Damned and Cursed (Book 2): Witch's Kurse

by Bullion, Glenn

  Marie didn't think anything of it when Erica didn't show up on time for work that night. Her car was still giving her problems. But when being late turned into not showing up, Marie worried something might be wrong. She stopped by Erica's apartment after closing the bar. Erica wasn't home, and her car was in the lot.

  Her body was found the next day. A man walking his dog found her in an alley next to a dumpster. She was strangled and her purse was taken. The police suspected Erica went for a walk and caught the attention of a mugger. She fought back, and was killed.

  The men finished their work and left the site. Marie had the intention of leaving, but instead found herself opening the car door and stepping out. She crossed the grass and stood to the side of the headstone. It was nothing elaborate, simply Erica Hernandez with the relevant dates. Thirty-three years old. Much too short of a life.

  Marie wiped a tear from under her eye. She would have liked to know Erica better, but was thankful that in her eighty years, she had the chance to know her at all.

  "Goodbye, Erica."

  She decided to make one last stop before leaving. Her stride seemed to shorten as she made her way across the cemetery, her pace slowing. It'd been far too long since she visited them. She planned on stopping by when she first came back to town, but life took over. Settling in, restoring the bar, and her own reluctance to face painful memories.

  It took the death of someone else to push her along.

  She stopped in front of the simple grave markers.

  "Hi Mom, Dad."

  The pain rushed back, along with the hate and anger. Emotions she'd fought and hid from over time. There were times she thought she was at peace with the strange course her life had taken, but as she stood there crying at her parents' grave, peace was the furthest thing from her mind. She wanted to change right there and then, under the glow of the sun. She wanted to run through the woods, hunt anything that moved, run from the pain, like only a werewolf could.

  Marie didn't change. She just cried and told her parents how much she missed them.

  As she spoke to them, the anger faded away. The pain eased somewhat, the tears stopped. She thought about the good times with her family, and how they took care of her.

  "Stop by the bar whenever you want," Marie told them. "You'd like what I've done to the place."

  Despite the emotional onslaught, she left her parents with a smile on her face. She loved her parents. It was good to know that even though she was no longer human, she could still feel.

  A sight she didn't expect froze her in place as she went back through the cemetery.

  Someone stood at Erica's grave.

  It was a man Marie hadn't seen before. A physically attractive man, broad shoulders, nicely dressed. He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking down at Erica's headstone. His face was unreadable.

  Not only his looks caught her attention, but his scent finally touched her nose. For a moment, Marie forgot she was in a cemetery. Chocolate mixed with roses, with perhaps a bit of cherry as well. She didn't believe it was possible for a human to smell so divine, but when he shifted, so did the scent.

  He reached out and touched the gravestone, tapping it a few times, before turning around and walking away.

  Marie's curiosity piqued. She nearly called out to the man, but decided against it. She was a distance away; he didn't notice her. How did he know Erica? Did she meet him in town? She certainly didn't mention a man she was seeing. Was he family? Probably not, as their scents weren't related. How did his parents pass along that wonderful smell?

  She watched him leave the cemetery as she headed for her car, letting him drift from her mind. Her thoughts shifted to the bar, out of necessity as well as for a distraction. The place was doing well. She'd hired a few more people, two of which Erica trained herself, and had a rotation going. Everything was working out smoothly, although one of the bartenders complained about Nia having a juicy schedule, due to her high volume of tips. What the new bartender failed to realize was that Nia was a young, lively, beautiful woman. Men who drank alcohol at a bar liked being in the company of such a woman. Nia was simply a tip magnet.

  Marie drove across town and parked outside the bar. It wouldn't open for a few more hours, but there was always paperwork to do, schedules, cleaning, supplies to order and maintain. She unlocked the door, remembering to lock it behind her, and went to her office. She threw herself into her work. Two hours passed in silence. She once again wished they had a jukebox. Music would have been the perfect companion.

  Her ears twitched when she heard the front door unlock. Lifting her nose to the air, she picked up the familiar scent of apple, cinnamon, and daffodil. A quiet whistling could be heard as lights outside the office turned on.

  Rob shouted and put a hand over his heart as he turned into her office.

  "Whoa! Shit, Marie!"

  He leaned over and patted his chest lightly. Marie smiled as she pushed her laptop to the side.

  "Jumpy, Rob?"

  "I am when my boss leaps out of the shadows and take five years off my life."

  "I didn't exactly leap out of the shadows."

  "Eh, you might as well have. I thought you were a monster."

  "I've been called worse. What are you doing here so early?"

  "I figured I'd get an early start on setting up. And…the cable's out at my place. And also…I was thinking about cooking a quick burger. But obviously, I would not do such a thing."

  Marie laughed and waved the concern away. "Go ahead."

  "Want me to cook you one, too?"

  "No thanks."

  "Alright, let me know if you change your mind." He turned to leave. "Wait, what are you doing here so early?"

  "I own the place. That's what owners do."

  Rob waited to hear the truth. Marie rolled her eyes.

  "Erica was buried today. I wanted a distraction, take my mind off things."

  He sat in the chair across from her desk. Marie smiled as she glanced at him. One of the few pictures she had of her parents hung on the wall behind his shoulder. It was strategically placed, to allow them to watch over her as she worked.

  "Yeah. I'm sorry I couldn't make it. I left from my other job and came straight here."

  "It's okay. There wasn't really a funeral or anything. I feel terrible. She came here to start over, and then gets murdered. Just unreal."

  "You should probably cut out early tonight. Go out, try to have some fun."

  Marie scoffed at the idea of fun. Fun for her was being in the woods, and those nights seemed to stretch further and further apart.

  "Fun. What's fun?"

  "Fun is being with me in a hot-tub. And you in a bikini…."

  He laughed as Marie simply gave him a look.

  "Kidding! I just wanted to see the look on your face."

  She sighed and closed the laptop. "Maybe I will take a night off tonight. It's not like Wednesday's a real busy night."

  He pointed at her. "There you go. Brett's been bugging for an extra night, too. I'll give him a call."

  Marie felt a load lift from her shoulders, and knew at that moment a night off was exactly what she needed. The question was how to spend it. A bubble bath, movie, and fast food, or a jaunt through the woods.

  "Oh, there's one more thing," Rob said. "This was Nia's idea, and I think she's right. The whole thing with Erica…it has the girls spooked. They want to keep a few bats under the bar. Not a gun, but just something in case, you know."

  "You think Erica was killed by someone that comes here?"

  He held up his hands. "I don't know what to think. But Nia made the comment after that night about how it'd be so easy to follow her home from here. And I can't blame her. We're all on edge, just a little. I figure a bat or two under the bar wouldn't hurt. Besides, it's not like you'll always be here to throw the drunks out."

  Marie laughed and shrugged her shoulders. "Sure. But don't go beating up the customers."

  "I won't, boss la—…dear."r />
  She gestured to the door. "Get out of here. Go cook something. Maybe you'll get good enough to help Jerry."

  She smiled as she watched Rob leave. His personality, his energy would be a big help in getting through the current dark period.

  *****

  Jack sat in his rental car, looking at the apartment building before him. He didn't understand Erica at all. She'd sold her house near the beach and uprooted her life to move to a disgusting apartment in a backwater town in Montana. He hated apartments and apartment life. Surrounded by mortals, a wall, floor, and ceiling away. Just the thought made his skin crawl.

  Erica being gone forever had finally become real to him. It wasn't real as he sat in his private jet. It wasn't real when he arrived in Sandy Cliffs. It wasn't even real when he touched her tombstone. Perhaps there was still some mortal in him after all. He'd clung to ridiculous denial, false hope. He hoped when he walked off the jet that Erica would be right there waiting for him, to tell him none of it was true. It was a case of mistaken identity, she'd faked her death, anything at all that ended in the opposite direction of her being gone.

  But Erica was dead.

  It wasn't real until he skimmed through the police report, which now sat on the passenger's seat. He hadn't yet worked up the nerve to study it completely, but when flipping through his eyes fell on Erica's lifeless body. He saw other details before he really saw her. Her beautiful scar, one of her favorite blouses, a new pair of shoes. His face twitched when he realized it was Erica. He'd seen countless bodies in his time, and was responsible for many of them. He didn't feel anything for them. That was far from the case as he looked at his ex-girlfriend.

  Jack would find who'd taken Erica from the world, and kill them. If it was an accident, the killer would die. If it was an old man in a wheelchair, he would die. If it was twenty members of a cult, they would die.

  He grabbed the police report as he left the car. She lived on the top floor. The apartment stairwell was empty. His footsteps echoed as he ascended. He fished the key from his coat pocket he'd rented from the young idiot manning the desk at the rental office. Five hundred dollars. Just a bit less than the cost of the police report.

  He hesitated as he unlocked the door and deadbolt and rested his hand on the doorknob. Part of him was nervous as to what he'd see in Erica's apartment, and he wasn't sure why.

  He opened the door and stepped into the living room, closing the door behind him.

  It felt like stepping into a time capsule. The apartment hadn't been touched at all. No doubt the police had come to investigate, but her belongings were still in place. Jack imagined the place would be cleared out soon for the next tenant.

  He took a breath and unleashed his senses, looking over the place. The murder didn't happen at her apartment, but if there was any clue to point him in a direction, he'd find it.

  Most of the furniture was from her old house. He'd recognized the couch, where they sat and watched movies many times, among other things. A small smile touched his lips when he saw the faint stain on the left cushion. She'd gotten frisky when they were watching an old movie, and accidentally spilled her drink.

  Jack shook the memory from his mind. Staring at cushions on a couch would not help find her murderer.

  He took note of the coffee table. Erica still loved her clutter. DVDs, an empty glass, papers, a black bra. He recognized it as one of his favorites.

  The wall behind the dining room table was full of pictures. They were class photos, taken from Tiffany's school. There was a framed photo for every year Erica taught. The most recent photo still had Tiffany, before she changed classes.

  It would be the last group of kids Erica taught.

  Jack clenched his fist in anger. Besides his curse, one other trait separated him from mortals. His power of observation. It wasn't that difficult, and he often wondered how mortals went through their short lives. Flashing lights, loud noises, a pair of breasts, an erect penis, everything distracted them. It was a miracle they didn't just stare at the pretty blue sky, their fingers pointing, drool running down their chins. He prided himself on his simple ability to pay attention.

  He'd solved murders before. He could walk into an area and pick out details no on else could see. He could look at a person and tell if they were lying. A muscle twitch here, a stutter there.

  He felt like a lowly mortal as he stood in Erica's apartment. His simple ability to pay attention suddenly eluded him.

  He didn't see clues or a replay in his mind of Erica's last night alive. He saw memories. There were still dirty dishes in the sink. Erica always washed her dishes by hand. She hated the idea of using both water and electricity with a dishwasher. A towel hung over the open shower curtain. Erica liked to reuse her towels, probably a few days longer than she should.

  His heart sank more than he thought it would when he walked into her bedroom.

  The covers were still scattered over the mattress. Her slippers were under the bed on the side. A hamper sat in the corner. A short skirt and a blouse were neatly laid out on a new dresser. She'd picked out one final outfit before her death. For what purpose? A date?

  Jack slammed his fist into the wall, leaving a hole someone would have to fix. The thought crossed his mind that he might not find Erica's killer.

  Perhaps he'd kill every adult in town. That would certainly solve his problem.

  He dismissed the thought quickly. That would be too expensive and time consuming. Plus it wasn't something Tiffany would do.

  Leaning against the wall, he opened Erica's police report for a closer look. It was amazing how the report stripped away her very identity. Erica Hernandez was only mentioned once, and then suddenly she was the victim or deceased. Her job became her last place of employment.

  She was the victim of a mugging. Despite everything, Jack smiled at the report as he thought of Erica's stubbornness. He was quite certain she fought back, and paid for it with her life. She refused to be a victim.

  Jack thought of her last place of employment as he noticed a picture on the dresser. She stood with seven people in front of a bar, most likely the one mentioned in the report. He could definitely see her in a short skirt, looking like only she could.

  Nothing in the photo caught his attention. The group was a collection of twenty and thirty-somethings. One man had his arms wrapped around two women, a ridiculous look on his face. Erica was smiling for the camera. Jack wondered if it was the last photo ever taken of her before she died.

  The woman on the end caught his attention.

  Something was off about her. Strawberry blond hair, short in height, nice body. Certainly one-night worthy. He couldn't tell from a single photo, but something ate at him. Was it the smile? Or the intensity in her eyes? It almost looked like she didn't belong with the people around her.

  Jack closed the report. He knew what his next stop was. Most bars didn't get lively until evening. He'd kill some time, call his daughter, and visit Erica's place of work.

  He took one last look at the apartment as he stood at the front door. He'd learned nothing new of Erica's murder. The only thing he learned was he might not be the best person to find the person who killed her.

  He locked the apartment behind him. He was near the second floor of the stairwell when a man entered the building. They passed each other on the second floor landing as the man went to his front door. He lived directly under Erica's apartment. He watched Jack as he moved past. A typical nosy neighbor.

  "Hey, buddy," he said. "You looking for the woman that lives above me? Bad news, you ain't gonna find her. She got herself dead. Dead, dead. It's a shame, too. She was a beauty. I was gonna try to fuck—"

  Jack pounced. The nameless man was in the middle of whatever meaningless word he had to say when his Jack closed the distance between them. He slammed him against the front door and struck with an elbow across the cheek. The man shoved Jack away, but that only let Jack step forward with a brutal kick to the stomach. The man folded in half and s
lid along the front door. Jack caught him when he was halfway to the floor with a knee to the chin. The sound echoed throughout the stairwell as his head rocked back, his skull slamming into the door, teeth knocking against teeth. Jack kicked him once more in the chest as he curled into the fetal position, spitting out teeth.

  A young man and elderly woman opened their doors at the commotion. They peered into the hallway. The beaten man moaned and rolled slightly back and forth. The woman gasped and covered her mouth in shock as she saw the teeth and blood on the landing.

  "Oh my God! Charlie! Are you—?"

  "Get back inside," Jack ordered. "Let Charlie bleed in peace."

  The pair did as they were told. Jack didn't say another word as he left the mortal lying in a pool of his own blood.

  CHAPTER 15

  Kevin sat at the breakfast bar and flipped through the pages in his spell-book. He turned to one of his favorite stories, the tale of how one of his ancestors first made the transition from cauldron to a simple heated pot on a stove. It was inspirational, and Kevin found some of his best potions came to him when his book was on that page.

  He took notes on a piece of scrap paper, writing in the witch's language. He wrote random ingredients with the hope of something new popping in his mind. Baking soda, snake fangs, cow udders, salt, water. Nothing came to him, but witchcraft was always relaxing, even when it failed.

  There was a time he was afraid of what he was, but that time was long gone. Kevin knew he couldn't complain much when it came to his life. He had a sister he was close to, an awesome girlfriend, a loyal cat, and a strange circle of supernatural beings he called friends. He could do things no one else could do. There were times he wished he had a car, but with the magic he wielded, transportation wasn't usually an issue.