The Witches of Dark Root: Daughters of Dark Root: Book One (The Daughters of Dark Root) by April Aasheim Page A

making good time,” Shane said, glancing at the clock, but his voice sounded uncertain. “I’ve never driven this route this late at night, or this time of year.”  
    There was only one road that led to Dark Root, he said, so we couldn’t be lost, but we could be...absorbed? A small, wild creature with red eyes darted out from the wilderness trees and was caught it in our headlights.
    Shane slammed on the breaks, throwing us forward, and the animal scurried away unhurt.
    “You’re going to kill us,” I said, the pain in my head returning.  
    “Did you want me to hit that raccoon instead?”
    “No,” I admitted, wriggling my legs, which were beginning to stiffen. “But now I have to pee.”
    Shane pulled to the side of the road and motioned towards the woods around us.
    Reluctantly, I left the vehicle in search of a bush. Peeing in the woods wasn’t new to me, but it certainly wasn’t pleasant. Especially in the dark. When I returned, I fished around in my suitcase in the backseat, adding clothes to keep back the chill, while he politely shielded his eyes.
    “Interesting outfit,” Shane grinned, as he noticed my new ensemble, a tank top over three long-sleeved shirts, a skirt so long it covered my feet, and checkered socks.
    “Just drive,” I said.
    He complied.
     

     
    “Dark Root, Oregon. The most magical town in the Pacific Northwest...” Shane recited the town’s slogan after a long silence. “Bet you are excited to get back.”
    I was leaned over the seat, rummaging through my open bag in the back of the cab.  
    It was less full now that I was wearing half my wardrobe. Finally, I found my package of Oreos and pulled them into the front. I hadn’t eaten since morning and my stomach was not happy. Once I had scarfed down a half-dozen cookies, I responded to him.
    “First of all,” I said. “Towns can’t be magical. Secondly, you are terrible at small talk. Thirdly, I’m not staying in Dark Root. It’s just a stop until I figure things out.”
    “How can you say towns aren’t magical? You of all people should believe in magic, considering your upbringing.”
    I snorted. “Why? Just because I am a supposed descendant of Juliana Benbridge, our town’s first witch?”
    “Well, yes.”
    “It’s just lore. And lore isn’t necessarily true,” I said, offering him a cookie which he took. “Especially when a town’s economy is based on it. Lore is used to sell postcards.”  
    “Well then, Dark Root needs a new slogan,” he laughed.
    “Among other things,” I said.
    Shane flipped on the radio, settling on one of those sad, storytelling songs on the country station. It was sappy in all the wrong ways.
    “No one has ever proved that magic exists,” I argued, realizing I could have let it drop and wondering why I didn’t.
    “No one has disproved it either. And...” he added thoughtfully. “Sometimes people want to believe. Nothing wrong with that. Makes life more interesting.”
    “Doesn’t mean they should.” I thought of Michael, staring absently out the window, wondering why Woodhaven was failing. “When you get too locked into a set of beliefs, you can’t see anything else.”  
    I blew on the window, watching the fog cover it. I began to etch out my name, or at least the first few letters. The fog had lifted before I could write the letter ‘g.’
    “No magic, huh?” He opened his console and handed me my cell phone. “Well, how do you explain the fact that your phone called me, even though you had dropped it in the parking lot? Had I not gotten the call and heard you scream, well...” Shane scratched his head and blinked his eyes.
    Was that how he had known I was in trouble? I had never asked.  
    “I had just programmed in your phone number,” I replied, trying to come up with a logical answer. “When it hit the ground, it dialed you. Lucky coincidence on my part.”
    “Uncle Joe used to say there are no coincidences. He said there are forces in the world at