DR0. The Witching Hour Read online

  A Dark Root Halloween: The Witching Hour

  (A Daughters of Dark Root Companion Short Story)

  by

  April M. Aasheim

  Copyright © 2016 by April M. Aasheim

  Ebook Edition, License Notes

  Cover Art & Design by April Aasheim

  2016

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you wish to share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, then please visit any major ebook vendor and obtain your own copy. Thank you very much for respecting the author's work.

  This book is dedicated to my readers,

  who’ve made Dark Root their second home.

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  One

  Dark Root, Oregon

  Sister House

  October, 28 - The Far Distant Past

  Larinda descended upon the crystal ball, her thick dark cloak flapping behind her as she marched towards the artifact’s place on her cousin’s bedroom mantle. The smooth glass orb had called to her for many nights now, waking her from deep and troubled dreams. It knew things, secrets, and promised to share them with her.

  She studied the globe, nested within a heavy golden pedestal. She dared not remove it. Even if she were positive it wasn’t booby-trapped with magick, her cousin, Sasha, knew where every item in the room belonged, to a fraction of an inch.

  The young witch nervously raked her pale hands – a lady’s hands, her mother often said – through her coarse black hair. If Sasha returned now, how would she explain the intrusion? Larinda checked the exquisite shelf clock beside the crystal ball. Both hands pointed straight up. The witching hour had come.

  Samhain was only days away and the veil between worlds was growing thin. And, as all witches knew, the hours between midnight and 3 AM heightened the opportunity for plane transference. More so now than at any other time of the year, spirits could cross freely into this world and humans might accidentally stumble into theirs. Sasha wouldn’t risk being away from Sister House for long. Larinda would have to work fast.

  Larinda quickly cast a protective bubble around herself. It was a small spell, but it might help when handling the crystal ball. She exhaled fully, then placed her hands on either side of the globe. It was surprisingly cool to the touch, sending intoxicating jolts into the tips of her fingers. She lingered, tightening her hold, drawing in as much of the globe’s bubbly magick as she could store. Once full, she braced herself. This was only the first layer. There were other, darker layers she’d need to tunnel through before her own fate was revealed.

  The glass continued to cool by degrees, and Larinda fought her instinct to let go. It trembled between her palms as it darkened to a winter gray. The witch was struck by a profound sense of loss, so heavy she could hardly breathe. It was cold, isolated and everlasting.

  It was death.

  The first image appeared inside the ball: a casket being carried away by a horse-drawn cart on a lonely country road. It was not Dark Root and Larinda did not recognize any of the people walking in the procession. Who had died?

  She leaned in close to get a better look, but before she could refocus another image appeared. A calendar. Its pages flipped quickly - hundreds of them – revealing the passage of time.

  As the image reformed, the sound of thunder boomed around her, accompanied by whinnying horses and crying children. Larinda couldn’t see anything. The world was covered in dust. As before, she felt a sense of being in some distant land, and that same unyielding sense of sadness.

  And then the crystal ball illuminated, warming the dim bedroom with a soft yellow light. Larinda saw sunshine and picnics. These images were more recent, and she could make out the details of Sister House in the background, with its wraparound porch and thick white pillars. Sasha sat under a tree in the front yard with three men gathered adoringly around her. In the distance, Larinda saw her own self frowning, sitting with her mother under another tree. “Remember, dear,” her mother said, “She can only marry one man. Your time will come. She can’t stay single forever.”

  Larinda clearly remembered that day. It was only last spring. Sasha had come home from two years abroad, with clear skin and sparkling eyes and a waist that most women wore corsets to achieve. And when her cousin returned, every boy in the county seemed to notice.

  Just as she was in the globe image, Larinda felt herself frowning. She stared hard with her milky blue eyes, willing the pictures forward.

  The calendar pages flipped, this time stopping at a newspaper headline. War Slated to End!

  “Boring,” said Larinda. That was the headline in today’s paper. The war was so far away and she was here in Dark Root. Who cared if it lasted forever, so long as it stayed overseas.

  She checked the clock again. An hour had passed and she’d only seen useless memories and images. She knew she should leave now, before she got caught. But she had to take one more peek.

  She concentrated – she didn’t want to see pictures of Sasha’s past, she wanted to see images of her own future.

  The globe spun, literally, turning in her hands like a potter’s wheel. It slowed periodically, as if deciding what to reveal, before finally settling.

  Now, this was interesting.

  Ribbons of gray and lavender smoke coated the inside of the crystal ball in a gauzy film. It slowly cleared and a ballroom scene emerged, complete with lavish decorations and dancers in masquerade. White sheets, with lit jack-o-lanterns attached like heads, guarded the boundaries of the large room. Spider webs draped the crystal chandeliers and the ornate candle sconces illuminating the space. Larinda noted the mirrors were all covered, most certainly to prevent spirits from passing through.

  It was a Samhain ball.

  Larinda’s lips puckered as she recognized the setting. The party was being held here in Sister House, in the large room just downstairs.

  “Well, well,” said Larinda, under her breath.

  Typical hypocrisy.

  Sasha talked so much about the terrible state of ‘the world,’ and yet here she was throwing a party when ‘the world’ still hadn’t achieved peace.

  “And she didn’t invite me.”

  The cousins had been raised on fairytales and Sasha should know better. It was dangerous to host a celebration and forget to invite a powerful witch.

  “More,” Larinda commanded the orb, her calm leaving her.

  The ballroom scene expanded. Sasha emerged at the bottom of the stairwell, wearing a long gown, too red and sequined to be acceptable in most circles. Her chestnut hair was done up, with slinky tendrils framing her sharp cheeks, and a long cigarette in its holder dangled from her gloved hand. The small pointed hat on her head was her lone attempt at a costume.

  “Welcome, Everyone!” Sasha said, opening her arms to her guests.

  The guests clapped, bowed, and curtsied, then returned to their dance.

  What was it about her cousin that made people flock to her? Despite the glamorous attire, Sasha wasn’t beautiful. She was pretty, at best. The resolve of her chin and the defiance in her blue eyes set her apart, but not enough to warrant the male attention she received.

  Larinda relaxed her gaze and returned to the image, allowing herself to merge with the scene.

  The dancers spun about in long coattails and sweeping skirts, undulating, one around another. Sasha
joined the dance, her red gown flaring at her calves, revealing slim ankles that the men all noticed. She smiled, fanning herself as she waltzed through the hall, greeting each guest by name.

  At precisely midnight, a handsome man in a uniform parted the crowd, grabbing Sasha tightly around her waist from behind. She didn’t seem to mind, nor was she surprised.

  “I made it,” he said, pirouetting her away from the others and into the parlor. He closed the door behind them.

  “So, I see.”

  He lifted her chin, meeting her eyes. “Did you doubt me?”

  “Not for a minute.”

  “I would go through anything to be with you, Sasha. I’d cross the border of death itself.”

  “And climb the highest tower, and sail the largest sea! Yes, yes, I’ve heard all this before.” Sasha leaned against the tall bookcase and regarded him. “You look just like I remember. It’s hard to believe I’m seeing you again, after all this time.”

  “It’s been too long, Sasha. I’ve been counting the hours until I could hold you in my arms.”

  “I know.” Sasha blew smoke from the corner of her mouth, lowering her chin as she gazed up at him.

  “I have a question to ask you, Sasha. I’ve been wanting to ask you for the longest time, and now that we’re back together…”

  Sasha’s flirtatious eyes softened. The smile fell from her lips and her cigarette dangled limply at her side. “Yes?”

  “Would you- “

  The bedroom door slammed. Larinda jumped, stepping away from the crystal ball. She spun around.

  Standing in the doorway was Sasha.

  “Cousin,” Sasha said, stepping into the room. “What brings you to Sister House?”

  Larinda’s arms dropped to her side, a smile snaking across her thin ruby lips. “Cousin! So good to see you! I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by!”

  Sasha checked the clock and raised an eyebrow. “At this hour? You’d best be careful, Cousin, especially this time of year. I’d hate for you to stumble through a spirit portal, unwillingly.”

  “Yes. I’m sure that would trouble you greatly.” Larinda’s eyes fell upon the red slippers on Sasha’s feet, barely visible beneath her nightshift. “I was wondering if you’d like to go to Linsburg with me tomorrow?” she said. “I’m picking up…candles.”

  Sasha’s eyes slid to the crystal ball, but she didn’t speak of it. Instead, she went to the mirror hanging above the mantle and fluffed her hair. “Nay, Cousin. I don’t care for Linsburg. The boys there are boring and the theatre wouldn’t know talent if it bit them in the caboose.” She puckered her lips thoughtfully, her eyes never leaving her reflection. “Besides, they hate witches there. I fear no ghost or demon, but a horde of superstitious yokels is something I’d rather not endure, thank you.”

  “I can handle them.”

  “Indeed, I’m sure you can. May I ask you a favor then, since you are going? I need some supplies.” Sasha lifted her fingers and began counting them off. “Meat. Cheese. Bread. Hard candy. Chocolate.”

  “Anything else?” Larinda asked, dryly.

  “Yes! I know a delightful little…let’s call it an establishment, where you can buy beer. And wine!”

  “It sounds like quite the gathering you are hosting, cousin.”

  “Oh, hardly! Just a dozen or so old friends. Friends I haven’t seen in quite a long time, actually.”

  Two

  Larinda set off the next day on Sasha’s errand, to purchase supplies and ‘hooch’ for a party she wasn’t invited to. She bundled up in her warmest wool, making the two-hour trek by carriage to Linsburg down the fog-covered road. Her driver was an elderly gentleman she had charmed by casting a glamour spell, disguising herself as his long-dead wife. He was senile enough to believe the illusion, yet mentally agile enough to remember the way.

  The sky was the color of her mood and the carriage window brittle with cold.

  Clop. Clop. Clop.

  The two speckled horses plodded along. The old driver flicked his crop to urge them forward, looking back now and again to smile at his ‘wife.’ A large white owl appeared in the dusky sky, swirling above the surrounding forest, before settling on a thick limb. The creature studied her with large, knowing eyes.

  An omen, to be sure. But of what?

  She arrived in Linsburg, more frightened of witch hunters than she’d let on. There had been rumors of burnings long ago, and Larinda buttoned her cloak to her chin as she walked the near-empty sidewalks.

  She had no problems purchasing Sasha’s supplies, and the charming young man who ran the establishment was a welcome distraction from her tasks. Had he not asked her, with a devilish gleam in his eye, to give his love to Sasha, he might have been spared the spell she cast on him. It was nothing major, just a small cantrip that would have him seeing shadows throughout the night. Perhaps that gleam in his eye would turn to fear, maybe even haunting him the rest of his life.

  As the sun set, she piled her packages into the carriage. She was about to order the driver to return to Dark Root when a shop window on the opposite side of the street caught her eye. A dress. A beautiful red sequined dress. The one Sasha wore in her vision.

  She dashed to the store, pushing the door open as the shopkeeper tried to close it. “Please,” Larinda begged, but the dour old woman with only one eye, shook her head crossly.

  “We’re closed. Besides, I know who you are. I can see magick all over you. Be gone!”

  “You fool!” Larinda flicked her fingers. The woman clutched her chest and tumbled backwards, grabbing a naked mannequin for support. Larinda flipped her hand again and the woman fell all the way to the ground. She’d be fine, as far as Larinda could tell, and would feel no worse on the morrow than if she’d spent a long night in a speak easy.

  She turned towards the dress.

  It hung in the window, bringing color to an otherwise heather landscape. There was only one in the shop. If she took it before Sasha found it, the vision in the globe would surely change.

  She stripped the mannequin and wrapped the dress in expensive tissue paper, then tied it with an even more expensive ribbon. For payment, she left a handwritten scroll with a spell that would rid the merchant of her warts.

  On the ride home, the trees with their remaining stubborn leaves canopied the road, interlacing their crooked branches like folded hands. Larinda felt strangely protected beneath their ancient boughs. She preferred the solitude to the open spaces.

  But then the same white owl appeared once again on a tree before her. She shuddered and drew the curtain on the carriage window, feeling its eyes watching her all the way home.

  Three

  Sasha left Sister House the next morning, off to prepare protection spells for Samhain, still two days away.

  Larinda entered the sprawling Victorian home where her cousin lived through the back door. She glided along the smooth wooden floors as quietly as she could, then crept up the stairs to the second level. As she passed a mirror in the hallway, she smiled. Her shiny black curls bobbed on her shoulders and her lips shone as red as the ballroom gown she now wore. It fit loosely around her bosom, but Larinda had a spell to fill it out, if she happened upon someone worth casting it for.

  She cast a quick spell of detection before entering her cousin’s bedroom again. Lifting her left hand, she uttered the words: “Rattle, Ringle, Jangle, Jing. If someone enters, let my ears ring.”

  Then, she shut the door.

  She walked confidently to the mantle, once again placing her hands on either side of the crystal ball. As before, she felt various emotions as her mind probed the arcane object’s channels. It was a pity, really. The globe could tell the future, up to a week away, but Sasha used it mostly as a vessel to store her past.

  In the globe, images came alive, flipping like a picture book, landing on the newspaper. But this one had a different headline. Something about casualties. Was the war not ending? Larinda shrugged. It didn’t matter.


  She tapped the globe lightly. It spun once, stopping quickly.

  She knew without looking which day it was. Samhain. Halloween.

  The witch’s brow crinkled when she realized the setting was nearly the same as before. The ballroom appeared, complete with men in coattails and women in hoop skirts and exotic masks. Only this time the image featured the wine that she, herself, had purchased, as well as the apple tarts she had poisoned.

  Larinda looked down at her dress. She should have altered the entire scene. Was that the only change? She concentrated harder and the image squirmed further to life. As before, she felt herself pulled into the vision, becoming a part of it.

  The clock struck twelve.

  The crowd parted and a particularly handsome man in a uniform emerged from the kitchen, carrying a champagne glass, half-full. His eyes scanned the dancers, searching for one in particular.

  Sasha appeared at the bottom of the stairway, turning a delicate ankle in the air before her foot hit the landing. She wore a knee-length, fringed red dress that shimmied and sparkled as she made her way over to the soldier. A cigarette in a long holder danged provocatively from her fingers. The two met without words, and danced their way over to the parlor, shutting the door behind them.

  Sasha leaned against the bookcase, sizing him up. “Well, well. Look who’s decided to stop in.”

  “Don’t toy with me, Sasha. I made it, like I promised,” he said, forcing her chin up to meet his eyes.

  “So, I see.”

  “Did you doubt me?”

  “No. Not for a minute.”

  “Listen. I would go through anything, and I mean anything, to be with you, Sasha. I’d cross the border of death itself to be with you.”

  “And climb the highest tower, and sail the largest sea! Oh, and perhaps milk the fattest goat! Yes, yes, I’ve heard all this before.” She lit her cigarette, inhaled, then blew smoke right into his face. “You look exactly as I remember. It’s hard to believe we’re together again, after all this time.”