The Curse Of Dark Root: Part One Part 30

Magic Carpet Ride Dark Root, Oregon November, 1975 Sister House A blinding, gold flash of light illuminated the nursery of Sister House.

Since Sasha needed more time alone to "reflect on the state of the world," Armand had moved out of the room they had shared and into one down the hallthe bedroom that had been Sasha's as a young child.

Her energy was gone from the room now, as if it too had grown up and moved away. That suited Armand fine. Her energy was so strong he needed to escape from it now, even as he was attracted to it before.

There was no bed, or bureau, or even a basket to put his things in, but Armand didn't care. He hung his clothes up in the small closet near the window, read his occult books in his beanbag chair, and slept in a sleeping bag he had found lying in the woods on one of his morning walks. Hippies, he guessed, wis.h.i.+ng he were as free as they were.

He spent most of his days in the nursery now, and all of his nights. He didn't mind the solitude. In fact, after Council meetings and festivals and tea parties and dome building, he rather welcomed it. For company, he had his records: Hendrix for dreaming, The Doors for spell work, The Beatles for reflecting. He even laid down some Credence Clearwater Revival when the mood was right, although looking out the small nursery window, Have You Ever Seen the Rain caused him to either grumble or smile at the irony.

The music was good company. These were groups that got life, knew what it was about, and weren't afraid to sing about it. Besides, music was one of the few things he and Sasha had in common anymore. Some nights, he'd entice her downstairs with a little wine and they'd listen to The Mamas and The Papas or Steppenwolf until the break of dawn. On good nights, high on wine and old lyrics, they'd make out and more.

It was those better times that got him through the worst.

And to be fair, he wasn't completely alone. Sasha might have gone a bit frigid but her cousin Larinda hadn't. And she was more than willing to share his sleeping bag, and his adventures. It was one of these adventures the two were returning from.

"Well, that was fun." Larinda laughed as the two materialized within a gold flash in the center of the nursery. They grinned like children as the light around them brightened, filling the room, then dimmed and disappeared altogether.

"Bet you've never done that before," Armand said, clasping the ankh that hung around his neck.

"No, I've never traveled back in time before," Larinda agreed. She wrapped her arms about his neck. "Such power! You never cease to amaze me, Armand."

"Yeah?" He smiled at her praise. "Too bad your cousin doesn't see me that way."

Larinda released her hands from his neck and pulled away. "Sasha is misguided in her views. A witch needs a warlock, not the other way around."

Armand listened but didn't respond. Instead, he removed his cowboy hat and tossed it onto the beanbag chair. "I almost lost the hat in one of those tunnels. Navigating the...what did you call it?"

"The Netherworld."

"Yeah, navigating the Netherworld is going to take some getting used to." He s.h.i.+vered, feeling b.u.mps rise up on his arms. "Too bad the ankh didn't come with an instruction manual. I hope we don't get trapped there."

"Armand, that's the realm of spirits and dreams. As long as we aren't dead, or sleeping, we are okay."

Armand stifled another s.h.i.+ver as images from the Netherworld returned to him.

It was mostly a series of dark tunnels, but there were also residents there. Some he recognized as past human formsperhaps ghosts now, while others were formless shapes, dark and lurking or white and gleaming. They seemed to sense that Armand and Larinda did not belong there and withdrew whenever they advanced.

Except for a few of the brazen ones.

Those were the braver, darker ent.i.ties.

Armand felt their icy fingers reaching out, trying to latch on. It reminded him of the haunted houses his mother took him to when he was a kid, with monsters hiding in every corner. But these monsters had no need of masks.

"We need to map it," Larinda suggested, sidling up beside him. Her perfume was strong and brought him back to their night before. It immediately aroused him.

Whoosh.

A dark wisp flitted across the room, causing the hairs on Armand's neck to stand on end. "What the h.e.l.l was that?"

"What?" Larinda asked, following his gaze around the room.

He rubbed his eyes. They had been traveling in the dark for an unknown amount of time and he hadn't adjusted to the light of the real world again. The shadow was gone.

"Probably just an aftereffect."

Larinda regarded the sleeping bag with crossed arms. "We really should get you a bed. The floor is starting to hurt."

Armand smiled. "Then you can be on top."

"That's your answer to everything."

He fell theatrically to the floor, did ten pushups, and then rolled onto the sleeping bag, patting the s.p.a.ce beside him. "I feel a little dizzy after that experience. How about you?"

Larinda dropped down beside him and nuzzled into the crevice between his arm and chest, unb.u.t.toning his s.h.i.+rt. When she reached his navel, her hand slid down below the gap in his jeans. "I'm dizzy too, but it was worth it. Like riding a roller coaster, only you aren't sure if you're ever going to be let off the ride."

He relaxed, wondering how far down her hand would go. "I love how adventurous you are. Sasha used to be adventurous..."

Larinda abruptly retracted her hand and sat up. "If you mention her name one more time, I'm going to curse you. Or scream. Or both."

"But you're the one who wanted to come here to her house."

"That was for my amus.e.m.e.nt. Listening to you reminisce about her is not amusing."

Armand closed his eyes and slung his arm across his face. "Ah, h.e.l.l," he said. "Every time we're having fun, you have to say something to f.u.c.k it up. Do you have to be such a G.o.dd.a.m.ned buzzkill all of the time?"

Neither spoke. Armand used the silence to review their time in the Netherworld.

Somehow, they had ended up in Rosa's kitchen, and judging by her home decor and her youthful appearance, it was circa 1950-something. Young Rosa busied herself preserving jams, unaware that she was being watched. The event itself wasn't exciting, but the actuality that they had traversed time was something Armand had trouble wrapping his head around.

Of course, the reason for their success was partially due to Larinda, or rather her body. Prior to their journey he had taken Larinda, siphoning off a bit of her life force. That extra reserve helped them to cross over.

She had her faults, but her uses outnumbered them.

Speaking of which, he needed a fix.

"f.u.c.k me," he said, opening his eyes and twisting his neck to look at her. From this position, she was even starker and more severe than usualwith her pointed chin and nose, her lash-less eyes, and hair that coiled too tightly near her head. She was striking but not beautiful. Not even pretty. Handsome best described her. But he wasn't interested in her looks. He wanted her spirit.

"What did you say?" she asked, raising both eyebrows.

"I said f.u.c.k me."

"After you mentioned that woman's name? No."

"I need you."

"You need any woman, Armand. I'm not special."

"No, I need a powerful, magical woman. And those are in short supply."

Larinda lifted her fingers to count upon. "There's Rosa..."

"Too old. Even the 1950s version looked like my mom."

"Dora."

"Too much like an angry Aunt Bea."

"Who?"

"Never mind."

Larinda gave him a sly, sideways smile. "There's always Joe. He's not quite a woman but he's got enough feminine energy to keep you charged up. And I've seen the way he looks at you."

"You're not funny."

"Oh, but I am! And of course there's..." she nodded to the door, to the person who slept in the room just down the hall.

"I thought we weren't going to speak of Sasha."

"I was wondering why you charge up with me, when you have her right in the house?" She placed a finger to her lips. "Oh, that's right. She won't charge you, will she?"

Armand sat up on his elbows, before pulling himself into a cross-legged position.

He was irritated at Larinda's reference to his relations.h.i.+p status, and more irritated that she was correct. Sasha was one of the few women he couldn't draw from, even when they were making love. She had put up enough s.h.i.+elds to guard Fort Knox. But he wouldn't admit it out loud, even if Larinda already knew it.

Instead, he said, "You have been misinformed, Larinda. The reason I'm not with Sasha is that she's become an old woman. Not just in her looks, but in her spirit. Siphoning from her would probably put me in an early grave."

She nodded approvingly, seemingly pleased that he was insulting her cousin.

He continued. "You two are about the same age but you seem so much younger. And Sasha doesn't use her wand much on you anymore, does she?"

"Someday, I will have that wand," she said with a tightened jaw. Then, relaxing, she tilted her head back and raked her fingers through her tight curls. "For now, I take care of myself."

"That you do. But there's more than that. I know your magic helps..."

She glared at him, her aura flickering a red warning.

Armand knew that women had their tricks to stay young, but Larinda never liked to be reminded of them. At least Sasha admitted that she used the wand to "perk up" from time to time, while Larinda insisted that she was naturally youthful, without any magical help at all.

"Sorry," he whispered, leaning into her neck and biting softly. Most women tasted like salt; Larinda tasted like chalk. "What I meant to say was that Sasha's become an old maid while you are still vibrant and s.e.xy."

Her energy s.h.i.+fted, warming. He nibbled on her neck again, and she offered up a small protest before giving in to him. She had her abilities. He had his.

Larinda smiled as he blew on her neck and cupped her small b.r.e.a.s.t.s in his hands.

"We are the same person, Armand. The same sort of soul. When you're finally free of that noose Sasha has around your neck, we'll leave Dark Root, taking all that we can carry with us."

He grabbed her by the shoulders and laid her down, forcing her to the floor. As he took her, he thought about her words.

Was she right? Were we the same person? There was certainly a camaraderie between them he hadn't found with any other woman, an understanding that they should not squander their abilities building invisible domes for a future they may not be a part of. There was certainly a meeting of the minds. But what about their hearts? Did it matter?

He finished with her then rolled off, putting his hands to his temples. The dizziness had receded but a mad headache took its place. Larinda kissed his cheeks, but her kisses were as warm as a rattlesnake's.

At least he got his charge. Now he'd be able to try some of those stronger spells he'd been studying in Sasha's spell book.

"Here's a thought," he said, strumming his fingers across his bare chest. "Wanna try to summon a demon?"

His eyes never left the ceiling as he threw out the suggestion.

Even adventurous Larinda had balked at demons in the past, claiming they were impossible to control, even if you could bring one to this plane. But according to the spell book, there were lesser demons they could practice on. Plus, he was growing in power every day. With Larinda's added energy, he was convinced they could do it.

Her reply was curt and firm. "No, thank you."

"Come on. What could go wrong?"

Larinda sighed heavily and Armand knew her answer. Everything. He pulled on his s.h.i.+rt and sat up again.

"Fine," he said, using her tactic. "But I'm about to go mad from boredom in this town. You're either going to join me, or lose me."

He stood, finished dressing, and stormed across the room.

He stopped at the window, resting his elbows on the ledge. Nothing but f.u.c.king trees as far as the eye could see. He had begun to hate trees. Hate them in the way a prisoner hates iron bars. He should leave Dark Root, and sooner rather than later. There was nothing to keep him here. He'd served his time with Sasha and had trained up his abilities.

Just think what he could accomplish in the outside world. And what he wouldn't give for a really good brandy. Ah, h.e.l.l.

But something...something made him stay. And he no longer believed it was Sasha. He scratched his head, watching a squirrel run along a tree branch.

He chanced a quick glance back at Larinda, watching as she put on a dress that matched the color of her hair. She was fun at times, difficult at others, and he liked the steady power supply she offered him. But she wasn't what kept him here, either.

It was as if he were waiting for...something. But what?

The end of the world? Not hardly. Sasha and her minions could face the end huddled up in Dark Root but he certainly wouldn't. When the end came, he'd fight it himself. Or join in, if it was advantageous.

No. It wasn't "the end" he was waiting for.

Larinda joined him at the window.

They stood in silence, watching as leaves tumbled downwards, covering the ground. Winter was on the horizon, and as much as Armand hated the trees, he deplored their nakedness even more. Exposed and without hopenot knowing if spring would return. Just like him.

He searched his pockets, looking for a cigarette, an old habit he couldn't break even after he had stopped smoking.

Larinda handed him a smoke and a lighter, and he took them.

After several minutes, Sasha's dented Cadillac pulled into the dirt driveway. Armand leaned forward, his breath steaming up the window. He wiped away the fog and looked down. There was a woman exiting the pa.s.senger's side of Sasha's car, a young woman with chestnut hair that fell all the way to her waist. From what he could see of her face, Armand could tell that she was pretty. But it was her aura that struck him. It was white, like Sasha's, but softer, pulsing rhythmically around her. There was a purity to it he had rarely seen before.

He raised an eyebrow, his interest in the world renewed.

"Must be the new Council member," he said, trying to keep his voice steady even as his heart raced.