Free The Magick of Dark Root (Daughters of Dark Root) by April Aasheim

selfish about love? Besides,” Eve said, her face taking on a gauzy look. “We were raised to be witches. Why not use our powers as we like, especially if we aren't hurting anyone? The old Council is gone, Maggie. We are the next generation. We get to decide how things are done now.”
    It was not the first time I’d wondered about this.
    Why were we given powers if we were always taught to keep them locked up? It was the mystical equivalent of keeping your virginity: don’t go giving it away to just anyone.
    “I’m not afraid Shane will reject me,” I said, as I corked her bottles.  
    Eve and I worked well together, I realized, able to anticipate what one needed before the other asked. Before corking the final bottle, I sniffed the perfume. It smelled like roses, dreams, and sex.
    “I think you are afraid.” Eve took the tray and placed it on a high shelf, where customers wouldn’t see it.  
    “Maybe a little,” I admitted as we moved back into the main area of the shop.
    “I knew it.”
    What I didn’t tell her was that the fear of Shane’s rejection was only part of the reason I kept my distance from him. What I feared even more was that I would tell him my news, and then he would court me, date me, maybe even ask me to marry him…but not because he loved me, because it was the right thing to do . And Shane lived by the cowboy code of always doing the right thing.
    That was something I couldn't live with.  
    I caught sight of him in the Dip Stix window. He smiled at a pretty woman as he took her order.  
    “One dab of Man Attack and you’ll never have to worry about that again,” Eve said, narrowing her eyes. “And believe me, honey, there are lots of those in the world, all waiting to snatch up someone like Shane Doler, without a second thought to you.”
     

     
    As Eve predicted, we were called once again to Mother’s house that afternoon.
    “Mama insists,” Merry explained on the phone, her voice a pitch higher than usual. “I told her we could do it this weekend, but she won’t hear anything of it. I guess we better humor her.”
    Eve and I closed the shop down early, ushering out several customers who’d been loitering for hours but hadn’t purchased a thing.  
    At precisely four o’clock we gathered with Merry, June Bug, and Ruth Anne in front of Mother’s bedroom and waited. At 4:01, she opened the door wearing a dress four sizes too big, earrings that hung to her shoulders, blue house shoes, and a black-feathered boa. She puffed on an unlit cigar and croaked out the words “my girls!” as if speaking burnt her lungs.
    “These are for you,” she said, handing us each a slender white candle.  
    She lit her own then passed the flame along to each of us in turn.  
    Eve rolled up the carpet on the floor, uncovering the Pentagram. We seated ourselves in the same positions, except for Mother, who stood holding the post of her bed with one hand and her candle with the other. She was even paler than yesterday and looked so frail a gust of wind could blow her away. She stood with shaking hands and labored breath while we waited.
    After several hard breaths, she set her candle on her antique dresser, then reached into the top drawer, her fingers searching for something near the back. A smile crossed her face as she pulled out a small, dried-out tree branch that looked as brittle as she was.
    Holding the limb up for us to inspect she said, “Ruth Anne, do you remember this?” Ruth Anne’s face displayed not a hint of remembrance and Mother let out an exasperated sigh. “Did you learn nothing?”
    Mother tapped the stick on the dresser and a few meager sparks flickered at its tip.
    “Every witch needs a wand,” she said. “But for reasons I won’t mention now, only Ruth Anne has selected hers already.”
    Ruth Anne had left home when she was a teenager. After that, Mother had given up on most everything, including our continued training. One by one we’d all followed in Ruth