The Magick of Dark Root (Daughters of Dark Root) (23 page)

She raised her arm higher and the leaves followed suit, forming a long, thin tower before us.
 

“Make a wish,” she said, then blew on the column like it were a candle on a birthday cake. Wisps of orange, red, and gold danced before us, twisting and turning in the air, unwilling performers in her magical circus.
 

At last, they spun into a tight funnel. I reached out, plucking a yellow leaf from the spiral as the other leaves continued to swirl.

Mother clenched her hand, leaving only her index finger exposed. Gritting her teeth and leaning forward, she said, “Leaves of yellow, gold, and brown, dance for me upon the ground.”
 

The funnel broke apart, creating individual cyclones that intertwined across the porch, weaving in and out of one another in patterns of circles and stars.
 

“That’s amazing,” I said, spellbound.
 

I could move balls and balloons, nudge them, push them, alter their course a little, but I didn’t have this kind of control. I was suddenly humbled in Mother’s presence, embarrassed by all my insignificant shows of superiority throughout my life.
 

“I never knew,” I said.

“It’s nothing,” she said, her arm collapsing to her side. The leaves didn’t drop, as I’d expected them to, but flittered out into the world like dandelions. “You should have seen me when I was young, Maggie. I could move mountains.”

“I believe you.” I poked at the floating leaves like June Bug poked at bubbles. “How come we never got to see this side of you?”

She cleared her throat and loosened the top button on her nightdress. “It’s not a good idea to squander magic, especially on cheap tricks. It’s exhausting and it leaves a hole in the world. I think I need a nap, now.”
 

I assisted Mother off the swing and to the front door.
 

Before entering the house, she looked over her shoulder at me and said, “There are better ways to spend your powers than on dancing leaves. If you use it all up on that sort of nonsense, you won’t have any left for the important stuff.”
 

Her eyes flickered a moment, but she said no more.
 

“Mama, you look tired,” Merry said gently as she took Mother’s arm and escorted her to her bedroom. Still dazed from the show, I watched them ascend the staircase together, my mind full of wonder.

“Hola,” Ruth Anne said, hardly looking up from the TV show she was watching. “Want to go turkey hunting? I’ll get my shotgun.”

“I heard that!” Merry called from the staircase. “No hunting! Just bring me back an organic, free-ranged turkey. From a
store
. I don’t like putting anything toxic inside my body.”

“Except for Frank,” I said, causing Ruth Anne to spit out the soda she was drinking.

Merry came down the steps and put her hand on her hips. “I heard that, too.”
 

“Just kidding,” I said. “Geez.”

“Now get. And try to get one that’s already defrosted, okay? We are behind on preparations as it is.”

“Yes, dear,” said Ruth Anne, grabbing Merry’s keys from the coffee table and a bulky jacket from the coat rack.
 

A fire crackled enticingly in the fireplace and I wanted to stay inside with it, drink hot cocoa, and watch the lights twinkle on the gaudy, silver Christmas tree. I still hadn’t gotten over my encounter with Shane the day before and I could use a little holiday cheer and mindless television.
 

“Some other time,” I sighed longingly as I opened the door and caught a cruel gust of wind to the face.

“Yes,” Ruth Anne said, turning her head up towards the sky. “Let’s hurry. A storm is coming.”

The storm had come, as Ruth Anne predicted.

Five minutes outside of Dark Root, on the road to Linsburg, we were caught in it. Heavy rains slashed at the windshield and tore at the tires. It pelted the hood of the car like bullets in a war zone, making it near-impossible to see, even with the wipers going full speed.

“Maybe we should pull over?” I asked.
 

But Ruth Anne was on a mission, both hands gripping the steering wheel as she pushed on the gas, using only memory to guide us towards the highway.
 

“Or at least slow down,” I added, buckling my seat belt and pulling it taut across my chest.

The road narrowed––a small stint of loneliness flanked by thin trees and deep ravines.
 

“This doesn’t look familiar,” I said, rolling down the window to try to see through the rain.
 

Ruth Anne shot me a sideways look but kept driving.

“Times like this, I miss Florida,” she said, taking off her glasses to clean them.
 

“Want me to drive?”
 

“No.”
 

Ruth Anne was headstrong and stubborn, a trait we shared, passed down from our mother. But while my stubbornness was usually the result of not wanting to do something, Ruth Anne’s stemmed from her need to complete a task, no matter the consequences.
 

I remembered her bragging to Aunt Dora as a kid that she could read
Gone With The Wind
in four days, and she stayed up late nights and missed meals to accomplish the undertaking. Ninety-six hours later, she emerged from her bedroom victorious and raccoon-eyed, waving the novel triumphantly in the air. Aunt Dora quizzed her and Ruth Anne answered every question correctly.
 

She might be a junk food eating cynic now, but she still had the same willfulness and fortitude she’d always had.
 

I took short, deep breaths, trying to calm myself. With every pothole in the road she hit, I laid my hands across my belly protectively.
 

Maybe the child didn’t need to worry about my deathtouch. Maybe he’d need to worry about his Aunt Ruth Anne’s driving, instead.
 

“Music?” I asked, hoping the steady beat of something besides the rain would take my mind off the situation.
 

Ruth Anne popped in a CD, sending Metallica blasting through the car. As the chorus kicked in––
enter night, exit light
––she tightened her grip on the wheel, narrowed her eyes, and pressed the gas pedal down to the floorboard, plowing through the rain and fog.
 

I shut my eyes, one hand still on my belly and the other on the pendant around my neck.

After several minutes she flicked my knee and said, “You can open your eyes now, chicken.”
 

Sure enough, the road had opened up and the fog had lifted. Even the rain had lessened here.
 

“Easy peasy.” She grinned.

“Yeah, for crazy people.”

“I come by it naturally.” She paused, licking her lips. “If memory serves me, you were a bit reckless in your youth too. Motherhood is changing you, Mags.”

“Someone’s gotta keep the family name going.”

 
Worry swelled up inside me, as it always did when I thought about the tremendous responsibility I was taking on. If I couldn’t keep a plant alive, how in the hell did I expect to keep a kid alive?

“You’ll do great,” Ruth Anne said, sensing my distress. “It’s like having a pet. You feed it. You change its litter box when it stinks. Easy Peasy.”

I scrunched up my lips. “I’ve never had a pet. Not even a Chia Pet.”

“Well, then,” Ruth Anne slapped her right hand on the wheel. “The poor thing is screwed.” She looked at me, punching my right arm when she saw I wasn’t laughing. “Don’t take life so seriously. Things will be fine. I mean, with an auntie like me, what could go wrong?”

“Indeed.”

 
“You know,” she said, staring out at the road before us. “We probably could have gotten the turkey from Dark Root Grocery. I doubt Merry would have known it wasn’t organic, especially if we took off the wrapper and put it in a pan in the fridge.”

“Oh, she’d know, all right. She can smell preservatives a mile away. And if she didn’t figure it out, June Bug would have.”

“June Bug’s a neat kid, isn’t she?” Ruth Anne said, her eyes softening.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “You ever think of having kids?”

“Me? I’m afraid that ship has sailed, my dear.” I was about to ask her what she meant, when she changed the subject. “Speaking of having kids, you talk to Shane yet?”

“No.” I admitted. “Why?”

“Because I need to know how this shit resolves itself for my book.”

“I thought you wrote romances. My life is as far from a romance as the sinking of the Titanic.”

“Bad analogy. Titanic was a great romance.”

“I disagree. It was doomed. The movie made it seem romantic, but for Rose it was heartbreak followed by years of living alone afterwards. Not to mention hypothermia.”

“And people think
I’m
a cynic.” Ruth Anne scratched her head. “The reason Titanic was so romantic was because it was a perfect love that could never be. No reality to screw it up. And, Jack and Rose got to be together in the afterlife. That’s pretty cool.”

“Maybe that will be me, then.” I stared out the window. “Hurray for the afterlife.”

“I write paranormal romances. The afterlife plays heavily in those kinds of stories.”

“Goody.” I lowered my eyes, a knot forming in my chest. “At least don’t use my name in your book, okay?”

Ruth Anne gave me a sideways smile. “That, I promise you.”

“Watch out!” I yelled, pointing at a deer darting across the road.
 

Ruth Anne wrenched the wheel hard to the right. We narrowly missed the deer, but our car slipped off the side of the road, losing traction as it rolled down a muddy slope.
 

I pressed my back to the seat, clutching the belt across my chest as the sedan slid into the forest, gliding along the wet earth beneath its tires.
 

“Brakes!” I ordered.

“I’m trying!” Ruth Anne wrestled with the steering wheel, trying to navigate the vehicle as it slipped further down the embankment. A rushing river came into view and Ruth Anne frantically punched the brakes.
 

I fingered the crystal bracelet on my wrist. “Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop,” I repeated.

Ruth Anne pushed herself back against her seat. “Hold on! We’re going in!”

“Stop!” I commanded the car.

At once, we came to a sudden and abrupt halt, just feet from the river. With sweat-drenched faces we stared at one another, then whooped and high-fived in relief.

Ruth Anne got out of the car as I wrestled with my own stuck door. “Now, that’s a near-death experience!” She threw her head back and howled. “What a rush!”

“When I was talking about happiness in the afterlife, I didn’t mean now.”

“No time like the present.”

“Where are we?” I asked, still fighting to open my door, which was blocked by a heavy branch.

Ruth Anne pulled out her phone. “I have no idea,” she said, shaking it. “GPS isn’t working.” She tapped several buttons and held it to her ear. “Phone either.”