Curses Are for Cads

by Tamara Berry

  “What did she give you?” I ask. Without her luggage, Birdie has about as many resources as I do, so I hazard a few guesses. “Money? Snacks? Oh! She told you how to curse your enemies, didn’t she?”

  From the guilty yet excited flush that rises in their cheeks at that last one, I know I’m on the right track. Trust Birdie to know exactly what would appeal to two mischievous scamps like these.

  “When did you talk to her?” I ask.

  Their eyes shift toward each other in mute solidarity.

  “What did she want from you?”

  They cross their arms and glare at me from under mulish brows. I think fast.

  “Well, at least tell me whether or not she remembered to teach you the knot of invisibility.”

  That one gets them. Well, it gets Red. Blue isn’t about to give himself away so easily. I heave a sigh and focus my attention on the child most likely to spill his secrets. “Of course she didn’t tell you about the knot,” I say. “Forget I said anything. It’s too powerful for beginners. Now that I think about it, the talismans are probably too much for you, too.”

  I rise to my feet and make as if to leave, confident in the trap I’ve set. The boys are wise enough to suspect a trick, but it’s not often that a pair of witches comes their way.

  I’m almost to the mouth of the cavern before Red calls to me.

  “Wait, Madame Eleanor!”

  His brother hisses his displeasure, but Red’s hand is touching my arm before he can be stopped. I turn to find a solemn face peering up at me. “Do you really know how to make us invisible?” he asks.

  “Of course not,” I say with complete truthfulness. “Invisibility is impossible.”

  “But you said you could!”

  “I lied. I’m just an ordinary human woman. How could I make anyone disappear?”

  “But—” Red takes his lower lip between his unbroken line of teeth. “That would be smashing.”

  I allow a mysterious smile to touch my lips. “It would be, indeed.”

  Confident that I’ve given them enough to mull over for a few hours before I try them again, I prepare to make my departure. To my surprise, Red’s hand touches my arm once more.

  “We do have one talisman,” he confides.

  Only one? In addition to my clothes and toiletries, my bags also contained a spell book full of nonsense, another spell book that contained a list of all known poisons and their side effects, fake elixirs by the dozen, and the cosmetics the boys are now applying with an even heavier hand than before. I have no idea what they plan to do with the half of it.

  “Oh?” I ask in a show of disinterest.

  “Jaime, don’t,” Blue warns.

  At the sound of Red’s—no, Jaime’s—actual name, I realize I’m dealing with a serious matter. Thus far, the boys have been careful not to divulge which one of them is which. I imagine having different names is as painful a source of discrepancy as Jaime’s full mouth of teeth. Now I know: Jaime is Red, the reasonable one, and Ferguson is Blue, the one I need to watch out for.

  “But we could be invisible,” Jaime pleads. “Think of what we could do to Headmaster Grimsby if we’re invisible. The fire rocks, Ferg. The frogs.”

  I have no idea what either of those things indicates, but Headmaster Grimsby has my sympathies.

  “I’ll let you pull out my tooth any way you want,” Jaime says, and goes through a series of finger motions that must indicate their secret handshake. “Brother’s oath.”

  Ferguson repeats the motions, though reluctantly. “Fine. You can give it to her. But not for keeps,” he adds to me.

  “I wouldn’t dare,” I say, my interest now high enough to overlook the fact that I’m going to have to somehow manufacture their twin invisibility after this. A dark piece of cloth and some shadow tricks might do it.

  The boys give me their backs, deep in a conversation I’m sure I’m not supposed to overhear. It contains several swear words, some Gaelic I can’t understand, and a few giggles. None of these fill me with much in the way of optimism, but when the boys turn around to face me once again, optimism is the last thing I care about.

  Triumphant and not a little proud, Jaime reaches into his pocket and pulls out a coin for my inspection.

  A gold coin.

  “Where did you get this?” I snatch it out of his hand. The weight and size of the coin are identical to the one I already have. The cross is as crudely stamped, the gold as burnished. As is the case with the one I’m carrying nestled inside my brassiere, something about it strikes me as off. I don’t know what it is, but it has something to do with how smooth it is to the touch. It looks pocked and damaged with age, but when I run my thumb over the surface, there are none of the expected bumps or ridges.

  “Boys, I need you to tell me where you got this. Did you find it? Are there more somewhere on this island?”

  In my alarm and eagerness, I seem to have forgotten my role as the cool witch. Authority—especially boring adult authority—has a way of bringing the shutters down over juvenile eyes. Bribing them with promises of even greater witchcraft might work, but this is too important to leave to chance. I should have known that two boys who would unhesitatingly steal and hide two strangers’ luggage might also have located that gold long before the rest of us even started looking. Kids always know the best hiding spots inside any house.

  “Well?” I close my fist around the coin. “Are you going to tell me, or do we need to take this to your grandmother?”

  My threat does little to move them. Without a word, the two boys align themselves side by side, nothing but belligerence in their identical, pirate-patched faces.

  “We’re not afraid of Nanna,” Ferguson says.

  “We’re not afraid of witches,” Jaime adds.

  “We’re not afraid of curs—”

  “Yes, yes, I know. You’re not afraid of anything. You’re the epitome of bravery, fearful of nothing and no one.” A sudden, devious thought flashes in my mind. “Except, I think, for Otis.”

  The flicker of fear in their eyes is unmistakable, so I press on. “How would you feel if I decided to tell him about this? Nanna might not scare you, and you might laugh in the face of the curse, but I don’t think he’d be so quick to understand. Do you?”

  I don’t get an answer right away. The boys do their best to hold my gaze, to remain stoic and unblinking in the face of such a threat, but it’s to no avail. Like being able to throw my voice and perform simple sleight of hand, teaching myself to win staring contests was an early part of my medium training.

  Ferguson is the first to look away. “I told you,” he mutters. “You can’t trust any of ’em.”

  Jaime gulps, but his concerns are of a different variety. “Does this mean you aren’t going to teach us how to be invisible?”

  “Why don’t you tell me where you got this gold, and then we’ll see.” I feel a bit like a traitor, going back on my promise like this, but some things are more important than salvaging my reputation in front of a pair of eight-year-olds. Laying a murderous curse to rest is one of them. “I know it makes me no fun, and that you’re regretting letting me into your secret clubhouse, but this is important. I know it, you know it, and Otis knows it.”

  I’d hoped that mentioning Otis again would hasten the spilling of the secrets, but Jaime looks down at his feet and kicks at a large rock.

  “Hey,” I say softly. “I won’t really tell him. Not if you don’t want me to. You just have to show me where you found this gold.”

  Jaime kicks harder. “Do you promise?”

  “Witch’s honor.” I make the motion of an X over my chest. “This will stay strictly between us.”

  Ferguson looks as though he’d like to stop his brother, his face growing pinched and white, but Jaime, for all his sweet disposition, is made of sterner stuff.

  “It was on his boat,” Jaime says, his voice barely above a whisper.

  At first, I think I must have misheard. “I’m sorry?”


  “His boat.” Jaime is louder this time, but not by much. “We aren’t supposed to go on it, and he’ll be right miffed if he finds out.”

  My heart leaps to my throat. The feeling is so sudden, so constricting, that I have to bolt to my feet to untangle what’s happening to my innards. “You found the gold on the boat? Otis’s boat?”

  Jaime nods. That small gesture confirms everything I’ve suspected since Otis first appeared at the castle—as well as a few more suspicions that just now occur to me. I already know that Otis’s clothes are too good for a tour boat operator and that he’s the only person on this island—with the exception of McGee—who has the ability to come and go at will. He also could have arrived with plenty of time to knock out that generator. For all I know, he was even on that train with us.

  He admitted as much to me already—he’s here at Harvey’s instigation, and came only to ensure that no one takes advantage of Sid and Ashley’s foolishness for personal gain.

  Or to ensure that the only one taking advantage of them is him.

  “You two stay here,” I command. “Or, better yet, go help your grandmother up at the castle. Don’t let her out of your sight, mind?”

  The edge of fear in my voice should have been enough to send them scurrying off in search of a responsible adult, but it seems to have the opposite effect. Jaime straightens until he’s a good two inches taller; Ferguson shakes his head with a resolution rarely seen in adults four times his age.

  “Do you want us to show you the place?” Ferguson asks.

  I’d like to see the location, yes, but I hardly want these two to accompany me. “Just tell me where to look, and I’m sure I can find it.”

  I might as well have not spoken for all the heed they pay me. “Jaime’ll be lookout,” Ferguson says decisively. “I’ll show you the broken window we used. You aren’t a very big lady. You’ll fit. Won’t she, Jamie?”

  Jaime nods and kicks his heels like a sailor receiving his shipping orders. “Aye, aye. On the ready.” When he sees the anxiety I’m unable to hide, he adds, “It’s all right, Madame Eleanor. I’m a super lookout. I’ll climb to the top of the mast and call like this if anyone’s coming.”

  He proceeds to make a series of soft whoops. Aviary species native to the Outer Hebrides are unknown to me, but he sounds very similar to the small gray birds I’ve seen perched overlooking the ocean. Like Birdie, these children are rapidly putting me to shame with their ability to outshine me.

  I shouldn’t accept their help, I know. If Otis has the missing gold coins on his boat, then there’s only one conclusion: he’s a thief and possibly a murderer and undoubtedly a man to be feared. The smart thing would be to get everyone on this island to safety.

  Which, considering that his boat is the only way on or off, presents a bit of a problem. Or, considering your perspective, a lot of a problem. I need to confirm that the gold is there before I start calling in specialty evacuation helicopters or whatever else is used when the threat of death is hanging overhead.

  “Fine.” I give in, but not before raising a finger in warning. “But if you see any sign of Otis, even in the distance, you two will clear out and leave me to deal with him, understand?”

  “But Madame Eleanor—”

  “Please, Madame Eleanor—”

  I firm my position, both physically and mentally. “It’s non-negotiable, I’m afraid. I want your solemn oath that you won’t put yourselves at risk, or I’ll march up to the castle and tell everyone where you got this coin.”

  It’s with extreme reluctance that they agree, but they do eventually come around, our pact sealed with spit-covered handshakes that are as disgusting as they sound. The promise thus made, Ferguson loses no time in dashing out the cavern opening. Jaime is equally keen, but he’s nice enough to stay back and keep me company as we wend our way along the water’s edge. If I were of Ashely’s turn of mind, I might take note of how the feeble, misty sky mirrors the slate-colored water, or how the damp air seeps so deeply that it penetrates my bones, but I’m not. It’s gloomy and wet, and that’s all I need to say about it.

  The dock where Otis’s tour boat sits gently rocking back and forth is the same one where McGee originally dropped us off. Whereas McGee’s vessel had looked as though one strong gale would smash it to pieces, Otis has put time and money into the maintenance of his watercraft. It’s also kitschy as all get-out. He’s obviously leaned in to the idea of his family heritage and his eyepatch. A bright red YE OLDE PIRATE TOURS is painted onto the side of the hull, along with the traditional image of the Jolly Roger. Old fishing nets are affixed at random to the outer walls of the main cabin, and the planks have been falsely weathered to give the appearance of antiquity.

  Under any other circumstances, I’d have been delighted at such incongruity—at a fierce, angry, possibly murderous man who would willingly captain such a tacky vessel. Unfortunately, I’m far too aware of how visible we are from the castle. My room doesn’t overlook the docks, but most of the living spaces do. It would be very easy for Otis—or, indeed, for anyone—to peek out and see what we’re up to.

  As if sensing this, Jaime scrambles away to secure his lookout perch. I have no idea how he manages it, but within a few seconds, he’s hoisted himself up to the top of a swaying pole about ten feet above our heads.

  “Okay, Ferguson,” I say in a needlessly quiet voice. I can barely hear myself above the incessant slap of the waves, but stealth seems like our best bet. “How do we get into the main cabin?”

  “It’s this window,” he says. He leads me around to the starboard side of the boat, where a plank leads the way on board. No sooner do we make it up than I’m hit anew with the pirate-themed décor. Plastic skulls are affixed to the outer walls of the cabin like macabre handholds, each one linked with a plastic chain meant to look like shackles. To complete the picture, a large, fake cannon sits underneath the ledge of a round porthole-style window. None of this seems the least bit historically accurate, but that doesn’t bother Ferguson. He clamors on top of the cannon and fiddles with the latch of the window for all of five seconds before it swings open. I have no idea how he and his brother managed to find the one broken latch in what looks to be about three dozen such windows, but I can’t say I’m surprised they put in the effort.

  “I’ll go first,” he says before I have a chance to stop him. He slithers his body through the hole and lands with a thump on the other side. I almost shriek when his head pops back up, his gap-toothed smile brimming. “Come on, Madame Eleanor. I’ll help you.”

  I am not now nor have I ever been a large woman. My size and youthful appearance have always been something of a detriment, since it’s difficult to instill awe and respect in someone when you look more like a babysitter than a woman who will banish your home of evil entities. In this instance, I can only be grateful. My head makes it through the hole without fuss, and my shoulders lodge less than I expect them to, but my hips only slip through thanks to the grace of God, a hefty tug from Ferguson, and the rending tear of my dress as it catches on the frame.

  “Next time, we’ll use butter,” he informs me as I fall from the window to the floor, mournfully noting a large rip along my hem. “Butter’ll slide you through anywhere.”

  “Next time, you can just undo the lock and let me in that way,” I say with a nod toward the cabin door. A very obvious bolt makes it easy to get in and out.

  Ferguson’s wide grin informs me that such a notion had occurred to him, only to be discarded in the name of adventure.

  “Let’s make this quick,” I say, mistrusting that grin.

  I stand and make a quick survey of my surroundings. The cabin isn’t overly large, but it is much more technologically up to date than the fake props would lead me to believe. Even the oversized wooden steering wheel can’t make up for the screens, buttons, and multiple mechanical devices that indicate the real driving system.

  “Where did you find the gold?” I ask, my heart sinking at all the possible hid
ing spaces. “Inside a hidden panel? Tucked inside a false wall? Stowed away under the floorboards?”

  “No, it was right there,” Ferguson says. He nods toward a treasure chest in one corner of the cabin. It looks like a movie-prop version of a treasure chest—which, as I draw closer, turns out to be exactly what it is. I’ve seen similar Styrofoam coolers being carried by families at the beach. This one has been painted to look like aged wood grain, but there’s no mistaking that squeak as I lift the lid.

  “Uh . . . Ferguson?” I glance over my shoulder at the boy. He’s stationed himself with both hands on the steering wheel, his imagination taking him over the seven seas and back again. “You’re saying the coin came from this exact chest?”

  “Yup.” He joins me and stabs his finger at the bounty contained within it. “See? Otis has a million of ’em. Jewels, too, and rings, and if you look really deep, some rubber rats. We put one in the toe of Nanna’s shoe once. You should have heard her scream.”

  His assessment is an accurate one. There are—if not millions—several hundred gold coins inside the chest. However, like the chest itself, they’re nothing but props. Plastic, from the look and feel of them, though of a high-enough quality that it’s understandable the boys got them confused with the real deal. I plunge a hand in and let the coins slide through my fingers. As he said, a few plastic rings and fake rubies are also scattered amongst the booty. I don’t go deep enough to find any rats, but I take his word for it that they’re there.

  “Ferguson, are you sure this is where you got the coin?”

  He nods. “Jamie picked it. He liked that one best because of the plus sign on it—he’s keen on maths, but I think it’s dead boring. I wanted this one.”

  Predictably, the coin he holds up bears a gruesome skull and crossbones.

  “If you’re gonna keep the maths one, I’ll take this,” he says as he tucks the coin in his pocket. With an anxious glance at the chest, he adds, “You don’t think Otis will be able to tell?”

  I have no idea what Otis is or isn’t capable of, nor do I know what I’m supposed to do next. There’s no doubt in my mind that Ferguson and Jaime are telling the truth about where they got the coin—nothing would be served by their lies, and they’re much more interested in the excitement of having it rather than its value.