"Hurry, get the picture!" I said, still pointing upwards, even as I braced against the pain that spread throughout my back. "It's Juliana. I think she pushed me."

"There's nothing there, Maggie," Eve said while Ruth Anne frantically searched her pockets for her camera. At last, she found it and began snapping pictures of the ceiling. Juliana's red eyes blinked, and as suddenly as she had appeared, she vanished.

I lowered my pointing finger, unable to endure the pain any longer. "I think I'm going to pa.s.s out."

"Not on my watch." Merry removed her scarf, pressed it between her hands, and laid it across my forehead. The blackness receded but the pain remained.

Merry then placed her hands on my hipbones, sending a surge of restorative energy through me. With each wave I felt warmer and more relaxed. Eve appeared with a mug and tilted my head back, allowing me to sip, while Ruth Anne continued to take pictures.

"Juliana's gone," I said. "I need to talk to Shane. Someone, please call him for me."

Eve turned her phone in my direction, showing me that she had already dialed his number. "He's not picking up, Mags. I left a message."

"Did you text him?" I lolled my head to the side, dropping the scarf onto the floor.

"Yes."

"Ah, h.e.l.l." I stiffened, realizing that once again my father's words had come out of my mouth.

"Just relax," Merry said, stroking my cheek. "Eve, call an ambulance."

I closed my eyes, pretending to acquiesce, but in reality, I was directing every ounce of energy I had towards Shane. Our souls were linked. If I tried hard enough, he'd feel it and he'd call. I just knew he'd call.

"An ambulance is on its way," Eve said. "But it's coming from Linsburg. It may take a while."

There was a long beat of staggering silence as everyone held their breaths and waited. Merry continued to infuse me with her empathic healing while Ruth Anne locked the front door then opened her laptop to load the images she had captured. I gave up trying to connect with Shane, and gave in to Merry's sedative healing powers. To h.e.l.l with Shane, I thought, my mind going fuzzy. To h.e.l.l with it all.

"There's definitely orbs," Ruth Anne muttered.

"Orbs?" Eve asked, stepping behind her to look at the computer screen.

"Like bubbles. They often appear where people profess to see spirit activity. Look, up on the ceiling where Maggie pointed. A very large one. I've never seen anything like it."

"And there are more," Eve said, looking around the room. "Smaller ones. It's as if there are ghosts everywhere in this shop."

"And would that surprise you?" I joked as my body turned to mush. The pain was gone and the world had brightened. I felt like I were floating. It was a wondrous, euphoric feeling. Was that what Juliana felt like, floating weightless in the air above me? If so, maybe death wasn't so bad.

Merry sat back on her heels, her face pallid and her eyes dim. "Eve, can you get me some water? I feel weak."

There was a sudden, sharp rap on the gla.s.s door. Michael stood on the other side, his hair wet and matted from the morning rain. "Let me in!" he demanded, beating his fists against the pane.

The others looked at me and I gave them a nod. If we didn't let him in the front door, he'd find another way. Eve unlocked it and Michael barged through, dropping to his knees on the floor beside me.

"What happened?"

"Maggie fell off the ladder," Merry explained, nodding to the bookshelf behind him. "I think she's stable now."

"You let her climb the ladder?" Michael looked at Merry with accusing eyes.

"No, of course not."

"Don't you dare yell at her!" I snapped. "And no one let me climb the ladder! In case you've forgotten, I'm my own person, Michael."

"I'm taking her to the hospital," he said, inspecting me from head to toe before carefully lifting me in his arms. A lightning bolt of pain shot from my hip down through my leg and I gasped, digging my hands into his shoulder as he hoisted me up.

"You can get to the hospital in about thirty minutes driving the speed limit," Ruth Anne said. Then spying the van outside, "Maybe forty-five."

"Got it."

"Wait." Merry stood, her energy nearly depleted with the exhaustion of her task. "Let me give her one last dose to get her there. It should numb her, at least for a while." She laid trembling hands on my head and the remaining pain receded like a retractable cord. She stumbled backwards into Ruth Anne's arms, her eyelids fluttering.

"Merry..."

"I'll be fine," she a.s.sured me. "Now go."

"Call the hospital," Michael instructed them. "And make sure they know of her condition."

"My condition," I laughed, kicking my ankles as I dangled limply from his arms. "Pregnant and cursed is a condition?"

Michael looked at me, confused.

Ruth Anne explained as she held open the door. "Merry pumped a lot of energy into her. If she doesn't pa.s.s out on the ride there, she'll be quite entertaining."

"Or annoying," Eve chimed in.

I smiled, then grabbed for a lock of Michael's hair that had settled on his brow. "We can practice the sock puppet show I've been working on in my head, you know, for the baby." I wriggled my toes, trying to kick off my shoes.

"You're stoned, my dear," he said, carrying me to the van as I leaned my head back and opened my mouth, trying to catch the rain.

Eve followed us out, reclining the pa.s.senger seat and helping Michael get me inside. "You better bring her back," she warned, lifting her gaze to meet Michael's eyes. "If you disappear, we'll find you."

Michael slid my door shut several times to catch the latch, then climbed into the driver's seat and cranked on the engine. "Eve, as you've already proven, I'm no match for you."

"No, you're not." She poked a threatening finger through the window. "Remember that."

"Duly noted."

"Bye sissy!" I waved as we drove away. The van rattled like an old woman's cough and I marveled that it was still running after all these years.

"How many miles does this thing have on it now?" I asked after we'd been driving for awhile, feeling my head begin to clear.

"Too many."

"You have money from selling Woodhaven. Why don't you get a new car?"

He tapped the side of his fist to the steering wheel twice. "This thing has memories."

"It's a piece of junk. I won't let you drive our baby around in this."

The right corner of his mouth turned up. "Our baby, huh? Again, duly noted." He patted my hand, then gave it a quick squeeze. "We'll be at the hospital soon. Get some rest."

"Okay." I closed my eyes but all I could see was Juliana's face staring down at me. And behind her, the foreboding outline of a door with a crystal k.n.o.b. I knew there'd be no rest for me, unless I had some help. Searching through my tote, I eventually found the next globe in the chronology.

"Now?" Michael asked.

"Yes. I think Juliana might be the one who cursed me. Or maybe Armand. I need to figure this out."

"Juliana? Armand?"

"Long story," I said, smiling wearily. I shook the globe, watching the snow settle over the sleepy town of Dark Root, forty years past. "See anything inside?" I asked, showing him the gla.s.s ball.

"Just fake snow."

These images were only for me, it seemed.

I relaxed my body, letting the globe's mesmerizing effects wash over me as the van made its way onto the highway, hitting every rock in the road between Dark Root and Linsburg.

TWENTY.

She's Not There Dark Root, Oregon Oct 30, 1973 Main Street "This is silly, all of it."

Armand stood on the corner of Main Street, his eyes darting from the sheet ghosts that hung in front of Delilah's Deli to the giant cut-out witch that guarded the door to Miss Sasha's Magick Shoppe. Along the street were hundreds of luminaries with jack-o-lantern facesluminaries Armand himself had cut out the night before, aided by a little Creedence Clearwater Revival and some Jack Daniels. Maybe he had nipped too much, he thought, spying paper faces that had a few too many eyes or were missing a mouth.

"The Haunted Dark Root Festival is not silly," Sasha said sternly. She fastened the top b.u.t.ton of her stiff black collar and adjusted her skirt. "It's only in its second year and we've already seen how much money this event pours into the town."

"Money?" Armand laughed. "What do witches and warlocks need of money?"

"Even we need to eat."

Sasha turned the lock on her magick shop, opening it up for the line of customers that had gathered. Armand had to agree that, as hokey as it was, the festival did drum up business for the town.

"Greetings, darlings!" Sasha Shantayher stage name for the festivalgreeted every customer who filed in. Miss Sasha's Magick Shoppe was getting quite a name for itself among college students from Eugene, occult dabblers, and those looking for escape. And Sasha worked every angle. With her long gowns and feathered boas and crazy hats, she hardly resembled the woman who had brought him to Dark Root five years earlier.

Armand reclined against the nearest lamppost and scrutinized Sasha once again.

Her long hair was secured above her head, except for a few strands, some gray, that framed a face which had hardened in the eyes and softened in the cheeks. She had aged in appearance a lotmore this year than the lastas they performed their vigils to end the war and heal the wounded. Armand noted that while she attended to everyone else, she had neglected herself. She ate whatever leftovers Joe brought home from the diner, smoked nearly two packs a day, and imbibed wine so frequently he suggested opening a vineyard.

He eyed her wand, which she clutched in her right hand along with an unlit cigarette. She could use it on herself, but she was so d.a.m.ned stubborn about it now. She claimed there were many, many others who needed it before she or any of The Council members did.

A pretty young thing entered the store and Armand stared after her, catching the slight curve of her spine as her back met her a.s.s. Her small, unrestrained b.r.e.a.s.t.s bounced beneath her loose T-shirt. As his eyes followed, he caught his own reflection in the window pane. He had aged, too. The first lines had formed around the corners of his mouth and eyes, and a few strands of silver had appeared in his shoulder-length, auburn hair.

He suppressed a frown.

He was thirty now, and things were only going to get worse. He had "borrowed" Sasha's wand once or twice to hold back the clock, but a wand's magic was limited when not used by its creator, and the lines and gray hairs had come back within months.

She must have caught wind of it too, because she now carried it with her wherever she went. She even slept with the d.a.m.ned thing. The wand was allegedly from a magical tree and could not be replicated, so she was frugal with its powers, using it selectively on those who came back from the war damaged and maimed.

Not that his appearance mattered anymore. The tourists were off limits and Sasha never looked at him anymore the way she did other men, no matter how many rejuvenation spells he used. In fact, the only time she noticed him at all was when she needed something, like carving up brown paper lunch sacks into jack-o-lanterns for this frivolous circus.

"Darling, don't make a face. It will get stuck that way." She strolled over to him, letting the feathers of her boa crawl across his shoulders before reeling it in.

"We are supposed to be hiding out here," he said. "That's the reason we put up those stupid domes. And now you've invited everyone and their grandmother in for a Halloween party. If I wanted Hollywood, I would have stayed in California."

Sasha lowered her boa, her aura flickering red.

Her anger didn't bother him anymore, though. He preferred it to her new persona. At least anger was real.

"Armand, this is the best way to hide. In plain sight! Who would think to look for real witches in a town filled with fantasy ones? Misinformation." She waved her hand in the air. "The government has been doing it for years."

"Some of those old-time, superst.i.tious nut jobs in Linsburg would love to get their hands on us, and now you're inviting them in."

"Let them pick the real witches out of a lineup then." Sasha waved to showcase the army of pedestrians in witches' hats who wandered about Main Street. Some carried brooms. Others carried plastic cauldrons slung over their arms in preparation for Trick-or-Treating later in the evening.

"Besides," Sasha added, tugging at one of the errant gray curls that slithered down her shoulder. "People need to believe in something. It's a dark time and if this festival helps, even a little, then it adds light to the world. Besides," she added with a gleam in her eye. "Their energy can augment ours. If we have everyone focusing, this year's Samhain spell should hold at least a year."

"You're always working it, aren't you?"

"I'm practical."

"You're something, anyway."

"Kiss me," she said, closing the distance between them.

"What?"

"I said kiss me."

Armand bent towards her but pulled away when he smelled the thick scent of nicotine on her breath. He had stopped smoking a year ago, but Sasha refused to give it up. In fact, she seemed to be smoking his share now, too.

"You smell like an ashtray. What's wrong with you lately?"

"What's wrong with me?" She stood erect, her eyes sharp. "If you don't want to kiss me, then don't. You're not the only man in Dark Root." Her eyes slid towards a trio of young men near the book store who were pa.s.sing a cigarette between them.

Enflamed with jealousy, Armand grabbed her by her shoulders, leaned her so far backwards that her hair fell from its pins, and kissed her. Hard.

Sasha blinked, trying to regain her composure.

"I-uh..." she stammered.

Armand suppressed a smile. She might be the Empress of Dark Root, but he was still its king. He would not allow her to speak down to him again.

He released her and her energy softened. When she spoke, her voice was quieter, filled with worry and concern.