The Magick of Dark Root (Daughters of Dark Root) (24 page)

“Of course not.”
 

“We’re stuck in about two feet of mud. Got a spell to fix that?”
 

“I think I’m out of magick for the day.” I shivered, wrapping my arms around my chest.
 

Ruth Anne popped the trunk and handed me a small blanket that Merry must have kept for picnics or emergencies.

“Gotta give it to Merry for always being prepared,” she called from the back of the car. “There’s a box of organic granola bars in here, two flashlights, several gallons of water, another blanket, and some flares. There’s even a neck pillow and some romance novels. We won’t die out here, at least tonight.”

Ruth Anne tossed me one of the romance novels. A handsome young cowboy on the cover kissed the neck of a pretty, young blond. I threw it back at her, remembering my encounter with Shane and the young woman in his apartment

“We can send up the flares,” I suggested.

“Negative. Too many trees. We’d have to get to the main road, or a clearing.”

I looked up the embankment. It was steep, muddy, and littered with branches and fallen trees. It would be a feat to climb, but I could do it.
 

“Let’s go,” I said, finally getting my door open.

“Hold on there, Jill. I won’t be responsible for my pregnant sister tumbling down a mountain. You stay with the car. I’ll find a place where my cell phone works or I can send up the flares. One way or another, we are getting out of here.”
 

“Why are you more qualified than me?” I asked, crossing my arms.

“I lived in the Everglades for three years. Plenty of alligators, swamps, and moonshine. I think I’ll be okay.”

“Well, I lived with a group of people who were always preparing for the end times. I think I know how to take care of myself.”

“Point taken. And if we end up having to live out here, I will let you take the lead. But right now, I’m walking.”

Ruth Anne took the flares, two granola bars and a flashlight, and stuffed them into her pockets. “Stay in the car, okay? And don’t run the engine unless you have to. We need to save the battery.” She grabbed several large branches and piled them in front of the tires. “That should brace the car, in case it starts to slide again. I hope.”

I swallowed, imagining me sleeping in the car as it slipped quietly into the river. After being dunked by an invisible hand in the bathtub,
 
I wasn’t keen on being submerged.
 

Maybe I’d add more branches after she left, just to be safe.

“Good luck,” I said, suddenly worried. I ran to give her a hug.

“Quit that, or I’ll tell everyone how mushy you’ve gone.”

“I think they already know.”
 

“If I don’t make it back, tell the old woman I love her.” Ruth Anne winked, and then picked up a long stick. She inspected it and nodded. “Stay put,” she instructed, pointing the stick at the car.
 

I nodded obediently and watched my sister disappear into the thick blackness of the ancient woods.

I checked the time on my phone repeatedly, waiting impatiently inside Merry’s sedan as minutes, then hours, rolled by. It was an old flip-top phone, functional but not fun, and I wished for one like Ruth Anne’s, with games to play to pass the time. With nothing else to do, I decided to entertain myself with a silent game of I Spy: Forest Edition.

I spy, something slithering in the leaves.
 

I spy, something crawling from out from under a rock.

I spy, something watching me from a tree branch.

Admittedly, it wasn’t a comforting game, and each new discovery caused my skin to ripple and my legs to draw closer to my chest.
 

But it kept me alert. It also lessened the dread that threatened to overtake me as I thought about Ruth Anne out in the forest all alone. I dug into my memories, trying to recall if she’d been the outdoorsy type as a kid. Truth was, though we were all children of the forest, I was probably the only one who ever ventured out into the woods. I took long morning runs, trying to find myself among the trees because I didn’t seem to fit in at our house.

It should be me out there, lighting flares and looking for help.

But as Ruth Anne pointed out, I was pregnant––a convenient excuse that I allowed.
 

I spy, a big, pregnant coward.

And then the darkness came.
 

Like a slide show presentation, one moment I watched the silver currents of the river rush before me, the next moment it became an oil slide, oozing across the landscape, devouring the light around it.
 

“C’mon Ruth Anne,” I said, hopping up and down on my seat. The inside of the vehicle had fogged up and I cracked the window, braving the cold in favor of visibility. With every leaf that crunched or branch that cracked, I jumped, hopeful that Ruth Anne had come back, yet knowing it was not her who created those sounds.

I had to pee so badly it hurt and I ventured over to a little stump I had
spied
earlier.
 

Huddled in my blanket, I pushed up my skirt and squatted, wondering if Merry also had toilet paper in the trunk of her car? As the stream hit the ground, it rolled down the slope towards the river. It stopped, not quite making its destination. But where the trail stopped, I noticed something sparkle beneath the glint of the rising moon, something I wouldn't have seen in the light of day.
 

I took five giant steps forward and hovered over the glimmering object: an old road sign half-buried in the mud. I kicked away the dirt and lifted it with one hand, shining my cell phone light on it with the other.
 

It was one of those crazy old signs in the shape of an arrow.

“What the…?”

I swiped at the remaining dirt trying to read it, as the night around me grew deathly quiet.

123 Old Raven Road.

“Holy hell!”
 

I dropped the sign and dashed back to the car, retrieving the spare flashlight. Then I scrambled back to where I had found the old sign.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I shone the beam across the arrow shape. Sure enough, the words matched those written in our backyard and on my bathroom mirror.

I waved the light across the ground, a small beacon in an ocean of black, looking for…something.

There it was. A path wide enough for just one person to transverse, carved through the woods.

 
I spy an old dirt road.

 
I stepped forward, casting my light into the trees. Without the moon it was pitch inside, a blackness that could swallow me whole.
 

I knew that I should wait for Ruth Anne to come back. We could investigate together.

But Ruth Anne might not come back.
 

And I had lived with Mother and Michael long enough to understand that there were no coincidences in life.
 

In the pit of my stomach, I knew that I had been led here, and it was a path I needed to walk alone.

I said a quick prayer of protection and cast my flashlight beam forward.

Fourteen

LOSING MY RELIGION

I entered the woods, my flashlight a small consolation in the labyrinth of darkness.
 

The trees pulled back, allowing me to inch forward, and then clamped shut behind me, sealing me within. I fought my panic, trying to keep a clear head as I followed the path. I’d been called here for a reason.

It was a long trail, curving and turning, purposely constructed for confusion. Fear kept me warm, at least, and I dropped the blanket on the ground.

At last, I came to a small dale. The moon and stars flickered overhead, no longer obscured by the woods, and I could make out an old shack in the middle of the clearing, an abandoned dwelling with a smoke-blackened front wall and boarded up windows. The door was ajar, allowing an orange glow to escape. Three brass numbers, darkened with soot, hung clumsily over the door.
 

“123,” I said. I had found my destination.

“
Maggie.
”
 

Someone whispered behind me. Then a dozen little whispers echoed all around me, like children telling secrets in a schoolyard.
 

“Maggie. Maggie. Maggie.”
 

The trees behind me had shut. I could only go forward.
 

I waved my free hand around me, reciting a spell remembered from childhood.
 

In this sphere, I cannot be

Harmed by witch, or magic being

As long as I walk in the light

This bubble keeps me through the night
 

For good measure, I rubbed the crystal bracelet on my arm and kissed the pendant that dangled from my neck. Superstitious, I knew. But superstition and magick went hand in hand.

The door flew open. A fire crackled within.

“Hello?” I stepped forward, casting my flashlight into the house. The walls and floor were covered in layers of soot and sawdust. A small bed, a nightstand, a rickety table with two chairs, a heap of blankets, and a faded
 
painting of a sunset comprised the rest of the furnishings. In the center of the room sat a large, black, steaming cauldron, fueled by a fire pit beneath.

“Hello, Maggie,” said a deep, female voice. The pile of blankets on the floor rose up, taking form.

“Hello, Larinda,” I answered, watching the blankets transform themselves into the shape of a woman. “We meet again.”

Larinda threw back the cowl of her cape and laughed. “Really, Maggie? I expected something less cliché from you.”
 

I shone my light across her body, starting at her pointy black slippers, up her gray wool dress and black cloak, across her face. She was not beautiful. The lines and angles of her shape were unsoftened by feminine curves: her nose too sharp, her lips too thin and long, her eyes too narrow. But she was a commanding presence, and her dark hair hung in stark contrast to her alabaster skin and blood red lips. She had a handsomeness that suited her age.