The Curse of Dark Root: Part Two (Daughters of Dark Root Book 4) by April Aasheim Page A

until I was engulfed by a choking darkness.
    Didn't staircases ever lead to anything good?
    Halfway up, I felt something rush past me––a frigid blast of air that pressed me into the banister.
    But it was more than air. It was attached to something nearly corporeal. My fear deepened.
    I gripped the railing to keep my balance, my heart pounding so loudly it was all I could hear. I remembered my encounter with Juliana on the staircase at Dip Stix, and the way she'd led me to the marriage certificate beneath Shane’s bed. Was this spirit trying to show me something, too?
    I climbed up to the landing, feeling weak and dizzy, reminding myself that Ruth Anne would come looking for me if I disappeared for too long.
    At the top, the coldness expanded. No sweater would save me from this chill. It was an iciness that penetrated my spine. White mist rolled from my lips as I stared down a pitch black hallway. It was too dark for even shadows here. I raised my wand but its light was no more than a firefly's glow in this cavernous corridor.
    “Magggggieeee....”
    The sound was real and for my ears alone. It was no coincidence I was here.
    Was it another demon? Juliana? My father?
    A light appeared at the end of the hallway beneath a door, like an inviting porch light on a cold winter's night.
    That was the room with the altar.
    I moved towards it, my hands sliding along slimy walls as my feet kicked through piles of trash on the floor. What waited for me in that room? I pondered the possibilities, none of them good.
    Just before the door, I nearly turned back. But one thought kept me here: What if it was Shane who called to me?
    I pushed open the door, stumbling into the unknown. My wand brightened, vibrating so violently I needed both hands to steady it. I thought once more of calling for my sister, but whatever was here, it didn't want her.
    It wanted me.
    The door swung shut behind me as I stepped inside. The room was bare, empty as a tomb. Strong emotions briefly overcame me in quick succession––sadness, grief, despair. I realized these feelings weren't mine. They were Jackson's. He had mourned himself to death.
    “I’m, here. You can show yourself to me.”
    I was answered with silence.
    “If there's a spirit in this room, let your presence be known,” I demanded, turning in place so that I could see all four walls.
    A circle of stones appeared near the back of the room, popping into my vision one-by-one. Within it, a concrete slab emerged. A small flame somehow rose up from its center, growing brighter by the moment.
    The altar.
    I imagined that once this concrete slab had been adorned with a hand mirror, perfume bottles, rose petals, candles, and photos – a tribute to a woman’s life.
    Out of the dark an old man also appeared, kneeling just outside the stone circle, his face buried in his hands. I was overcome by his indescribable sadness, feeling it as if it were my own. I dropped to my knees.
    Here wept the ghost of Jackson Burns.
    I crawled forward. The closer I got, the stronger I felt Jackson’s distress.
    And his guilt.
    Why guilt? Because she had died and he had lived?
    It’s not real, I noted as I studied him. This was a memory kept by the stones, not a true spirit. It was residual energy, created from the countless nights that Jackson tended the flame.
    I hedged around the apparition and reached for one of the altar stones. As my fingers touched the surface, I felt a sense of timelessness, before being forcefully thrown backwards several feet, dropping my wand.
    An ivory mist rose up from the floor, solidifying into a towering form that dominated the room. Jackson stood before me in spirit form, appearing as he did in his dying years. His bushy eyebrows were knit into a stern look of disapproval. There was no kindness in his eyes.
    I slid backwards and retrieved my wand, holding it out before me like a protective weapon. Jackson paid no notice, stepping through me as he approached his circle, his long