled deeply, her thin ribs expanding and collapsing. “Luckily he wasn't able to, at least while he was with us. But we
had
to make him leave, Magdalene. Him and all his followers, before they poisoned everyone. We cast a spells to keep them out, and others like them who wanted to abuse the magick of Dark Root.”

“Couldn't he just practice elsewhere?”

“It’s no secret that Juliana purposely chose Dark Root to practice her craft. The earth here is alive with electricity, and a witch’s natural powers are increased here. Surely, you’ve felt it?”

I had. It was something I didn’t notice in my childhood, as it had always been a part of me, but when I left, I felt my abilities depreciating, and I began to wonder if I had imagined them all along. But now that I was back, I felt the energy move throughout my body.
 

“Is this the only place?” I asked.

“No. There are spots all over the earth––if one knows where to look. And the ancients did, marking them with pillars and pyramids and stone. These regions form a grid across the globe. But Dark Root remained unmarked and only a local legend brought Juliana here. And the longer you are in one of these spots, the stronger you get. Armand spent a lot of time here. If he ever had a chance at summoning, it would be on this land.” She drew in a long breath, her lungs whistling as she exhaled. “I never meant to keep him from you, but we couldn't take that risk. There is a rule in the craft, and that is: never summon that which you cannot be rid of. And a demon is pretty hard thing to be rid of.”