"There are some secrets darker than witchcraft." - Dora Maddock
Deep in the forests of the Pacific Northwest is a small village called Dark Root, a town steeped in magic, mystery, and secrets. But for Maggie Maddock, Dark Root is also a prison - a place where she is forced to work in her mother's Magick Shoppe while the rest of the world moves forward without her. When a mysterious stranger offers to take Maggie away from it all, she leaves without looking back.
Seven years later, Maggie is called home by her beloved older sister. There she is confronted with a renewed sibling rivalry, a mother suffering under a mysterious illness, and a town that's lost it's literal magic. Now Maggie must decide if she will use her newfound abilities to aid those she loves or run from her responsibilities once again. In the tradition of Alice Hoffman's Practical Magic and Rebecca Wells' Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, The Witches of Magic seamlessly weaves the past with the present, the magical with the mundane. It is a tale of family, forgiveness, and the healing power of love that will leave readers believing in magic long after the story ends.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
April M. Aasheim is a USA TODAY Bestselling Author and the creator of the popular Daughters of Dark Root series. April was the second oldest of six children, and spent her childhood living with her mother and her stepfather, traversing the Southwest, and following one ‘get rich quick’ dream after another.
Though her travels were interesting and often brought her into contact with colorful and fascinating people, April longed for a normal life. Her early adult years were spent working as a preschool teacher, a social worker, and a community activist. She was also a wife and a parent. During this time she started writing about her life and the people she met. She also realized that there was no such thing as a normal life. April currently resides in Portland, Oregon with her husband and her familiar, Boots the Cat.
EXCERPT“We need to keep the lights off,” Merry said, as we moved single-file through the ground floor of the house. Merry braved the front of the line, waving the smoke from the sage stick before us. Eve held the middle, plunging her candle into the shadows around us. I lingered behind, clutching Mother’s book and glancing over my shoulder to ensure that we were alone. “Spirit of Sister House,” we called out. “We demand that you to make your presence known!” We repeated the phrase in each of the lower rooms: the living room, the dining room, the kitchen. “It’s not really a spirit,” I reminded Merry when we had cleared the floor. “I don’t have a word for what it is,” she said. “Spirit will have to do.” “What about that room?” Eve nodded towards a door that had always been locked––Mother’s secret room. It had been forbidden for so long I had almost forgotten it was there. Merry nodded and I gave her a quizzical look. Unless she had a key, that door was not going to open. We stood before it. Merry said something under her breath, then tried the handle. “Crap!” she said, stamping her foot. “I thought it would work.” “Thought what would work?” I asked. “The incantation, Door of steel, door that’s locked, let me in with just a knock.” “Where did you learn that?” Eve and I asked. “Well,” Merry admitted. “When I was a kid and couldn’t sleep, I’d sneak out here and hide on the staircase watching Mama and her friends. Twice I saw her go into this room after reciting the incantation but I never tried it myself.” “Maybe we should hold hands,” I suggested, feeling foolish as I put the book down on the floor. Merry reached for one of my hands and I grabbed Eve by the wrist so that she could still hold onto the candle. “Let’s say it together,” Merry said. “Door of steel, door that’s locked, let us in with just a knock.” We said the incantation, our voices one. The candle in Eve’s hand flickered. Merry tried the door again, but it wouldn’t budge. “We forgot to knock,” Eve reminded us, rapping on the door. We heard the soft click of the lock and Eve twisted the knob. We were in. Eve pushed the candle inside and our heads followed. The space was the size of a small bedroom and was just as crammed with stuff as the rest of the house. But instead of boxes and bins, there were chests and picture frames and books and things that sparkled––a tiny dragon’s lair. Something in the far corner glimmered and if I hadn’t had to climb a small mountain to get there, I would have retrieved it. “Mother’s hoarding. The early years,” Eve said. Merry passed the sage stick inside as we asked the spirit once again to show itself, with no luck. “We will come back,” Merry promised, shutting the door. “There are secrets in there, I’m sure. But we have other things to deal with now.” She glided towards the staircase and we obediently followed. “This floor is clean. Now let’s go upstairs.”
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