The bruise and the cut were both gone.

Michael tramped forward, nearly knocking over a chair in his haste to inspect Merry's handiwork. He lifted Ruth Anne's chin and swiveled her head back and forth.

"Easy there!" Ruth Anne said. "It's my head...not a reading lamp."

"It's a miracle."

"Try magick," Merry said.

Michael scratched his head. Miracles were one thing, they were ordained by G.o.d, but magick, well, that was quite another. Either way, he was obviously awed and I felt a bewildering trickle of envy at the way he looked at Merry.

No sooner had Michael finished his inspection than Merry began trembling.

Ruth Anne stood and offered up her chair. "Her magick comes at a price," she explained to Michael. "Whenever she heals, it weakens her. She'll be fine after a few minutes."

I went to the refrigerator, removed a container of orange juice, and offered it to Merry. She swigged it straight from the bottle.

"Thank you." She blushed and wiped her chin. "I'm usually not such a barbarian but I needed the sugar."

Michael narrowed his eyes, and I could see the wheels in his head churning. "You have a very rare gift."

"Don't get any ideas," I said. "You are not recruiting my sister for your whacko religion."

"Recruiting? Maggie, I was merely suggesting"

Merry placed a hand on my shoulder. "I got this."

I looked at her. She was older than me but her round face, dimples, and clear blue eyes lent her a girlish appearance that would follow her into Crone-dom.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I keep forgetting you can take care of yourself."

She squeezed my shoulder then let her hand drop. "Thank you for the compliment, Michael. It is a gift and I do not take it for granted. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to fold laundry. Ruth Anne, can you help?"

Ruth Anne shrugged but followed Merry into the utility room where the washer and dryer were kept, and Michael watched them go.

"Don't you get any ideas, Michael," I said when they was out of earshot. "Or you'll have me to deal with." I slammed my palm flat against the table and the can opener on the counter whirred to life.

Michael regarded me with renewed interest. "Why, Maggie, it appears you have your fire back."

The sun held on much longer than it should have, casting a dim rosy glow over Harvest Home's expansive garden. But even so, the rows of tilled dirt seemed desolate on this spring evening. There should be seedlings there, but without me to plant them, the grounds had been neglected.

I lifted my chin, absorbing the last rays of sunshine as I stood on the back porch, resolutely vowing to bring this garden to life. There would be fruits and vegetables, of course, but I'd plant flowers too, a notion that may have seemed frivolous to me before but which was absolutely necessary now. The world needed more beauty. Every plant, every flower, every sprout, were reminders that life went on.

My eyes drifted towards the far end of the garden, to the line where the property met the woods. The Dark Root forest was vast and ancient, shielding us from the world outside. The trees kept our secrets, and when the wind was right, I could almost hear them whisper to the ravens and the owls and to anyone else who might listen.

There are mysteries here, buried but not forgotten.

My gaze fell upon a small mound of dirt where I had hidden a gla.s.s figurine in a mason jar during pumpkin season. The demon Gahabrien was imprisoned below this earth, brooding until the day of his release. If there were secrets here, they were buried for a reason.

From inside the house I heard laughter, plates clanking, drawers opening then closing. The others were readying themselves for dinner. Being both pregnant and cursed, I was excused of these duties and escorted outside, so that I might enjoy some fresh air before the meal.

But my mind was not on my afflictions at the moment. It had settled on another image, of a tall man with chestnut hair, who wore jeans and a cowboy hat.

"I miss you, Shane," I said aloud, as if the same trees that hid my secrets would also take my message to him.

I scooped my freshly-charged phone from the pocket of my alpaca sweater and checked for perhaps the tenth time for incoming calls or texts. Not a word. There were many old texts from Michael however, sent nearly a month ago: Maggie I'm on my way.

Hang in there, twenty miles to go.

Maggie be strong for our baby.

As I read these, an unwelcome thought came to mind. Perhaps Michael's reappearance was the reason for Shane's absence. Then another thought: the curse, the baby, Michael, it was all too much for Shane.

Leave the drama, ditch the mama.

"Don't be stupid," I chastised myself. "Shane loves you and he's not the kind to run away because of a little baggage."

It helped to alleviate some of the neurosis, but none of the loneliness.

I stared at the mound near the edge of the property again. Was Gahabrien's soul in that jar or did it reside somewhere in the Netherworld, just as I had, waiting, lingering? Was there a door for him, too?

An early season dandelion, already gone to seed, danced near my feet and I plucked it from the ground. It was still wet from the morning rain. I twisted the stem between my fingers, watching as the water splayed out around it like a fairy shower. I closed my eyes and made a wish before blowing the floaters away - but one floater clung foolishly on, unwilling to return to the garden.

Mother would say that was a bad omen.

Merry joined me on the back porch. She wore a faded ap.r.o.n and her face was tinted with flour. "Ready?"

"That was fast."

"Aunt Dora had most of it done. We just threw it together."

"You didn't have to do all this for me. I'm not sure I can even eat much."

"Oh, you'll eat. No one can turn down Auntie's home-made biscuits."

At her words, my stomach growled.

"We've got something else for you," Merry whispered as we made our way to the dining room.

"I'm all out of ex-boyfriends."

Merry planted a kiss on my cheek. "I promise, you'll approve."

I stopped, mid-protest, as my eyes found the woman sitting in one of the thirteen high-backed chairs positioned around the table.

Her green eyes met mine and her lips formed a thoughtful smile. "Maggie."

I ran to her, or at least as much as my body would allow. "Jillian! I can't believe it's you!"

SEVEN.

Do You Believe in Magic I tripped my way across the dining room, the very room where Mother, Aunt Dora and Jillian used to hold their Council meetings.

Jillian rose regally from her chair and came to greet me.

"You're really here!" I wrapped my arms around her neck. She smelled like sunflowers and sunshine.

Jillian stepped back to look at me. Her eyes traveled up and down the length of my body and her smile broadened.

"Why didn't anyone tell me you were here?" I demanded, looking around for my missing siblings.

She reached out, touching my wrist. "Don't be mad at the others. I asked them to keep it secret. I needed time to prepare."

"Prepare?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "We'll speak of that later. Now, let's talk about you. I hear you've had quite the nap, Miss Maggie."

"Yes, but I'm better now. I think."

She took my arm and walked me into what was once referred to as the sitting room, which now housed several cushy recliners and a new flat screen TV. We took seats, side by side, scooting the chairs together so that we were mere inches apart.

"You always show up just in time," I said, feeling suddenly emotional. "Like a fairy G.o.dmother."

"If only I were." Jillian took a tissue and dabbed at my cheek.

"Was I crying? I seem to do that a lot lately. I don't know what's wrong with me."

She nodded, the fine lines around her mouth deepening. "You've been through a lot. Add to that the fact you are about to become a mother, it would make anyone a little cuckoo."

She handed me a new tissue and I blew my nose, then stuffed it into my pocket for later. "I'm a mess."

"Maggie, you must never mistake emotion for weakness. In my experience, those who properly express their feelings are generally the strongest."

"I'll try to remember that. Are you here long?" I glanced out the window. The sun had already set. Perhaps she'd spend the night.

"If you'll have me, I thought I'd stay until the baby is born."

"You will? Yes, please!"

I felt such a strong connection to Jillian. Maybe it was because we'd both felt like outsiders in Dark Root once upon a time. To know that she'd be staying an entire month was the best news I'd heard since waking.

"You cut your hair," I observed. It was shoulder length and waved around her ears.

"A trim. You like?" She patted her coiffure and I spotted several silver strands that had not been there before.

"You look good," I said, truthfully. "But you always look good."

She gave me a queer smile. "Thank you, Maggie. Now let's cut the small talk, okay?"

"You caught me," I said, using one of her phrases. "I don't want to worry you with my problems."

She patted my knee. "You can't keep your troubles from me, even if you tried."

I blushed. Jillian was a psychic-medium, with the ability to not only see the future but to communicate with the dead. She had ways of finding things out and it was futile to hide my concerns. I was almost afraid to ask the obvious question.

"Do you know what happened to me?"

Her eyes drifted to the side. "There are some things that are barred from me, Maggie, and this is one of them. What matters now is that we keep your illness at bay long enough for you to deliver the baby."

"What happens once it's born?"

"You'll move into the next stage of your spiritual development: Motherhood. Your abilities will amplify, possibly doubling, and you may be able to fight the curse off, with our help."

"May?"

"Yes. May."

"I'm scared," I admitted, checking the room to ensure that we were still alone. Merry worried enough for the both of us, and Ruth Anne would reduce my fears to a list of reasons why I should and shouldn't be afraid. That left Aunt Dora, who was in questionable health, and Michael, whom I didn't trust to clean my broom let alone confide in.

Jillian was the only one I could share my fears with.

"When I was in the... Netherworld," I began, tentatively. "I was so alone. There was no hope there, Jillian, only darkness, and I'm terrified to go back."

"Oh, Maggie. That sounds dreadful."

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. "There's more..." In words that hardly qualified as a whisper, I said, "There was something in there with me. A door."

She edged forward. "Go on."

"It opened up to a room. It was hot inside, and filled with smoke. And there was someone in there."

"Armand."

"Yes. How did you know?"

She smiled mysteriously. It was the same way she knew many things. She was a witch.

"I think it was a door to h.e.l.l," I continued. "And my father was calling me from the inside. We have the same eyes."

Jillian stared for a long moment, her jaw clenched and fingers curled into hooks. She took my hands again and jiggled my wrists. "Listen to me, Maggie. That was not real, okay? And furthermore, just because you have your father's eyes, you are not your father, nor do you share his fate. Whatever trickery was involved, it was only thattrickery. Do you understand?"

"But it seemed so real. I smelled smoke and felt the heat of the flames. I heard him call my name."