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

dear. It just got…lost. Besides, living forever would be boring, don’t you think?” She smiled, but there was wistfulness in her eyes.  
    Her lips trembled and she announced that our lesson was over. We shuffled out of the bedroom like zombies, our minds full of Mother’s words.
    “You don’t really think Mama had a wand like that, do you?” Merry asked as we shut the door behind us.
    “If she did, I’d think she’d of already used it on herself,” I said. “Besides, you know Mother and her stories. Magic like that doesn’t exist, even here.”
    “I suppose,” Merry agreed thoughtfully. When the others passed us in the hall, she said, “I didn’t want to bring this up, as it seemed irrelevant until today, but do you remember when we were kids? How vibrant and healthy she was?”
    “Yes,” I said, recalling the image of my mother, fifty pounds heavier and several decades younger. Her hair was wild and long, still thick as a skein of yarn. Now it was so thin you could practically see through the strands. “She got old, Merry. People get old.”
    “She looks decades older than she should. Most of my friend’s parents don’t seem that old.”  
      “She may have started having children later than most people do,” I said. “We still don’t know how old she really is.”
    “Yes. I guess you’re right.” Merry looked at the floor then up again, her eyes twinkling. “But what if she really has a wand like that? Maybe we could…” She stopped herself and her eyes regained their somber expression. “I’m being silly. It’s just that she is so frail. I give her energy every day, but it’s like trying to charge a bad battery. One day she may not charge at all.”
    I touched Merry’s pale cheek. She always had a subtle light around her that illuminated her face. But that light was faded lately.  
    “Don’t wear yourself out, okay? It will all be fine. I promise.”
    Merry nodded as we joined the others in the living room.  
    “You girls have fun stick-hunting in the woods,” Ruth Anne said. “I think I’m going to watch Jeopardy reruns on my laptop.”
    “You have your knowledge wand. Maybe you should be a contestant?” I teased.
    “Heck, I don’t need a wand for that. Just the old noggin.” She tapped her head. “Besides, I’m not sure this is a maple wand. I went out, asked the first tree I saw for a branch, and gave it a cookie in return.” She grinned at the memory. “…And then I went back for my cookie.”
    “It’s a maple wand, alright,” Merry said, passing us on the way to the kitchen. “And if your smarty-pants wand really worked, you’d know that.”
    June Bug tugged on my shirt. “Grandma wants you again.”
    Sure enough, Mother called out from the staircase. “Magdalene, please come back up.”
    “Told ya,” June Bug said.
    “I’ll save you a spot on the couch,” Ruth Anne said.  
     

     
    I entered my mother’s bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, watching as she brushed her long, whisper-white hair in the vanity. I caught her reflection in the mirror, her pale blue eyes, a strip of red splashed across her lips, and small dots of rose blusher on her cheeks, not quite blended in.  
    “Magdalene,” she said, swiveling her chair in my direction. “Do you know why I’ve always been so hard on you?”
    “Because I’m not living up to my potential?” I guessed.  
    “No!” Her eyes blazed, the blueness swallowed up by the black pupils. She rolled her chair towards me, using her slippered feet to paddle across the room. She spoke, her breath smelling like gumdrops and coffee. “Because you’re a fence sitter, just like your father!”  
    She pushed herself back a space, crossing her rail-thin arms as she studied my reaction.
    “I don’t know what that means,” I confessed. “And why does everyone keep comparing me to my father? Merry and Eve are his daughters, too. Are they nothing like him? And what is so awful about Armand, anyway,