by Russo, Jessa
I cleared my throat, and both guys turned to me.
“After you,” Donovan said with a wave of his arm.
“Not on your life,” Mick said, as he reached a hand out to me. “You will walk ahead of us so I can keep an eye on you.”
“As you wish.” Donovan bowed, mocking Mick, and nonchalantly strolled from the room.
I raised my eyebrows as I walked toward Mick and slipped my fingers into his. He squeezed my hand in response and butterflies kicked up in my belly. I watched him as we walked, but he kept his eyes on Donovan. A muscle worked in his jaw, and I wondered what he must think about this sudden appearance of a supposed long lost brother.
I also wondered how this would affect me—and the curse on my family.
I was tempted to ask questions—so many raged through my mind—but I stayed silent, knowing there would be plenty of time for us to talk later, after this guy was out of the house and, hopefully, our lives. He gave me the creeps.
“The kitchen, then? I imagine our sweet sleeping beauty here is hungry?”
“I am,” I said, though I wasn’t quite sure I’d be able to go about making breakfast and acting normal, as if there wasn’t a stranger in the cabin on top of everything else that was completely screwed up in my life.
Donovan took a seat at the table, making himself at home. Mick stood near me in the kitchen, his butt against the counter top and his arms crossed. His gaze never left Donovan, as I worked around the two of them, making breakfast. Unsurprisingly, Mick was the only one to argue my desire to cook this morning. Donovan observed quietly, obviously a man who believed women had their place.
I quickly scrambled eggs. From a container, eeew. I found sausage links in the fridge, along with a bag of hash browns, and managed to whip up a pretty decent breakfast. I plated the food, though why I should be hospitable to this intruder I had no idea. Still, I put a plate in front of Donovan anyway. No one said a word until all three of us were seated at the table and I’d had my first bite of food. The tension was almost stifling.
“She’s beautiful and she can cook? What a package.”
Mick set his fork down, ignoring his food for the time being. I continued eating—my body hungrier than I remembered ever feeling before. Each bite couldn’t get to my mouth quickly enough and, somehow, with each bite, I knew the food wouldn’t be sufficient. My stomach continued to rumble, even as I shoveled in bite after bite of protein and carbs.
“Time’s up. Why are you here, and who are you?”
“Well,” Donovan said around a mouthful of eggs. “Like I already explained, mate, the name’s Donovan, and I’m your brother. It’s an uncanny resemblance when you really look at us, don’t you think? Although, your light eyes obviously came from your mother.”
“Actually, my father had green eyes.”
“Oh. My bad. I guess my brown eyes came from my mum then. No matter. I found out just recently that dear old mummy had a thing for business men from America. She met your dad some twenty-nine or so years ago, they shagged, split ways, and whaddya know? Nine months later, Mum’s got herself a baby.”
Mick cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. Did you say twenty-nine years ago?”
“Yeah, follow along, please; I do hate repeating myself. Your dad, my mum, shagging like high school kids after prom, and here I am. Without so much as a mention of my dad all these years. Mum dies—bless her soul—and I find out she knew exactly who my dad was all this time, only he didn’t know about me. So I come all this way to surprise him with a ‘Hey Pops!’ and I find out he, too, is dead. Of all the shoddy luck. So I go on a hunt to find out what I can about him, and I come across this cabin. I think to myself, ‘hmm, this seems like a nice enough place, and since it was my dad’s, it’s rightfully mine.’ So I let myself in one night—”
“How?”
“I reckon you mean how did I get past your extra special security system, correct? Don’t be foolish, mate, anyone with half a lick of sense can get around one of those, and since I have far more than half a lick of sense, well, here I am. So anyway, back to the story. I let myself in, and guess what I find?”
Donovan paused as if actually waiting for us to guess.
“Well, go on then. Guess.”
He was met with continued silence, so with an exaggerated eye roll and a flick of his wrist, he proceeded with the story.
“Fine. You’re all bloody boring, you know that?” Donovan waved a hand in the general direction of Mick’s office. “I find the stash of stuff in your office there. I find newspaper clippings, loads of books with dog-eared pages, fairytales, pictures of this one here—” he pointed at me, “—and all this time, I’m thinking my old man was a regular wanker! I mean, he had the girl’s high school transcripts for fuck’s sake!
“But then, then it gets better. I discover these aren’t my dad’s things but yours, my long lost little brother. Imagine my shock when I find out that not only do I have a brother, but he’s a stalker with a shrine in his office!”
The word made me cringe, and Mick gave a curt shake of his head as his jaw tightened.
Oblivious of our discomfort, Donovan continued. “Then, as if I’m as barmy as you are, I begin to read all of your compiled information, and realize—sadly—that I come from a long line of trolley hoppers.”
Trolley hoppers?
Donovan raised an eyebrow, clearly noticing my confused expression. “You know, love, off the trolley? Looney? A card or two short of a full deck?” He tapped his knuckle against his temple, then shook his head.
Sitting back in his seat, Donovan stuffed another forkful of eggs and potatoes into his mouth and grinned, continuing with muffled words. “But tell me, brother, it’s not crazy, is it? It’s all real. And you’ve got your little beasty hidden away here, trying to fall in love with her, and her with you…and lo and behold, you’ll break the spell. Happily ever after, yes?”
Donovan’s gaze travelled over me, then he brought his attention back to Mick, and his smile disappeared as he swallowed. “Go give your head a wobble, brother. Your plan’s not going to work.”
Holland
Donovan leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his massive chest, a satisfied smile pulling at his lips.
Mick held my gaze, his eyes darkening before quickly turning his head away again. “What do you mean ‘it’s not going to work?’” he asked Donovan.
“Don’t be daft, mate. Look at her! I can see clear as day that she’s not changing back, so obviously the spell hasn’t been broken.”
“Not yet.”
“Not yet? Bollocks.” Donovan smirked.
“But why?” This time it was me who spoke, only I barely recognized my own voice it was so soft. The concept that the spell could not be broken was scarier than I wanted to think about…and something I hadn’t even thought to consider. I couldn’t imagine being stuck like this forever, but I knew if we didn’t break the spell, my fate would be much worse than having gray skin and occasional angry outbursts.
Images of horned gargoyles perched atop crusty old haunted mansions floated through my mind, causing a shiver to run up my spine.
A pain formed in my chest, tight at first, and slightly tingly. It slowly crept away from my heart, spreading as the grayness had yesterday. I looked down at my chest, but couldn’t see anything different. The feeling stemmed from deep inside, not on the surface.
I clenched my teeth, reluctant to alert Mick and Donovan to something I didn’t truly understand yet.
“Let me tell you a story, Beauty. Once upon a time, a witch cast a spell on your family. That witch had fallen in love with your ancestor, and he hadn’t returned her feelings. He met you, I mean, he met your—what was it, great-grandmother to the twentieth degree, or something?—fell in love, married her, and started a long line of what I can only imagine are beautiful offspring. Judging by you, of course.”
Mick’s hands clenched into fists on the table. I reached over absently to rub the hand closest t
o me, and he responded by sliding both hands around mine.
“That’s sweet, mate, but if you don’t like when I compliment her beauty, you’re definitely not going to like the end of this little legend. So anyway, at the same time your family is being cursed by this witch, she has her hands in a few different illegal pots, so to speak, and a gambling deal she’s made goes south. Being in the cursed, spell-casting mood that she’s in, instead of killing the old chap for the money he owes her, or finding some way to make him pay up, she casts a spell on him as well, linking him to your family for all of eternity. And, get this, he’d never even met your ancestors, but here he was, destined to be intertwined with them forever. Every four generations, a girl from your family and a boy from his family will meet.”
“How long were you here, spying on me and reading my research?”
“Long enough, little brother. Long enough indeed.” He doesn’t take his gaze off mine when he speaks. “So, here we are, right? A girl from your family, and a boy from mine.”
I couldn’t help but notice that he said a girl, and not the girl. If I’d allegedly been reincarnated time and time again, that seemed like a pretty big slip-up. I wasn’t just a girl from the Briggs family.
I was the girl.
“But you’ve fallen in love, correct?” Donovan glanced from me to Mick, but didn’t wait for an answer, and I didn’t bother to correct him. “Well, regardless of your feelings for each other, and how deeply they may or may not go, nothing’s happened. The spell hasn’t broken. You’re still cursed. Blah blah blah.”
“So,” Mick asked, “what are you getting at?”
“The right fourth generation son isn’t here.”
“Bullshit. I’ve been preparing for this since childhood. I’ve studied for countless hours. My father died with years of research still to do, a small fraction of the massive amount he’d already done. This doesn’t involve cousins, brothers, or anyone else. Just my father’s line, and his first born.”
His first born. I’d figured it out, why couldn’t Mick? I wanted to say something, but pain moved from my chest, slowly engulfing every inch of me. The rapidly growing ache hadn’t travelled past my elbows yet, but I knew without actually knowing that if the pain reached my fingertips, it would be the end of me. I don’t know how I knew; I just did. And I was too terrified to move or speak as the agony spread outward from my heart, a slow burn, consuming me inch by inch.
“Our father, mate. Our father. And since I’m older than you—”
“No. No, I don’t believe it. I won’t.” Mick stood, still unaware of what was happening to me just a few feet away. He remained in a showdown with Donovan, and I couldn’t find my voice to get his attention. He spoke to Donovan again, still completely oblivious to me, his metaphorical peacock feathers spreading widely behind him. “You need to get out of here before I throw you out.”
“See, now I thought you’d be a bit more level-headed about this. The proof is right in front of your face!” Donovan stood up quickly, sending his chair backward with a screech. “Look at her! Look at your beautiful beast! She’s fighting to control the change as we speak!”
Both of them turned toward me, but I couldn’t meet their eyes. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. I focused on a spot of grout on the tile, a speck of imperfection left by whoever installed the flooring. I focused all of my attention on that tiny flaw. My vision tunneled. Everything outside of that spot, that tiny blemish, was blackness.
My chest heaved up and down as I struggled to breathe; what little air I obtained burned my lungs. I fought to maintain myself, my true self. Something clawed at me from the inside out, trying to escape. Pain wracked my body. Anger filled me, making my chest tighten further. My breathing was heavy and painful. And not nearly enough.
Burning. My skin burned like fire danced across the flesh.
“Holland?” Mick’s panicked voice was but a whisper compared to the whirring frenzy in my head.
I convulsed, my limbs jerking without my consent. I fell to the floor. My body shook and my eyelids flapped open and closed, open and closed. Light, dark, light, dark…I heard voices, muffled and far away. I heard screaming, but it could have been my own. I couldn’t think long enough to pinpoint anything specific.
Searing heat shot down to my fingertips. My back arced in pain.
Flames.
Sweltering. Burning. Raging around me.
Mick’s cool hand flattened across my chest, his fingers splayed above my cleavage. At some point he’d grabbed my hand and placed it beneath his shirt—his chiseled chest rising and falling beneath my fingers slowly pulled my mind back to the present. He told me to focus on his breathing—that much I gathered from the bits and pieces of words floating through my mind. Focusing on his breathing had been the only thing that worked to bring me back from the edge before.
It wouldn’t work this time. I was too far gone. Too consumed by the pain. The searing heat shot up and down through my arms and legs, pulsating its way back into my heart and then streaking back to my extremities. Over and over it pulsed through my veins. My heart pounded in my chest, the rhythm deafening in my ears.
Mick’s lips were on my ear. His voice steady, slow. “Shhh,” he whispered. “Holland, you can beat this. You can do it. Focus on my voice. Focus on my breathing.”
I tried, but I couldn’t see past the black, couldn’t hear past the thumping of my panicked heart. My fingertips burned. My skin peeled away in the wake of the flames.
“You can do this. Focus on my breathing and my words.”
He pressed my hand into his chest harder, as if urging me to follow his commands, but it was no use. I couldn’t match his breathing, couldn’t fight the searing heat coursing through me, over me.
Mick’s fingertips found my neck, strong and hot, more forceful than his gentle touch on my chest. My energy surged, the heated feeling leaving my fingertips, travelling slowly back up my arms, as if reluctantly being pulled from the outermost tips of my body. My heart slowed. The pain in my limbs eased. All of my cells seemed to focus on that point of contact; like molasses, they dragged the fire to that spot where fingers pressed into my skin. My limbs stopped shaking, leaving me with just a few small trembles wracking my body.
All pain and heat flowed north, leaving my body through that simple point of contact—the hard pressure of fingertips on the pulsing vein in my neck.
My heavy breathing slowed as the pain eased.
“Shhh, that’s right,” Mick coaxed. “Try to breathe, Holland. Focus on my voice, on my hand.”
I tried to do what he said, but all I could think about was the connection to his fingers on my neck. I could barely feel his gentle touch on my chest. A hand moved behind my back—the hand that held me up—pulling me closer to Mick. I quickly tallied the places on my body where I felt connections.
Too many hands.
Mick rested his palm just above my breasts, his other hand holding me to him.
Then who’s fingers…?
Donovan.
Donovan’s fingertips were on my neck. Donovan’s touch seemed to draw all of the heat from my body, up and out through the connection of his skin on mine. He rubbed up and down, and the remaining pain slowly seeped out of my skin. I imagined Donovan collecting my agony, pulling it into himself, the fire seeping from my body into his with every second that ticked by.
“Holland? Can you open your eyes? Can you look at me?”
Mick’s voice came from my right, so I turned my head in that direction, ignoring the strong pull I felt to my left. I opened my eyes and found Mick’s face just inches away.
“Oh, thank God.”
His lips pressed to mine, and he kissed me frantically. Even while locked in that kiss, the moment when Donovan’s fingers left my throat nearly devastated me. Where his touch left my skin, the heat and warmth followed, leaving that small area on my neck feeling icy cold in his absence. I couldn’t focus on Mick with the strange feeling of wrongness that flooded me
when Donovan broke contact with my skin.
“Mick,” I said into his crushing mouth, “you’re going to smother me.”
“I’m sorry, I’m just . . .” he paused, searching my eyes. “That was so much worse than yesterday. I’ve never seen you…I was…I was terrified.”
“I’m okay. I’m…that was horrible.”
Mick helped me into a sitting position. I needed more help than I’d realized, surprised that I could barely move on my own. My body felt like it had been dropped out of a fifty-story building—and bounced a few times for good measure.
“I’ve never felt pain so strong before. I felt like I was on fire. My skin…”
I looked down at my arms and hands hesitantly, scared to discover some proof of the flames that just moments ago lapped at my entire body. I expected charred skin or bright red scarring, but I was still me. Just as gray as I’d been before. On closer inspection, however, I realized the beast remained, lightly moving around inside me. I’d beaten it one more time.
I wondered how many more outbursts would transpire before I was lost to the curse for good. Would Mick be able to pull me back from the edge next time?
I doubted it.
It hadn’t even been Mick that pulled me back this time.
With that thought, I brought my gaze up to find Donovan. He stood across the room, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes held mine, and I knew he knew. I wondered if he’d felt the heat slipping into him, the way I’d felt it seeping from me. Had he felt the searing pain and remained stoic throughout?
I had so many questions.
I worried that he’d tell Mick the truth, but he remained quiet, holding my gaze and not saying a word. I broke eye contact and turned back to Mick, praying he hadn’t seen the secret hanging in the air between Donovan and me.
“Mick, Donovan—your brother—I think he’s your dad’s first born. I think that’s why he’s saying we won’t able to change this.”
