The Magick of Dark Root (Daughters of Dark Root) (20 page)

I relaxed in the bath, letting the warm water and Mr. Bubble wash over my body. Three Yankee candles flickered on a shelf, a soothing mixture of lavender, rose, and vanilla cupcake.
 

Between my adventure with Eve and arguing with Michael, I was fairly certain I would not get any sleep.

I’d been in this bathroom many times, mostly looking at pregnancy sticks or puking my brains out. This was my first bath here, my first time taking in the room’s ambiance.
 

It was as old and outdated as the rest of the house, with fading floral wallpaper––a violent conglomeration of pink carnations and red roses––that lined all four walls. The once-lovely pedestal sink was tinged with rust, and the ornate, brass frame that encased the mirror had been crudely duct taped together at its corners.
 

In the days when this house served as a bed and breakfast this must have been a beautiful room. I could almost envision the barrage of guests wandering in and out of it to wash their faces or brush their teeth at the beginning and ending of each day. Those days were long gone and the only remaining evidence of its former beauty was the claw-footed tub in which I lounged, an original fixture of the house, still white after almost a century’s worth of use.

I sunk deeper into the water, letting the bubbles cover my chin.
 

They didn’t make tubs this big anymore, I thought, stretching out my legs before me. I breathed in the steam, letting it clear my sinuses and my mind. As much as I hated to admit it, Eve was right. I hadn’t done very well at the pool game. I needed to get a better handle on my powers if I wanted to make this work.
 

I focused my attention on the top of the wallpaper straight in front of me, blocking all other thoughts from my mind.
 

“Peel,” I whispered, tugging mentally at the corner of the sheet. “Peel,” I said again, less a request and more of a command.
 

Nothing happened. I pressed my palms together in frustration. I might as well have tried to move a boulder.
 

Michael’s crystal pendant pulsed around my neck, a rhythmic thump like the beat of a heart. I grasped it with one hand and rubbed my bracelet with the thumb of my other hand. The pendant was sharp, but the bracelet smooth. The pendant shouted for attention while the bracelet purred beneath my touch.

“Let’s try this again,” I said, embarrassed to be talking to my own jewelry. I closed my eyes, imagining the wallpaper sliding off in one smooth piece, neatly bundling at the floor.
 

I concentrated, seeing it play out in my mind’s eye.

I heard a wispy sound. I opened one eye, and then the other. The paper began to move, not in a smooth fall but in waves, crinkling up like an earthworm on a walk. I gritted my teeth, willing the paper to fall. Finally, it loosened at the top edge and peeled away from the wall completely, dragging the rest of the strip to the floor with it.
 

For a century, this paper had held, and I
had caused it to fall.

I was giddy with victory when the doorknob jiggled. I scooped the remaining bubbles over my body in case it was Paul.
 

“Occupied,” I called out.

 
The knob turned fully and the door creaked open.

“I’m in the tub,” I said louder. “If Michael called again, tell him I’m asleep.”

The door continued to push open, slowly, as if it were made of lead. “Hello?” I said, searching for a towel. “Eve?”

I heard a noise, like someone squeegeeing a car window on an icy morning. Words began to materialize in the steam-covered mirror: 123 Old Raven Rd.

“Go away!” I ordered, suddenly panicked. “Go away, now!”

The door slammed shut, knocking a candle from its perch. The sound of a woman’s laughter reverberated through the room. Every light in the bathroom went out and the remaining candles were doused.

An icy hand gripped my shoulder, pushing me down into the tub. I struggled as the water grew arctic cold.

“Help!” I managed to scream before my nose and mouth were submerged. I swallowed mouthfuls of soapy water as I sloshed around, fighting an invisible force.

The door flew open. Aunt Dora burst inside, brandishing her broom and tossing dust into the air. “I warned ya once, and that’s all ya get. Leave now or face me alone!”

The small window above the toilet opened and a long, formless gale marked by Aunt Dora’s glitter dust passed over me. The gale swirled momentarily, then rushed out the open window.

Aunt Dora was quick to close it and lock the latch.

“Ya okay?” she asked, handing me a towel.

“I-I think so.”

“Larinda’s bypassed the protection spell around the house. I don’t know how, but she’s grown in power.” Aunt Dora stared out the window, scratching her head. “Her magick is illusion and she feeds on fear. If she can’t make ya afraid, she has no power over ya.”

With shaking knees, I dried myself, aware of how truly afraid I’d been.

But the fear wasn’t for myself. It was for my unborn child.

Eleven

CRIMINAL

Aunt Dora added extra layers to her protection spell, then tried to reassure me. “Ya have yer mother’s bracelet. That should keep ya safe.”

“Why does she want me?”

“She enjoys her mind games. Have a brave heart. That’s the key ta foilin’ her.”

Despite her words, I was worried. Although I’d been raised in a coven, I’d never seen much magick. And here Larinda was, able to do things I never dreamed possible, and with ease. I only hoped Aunt Dora’s protection spells could match Larinda’s determination.

“Are you ready?” Eve asked, tapping her foot in my bedroom doorway as I tried to rake a comb through my wild mane. My hair was naturally curly but the pregnancy had made it frizzy, coarse, and completely unmanageable.

“You could be more understanding,” I said, pulling my hair into a ponytail at the nape of my neck. “I’m still traumatized.”

“Not as traumatized as I am by that outfit. No pregnant woman should ever put on a pair of jeggings.”

“Oh? Is that what these are?”
 

We had taken a trip to Linsburg earlier so Eve could grab a few supplies for the shop.

While she was out witch-doctoring, I had wandered into a Rite Aid.
 

I found a display that said: As Seen on TV. Beneath it were boxes of stretchy, one-size-fits-all jeans with elastic waists and tapered ankles. I thought Eve would think them fashionable, especially since they cost thirty bucks, but I guess I was wrong.
 

I didn’t need to dress to impress anyway. That was Eve’s job. She would lure them in and I would count the money.

The Watering Hole looked much the same as it did on our previous visit: peanut shells on the floor, torn vinyl booths, dim lighting, and a juke box that lumbered through one Nirvana song after another. There were only a handful of patrons inside.
 

Good. The less witnesses, the better.

“I’ll get quarters and rack up,” Eve said. “You get us something to drink.”

I headed to the bar, realizing Eve got the better end of the deal. She’d be out a dollar and I’d be out seven bucks.

But hopefully, if all went well, money wouldn’t be an issue for us soon.

“Light beer and a…”

“Root beer,” the bartender said, his smile revealing a gold tooth in the right side of his mouth.

“Um, yeah. Good memory.” I slid a ten across the counter. A tan hand appeared out of nowhere, grabbed the bill, and handed it back to me.
 

I looked up to see that the hand attached to Shane Doler.

“It’s on me,” he said, taking a barstool and motioning to the free one next to his.

I glanced in Eve’s direction. She was busy talking to a man in the corner, tossing her hair and batting her lashes.

“I didn’t know you came here,” I said, wondering what the odds were I would run into him here of all places, doing this.

“Only when my mind’s on a pretty girl,” he grinned, the dimples in his cheeks deepening.

I tried not to notice the way he looked: the way his brown curls had grown a fraction of an inch since last we’d talked, or how his eyes twinkled every time he spoke. And I tried to ignore the way he smelled, an intoxicating mix of Irish Spring, drugstore cologne, and beer. His presence always did strange things to me and I tried to ignore those feelings as I played with the buttons on my blouse.
 

He laughed, raised his mug, and took a drink.
 

“Ah,” he said, wiping his lips with his hand. “That’s what I needed.”

“I didn’t peg you as a drinker.”

“I wasn’t. Until tonight.” He inspected me over the top of his beer, his eyes half-closed and dreamy.

“So what’s new?” I asked, glancing at Eve again, who now had two men in her court. She was laughing at their wit, touching their shoulders. They were smitten, as most men were under her charms––both manufactured and magical.

Shane warmed his hands by rubbing them, then cupped them over mine. I sat up, arrow straight, on my stool. “Just counting down the hours until I get that kiss.” He leaned in, his lips mere inches from my own. He massaged my hands and my body grew suddenly warm. “How about now?” he asked, moving one hand to my knee.

I ached for him. I tried to reason it out, to find one good reason why I shouldn’t. But his energy, his smell, it was too much. Almost against my will, I leaned in closer.

My heart beat rapidly. His scent was intoxicating.

“C’mon,” he said, squeezing my knee. “Give Papa some sugar.”

“You’re drunk!” I removed his hand from my leg.

“Only a little.” He beckoned for the bartender to bring him another round. “A cowboy’s got a right to drink once in a while.”

“You’ve had enough, I think.” I tried to wrestle the beer away, but he won the battle as half of it sloshed across the counter.
 

“I could take you to court for that,” he joked as he mopped up the spilt beer with a stack of napkins.

“There are no courts in Dark Root. And,” I continued, dabbing at the beer stain on my shirt. “Just because you grew up in Montana and wear that silly hat, you are not a cowboy. A cowboy has a horse.”