The Magick of Dark Root (Daughters of Dark Root) (22 page)

The morning was especially beautiful. The sun shone brightly, multi-colored leaves painted the ground, and the sweet smell of the forest filled me with energy.
 

“I can’t believe I ever hated this place,” I said, floating towards Shane’s pickup. I jingled his keys. They sounded like church bells.

“We belong together,” I said, practicing my speech. “Yes, I’m having Michael’s baby, but he’s not in my life anymore. You’re the only man for me and we can work this out together.”

I nodded satisfactorily as I turned over the engine. Together. Nothing could stop me now.

I parked in front of Dip Stix Café and surveyed the town. The book store and the candy shop were already open, drawing in customers with pre-holiday advertisements:
Get your sugarplums here!
Across the street I could see Evie through the window of Miss Sasha’s Magick Shoppe, happily applying a henna tattoo to a middle-aged woman. All was right with Dark Root; all was right with the world.

“Get ready Shane,” I said, fluffing my hair in the rear view mirror and giving wink. “I’m coming to get you.”

By night, Dip Stix Café was an upscale, fondue restaurant that drew in locals as well as hipsters from neighboring towns; by day it was an old-fashioned diner, specializing in biscuits and gravy and club sandwiches. As the only eatery in Dark Root, it did pretty well, and kept both Shane and Paul busy.

As I entered the café I was reminded once again how much it had changed since the days when Uncle Joe owned it. The Elvis plaques and checkered tablecloths of yesteryear had been replaced by modern paintings and twinkling lights strewn across ivy-filled planter boxes.

Even so, it still felt like home.
 

I sat at my normal station, a small, round table near the window where I could take in the sunshine and do some people watching. Though the foot traffic in Dark Root had lessened since Halloween, there were still plenty of shoppers, carrying bags and totes as they wandered from shop to shop.

Paul came to my table, a weary smile on his face.

“I still can’t believe we did this,” I said, swelling with pride as counted the occupied tables in the diner. “Two months ago this place was dead.”

“Yeah,” Paul said, his jaw quivering as he suppressed a yawn. He closed his eyes briefly, did a quick shake of his head, then opened them wide.

“Rough morning?”
 

“You could say that.” I noticed that his hair hadn’t been combed. “The breakfast rush is about over, so I think I’ll be okay.”

“You guys need an extra hand,” I said, looking around for Shane, who was most likely manning the grill in the kitchen.

Paul’s face grew pensive at my suggestion. I didn’t want him to think I meant he wasn’t capable of doing his job.
 

“Any biscuits left?” I asked, quickly changing the subject as I perused the menu.
 

Muffins, scones, omelets, and biscuits. Simple fare, but very good.

“Of course.” Paul’s shoulders relaxed and he leaned in conspiratorially. “Want a cappuccino? Not to brag, but I added in an extra pinch of nutmeg and pumpkin. It’s so good it should be outlawed.”
 

Paul did make the best coffee and I nodded eagerly, sneaking a glance out the window. If Eve or Merry caught me with a cappuccino I’d get a stern lecture on the “dangers of coffee.” Only Paul and Ruth Anne seemed to care about what
I
wanted.
 

He turned to place my order and then, as if forgetting something, turned back me and knelt down. “Mags?”
 

“Yes?”
 

“Do you know what’s going on with Eve? She’s acting weird lately.”

“Oh?” I said, trying to suppress an ironic smile. She’d been saying the same of him.

“She leaves for work before I’m even out of the shower, saying she ‘prefers to walk’ even when it’s raining. When I go to meet her for lunch, she’s suddenly busy with a million things she needs to do ‘for the store.’ And at night…well, let’s just say there’s not much happening then, either. She sleeps in her room and I’m up in the attic, haunting it like a lonely ghost.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t get it.”

I could have told him the truth, that Eve knew he was in contact with a former girlfriend, but I kept my mouth shut. The last thing I wanted was to be involved in their problems.

Plus, I was certain they’d get through it on their own in a day or two.
 

“The store is keeping her busy,” I said, squeezing his hand. “She’s trying to keep it afloat until next year. Then things will get better.”

“I can’t help but feel you’re keeping something from me,” he said, licking his lips. “I wish someone would tell me what’s going on.”
 

He sighed heavily and we both glanced across the street to where Eve stood behind the counter reading a magazine. There was not a customer in sight.

“Research,” I said.

He laughed and then excused himself to take care of my order.

Twenty minutes later, Paul brought my food and I ate in silence. Between each bite, I mentally practiced what I would say when I finally saw Shane. It was almost ten and with each passing minute, I grew more anxious and more frustrated. He should be out here, mingling with customers, wiping down tables and assisting Paul. A knot formed in my stomach when Paul returned to take my now-empty plate.
 

“Where’s Shane?” I asked.
 

“Haven’t seen him this morning,” Paul said, excusing himself to tend to something in the oven.

Hadn’t seen him this morning?

I’d sent him home in a taxi last night. What if he hadn’t made it home?
 

What if Shane, being so drunk, had forgotten where he lived and never made it back? Or what if the cabbie didn’t understand English and took him to an entirely different town? Or what if––the thought made my stomach sick––what if the taxi had gotten into a wreck and Shane lay dying in a trench somewhere?

I checked my phone. No voice mail messages or texts.
 

I jumped from my table and searched the dining room for a newspaper. I found one in the corner booth, spread out to the edge of the table. It was a Linsburg paper, but it would still have important news from here.
 

I tore through it, scanning each headline to see if there were any accidents reported. The only news at all was that “record fall colors had been reported by the foliage department.”
 

Nothing about a car wreck or a kidnapping.

I sighed in relief, then wondered if I should call the hospital? I took a deep breath, trying to reason it out. A noise from above caught my attention.
 

Shane’s bedroom. Of course.

The poor guy was probably just getting out of bed, nursing a hangover. I was so relieved I raced upstairs, vowing to help him and Paul out for the day, if needed.

“Shane?” I asked, knocking on his door. “Are you okay?”

I thought I heard shuffling in the room, but there was no answer.
 

I knocked again, stiffer this time. “Shane? It’s Maggie. “

There was a definite thump inside, followed by a stern silence.

“I’m coming in.”
 

I turned the knob and fell through the door, my mouth opening in surprise. There, standing before me, was Shane and a pretty blond woman. Her hair was mussed and she wore nothing but a black silk robe.

“What’s going on?” I asked, my mind reeling.
 

Then it dawned on me that she was the same woman I’d seen Shane talking to the other day. She looked as surprised as I did and took a giant step back, tightening the belt on her robe.
 

“Maggie,” Shane said, reaching for me. He was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, the same T-shirt he wore in my dreams last night. I glared at him, then turned, racing back down the staircase, not bothering to grab the handrail.
 

“I thought you were different!” I shouted over my shoulder. “But you’re all the same!”

Tears stung my eyes and I missed a few stairs, twisting my ankle. Still, I didn’t slow down.

“Maggie!” Shane called again. “Please wait!”

“Go to hell, Shane.” I rushed past Paul, purposely knocking the cell phone from his hands. I ran through the dining room and pushed open the door.
 

Every light bulb in the restaurant shattered, spraying miniscule fragments of glass across the café. Even the twinkling Christmas lights.

Thirteen

ONE HEADLIGHT

Mother and I nestled on the swing, my feet grazing the worn, wooden planks of the porch.
 

Years ago, my sisters and I had piled on this very swing, rolling across Mother’s lap, jockeying for a position near her. Her feet had touched the ground then; now, they floated like two thin branches in house shoes. I half-listened as she phased in and out of lucidity, her conversation a mixture of the present and the past.

“You had your hair done,” I said, trying to bring the conversation back around.

She patted her hair and smiled. “Merry washed it for me. She’s such a good girl. Want to smell it? It smells like apples.” She tucked her head beneath my nose.
 

I took an obliging sniff and agreed.
 

Then, looking up at me with a sudden youthful glimmer in her eyes, she whispered, “Want to see a trick?”

“Sure,” I said, patting her leg.

She checked to see if we were alone, then squared the knobs that were her shoulders as she took in a long, raspy breath. She raised an unsteady hand and pointed it at a scattering of leaves that had collected near our feet.
 

As we watched, the leaves drew together, forming a stiff pile like ball bearings around a magnet. Leaves from all across the porch swept into the pile, clearing the entire deck.

“I can’t believe it!”

Mother was known for her spells, enchantments, and talismans, but never for her raw magick. Yet, here she was, calling the leaves.
 

“Why didn't you ever show––”

“Shh!” she silenced me, lifting her chin and spreading her fingers. “I’m not done.”