The Curse of Dark Root: Part Two (Daughters of Dark Root Book 4) by April Aasheim

“We are only going to look ahead. We can't look back. It's not good for anyone.”
    I returned my gaze to Juliana's tombstone, daring her to rise again.
    “Maggie!”
    I jumped.
    The gate creaked opened behind me and limped shut. Merry appeared, looking radiant in a starched blue sundress and a touch of gloss on her lips. “Gorgeous day,” she acknowledged, joining us. “Whatcha doing?”
    “Trying to find my inner peace.”
    “Any luck?”
    “I'm not sure I ever had any to find.”
    Montana reached for his aunt. She gently squeezed his cheek and lifted him from my arms. “The garden is nice,” she said, bouncing my son on her hip. “But I know a place where you can find inner peace... if you're game.”
    “You don't mean...?” My eyes widened with hope.
    “Yes. I'm inviting you to my hideaway. The perfect place to break curfews and curses.”
    “Sounds like my kind of establishment.”
    I held on to that moment, knowing it might not come again. Merry was inviting me to her hideaway. Previously, only June Bug had been invited to go before, and possibly Mother in her final days.
    Now it was my turn.
    “Thank you, Merry.” I smiled as I watched her cover my son's face in kisses. “This means more to me than you know.”

    MERRY UNFOLDED A checkered picnic blanket in the small glen. She'd been coming here since girlhood, a small forest juncture where the trees were thick-bodied and welcoming, as if they'd once housed elves. Merry was the shortest of us all, with an upturned nose, plump cheeks, and slightly pointed ears. Even though she was slim, her features were princess soft. She seemed perfectly suited to this fairy tale setting.
    She hummed as she draped the blanket over the dewy grass. Several magpies gathered nearby, hoping for food, but we were otherwise alone.
    “So this is it,” I said, setting Montana on the blanket. Laying on his stomach, he squealed at the birds, desperately trying to grab them as they hopped nearby. I gave him a rattle and the birds were quickly forgotten.
    “Yes. This is where I center myself.”
    Merry slunk out of her sundress, revealing a pair of short shorts and a tank top. She secured her hair into an elastic band on the top of her head. Barefooted, she inhaled and stretched. With surprising grace, she swept her arms overhead and bent at the waist, walking her hands forward on the ground.
    “Yoga is your secret?” I asked, having seen the position before. It was called a dirty dog, or something similar.
    “Partly. I start my mornings with meditation and yoga. It helps to clear the cobwebs.”
    “You come out here to practice? When?”
    “Before the sun rises.” She gave me a wry smile as she continued her set. Her fluidity and agility amazed me. She finished several rotations, her cheeks flushed and her brow wet. “What do you think?” she asked, facing me.
    “You make it look easy. But what does it do?”
    “Yoga connects my mind to my body.”
    “But I want to get out of my mind and my body.”
    Merry laughed, then repeated her vinyasanas , stopping now and again to comment on a particular pose. “Your turn,” she instructed, at last.
    I followed her lead until she had me standing on one leg with my hands pressed together overhead. I stumbled, nearly tripping over Montana. He laughed, thinking my performance was solely for his entertainment.
    “I don't think I'm built for yoga,” I said, reclaiming my balance.
    She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “We can try karate.”
    “Is Michael your teacher?”
    “Sensei,” she corrected, getting into a wide fighting stance, her fists raised up protectively. She demonstrated a quick series of kicks and punches. Forward and back, she lunged and retreated, chopping and blocking until she exhausted herself.
    “More your speed?” she asked, drying her face with her hands.
    “You think that will help my stress?”
    “It might.” She smiled. “I imagine I'm punching Frank.” She took a deep breath, exhaling