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

breathing, focusing on Merry’s words.
    After a time, I saw it in my mind. A light centered on my heart, spreading outward from my body until it filled the glen. “It's so beautiful.” I feared that when I opened my eyes, it would all go away. “Where did it come from?”
    “The light came from within you, sister.” Merry pointed at my knee. A white butterfly with long gossamer wings had landed.
    “He's yours,” Merry said.
    The butterfly quietly regarded me for only a moment, before flying away.
    “What's this?” Merry asked, frowning. I followed her gaze. A black feather lay near my son's feet. “Must be one of the magpies,” she said quickly.
    I picked it up and twirled it between my fingers. “It's a raven's feather.”
    The white light receded, imploding in on me like a detonating bomb.

EIGHT
    Daydream Believer

    BY SUPPERTIME I was sick again. All the butterflies and rainbows in the world wouldn’t cure me, and the mysterious black feather had fouled my mood. I stumbled through the evening, nodding and smiling like a PTA mom as I went about my duties, noticing how Montana turned away whenever my breasts let down. Maybe he could smell the sickness in my milk.
    Once Eve left for Harvest Home, and Merry and Ruth Anne retired to their rooms, I put my son to bed in his bassinet and made up the couch for the night. I’d been sleeping on it for months now. It wasn’t good for my back but I felt protected in the living room, where I could watch the door, and escape with my son if needed.
    Lying in the near dark, I listened to Montana’s congested snores followed by his breathless lapses. Just a small summer cold, I kept telling myself, though I checked on him every few minutes anyway. He slept through it all, his fists drawn into his body and his bare toes peeping out from beneath his blanket. I thought of casting a protective bubble around him, but I dared not. Magick attracted magick. I still hadn’t figured out the source of the curse, and I didn’t want to alert anyone––or anything––to our presence.
    Staring at the ceiling, I ran my hands along the crystal bracelet I’d inherited from Mother. Soon Montana’s snoring abated and he breathed easily again. The house grew still and my mind was free to race.
    Larinda. Armand. Juliana. Shane. Their images rolled through my brain, shuffling randomly forward and back, like four jokers in a deck of playing cards. It was too bad I didn’t have a potion from Eve or a brew from Merry, anything to shut out my thoughts. But I was done with magick. Besides, if I confessed my insomnia, Merry would give up her own sleep to save mine.
    I wriggled my fingers, counting. I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since...
    Since really before Montana was born.
    I did know something that would help. True, there was magick involved...
    My fingers crawled beneath the edge of the couch, stopping when they touched the leather case of snow globes. I was supposed to finish them before Montana was born, but he had come early. With the death of Shane and the birth of my healthy son, I was too distraught and preoccupied to want to know anything more about my father or the path he had taken.
    But maybe the key to my recovery still lay hidden inside the remaining globes? I slid the case out from under the sofa and opened it. I peered closely. Over half were a murky brown––the ones I had already viewed. The rest lined up like stars in the Milky Way, winking at me enticingly in the moonlight. The next ball in line stood out in particular, glowing brighter than the others. I took it and laid back down.
    My eyes returned to the ceiling as my hands massaged the globe.
    It was nearly one in the morning. It was the witching hour––the time between midnight and three a.m. when the spirits were restless and the veils between worlds thinned. Journeying between realms was possible at that hour, even for the dead. My father had seemingly mastered such travel, with the aid of the ankh and