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

Anne’s footsteps, leaving Dark Root, leaving Mother.
    “It’s okay, Mama,” Merry said, her voice soft as a butterfly’s wings. “We’re all here now.”
    “Yes.” Mother ran her tongue over her thin, cracked lips.  
    She had never apologized for our childhoods: her relentless insistence that we study and follow in her footsteps, her desire to have everything and everyone around her be perfect, and her unwillingness to admit that she was ever wrong about anything.  
    But in her eyes, I could see the guilt and the regret. I felt a surge of love for her now, and an even stronger need to protect her.  
    “Ruth Anne,” she said, holding out the stick. “This wand is yours. I kept it safe for you.”  
    Ruth Anne took the branch and turned it over in her hands.
    “Abracadabra!” she said, rapping the stick against her crossed leg. “What? No rabbit?”
    I shot my sister a warning look that took her aback. We had always been allies in mocking magic, and my lack of support caught her off guard.
    “There is certainly a time for humor,” Mother said. “But it is not now.”
    “Sorry,” Ruth Anne apologized, saying nothing more.
    “As you can see,” Mother continued, “Ruth Anne’s wand is not yet finished. Though she picked it herself and asked permission from the tree, she never completed the process.”
    “The process?” June Bug asked.  
    “Yes. Before a wand and its witch become one, the wood must be stripped of its bark, anointed in a magick oil, and imbued with a gem. The wand must then spend a fortnight beneath its owner’s pillow, absorbing its witch’s character, and bestowing its power upon its owner. Every witch must pick her own wand, and every witch gets only one wand, so choose carefully.”
    “But a witch still has powers without the wand, right?” June Bug asked, raising her hand.
    “Yes. That’s right. A wand simply heightens her magic and refines her powers. They complement each other. And a wand picked from a tree grown in Dark Root, will be especially powerful.
    “It’s important that you think carefully about the type of witch you wish to become. Ruth Anne’s wand is made of maple. This will increase her powers in the realm of knowledge. There are trees that will aid you in glamour…” She looked at Eve. “…And healing.” She looked at Merry. “And, well, maybe temperance.” She looked at me. “But I leave that to your discretion. Choose wisely, ladies. The Solstice approaches and we must rebuild the dome over Dark Root. The dome will be stronger if you each have your wand during the ceremony.”
    “I thought we already cast that spell,” I said. “During Haunted Dark Root.”
    “That was to keep out the spirits and demons during Samhain, when the veil between worlds is thinnest. The Solstice ritual is meant to prevent practitioners from using the powerful magick residing within the sphere of Dark Root for evil purposes. Both spells work in conjunction with one another.”
    “By practitioners, do you mean other witches?” Eve asked.
    “Yes. Those who wish to wield the magick of Dark Root for the wrong reasons.” Mother put her hand to her chest and cleared her throat. “I’d like to see you all get your wands before I’m gone. Especially you, Magdalene.”
    “Where are you going?”  
    “Just focus on the time we have together now.”
    Anxiety welled up inside me. Time together now?
    “One more thing,” Mother said. “A witch always protects her wand. Though it will never be as powerful in the hands of another witch, it can still be used––or destroyed––by others.”
    “Where is your wand, Grandma?” June Bug asked.
    I cocked my head. For all Mother’s talk, I had never seen her use one.
    She sighed dreamily, her blue eyes clouding over. “I had a very special wand, my dear. With the power to heal, and some say, grant eternal life.”
    “Whoa!” Ruth Anne burst out, then snapped her mouth shut.
    “Was it destroyed, Grandma?”
    “No