A Perfect Curse

by Shereen Vedam

  “No es superstición,” Paco said in an offended tone.

  The large Spaniard waved away Paco’s assertion. “The fact that the Señorita de Rivera is beautiful is something to be celebrated, not besmirched.” He gave a stern look to Paco. “The señorita has done much good for Spain. She supported the fight against the vile French for years with her money and her encouraging words. That one’s heart is as roomy as a barrack.” He pointed accusingly to his blemished companion. “You would not be sitting here drinking coffee in safety now if not for her efforts. The woman is a saint.”

  “If she is such a good woman,” his blemished companion said, “then why did her house servants run away? They hurried out of town three weeks ago as if the devil himself were after them. I heard that one of those servants reported unholy screams coming from the señorita’s bedroom.”

  Paco gasped.

  “It does not signify why servants leave a household,” his large companion said. “And the screams might have simply been the lady having a nightmare. I recall my father saying that as a child, the señorita was bothered by many dark dreams. Perhaps one of those disturbed her again. Or she had a dream of the French invading her home. You, my friend, would do well to stop spreading false talk about the lady.”

  All this alarming discussion confirmed to Mark that at least they were headed for the right hacienda.

  Paco thanked them for the information. “If the lady has lost her servants, she might hire us. Would you be kind enough to give direction to the de Rivera estate?”

  The large man nodded and proceeded to tell them the way.

  The gypsy thanked him graciously. They left the coffee house and were mounting their mules when the pockmarked Spaniard followed them outside.

  “You are really going there?” the Spaniard asked. There was both fear and admiration in the man’s glance. “Well, be careful then. For, no matter what my friend thinks of his ‘sainted’ lady, I am certain if you cross her, you will not live to see the sun rise!”

  Paco merely bid him, “Adios,” and they moved on.

  As the sun set over the horizon, the three of them rode north over the undulating brown countryside. The road wound gently around a hill until the estate they sought loomed ahead. Across the road from the hacienda was a copse of olive trees. With just the stars for company, they set up camp there.

  “Tomorrow,” Terrance said, adjusting his back against a large trunk, “you and I, Alvaro, shall approach the lady and ask for work. Paco can wait here with the mules in case we need to leave quickly.”

  “Si, Señor Lord Terrance,” Paco said. “You be careful? This señorita, she sounds dangerous.”

  Mark could not agree more. The story of the missing young girls was quite peculiar. Could their disappearance have something to do with the witch’s use of magic?

  She must have used vast power in the last few weeks in her attempts to kill Nevara. That type of effort would have been a drain on her.

  He and his companions settled in for the night but did not light a campfire, for fear the smoke would be spotted by someone at the de Rivera estate. As the night grew cooler, they wrapped themselves in blankets to keep warm.

  Before long, Paco’s soft snores filled the air and Mark’s thoughts wandered lazily along uncomfortable paths. His grandmother used to say that there was a price to pay for everything in life. Just keeping the Magdalena safe on their voyage had made Mark grouchy as a bear because of a constant need for sustenance. He had ended up raiding the vessel’s stores like a starving man. No wonder those sailors had made him walk the plank. Still, it made him wonder . . . How was the witch replenishing her expended strength?

  “What troubles you, Alvaro?” Terrance asked.

  Mark turned and found his lordship’s intelligent gaze trained on him.

  “My mind seems filled with aimless speculation tonight, my lord,” he said.

  “Regarding our efforts tomorrow?”

  He shook his head. “My thoughts are centered on the news of those missing girls.”

  “Do you, too, suspect the witch’s involvement in their disappearances?”

  How to explain in a way the earl would understand the practice of magic? Miguel had often imbued small objects with power that he could then draw on, so it would not be such an effort when it came time to cast a spell.

  Mark had preferred not to use magic at all. However, after he embraced his calling in order to protect Nevara, he tapped into the power of the wind to cast his spells. Though he found it shockingly easy to borrow energy from the breeze that brushed his skin or whipped his coat around him on a windy day, he had been left depleted by his efforts.

  He decided he might as well admit the truth. “While aboard the Magdalena, I drew upon the wind’s vast reserves to build a shield around the vessel.”

  Terrance’s eyes widened with mingled interest and awe.

  “The effort often left me shaken . . . and ravenous.” He smiled in self-derision.

  “Ah,” his lordship said, “hence your war with the cook and his ever plummeting supplies.”

  “Yes. Magic is everywhere. It flows in pathways through the air, the earth, the sea. It powers the wind and the waves. It flows through every living thing, even us. These lines of magic are what Nevara is able to see, but has never understood. Her mother died without teaching her, and my family was forbidden from speaking of the matter.”

  “Does Belle tap into these magic lines in order to see and hear what she does?” Terrance asked, seeming to be riveted by the discussion.

  “Yes, but Lady Terrance reaches into the rich supply of magic within herself. Wizards or witches make use of the power all around us, but that takes effort. I borrow from the wind but it leaves me famished. So, I am wondering where Señorita de Rivera borrows from, to cast her spells. And how does she replenish her spent strength? Could she be drawing the energy necessary for both from the same source?”

  Terrance mulled over the question. Then his gaze swung to Mark. “You believe this witch has been feeding off those missing girls? Stealing their power, and then stealing their life essence? Could she do such a thing? What would happen to the girls as a result?”

  The earl openly voicing the horror of Mark’s dark suspicions brought the horrific practice to life. As he clearly envisioned how it could be done, Mark’s body convulsed in rejection. His stomach heaved, and he hurriedly excused himself. He ran to the edge of the strand of trees and relieved himself of his meager dinner.

  It took a while for his retching to stop and when it did, he turned away, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He stumbled from the trees and faced the red-roofed and white-walled house across the road.

  Terrance joined him. In the moonlight, the earl’s face was set in stone and a deep murderous light shone from his eyes. “Might any of those girls still be alive?”

  “I pity them, if they are.”

  “This witch has to be stopped,” Terrance said.

  “I would do anything to stop her, my lord,” Mark said. “Nevara will never be safe as long as she is alive. But how? Attacking her openly would simply end our lives and accomplish nothing.”

  “But how can we walk away from such an atrocity?” Terrance said.

  “This line of thought has yet to be confirmed,” Mark cautioned. “And if we risk our lives to stop her, where would that leave Nevara? And Lady Terrance?”

  The two men contemplated the hacienda in silence. The building lay in shadow, hunched over the earth like a sleeping dragon.

  “Suspicion of this witch’s activities seems rife in the surrounding villages, if that Spaniard we spoke with in the coffee house was any indication. If she keeps to her evil ways, the Spanish Inquisition will sooner or later send Anna Louisa de Rivera to meet her maker. Once our mission is accomplished, we could alert the authoritie
s to her activities.”

  Terrance’s shoulders remained stiff, but he nodded. “Agreed.”

  Early the next morning, Lord Terrance and Mark approached the hacienda that lay sprawled among majestic palm trees. Mark’s grandmother had taken pains to educate both him and Miguel on the beauty of their homeland, but her lectures had been little more than words in a story. Now, this whitewashed house with its red slate roof and bedroom windows decorated by beautiful ironwork brought his grandmother’s description to life.

  At the front of this house was an entrada, a large outdoor room with a carved bench for the owner to sit and leisurely watch the world go by. The woman who lived here, however, was a witch and possibly a murderess, and she held his ancestor captive.

  With that thought to re-focus his attention, Mark approached the back of the house with Lord Terrance and knocked on the servants’ door. Thanks to his grandmother’s teachings, Mark spoke the most fluent Spanish, so the two men had agreed ahead of time that Mark would be the spokesman.

  After what seemed a long while, the door was opened. A tall woman with dark wavy hair and the most breathtaking countenance regarded him and Terrance with mild suspicion. She wore a black round dress, close fitting over the bodice but puffed out by many petticoats. The gown’s fringe was trimmed with white ribbon.

  What surprised him the most were her eyes, which were a soft brown that held a hint of loneliness. Her gently rounded cheeks gave her an appearance of someone much younger, and she was handsomer than he had expected. From the timeline the large Spaniard in the coffee house had given, Mark had assumed Señorita Anna Louisa de Rivera would be more mature. This woman looked barely more than twenty. Nor did she seem a crazed murderess.

  Mark bid her good morning and explained how he and his friend, Antonio, were looking for work. They had heard in Sevilla that the lady might be hiring.

  After giving both men a careful examination, she invited them inside. They stepped into a kitchen.

  Mark and Lord Terrance spent the next few minutes being grilled with questions. Mark offered the answers they had practiced with Paco. Terrance gave the occasional, ‘Si,’ to a direct question.

  “We are Zincali,” Mark said, “one by blood, one by adoption, but we are brothers of the heart. We have been traveling for many months and are in need of work. We are hardworking men, señorita, and are willing to do anything you need around the estate.”

  “Do you cook?” she asked.

  Mark barely hesitated before indicating Terrance with his thumb. “Antonio is the best cook in all of Spain, Señorita.” He recalled the earl’s promise of a proper dinner aboard the Magdalena. This would be the perfect opportunity for his lordship to prove his mutton-dressing skills, since Mark had, in fact, won his kiss from Nevara before their vessel sank.

  The lady gave “Antonio” a dubious look. “I need a cook and a house cleaner and also someone to take care of my garden. You may both stay in the servants’ quarters. You will cook for me today and weed the gardens, including the graveyard behind the house, in exchange for food and one day’s lodging. If I am satisfied with your services—” She gave a firm nod, “—I shall keep you on.”

  Mark and Terrance stood and bowed. “You are most gracious.”

  The señorita left Lord Terrance pretending that being in a kitchen was not a new experience and led Mark through a pair of old wooden doors into a large dining room and lounge. The heavily beamed room came complete with log burner for warm winter evenings. The room was charmingly furnished in traditional Spanish style which included a pair of settees.

  She led Mark toward the front door, threw a rich crimson silk shawl about her shoulders, and escorted him outside. Several garden areas were created out of a rock face, and a terraced area had been set up for relaxing while viewing the breathtaking surrounding landscape.

  Mark saw her love of this home in every plant and shrub she painstakingly tended and nurtured.

  She then took him to the graveyard behind the house. Here, she gave him special instructions on caring for one particular grave, her father’s.

  Mark listened to her commands and frowned, for Anna Louisa’s words betrayed the grief she still felt for her dead father. It was a feeling he could not help but empathize with, since it mirrored how he felt about Miguel’s loss.

  They finally went toward the barn where all the equipment he would need was stored. Throughout the tour, Mark’s thoughts remained muddled about this complex woman. He had expected a cold-hearted killer, one that possessed deadly magical powers. Yet, she wore the mantle of a gentle and lonely woman still disconsolate about the death of her father.

  Who was the real Anna Louisa de Rivera?

  Mark decided to begin work in the graveyard, knowing the lady’s heart resided there. He took care to weed and water the plants that overlaid her father’s grave—bugloss—he guessed, for he had seen this variety in his grandmother’s garden. Despite the parched soil baking beneath the unforgiving autumn sun, the bugloss covered the grave in lush blooms and scented the air with its sweet fragrance.

  He worked diligently all morning, bringing water from the well to all parts of the garden and fighting back the invasion of weeds. Occasionally, he would look back at the hacienda, and each time, Anna Louisa de Rivera stood watching him from a window.

  He wondered how Terrance fared in the kitchen.

  At noon, Anna Louisa came out to call him in. “You may eat in the kitchen with Antonio. Then, after your siesta, you will return to your work.”

  After serving the lady, Terrance returned to finish his meal with Mark. Shortly after, Anna Louisa entered the kitchen, and both men stood.

  “I intend to retire for my siesta. You both should do the same. Antonio, the meal pleased me.” She seemed a little surprised, and amused, by his lordship’s inventive style of cooking.

  Mark and Terrance retreated to the servants’ quarters, which consisted of one room with four beds and a dining room with a large wooden table and chairs. Ignoring the smug smile on his companion’s face, Mark complimented his lordship on the excellent meal, for it had, indeed, been the best meal he had eaten in days.

  The earl nodded acceptance of the praise, and taking their employer’s words to heart, promptly stretched out and softly snored on one of the cots. Mark could not relax quite so easily. He listened for movement inside the house. Anna Louisa climbed the stairs and walked to her room. Then all was quiet. He did not sense any spells, but then, with his powers gone, he probably would not be able to detect any such activity.

  He paced to the tiny bedroom window. Outside, a laborer herded a few cattle from the field into the barn. Mark went outside to introduce himself and to see what information he could glean from the man. The short thin worker spoke little and eyed Mark with great distrust. The cows he brought in out of the scorching sun were few in number, and their ribs were clearly outlined beneath their skin. The laborer gave the cattle feed and water and then quickly left. As he passed by the hacienda, he furtively made the sign of the cross.

  Mark returned to his room, no wiser for his outing. At least, they had gained access to the house. At the first opportunity, he would begin to search for the enchanted statue. An hour passed and he was beginning to doze off when the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs warned him the señorita was awake.

  The front door opened and closed, and he ran to the front window to look out. Anna Louisa was wearing her crimson shawl and carried an empty woven basket on her arm. She glanced back, and Mark ducked out of sight. She hesitated and then made her way toward the road.

  Mark returned to the back room and prodded Terrance awake. “Now is our chance. She has gone out. Time to find the statue.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  MARK AND LORD Terrance had barely begun their search of the de Rivera hacienda when a loud knocking interrupted them.

&nb
sp; “Better see who it is,” Terrance said. “The lady is unlikely to knock on her own door.”

  With a nod, Mark went to answer and gave a relieved sigh when he found Paco on the other side.

  “Saw the señorita leave. So I came to help.”

  “Come in,” Mark said. “You can keep watch by the door. If Señorita de Rivera returns, give a warning call.”

  Paco demonstrated several excellent birdcalls.

  Hiding his smile, Mark chose one version that was short and sharp and returned to his search. The house was split into two floors. The ground floor contained the kitchen, dining room, drawing room, study, library, and narrow ill-lit servants’ quarters, while the upstairs probably housed the family bedrooms.

  All their probing downstairs did not produce the golden statue.

  Paco, who had begun to enter each room to ask if they were done yet, only made Mark more jittery.

  “The house seems to possess little of value,” Terrance said. “If the French occupied this estate during the war, they no doubt looted anything left lying around.”

  “According to my grandmother,” Mark said, “a Spaniard always keeps expensive items out of plain sight. All my grandmother’s precious pieces are hidden upstairs in the family quarters.”

  “Upstairs it is then, but quickly,” Terrance said. “The lady could return at any moment.”

  “There is no time to search all the rooms,” Mark said, following him as the earl ran up the stairs. “We should concentrate on the main bedroom.”

  Paco, who had trailed after them to the foot of the stairs, wisely stayed downstairs and said, “The screams are rumored to come from up there.”

  “Then that is the best place for us to search,” Terrance called down to him.

  On the second floor, three prettily decorated rooms led off the main corridor.

  “This sitting room looks the most lived in,” Mark said at the fourth door he opened. “The door inside it might lead to a bedroom.”