The Witches of Dark Root Read online

  My knees began to shake and my fingers tingled. Michael was gathering energy; I could feel him pulling it from the crowd. Nervous energy, collected, bundled, and stored for the main event. The hairs on his arms rose, indicating that he was almost full. It was trickling into my space but I pushed it away. Nervous energy made me sick.

  The spotlight faded, replaced by the main overhead lights and we adjusted our eyes to accommodate the brightness.

  Michael lingered in his chair, as if contemplating whether or not we were worthy of his message. At last he rose, gradually sliding his lean body into full view of the audience, his ascension a meticulous and calculated event. The table shook, hardly enough to cause a waver in a cup of coffee, but I noticed. My body trembled along with it.

  It had been a long time since Michael had exhibited such power, and I was awed.

  A weary smile crept across Michael’s face as he surveyed the room.

  Despite the theatrics, Michael’s heart was in the right place: He really did want to save the world. I felt a wave of love for him; I couldn’t help it. When he applied himself, Michael had this ability to make you feel love. For him, for yourself, for the entire fucking universe. I would follow him off a goddamned cliff, if he said that’s what I needed to do right now.

  I closed my eyes to block it, determined to stay angry. The crystal he had given me in the grocery store pulsed against my chest. I clenched it, breathing in and out, calming us both.

  Everyone sat spellbound, feeding off of Michael’s calm, loving energy.

  Only Jason seemed to have his wits. He looked at me, checking in. I nodded back, sure that no one else would notice. Michael, in his element, was hard to ignore.

  Then, with a practiced, ethereal voice, he spoke, looking and sounding just like a prophet.

  “I was lost once,” he began, his face and arms tanned and perfect against his white, button-down shirt. “But then...” His eyes moved to something far away and invisible. “...But then, I was given a message...from God. And God said...”

  He stopped. Pausing for effect.

  “God said, ‘Michael, you cannot keep living like this. You cannot keep filling your body with junk and expecting it to function as it should. You cannot keep plugging into the technical ‘necessities’ of life, and not expect your body to suffer power shock. You cannot keep stock piling material items to make your life meaningful...’”

  “Amen,” said a woman. “Preach it!”

  Michael continued speaking as he wandered through the aisles.

  “You cannot keep having sex with women you feel nothing for. In fact...” Michael turned, his eyes resting on a stranger. “...You need to change everything about your life, if you hope to sit with me one day. Enlightenment comes only with sacrifice.”

  Michael straightened, lifting his chin, showing his full height.

  “All of you must make changes. The day of reckoning is coming, and if you don’t get right now, you are surely damned. God sent me to help with your transformations. I will show you what to do...”

  For the next thirty minutes, Michael spoke about God, spiritual evolution and reincarnation.

  My hands stopped shaking. His channeling was done.

  My mind drifted back, lost in memories of how it used to be when I first met Michael. He was amazing then, so filled with passion and life. His charisma was contagious. Seeing his performance tonight reminded me of those days.

  A pinch on my right thigh brought me back.

  Jason nudged me, his eyes darting from me to Michael. Was I up already? I licked the front of my teeth and stood, almost tripping over the legs of my chair in the process.

  This part of the ceremony always made me nervous.

  Making miracles wasn’t easy, especially miracles on demand, and I was never sure what would happen. A light might flicker or even go out, an unexpected noise might startle the audience, or if I was really lucky, a chair might tip over. Once our little grange hall had been hit by lightning, but I was premenstrual that night.

  You just never knew.

  “I feel,” I said, scratching my head and glancing around the room. “...A miracle coming!”

  Normally, I would have cleared my mind and focused my energy into a specific location before it was my turn, but I had been so caught up in my memories of Michael, that I had forgotten to prepare. The only things I felt coming on now were a migraine and an anxiety attack.

  I could sense Leah’s eyes on me. She had heard about the ‘Great Maggie Magic,’ but had never seen me in action.

  My palms grew sweaty and I wiped them onto my skirt. I straightened, pushing my shoulders back and tilting my chin upwards, hoping to portray a look of confidence.

  “There,” I said, pointing to a random spot in the room. “A miracle will happen there.”

  I waited, like everyone else, hoping against hope that whoever was in charge out there loved me enough to show itself, or at the very least send out a minion.

  I bit my bottom lip. Come on. Come on.

  Leah’s eyes gleamed, like a rat looking out of her hole.

  I swallowed, though I knew my mouth was dry. I knew that I was a poor excuse for a disciple and I promised to pay that penance later. For now, I needed a miracle. I squeezed my eyes shut and asked for help.

  Please, please, please. God. Universe. Allah. Intelligent Alien Race. Please.

  Nothing happened.

  Though my eyes were closed, I could feel everyone watching me, including Michael. Just an hour ago I had been so angry I didn’t want to talk to him, and now all I could think about was how I didn’t want to disappoint him. Maybe I shouldn’t have specified the exact location of the miracle. I wondered if I could redirect it to the tract lighting.

  There was a shriek to my right.

  I opened my eyes, turning to see Leah, her hands in the air. “He talked to me!”

  I blinked, confused. Was this a new part of the show?

  Leah placed one hand on her forehead and pointed upwards with the other. “God spoke to me! He wants you to know that there is still time for your salvation...”

  My face burned.

  This was an act. It had to be. God didn’t speak to weasels.

  I was about to say so, out loud, when a loud Boom, like a clap of thunder, emanated from the spot above Leah’s head. All eyes looked up, startled. Even the Council Members seemed confused. There was excited talk from around the table, as a few of our elders and some of the visitors left the building to check the immediate surroundings, including a quick glance at the roof. They returned, shaking their heads.

  Leah’s thin lips formed into a taut smile. She fanned herself, and then flung her body into her chair, as if the whole thing was just too much for her.

  “The voice of God,” she said, lifting her head as Michael rushed to attend her.

  “A testament to the faith of a true believer,” Michael nodded approvingly.

  Leah appeared to blush and look down at her lap. Michael praised God for making his presence known, and spoke at length on the powers of faith. Jason patted my leg but I shrugged him off. I didn’t need his charity sympathy right now. I wanted to be alone.

  We completed the service, everyone asking questions of Michael and Leah while I sat closed-mouthed and stewing. When it was over, Leah was surrounded by newfound admirers. Hoax or not, she was the star of tonight’s show.

  She said ‘God’ was going to help her lead others into the light.

  No one noticed as I slipped out of my seat, along the back wall, and out the rear door. The walk to the main house was a dark, lonely one. I took a final glance back, watching silhouettes celebrate in the windows, as I slunk towards my bedroom.

  Three: Hotel California

  Woodhaven wasn’t our first home.

  We had taken other stabs at residential permanency in places like Nevada, New Mexico, and Kansas, but none of these locations worked out. Nevada was too expensive, New Mexico was too hot, and Kansas was too Kansas.


  But the Woodhaven Compound was just right. It sat nestled in the heart of Humboldt County where the California climate was mild and the citizens tolerant.

  At first, no one understood my fascination with the house and the accompanying grange hall. We had seen the property several times as we journeyed along the lonely highway that connected Northern California with Southern Oregon, and I convinced Michael to use it as a squat. I took this opportunity to wander its endless halls and corridors while the rest of the group slept huddled in the living room.

  It was a dilapidated, sad sack of a building, large and rectangular with rooms added on willy-nilly. The ceilings sagged and the carpet was soiled so badly that it was impossible to make out its original color. But I fell in love with it, boarded windows and all. Though it wasn’t as beautiful as the Victorian houses I had grown up with in Dark Root, its vastness reminded me of home. And, though I would never admit this to Michael, since the enlightened soul holds no attachments, what I really longed for was a home.

  By the time we discovered the house, with our travel-weary band of refugees, we had been on the road for two years, and porta-potties had long ago lost their charm. I set my mind to getting it. Michael resisted at first, thinking the desert might be better-suited for our tribe, but I wore him down, and once he was in, he was in.

  It was easier, he said, to buy the house than to war with Maggie.

  Michael rallied the troops and we became worker ants, pawning our possessions, taking on odd jobs and selling flowers to raise the cash needed to buy the property. It took us almost a year, but it was finally ours––the place that would give us stability and credibility.

  The house was christened with champagne from Trader Joe’s and I named it ‘Woodhaven,’ a tradition carried over from my time in Dark Root, where all homes were said to be alive and should thus be named. And though Michael doesn’t believe in marriage, he presented me with a silver ring and carried me over the threshold to commemorate the event.

  We all changed during that first year in our new home.

  Before Woodhaven, we had been a group of philosophers who would rather talk about the end of the world than wash a dirty dish, but Woodhaven demanded our sweat. We worked together to hammer, nail, strip, and saw the place into something beautiful. Bonds were formed under the strains of physical labor, followed by late night, bullshitting sessions. Step by step, stone by stone, we moved from a mild wilderness into a mini-civilization.

  Through Woodhaven, we were a family at last.

  And now, after all this time and work, I was in danger of losing it all.

  Back inside I drew a bath, hoping to drown Leah out of my mind, but lying in warm water, chin deep in bubbles, I could still hear the hullabaloo outside. It was dying now. Excited chatter began to be replaced by quiet conversations and closing doors as people found their way inside the main house.

  All this commotion for one boom? You would have thought that she had turned water into wine the way everyone was carrying on. It was as if the compound were under a spell.

  My stomach worked itself into a knot.

  Everything was changing so quickly and suddenly. One moment I was queen of this castle, the next a stranger. I closed my eyes, sucking in deep breaths, but all I kept seeing were Leah’s beady eyes and Michael looking at her the way he used to look at me.

  I tightened my fists, squishing sudsy water through my fingers. Clarity. Grant me clarity. I breathed in again, slowly this time, allowing the fragrance of the Lavender-Vanilla candle to bypass all the jumble of my emotions, to that calming station in my brain.

  At last, my mind began to clear and Leah’s face melted like wax.

  I noticed the limbs of my body growing heavy, submitting to the water. I was tired. God, I was tired. I allowed my head to roll to the side as I focused on the nothingness, a cool dark void where problems didn’t exist. But before I could fully settle into that world, a nagging parade of thoughts clawed their way back into my consciousness.

  I was losing Michael. I was losing Woodhaven. I was losing my family. I was losing my home.

  My eyes flew open.

  The image of Leah returned. Leah patting Michael’s arm, laughing at his jokes. She meant to take him from me. But she wasn’t going to win. Not on my watch.

  I was going to fight.

  I sat up, my chin set with a new resolve.

  It was true, in the past year I hadn’t been as involved in running this place as I should have been, and my miracles were sub-par, even on the good days. And, truth be told, after that last big prophecy when nothing happened, I had lost a little respect for Michael, and though I never said anything, he must have sensed it.

  But I could change things. I could help him rebuild. Michael was still mine. Woodhaven was still ours. The terrible stomach knot unfurled itself.

  “Mags!” Michael burst into the bathroom, his face flushed with excitement.

  “Hi,” I said almost shyly, wringing the water from my hair. I climbed out of the bath, sucking in my gut as I reached for a towel. I was still embarrassed about slinking out of the grange hall like that, but tomorrow was another day and I was going to make some changes. I was going to clean house. “I’m so glad you’re here. I missed you.”

  I reached over to kiss him and he offered me his cheek.

  “Sorry hon, you’re wet.”

  I used the corner of the towel to dab the water from my face. “Good night, huh?” I said with a broad smile, attempting to mirror his excitement.

  “The best!” He rubbed his hands together and I escorted him into our bedroom. He buzzed around the room, inspecting things as if seeing them for the first time. He stopped to pick up a photo of us taken by a sign that read, “Welcome to Wichita.” He looked at it for a moment, then placed it back on the shelf before moving on to one of my women’s magazines. He flipped quickly through the pages then dropped it onto the bed.

  “Three new members! Three!” he said.

  “Three? That’s amazing! Congratulations.” I secured the towel around my chest as Michael continued pacing. He zipped from one side of the room to the other, wringing his fingers in that way he did when he was making plans. He hadn’t taken his shoes off, and he was leaving mud tracks on our floor. I half-expected him to grab a towel to clean it up, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “...And two more that said they were really interested. I think they were telling the truth. They even gave me phone numbers. That’s the best recruitment we’ve had in years.”

  “I’m glad. That was a lucky coincidence with Leah and that crash, huh? Good timing.”

  Michael stopped pacing, swiveling his head in my direction.

  He said, “Mags, you know as well as I do that there are no coincidences.” He laughed but his laughter was different. Mad, maniacal. The laughter of a man who has just discovered he can bring dead things to life. “...I think we got a winner with Leah.”

  The stomach pain returned. “Michael, that was a coincidence or a set up or something. There’s no way that secretary has any gifts at all.”

  He looked at me like I had just committed heresy, but someone had to talk sense into him.

  I plopped myself onto the bed and repeated, “Well, she doesn’t.”

  “Maggie...” His voice softened as he joined me on the bed. He brushed through my hair with his fingers, starting at the scalp and working his way to the ends. It was wet and tangled but he skillfully plowed through the knots.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. Warring with him wasn’t going to help anything. When I was done with my transformation, he would remember why he fell in love with me and see Leah for the pitiful weasel that she really was. I cracked an apologetic smile. “...I’m just upset with myself. I haven’t been performing lately. But I’m gonna try harder, I promise. Eat less junk food and meditate more and really focus. I’m so sorry, Michael. I promise to do better.”

  Michael put his head on my shoulder. He smelled like soap and sweat. His scent always drove me cra
zy and I wanted to bury myself in him.

  “Maggie, remember the early days when we were first starting out? You were on fire then. You walked into a room and things just...happened. Remember that?” I was about to comment that we were both different then, but he continued before I could speak. “...Remember that time when that cop was trying to arrest us for vagrancy? Suddenly his sirens go off and his radio goes crazy. He looked like he had just seen a ghost! You did that. We got two new people, James and Beth, when they witnessed that...”

  I brushed Michael’s hair with my fingertips and smiled. “Well, it didn’t hurt that you told the cop the Lord wasn’t going to be happy if we got arrested for preaching the Good News.”

  Michael took my free hand in his lap and squeezed it, then released it, finger by finger, unwrapping himself from me. He stood and went to our dresser, removing the flannel nightgown that I had owned since I left Oregon. It was the warmest, most comfortable nightgown in the universe, one of the few things he allowed me to keep from my old life.

  Without saying a word he helped me get dressed, pulling the nightgown over my arms and head like my mother did when I was a little girl. Then he kissed me on the lips and I felt that familiar wave of love rush through me. I leaned back, pulling him with me, wanting him to take me, to remove any distance left between us.

  He smiled, but nodded a gentle no.

  “You, my dear,” he said. “...Need to go to sleep. I don’t think you’ve been getting enough rest lately.” He covered me up and tucked the sheet under my chin. “I love you, Mags,” he said, stroking my cheek. “I love you so much, in fact, that I won’t even wake you up for morning meditation tomorrow. Sleep in as long as you want, okay? Then we can spend some time together.”

  I nodded, my chin disappearing under the sheet, and yawned. The bath and Michael’s hands had left me exhausted. I would talk to Michael tomorrow, when things were calmer. We would work everything out and life would be good again.

  “What are you going to do now?” I asked, rolling onto my sleeping side and adjusting the pillow.