The Curse of the Golden Touch

by G M Mckay

  She didn’t quite meet my eye and I felt certain she was lying. Suddenly, I wanted more than anything to find Gil and get out of here. He’d been right all along to be suspicious.

  “Why does the book divide them into true and false gifts?” I asked, wiping my sweating palms against my legs. I didn’t want her to know how truly crazy I thought she was. There would be a better chance of escape if I played along.

  “Well, your great, great grandfather was a peculiar man with some strange ideas about religion. I believe that the only way he could come to terms with the fact that his ancestors had gifts was to categorize them as good or bad. Good gifts he felt had been gifted by God and false gifts, I believe he thought came from the devil. It’s all explained in there somewhere.”

  “So some of these, so-called, gifts are bad?”

  “Your great, great grandfather thought so. But many others disagree. If you ask me, a gift is a gift. I just know that I would have given my eye teeth to have just one of them; any of them, really. Which brings me to my next question, dear; what is your gift?”

  “Um …” I stared down at the book in my lap, my eyes scanning the true column for inspiration. Finally I sighed. There was just no way I could pretend to believe any of this was more than superstitious nonsense. I couldn’t do it.

  “I’m sorry, I really am giftless. Maybe it skipped a generation,” I said hopefully, looking longingly toward the door.

  “Nice try,” Belinda said firmly, “here, if it makes you feel better, then you can just pretend for now that this is a made-up story you’re writing. Betty said you were quite the writer when you were younger. If you were writing a story about a very stubborn girl who had a gift, one of the gifts on this list, then what would it be?”

  I opened my mouth to say something flippant when the strange, pressing feeling in my head returned with a vengeance. I clapped my hands to my temples and shut my eyes as a rapid series of images flashed across the darkness of my mind. A young girl turning cartwheels across the grass, a ghostly terrier trotting at my heels, an old man in a rocking chair next to the stables. My kindly Nanny looking down at me so lovingly. And then I saw Mother’s disappointed expression and the stern face of Dr. Crane looming over me, something silver and sharp in his hands. My eyes shot open.

  I knew in that instant with every part of my body that what Belinda told me was true. I had had a gift once upon a time. And it had been taken from me.

  “Perception of Spirits,” I gasped loudly and then promptly burst into tears.

  Chapter 9

  It took Belinda over an hour to calm me down and get me to stop crying. She said kind things and brought me tea and wrapped me in a blanket and patted my shoulder ineffectually but nothing helped. Even though I knew I was being hysterical I just couldn’t find a way to stop.

  Finally, I came to an exhausted, hiccupping halt on my own and wiped my swollen eyes on a corner of the blanket.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, sniffling. “I have no idea what came over me.”

  She laid a hand on my arm, looking nearly as sad as I felt. “No, I’m the one who needs to apologize, dear. I’m sorry for what you lost and for the part of the past that I thoughtlessly dredged up. I thought you must have known all about it by now. It’s always a bad business when gifts are tampered with. It’s a horrible, outdated practice.”

  “But why?”

  “Well,” she said slowly. “unfortunately, it’s more common in your particular family than in others. Your ancestor Alocious became quite the expert in removing ‘undesirable’ gifts from his descendants. I mentioned that he had very strong opinions on many things: he believed that the gifts were there solely to bring financial prosperity. Any gift that he couldn’t see the use for, especially in the female family members, he felt should be removed in order to make way for better ones. It also often has the, ahem, side-effect, of making the patient more obedient and easier to influence afterward.”

  “No,” I said, clapping a hand over my mouth. “My parents wouldn’t have done that.” But suddenly I knew it was true. I could perfectly envision Mother doing something like this.

  “It’s a very outdated practice now,” Belinda said sadly, “but its still used at a parent’s discretion. A baby is often born with the potential for multiple gifts and it’s felt that if an undesirable gift is removed that it allows the others to flourish.”

  I sat there feeling wounded and lost, my stomach roiling around like a small raft on a stormy sea.

  “But how?” I asked.

  Belinda sighed heavily. “Oh, it’s a mixture of electroshock treatment and hypnotism I suppose. I hear it’s painless, though; the patients are sedated. They don’t even remember it afterward.”

  “The children, you mean? It’s done on innocent kids who don’t have a choice, right?”

  She nodded unhappily. “Mostly children and a few adults who have … issues with their gifts.”

  I felt truly sick now, like any second I’d throw up all over this nice carpet.

  “I have to go,” I said suddenly, pulling myself out of the chair and heading toward the door. This time Belinda didn’t try and stop me.

  “Just one more question,” I said, pausing in the doorway. “Can it be reversed? Can it be undone?”

  She didn’t answer right away but her sorrowful expression told me everything I needed to know and I turned and fled into the night.

  I didn’t stop until I reached the safety of Bally’s stall. He nickered sleepily as I came in. I ran my hand down his silky neck and then stumbled to the far corner of his stall where I crumpled against the wall. I didn’t cry, I was all cried out; I just stared at the wooden boards and let my thoughts tumble over each other. Bally pushed some of his hay over to where I was sitting and ate with his nose next to my knee, reaching out occasionally to blow his warm breath on my cheek.

  I almost didn’t hear when the door slid back and Gil walked softly inside. I wanted to look up, to say something, but I just didn’t have the energy to move.

  He stared at me a long while and then came over and sat down close beside me. I let myself lean into him and he reached over and took both of my cold hands in his warm one.

  “Belinda said I should come and find you. Are you okay?” he asked softly and I wanted to assure him brightly that yes, of course I was okay, like I usually would, but this time I just couldn’t do it. I finally shook my head and he squeezed my fingers a little tighter.

  “Do you want me to stay?” This time, after a slight hesitation, I nodded and he wrapped his free arm around my shoulders and tucked me in close beside him. A part of me wanted to tell him everything I’d learned tonight but I still hardly believed it myself. Instead I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes, soothed by the steady, familiar beating of his heart.

  Chapter 10

  It was late when I’d stumbled into bed, exhausted, and I expected to pass out and not wake up until noon the next day. But my body and mind had other ideas. After a fitful sleep I awakened again in darkness and looked over at the dresser clock to see that it was only three in the morning. Morris wasn’t even there to soothe me back to sleep with his purring so I tossed and turned for a while before I gave up.

  Sighing, I threw back my covers and rolled out of bed. I threw on my robe and slippers and, yawning, made my way down the half-lit hall to the library. I still felt queasy and uncertain about what I’d discovered last night but I was also determined to know everything. And that started with reading the rest of that awful book from cover to cover.

  Morris met me in the dimly lit hallway at the foot of the stairs and chirped a good morning at me on his way past me to the kitchen where Belinda had been leaving him bowls of cream and bits of diced meat.

  “Well, you’ve certainly made yourself comfortable,” I said as he trotted by with his tail in the air. “Don’t get too used to it, you’ll have to go right back to being a barn cat when we get home.”

  I paused, frowning unhappily. Was there any reaso
n that any of us had to go back to Greystone? Gil was obviously dying to leave and I didn’t know how I felt about going home to my parents after last night’s revelations. Morris would certainly appreciate keeping his status as a house cat.

  But I don’t have anything to live on, I thought, pushing open the half-hidden library door and slipping inside. And I’d need to board Bally somewhere and find work somehow. I wouldn’t know where to begin.

  I wondered briefly if Great Aunt Ruth would just let us stay here until I figured out what to do and then pushed the thought away. It was Xan she liked, not me, and I doubted that she’d risk an all-out feud with Mother in order to help me.

  The book was on the table where I’d left it. I eyed the sinewy black cover distastefully then picked it up quickly before I could change my mind.

  I kicked off my slippers and curled my feet up underneath me in the chair, tucking the edges of my robe around them. I wished that I’d thought to start a fire in the hearth first.

  There was a soft throw draped over the chair and I pulled it around my shoulders. Still I didn’t open the book. I looked around me instead, studying the details of the nearby paintings. My gaze was caught by the painting of the red horse in the old Dark Lady Farm stables. He looked very much like the horse the Lady had ridden in my dream. He stared so intently at me that it was almost hard to look away.

  I could almost imagine that he’s trying to tell me something, I thought uncomfortably then resolutely opened the book on my lap and began to read.

  Even though I accepted what Betty had told me last night I still found the book to be pretty unbelievable. I mean, magic powers and paranormal abilities? I couldn’t envision my mother being telepathic or tromping out on the hills dowsing for water.

  Also, it was clear that the author, my ancestor Alocious, had been a rotten human being. He’d managed to be sexist, racist, and elitist all in one delusional package. He’d made it clear that, in his opinion, the women in the family couldn’t be trusted to manage their own powers, or their own money, without his expert guidance. Gross.

  I’d made it through the first five chapters when a slight, squeaking noise in the doorway made me look up.

  “Morris?” I asked uncertainly as the door inched inward until a sliver of lamp-light showed from the hallway.

  There was no response, but a second later I heard faint voices headed toward me.

  “Is it done?” a low masculine voice growled.

  “Yes, almost. I’m working on it, I promise. I’m sure I can find the last of them soon. We’re so close.”

  I was certain the breathless response was Aimee’s but the other voice was too low for me to recognize.

  “Our time’s almost up,” the voice said, “don’t disappoint me again.”

  “Oh, I won’t, I won’t,” Aimee said anxiously. “Do you have to go so soon? I hardly ever see you anymore…”

  “Don’t cling. I’ve warned you…” His muttered voice faded away into a low grumble as they headed down the hall.

  Poor Aimee, I thought, I hope that’s not the boyfriend she mentioned. But who else would be leaving here at four in the morning? What an unpleasant-sounding man.

  I went back to my book, half-listening for the sound of the heavy front door opening and closing behind the visitor. So I nearly jumped out of my skin when I happened to look up to find Aimee staring at me from the open doorway with flushed cheeks and narrowed eyes, a calculating look on her face.

  “Aimee,” I gasped, putting a hand over my heart, “good grief you scared me.”

  She shook herself as if coming awake and bared her teeth in an insincere smile. “I didn’t expect you to be up so early. What are you doing in here?”

  “Homework,” I said, holding the book up so she could see the cover. “Apparently I have some family history to catch up on.”

  “Oh, ug, that book,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Alocious was awful. I’m glad my side of the family didn’t fall for that nonsense. I was always encouraged to embrace all my gifts unlike some poor—”

  She broke off and looked away, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red.

  “So you have more than one gift then?” I asked politely, wondering if it had been me that she was about to confess feeling sorry for. I wasn’t offended, the whole thing felt like I was in a dream. Who could have imagined a week ago that I’d be having a serious conversation about extrasensory abilities and powers with a cousin I’d never heard of? Life certainly knew how to throw some fantastic curve balls. And apparently my life had been built on a foundation of secrets and lies.

  “Well,” she said tentatively, coming further into the room and shutting the door tightly behind her, “I don’t like to brag but I can show you this …”

  She held her arms away from her sides with her palms up. Without any warning at all, two little twin columns of fire erupted, one in the center of each hand.

  “Oh, Aimee,” I yelped, caught between fear and fascination, “that’s amazing.”

  “That’s just parlour tricks,” she said, laughing. She clapped her palms together and then casually tossed a ball of flame into the fireplace where it instantly lit the stack of wood into a cheerfully crackling blaze.

  “Now, your turn,” she said, dropping into the seat next to me with a mischievous grin. She looked relaxed and happy for the first time since I’d met her.

  I think we could actually be friends eventually, I thought in surprise. Wanting to spend more time with strangers wasn’t something that I felt often.

  “Oh, I can’t do anything like that,’ I said quickly, “I think my one talent is gone.”

  “Sorry, I heard about the ghost removal thing; that’s too bad, it could have been useful. But you got some gift all right, a big thunderstorm of a gift whirling around inside of you, just waiting to get out.”

  I sat up, eyes widening in surprise. “Inside me? I don’t feel anything. How do you know?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure, I just do; it’s something I can sense in people. Just like I know that Xan hasn’t any gifts at all. Besides, even if I couldn’t sense it, I would still guess that you had a big gift, what with your mother being so powerful and everything.”

  “My mother?” I said in astonishment. “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, everyone knows that. Your mom has some crazy abilities to see the future. She’s better at it than anyone in the whole family.”

  Oh, so that explains why we’re so rich then, if she can see the outcome of every business move. I thought glumly. She’s a total cheater. Nobody would stand a chance against her.

  Still, she hadn’t saved me from nearly drowning in the Greystone River when I was a teenager, and she hadn’t saved me from loving Frederick so she couldn’t be as powerful as everyone thought she was.

  Unless she didn’t want to save me from those things. My skin felt cold and clammy and I fought back a wave of nausea.

  I thought back to every skinned knee and taunt from the other school children, I thought back to the year when Xan and his siblings became orphaned. Nobody had reached out to help their parents when they were in financial distress and almost nobody had stepped forward to help the children, either. And she could have. She could have given them the advice they needed to save their estate, their assets and their family. She could have stopped their parents from dying. Suddenly, I felt cold with rage.

  I looked down, realizing I was clenching the book hard between my hands. I let go and it fell open in my lap to those double columns of gifts again. Perception of Spirits.

  My rage turned into an overwhelming feeling of loss and sadness, leaving me suddenly bone tired. It was all I could do to say goodbye to Aimee and, still clutching the book in my hand, stumble to my room.

  The sun still wasn’t up yet when I dropped gratefully into bed.

  Unfortunately, my dreams were far from peaceful.

  Chapter 11

  The first dream hit me before I’d hardly closed my eyes. I was
cantering up the long driveway on Bally, just like I had on the day we’d arrived, only this time we were running so slowly, as if the air had grown thick and difficult to pass through. Far away I could hear somebody calling my name but I couldn’t quite make out the words. I looked down and saw that something looked wrong with the tips of Bally’s ears—they’d faded until they were nearly invisible. As I watched, all the colour leached from his grey mane and neck, becoming translucent; I could see the ground rushing by right through him.

  “Beware the one who watches,” a voice whispered right next to my ear, “the lady rides nine.” And suddenly Bally was gone and I was tumbling end over end straight toward the forest floor, still moving slowly as if through water. I hit the ground with barely a thud and lay there, wondering what on earth had happened. Suddenly a figure was standing over me, regarding me sadly through a pair of ice-blue eyes. Her long red hair tumbled over her shoulders. She didn’t look as bedraggled as she had last time. There were no leaves in her hair and her dress was clean and untorn.

  “Evangeline?” I asked but she didn’t answer; just shook her head and pointed toward the woods.

  “What?” I said, turning my head to look into the forest. I squinted as something dark flashed between the trees. Was it human or animal? When I turned back to her she was gone and I was all alone.

  I woke from the dream with a violent start, sitting bolt upright in the darkness with my heart thundering away in my chest. The curtains were drawn tight and there was no early morning light yet to cut through the inky blackness. I had the sudden, awful feeling that I was not alone. Somebody was with me in my room.

  Clutching the covers to my chest, I sat in bed stone-still, holding my breath and listening for all I was worth. Was that a soft footstep on the carpet near the door? A quiet exhalation from beside my bed? Was someone, right now, reaching out to touch me?