The Magick of Dark Root (Daughters of Dark Root) Read Online Free Page B

all return, I reminded myself, as I looked at my bracelet once again.  
    The circle continues.  
    My hands fell to my belly, cradling the small bump that had only now begun to show. Spring would bring life again; there was no stopping time.
    I heard a rumbling in the distance and I craned my neck down the long dirt road, searching for Shane’s white pickup truck. It must have been thunder. I considered walking the mile and a half to my mother’s house, but I didn’t want to risk getting caught in one of Dark Root’s famous storms. I stood and paced beneath the balcony to pass the minutes.
    Through the bay window, I spotted Aunt Dora lounging in her recliner, knitting what I hoped was a doily and not another baby hat. She hummed as she worked her yarn, glancing up now and then to watch the monolithic TV, the only luxury she had allowed herself in thirty years.  
    I felt a wave of love for the woman who had forfeited a family of her own to help raise me and my sisters. I wished that she was coming with me today, but the arthritis in her hip made even short travels difficult. Perhaps I could bring Mother here to visit, instead, when she had fully recovered.  
    I was a nervous wreck, I knew.
    Nervous about seeing my mother, nervous about seeing Shane, nervous about being a mother. My chest tightened, making it difficult to breath, and I reached for the crystal pendant that hung around my neck. A gift from Michael. He claimed it would help calm and center me. It was one of the few things I kept from my days with him.  
    I laughed at the irony as I looked down at my belly.  
    “Michael, what have we done?”  
    I sat again, out of the rain, and closed my eyes, allowing myself to focus on what the baby might look like. Would it have my red hair, green eyes, and pointed chin? Or would it look like Michael, with brown hair, gray eyes, and a serious set to his jaw? Would it have my temper or Michael’s pragmatism? Or some strange combination of both?  
    I settled deeper into my meditation, concentrating on the baby’s face.
    The veil around the child’s image lifted and I could …a boy.  
    I was going to have a boy. Large hazel eyes, a thatch of auburn hair, and fingers so small they didn’t seem real. The nurse handed him to me, his tiny hands balled up into fists and his lips smacking as he searched for food. I tucked him into the crook of my arm, supporting his wobbly head. His eyes met mine and we stared at one another in awe and recognition.  
    “Baby,” I whispered. “My beautiful baby.” I stroked his cheek and kissed the tips of his fingers. “Mommy’s here.”
    And then he screamed.
    A heart-stopping shriek that pierced the halls. In an instant, his skin color changed from rose to ash and he fell silent. Deathly, deathly silent.
    Yer father had the deathtouch.
    My eyes flew open, my heart pounding in my ears.  
    I jumped up, clawing my way up one of the white pillars that supported the porch roof. It wasn’t real, I told myself. This was not a prophecy. My sister Merry had given birth to June Bug and nothing bad had happened.  
    If our father did have the deathtouch, it wasn’t genetic.
    I placed my hands on my midsection, protectively. I had seen his face. He was mine now. I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him.
    A raven fluttered down from the rafters, landing at my feet and regarding me with black, unblinking eyes.  
    A chill trickled up my spine, catching in my throat.
    “Get!” I yelled, stomping my foot. “Get!” It hopped backwards, cocked its head, and then launched itself into the steel-gray sky.
    My sweater constricted around me, soaked in perspiration. I tore if off and wadded it into my tote bag. When Shane’s truck finally came into view I was overcome with relief. As much as I dreaded seeing him in my current condition, it was far preferable to being alone.
    He didn’t notice me as he rolled into the lot.  
    Lost in the lyrics of one of his country or classic rock songs,