The Curse Of Dark Root: Part One Part 8

"Absorb?" I raised myself back to sitting.

"Through your dreams. Each globe must be viewed in order, and you must view them all."

"I don't want these memories!" My heart raced. Whatever images the globes contained couldn't be good, or else they wouldn't have been so carefully preserved and kept secret.

Aunt Dora studied me. There was a gentleness in her steel trap eyes. "My Maggie. Ya are now the head o' The Council. Its yer right and duty ta see what needs ta be seen."

"What will I see?" I asked. "Please tell me."

"What you need to know." Jillian turned her attention to the window, looking into the abyss of a Dark Root night.

"What if I refuse?"

"I can only tell you that Larinda will stop lending her a.s.sistance and you may be sent back into the Netherworld."

Things that had been kept from me?

My eyes fell again on the case. "You still haven't told me why Larinda has agreed to help."

"Because you're family," Jillian said quickly. Too quickly.

"And, even with her help, you're still not in the clear. Every day of combatting this hex weakens us. You may feel depleted and ill as the month wears on, but you won't..."

"Die." I pressed my lips together, nodding. "I understand."

"Remember, Maggie Girl, ya have us on yer side," Aunt Dora said, patting my shoulder.

"At least answer me this, whose memories are these and why were they so deliberately kept secret?"

Jillian kissed the palm of my hand. "I'm sorry, but we can't say. You'll just have to trust us."

The alarm clock on the dresser announced that it was now eleven. The witching hour was near.

"You should rest now," Jillian said.

They left, promising to stay close.

The case hummed with magickal energy, beckoning me. I shivered, sensing that there were not just memories contained within the globes. There were indictments.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," I called, quickly hiding the case beneath my pillows.

"h.e.l.lo, Maggie," Michael said.

"Go away." I thrust out my hand and focused my energy. The door swung limply in his direction but stopped just short of hitting him. I sighed.

"Not a nice way to greet your Baby-Daddy."

"Someone's been watching daytime TV."

"I try to stay current." He smiled tersely.

As he took his turn in my grandmother's rocking chair, I noticed he was now wearing reading gla.s.ses. He was handsome, I begrudgingly admitted to myself, and my mind wandered back to our early days at Woodhaven, when we were young and burning with excitement. Those days before all the failed prophecies and the arrival of Leah.

"You might be my baby's father, but that's all you are to me. Don't get any other ideas." I opened the window to allow in a breeze and climbed under my bedsheets.

His eyes crinkled at their corners. "That's all I ask, Maggie." Scanning my room, he nodded approvingly. "This is a great s.p.a.ce, nice colors and textures. But we should get to work on the nursery soon. That room would draw Martha Stewart from her grave."

"Martha Stewart's not dead."

"Oh? Well, good for her, hanging on like that."

"And since when do you notice texture and color? A hospital had more ambiance than our old room."

Michael stretched his long legs. "I've been watching something called HGTV. You wouldn't believe what some people can do with a bucket of paint."

I looked him up and down, noticing his clean-shaven face, his moussed hair, and his tweezered brows. "Are you gay, now? Because if you are, I'd be okay with that."

He tilted his head to the side, allowing one groomed eyebrow to drift provocatively upward.

"Maggie, you know more than anyone how much I enjoy women."

His words caused my hands to ball into fists. "Yes, Michael, you like women. Too much. Which is why we find ourselves in our current predicament." I nodded towards the still-open door. "I need to sleep now."

He placed his hands behind his neck, ignoring me. "What's that?" he asked, his eyes resting on the top of my dresser.

"My Yew Wand. It helps restless spirits cross over. It does other things too, but"

"So you've fully become your mother then?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"She was a witch. Now you're a witch."

"First off, I am not my mother, and secondly, stop being so holier-than-thou about everything."

He glanced at the wand, then back at me. "Sorry. I have no right to mock your beliefs. It's something I'm working on. As long as our son isn't raised up to believe"

"Our son will believe what he wants to believe, Michael, and so help you if you try to stop him!"

He eyed me warily, mentally debating whether he should fight back. Finally, he stood and gave me a solid nod. "A talk for another time."

There was a cold distance between us, even though he stood just feet from me. Despite everything, it saddened me to feel such animosity between me and my child's father.

"Michael," I said as his hand gripped the doork.n.o.b. "I think you were right."

He paused, tilting his head. "Me? Right? That almost never happens. Not with you, anyway."

"Aunt Dora showed me her visions. The end is coming, or at least the end of things as we know it."

"Like the REM song," he smiled.

Michael had listened to that d.a.m.ned song so much during our first year together that I sometimes couldn't sleep at night as it rolled through my head. He had insisted the end was coming, and when it didn't come, it nearly crushed his spirit.

"Just like the song. But no one knows when it will happen, only that it will." I licked my lips, trying to find the words to articulate what I wanted to say. "It's our job here to keep the Light. Mother and The Council did it before us. When the Light goes out, so does this world."

He rubbed his chin. "I've felt it too, you know. Since I was a boy. Backed up by the Bible, Nostradamus, the Mayans..." He closed his eyes, then reopened them slowly. "You have no idea when it will happen?"

"No. Time doesn't work the same on the other side."

His eyes rested on my belly. "How will it end?"

"With a whimper," I said, referencing his favorite T.S. Elliot poem.

"I miss you, Maggie."

I looked past him. "I miss you, too. Or at least, how it was a long time ago."

Michael took two steps forward, then dropped to his knees.

"We can get that back," he said, his fingers groping for mine.

I should have pulled away, but I didn't. His touch brought so many thingscomfort, familiarity, and restlessness. At last, I removed my hand from his. "That ship has sailed, but maybe we can be friends now. Maybe."

He lowered his head, running his ringed hand through his hair. "Yeah, I suppose. You have Shane now."

"And we're very happy together."

"Then I shall bid you good night." He stood, then paused by the door. "I just hope he appreciates what he's got." Before he turned off the light he added, "I forgot to tell you. Lover boy called."

"Shane?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out my cell phone, tossing it onto the bed. "Do you have more than one lover boy?"

"I keep a spare in case one breaks."

"Goodnight, Maggie." He left.

Summoning my bolstered energy, I pointed at the door and it closed swiftly. The effort made me dizzy. I fell against the pillows and dialed Shane's number, my hands shaking.

"Maggie?" he asked uncertainly.

The sound of his voice sent my heart racing. "Yes, it's me. Where have you been? Why aren't you here?"

"Maggie, I'm so sorry. There was an accident."

"A fire," I finished, so that he wouldn't have to say it.

"Yes."

I felt his presence, as close as if he were standing in the room with me. "You still could have come by."

"I tried to get away but something else happened. I'll tell you about it tomorrow."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I promise you'll see me tomorrow early afternoon. I just wanted to call and tell you goodnight. I couldn't last another day without hearing your voice."

I nodded but didn't speak.

"Be strong, Maggie Mae. We'll get through this together."

"I'm trying." I wiped my nose on the nearest pillow. "It's just so hard. Everything is so hard right now."

"Use that fire of yours a little longer."

I stuffed a pillow between my knees for support. "Why can't you tell me now?"

"I promised Dora I'd say goodnight then let you sleep. She's even more worried about you than I am, if that's possible."

We lay quietly, listening to each other breathe across the phone line. It wasn't as good as being with him, but it was something.

"Do you want me to visit your dreams?" he asked.

"More than anything."

"Then I will."

I closed my eyes and imagined his hands, stroking my hair, my lips, my b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"I love you Maggie Maddock," he said, his voice so faint I almost missed it.

"I love you too, Shane Doler. See you in our dreams?"

"Yes, our dreams. But first..."

"Yes?"

"Would you like naughty or nice tonight?"

I smiled and thought about the implications of both. They each had their merits. "Surprise me."

"Will do. And Maggie...?"

"Yes?"

"Remember this. No matter where I am, I love you and I'm thinking of you. Do you believe me?"