The Curse

by Ts McKinney

  I watched as they stood there together, gazing down at the infant and their hands locked in a tight embrace.

  He looked upward and he said, “Please don’t make me do this. Please don’t turn me into this monster. Whatever has happened in the past has nothing to do with my wife and son. If you must take someone, let it just be me,” he pleaded as his voice quaked with emotion.

  I had no idea who he was talking to. My eyes were locked on the scene in front of me, and my eyes wouldn’t stray from the parents and child.

  A woman’s voice answered, “Don’t be such a pussy, Nigel. I detest a man who cries and you Bailey men always cry. It’s such a bore. I keep telling myself that one day a Bailey will finally generate a real man, but it never happens. You all cry your pathetic tears. It honestly makes me hate you even more.”

  “Bitch!” My mother hissed. “You’re nothing more than a heartless bitch who’s terrified of something. You only keep doing this because you’re afraid and inadequate.” Her smile was absolutely sinister when she added, “My son will be the one to destroy you!”

  The other woman laughed, but even in my dream state, I recognized a hint of fear.

  “Perhaps I should kill him now then?” The woman suggested when she stopped laughing. “How would you like that? Want to watch your infant son die, Rosalie? I’d be delighted to grant you a final request.”

  “No! Don’t antagonize her!” My father pleaded. His blue eyes turned to the mystery woman again. “I’m begging you. Let my wife and son go. You can end this. I know you can. End the curse with my death.”

  My mother said, “Don’t beg her, Nigel. She can’t kill him or she would already have done it. She feeds on your heartache. It’s what keeps her young and powerful. Don’t give it to her. She can’t kill our son now, or it would break the rules of the spell. She has to wait for his twenty-fifth birthday.”

  “Aren’t you such a smart one?” The woman teased. “My, my. A Bailey man finally did well for himself,” she remarked.

  I watched as the woman reached down to touch the chubby cheek of the baby in the crib.

  “Don’t touch him.”

  The woman hissed at her as she pulled the hand away. “Anyway, it’s time. Nigel, take four steps back, please.”

  I watched in horror as my father obeyed the commands the woman issued. I saw how he struggled with his own body, how he desperately tried to disobey. I also saw and realized he didn’t have the strength to fight against whatever hold the woman had over him. Tears coated his face as he silently begged his wife and child to forgive him.

  “It’s okay, Nigel,” my mother said quietly. “This has to happen today, but I’ll go to my grave knowing that it will be our son who will eventually destroy the spell along with this horrible creature.” She turned and looked at my father. “I’ll go to my grave with you, my love.” She moved toward him without the woman demanding it of her and didn’t stop until she was standing directly in front of him. “We’ll watch from above and one day, twenty-five years from now, we’ll get to see our baby boy put an end to her.”

  “Kill her, Nigel.”

  I watched as my father pulled a gun from his back waistband, and without any hesitation, he placed the gun to my mother’s temple. As his finger moved to pull the trigger, I screamed, “No!”

  He didn’t stop, though. He pulled the trigger, sending the bullet straight into my mother’s forehead, sobbing as he pulled the trigger. I watched as she fell to the ground, dead before she hit the floor. My father’s tears dripped down onto her lifeless body as he wept in despair.

  He hadn’t acknowledged me when I’d screamed…but my mother had. Her eyes had flickered up and toward me, and her lips had formed the most serene smile when she’d heard my voice. She’d been smiling when he’d pulled the trigger and, even now, she lay on the floor with a soft smile on her face.

  “And now yourself, Nigel,” the woman ordered. “Hurry along. I have places to be, things to do.”

  I heard my father whisper to me, “I love you, Nicholas.”

  Then he pulled the trigger for the second time.

  I woke myself up screaming. My face was bathed in tears, and my heart ached from a pain like I’d never experienced in my life. I looked around the room, trying to figure out where I was and what was happening. I was in the cozy cottage. Alone.

  I’d just dreamed about my parents killing themselves.

  Wait—no, it wasn’t a dream. It was a vision of something that had really happened. But I’d felt like I had been there. Not just as a child but as my adult self, too. My mother had known I was there. The mother that I’d spent most of my life not loving… I felt such shame and heartache.

  She had faith in me. She thought I could end the curse, or the spell, or whatever the hell it was.

  My parents had loved me. They were watching me now like she’d promised they would.

  Oh, and the fucking bitch that forced my parents to kill themselves? None other than Morgan Goodheart. I would have recognized that bitch’s voice anywhere. That motherfucking bitch was behind the curse that destroyed my family, and I was so going to fuck her up.

  I didn’t have a clue how, but I was going to. The problem was, I didn’t have long to do it.

  The rest of my night was spent watching the rest of my descendants take their own lives. I was there when Nathaniel Bailey hanged himself, at the orders of Morgan Goodheart, of course. I watched when Noel and Tabitha were killed and scalped by the Indians and put up no fight at all, with Morgan sitting up in a tree nearby, laughing hysterically. Within about three hours, I’d watched my entire family tree decimated…and the worst of all was Nicodemus. I saw the whole thing, along with Corbin’s attempt to save him in living color and it was the worst thing I ever saw. I didn’t even want to think about how it made me feel.

  I’d woken up disappointed that my dreams ended before seeing what started the curse. What caused Morgan Goodheart to force Nicodemus to walk off that cliff? I knew having to watch it would break my heart, just as it had with the rest of my family, but I also knew it was necessary if I had any hopes of reversing the curse. If something didn’t change, I’d take my own life less than two weeks, but after last night, this had turned into something much more than me just trying to save myself. I would, somehow, find a way to get revenge for the ones who went before me. Before I died, I would see that bitch go straight to hell for all she’d done. I hoped to send her there myself.

  After I admitted to myself that I wasn’t going to fall back asleep, regardless of how hard I tried, I’d rolled out of bed and called Alastair immediately. I needed to hear what he’d learned last night when he talked to the coven, and I needed to tell him about the dreams. We set up a lunch date for noon. It wasn’t until after I hung up that I realized I only had about thirty minutes to get ready and get there. I’d slept longer than I thought.

  Chapter Five

  A newspaper magically appeared in front of me with a loud thump as it smacked against the table. Alastair slid into the booth across from me and said, “Did you have something to do with that, Nico?” He pointed to the front page of the paper he’d dropped.

  I looked down at the paper, gasped in surprise, and jerked it up. The front page held a picture of Annabella Buchanan. She’d committed suicide late yesterday afternoon by walking off a pier. Unable to swim, she’d drowned before anyone could rescue her. Annabella’s face gazed up at me, a huge smile on her face. The picture had been taken at a recent museum function, and she looked so fucking happy, just like she had yesterday at the beginning of my job interview. Exactly three hours after I’d left the museum, she’d ended her own life. Fuck, I damned well knew who was responsible for that shit.

  Looking up at Alastair, I asked in disbelief, “You think I killed her?”

  He shook his head wildly, like I was crazy. “No, I don’t think you killed her, Nico,” he answered quickly. “We both know who killed her and it wasn’t her own fuck
ing self. It was Morgan. The question was, did you have anything to do with it?” he explained. “Something had to have happened at that museum between you and old Bella that made Morgan feel threatened. What was it? She’s way too old for you, but did you and Bella do the dirty dance in a broom closet or something as equally…gross?”

  I rolled my eyes. “She was old enough to be my mother, Stair,” I countered, shortening his name. It was getting really difficult to call him Alastair when we were in heated conversations. “There definitely wasn’t any broom closet action going on, but Morgan was pissed because Bella had hired me, thus bringing me to Salem.”

  “Stair,” he said thoughtfully, trying the nickname on his tongue. “I like it. Most folks try for Al…which I don’t like. Stair will work fine for me. Now, back to Annabella and Morgan,” he said, leaning in closer to me. “So, the heartless Goodheart got pissed at Bella for bringing a Bailey on board, eh? I bet she nearly shit her panties when she looked up and saw you in her museum.”

  “Nah, no shitting of the panties,” I said with a laugh. “It was more like she wanted me dead. Graveyard dead.”

  “I’ve been thinking, I bet Morgan’s behind the curse. Not Corbin. Corbin was in love with Nico. Even though Nico’s committing suicide destroyed him, he wouldn’t have cursed Nico’s family. He loved him too much.”

  “It’s definitely Morgan behind the curse,” I agreed. “I had some dreams last night. I’ve got to tell you about them. It was some really scary shit, but it opened my eyes to what I’m up against. Before we go there, though, I need to ask you a question about Bella.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did she have a granddaughter, by any chance?”

  “Yep. She has a daughter named Megan and Megan has a little girl named Paige. Why?”

  “Something strange happened after I left the museum yesterday. I was on the sidewalk, writhing in agony because Morgan had hit me with something after I flipped her off, when I noticed a little girl standing in the middle of the road. A car was rolling straight toward her, and nobody was doing anything about it. I managed to get to her and use my body to block her from getting hit. When I woke up, people were standing all around me, amazed that I’d survived, but there was no little girl. They all swore no little girl had ever been there and that it was just me and the car. Was she making me see things? Hallucinations or something?”

  Stair’s eyes widened. “You saved Paige’s life?”

  “No, you aren’t listening,” I countered. “There wasn’t a little girl there. Not really. I was the only one who saw her. I think Morgan was making me see things that weren’t real to maybe get me to throw my body in front of the car, hoping I’d die? Who the fuck knows? She’s crazy, right?”

  “She isn’t crazy, Nico, she’s evil. There’s a difference.” He sat back in the booth and rubbed his chin. “I don’t think she was making you hallucinate with the child. My guess is she masked the little girl’s presence from everybody else. If she was mad at Bella for bringing you to Salem, killing Paige would have been a good and proper punishment, Morgan style.”

  “She would have honestly killed a child to punish one of her employees? That seems a bit drastic, even for the most evil bitch to walk this earth.” When his brows shot upward, I said, “Yeah, had some dreams or visions about her last night. Learned some things. She’s a fucking evil bitch.”

  “Trust me, Nico, you’re preaching to the choir. I know what Morgan’s capable of. Bella wasn’t just one of her employees, though. She was a member of her coven. Apparently, bringing you to Salem was a super huge ‘no-no’ and Bella paid with her life. Don’t go shedding any tears, though. She wasn’t a good person either, Nico. None of the Salem coven witches are. She might have seemed nice, but if she had a heart, Morgan would have gotten rid of her years ago.”

  They called our number for food, so we got up and grabbed the goodies. When we were seated again, Stair said, “If you saved Megan’s daughter, that’s kind of a game changer, Nico. Megan is a witch in her coven, and now she owes you. Witches are required to pay their debts. This is something we could use in your favor.”

  “Uh…yeah, that sounds creepy. You make it sound like I only saved her life to cash in a favor. That’s not how it happened. I didn’t know who she was or, more importantly, what she was. All I saw was a little girl about to get hurt.”

  “Doesn’t matter, Megan owes you. Put it in your back pocket for now, but always remember that you have it. You never know when you might need a witch’s help.”

  “You’re a witch, aren’t you?” I asked quietly, feeling incredibly stupid for saying it out loud. When he gave me an affirmative nod, I said, “I need a witch’s help, and since you’re the only witch I know, it looks like it’s gonna have to be you. Can you help a guy out?”

  “Only if it’s something I want to do. Officially, I don’t owe you anything,” he said with a laugh. “So, what’s this favor? Need a love potion brewed?” he teased.

  “Haha. No, I need you to take me to the graves of Corbin and Nicodemus,” I told him.

  “Why do you want to do that?” he asked with a frown. “What do you hope to find there?”

  Shaking my head, I answered, “I don’t have a clue, Stair. All I know is that I’m having weird dreams. I’m seeing things happen. I’ve seen all my male relatives die. With everyone except Nicodemus, I’m watching it happen, like a voyeur. When Nicodemus is involved, I’m seeing things through his eyes.”

  I sure as hell was doing more than seeing things through the eyes of Nicodemus. I was feeling lots of things, too. Things like Corbin’s hands all over my body, Corbin’s lips on mine, or Corbin’s cock in my ass. Things like that. Yeah, I was feeling all those things and enjoying them too.

  His teeth nibbled at his bottom lip as he pondered what I’d said. “Are you thinking reincarnation?”

  “I’m not thinking anything, Stair. I haven’t got a clue. I’m too clueless to even try and make an educated guess as to what is going on. I can only go on what I’m experiencing. Trust me, none of this shit is making sense to me. Hell, I didn’t believe in witchcraft until yesterday!”

  He stared at me blankly before replying, “Well, that’s just stupid, seeing as how you’re a witch. How could you not believe?”

  “We haven’t established that I’m a witch yet,” I corrected. “You think I am because you’re picking up this weird energy from me. I, on the other hand, am on the fence and leaning heavily toward the not-a-witch side. I mean, I can’t do anything…cool. I wanna be able to do something cool if I’m going to be a witch,” I teased.

  “Like what?”

  “Fly. I want to be able to fly,” I replied smoothly. I wasn’t kidding either. I’d always fantasized about being about to soar through the air. Sure, I’d always been Superman in my visions, but a witch on a broom would work, too.

  He barked out a laugh. “Hell, Nico. Why not start right at the top of the list? Only the most powerful witches possess enough magic to be able to levitate objects. Why don’t you start out with being able to turn the lights on with a snap of your fingers?”

  I frowned. “Because I don’t need to be able to turn on lights with a snap of my fingers. They make light switches that do that when I clap my hands. No, I want to fly.” I took a huge bite of fish that I’d coated in tartar sauce and shoved it into my mouth. Marblehead had the best fucking fish and chips on the planet. They might have other good foods, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever know. I couldn’t get past the fish and chips cravings. Thinking about what Stair had said, I asked, “Anyway, you said levitate objects. I’m not interested in levitating objects—just me. I want to levitate me.”

  “Aww, how cute,” he purred. “You’re such a cute little virgin witch. It’s like I can take a piece of clay and mold you into anything I want. Okay, here’s your first witch lesson. They don’t fly. They levitate objects through the air and ride them. That’s why you’ve always seen witches flying on brooms an
d the historian usually only get partial facts. They’ve made it into something cute when it really was just the necessity of needing an object to ride as they soared through the air.”

  I stopped chewing and stared at him. He was messing with me, I was sure of it. He looked fucking serious. “Are you kidding me? Do some witches really fly? I was just fantasizing about the possibility, never really thought it could happen.”

  “I’m not messing with you,” he answered with a grin. “But I’m going to have to break it to you now, you aren’t going to be able to fly, Nico. You aren’t powerful enough. I feel magic buzzing around you from time to time, but nothing that would indicate high witch level. Anyway, Morgan wouldn’t have allowed you to set foot in Salem if you possessed that type of mystical magic. Absolutely not,” he assured me. “She doesn’t take kindly to threats, and that type of power would be considered a threat to her.”

  “Corbin could fly,” I answered smugly. “How did she deal with that…or did he never go into Salem?”

  His eyes narrowed at me. “How did you know Corbin possessed that particular power?”

  “Because you told me he was a high witch,” I answered. Paused, and then added, “And because I feel it somehow. And because of what I saw in my dream.”

  He leaned in. “You saw him fly?”

  “Yeah, he was trying to get to Nico when he walked off the cliff. In my vision, I was Nico. I was falling, and I saw him flying toward me, but he couldn’t make it in time. A column of fire shot out of his hand right before I hit the rocks.” I shrugged. “Then I was dead.”

  “A column of fire? Are you sure?” he demanded.

  “Uh…yeah, I’m pretty sure. Forgive me for not remembering every detail as I was about to splatter. My mind may have been on other things.” It hadn’t been though. When I’d been Nico, rocketing toward those rocks, I’d only been worried about Corbin, not myself. “What does it mean? Anything?”