The Magick of Dark Root (Daughters of Dark Root) (7 page)

“You’re a saint for not killing him already,” I said, sliding my arm around her waist.
 

It worried me how thin she’d gotten. Merry was naturally curvy, claiming she put on five pounds every time she smelled a cinnamon roll. Now I could feel her ribs. She was under more stress than she admitted. I cleared my mind before she could read my panic.

“I bet Mother’s got a few Voodoo dolls lying around here. We could make a Frank doll,” Merry teased.

“She’s probably used them up on her own men,” I said.

“That would explain why they’ve all mysteriously disappeared.” Merry blew on her cup then took a sip from her mug. “Want some coffee? I can put a shot of brandy in it.” As soon as she spoke the word brandy, her face went white. “Oh, Maggie. I’m so sorry. My mind’s all over the place lately and I keep forgetting.”

Our eyes fell to her mug as we both remembered a night last month when we’d stayed up late at Dip Stix Café, guzzling countless bottles of Shane’s best wine.
 

Of course, I didn’t know I was pregnant then, but what if…?

“I’m sure everything’s fine,” Merry said. “It was only one night. God only knows what Mother put in her body when she was pregnant with us.”

“Not a good comparison,” I snickered. “But you’re right. It was only one night.”

Yer father had the deathtouch.

 
I resisted the urge to touch my belly as Aunt Dora’s words came back to me. Merry had enough on her plate with Frank, June Bug, and Mother. I wasn’t going to let her take on one more worry.
 

“Besides,” Merry continued. “I’m sure you ate very healthy at Hallelujah-Ville, right? That’s gotta count for something.”

“You mean Woodhaven?” I laughed. “Well…”
 

Michael had done his best to get me to eat healthy, insisting on organic and free-range everything, but my private diet consisted of Oreos and Diet Coke, and not much else.

This poor child didn’t stand a chance.

June Bug returned to us, skipping, her hair divided into two fishtail braids that fell to the small of her back. Eve’s handiwork.
 

“Aunt Maggie, come see what we’re doing.” She took my hand and dragged me towards the dining area as Merry threw me an apologetic shrug.
 

In the corner, behind the round oak table where I used to eat breakfast, stood an aluminum tree at least seven feet tall. It was a sad, shriveled-up old thing: a thin, metallic pole that spewed out silver branches with so much space between them you could see to the wall behind it. On each branch hung four, red, glass balls as large as melons. Chunky strands of tinsel separated each ball, giving the illusion that each ornament had its own stall.
 

Paul was crouched behind the tree, wrestling with a string of lights.
 

June Bug ran to the tree and added more tinsel.

“Hey there, rock star.” Paul grinned at me through the branches as his fingers searched for a light socket. His dark blond pompadour had flattened, laying back against his head. His cobalt eyes twinkled for a moment, before returning to the task.

“Christmas, already?” I asked. “We’re not even halfway through November.”

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he answered, undaunted by my lack of enthusiasm.

“If this were 1953, then yes.”

“If only we could be so lucky. Things were much simpler in the past. Someone really needs to invent a time machine.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” I said, adjusting an ornament that looked ready suicide.

“You’re just in time for the lighting ceremony. And cookies.” Eve swept in carrying a silver tray filled with star shaped cookies. They’d been decorated with white frosting and red and green sprinkles. “Look at me,” she said, lowering the tray for my inspection. “I’ve become a regular Betty Crocker.”

“If the Hooters gals could see you now,” I said as I reached for a cookie.

She swatted my hand and handed my cookie to June Bug instead. “For that comment, you get nothing.”
 

“I’m telling Mother.”
 

“Go ahead. Then I’ll tell her how you used to fall asleep during Uncle Joe’s lessons on sacred geometry.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” She set the tray on the table, and then turned her attention to Paul. “Aren’t you done yet? You’ve been working on those lights for almost an hour.”

“In case you haven't figured it out, these things are archaic. They don’t even make lights like this anymore.” Paul lifted the strand to show us bulbs as big as our fists.

“We could get new ones,” Eve said, putting her hand on her hip. “A new tree, too, maybe. This thing is so old.”

“Blasphemy,” Paul said, tightening a bulb. “They don’t make things like this anymore.”

“Because they suck.” Eve sighed. “When you buy my ring I want a new one. Not an old hand me down? Got it?”

“
If
I buy you a ring, you’ll get what you get. Understood?”

Eve was used to walking over men, so I think she relished her inability to conquer Paul.
 

“Fine,” she said, crossing her arms even as her eyes twinkled. “But no cookies for you, either.”

Merry joined us at the tree. “Neither of you should be eating that stuff. It’s bad for you.”

She took the half-eaten cookie from June Bug and put it back on the tray. June Bug moaned but acquiesced. Merry was the kindest of all of us, but she could also be the most stubborn, especially in matters of nutrition. Merry sniffed the air and turned to the aluminum tree.
 

“With all the real pine around here why are we using this old thing?”

“Paul found this one in Aunt Dora’s attic,” Eve answered. “Said it reminded him of the trees they put up in those old Christmas movies. We can set up a real tree at Harvest Home or mom’s shop.” Eve’s eyes flashed mischievously. “And I’m sure Shane could be persuaded to put one up at Dip Stix too. If Maggie works her, cough, magic.”

“Watch it, scrawny. I outweigh you by a good ten pounds now,” I said.

“Ten?” Eve blinked. “Try fifteen.”

“Unless you want me to put a pin in those balloon bags of yours, you’d better be nice.”

Eve folded her arms across her chest. “Stay away from them. If the magick shop doesn’t work out, I’ll need these babies to make us some money.”

“Great idea. We can tie a rope to you and rent you out for parades.”

“Funny.”

“I thought so.”

Paul cleared his throat and rustled the tree to get our attention. “As much as I like seeing two chicks fight, I could really use some help here. I can’t see anything back here.” He held up the end of a light strand that didn’t quite reach the outlet.

“Fine.” Eve pulled the tree away from the wall and directed Paul to move the plug
there
and then
there
. I leaned against the breakfast table, bemusedly watching the scene while Merry took June Bug into the powder room to brush
the sugar bugs
off of her teeth.

“If Eve cooks half as good as she gives orders, those cookies will be delicious.”

My eldest sister Ruth Anne lumbered down the stairs in a pair of cut-off sweatpants and a stretched-out, Scooby Doo T-shirt. Her short brown hair shot up in corkscrews around her face and her glasses looked ready to topple off her button nose. I was seized by guilt as I realized I’d hardly seen her since she’d returned to Dark Root a week earlier. She sauntered to the table and picked up June Bug’s half-eaten cookie, shrugged, then bit into it.
 

“There’s no such thing as a bad cookie,” she said, draping her free arm across my shoulders. “So?” she asked, taking another bite, “What’s shakin’ bacon?”

Her laid back greeting caught me off guard. “I’m sorry for not coming by,” I mumbled, feeling my face redden as I searched for an excuse. “I’ve been a bit, uh, occupied.”

“No need to be.” Ruth Anne wiped the crumbs from her mouth with her hands. “If I can disappear for fifteen years, you’re entitled to a week.”

Her eyes scanned the massive, built-in bookshelves that lined the north side of the family room. While Mother’s library had never rivaled Uncle Joe’s, it was still an impressive collection, especially to a bookworm like Ruth Anne.
 

“Besides, it’s given me a chance to catch up on my reading. Did you know there are books here over a hundred years old? Many of them first editions.” Her eyes gleamed beneath her square-framed glasses as she took in the wall of books. “They’re a bit musty, but hell, so are most of the men I dated.”
 

She stomped one foot on the hardwood floor, snorting at her own joke.
 

“I see age hasn’t changed your sense of humor,” I said, studying her.
 

In some ways she was exactly as I remembered. The same glasses, the same tom-boy attire, and the same short hair––a haircut she’d given herself when she denounced witchcraft.
 

In other ways she was completely alien to me. Her easiness. Her confidence. She’d been outspoken as a child, fueled by a sense of righteous indignation as she asserted her independence. Now, she possessed a go-with-the-flow attitude that was difficult to assimilate into my old notion of Ruth Anne.
 

I wanted to get to know her better, to find out who she had become in the years we’d been apart.
 

“Life is funny, Maggie. That’s the most important thing I’ve learned. If we can’t laugh at it, well…we’re all screwed.” Ruth Anne flung out her hands, dropping the cookie.

At once, the Maggie cat was on it, gobbling it up before anyone else lay claim to it.

“I suppose,” I said, sensing there was a lot to her story. “It’s good to have you back. Are you home for good?”

“Maybe. I can probably get a little work done while I’m here. Dark Root might be good for the muse.”

“Your work?” I had no idea what she did for a living. “Let me guess. You’re a librarian? No, a teacher! Wait, a philosopher!”

Ruth Anne stretched, grabbed two more cookies when Eve wasn’t looking, and passed one to me. “Close. I write paranormal romances.”

I waited for her to say “gotcha.” The Ruth Anne I remembered hated all things paranormal. Not to mention romance.
 

“You’re kidding, right?” I finally asked.

“Nope.”

“Oh.” I tried to wedge this new version of my sister into my brain, making it somehow meld with the old version. It was like trying to squeeze into a pair of jeans two sizes too small. You could do it, but it hurt. “So, what is a paranormal romance exactly?”

Ruth Anne finished her cookie and reached for yet another one, licking off the frosting. “The age-old story of boy meets ghoul. They have amazing ghost sex. Then they live, or die, happily ever after. Easy peasy.”

“But why?” I asked, still confused. “I mean, why do you write it?”

“The hours are good, the pay is fair, and it’s fun doing the research. With my background, I have a bit of a leg up on the competition.” She leaned in and whispered, “Did you know that Dark Root isn't the only place in the world where people believe in witches and ghosts and things that go bump in the night? Everyone wants to believe that there is more to this world than meets the eye.”

“I suppose you’re right,” I said, remembering the way Michael wished for the end of the world to come, so that his prophecies could be vindicated. “Do you make a lot of money?”

Ruth Anne scratched her head. “My first book did really well. Climbed some best-seller charts and kept me in macaroni and cheese for several years. But after that, well, I couldn’t write anymore. Couldn't think of anything that would live up to the first, and so I stopped trying.” She shrugged, her eyes finding the window behind me. “Anyways, I’m hoping some time here in Dark Root with family, will open up the mental floodgates.”
 

I gave Ruth Anne a tight-lipped smile. “I hope so, too. If not, there’s always helping Eve down at the shop.”

“Oh, God,” she moaned, smacking her forehead. “I better write a best seller.”

We laughed, reminiscing about all the hours we’d put in at the store when we were kids. Ruth Anne had vowed then never to return to the store, and that was a vow she intended to keep.