A Perfect Curse

by Shereen Vedam

  “Do you suppose it followed us from the shore?” Belle asked. “That is a long way to track us.”

  “Odd behavior, indeed,” Mark said, frowning.

  Belle came over and took Nevara’s hand. “I see it. I sense no danger from this animal. But it is drawn to you, my dear. It seems concerned about your welfare.”

  Lord Terrance returned to camp. “It is a lynx, but it ran off when I approached.”

  Mark gave Nevara a stern glance. “You must stay near us.”

  “I am sorry, Mark. I promise, I will not stray.”

  With that agreement, they settled down to their meal.

  After they finished eating, Mark stood. “I will scout ahead.”

  “Let me go.” Lord Terrance jumped up and hurried off before Mark could object.

  Mark frowned and paced impatiently while waiting for his lordship’s return. Within a few minutes, Lord Terrance returned to report that there was a small beaten path that paralleled the river. “That might be our best route.”

  “Agreed.” Mark said.

  They continued on. An hour passed and the sun was low on the horizon when Earnest gave a warning bark at a bend in the path. He raced off.

  “Earnest!” Lord Terrance called. “Come here.”

  The wolfhound stopped, whined and returned to his master.

  “I will check ahead,” Mark said.

  “No!” Lord Terrance said. “Stay with the ladies.” As the earl moved forward with Earnest, Nevara absently twisted a branch beside her, unsettled by Lord Terrance’s peremptory behavior with Mark.

  Mendal was quietly repeating the Lord’s Prayer.

  Mark took Nevara’s hand, and she curled her fingers through his, enormously comforted by his warm solid strength. Yet something about this scene bothered her, though she could not pin down what it was.

  A commotion sounded ahead.

  “Get behind the bushes,” Mark said.

  They bustled around some shrubbery and crouched. Heart pounding, Nevara took Belle’s cold hand, and the countess gave her a tearful smile. Nevara sympathized. That was when it dawned on her what was wrong. She could understand one of the men staying with them as guard while the other investigated, but why was it always Mark who stayed behind while Lord Terrance faced danger alone?

  Why did they not take turns? Lord Terrance was a strong-willed man, but during the sea voyage he had treated Mark as an equal. Yet, ever since the shipwreck, the earl acted as if Mark were an invalid.

  It made no sense, especially if Mark really was a witch. In fact, that too was odd, for if he had such power, why did he not use it to find them food instead of fishing, or shelter instead of having them camp in the open air? Most puzzling of all, why did Mark allow Lord Terrance to shield him, instead of treating him like a grown man more than capable of defending himself?

  “Alvaro,” Lord Terrance’s voice boomed out. “Come. It is safe. I have found us transport.”

  Mark helped the ladies rise and they hurried over to the earl. Behind him, a canvas-domed cart drawn by two horses trundled forward, towing a half a dozen mules. A scruffy red-capped man in an old patched coat, waistcoat, and dark pantaloons was driving the covered cart. Over his stockings, he had wrapped a dark ribbon from as high as his calves down to his sandal-enclosed feet.

  The cart stopped, and several people in colorful clothing clambered out from under the canvas cover, speaking rapidly and gesticulating wildly. Nevara did not understand a word. All she could take in was that this group consisted of several children, a pair of adults and an old man—seven in total.

  Lord Terrance, wearing a pleased grin, came to a halt before his wife. Taking her hand, he indicated the strangers. “Gypsies, my dear, or ‘Zincali’ as they refer to themselves. For a price, they have agreed to guide us to Seville.”

  Gypsies were connected with the Cimurata, Lady Roselyn’s amulet. Nevara glanced at the strangers with curiosity. Each face, though individual in nature, showed commonality with prominent cheeks, full lips and bright avid black eyes. Below black bodices and lacy white tops, the women wore colorful skirts. Scarves covered their heads and looped silver rings hung off ear lobes. Despite their wide smiles that displayed handsome white teeth against dark olive skin, they did not seem all that trustworthy.

  As she studied them, she realized that they seemed to be just as interested in her and Belle and Mendal. Tentatively, the gypsies approached until they surrounded the ladies. One child reached up to stroke Nevara’s hair and cheek. The adult woman lifted Nevara’s hands to study her nails, which admittedly, were dirty. Nevara clenched her fingers but the woman forcefully opened them and turned Nevara’s hands palm-up, fascinated by what she saw there.

  The gypsy woman gestured her husband over and spoke rapidly in a strange tongue. They all crowded close to study the lines and bumps on Nevara’s palms. Mark called a halt to this activity and pulled Nevara away, stretching his arms out to keep the strangers at bay.

  She was disheveled but so were her friends. What was it about her that interested these people so markedly?

  Lord Terrance moved to Mark’s side and kept the gypsies away from the women.

  The old man strode up and spoke in rapid Spanish.

  Lord Terrance frowned while Mark looked taken aback. Nevara tugged at Mark’s sleeve and asked what the man had said.

  “They mean us no harm,” he said. “They only wish to welcome us.” He hesitated and then looked at Nevara. “They are surprised to see you in our company.”

  “Why?” Nevara asked.

  Again he hesitated, before continuing, “They believe you belong to their clan.”

  “Miss Wood is English,” Lord Terrance said in Spanish. “British.” He tapped his chest in emphasis.

  The gypsies gathered together to whisper among themselves and then turned back to Lord Terrance and Mark. The grandfather pointed to Nevara and spoke rapidly.

  Mark remained silent, his face set, so Lord Terrance translated. “He says you are no White Blood. You are a Zincali.”

  The old gypsy tapped his chest in emphasis and shouted something.

  Lord Terrance frowned. “He insists you are one of his clan’s lost blood kin.”

  “Mark. Could he be right? Could I be part gypsy?”

  “There is gypsy blood in you, Nevara.”

  His reply shocked her. “You know things about me, Mark. How?”

  He lifted his hand toward her but she stepped back. “How often have I denied this? Even though all evidence suggested your interest in me was something other than personal.”

  “It is personal, Nevara,” Mark said in earnest. “I care deeply. How could you doubt that anymore?”

  He was right. She would not doubt his love. Not again. But she needed him to be honest with her. “How do you know so much about me?” Please do not lie.

  “I have kept secrets, but I had no choice.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, frustrated.

  He shook his head, appearing lost for words.

  “Alvaro.” Lord Terrance said. “It is time for revelations.”

  “Yes.” Nevara ignored the ache in her chest. “And this time Mark, pray honor me with the truth.”

  Lord Terrance glanced up at the sky. Darkness had descended. “First, let us make camp. Then the gypsies and you, Alvaro, can each tell us your story.”

  With a curt nod, Mark walked away. The men found a nearby clearing to build a campfire. The gypsy’s horses, untied from the cart were set to graze along with the mules, while the women brought out pots and food from the cart.

  At Belle’s urging, Mendal offered to cook.

  Then Belle hugged Nevara in encouragement. “No matter what transpires tonight,” she murmured, “remember you were born for a reason. God always has a plan.�
��

  Nevara appreciated the words, but they failed to offer comfort. She needed to clear her mind. “I wish to walk, alone.”

  Belle frowned but nodded. “Stay close, my dear.”

  Heeding the warning, Nevara kept nearby, ensuring the campfire was in sight as she strolled along the edge of the clearing, skirting alongside gnarled cork oaks, scented dwarf pines and low-growing shrubs.

  The moon rose, sending shafts through the treetops to light her steps as she circled the camp. Nearby, an owl hooted. Nevara snapped a dry branch off a tree and plucked each leaf, discarding it as she walked and taking deep breaths of the sweet pine scented night air. She willed her mind to quiet and the rapid thrum of her heart to calm. This night might grant her all of her dreams. Her quest to know the origin of her shifting sight could finally come to an end.

  Ahead, the horses and mules suddenly appeared agitated. One of the children ran to calm them. Nevara was hurrying to help when a low growl vibrated in the air behind her.

  Chapter Twelve

  NEVARA’S FIRST thought was that the lynx was back. Had it come for her? She swung around and came face-to-face with a pack of wolves, spread out within the darkness of the woods. Her head throbbed as her special vision flared, weaving silky black ribbons that entwined the golden-eyed beasts. The lead animal snarled and drool dripped down its sharp white fangs. Its bristly hair stood on end as it inched forward.

  Nevara screamed. Her voice sounded as if it was coming from a long way away.

  One of the wolves howled, then another.

  Nevara’s terror spiked.

  She spun and raced toward camp, expecting claws to tear at her limbs and sharp fangs to sink into her flesh. Then, from behind, came a howl of outrage and then another of pain.

  Mark raced toward her. Pushing Nevara behind him, he faced what chased her. Earnest bounded past them both, barking.

  Heart hammering, she turned and was struck by the battle raging in the woods. The lynx indeed had followed her, and between it and Earnest, the wolves were put on the defensive. The animals attacked and ripped viciously at each other.

  Lord Terrance and the gypsy man, Paco, came up to Mark and Nevara. “Stay back,” the earl said. “Get the women and children into the covered cart.”

  Paco sped back to do that while Nevara reluctantly retreated at Mark’s urging.

  The skirmish ended just as Belle helped Nevara climb inside. The wolves, crying and howling in pain, ran off deeper into the woods. The lynx and the hound chased after them.

  Lord Terrance called to Earnest but the hound, too stirred up, had disappeared into the trees.

  Paco picked up a few hefty branches to use as cudgels and ran toward the two Englishmen.

  “Good man,” Lord Terrance took one weapon from him and handed another to Mark. “Alvaro, guard the women and children. I am going to find my dog.”

  He and Paco ran into the woods.

  “Be safe,” Belle shouted after her husband.

  Mark stood guard outside the cart, tapping the cudgel in his palm.

  “That lynx saved my life,” Nevara said, her heart still hammering in fear. “Why would it do such a thing? Take on a whole pack of wolves for a stranger?”

  Mark shook his head, looking as puzzled as she was. He translated for the gypsies.

  “It might be bewitched,” the gypsy mother said.

  Mark translated, and Nevara shook her head. “No.”

  Everyone looked at her, obviously questioning her firm tone.

  She shrugged and rubbed at her temple, trying to fight off the fear that had gripped her when she had seen those wolves stalking her. Would she ever feel safe again? Her hands trembled at what she was about to reveal, but if she insisted on Mark being truthful, so must she.

  She clenched her fists and looked at her companions. “I believe I can sense when something is entwined with magic. Those wolves may have been bewitched, but not the lynx.”

  Mark did not seem surprised. He obviously knew more about her than what she had credited him with.

  “I may know why the lynx helped you,” Mark said.

  “Why?” she asked.

  He appeared uneasy. “As Lord Terrance suggested, the time for the truth has arrived, Nevara. Besides, the reason that prevented me from speaking no longer applies, for we are already in Spain and the worst has happened.” He gave her a sharp glance that spoke of hidden secrets. “I will leave the main story for later, but for now, know that I believe the lynx to be what my grandmother calls a familiar, a fit companion for a wizard. Though, wizards in my family normally pick birds as familiars, since they are more attuned to the power of the wind.”

  Nevara gasped. So Mark was magical! But he called himself a wizard, not a witch. She studied him for signs of the light and dark ribbons she now associated with magic. She had not noticed any before, and neither did she see any now. Wait! There, the most slender of black threads danced and shimmered around his dusty black boots.

  Why had she not noticed that before? Or had she? On the beach, his bare ankles had been covered with what she had taken to be streaks of black dirt. Since then, the dark slender ribbons had mingled so well with the dark shade of his borrowed boots that she had not paid them any special mind. Amazed, she snapped her gaze up as he continued.

  “My grandmother says I am overdue for a bonding with a familiar.” A smile curled his lips up. “Probably because I avoided my abilities for so many years.” He nodded. “Yes, I am a wizard. Or I was, until I set foot in Spain. Then I lost my powers. And I have seen that lynx before, in a dream. Only he has found me too late,” he finished in a bitter tone.

  This was what was different about him, why Belle and Lord Terrance treated him with such delicacy. In reaching Spain, Mark lost his precious wizardly powers. Had he known this would happen? And he journeyed with her, anyway? Warmth overwhelmed her at his sacrifice, all to protect her and keep her safe.

  At that moment, Paco and Lord Terrance returned.

  Lady Terrance scrambled down from the cart and ran to greet her husband, hugging him fiercely. Then she spotted Earnest, bedraggled and bleeding as he trailed his master, and she cried out in alarm.

  “He will be all right,” Lord Terrance said. “I checked him over, and his wounds are shallow, though they do need tending.”

  Belle gently led the hound to camp. The gypsy woman brought out some herb paste for the White Bloods’ dog. Belle thanked her and with Nevara and Mendal’s help, set to cleaning and patching up the hound.

  MARK OBSERVED the women fussing over Earnest’s wounds, but his focus was on Nevara. She had not spoken to him since he confessed to being a wizard. Had been a wizard. He ached at that self-correction. Nevara held strong notions about what was normal and acceptable, so much so that she despised herself for her extraordinary powers to see magic at work. Had his revelation put him beyond the pale?

  Terrance came up to him looking concerned. “That lynx fared worse than my hound. He limps badly but refused to allow me to approach. Without help, he will likely die.”

  Mark went ice cold. If he had not lost his powers, that lynx might have become his familiar. Something about that cat had drawn him all the way from England. But without his magic, he could not control it any more than he could Guapo. Yet, he had always been able to communicate with the crow, who was not his familiar. So he might also be able to at least speak to the lynx. Enough to save its life?

  “I will check on it.” Mark turned to leave.

  Terrance held him back. “The wolves might be near, Alvaro.”

  “I will be careful, my lord.” When Terrance wore that stubborn look, Mark held up his hand to forestall an argument. “I may not have any magical powers left, my lord, but I can defend myself.” Mark raised his head high, daring the earl to contradict him. He grew tired of being tre
ated like an invalid.

  Terrance nodded and held out his hand. “Good luck.”

  Mark gripped the earl’s hand, savoring his respect.

  The night was quiet as Mark strolled past where the animals had come upon Nevara, where the ground was covered in blood and the air scented with fear. Tracks led off in all directions. The ones he followed into the woods belonged to a wolf, a lynx and a brave Irish wolfhound.

  The lynx could be anywhere, but Mark kept to his search, ears attuned to where the big cat might be hiding. Tracking and hunting were Alvaro family traits and he was glad that he had not forfeited this talent, even if he had lost his magical birthright.

  The paw prints separated where a wolf lay dead. One track of a limping animal trailed away alone. Mark astutely followed this new, lonelier trail deeper into the woods.

  The moment he scented the lynx, he halted. He could not see his quarry, but it hid nearby. He knelt and picked up a smooth flat rock, rolling it absently in his hand as he studied the thicket directly ahead.

  “I mean you no harm,” he said. “I wish to help.”

  No movement indicated that he had been heard.

  “I am sorry I am not the wizard you first sought.”

  Golden eyes gleamed from within the bushes.

  “Thank you for saving Nevara.” He dropped the rock and held out his right hand. “Will you allow me to help you in return?”

  The lynx did not respond and Mark considered withdrawing his arm. Without his magic, he did not know how to communicate with the animal. Then the branches shifted, and the lynx limped forward, cradling its right front foreleg. Its entire right side was bloody and matted.

  Mark stared into the lynx’s eyes.

  “I chased them and the hound followed,” the lynx said. “The cowardly wolves vanished one by one into the mist, until only one remained. I scented his desperation and brought him down.”

  His pulse thundering, Mark witnessed the battle through the lynx’s eyes.

  “The wolf swung around and tore at my leg. The dog attacked the wolf’s neck, and when the wolf turned to defend himself, I tore out his throat.”