A Perfect Curse

by Shereen Vedam

  “No, thank you,” Nevara said. From everything she had heard from the Cales about the original de Rivera witch, she sensed that this spirit was more formidable than even Anna Louisa. And she was out of time. Anna Louisa was growing more unhinged by the moment. Waiting for rescue was no longer an option.

  Nevara spun and ran for the door. Her hand grasped the handle but before she could pull the door open, something crashed against the back of her head and then dropped to the floor with a metallic clatter.

  Sharp pain shot through her scalp and sparkles of light danced before her eyes. Her legs gave way, and she slowly slid to the floor. Anna Louisa stepped closer, her gown brushing Nevara’s arm as she knelt beside her. A cool fingertip brushed her forehead. Nevara jerked away, but she was too late. The spell caught, and though her eyes were open, her body turned rigid.

  Anna Louisa picked up the silver platter with which she had struck Nevara. “As you showed me, a hard object is quite as effective as a spell.”

  She shoved Nevara aside with her foot, opened the front door, and stepped outside. In a few moments, footsteps sounded, more than Anna Louisa’s. Belle? Had she been captured too?

  The front door opened and a man’s features came into view when he picked Nevara up. The laborer. He glanced at where Mendal stood so still, and fear shivered in his gaze. She silently pleaded for him to help, but he refused to look her way again.

  Anna Louisa instructed him to carry Nevara up the stairs. He stumbled once, jarring her leg against the banister.

  “Cuidado!” Anna Louisa said. “Be careful.”

  He hefted Nevara higher and continued on to the second floor, showing more care. She was being taken to meet the ghost—Nevara knew that as surely as she knew her own name—the spirit of the woman who had sent Nevara’s ancestor the stays meant to constrict her on her wedding night.

  Nevara’s heart was pounding by the time the laborer entered a dark bedchamber. Anna Louisa indicated the bed, and he laid his burden down. She gestured to the door, giving further instructions.

  “Si, señorita.” He left, shutting the door behind him.

  “Now, my dear.” Anna Louisa sat on the bed, compressing the mattress beside Nevara. “If you struggle, this will hurt more. And know that you give your life to a good cause, to return this estate to its previous glory.”

  A shadow hovered near Anna Louisa’s shoulder, and fear spiked through Nevara.

  “Do you not realize who we have here, old woman?” Anna Louisa soothingly brushed Nevara’s hair. “This is the great-great-granddaughter of the woman you despised.”

  In the midst of her terror, Nevara’s head throbbed in warning that her special sight had been aroused. Then a specter appeared enshrined in a million dark ribbons, all interwoven like netting that kept flames from licking closer.

  Nevara squinted, for the netting looked familiar. Yes, it resembled the webbing around the Magdalena! Mark had cast such a spell to protect the ship, one made of specks of light. This monstrosity, however, was designed entirely of darkness.

  “I can make your death quick,” Anna Louisa said, drawing Nevara’s attention. “But, unfortunately, my grandmother prefers to torment her victims.”

  “Mátala ahora,” the specter shrieked.

  “I will kill her when I am ready.” Anna Louisa gestured the spirit back.

  Nevara imagined the wraith salivating. The one bright light in her dismal future was that while these two were arguing about killing her, Belle would have time to free Mark, Lord Terrance and Paco, and now, Mendal. Though, without Nevara’s help, they could not break the spell they were under. At least they would be away from the power of this witch. A tear wet Nevara’s lid and slid coldly down her hot cheek.

  “Ella llora,” the ghost said in a merry voice and then mimicked crying.

  “Leave her be.” Anna Louisa wiped away Nevara’s tear. “Your turn with her will come soon enough.”

  Anna Louisa placed her hands on either side of Nevara’s forehead. As she bent forward, Mark came into Nevara’s line of sight behind her.

  Looking into his horrified gaze, Nevara’s fear of what Anna Louisa intended for her withered, as did her terror of the ghost. Into that emptiness, shame crawled in for bringing Mark to this desolate point.

  Anna Louisa began to tug at Nevara’s life essence, trying to draw it out of her body. Nevara felt the drain and struggled frantically to keep herself whole.

  “Do not fight me,” Anna Louisa whispered. “That will only increase the pain.”

  A drumming sounded.

  Someone was knocking on the bedroom door.

  The knocks turned into heavy thumps. With a sigh, Anna Louisa released Nevara’s head and stood to answer. Nevara’s spirit slumped back within her body, as if a giant hand had released its hold on her soul. Her body shuddered in reaction.

  The ghost shrieked its objection, swerving between staring at Nevara and flying over to Anna Louisa.

  “Have patience, old woman.” Anna Louisa gestured the wraith back. “We will feast in a moment.” She opened the door.

  Nevara, lightheaded and woozy, listened to the laborer’s rapid speech followed by a volley of questions from Anna Louisa. She sounded displeased. Good!

  Anna Louisa cursed, stepped outside the room and slammed the door shut. Two sets of footsteps receded.

  Nevara’s gaze returned to Mark.

  The wraith came and went out of her field of vision, appearing angrier with each circuit, muttering what sounded like dire consequences once Nevara was dead.

  It then flew to taunt Mark.

  His powerless stance must be the utmost torture. Mark loved his freedom. No wonder he had chafed at having to look after her. She wanted to ask his forgiveness, but it was too late. Guilt numbed her, slowing her thoughts to a trickle.

  Oddly, into the quiet, an odd memory whisked in like a spring breeze. Hope, Mrs. Weatheringham’s granddaughter, must have felt just such an overpowering guilt. Nevara finally understood the child’s reluctance to touch people, fearing she might inadvertently harm another.

  To help Hope, she had made up that silly story of Leron, the scorpion, who found forgiveness in the love of a child. How could she have been so foolish as to believe a story about love could release anyone from this devastation? Yet, there had been a happy ending for Hope. But not for her. Or for Mark.

  Another tear escaped. Love could not save her. Nothing could change what she had done to her friends. Still, Mark continued to care for her. His gaze fairly blazed his love across the darkened room. The warmth of it built a matching spark inside Nevara, and her disconnected thoughts began to tumble into each other, rolling ever faster.

  Mark loved her. Aunt Cora was wrong. She could be loved. Nevara had been wrong too, for not believing in herself. She had a gift—to do good or not as Mendal said—the choice had always been hers.

  Yet, she had shied away from her special sight, letting it come and go at its own pace, using it in moments of crisis without thinking. With what little time she had left, she wanted badly to use her gift, for once, of her own volition.

  She deliberately shifted her sight. Immediately, the ribbons that confined Mark became visible. There, on his left temple, black threads wove in and out. If she were free, she could release him.

  Her mind thrummed with possibilities. Downstairs, when Anna Louisa first attacked, Nevara had held out her hand and stopped the black ribbons in mid-air. She had instinctively focused by using her hand. Could she do it without twitching a finger?

  The threads suspending her would be at her left forehead. She shifted her sight. This time, instead of looking outward, she dove in, picturing strands undulating in and out of her temple. Cautiously, she pushed at one. The thread edged back.

  Triumph spiked, thundering in her chest.

  She r
ushed to unwind the threads, afraid that at any moment, Anna Louisa might return. At her urging, the strands moved faster, weaving in and out of her head until the final string lay suspended above her. She shoved at it and it released. Freed, her body collapsed on top of the mattress.

  The wraith, which had been circling and worrying Mark, swung toward her. It rushed over to hover over Nevara’s face. She ignored it and sat up, sliding her legs off the bed, then hobbling over to Mark.

  The wraith wailed as she undid the threads that confined him. The sheets on the bed flew across the room, some tangling about Nevara’s feet. The bed began to shake and objects around the room swirled.

  Nevara kept to her work, ducking lamps and stools and hair brushes that flew at her until the last black ribbon on Mark’s forehead came out.

  Released from the spell, he fell into her arms and they collapsed to the floor over a mound of sheets. Only then did Nevara notice other black threads still wrapped around his feet.

  “Hold still,” she said.

  “No time. We must leave now.”

  “Not yet.” She knelt on the floor by his feet and rapidly undid the ribbons binding his ankles. She had seen them wrapped around his ankles long ago, on the beach the morning after the Magdalena crashed. Only, back then, she had not understood what they were and had assumed they were just streaks of dirt. But they were much more. Her sight had been telling her the truth all along, allowing her to see clearly.

  As her mother had said in her letter, from one blink to the next, Nevara saw the world through God’s eyes.

  MARK WATCHED NEVARA in confusion, touching her hair, her check, kissing her forehead, inhaling her sweet musky rose scent and rejoicing in her warmth. He could not believe she had freed herself and him.

  He beat back objects that flew at them and worried at their delay in vacating this haunted room. Despite his urging, Nevara refused to budge from her self-imposed mysterious task. A dresser slid across the floor until it barred the door, barricading them inside.

  “We must go. See—” He wiggled his foot. “—my limbs move. No spell confines them.”

  “Yes, one does.” With a final pull, she released something invisible to his eyes that she perceived to be about his ankles.

  Instantly, a wave of power flooded Mark. He sat on the floor, stunned as that familiar wizardly feeling enfolded him in its fond embrace. For years, he had taken his magic for granted. When he had lost it upon touching Spanish soil, he had missed it like a lost arm. Now, it was back. He flexed that arm and all the objects floating around the room fell and hit the floor with a loud crash.

  He waved at the dresser, and it slide sideways, crashing against the wall. At his command, the door flew open. Thrilled and overwhelmed, he said, “How did you do this?”

  She smiled, looking rather pleased.

  He hugged her fiercely because he could not find words to express his joy at the extraordinary gift this quiet, studious, and astonishingly determined young woman had given him.

  Nevara allowed him to help her up. “Now, we may leave.”

  On the way to the door, a glint of gold caught his gaze. He grabbed the heavy statue, using a swirl of wind to lighten its load. Then he herded Nevara to the doorway. The bedroom door slammed shut as they reached it.

  “The wraith,” Nevara said. “It will not let us leave without a fight.”

  Mark flicked his hand and the door flew off its hinges, landing across the room. “We are leaving,” he said in a harsh voice to the empty air. “Stop us at your peril.” Taking Nevara’s hand, he led her into the sitting room, ignoring the wraith’s enraged shriek. Then they raced downstairs.

  On the main floor, they found Anna Louisa crouched on the floor over Lady Terrance’s still form. The laborer watched in apparent horror as his mistress, her eyes closed, her hands clasped to Belle’s temple, drained the life from her victim.

  “No!” Nevara cried, echoing Mark’s fury.

  He ran over and wrenched the witch from Lady Terrance. Anna Louisa landed on the laborer, and both tumbled to the floor. Nevara ran to her friend’s aid while Mark confronted Anna Louisa.

  The witch shoved her servant aside and stood, brushing down her gown. “I see you have regained your magic,” she said with ill humor, but an edge of fear was there as well.

  Shrieks mounted from upstairs. With a negligent wave, Mark shut the door to Anna Louisa’s bedroom, holding it in place with a spell to mute the cries. He then placed the weighty statue of his ancestor on a nearby table.

  “What do you intend to do?” Anna Louisa asked.

  Her servant slithered to the open drawing room door and scampered out. Seeing his easy escape, his mistress casually backed up to the door as well.

  Mark approached. “I cannot allow you to kill again,” he said in a calm but determined voice.

  “I will not allow you to take what belongs to me. This is my home.” Her voice cracked. “She will never take what is mine.”

  Mark shook off a surging sense of pity. This woman had taken innocent lives and had intended to kill Nevara and Lady Terrance. The last time he hesitated, she overpowered him. This time, he would stop her.

  Seeing his resolve, Anna Louisa pulled the door open, perhaps to run away as her laborer had.

  With a gesture, Mark slammed the front door shut and sealed it, preventing her escape.

  ON THE FIRST floor of Anna Louisa’s hacienda, Nevara worked to release Belle from the spell confining her. Finally, Belle squeezed Nevara’s hand to indicate she was recovering, and Nevara gave her a quick recounting of what had happened upstairs.

  After she had helped Belle sit up on the settee, Nevara went over to Mark’s side where a defiant Anna Louisa struggled against the bonds confining her to a chair.

  He hugged her. “I am glad we were in time to help Lady Terrance.”

  Nevara faced Anna Louisa. “What you fail to understand, Señorita de Rivera, is that I never wanted anything from you. Not your home, your wealth, or any of your possessions. I only wanted to discover who I truly was.” She glanced around the barely furnished room with regret. “If you had asked, I might even have helped you return the estate to its former splendor. There was no need to attack me.”

  Anna Louisa’s glance wavered. “The old witch said you were my enemy.” She indicated the golden statue. “He said you were more powerful than I was. How could I not try to defend myself?”

  “You did it at the expense of others,” Mark said. “You stole people’s freedom, their dreams, their lives!”

  Anna Louisa’s lips trembled. “It is the only way I know how to wield power. She would not teach me any other way. Did you think I enjoyed the killings? I hated it. But I had no choice!”

  Nevara began to understand Anna Louisa’s dilemma. Her Aunt Cora had once convinced Nevara that she, too, had no options. “We always have a choice.”

  Anna Louisa shook her head. “I did not. I have lost everything that meant anything to me. The French stole the last of my memories of my father when they ransacked this house. Even the books he read to me,” she said, her voice breaking. “I was such a fool. I should have taken my books when I fled, but I had so little time and so much to carry. I left them hidden in there.” She indicated the cabinet near the window that she had been stroking earlier. “Now they are gone. Everything I had of him is gone.”

  Anna Louisa gave a shudder. The fight had left her. “My father would be ashamed of me,” she whispered. “If he knew what I have become, he would disown me.”

  Nevara glanced at Mark. He, too, seemed consumed with compassion for this confused and broken woman. What could they do? Nevara stepped closer to Anna Louisa, but Mark held out his arm to prevent her. She nodded. Anna Louisa might be despondent, but she could turn on them in an instant. She glanced at the cabinet and her special sight pricked. Black
lines were wound around the piece of furniture.

  “What is the matter?” Mark asked her.

  Nevara shook her head, confused by the image. She approached the cabinet and pulled on the handle. It opened, but the black lines remained, circling the piece.

  “There is nothing inside,” Anna Louisa said. “I searched it thoroughly, hoping to find even one of my father’s books or a torn scrap of paper. It is empty.”

  Belle came over to look inside the cabinet. “It is not empty. There is something in there, though it is hard to see. It is as if something is hidden inside a mist.”

  Nevara’s pulse sped up in excitement as she began to unweave the black threads around the cabinet.

  Anna Louisa looked at Mark. “What does she do?”

  “I believe she is undoing a spell,” Mark said in a thoughtful tone.

  Nevara, working to unravel the threads heard pride in his tone. She glanced back and saw love shining in his gaze, warming her. Cheeks growing hot under his open approval, she returned to work, pulling apart the interwoven threads. The moment the last one came loose, volume upon volume tumbled out of the cabinet, as if too many books had been crammed inside.

  Anna Louisa struggled in her bonds until Mark released her. She sprang forward and, pushing Nevara aside, looked at one book after another. “These are mine,” she said in wonder. “Gifts from my father to keep me distracted from the wraith. How could they still be in here?”

  “Perhaps the wraith did not wish to lose her influence over you again,” Mark suggested gently, “so she hid them while you were gone and blamed the French.”

  Anna Louisa, crying helplessly, hugged the smelly tomes as if they were her dearest friends.

  Nevara glanced at Mark. “What are we going to do?”

  “The killings must stop,” he said.

  She nodded and knelt until she was eye-level with the trembling woman. “We cannot leave you here with your treasures.”

  Anna Louisa turned around, her arms bulging with her bounty. “The killings will never end.” She gave a harsh laugh. “You can put me in prison. Hang me or burn me, but that will not stop the wraith.” She pointed upstairs. “She will go on seducing the next girl who sleeps in that bedroom. Perhaps not in your lifetime, but she has survived for centuries, waiting for weak girls to corrupt.” Her head rose proudly. “I had the best of fathers. He tried to protect me, all to no avail. So, believe me, Señor, the killings will never stop.”