Cursed

by Shawntelle Madison

  “You are so dead when this is over, Grantham.”

  Somehow, we managed to climb the trellis and enter our room through the unlocked balcony door. The house was silent. Far too silent for what I preferred. Usually the furnace or the fridge faintly hummed. This never ending silence where all I heard was my own breathing and the rustle of clothing as I took off my dress to put on some jeans and Thorn put on his coat was disturbing.

  All I had left was a rising sense of dread. Some of these townspeople seemed harmless, but the ones who had chased us and even the man who viciously attacked the pack alpha, they lost all sense and now ransacked the town into the state it was in now. They’d destroyed it themselves.

  Thorn clutched the keys in his hands. “We need to go.”

  “Wait a minute.”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  I wrung my hands together. “What if this is permanent?”

  “He said the townspeople are like this. The minute we leave this place, we should go back to normal.”

  “But he said something specific. The people who lived here. Living some place could imply staying for a period of time. It’s a vague statement, yes, but what if we go back home and we end up like these people?”

  He searched my face as if an answer would come, but it didn’t. He gathered me into his arms, and I sensed his fierce need to protect me fighting with his desire to do the right thing. A pack leader always protected their own. Even to the death. Running away was a potential solution, but it might not be the right one.

  Families still lived here. Men, women, and children who depended on visitors—or should I say victims—to help them out of the bind they’d gotten into. One thing I’d learned from my family was to do the honorable thing.

  One look at my face and he sighed.

  “So what now, wife?” he asked.

  Chapter 5

  “Calvin said at dawn everything resets—that everyone goes back to normal.” I rubbed my face with my hands, hoping I’d keep my wits about me long enough to figure out a solution. “So we need to find the cause of the curse—whatever it is.”

  Thorn nodded. “While we look for the cause, we’ll have to be content with being surrounded by a bunch of crazies?”

  “Pretty much. Now let’s see if I can figure things out.” I paced the room, trying to be quiet as possible but allowing myself to think. “Didn’t the shopkeeper and the alpha say that the town’s problems began when the fort was rebuilt a second time after the Civil War? And that the decline slowly occurred after the pack alpha returned home from war?”

  “That sounds about right. Do you think Cal could be behind all this?”

  “I think so. What events—that we know about—could cause a curse? Most curses come from injustice. An event occurs where a wrong is committed …”

  Everything came together, almost like an audible click in my noggin.

  “It has to be that crazy bastard,” I said. “Remember the story with the woman and the strange figurine?”

  Thorn nodded.

  “What if she was a witch? And she cursed him for taking her figurine?” I asked.

  “That sounds possible, but how do we find it?”

  “Oh, that’s easy. Guess who is the town heirloom collector, or should I say fellow antique junkie like me?” I added.

  Thorn scoffed. “I wouldn’t put the two of you in any group together.”

  “You have a point there.”

  A sound from down the hallway made Thorn freeze. He glanced at me, pointed to the doorway, and then pointed to his ears. I expected him to use body language, as a wolf everything was subtle, a glance of the eyes, the way his body would shift toward a place where he caught a sound. Thorn might’ve been human now, but a part of the wolf still swam underneath his skin. Without a sound, he moved to the door and pressed his ear against the old wood to listen.

  He whispered something, but I didn’t catch it. A few seconds later, he waved at me toward the window.

  This lack of enhanced hearing took some getting used to.

  From the balcony, Thorn climbed down the trellis first. He dropped our bags into a heavy fog that slithered across the ground.

  I flashed him a look as to why he grabbed our bags and his smirk practically screamed, “Do you wanna stay here after we save the day?”

  He had a point there.

  As I followed him, I immediately wondered how I’d get down. Leaping to the fog below wasn’t the smartest idea. Not when it was so thick I swore it might swallow me into the swampy earth below. I angled myself off the balcony’s edge, using a death-grip on the railing until I found solid footing to climb down the trellis. Thorn waited with his arms stretched wide.

  We found a quiet corner while I looked up the alpha’s address.

  “Do you expect to find him in the local yellow pages?” Thorn asked.

  “I seriously doubt the alpha, who was alive during the Civil War period, will live in one of these tiny run down places. If I was him—and I believe he thinks like me—he will live in the oldest house around here with enough space to satisfy a hoarder.” As I scanned the cellphone screen, I found what I was looking for and presented my findings with a smug expression.

  He just shook his head.

  I could get used to this being right thing.

  Calvin’s place was on the outskirts of Bright Haven, to the north of town. We’d passed the long driveway to his home and hadn’t even known it. Cypresses covered with thick Spanish moss obscured the driveway, the limbs extended toward the narrow road. The dirt path was riddled with puddles and plenty of potholes. Thorn drove the SUV up toward the house. As we closed in, he turned off the lights.

  “What are you doing?” I tried to peer through the fog into the darkness, but I couldn’t see much.

  “Do you want whoever lives here to see us?” he replied.

  “What good will sneaking up on him do if we run into a tree?”

  Thorn slowed to a crawl for the rest of the way until we spotted an expansive two-story home. There weren’t any other cars in the driveway. Maybe Calvin and his wife were trying to clean up the mess in town to keep other pack members safe.

  Stone columns, lined with moss peeking out of the cracks were at the edges of a stone walkway toward the house. The wide porch hadn’t seen repair in a while from what I could see. As we got out of the SUV and quietly made our way toward the house, the only thing we spotted was the movement from a large owl diving from one of the trees toward the house. It perched on the rooftop and peered at us as if we were prey.

  I tried to listen, to feel for whatever could be coming for us, but it was damn near impossible. How did humans live from day to day without getting taken out as a species?

  Thorn took a step on the porch, and the wood groaned. He hesitated then tried another path that didn’t look as old. That was rather hard. The porch hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint in years. The chairs, which appeared so welcoming from a distance, had cobwebs clinging to their corners. A pitcher, filled with gunky water, sat on the ledge.

  Lemonade, anyone?

  We didn’t expect to see inside, but the ornate oak doorway was wide open and swayed with the breeze, almost inviting us in. I slowed down, but Thorn took my hand and led the way inside. Beyond the porch, we entered what could be called a mudroom. The floor sighed and creaked with each step. If we expected to make a quiet entrance that opportunity was blown. My gaze took in the expansive foyer, the chandelier lit from the moonlight bleeding though the doorway. When the shopkeeper said Calvin loved to collect memorabilia, she wasn’t kidding. Along the wallpapered walls in the foyer, I spotted shelf after shelf after shelf with guns, sharp weapons in cases, vases, and other dusty antiques.

  But no statute that looked like a wooden relic so far.

  From the foyer, an elaborate staircase extended to the second floor, to a sitting room to our right, and toward a dark hallway. I glanced into the sitting room and gasped. From one end to the other of the sitting r
oom was nothing but animal heads on the walls. Elk, bucks, an elephant, too. Yet it was the five heads displayed in the center that made my skin crawl the wrong way. The mounted heads of five wolves stared at us with glassy eyes. With each step I took, I felt like their gaze followed me.

  According the laws that governed werewolves, hunting regular wolves was a forbidden act. They were intelligent kin to be respected unless they openly attacked. To hunt them was like hunting your own kind.

  Not far from me, Thorn clenched his fists.

  “Let’s go,” he whispered. “We’ve got a job to do.”

  After checking out the room, we decided to head up the stairs to see if we could find where Cal stored his personal belongings. The padded staircase remained hushed and we plodded up them to the second floor. This whole house had such strong bones. It was a shame that dust covered the paintings of beautiful women in 19th century attire. From the top of the stairs, we had a few options, but Thorn suggested we try the double doors. Thorn took point, opening the brass knob. He checked inside then beckoned me with a flick of his fingers. Calvin’s master bedroom, unlike the rest of his house, was maintained to perfection. Candles pushed away the room’s shadows. The poster bed was beautiful, taking up the far right side of the room, while his sitting area to the left had a full seating to accommodate a quiet evening for the couple. As to why the television tray with crackers and cheese messed up the scene, I didn’t speculate.

  As I took a step farther inside, I spied our prize on a white pedestal along the opposite wall: a dark wooden statue, over a foot in height, heavy at the bottom and curving upward into the form of a ripe pear. A plump bosom down to wide hips. An African fertility goddess. As I took in the relic, I could almost see Calvin standing above that poor slave, the butt of his rifle raised to slam it into her face. He was dressed in his gray Confederate uniform and wore the smug expression he had during dinner. A man like him—one who took what didn’t belong to him and harmed the defenseless—didn’t deserve such a prize.

  Suddenly, a hand circled my throat from behind and pressed a knife to my pulse point.

  “You’re a smarter gal than I thought you’d be,” a low voice drawled in my ear. “Keep quiet, bitch.”

  Thorn kept walking. He hadn’t heard a damn thing.

  As Cal tried to pull me backward, I shuffled my feet as loudly as I could.

  Thorn whipped around and advanced on us.

  “Ah, ah, ah …” Calvin flashed the knife, and it glinted against the glow from the candles. “Stay back unless you want a demonstration of how slowly she’ll heal now.”

  Thorn froze, a menacing growl building in his throat.

  Cal laughed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to do that.”

  Thorn’s blue eyes darkened. “If you hurt her …”

  “If I hurt her, you’ll do what? When I learned about your name, I wondered if you were as cowardly as another Grantham I met many, many years ago. What was his name again?”

  “Oswald Grantham?” I supplied.

  Thorn flashed me an exasperated look.

  “Yep, that was the boy’s name,” Calvin said. “A newborn pup had more spunk than Oswald. A flea could knock a man’s ass over faster ’n his fist.”

  Thorn’s jawline twitched, but nothing else moved. The light was dim in here, but I could’ve sworn he hunched over a little, almost as if he wanted to shift. Had he succeeded?

  “I’m quite impressed. Only one other alpha made it to my house. His grandfather had fought with me at Fort Sumter. A brave man he was, but when you stripped away the wolf, all that was left was a husk of a man.” Calvin pushed me hard to the floor. “Are you weak?”

  “Why don’t you come and find out?” Thorn growled.

  My knees hit the floor hard, the pain reverberating up my leg. As much I wanted to sit there and recover, this asshole rubbed my fur the wrong way.

  “He’s not weak, and neither am I.” I stood and threw a right hook across his chin. The moment my fist connected with his jawbone, I knew my mistake.

  Crunch!

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” I shouted.

  Now that was new. Pain from throwing a punch.

  I clutched my hand and took a step back as Cal laughed.

  He rubbed his chin. “Not bad.”

  “How about this?” Thorn swept forward, ramming into Calvin. He rained punches into Calvin’s right side. I expected to see the alpha’s face contort in pain, but he sneered and sidestepped behind Thorn. With smooth movements, he slammed his fist onto the middle of Thorn’s back.

  “No!” I rushed at them as Thorn groaned and fell to his knees, clenching his lower spine. Before Calvin could land another punch, I careened at that crazy bastard, swinging again—broken hand be damned. I bared my tiny human teeth at him, tackling into his side. My puny punches didn’t do much damage, and that showed as Calvin flung me to the floor again. My head hit the hardwood with a thud, the world around me shifting like riding upside down on a swinging tire.

  Calvin took a defensive stance as Thorn came in hard with a right hook followed by a left that made contact with Calvin’s face. Blood ran down the alpha’s split lip and already the signs of bruising marred his face.

  Using his right shoulder, Thorn rammed Calvin into the far wall and they knocked over the pedestal. The relic crashed to the floor and rolled toward the fireplace near the seating area. I crawled after it as the sounds of flesh punching flesh came from behind me. The two men stumbled toward me, Thorn in a headlock as they rolled to the floor.

  “Thorn, what are you doing?” I called.

  “Getting choked to death!” he spouted.

  Thorn roared and managed to raise Calvin on his back. My husband’s face blossomed red from the lack of air, but with a final push, he backed hard into one of the solid wood bedposts. Meanwhile, I scrambled to the relic and managed to get a good grip on it.

  I tried to stand on steady feet, but the world wobbled a bit. I swallowed back the nausea and advanced on them. Thorn’s eyes rolled up the back of his head. Calvin refused to let go.

  “Defend against this!” I raised the statue high above my head, and walloped Calvin across the head. He staggered a bit, so I hit him one more time. With a heavy thud, my husband landed hard on the floor with Calvin collapsed on top of him.

  I released a long sigh. “I hate dogpiles.”

  Getting Calvin’s dead weight off my husband was difficult, but I managed to free Thorn. He was breathless and a bit dizzy too, but he’d survived.

  I touched his poor face. On any other day he was perfection, chiseled cheeks, the kind of face stubble a woman wanted to touch. Right then, he was a hot mess of blood, bruises, and cuts.

  The man I’d fallen in love with.

  “How bad is it?” He stumbled over a few words since his lip swelled up.

  “You look perfect. We should take a couple selfie.” I fished for my camera, but he backed away.

  His laugh was throaty as we staggered out of the room.

  “So what do we do with it?” he asked me.

  Now that was a fifty million dollar question. My head refused to think straight from the hit to my head. “What did that woman want to do with it? Before he took it from her?”

  He glanced toward the ceiling as if searching his memories. “She wanted to bury it.”

  “Let’s try that,” I said with a groan. What I wouldn’t give for some headache meds.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Can you think of anything else?”

  He sighed. “How far should we go to bury it?”

  “The way I’m feeling right now, if there was a flowerpot with dirt, I’d be game.”

  “Backyard, it is.”

  We got down the stairs—without falling down them—and we managed to reach the expansive front yard.

  “If we hide it here, won’t he find it in the morning?” I asked Thorn.

  “How about the backyard in the woods?”

  Once we found a goo
d spot, we got to work. Side by side, we used our hands to dig a hole in the rich mud in the backyard. I should’ve folded over from the worms, filth, and dirt, but right then, I was too weak and tired to care. I was alive with my husband at my side and there we were, like a bunch of fools digging into the Georgia clay to bury the statue. As I placed it into the two-foot hole we’d dug, the heavy wood warmed my hands. I ran my fingers along the marble-smooth curves, wondering what powers the statue held. Was the woman truly some kind of spellcaster, maybe a witch? After encountering amazing people and seeing the impossible become possible, just holding this figurine and making what was wrong right again made me feel like for this one moment in time I could withstand anything.

  Like my future with Thorn.

  “Whatever grievances you have,” I whispered, “I hope this will make amends.” And, I added, “We beat his ass pretty badly.”

  Thorn left my side as I began to cover the hole. “What are you doing?” I asked him.

  “I need to make sure he doesn’t find it. We need to leave our scent all over the place.” Thorn dug up and reburied countless holes as I hid the figurine under the dirt and brush. As the reddish-purple sun rose on the horizon, a world of scents opened up to me. The wind brought a bouquet of seedling wildflowers. A chorus of birds and insects greeted me.

  We had lifted the curse.

  I shrugged off my coat as the heat from working got difficult. Not far from me, I caught my husband’s scent. Every now and then, he glanced at me, even winking at me once. The night of the full moon was now over, but we’d survived the night together. Even at our weakest.

  By the time we left in the SUV, Thorn’s face looked a lot better compared to a few hours before. I’d snapped a quick picture when he was at his worst. Once we were on the road, he voiced his concern.

  “What’s the purpose of taking my picture while I was digging?” he asked.

  “When are we ever going to have a memory of you looking like that? You’re always so perfect. And anyway, a photo like that is album material. Wedding album material.”